CCCXLIV.

TO JAMES GRACIE, ESQ.

[James Gracie was, for some time, a banker in Dumfries: his eldest son, a fine, high-spirited youth, fell by a rifle-ball in America, when leading the troops to the attack on Washington.]

_Brow, Wednesday Morning, 16th July, 1796._

MY DEAR SIR,

It would [be] doing high injustice to this place not to acknowledge that my rheumatisms have derived great benefits from it already; but alas! my loss of appetite still continues. I shall not need your kind offer _this week_, and I return to town the beginning of next week, it not being a tide-week. I am detaining a man in a burning hurry.

So God bless you.

R. B.

* * * * *

REMARKS

ON

SCOTTISH SONGS AND BALLADS.

* * * * *

[The following Strictures on Scottish Song exist in the handwriting of Burns, in the interleaved copy of Johnson's Musical Museum, which the poet presented to Captain Riddel, of Friars Carse; on the death of Mrs. Riddel, these precious volumes passed into the hands of her niece, Eliza Bayley, of Manchester, who kindly permitted Mr. Cromek to transcribe and publish them in the Reliques.]

* * * * *

THE HIGHLAND QUEEN.

This Highland Queen, music and poetry, was composed by Mr. M'Vicar, purser of the Solebay man-of-war.--This I had from Dr. Blacklock.

* * * * *

BESS THE GAWKIE.

This song shows that the Scottish muses did not all leave us when we lost Ramsay and Oswald, as I have good reason to believe that the verses and music are both posterior to the days of these two gentlemen. It is a beautiful song, and in the genuine Scots taste. We have few pastoral compositions, I mean the pastoral of nature, that are equal to this.

* * * * *

OH, OPEN THE DOOR, LORD GREGORY.

It is somewhat singular, that in Lanark, Renfrew, Ayr, Wigton, Kirkudbright, and Dumfries-shires, there is scarcely an old song or tune which, from the title, &c., can be guessed to belong to, or be the production of these countries. This, I conjecture, is one of these very few; as the ballad, which is a long one, is called, both by tradition and in printed collections, "The Lass of Lochroyan," which I take to be Lochroyan, in Galloway.

* * * * *

THE BANKS OF THE TWEED.

This song is one of the many attempts that English composers have made to imitate the Scottish manner, and which I shall, in these strictures, beg leave to distinguish by the appellation of Anglo-Scottish productions. The music is pretty good, but the verses are just above contempt.

* * * * *

THE BEDS OF SWEET ROSES.

This song, as far as I know, for the first time appears here in print.--When I was a boy, it was a very popular song in Ayrshire. I remember to have heard those fanatics, the Buchanites, sing some of their nonsensical rhymes, which they dignify with the name of hymns, to this air.

* * * * *

ROSLIN CASTLE.

These beautiful verses were the production of a Richard Hewit, a young man that Dr. Blacklock, to whom I am indebted for the anecdote, kept for some years as amanuensis. I do not know who is the author of the second song to the tune. Tytler, in his amusing history of Scots music, gives the air to Oswald; but in Oswald's own collection of Scots tunes, where he affixes an asterisk to those he himself composed, he does not make the least claim to the tune.

* * * * *

SAW YE JOHNNIE CUMMIN? QUO' SHE.

This song, for genuine humour in the verses, and lively originality in the air, is unparalleled. I take it to be very old.

* * * * *

CLOUT THE CALDRON.

A tradition is mentioned in the "Bee," that the second Bishop Chisholm, of Dunblane, used to say, that if he were going to be hanged, nothing would soothe his mind so much by the way as to hear "Clout the Caldron" played.

I have met with another tradition, that the old song to this tune,

"Hae ye onie pots or pans, Or onie broken chanlers,"

was composed on one of the Kenmure family, in the cavalier times; and alluded to an amour he had, while under hiding, in the disguise of an itinerant tinker. The air is also known by the name of

"The blacksmith and his apron,"

which from the rhythm, seems to have been a line of some old song to the tune.

* * * * *

SAW YE MY PEGGY.

This charming song is much older, and indeed superior to Ramsay's verses, "The Toast," as he calls them. There is another set of the words, much older still, and which I take to be the original one, but though it has a very great deal of merit, it is not quite ladies' reading.

The original words, for they can scarcely be called verses, seem to be as follows; a song familiar from the cradle to every Scottish ear.

"Saw ye my Maggie, Saw ye my Maggie, Saw ye my Maggie Linkin o'er the lea?

High kilted was she, High kilted was she, High kilted was she, Her coat aboon her knee.

What mark has your Maggie, What mark has your Maggie, What mark has your Maggie, That ane may ken her be?"

Though it by no means follows that the silliest verses to an air must, for that reason, be the original song; yet I take this ballad, of which I have quoted part, to be old verses. The two songs in Ramsay, one of them evidently his own, are never to be met with in the fire-side circle of our peasantry; while that which I take to be the old song, is in every shepherd's mouth. Ramsay, I suppose, had thought the old verses unworthy of a place in his collection.

* * * * *

THE FLOWERS OF EDINBURGH.

This song is one of the many effusions of Scots Jacobitism.--The title "Flowers of Edinburgh," has no manner of connexion with the present verses, so I suspect there has been an older set of words, of which the title is all that remains.

By the bye, it is singular enough that the Scottish muses were all Jacobites.--I have paid more attention to every description of Scots songs than perhaps anybody living has done, and I do not recollect one single stanza, or even the title of the most trifling Scots air, which has the least panegyrical reference to the families of Nassau or Brunswick; while there are hundreds satirizing them.--This may be thought no panegyric on the Scots Poets, but I mean it as such. For myself, I would always take it as a compliment to have it said, that my heart ran before my head,--and surely the gallant though unfortunate house of Stewart, the kings of our fathers for so many heroic ages, is a theme * * * * * *

* * * * *

JAMIE GAY.

Jamie Gay is another and a tolerable Anglo-Scottish piece.

* * * * *

MY DEAR JOCKIE.

Another Anglo-Scottish production.

* * * * *

FYE, GAE RUB HER O'ER WI' STRAE.

It is self-evident that the first four lines of this song are part of a song more ancient than Ramsay's beautiful verses which are annexed to them. As music is the language of nature; and poetry, particularly songs, are always less or more localized (if I may be allowed the verb) by some of the modifications of time and place, this is the reason why so many of our Scots airs have outlived their original, and perhaps many subsequent sets of verses; except a single name or phrase, or sometimes one or two lines, simply to distinguish the tunes by.

To this day among people who know nothing of Ramsay's verses, the following is the song, and all the song that ever I heard:

"Gin ye meet a bonnie lassie, Gie her a kiss and let her gae; But gin ye meet a dirty hizzie, Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae.

Fye, gae rub her, rub her, rub her, Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae: An' gin ye meet dirty hizzie, Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae."

* * * * *

THE LASS O' LIVISTON.

The old song, in three eight-line stanzas, is well known, and has merit as to wit and humour; but it is rather unfit for insertion.--It begins,

"The Bonnie lass o' Liviston, Her name ye ken, her name ye ken, And she has written in her contract To lie her lane, to lie her lane." &c. &c.

* * * * *

THE LAST TIME I CAME O'ER THE MOOR.

Ramsay found the first line of this song, which had been preserved as the title of the charming air, and then composed the rest of the verses to suit that line. This has always a finer effect than composing English words, or words with an idea foreign to the spirit of the old title. Where old titles of songs convey any idea at all, it will generally be found to be quite in the spirit of the air.

* * * * *

JOCKIE'S GRAY BREEKS.

Though this has certainly every evidence of being a Scottish air, yet there is a well-known tune and song in the north of Ireland, called "The Weaver and his Shuttle O," which, though sung much quicker, is every note the very tune.

* * * * *

THE HAPPY MARRIAGE.

Another, but very pretty Anglo-Scottish piece.

* * * * *

THE LASS OF PATIE'S MILL.

In Sinclair's Statistical Account of Scotland, this song is localized (a verb I must use for want of another to express my idea) somewhere in the north of Scotland, and likewise is claimed by Ayrshire.--The following anecdote I had from the present Sir William Cunningham, of Robertland, who had it from the last John, Earl of Loudon. The then Earl of Loudon, and father to Earl John before mentioned, had Ramsay at Loudon, and one day walking together by the banks of Irvine water, near New-Mills, at a place called Patie's Mill, they were struck with the appearance of a beautiful country girl. His lordship observed that she would be a fine theme for a song.--Allan lagged behind in returning to Loudon Castle, and at dinner produced this identical song.

* * * * *

THE TURNIMSPIKE.

There is a stanza of this excellent song for local humour, omitted in this set.--Where I have placed the asterisms.

"They tak the horse then by te head, And tere tey mak her stan', man; Me tell tem, me hae seen te day, Tey no had sic comman', man."

* * * * *

HIGHLAND LADDIE.

As this was a favourite theme with our later Scottish muses, there are several airs and songs of that name. That which I take to be the oldest, is to be found in the "Musical Museum," beginning, "I hae been at Crookieden." One reason for my thinking so is, that Oswald has it in his collection, by the name of "The Auld Highland Laddie." It is also known by the name of "Jinglan Johnie," which is a well-known song of four or five stanzas, and seems to be an earlier song than Jacobite times. As a proof of this, it is little known to the peasantry by the name of "Highland Laddie;" while everybody knows "Jinglan Johnie." The song begins

"Jinglan John, the meickle man, He met wi' a lass was blythe and bonie."

Another "Highland Laddie" is also in the "Museum," vol. v., which I take to be Ramsay's original, as he has borrowed the chorus--"O my bonie Highland lad," &c. It consists of three stanzas, besides the chorus; and has humour in its composition--it is an excellent, but somewhat licentious song.--It begins

"As I cam o'er Cairney mount, And down among the blooming heather."

This air, and the common "Highland Laddie," seem only to be different sets.

Another "Highland Laddie," also in the "Museum," vol. v., is the tune of several Jacobite fragments. One of these old songs to it, only exists, as far as I know, in these four lines--

"Where hae ye been a' day, Bonie laddie, Highland laddie? Down the back o' Bell's brae, Courtin Maggie, courtin Maggie."

Another of this name is Dr. Arne's beautiful air, called the new "Highland Laddie."

* * * * *

THE GENTLE SWAIN.

To sing such a beautiful air to such execrable verses, is downright prostitution of common sense! The Scots verses indeed are tolerable.

* * * * *

HE STOLE MY TENDER HEART AWAY.

This is an Anglo-Scottish production, but by no means a bad one.

* * * * *

FAIREST OF THE FAIR.

It is too barefaced to take Dr. Percy's charming song, and by means of transposing a few English words into Scots, to offer to pass it for a Scots song.--I was not acquainted with the editor until the first volume was nearly finished, else, had I known in time, I would have prevented such an impudent absurdity.

* * * * *

THE BLAITHRIE O'T.

The following is a set of this song, which was the earliest song I remember to have got by heart. When a child, an old woman sung it to me, and I picked it up, every word, at first hearing.

"O Willy, weel I mind, I lent you my hand To sing you a song which you did me command; But my memory's so bad I had almost forgot That you called it the gear and the blaithrie o't.--

I'll not sing about confusion, delusion or pride, I'll sing about a laddie was for a virtuous bride; For virtue is an ornament that time will never rot, And preferable to gear and the blaithrie o't.--

Tho' my lassie hae nae scarlets or silks to put on, We envy not the greatest that sits upon the throne; I wad rather hae my lassie, tho' she cam in her smock, Than a princess wi' the gear and the blaithrie o't.--

Tho' we hae nae horses or menzies at command, We will toil on our foot, and we'll work wi' our hand; And when wearied without rest, we'll find it sweet in any spot, And we'll value not the gear and the blaithrie o't.--

If we hae ony babies, we'll count them as lent; Hae we less, hae we mair, we will ay be content; For they say they hae mair pleasure that wins bu groat, Than the miser wi' his gear and the blaithrie o't--

I'll not meddle wi' th' affairs of the kirk or the queen; They're nae matters for a sang, let them sink, let them swim; On your kirk I'll ne'er encroach, but I'll hold it stil remote, Sae tak this for the gear and the blaithrie o't."

* * * * *

MAY EVE, OR KATE OF ABERDEEN.

