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Bride Of Lammermoor
by Sir Walter Scott
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From Library Journal
Published in 1819 and 1824, respectively, these titles are typical of Scott's historical soap operas involving revenge, kidnapping, love, political turmoil, and what have you. To help readers understand the Scottish dialect in Scott's writing, these include glossaries as well as scholarly introductions. Both books are based on Scott's original texts.
Copyright 2001 Reed Business Information, Inc.
Text extracted from opening pages of book: THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. CHAPTER I. Ay, and when huntsmen wind the merry horn, And from its covert starts the fearful prey, Who, warnj'd with youth's blood in his swelling veins, Would, like a lifeless clod, outstretched lie, Shut out from all the fair creation offers ? Ethwald) Act I. Scene I. LIGHT meals procure light slumbers ; and there fore it is not surprising, that, considering the fare which Caleb's conscience, or his necessity, assuming, as will sometimes happen, that disguise, had as signed to the guests of Wolf's Crag, their slumbers should have been short. In the morning Bucklaw rushed into his host's apartment with a loud halloo, which might have awaked the dead. Up ! up I in the name of Heaven the hunters are out, the only piece of sport I have seen this month ; and you lie here, Master, on a bed that has little to recommend it, except that it may be 4 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. something softer than the stone floor of your an cestor's vault. I wish, said Ravenswood, raising his head peevishly, you had forborne so early a jest, Mr Hayston it is really no pleasure to lose the very short repose which I had just begun to enjoy, after a night spent in thoughts upon fortune far harder than my couch, Bucklaw. Pshaw, pshaw ! replied his guest ; get up get up the hounds are abroad I have saddled the horses myself, for old Caleb was calling for grooms and lackeys, and would never have proceeded with out two hours' apology, for the absence of men that were a hundred miles off. Get up, Master I say the hounds are out get up, I say the hunt is up. And-off ran Bucklaw. And I say, said the Master, rising slowly, that nothing can concern me less. Whose hounds come so near to us ? The Honourable Lord Bittlebrains', answer ed Caleb, who had followed the impatient Laird of Bucklaw into his master's bedroom, and truly I ken nae title they have to be yowling and howling within the freedoms and immunities of your lord ship's right of free forestry. Nor I, Caleb, replied Ravenswood, u except ing that they have bought both the lands and the right of forestry, and may think themselves entitled to exercise the rights they have paid their money for. It may be sae, my lord, replied Caleb ; but it's no gentleman's deed of them to come here and THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 5 exercise such like right, and your lordship living at your ain castle of Wolf's Crag. Lord Bittle brains would do weel to remember what his folk have been. And we what we now are, said the Master, with suppressed bitterness of feeling. But reach me my cloak, Caleb, and I will indulge Bucklaw with a sight of this chase. It is selfish to sacrifice my guest's pleasure to my own. Sacrifice ! echoed Caleb, in a tone which seem ed to imply the total absurdity of his master ma king the least concession in deference to any one Sacrifice, indeed I but I crave your honour's pardon and whilk doublet is it your pleasure to wear ? Any one you will, Caleb my wardrobe, I suppose, is not very extensive. Not extensive I echoed his assistant; when there is the grey and silver that your lordship be stowed on Hew Hildebrand, your outrider and the French velvet that went with my lord your fa thjer ( be gracious to him !) my lord your father's auld wardrobe to the puir friends of the family, and the drap-de-berry Which I gave to you, Caleb, and which, I sup pose, is the only dress we have any chance to come at, except that I wore yesterday pray, hand me that, and say no more about it. If your honour has a fancy, replied Caleb, and doubtless it's a sad-coloured suit, and you are in mourning nevertheless, I have never tried on 6 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. the drap-de-berry ill wad it become me and your honour having no change of claiths at this present and it's weel brushed, and as there are leddies down yonder Ladies I said Ravens wood ; and what la dies, pray ? What do I ken, your lordship ? looking down at them from the Warden's Tower, I could but see them glent
Few have been in my secret while I was compiling these narratives, nor is it probable that they will ever become public during the life of their author. Even were that event to happen, I am not ambitious of the honoured distinction, digito monstrari. I confess that, were it safe to cherish such dreams at all, I should more enjoy the thought of remaining behind the curtain unseen, like the ingenious manager of Punch and his wife Joan, and enjoying the astonishment and conjectures of my audience. Then might I, perchance, hear the productions of the obscure Peter Pattieson praised by the judicious and admired by the feeling, engrossing the young and attracting even the old; while the critic traced their fame up to some name of literary celebrity, and the question when, and by whom, these tales were written filled up the pause of conversation in a hundred circles and coteries. This I may never enjoy during my lifetime; but farther than this, I am certain, my vanity should never induce me to aspire.
From the Publisher
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About the Author
Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832) was born and educated in Edinburgh and is the foremost Romantic novelist in the English language. Also a poet, he is credited with establishing the form of the historical novel.
J. H. Alexander is reader in English at the University of Aberdeen and editor of several titles in the Edinburgh Editions of the Waverley novels.
Kathryn Sutherland is a professor and fellow in English at St. Anne's College, Oxford, and the editor of Jane Austen's Mansfield Park for Penguin Classics.
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