heeding the remonstrances of Mrs. Policy. She, good soul, stood
at first in astonishment, like the abbess of St. Bridget's, when a
profane visitant drank up the vial of brandy which had long passed
muster among the relics of the cloister for the tears of the blessed
saint. The venerable guardian of St. Bridget probably expected the
interference of her patroness--she of Holyrood might, perhaps, hope
that David Ruzzio's spectre would arise to prevent the profanation.
But Mrs. Policy stood not long in the silence of horror. She uplifted
her voice, and screamed as loudly as Queen Mary herself when the
dreadful deed was in the act of perpetration--

"Harrow, now out, and walawa!" she cried.

I happened to be taking my morning walk in the adjoining gallery,
pondering in my mind why the kings of Scotland, who hung around me,
should be each and every one painted with a nose like the knocker
of a door, when lo! the walls once more re-echoed with such shrieks
as formerly were as often heard in the Scottish palaces as were
sounds of revelry and music. Somewhat surprised at such an alarm
in a place so solitary, I hastened to the spot, and found the well
meaning traveller scrubbing the floor like a housemaid, while Mrs.
Policy, dragging him by the skirts of the coat, in vain endeavoured
to divert him from his sacrilegious purpose. It cost me some trouble
to explain to the zealous purifier of silk stockings, embroidered
waistcoats, broadcloth, and deal planks that there were such things
in the world as stains which ought to remain indelible, on account
of the associations with which they are connected. Our good friend
viewed everything of the kind only as the means of displaying the
virtue of his vaunted commodity. He comprehended, however, that he
would not be permitted to proceed to exemplify its powers on the