"Kate of Aberdeen" is, I believe, the work of poor Cunningham the player; of whom the following anecdote, though told before, deserves a recital. A fat dignitary of the church coming past Cunningham one _Sunday_, as the poor poet was busy plying a fishing-rod in some stream near Durham, his native country, his reverence reprimanded Cunningham very severely for such an occupation on such a day. The poor poet, with that inoffensive gentleness of manners which was his peculiar characteristic, replied, that he hoped God and his reverence would forgive his seeming profanity of that sacred day, "_as he had no dinner to eat, but what lay at the bottom of that pool_!" This, Mr. Woods, the player, who knew Cunningham well, and esteemed him much, assured me was true.

* * * * *

TWEED SIDE.

In Ramsay's Tea-table Miscellany, he tells us that about thirty of the songs in that publication were the works of some young gentlemen of his acquaintance; which songs are marked with the letters D. C. &c.--Old Mr. Tytler of Woodhouselee, the worthy and able defender of the beauteous Queen of Scots, told me that the songs marked C, in the _Tea-table_, were the composition of a Mr. Crawfurd, of the house of Achnames, who was afterwards unfortunately drowned coming from France.--As Tytler was most intimately acquainted with Allan Ramsay, I think the anecdote may be depended on. Of consequence, the beautiful song of Tweed Side is Mr. Crawfurd's, and indeed does great honour to his poetical talents. He was a Robert Crawfurd; the Mary he celebrates was a Mary Stewart, of the Castle-Milk family, afterwards married to a Mr. John Ritchie.

I have seen a song, calling itself the original Tweed Side, and said to have been composed by a Lord Yester. It consisted of two stanzas, of which I still recollect the first--

"When Maggy and I was acquaint, I carried my noddle fu' hie; Nae lintwhite on a' the green plain, Nor gowdspink sae happy as me: But I saw her sae fair and I lo'ed: I woo'd, but I came nae great speed; So now I maun wander abroad, And lay my banes far frae the Tweed."--

* * * * *

THE POSY.

It appears evident to me that Oswald composed his _Roslin Castle_ on the modulation of this air.--In the second part of Oswald's, in the three first bars, he has either hit on a wonderful similarity to, or else he has entirely borrowed the three first bars of the old air; and the close of both tunes is almost exactly the same. The old verses to which it was sung, when I took down the notes from a country girl's voice, had no great merit.--The following is a specimen:

"There was a pretty May, and a milkin she went; Wi' her red rosy cheeks, and her coal black hair; And she has met a young man a comin o'er the bent, With a double and adieu to thee, fair May.

O where are ye goin, my ain pretty May, Wi' thy red rosy cheeks, and thy coal black hair? Unto the yowes a milkin, kind sir, she says, With a double and adieu to thee, fair May.

What if I gang alang with thee, my ain pretty May, Wi' thy red rosy cheeks, any thy coal-black hair; Wad I be aught the warse o' that, kind sir, she says, With a double and adieu to thee, fair May."

* * * * *

MARY'S DREAM.

The Mary here alluded to is generally supposed to be Miss Mary Macghie, daughter to the Laird of Airds, in Galloway. The poet was a Mr. John Lowe, who likewise wrote another beautiful song, called Pompey's Ghost.--I have seen a poetic epistle from him in North America, where he now is, or lately was, to a lady in Scotland.--By the strain of the verses, it appeared that they allude to some love affair.

* * * * *

THE MAID THAT TENDS THE GOATS.

BY MR. DUDGEON.

This Dudgeon is a respectable farmer's son in Berwickshire.

* * * * *

I WISH MY LOVE WERE IN A MIRE.

I never heard more of the words of this old song than the title.

* * * * *

ALLAN WATER.

This Allan Water, which the composer of the music has honoured with the name of the air, I have been told is Allan Water, in Strathallan.

* * * * *

THERE'S NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE.

This is one of the most beautiful songs in the Scots, or any other language.--The two lines,

"And will I see his face again! And will I hear him speak!"

as well as the two preceding ones, are unequalled almost by anything I ever heard or read: and the lines,

"The present moment is our ain, The neist we never saw,"--

are worthy of the first poet. It is long posterior to Ramsay's days. About the year 1771, or 72, it came first on the streets as a ballad; and I suppose the composition of the song was not much anterior to that period.

* * * * *

TARRY WOO.

This is a very pretty song; but I fancy that the first half stanza, as well as the tune itself, are much older than the rest of the words.

* * * * *

GRAMACHREE.

The song of Gramachree was composed by a Mr. Poe, a counsellor at law in Dublin. This anecdote I had from a gentleman who knew the lady, the "Molly," who is the subject of the song, and to whom Mr. Poe sent the first manuscript of his most beautiful verses. I do not remember any single line that has more true pathos than

"How can she break that honest heart that wears her in its core!"

But as the song is Irish, it had nothing to do in this collection.

* * * * *

THE COLLIER'S BONNIE LASSIE.

The first half stanza is much older than the days of Ramsay.--The old words began thus:

"The collier has a dochter, and, O, she's wonder bonnie! A laird he was that sought her, rich baith in lands and money. She wad na hae a laird, nor wad she be a lady, But she wad hae a collier, the colour o' her daddie."

* * * * *

MY AIN KIND DEARIE-O.

The old words of this song are omitted here, though much more beautiful than these inserted; which were mostly composed by poor Fergusson, in one of his merry humours. The old words began thus:

"I'll rowe thee o'er the lea-rig, My ain kind dearie, O, I'll rowe thee o'er the lea-rig, My ain kind dearie, O, Altho' the night were ne'er sae wat, And I were ne'er sae weary, O; I'll rowe thee o'er the lea-rig, My ain kind dearie, O."--

* * * * *

MARY SCOTT, THE FLOWER OF YARROW.

Mr. Robertson, in his statistical account of the parish of Selkirk, says, that Mary Scott, the Flower of Yarrow, was descended from the Dryhope, and married into the Harden family. Her daughter was married to a predecessor of the present Sir Francis Elliot, of Stobbs, and of the late Lord Heathfield.

There is a circumstance in their contract of marriage that merits attention, and it strongly marks the predatory spirit of the times. The father-in-law agrees to keep his daughter for some time after the marriage; for which the son-in-law binds himself to give him the profits of the first Michaelmas moon!

* * * * *

DOWN THE BURN, DAVIE.

I have been informed, that the tune of "Down the burn, Davie," was the composition of David Maigh, keeper of the blood slough hounds, belonging to the Laird of Riddel, in Tweeddale.

* * * * *

BLINK O'ER THE BURN, SWEET BETTIE.

The old words, all that I remember, are,--

"Blink over the burn, sweet Betty, It is a cauld winter night: It rains, it hails, it thunders, The moon, she gies nae light: It's a' for the sake o' sweet Betty, That ever I tint my way; Sweet, let me lie beyond thee Until it be break o' day.--

O, Betty will bake my bread, And Betty will brew my ale, And Betty will be my love, When I come over the dale: Blink over the burn, sweet Betty, Blink over the burn to me, And while I hae life, dear lassie, My ain sweet Betty thou's be."

* * * * *

THE BLITHSOME BRIDAL.

I find the "Blithsome Bridal" in James Watson's collection of Scots poems, printed at Edinburgh, in 1706. This collection, the publisher says, is the first of its nature which has been published in our own native Scots dialect--it is now extremely scarce.

* * * * *

JOHN HAY'S BONNIE LASSIE.

John Hay's "Bonnie Lassie" was daughter of John Hay, Earl or Marquis of Tweeddale, and late Countess Dowager of Roxburgh.--She died at Broomlands, near Kelso, some time between the years 1720 and 1740.

* * * * *

THE BONIE BRUCKET LASSIE.

The two first lines of this song are all of it that is old. The rest of the song, as well as those songs in the Museum marked T., are the works of an obscure, tippling, but extraordinary body of the name of Tytler, commonly known by the name of Balloon Tytler, from his having projected a balloon; a mortal, who, though he drudges about Edinburgh as a common printer, with leaky shoes, a sky-lighted hat, and knee-buckles as unlike as George-by-the-grace-of-God, and Solomon-the-son-of-David; yet that same unknown drunken mortal is author and compiler of three-fourths of Elliot's pompous Encyclopedia Britannica, which he composed at half a guinea a week!

* * * * *

SAE MERRY AS WE TWA HA'E BEEN.

This song is beautiful.--The chorus in particular is truly pathetic. I never could learn anything of its author.

CHORUS.

"Sae merry as we twa ha'e been, Sae merry as we twa ha'e been; My heart is like for to break, When I think on the days we ha'e seen."

* * * * *

THE BANKS OF FORTH.

This air is Oswald's.

* * * * *

THE BUSH ABOON TRAQUAIR.

This is another beautiful song of Mr. Crawfurd's composition. In the neighbourhood of Traquair, tradition still shows the old "Bush;" which, when I saw it, in the year 1787, was composed of eight or nine ragged birches. The Earl of Traquair has planted a clump of trees near by, which he calls "The New Bush."

* * * * *

CROMLET'S LILT.

The following interesting account of this plaintive dirge was communicated to Mr. Riddel by Alexander Fraser Tytler, Esq., of Woodhouselee.

"In the latter end of the sixteenth century, the Chisolms were proprietors of the estate of Cromlecks (now possessed by the Drummonds). The eldest son of that family was very much attached to a daughter of Sterling of Ardoch, commonly known by the name of Fair Helen of Ardoch.

"At that time the opportunities of meeting betwixt the sexes were more rare, consequently more sought after than now; and the Scottish ladies, far from priding themselves on extensive literature, were thought sufficiently book-learned if they could make out the Scriptures in their mother-tongue. Writing was entirely out of the line of female education. At that period the most of our young men of family sought a fortune, or found a grave, in France. Cromlus, when he went abroad to the war, was obliged to leave the management of his correspondence with his mistress to a lay-brother of the monastery of Dumblain, in the immediate neighbourhood of Cromleck, and near Ardoch. This man, unfortunately, was deeply sensible of Helen's charms. He artfully prepossessed her with stories to the disadvantage of Cromlus; and, by misinterpreting or keeping up the letters and messages intrusted to his care, he entirely irritated both. All connexion was broken off betwixt them; Helen was inconsolable, and Cromlus has left behind him, in the ballad called 'Cromlet's Lilt,' a proof of the elegance of his genius, as well as the steadiness of his love.

"When the artful monk thought time had sufficiently softened Helen's sorrow, he proposed himself as a lover: Helen was obdurate: but at last, overcome by the persuasions of her brother, with whom she lived, and who, having a family of thirty-one children, was probably very well pleased to get her off his hands--she submitted, rather than consented to the ceremony; but there her compliance ended; and, when forcibly put into bed, she started quite frantic from it, screaming out, that after three gentle taps on the wainscot, at the bed-head, she heard Cromlus's voice, crying, 'Helen, Helen, mind me!' Cromlus soon after coming home, the treachery of the confidant was discovered,--her marriage disannulled,--and Helen became Lady Cromlecks."

N. B. Marg. Murray, mother to these thirty-one children, was daughter to Murray of Strewn, one of the seventeen sons of Tullybardine, and whose youngest son, commonly called the Tutor of Ardoch, died in the year 1715, aged 111 years.

* * * * *

MY DEARIE, IF THOU DIE.

Another beautiful song of Crawfurd's.

* * * * *

SHE ROSE AND LOOT ME IN.

The old set of this song, which is still to be found in printed collections, is much prettier than this; but somebody, I believe it was Ramsay, took it into his head to clear it of some seeming indelicacies, and made it at once more chaste and more dull.

* * * * *

GO TO THE EWE-BUGHTS, MARION.

I am not sure if this old and charming air be of the South, as is commonly said, or of the North of Scotland. There is a song, apparently as ancient us "Ewe-bughts, Marion," which sings to the same tune, and is evidently of the North.--It begins thus:

"The Lord o' Gordon had three dochters, Mary, Marget, and Jean, They wad na stay at bonie Castle Gordon, But awa to Aberdeen."

* * * * *

LEWIS GORDON.

This air is a proof how one of our Scots tunes comes to be composed out of another. I have one of the earliest copies of the song, and it has prefixed,

"Tune of Tarry Woo."--

Of which tune a different set has insensibly varied into a different air.--To a Scots critic, the pathos of the line,

"'Tho' his back be at the wa',"

--must be very striking. It needs not a Jacobite prejudice to be affected with this song.

The supposed author of "Lewis Gordon" was a Mr. Geddes, priest, at Shenval, in the Ainzie.

* * * * *

O HONE A RIE.

Dr. Blacklock informed me that this song was composed on the infamous massacre of Glencoe.

* * * * *

I'LL NEVER LEAVE THEE.

This is another of Crawfurd's songs, but I do not think in his happiest manner.--What an absurdity, to join such names as _Adonis_ and _Mary_ together!

* * * * *

CORN RIGS ARE BONIE.

All the old words that ever I could meet to this air were the following, which seem to have been an old chorus:

"O corn rigs and rye rigs, O corn rigs are bonie; And where'er you meet a bonie lass, Preen up her cockernony."

* * * * *

THE MUCKING OF GEORDIE'S BYRE.

The chorus of this song is old; the rest is the work of Balloon Tytler.

* * * * *

BIDE YE YET.

There is a beautiful song to this tune, beginning,

"Alas, my son, you little know,"--

which is the composition of Miss Jenny Graham, of Dumfries.

* * * * *

WAUKIN O' THE FAULD.

There are two stanzas still sung to this tune, which I take to be the original song whence Ramsay composed his beautiful song of that name in the Gentle Shepherd.--It begins

"O will ye speak at our town, As ye come frae the fauld."

I regret that, as in many of our old songs, the delicacy of this old fragment is not equal to its wit and humour.

* * * * *

TRANENT-MUIR.

"Tranent-Muir," was composed by a Mr. Skirving, a very worthy respectable farmer near Haddington. I have heard the anecdote often, that Lieut. Smith, whom he mentions in the ninth stanza, came to Haddington after the publication of the song, and sent a challenge to Skirving to meet him at Haddington, and answer for the unworthy manner in which he had noticed him in his song. "Gang away back," said the honest farmer, "and tell Mr. Smith that I hae nae leisure to come to Haddington; but tell him to come here, and I'll tak a look o' him, and if I think I'm fit to fecht him, I'll fecht him; and if no, I'll do as he did--_I'll rin awa."_--

* * * * *

TO THE WEAVERS GIN YE GO.

The chorus of this song is old, the rest of it is mine. Here, once for all, let me apologize for many silly compositions of mine in this work. Many beautiful airs wanted words; in the hurry of other avocations, if I could string a parcel of rhymes together anything near tolerable, I was fain to let them pass. He must be an excellent poet indeed whose every performance is excellent.

* * * * *

POLWARTH ON THE GREEN.

The author of "Polwarth on the Green" is Capt. John Drummond M'Gregor, of the family of Bochaldie.

* * * * *

STREPHON AND LYDIA.

The following account of this song I had from Dr. Blacklock.

The Strephon and Lydia mentioned in the song were perhaps the loveliest couple of their time. The gentleman was commonly known by the name of Beau Gibson. The lady was the "Gentle Jean," celebrated somewhere in Hamilton of Bangour's poems.--Having frequently met at public places, they had formed a reciprocal attachment, which their friends thought dangerous, as their resources were by no means adequate to their tastes and habits of life. To elude the bad consequences of such a connexion, Strephon was sent abroad with a commission, and perished in Admiral Vernon's expedition to Carthagena.

The author of this song was William Wallace, Esq. of Cairnhill, in Ayrshire.

* * * * *

I'M O'ER YOUNG TO MARRY YET.

The chorus of this song is old. The rest of it, such as it is, is mine.

* * * * *

M'PHERSON'S FAREWELL.

M'Pherson, a daring robber, in the beginning of this century, was condemned to be hanged at the assizes of Inverness. He is said, when under sentence of death, to have composed this tune, which he called his own lament or farewell.

Gow has published a variation of this fine tune as his own composition, which he calls "The Princess Augusta."

* * * * *

MY JO, JANET.

Johnson, the publisher, with a foolish delicacy, refused to insert the last stanza of this humorous ballad.

* * * * *

THE SHEPHERD'S COMPLAINT.

The words by a Mr. R. Scott, from the town or neighbourhood of Biggar.

* * * * *

THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY.

I composed these stanzas standing under the falls of Aberfeldy, at or near Moness.

* * * * *

THE HIGHLAND LASSIE O.

This was a composition of mine in very early life, before I was known at all in the world. My Highland lassie was a warm-hearted, charming young creature as ever blessed a man with generous love. After a pretty long tract of the most ardent reciprocal attachment, we met by appointment on the second Sunday of May, in a sequestered spot by the banks of Ayr, where we spent the day in taking a farewell before she should embark for the West Highlands, to arrange matters among her friends for our projected change of life. At the close of autumn following she crossed the sea to meet me at Greenock, where she had scarce landed when she was seized with a malignant fever, which hurried my dear girl to the grave in a few days, before I could even hear of her last illness.

* * * * *

FIFE, AND A' THE LANDS ABOUT IT.

This song is Dr. Blacklock's. He, as well as I, often gave Johnson verses, trifling enough perhaps, but they served as a vehicle to the music.

* * * * *

WERE NA MY HEART LIGHT I WAD DIE.

Lord Hailes, in the notes to his collection of ancient Scots poems, says that this song was the composition of a Lady Grissel Baillie, daughter of the first Earl of Marchmont, and wife of George Baillie, of Jerviswood.

* * * * *

THE YOUNG MAN'S DREAM.

This song is the composition of Balloon Tytler.

* * * * *

STRATHALLAN'S LAMENT.

This air in the composition of one of the worthiest and best-hearted men living--Allan Masterton, schoolmaster in Edinburgh. As he and I were both sprouts of Jacobitism we agreed to dedicate the words and air to that cause.

To tell the matter-of-fact, except when my passions were heated by some accidental cause, my Jacobitism was merely by way of _vive la bagatelle._

* * * * *

UP IN THE MORNING EARLY.

The chorus of this is old; the two stanzas are mine.

* * * * *

THE TEARS OF SCOTLAND.

Dr. Blacklock told me that Smollet, who was at the bottom a great Jacobite, composed these beautiful and pathetic verses on the infamous depredations of the Duke of Cumberland after the battle of Culloden.

* * * * *

WHAT WILL I DO GIN MY HOGGIE DIE.

Dr. Walker, who was minister at Moffat in 1772, and is now (1791) Professor of Natural History in the University of Edinburgh, told the following anecdote concerning this air.--He said, that some gentlemen, riding a few years ago through Liddesdale, stopped at a hamlet consisting of a few houses, called Moss Platt, when they were struck with this tune, which an old woman, spinning on a rock at her door, was singing. All she could tell concerning it was, that she was taught it when a child, and it was called "What will I do gin my Hoggie die?" No person, except a few females at Moss Platt, knew this fine old tune, which in all probability would have been lost had not one of the gentlemen, who happened to have a flute with him, taken it down.

* * * * *

I DREAM'D I LAY WHERE FLOWERS WERE SPRINGING.

These two stanzas I composed when I was seventeen, and are among the oldest of my printed pieces.

* * * * *

AH! THE POOR SHEPHERD'S MOURNFUL FATE.

Tune--"Gallashiels."

The old title, "Sour Plums o' Gallashiels," probably was the beginning of a song to this air, which is now lost.

The tune of Gallashiels was composed about the beginning of the present century by the Laird of Gallashiel's piper.

* * * * *

THE BANKS OF THE DEVON.

These verses were composed on a charming girl, a Miss Charlotte Hamilton, who is now married to James M'Kitrick Adair, Esq., physician. She is sister to my worthy friend Gavin Hamilton, of Mauchline, and was born on the banks of the Ayr, but was, at the time I wrote these lines, residing at Herveyston, in Clackmannanshire, on the romantic banks of the little river Devon. I first heard the air from a lady in Inverness, and got the notes taken down for this work.

* * * * *

MILL, MILL O.

The original, or at least a song evidently prior to Ramsay's is still extant.--It runs thus,

CHORUS.

"The mill, mill O, and the kill, kill O, And the coggin o' Peggy's wheel, O, The sack and the sieve, and a' she did leave, And danc'd the miller's reel O.--

As I came down yon waterside, And by yon shellin-hill O, There I spied a bonie bonie lass, And a lass that I lov'd right well O."

* * * * *

WE RAN AND THEY RAN.

The author of "We ran and they ran"--was a Rev. Mr. Murdoch M'Lennan, minister at Crathie, Dee-side.

* * * * *

WALY, WALY.

In the west country I have heard a different edition of the second stanza.--Instead of the four lines, beginning with, "When cockle-shells, &c.," the other way ran thus:--

"O wherefore need I busk my head, Or wherefore need I kame my hair, Sin my fause luve has me forsook, And sys, he'll never luve me mair."

* * * * *

DUNCAN GRAY.

Dr. Blacklock informed me that he had often heard the tradition, that this air was composed by a carman in Glasgow.

* * * * *

DUMBARTON DRUMS.

This is the last of the West-Highland airs; and from it over the whole tract of country to the confines of Tweedside, there is hardly a tune or song that one can say has taken its origin from any place or transaction in that part of Scotland.--The oldest Ayrshire reel, is Stewarton Lasses, which was made by the father of the present Sir Walter Montgomery Cunningham, alias Lord Lysle; since which period there has indeed been local music in that country in great plenty.--Johnie Faa is the only old song which I could ever trace as belonging to the extensive county of Ayr.

* * * * *

CAULD KAIL IN ABERDEEN.

This song is by the Duke of Gordon.--The old verses are,

"There's cauld kail in Aberdeen, And castocks in Strathbogie; When ilka lad maun hae his lass, Then fye, gie me my coggie.

CHORUS.

My coggie, Sirs, my coggie, Sirs, I cannot want my coggie; I wadna gie my three-girr'd cap For e'er a quene on Bogie.--

There's Johnie Smith has got a wife, That scrimps him o' his coggie, If she were mine, upon my life I wad douk her in a bogie."

* * * * *

FOR LAKE OF GOLD.

The country girls in Ayrshire, instead of the line--

"She me forsook for a great duke,"

say

"For Athole's duke she me forsook;"

which I take to be the original reading.

These were composed by the late Dr. Austin, physician at Edinburgh.--He had courted a lady, to whom he was shortly to have been married; but the Duke of Athole having seen her, became so much in love with her, that he made proposals of marriage, which were accepted of, and she jilted the doctor.

* * * * *

HERE'S A HEALTH TO MY TRUE LOVE, &c.

This song is Dr. Blacklock's. He told me that tradition gives the air to our James IV. of Scotland.

* * * * *

HEY TUTTI TAITI.

I Have met the tradition universally over Scotland, and particularly about Stirling, in the neighbourhood of the scene, that this air was Robert Bruce's march at the battle of Bannockburn.

* * * * *

RAVING WINDS AROUND HER BLOWING.

I Composed these verses on Miss Isabella M'Leod, of Raza, alluding to her feelings on the death of her sister, and the still more melancholy death of her sister's husband, the late Earl of Loudon; who shot himself out of sheer heart-break at some mortifications he suffered, owing to the deranged state of his finances.

* * * * *

TAK YOUR AULD CLOAK ABOUT YE.

A part of this old song, according to the English set of it, is quoted in Shakspeare.

* * * * *

YE GODS, WAS STREPHON'S PICTURE BLEST?

Tune--"Fourteenth of October."

The title of this air shows that it alludes to the famous king Crispian, the patron of the honourable corporation of shoemakers.--St. Crispian's day falls on the fourteenth of October old style, as the old proverb tells:

"On the fourteenth of October Was ne'er a sutor sober."

* * * * *

SINCE ROBB'D OF ALL THAT CHARM'D MY VIEWS.

The old name of this air is, "the Blossom o' the Raspberry." The song is Dr. Blacklock's.

* * * * *

YOUNG DAMON.

This air is by Oswald.

* * * * *

KIRK WAD LET ME BE.

Tradition in the western parts of Scotland tells that this old song, of which there are still three stanzas extant, once saved a covenanting clergyman out of a scrape. It was a little prior to the revolution, a period when being a Scots covenanter was being a felon, that one of their clergy, who was at that very time hunted by the merciless soldiery, fell in, by accident, with a party of the military. The soldiers were not exactly acquainted with the person of the reverend gentleman of whom they were in search; but from suspicious circumstances, they fancied that they had got one of that cloth and opprobrious persuasion among them in the person of this stranger. "Mass John" to extricate himself, assumed a freedom of manners, very unlike the gloomy strictness of his sect; and among other convivial exhibitions, sung (and some traditions say, composed on the spur of the occasion) "Kirk wad let me be," with such effect, that the soldiers swore he was a d----d honest fellow, and that it was impossible _he_ could belong to those hellish conventicles; and so gave him his liberty.

The first stanza of this song, a little altered, is a favourite kind of dramatic interlude acted at country weddings, in the south-west parts of the kingdom. A young fellow is dressed up like an old beggar; a peruke, commonly made of carded tow, represents hoary locks; an old bonnet; a ragged plaid, or surtout, bound with a straw rope for a girdle; a pair of old shoes, with straw ropes twisted round his ankles, as is done by shepherds in snowy weather: his face they disguise as like wretched old age as they can: in this plight he is brought into the wedding-house, frequently to the astonishment of strangers, who are not in the secret, and begins to sing--

"O, I am a silly auld man, My name it is auld Glenae," &c.

He is asked to drink, and by and bye to dance, which after some uncouth excuses he is prevailed on to do, the fiddler playing the tune, which here is commonly called "Auld Glenae;" in short he is all the time so plied with liquor that he is understood to get intoxicated, and with all the ridiculous gesticulations of an old drunken beggar, he dances and staggers until he falls on the floor; yet still in all his riot, nay, in his rolling and tumbling on the floor, with some or other drunken motion of his body, he beats time to the music, till at last he is supposed to be carried out dead drunk.

* * * * *

MUSING ON THE ROARING OCEAN.

I composed these verses out of compliment to a Mrs. M'Lachlan, whose husband is an officer in the East Indies.

* * * * *

BLYTHE WAS SHE.

I composed these verses while I stayed at Ochtertyre with Sir William Murray.--The lady, who was also at Ochtertyre at the same time, was the well-known toast, Miss Euphemia Murray, of Lentrose; she was called, and very justly, "The Flower of Strathmore."

* * * * *

JOHNNIE FAA, OR THE GYPSIE LADDIE.

The people in Ayrshire begin this song--

"The gypsies cam to my Lord Cassilis' yett."--

They have a great many more stanzas in this song than I ever yet saw in any printed copy.--The castle is still remaining at Maybole, where his lordship shut up his wayward spouse, and kept her for life.

* * * * *

TO DAUNTON ME.

The two following old stanzas to this tune have some merit:

"To daunton me, to daunton me, O ken ye what it is that'll daunton me?-- There's eighty-eight and eighty-nine, And a' that I hae borne sinsyne, There's cess and press and Presbytrie, I think it will do meikle for to daunton me.

But to wanton me, to wanton me, O ken ye what it is that wad wanton me-- To see gude corn upon the rigs, And banishment amang the Whigs, And right restor'd where right sud be, I think it would do meikle for to wanton me."

* * * * *

THE BONNIE LASS MADE THE BED TO ME.

"The Bonnie Lass made the Bed to me," was composed on an amour of Charles II. when skulking in the North, about Aberdeen, in the time of the usurpation. He formed _une petite affaire_ with a daughter of the house of Portletham, who was the "lass that made the bed to him:"--two verses of it are,

"I kiss'd her lips sae rosy red, While the tear stood blinkin in her e'e; I said, My lassie, dinna cry, For ye ay shall make the bed to me.

She took her mither's holland sheets, And made them a' in sarks to me; Blythe and merry may she be, The lass that made the bed to me."

* * * * *

ABSENCE.

A song in the manner of Shenstone.

This song and air are both by Dr. Blacklock.

* * * * *

I HAD A HORSE AND I HAD NAE MAIR.

This story is founded on fact. A John Hunter, ancestor to a very respectable farming family, who live in a place in the parish, I think, of Galston, called Bar-mill, was the luckless hero that "had a horse and had nae mair."--For some little youthful follies he found it necessary to make a retreat to the West-Highlands, where "he feed himself to a _Highland_ Laird," for that is the expression of all the oral editions of the song I ever heard.--The present Mr. Hunter, who told me the anecdote, is the great-grandchild of our hero.

* * * * *

UP AND WARN A' WILLIE.

This edition of the song I got from Tom Niel, of facetious fame, in Edinburgh. The expression "Up and warn a' Willie," alludes to the Crantara, or warning of a Highland clan to arms. Not understanding this, the Lowlanders in the west and south say, "Up and _waur_ them a'," &c.

* * * * *

A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY WALK.

This song I composed on Miss Jenny Cruikshank, only child of my worthy friend Mr. William Cruikshank, of the High-School, Edinburgh. This air is by a David Sillar, quondam merchant, and now schoolmaster in Irvine. He is the _Davie_ to whom I address my printed poetical epistle in the measure of the Cherry and the Slae.

* * * * *

AULD ROB MORRIS.

It is remark-worthy that the song of "Holy and Fairly," in all the old editions of it, is called "The Drunken Wife o' Galloway," which localizes it to that country.

* * * * *

RATTLIN, ROARIN WILLIE.

The last stanza of this song is mine; it was composed out of compliment to one of the worthiest fellows in the world, William Dunbar, Esq., writer to the signet, Edinburgh, and Colonel of the Crochallan Corps, a club of wits who took that title at the time of raising the fencible regiments.

* * * * *

WHERE BRAVING ANGRY WINTER STORMS.

This song I composed on one of the most accomplished of women, Miss Peggy Chalmers, that was, now Mrs. Lewis Hay, of Forbes and Co.'s bank, Edinburgh.

* * * * *

TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY.

This song I composed about the age of seventeen.

* * * * *

NANCY'S GHOST.

This song is by Dr. Blacklock.

* * * * *

TUNE YOUR FIDDLES, ETC.

This song was composed by the Rev. John Skinner, nonjuror clergyman at Linshart, near Peterhead. He is likewise author of "Tullochgorum," "Ewie wi' the crooked Horn," "John o' Badenyond," &c., and what is of still more consequence, he is one of the worthiest of mankind. He is the author of an ecclesiastical history of Scotland. The air is by Mr. Marshall, butler to the Duke of Gordon; the first composer of strathspeys of the age. I have been told by somebody, who had it of Marshall himself, that he took the idea of his three most celebrated pieces, "The Marquis of Huntley's Reel," his "Farewell," and "Miss Admiral Gordon's Reel," from the old air, "The German Lairdie."

* * * * *

GILL MORICE.

This plaintive ballad ought to have been called Child Maurice, and not Gil Maurice. In its present dress, it has gained immortal honour from Mr. Home's taking from it the ground-work of his fine tragedy of Douglas. But I am of opinion that the present ballad is a modern composition; perhaps not much above the age of the middle of the last century; at least I should be glad to see or hear of a copy of the present words prior to 1650. That it was taken from an old ballad, called "Child Maurice," now lost, I am inclined to believe; but the present one may be classed with "Hardyknute," "Kenneth," "Duncan, the Laird of Woodhouselie," "Lord Livingston," "Binnorie," "The Death of Monteith," and many other modern productions, which have been swallowed by many readers as ancient fragments of old poems. This beautiful plaintive tune was composed by Mr. M'Gibbon, the selector of a collection of Scots tunes. R. B.

In addition to the observations on Gil Morice, I add, that of the songs which Captain Riddel mentions, "Kenneth" and "Duncan" are juvenile compositions of Mr. M'Kenzie, "The Man of Feeling."--M'Kenzie's father showed them in MS. to Dr. Blacklock, as the productions of his son, from which the Doctor rightly prognosticated that the young poet would make, in his more advanced years, a respectable figure in the world of letters.

This I had from Blacklock.

* * * * *

TIBBIE DUNBAR.

This tune is said to be the composition of John M'Gill, fiddler, in Girvan. He called it after his own name.

* * * * *

WHEN I UPON THY BOSOM LEAN.

This song was the work of a very worthy facetious old fellow, John Lapraik, late of Dalfram, near Muirkirk; which little property he was obliged to sell in consequence of some connexion as security for some persons concerned in that villanous bubble THE AYR BANK. He has often told me that he composed this song one day when his wife had been fretting o'er their misfortunes.

* * * * *

MY HARRY WAS A GALLANT GAY.

Tune--"Highlander's Lament."

The oldest title I ever heard to this air, was, "The Highland Watch's Farewell to Ireland." The chorus I picked up from an old woman in Dumblane; the rest of the song is mine.

* * * * *

THE HIGHLAND CHARACTER.

This tune was the composition of Gen. Reid, and called by him "The Highland, or 42d Regiment's March." The words are by Sir Harry Erskine.

* * * * *

LEADER-HAUGHS AND YARROW.

There is in several collections, the old song of "Leader-Haughs and Yarrow." It seems to have been the work of one of our itinerant minstrels, as he calls himself, at the conclusion of his song, "Minstrel Burn."

* * * * *

THE TAILOR FELL THRO' THE BED, THIMBLE AN' A'.

This air is the march of the corporation of tailors. The second and fourth stanzas are mine.

* * * * *

BEWARE O' BONNIE ANN.

I composed this song out of compliment to Miss Ann Masterton, the daughter of my friend Allan Masterton, the author of the air of Strathallan's Lament, and two or three others in this work.

* * * * *

THIS IS NO MINE AIN HOUSE.

The first half stanza is old, the rest is Ramsay's. The old words are--

"This is no mine ain house, My ain house, my ain house; This is no mine ain house, I ken by the biggin o't.

Bread and cheese are my door-cheeks, My door-cheeks, my door-cheeks; Bread and cheese are my door-cheeks, And pancakes the riggin o't.

This is no my ain wean; My ain wean, my ain wean; This is no my ain wean, I ken by the greetie o't.

I'll tak the curchie aff my head, Aff my head, aff my head; I'll tak the curchie aff my head, And row't about the feetie o't."

The tune is an old Highland air, called "Shuan truish willighan."

* * * * *

LADDIE, LIE NEAR ME.

This song is by Blacklock.

* * * * *

THE GARDENER AND HIS PAIDLE.

This air is the "Gardener's March." The title of the song only is old; the rest is mine.

* * * * *

THE DAY RETURNS, MY BOSOM BURNS.

Tune.--"Seventh of November."

I composed this song out of compliment to one of the happiest and worthiest married couples in the world, Robert Riddel, Esq., of Glenriddel, and his lady. At their fire-side I have enjoyed more pleasant evenings than at all the houses of fashionable people in this country put together; and to their kindness and hospitality I am indebted for many of the happiest hours of my life.

* * * * *

THE GABERLUNZIE MAN.

The "Gaberlunzie Man" is supposed to commemorate an intrigue of James the Fifth. Mr. Callander, of Craigforth, published some years ago an edition of "Christ's Kirk on the Green," and the "Gaberlunzie Man," with notes critical and historical. James the Fifth is said to have been fond of Gosford, in Aberlady parish, and that it was suspected by his contemporaries, that in his frequent excursions to that part of the country, he had other purposes in view besides golfing and archery. Three favourite ladies, Sandilands, Weir, and Oliphant (one of them resided at Gosford, and the others in the neighbourhood), were occasionally visited by their royal and gallant admirer, which gave rise to the following advice to his majesty, from Sir David Lindsay, of the Mount, Lord Lyon.

"Sow not your seed on Sandylands, spend not your strength in Weir, And ride not on an Elephant, For gawing o' your gear."

* * * * *

MY BONNIE MARY.

This air is Oswald's; the first half stanza of the song is old, the rest mine.

* * * * *

THE BLACK EAGLE.

This song is by Dr. Fordyce, whose merits as a prose writer are well known.

* * * * *

JAMIE, COME TRY ME.

This air is Oswald's; the song mine.

* * * * *

THE LAZY MIST.

This song is mine.

* * * * *

JOHNIE COPE.

This satirical song was composed to commemorate General Cope's defeat at Preston Pans, in 1745, when he marched against the Clans.

The air was the tune of an old song, of which I have heard some verses, but now only remember the title, which was,

"Will ye go the coals in the morning."

* * * * *

I LOVE MY JEAN.

This air is by Marshall; the song I composed out of compliment to Mrs. Burns.

N.B. It was during the honeymoon.

* * * * *

CEASE, CEASE, MY DEAR FRIEND, TO EXPLORE.

The song is by Dr. Blacklock; I believe, but am not quite certain, that the air is his too.

* * * * *

AULD ROBIN GRAY.

This air was formerly called, "The bridegroom greets when the sun gangs down." The words are by Lady Ann Lindsay, of the Balcarras family.

* * * * *

DONALD AND FLORA.

This is one of those fine Gaelic tunes, preserved from time immemorial in the Hebrides; they seem to be the ground-work of many of our finest Scots pastoral tunes. The words of this song were written to commemorate the unfortunate expedition of General Burgoyne in America, in 1777.

* * * * *

O WERE I ON PARNASSUS' HILL.

This air is Oswald's; the song I made out of compliment to Mrs. Burns.

* * * * *

THE CAPTIVE ROBIN.

This air is called "Robie donna Gorach."

* * * * *

THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY.

This air is claimed by Neil Gow, who calls it his lament for his brother. The first half-stanza of the song is old; the rest mine.

* * * * *

MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS.

The first half-stanza of this song is old; the rest is mine.

* * * * *

CA' THE EWES AND THE KNOWES.

This beautiful song is in true old Scotch taste, yet I do not know that either air or words were in print before.

* * * * *

THE BRIDAL O'T.

This song is the work of a Mr. Alexander Ross, late schoolmaster at Lochlee; and author of a beautiful Scots poem, called "The Fortunate Shepherdess."

"They say that Jockey 'll speed weel o't, They say that Jockey 'll speed weel o't, For he grows brawer ilka day, I hope we'll hae a bridal o't: For yesternight nae farder gane, The backhouse at the side wa' o't, He there wi' Meg was mirden seen, I hope we'll hae a bridal o't.

An' we had but a bridal o't, An' we had but a bridal o't, We'd leave the rest unto gude luck, Altho' there should betide ill o't: For bridal days are merry times, And young folks like the coming o't, And scribblers they bang up their rhymes, And pipers they the bumming o't.

The lasses like a bridal o't, The lasses like a bridal o't, Their braws maun be in rank and file, Altho' that they should guide ill o't: The boddom o' the kist is then Turn'd up into the inmost o't, The end that held the kecks sae clean, Is now become the teemest o't.

The bangster at the threshing o't. The bangster at the threshing o't, Afore it comes is fidgin-fain, And ilka day's a clashing o't: He'll sell his jerkin for a groat, His linder for anither o't, And e'er he want to clear his shot, His sark'll pay the tither o't

The pipers and the fiddlers o't, The pipers and the fiddlers o't, Can smell a bridal unco' far, And like to be the middlers o't; Fan[293] thick and threefold they convene, Ilk ane envies the tither o't, And wishes nane but him alane May ever see anither o't.

Fan they hae done wi' eating o't, Fan they hae done wi' eating o't, For dancing they gae to the green, And aiblins to the beating o't: He dances best that dances fast, And loups at ilka reesing o't, And claps his hands frae hough to hough, And furls about the feezings o't."

* * * * *

TODLEN HAME.

This is perhaps the first bottle song that ever was composed.

* * * * *

THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE.

This air is the composition of my friend Allan Masterton, in Edinburgh. I composed the verses on the amiable and excellent family of Whitefoords leaving Ballochmyle, when Sir John's misfortunes had obliged him to sell the estate.

* * * * *

THE RANTIN' DOG, THE DADDIE O'T.

I composed this song pretty early in life, and sent it to a young girl, a very particular acquaintance of mine, who was at that time under a cloud.

* * * * *

THE SHEPHERD'S PREFERENCE.

This song is Dr. Blacklock's.--I don't know how it came by the name, but the oldest appellation of the air was, "Whistle and I'll come to you, my lad."

It has little affinity to the tune commonly known by that name.

* * * * *

THE BONIE BANKS OF AYR.

I composed this song as I conveyed my chest so far on the road to Greenock, where I was to embark in a few days for Jamaica.

I meant it as my farewell dirge to my native land.

* * * * *

JOHN O' BADENYON.

This excellent song is the composition of my worthy friend, old Skinner, at Linshart.

"When first I cam to be a man Of twenty years or so, I thought myself a handsome youth, And fain the world would know; In best attire I stept abroad, With spirits brisk and gay, And here and there and everywhere, Was like a morn in May; No care had I nor fear of want, But rambled up and down, And for a beau I might have pass'd In country or in town; I still was pleas'd where'er I went, And when I was alone, I tun'd my pipe and pleas'd myself Wi' John o' Badenyon.

Now in the days of youthful prime A mistress I must find, For _love_, I heard, gave one an air And ev'n improved the mind: On Phillis fair above the rest Kind fortune fixt my eyes, Her piercing beauty struck my heart, And she became my choice; To Cupid now with hearty prayer I offer'd many a vow; And danc'd, and sung, and sigh'd, and swore, As other lovers do; But, when at last I breath'd my flame, I found her cold as stone; I left the jilt, and tun'd my pipe To John o' Badenyon.

When _love_ had thus my heart beguil'd With foolish hopes and vain, To _friendship's_ port I steer'd my course, And laugh'd at lover's pain A friend I got by lucky chance 'Twas something like divine, An honest friend's a precious gift, And such a gift was mine: And now, whatever might betide, A happy man was I, In any strait I knew to whom I freely might apply; A strait soon came: my friend I try'd; He heard, and spurn'd my moan; I hy'd me home, and tun'd my pipe To John o' Badenyon.

Methought I should be wiser next, And would a _patriot_ turn, Began to doat on Johnny Wilks, And cry up Parson Horne. Their manly spirit I admir'd, And prais'd their noble zeal, Who had with flaming tongue and pen Maintain'd the public weal; But e'er a month or two had past, I found myself betray'd, 'Twas _self_ and _party_ after all, For a' the stir they made; At last I saw the factious knaves Insult the very throne, I curs'd them a', and tun'd my pipe To John o' Badenyon."

* * * * *

A WAUKRIFE MINNIE.

I picked up this old song and tune from a country girl in Nithsdale.--I never met with it elsewhere in Scotland.

"Whare are you gaun, my bonie lass, Whare are you gaun, my hinnie, She answer'd me right saucilie, An errand for my minnie.

O whare live ye, my bonnie lass, O whare live ye, my hinnie, By yon burn-side, gin ye maun ken, In a wee house wi' my minnie.

But I foor up the glen at e'en, To see my bonie lassie; And lang before the gray morn cam, She was na hauf sa sacie.

O weary fa' the waukrife cock, And the foumart lay his crawin! He wauken'd the auld wife frae her sleep, A wee blink or the dawin.

An angry wife I wat she raise, And o'er the bed she brought her; And wi' a mickle hazle rung She made her a weel pay'd dochter.

O fare thee weel, my bonie lass! O fare thee weel, my hinnie! Thou art a gay and a bonie lass, But thou hast a waukrife minnie."

* * * * *

TULLOCHGORUM.

This first of songs, is the master-piece of my old friend Skinner. He was passing the day, at the town of Cullen, I think it was, in a friend's house whose name was Montgomery. Mrs. Montgomery observing, _en passant_, that the beautiful reel of Tullochgorum wanted words, she begged them of Mr. Skinner, who gratified her wishes, and the wishes of every Scottish song, in this most excellent ballad.

These particulars I had from the author's son, Bishop Skinner, at Aberdeen.

* * * * *

FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT.

This song is mine, all except the chorus.

* * * * *

AULD LANG SYNE.

Ramsay here, as usual with him, has taken the idea of the song, and the first line, from the old fragment which may be seen in the "Museum," vol. v.

* * * * *

WILLIE BREW'D A PECK O' MAUT.

This air is Masterton's; the song mine.--The occasion of it was this:--Mr. W. Nicol, of the High-School, Edinburgh, during the autumn vacation being at Moffat, honest Allan, who was at that time on a visit to Dalswinton, and I, went to pay Nicol a visit.--We had such a joyous meeting that Mr. Masterton and I agreed, each in our own way, that we should celebrate the business.

* * * * *

KILLIECRANKIE.

The battle of Killiecrankie was the last stand made by the clans for James, after his abdication. Here the gallant Lord Dundee fell in the moment of victory, and with him fell the hopes of the party. General Mackay, when he found the Highlanders did not pursue his flying army, said, "Dundee must be killed, or he never would have overlooked this advantage." A great stone marks the spot where Dundee fell.

* * * * *

THE EWIE WI' THE CROOKED HORN.

Another excellent song of old Skinner's.

* * * * *

CRAIGIE-BURN WOOD.

It is remarkable of this air that it is the confine of that country where the greatest part of our Lowland music (so far as from the title, words, &c., we can localize it) has been composed. From Craigie-burn, near Moffat, until one reaches the West Highlands, we have scarcely one slow air of any antiquity.

The song was composed on a passion which a Mr. Gillespie, a particular friend of mine, had for a Miss Lorimer, afterwards a Mrs. Whelpdale. This young lady was born at Craigie-burn Wood.--The chorus is part of an old foolish ballad.

* * * * *

FRAE THE FRIENDS AND LAND I LOVE.

I added the four last lines, by way of giving a turn to the theme of the poem, such as it is.

* * * * *

HUGHIE GRAHAM

There are several editions of this ballad.--This, here inserted, is from oral tradition in Ayrshire, where, when I was a boy, it was a popular song.--It originally had a simple old tune, which I have forgotten.

"Our lords are to the mountains gane, A hunting o' the fallow deer, And they have gripet Hughie Graham, For stealing o' the bishop's mare.

And they have tied him hand and foot, And led him up, thro' Stirling town; The lads and lasses met him there, Cried, Hughie Graham, thou art a loun.

O lowse my right hand free, he says, And put my braid sword in the same; He's no in Stirling town this day, Dare tell the tale to Hughie Graham.

Up then bespake the brave Whitefoord, As he sat by the bishop's knee, Five hundred white stots I'll gie you, If ye'll let Hughie Graham gae free.

O haud your tongue, the bishop says, And wi' your pleading let me be; For tho' ten Grahams were in his coat, Hughie Graham this day shall die.

Up then bespake the fair Whitefoord, As she sat by the bishop's knee; Five hundred white pence I'll gie you, If ye'll gie Hughie Graham to me.

O haud your tongue now, lady fair, And wi' your pleading let it be; Altho' ten Grahams were in his coat, It's for my honour he maun die.

They've ta'en him to the gallows knowe, He looked to the gallows tree, Yet never colour left his cheek, Nor ever did he blink his e'e

At length he looked around about, To see whatever he could spy: And there he saw his auld father, And he was weeping bitterly.

O haud your tongue, my father dear, And wi' your weeping let it be; Thy weeping's sairer on my heart, Than a' that they can do to me.

And ye may gie my brother John My sword that's bent in the middle clear; And let him come at twelve o'clock, And see me pay the bishop's mare.

And ye may gie my brother James My sword that's bent in the middle brown; And bid him come at four o'clock, And see his brother Hugh cut down.

Remember me to Maggy my wife, The neist time ye gang o'er the moor, Tell her she staw the bishop's mare, Tell her she was the bishop's whore.

And ye may tell my kith and kin, I never did disgrace their blood; And when they meet the bishop's cloak, To mak it shorter by the hood."

* * * * *

A SOUTHLAND JENNY.

This is a popular Ayrshire song, though the notes were never taken down before. It, as well as many of the ballad tunes in this collection, was written from Mrs. Burns's voice.

* * * * *

MY TOCHER'S THE JEWEL.

This tune is claimed by Nathaniel Gow.--It is notoriously taken from "The muckin o' Gordie's byre."--It is also to be found long prior to Nathaniel Gow's era, in Aird's Selection of Airs and Marches, the first edition under the name of "The Highway to Edinburgh."

* * * * *

THEN, GUID WIFE, COUNT THE LAWIN'.

The chorus of this is part of an old song, no stanza of which I recollect.

* * * * *

THERE'LL NEVER BE PEACE TILL JAMIE COMES HAME.

This tune is sometimes called "There's few gude fellows when Willie's awa."--But I never have been able to meet with anything else of the song than the title.

* * * * *

I DO CONFESS THOU ART SAE FAIR.

This song is altered from a poem by Sir Robert Ayton, private secretary to Mary and Ann, Queens of Scotland.--The poem is to be found in James Watson's Collection of Scots Poems, the earliest collection printed in Scotland. I think that I have improved the simplicity of the sentiments, by giving them a Scots dress.

* * * * *

THE SODGER LADDIE.

The first verse of this is old; the rest is by Ramsay. The tune seems to be the same with a slow air, called "Jackey Hume's Lament"--or, "The Hollin Buss"--or "Ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten?"

* * * * *

WHERE WAD BONNIE ANNIE LIE.

The old name of this tune is,--

"Whare'll our gudeman lie."

A silly old stanza of it runs thus--

"O whare'll our gudeman lie, Gudeman lie, gudeman lie, O whare'll our gudeman lie, Till he shute o'er the simmer?

Up amang the hen-bawks, The hen-bawks, the hen-bawks, Up amang the hen-bawks, Amang the rotten timmer."

* * * * *

GALLOWAY TAM.

I have seen an interlude (acted at a wedding) to this tune, called "The Wooing of the Maiden." These entertainments are now much worn out in this part of Scotland. Two are still retained in Nithsdale, viz. "Silly Pure Auld Glenae," and this one, "The Wooing of the Maiden."

* * * * *

AS I CAM DOWN BY YON CASTLE WA.

This is a very popular Ayrshire song.

* * * * *

LORD RONALD MY SON.

This air, a very favourite one in Ayrshire, is evidently the original of Lochaber. In this manner most of our finest more modern airs have had their origin. Some early minstrel, or musical shepherd, composed the simple, artless original air; which being picked up by the more learned musician, took the improved form it bears.

* * * * *

O'ER THE MOOR AMANG THE HEATHER.

This song is the composition of a Jean Glover, a girl who was not only a whore, but also a thief; and in one or other character has visited most of the Correction Houses in the West. She was born I believe in Kilmarnock,--I took the song down from her singing, as she was strolling through the country, with a sleight-of-hand blackguard.

* * * * *

TO THE ROSE-BUD.

This song is the composition of a ---- Johnson, a joiner in the neighbourhood of Belfast. The tune is by Oswald, altered, evidently, from "Jockie's Gray Breeks."

* * * * *

YON WILD MOSSY MOUNTAINS.

This tune is by Oswald. The song alludes to a part of my private history, which it is of no consequence to the world to know.

* * * * *

IT IS NA, JEAN, THY BONNIE FACE.

These were originally English verses:--I gave them the Scots dress.

* * * * *

EPPIE M'NAB.

The old song with this title has more wit than decency.

* * * * *

WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER DOOR.

This tune is also known by the name of "Lass an I come near thee." The words are mine.

* * * * *

THOU ART GANE AWA.

This time is the same with "Haud awa frae me, Donald."

* * * * *

THE TEARS I SHED MUST EVER FALL.

This song of genius was composed by a Miss Cranston. It wanted four lines, to make all the stanzas suit the music, which I added, and are the four first of the last stanza.

"No cold approach, no alter'd mien, Just what would make suspicion start; No pause the dire extremes between, He made me blest--and broke my heart!"

* * * * *

THE BONIE WEE THING.

Composed on my little idol "the charming, lovely Davies."

* * * * *

THE TITHER MORN.

This tune is originally from the Highlands. I have heard a Gaelic song to it, which I was told was very clever, but not by any means a lady's song.

* * * * *

A MOTHER'S LAMENT FOR THE DEATH OF HER SON.

This most beautiful tune is, I think, the happiest composition of that bard-born genius, John Riddel, of the family of Glencarnock, at Ayr. The words were composed to commemorate the much-lamented and premature death of James Ferguson, Esq., jun. of Craigdarroch.

* * * * *

DAINTIE DAVIE.

This song, tradition says, and the composition itself confirms it, was composed on the Rev. David Williamson's begetting the daughter of Lady Cherrytrees with child, while a party of dragoons were searching her house to apprehend him for being an adherent to the solemn league and covenant. The pious woman had put a lady's night-cap on him, and had laid him a-bed with her own daughter, and passed him to the soldiery as a lady, her daughter's bed-fellow. A mutilated stanza or two are to be found in Herd's collection, but the original song consists of five or six stanzas, and were their _delicacy_ equal to their _wit_ and _humour_, they would merit a place in any collection. The first stanza is

"Being pursued by the dragoons, Within my bed he was laid down; And weel I wat he was worth his room, For he was my Daintie Davie."

Ramsay's song, "Luckie Nansy," though he calls it an old song with additions, seems to be all his own except the chorus:

"I was a telling you, Luckie Nansy, Luckie Nansy Auld springs wad ding the new, But ye wad never trow me."

Which I should conjecture to be part of a song prior to the affair of Williamson.

* * * * *

BOB O' DUMBLANE.

RAMSAY, as usual, has modernized this song. The original, which I learned on the spot, from my old hostess in the principal inn there, is--

"Lassie, lend me your braw hemp heckle, And I'll lend you my thripplin-kame; My heckle is broken, it canna be gotten, And we'll gae dance the bob o' Dumblane.

Twa gaed to the wood, to the wood, to the wood. Twa gaed to the wood--three came hame; An' it be na weel bobbit, weel bobbit, weel bobbit An' it be na weel bobbit, we'll bob it again."

I insert this song to introduce the following anecdote, which I have heard well authenticated. In the evening of the day of the battle of Dumblane, (Sheriff Muir,) when the action was over, a Scots officer in Argyll's army, observed to His Grace, that he was afraid the rebels would give out to the world that _they_ had gotten the victory.--"Weel, weel," returned his Grace, alluding to the foregoing ballad, "if they think it be nae weel bobbit, we'll bob it again."

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 293: _Fan_, when--the dialect of Angus.]

* * * * *

THE BORDER TOUR.

Left Edinburgh (May 6, 1787)--Lammermuir-hills miserably dreary, but at times very picturesque. Lanton-edge, a glorious view of the Merse--Reach Berrywell--old Mr. Ainslie an uncommon character;--his hobbies, agriculture, natural philosophy, and politics.--In the first he is unexceptionably the clearest-headed, best-informed man I ever met with; in the other two, very intelligent:--As a man of business he has uncommon merit, and by fairly deserving it has made a very decent independence. Mrs. Ainslie, an excellent, sensible, cheerful, amiable old woman--Miss Ainslie--her person a little _embonpoint_, but handsome; her face, particularly her eyes, full of sweetness and good humour--she unites three qualities rarely to be found together; keen, solid penetration; sly, witty observation and remark; and the gentlest, most unaffected female modesty--Douglas, a clever, fine, promising young fellow.--The family-meeting with their brother; my _compagnon de voyage_, very charming; particularly the sister. The whole family remarkably attached to their menials--Mrs. A. full of stories of the sagacity and sense of the little girl in the kitchen.--Mr. A. high in the praises of an African, his house-servant--all his people old in his service--Douglas's old nurse came to Berrywell yesterday to remind them of its being his birthday.

A Mr. Dudgeon, a poet at times,[294] a worthy remarkable character--natural penetration, a great deal of information, some genius, and extreme modesty.

_Sunday._--Went to church at Dunse[295]--Dr. Howmaker a man of strong lungs and pretty judicious remark; but ill skilled in propriety, and altogether unconscious of his want of it.

_Monday._--Coldstream--went over to England--Cornhill--glorious river Tweed--clear and majestic--fine bridge. Dine at Coldstream with Mr. Ainslie and Mr. Foreman--beat Mr. F---- in a dispute about Voltaire. Tea at Lenel House with Mr. Brydone--Mr. Brydone a most excellent heart, kind, joyous, and benevolent; but a good deal of the French indiscriminate complaisance--from his situation past and present, an admirer of everything that bears a splendid title, or that possesses a large estate--Mrs. Brydone a most elegant woman in her person and manners; the tones of her voice remarkably sweet--my reception extremely flattering--sleep at Coldstream.

_Tuesday._--Breakfast at Kelso--charming situation of Kelso--fine bridge over the Tweed--enchanting views and prospects on both sides of the river, particularly the Scotch side; introduced to Mr. Scott of the Royal Bank--an excellent, modest fellow--fine situation of it--ruins of Roxburgh Castle--a holly-bush, growing where James II. of Scotland was accidentally killed by the bursting of a cannon. A small old religious ruin, and a fine old garden planted by the religious, rooted out and destroyed by an English hottentot, a _maitre d'hotel_ of the duke's, a Mr. Cole--climate and soil of Berwickshire, and even Roxburghshire, superior to Ayrshire--bad roads. Turnip and sheep husbandry, their great improvements--Mr. M'Dowal, at Caverton Mill, a friend of Mr. Ainslie's, with whom I dined to-day, sold his sheep, ewe and lamb together, at two guineas a piece--wash their sheep before shearing--seven or eight pounds of washen wool in a fleece--low markets, consequently low rents--fine lands not above sixteen shillings a Scotch acre--magnificence of farmers and farm-houses--come up Teviot and up Jed to Jedburgh to lie, and so wish myself a good night.

_Wednesday._--Breakfast with Mr. ---- in Jedburgh--a squabble between Mrs. ----, a crazed, talkative slattern, and a sister of hers, an old maid, respecting a relief minister--Miss gives Madam the lie; and Madam, by way of revenge, upbraids her that she laid snares to entangle the said minister, then a widower, in the net of matrimony--go about two miles out of Jedburgh to a roup of parks--meet a polite, soldier-like gentleman, a Captain Rutherford, who had been many years through the wilds of America, a prisoner among the Indians--charming, romantic situation of Jedburgh, with gardens, orchards, &c., intermingled among the houses--fine old ruins--a once magnificent cathedral, and strong castle. All the towns here have the appearance of old, rude grandeur, but the people extremely idle--Jed a fine romantic little river.

Dine with Capt. Rutherford--the Captain a polite fellow, fond of money in his farming way; showed a particular respect to my bardship--his lady exactly a proper matrimonial second part for him. Miss Rutherford a beautiful girl, but too far gone woman to expose so much of a fine swelling bosom--her face very fine.

Return to Jedburgh--walk up Jed with some ladies to be shown Love-lane and Blackburn, two fairy scenes. Introduced to Mr. Potts, writer, a very clever fellow; and Mr. Somerville, the clergyman of the place, a man and a gentleman, but sadly addicted to punning.--The walking party of ladies, Mrs. ---- and Miss ---- her sister, before mentioned.--N.B. These two appear still more comfortably ugly and stupid, and bore me most shockingly. Two Miss ----, tolerably agreeable. Miss Hope, a tolerably pretty girl, fond of laughing and fun. Miss Lindsay, a good-humoured, amiable girl; rather short _et embonpoint_, but handsome, and extremely graceful--beautiful hazel eyes, full of spirit, and sparkling with delicious moisture--an engaging face--_un tout ensemble_ that speaks her of the first order of female minds--her sister, a bonnie, strappan, rosy, sonsie lass. Shake myself loose, after several unsuccessful efforts, of Mrs. ---- and Miss ----, and somehow or other, get hold of Miss Lindsay's arm. My heart is thawed into melting pleasure after being so long frozen up in the Greenland bay of indifference, amid the noise and nonsense of Edinburgh. Miss seems very well pleased with my bardship's distinguishing her, and after some slight qualms, which I could easily mark, she sets the titter round at defiance, and kindly allows me to keep my hold; and when parted by the ceremony of my introduction to Mr. Somerville, she met me half, to resume my situation.--Nota Bene--The poet within a point and a half of being d--mnably in love--I am afraid my bosom is still nearly as much tinder as ever.

The old cross-grained, whiggish, ugly, slanderous Miss ----, with all the poisonous spleen of a disappointed, ancient maid, stops me very unseasonably to ease her bursting breast, by falling abusively foul on the Miss Lindsays, particularly on my Dulcinea;--I hardly refrain from cursing her to her face for daring to mouth her calumnious slander on one of the finest pieces of the workmanship of Almighty Excellence! Sup at Mr. ----'s; vexed that the Miss Lindsays are not of the supper-party, as they only are wanting. Mrs. ---- and Miss ----still improve infernally on my hands.

Set out next morning for Wauchope, the seat of my correspondent, Mrs. Scott--breakfast by the way with Dr. Elliot, an agreeable, good-hearted, climate-beaten old veteran, in the medical line; now retired to a romantic, but rather moorish place, on the banks of the Roole--he accompanies us almost to Wauchope--we traverse the country to the top of Bochester, the scene of an old encampment, and Woolee Hill.

Wauchope--Mr. Scott exactly the figure and face commonly given to Sancho Panca--very shrewd in his farming matters, and not unfrequently stumbles on what may be called a strong thing rather than a good thing. Mrs. Scott all the sense, taste, intrepidity of face, and bold, critical decision, which usually distinguish female authors.--Sup with Mr. Potts--agreeable party.--Breakfast next morning with Mr. Somerville--the _bruit_ of Miss Lindsay and my bardship, by means of the invention and malice of Miss ----. Mr. Somerville sends to Dr. Lindsay, begging him and family to breakfast if convenient, but at all events to send Miss Lindsay; accordingly Miss Lindsay only comes.--I find Miss Lindsay would soon play the devil with me--I met with some little flattering attentions from her. Mrs. Somerville an excellent, motherly, agreeable woman, and a fine family.--Mr. Ainslie, and Mrs. S----, junrs., with Mr. ----, Miss Lindsay, and myself, go to see _Esther_, a very remarkable woman for reciting poetry of all kinds, and sometimes making Scotch doggerel herself--she can repeat by heart almost everything she has ever read, particularly Pope's Homer from end to end--has studied Euclid by herself, and in short, is a woman of very extraordinary abilities.--On conversing with her I find her fully equal to the character given of her.[296]--She is very much flattered that I send for her, and that she sees a poet who has _put out a book_, as she says.--She is, among other things, a great florist--and is rather past the meridian of once celebrated beauty.

I walk in _Esther's_ garden with Miss Lindsay, and after some little chit-chat of the tender kind, I presented her with a proof print of my Nob, which she accepted with something more tinder than gratitude. She told me many little stories which Miss ---- had retailed concerning her and me, with prolonging pleasure--God bless her! Was waited on by the magistrates, and presented with the freedom of the burgh.

Took farewell of Jedburgh, with some melancholy, disagreeable sensations.--Jed, pure be thy crystal streams, and hallowed thy sylvan banks! Sweet Isabella Lindsay, may peace dwell in thy bosom, uninterrupted, except by the tumultuous throbbings of rapturous love! That love-kindling eye must beam on another, not on me; that graceful form must bless another's arms; not mine!

Kelso. Dine with the farmers' club--all gentlemen, talking of high matters--each of them keeps a hunter from thirty to fifty pounds value, and attends the fox-huntings in the country--go out with Mr. Ker, one of the club, and a friend of Mr. Ainslie's, to lie--Mr. Ker a most gentlemanly, clever, handsome fellow, a widower with some fine children--his mind and manner astonishingly like my dear old friend Robert Muir, in Kilmarnock--everything in Mr. Ker's most elegant--he offers to accompany me in my English tour. Dine with Sir Alexander Don--a pretty clever fellow, but far from being a match for his divine lady.--A very wet day * * *--Sleep at Stodrig again; and set out for Melrose--visit Dryburgh, a fine old ruined abbey--still bad weather--cross Leader, and come up Tweed to Melrose--dine there, and visit that far-famed, glorious ruin--come to Selkirk, up Ettrick; the whole country hereabout, both on Tweed and Ettrick, remarkably stony.

_Monday._--Come to Inverleithing, a famous shaw, and in the vicinity of the palace of Traquair, where having dined, and drank some Galloway-whey, I hero remain till to-morrow--saw Elibanks and Elibraes, on the other side of the Tweed.

_Tuesday._--Drank tea yesternight at Pirn, with Mr. Horseburgh.--Breakfasted to-day with Mr. Ballantyne of Hollowlee--Proposal for a four-horse team to consist of Mr. Scott of Wauchope, Fittieland: Logan of Logan, Fittiefurr: Ballantyne of Hollowlee, Forewynd: Horsburgh of Horsburgh.--Dine at a country inn, kept by a miller, in Earlston, the birth-place and residence of the celebrated Thomas a Rhymer--saw the ruins of his castle--come to Berrywell.

_Wednesday._--Dine at Dunse with the farmers' club-company--impossible to do them justice--Rev. Mr. Smith a famous punster, and Mr. Meikle a celebrated mechanic, and inventor of the threshing-mills.

_Thursday_, breakfast at Berrywell, and walk into Dunse to see a famous knife made by a cutler there, and to be presented to an Italian prince.--A pleasant ride with my friend Mr. Robert Ainslie, and his sister, to Mr. Thomson's, a man who has newly commenced farmer, and has married a Miss Patty Grieve, formerly a flame of Mr. Robert Ainslie's.--Company--Miss Jacky Grieve, an amiable sister of Mrs. Thomson's, and Mr. Hood, an honest, worthy, facetious farmer, in the neighbourhood.

_Friday._--Ride to Berwick--An idle town, rudely picturesque.--Meet Lord Errol in walking round the walls.--His lordship's flattering notice of me.--Dine with Mr. Clunzie, merchant--nothing particular in company or conversation--Come up a bold shore, and over a wild country to Eyemouth--sup and sleep at Mr. Grieve's.

_Saturday._--Spend the day at Mr. Grieve's--made a royal arch mason of St. Abb's Lodge,[297]--Mr. William Grieve, the oldest brother, a joyous, warm-hearted, jolly, clever fellow--takes a hearty glass, and sings a good song.--Mr. Robert, his brother, and partner in trade, a good fellow, but says little. Take a sail after dinner. Fishing of all kinds pays tithes at Eyemouth.

_Sunday._--A Mr. Robinson, brewer at Ednam, sets out with us to Dunbar.

The Miss Grieves very good girls.--My bardship's heart got a brush from Miss Betsey.

Mr. William Grieve's attachment to the family-circle, so fond, that when he is out, which by the bye is often the case, he cannot go to bed till he see if all his sisters are sleeping well ---- Pass the famous Abbey of Coldingham, and Pease-bridge.--Call at Mr. Sheriff's where Mr. A. and I dine.--Mr. S. talkative and conceited. I talk of love to Nancy the whole evening, while her brother escorts home some companions like himself.--Sir James Hall of Dunglass, having heard of my being in the neighbourhood, comes to Mr. Sheriff's to breakfast--takes me to see his fine scenery on the stream of Dunglass--Dunglass the most romantic, sweet place I over saw--Sir James and his lady a pleasant happy couple.--He points out a walk for which he has an uncommon respect, as it was made by an aunt of his, to whom he owes much.

Miss ---- will accompany me to Dunbar, by way of making a parade of me as a sweetheart of hers, among her relations. She mounts an old cart-horse, as huge and as lean as a house; a rusty old side-saddle without girth, or stirrup, but fastened on with an old pillion-girth--herself as fine as hands could make her, in cream-coloured riding clothes, hat and feather, &c.--I, ashamed of my situation, ride like the devil, and almost shake her to pieces on old Jolly--get rid of her by refusing to call at her uncle's with her.

Past through the most glorious corn-country I ever saw, till I reach Dunbar, a neat little town.--Dine with Provost Fall, an eminent merchant, and most respectable character, but undescribable, as he exhibits no marked traits. Mrs. Fall, a genius in painting; fully more clever in the fine arts and sciences than my friend Lady Wauchope, without her consummate assurance of her own abilities.--Call with Mr. Robinson (who, by the bye, I find to be a worthy, much respected man, very modest; warm, social heart, which with less good sense than his would be perhaps with the children of prim precision and pride, rather inimical to that respect which is man's due from man) with him I call on Miss Clarke, a maiden in the Scotch phrase, "_Guid enough, but no brent new_:" a clever woman, with tolerable pretensions to remark and wit; while time had blown the blushing bud of bashful modesty into the flower of easy confidence. She wanted to see what sort of _raree show_ an author was; and to let him know, that though Dunbar was but a little town, yet it was not destitute of people of parts.

Breakfast next morning at Skateraw, at Mr. Lee's, a farmer of great note.--Mr. Lee, an excellent, hospitable, social fellow, rather oldish; warm-hearted and chatty--a most judicious, sensible farmer. Mr. Lee detains me till next morning.--Company at dinner.--My Rev. acquaintance Dr. Bowmaker, a reverend, rattling old fellow.--Two sea lieutenants; a cousin of the landlord's, a fellow whose looks are of that kind which deceived me in a gentleman at Kelso, and has often deceived me: a goodly handsome figure and face, which incline one to give them credit for parts which they have not. Mr. Clarke, a much cleverer fellow, but whose looks a little cloudy, and his appearance rather ungainly, with an every-day observer may prejudice the opinion against him.--Dr. Brown, a medical young gentleman from Dunbar, a fellow whose face and manners are open and engaging.--Leave Skateraw for Dunse next day, along with collector ----, a lad of slender abilities and bashfully diffident to an extreme.

Found Miss Ainslie, the amiable, the sensible, the good-humoured, the sweet Miss Ainslie, all alone at Berrywell.--Heavenly powers, who know the weakness of human hearts, support mine! What happiness must I see only to remind me that I cannot enjoy it!

Lammer-muir Hills, from East Lothian to Dunse, very wild.--Dine with the farmer's club at Kelso. Sir John Hume and Mr. Lumsden there, but nothing worth remembrance when the following circumstance is considered--I walk into Dunse before dinner, and out to Berrywell in the evening with Miss Ainslie--how well-bred, how frank, how good she is! Charming Rachael! may thy bosom never be wrung by the evils of this life of sorrows, or by the villany of this world's sons!

_Thursday._--Mr. Ker and I set out to dine at Mr. Hood's on our way to England.

I am taken extremely ill with strong feverish symptoms, and take a servant of Mr. Hood's to watch me all night--embittering remorse scares my fancy at the gloomy forebodings of death.--I am determined to live for the future in such a manner as not to be scared at the approach of death--I am sure I could meet him with indifference, but for "The something beyond the grave."--Mr. Hood agrees to accompany us to England if we will wait till Sunday.

_Friday._--I go with Mr. Hood to see a roup of an unfortunate farmer's stock--rigid economy, and decent industry, do you preserve me from being the principal _dramatis persona_ in such a scene of horror.

Meet my good old friend Mr. Ainslie, who calls on Mr. Hood in the evening to take farewell of my bardship. This day I feel myself warm with sentiments of gratitude to the Great Preserver of men, who has kindly restored me to health and strength once more.

A pleasant walk with my young friend Douglas Ainslie, a sweet, modest, clever young fellow.

_Sunday_, 27_th May._--Cross Tweed, and traverse the moors through a wild country till I reach Alnwick--Alnwick Castle a seat of the Duke of Northumberland, furnished in a most princely manner.--A Mr. Wilkin, agent of His Grace's, shows us the house and policies. Mr. Wilkin, a discreet, sensible, ingenious man.

_Monday._--Come, still through by-ways, to Warkworth, where we dine.--Hermitage and old castle. Warkworth situated very picturesque, with Coquet Island, a small rocky spot, the seat of an old monastery, facing it a little in the sea; and the small but romantic river Coquet, running through it.--Sleep at Morpeth, a pleasant enough little town, and on next day to Newcastle.--Meet with a very agreeable, sensible fellow, a Mr. Chattox, who shows us a great many civilities, and who dines and sups with us.

_Wednesday._--Left Newcastle early in the morning, and rode over a fine country to Hexham to breakfast--from Hexham to Wardrue, the celebrated Spa, where we slept.

_Thursday_--Reach Longtown to dine, and part there with my good friends Messrs. Hood and Ker--A hiring day in Longtown--I am uncommonly happy to see so many young folks enjoying life.--I come to Carlisle.--(Meet a strange enough romantic adventure by the way, in falling in with a girl and her married sister--the girl, after some overtures of gallantry on my side, sees me a little cut with the bottle, and offers to take me in for a Gretna-Green affair.--I, not being such a gull, as she imagines, make an appointment with her, by way of _vive la bagatelle_, to hold a conference on it when we reach town.--I meet her in town and give her a brush of caressing, and a bottle of cider; but finding herself _un peu trompe_ in her man she sheers off.) Next day I meet my good friend, Mr. Mitchell, and walk with him round the town and its environs, and through his printing-works, &c.--four or five hundred people employed, many of them women and children.--Dine with Mr. Mitchell, and leave Carlisle.--Come by the coast to Annan.--Overtaken on the way by a curious old fish of a shoemaker, and miner, from Cumberland mines.

[_Here the manuscript abruptly terminates._]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 294: The author of that fine song, "The Maid that tends the Goats."]

[Footnote 295: "During the discourse Burns produced a neat impromptu, conveying an elegant compliment to Miss Ainslie. Dr. B. had selected a text of Scripture that contained a heavy denunciation against obstinate sinners. In the course of the sermon Burns observed the young lady turning over the leaves of her Bible, with much earnestness, in search of the text. He took out a slip of paper, and with a pencil wrote the following lines on it, which he immediately presented to her.

"Fair maid, you need not take the hint, Nor idle texts pursue:-- 'Twas _guilty sinners_ that he meant,-- Not _angels_ such as you."

Cromek.]

[Footnote 296: "This extraordinary woman then moved in a very humble walk of life:--the wife of a common working gardener. She is still living, and, if I am rightly informed, her time is principally occupied in her attentions to a little day-school, which not being sufficient for her subsistence, she is obliged to solicit the charily of her benevolent neighbours. 'Ah, who would love the lyre!'"--CROMEK.]

[Footnote 297: The entry made on this occasion in the Lodge-books of St Abb's is honorable to

"The brethren of the mystic level."

"_Eyemouth_, 19_th May_, 1787.

"At a general encampment held this day, the following brethren were made royal arch masons, viz. Robert Burns, from the Lodge of St. James's, Tarbolton, Ayrshire, and Robert Ainslie, from the Lodge of St. Luke's, Edinburgh by James Carmichael, Wm. Grieve, Daniel Dow, John Clay, Robert Grieve, &c. &c. Robert Ainslie paid one guinea admission dues; but on account of R. Burns's remarkable poetical genius, the encampment unanimously agreed to admit him gratis, and considered themselves honoured by having a man of such shining abilities for one of their companions."

Extracted from the Minute Book of the Lodge by THOMAS BOWBILL]

* * * * *

THE HIGHLAND TOUR.

25_th August_, 1787.

I leave Edinburgh for a northern tour, in company with my good friend Mr. Nicol, whose originality of humour promises me much entertainment.--Linlithgow--a fertile improved country--West Lothian. The more elegance and luxury among the farmers, I always observe in equal proportion, the rudeness and stupidity of the peasantry. This remark I have made all over the Lothians, Merse, Roxburgh, &c. For this, among other reasons, I think that a man of romantic taste, a "Man of Feeling," will be better pleased with the poverty, but intelligent minds of the peasantry in Ayrshire (peasantry they are all below the justice of peace) than the opulence of a club of Merse farmers, when at the same time, he considers the vandalism of their plough-folks, &c. I carry this idea so far, that an unenclosed, half improven country is to me actually more agreeable, and gives me more pleasure as a prospect, than a country cultivated like a garden.--Soil about Linlithgow light and thin.--The town carries the appearance of rude, decayed grandeur--charmingly rural, retired situation. The old royal palace a tolerably fine, but melancholy ruin--sweetly situated on a small elevation, by the brink of a loch. Shown the room where the beautiful, injured Mary Queen of Scots was born--a pretty good old Gothic church. The infamous stool of repentance standing, in the old Romish way, on a lofty situation.

What a poor pimping business is a Presbyterian place of worship; dirty, narrow, and squalid; stuck in a corner of old popish grandeur such as Linlithgow, and much more, Melrose! Ceremony and show, if judiciously thrown in, absolutely necessary for the bulk of mankind, both in religious and civil matters.--Dine.--Go to my friend Smith's at Avon printfield--find nobody but Mrs. Miller, an agreeable, sensible, modest, good body; as useful, but not so ornamental as Fielding's Miss Western--not rigidly polite _a la Francais_, but easy, hospitable, and housewifely.

An old lady from Paisley, a Mrs. Lawson, whom I promised to call for in Paisley--like old lady W----, and still more like Mrs. C----, her conversation is pregnant with strong sense and just remark, but like them, a certain air of self-importance and a _duresse_ in the eye, seem to indicate, as the Ayrshire wife observed of her cow, that "she had a mind o' her ain."

Pleasant view of Dunfermline and the rest of the fertile coast of Fife, as we go down to that dirty, ugly place, Borrowstones--see a horse-race and call on a friend of Mr. Nicol's, a Bailie Cowan, of whom I know too little to attempt his portrait--Come through the rich carse of Falkirk to pass the night. Falkirk nothing remarkable except the tomb of Sir John the Graham, over which, in the succession of time, four stones have been placed.--Camelon, the ancient metropolis of the Picts, now a small village in the neighbourhood of Falkirk.--Cross the grand canal to Carron.--Come past Larbert and admire a fine monument of cast-iron erected by Mr. Bruce, the African traveller, to his wife.

Pass Dunipace, a place laid out with fine taste--a charming amphitheatre bounded by Denny village, and pleasant seats down the way to Dunnipace.--The Carron running down the bosom of the whole makes it one of the most charming little prospects I have seen.

Dine at Auchinbowie--Mr. Monro an excellent, worthy old man--Miss Monro an amiable, sensible, sweet young woman, much resembling Mrs. Grierson. Come to Bannockburn--Shown the old house where James III. finished so tragically his unfortunate life. The field of Bannockburn--the hole where glorious Bruce set his standard. Here no Scot can pass uninterested.--I fancy to myself that I see my gallant, heroic countrymen coming o'er the hill and down upon the plunderers of their country, the murderers of their fathers; noble revenge, and just hate, glowing in every vein, striding more and more eagerly as they approach the oppressive, insulting, blood-thirsty foe! I see them meet in gloriously triumphant congratulation on the victorious field, exulting in their heroic royal leader, and rescued liberty and independence! Come to Stirling.--_Monday_ go to Harvieston. Go to see Caudron linn, and Rumbling brig, and Diel's mill. Return in the evening. Supper--Messrs. Doig, the schoolmaster; Bell; and Captain Forrester of the castle--Doig a queerish figure, and something of a pedant--Bell a joyous fellow, who sings a good song.--Forrester a merry, swearing kind of man, with a dash of the sodger.

_Tuesday Morning._--Breakfast with Captain Forrester--Ochel Hills--Devon River--Forth and Tieth--Allan River--Strathallan, a fine country, but little improved--Cross Earn to Crieff--Dine and go to Arbruchil--cold reception at Arbruchil--a most romantically pleasant ride up Earn, by Auchtertyre and Comrie to Arbruchil--Sup at Crieff.

_Wednesday Morning._--Leave Crieff--Glen Amond--Amond river--Ossian's grave--Loch Fruoch--Glenquaich--Landlord and landlady remarkable characters--Taymouth described in rhyme--Meet the Hon. Charles Townshend.

_Thursday._--Come down Tay to Dunkeld--Glenlyon House--Lyon River--Druid's Temple--three circles of stones--the outer-most sunk--the second has thirteen stones remaining--the innermost has eight--two large detached ones like a gate, to the south-east--Say prayers in it--Pass Taybridge--Aberfeldy--described in rhyme--Castle Menzies--Inver--Dr. Stewart--sup.

_Friday._--Walk with Mrs. Stewart and Beard to Birnam top--fine prospect down Tay--Craigieburn hills--Hermitage on the Branwater, with a picture of Ossian--Breakfast with Dr. Stewart--Neil Gow[298] plays--a short, stout-built, honest Highland figure, with his grayish hair shed on his honest social brow--an interesting face, marking strong sense, kind openheartedness, mixed with unmistrusting simplicity--visit his house--Marget Gow.

Ride up Tummel River to Blair--Fascally a beautiful romantic nest--wild grandeur of the pass of Gilliecrankie--visit the gallant Lord Dundee's stone.

Blair--Sup with the Duchess--easy and happy from the manners of the family--confirmed in my good opinion of my friend Walker.

_Saturday._--Visit the scenes round Blair--fine, but spoiled with bad taste--Tilt and Gairie rivers--Falls on the Tilt--Heather seat--Ride in company with Sir William Murray and Mr. Walker, to Loch Tummel--meanderings of the Rannach, which runs through quondam Struan Robertson's estate from Loch Rannach to Loch Tummel--Dine at Blair--Company--General Murray--Captain Murray, an honest tar--Sir William Murray, an honest, worthy man, but tormented with the hypochondria--Mrs. Graham, _belle et aimable_--Miss Catchcart--Mrs. Murray, a painter--Mrs. King--Duchess and fine family, the Marquis, Lords James, Edward, and Robert--Ladies Charlotte, Emilia, and children dance--Sup--Mr. Graham of Fintray.

Come up the Garrie--Falls of Bruar--Daldecairoch--Dalwhinnie--Dine--Snow on the hills 17 feet deep--No corn from Loch-Gairie to Dalwhinnie--Cross the Spey, and come down the stream to Pitnin--Straths rich--_les environs_ picturesque--Craigow hill--Ruthven of Badenoch--Barracks--wild and magnificent--Rothemurche on the other side, and Glenmore--Grant of Rothemurche's poetry--told me by the Duke of Gordon--Strathspey, rich and romantic--Breakfast at Aviemore, a wild spot--dine at Sir James Grant's--Lady Grant, a sweet, pleasant body--come through mist and darkness to Dulsie, to lie.

_Tuesday._--Findhorn river--rocky banks--come on to Castle Cawdor, where Macbeth murdered King Duncan--saw the bed in which King Duncan was stabbed--dine at Kilravock--Mrs. Rose, sen., a true chieftain's wife--Fort George--Inverness.

_Wednesday._--Loch Ness--Braes of Ness--General's hut--Falls of Fyers--Urquhart Castle and Strath.

_Thursday._--Come over Culloden Muir--reflections on the field of battle--breakfast at Kilravock--old Mrs. Rose, sterling sense, warm heart, strong passions, and honest pride, all in an uncommon degree--Mrs. Rose, jun., a little milder than the mother--this perhaps owing to her being younger--Mr. Grant, minister at Calder, resembles Mr. Scott at Inverleithing--Mrs. Rose and Mrs. Grant accompany us to Kildrummie--two young ladies--Miss Rose, who sung two Gaelic songs, beautiful and lovely--Miss Sophia Brodie, most agreeable and amiable--both of them gentle, mild; the sweetest creatures on earth, and happiness be with them!--Dine at Nairn--fall in with a pleasant enough gentleman, Dr. Stewart, who had been long abroad with his father in the forty-five; and Mr. Falconer, a spare, irascible, warm-hearted Norland, and a nonjuror--Brodie-house to lie.

_Friday_--Forres--famous stone at Forres--Mr. Brodie tells me that the muir where Shakspeare lays Macbeth's witch-meeting is still haunted--that the country folks won't pass it by night.

* * * * *

Venerable ruins of Elgin Abbey--A grander effect at first glance than Melrose, but not near so beautiful--Cross Spey to Fochabers--fine palace, worthy of the generous proprietor--Dine--company, Duke and Duchess, Ladies Charlotte and Magdeline, Col. Abercrombie, and Lady, Mr. Gordon and Mr.----, a clergyman, a venerable, aged figure--the Duke makes me happier than ever great man did--noble, princely; yet mild, condescending, and affable; gay and kind--the Duchess witty and sensible--God bless them!

Come to Cullen to lie--hitherto the country is sadly poor and unimproven.

Come to Aberdeen--meet with Mr. Chalmers, printer, a facetious fellow--Mr. Ross a fine fellow, like Professor Tytler,--Mr. Marshal one of the _poetae minores_--Mr. Sheriffs, author of "Jamie and Bess," a little decrepid body with some abilities--Bishop Skinner, a nonjuror, son of the author of "Tullochgorum," a man whose mild, venerable manner is the most marked of any in so young a man--Professor Gordon, a good-natured, jolly-looking professor--Aberdeen, a lazy town--near Stonhive, the coast a good deal romantic--meet my relations--Robert Burns, writer, in Stonhive, one of those who love fun, a gill, and a punning joke, and have not a bad heart--his wife a sweet hospitable body, without any affectation of what is called town-breeding.

_Tuesday._--Breakfast with Mr. Burns--lie at Lawrence Kirk--Album library--Mrs. ---- a jolly, frank, sensible, love-inspiring widow--Howe of the Mearns, a rich, cultivated, but still unenclosed country.

_Wednesday._--Cross North Esk river and a rich country to Craigow.

* * * * *

Go to Montrose, that finely-situated handsome town--breakfast at Muthie, and sail along that wild rocky coast, and see the famous caverns,

## particularly the Gariepot--land and dine at Arbroath--stately ruins of

Arbroath Abbey--come to Dundee through a fertile country--Dundee a low-lying, but pleasant town--old Steeple--Tayfrith--Broughty Castle, a finely situated ruin, jutting into the Tay.

_Friday._--Breakfast with the Miss Scotts--Miss Bess Scott like Mrs. Greenfield--my bardship almost in love with her--come through the rich harvests and fine hedge-rows of the Carse of Gowrie, along the romantic margin of the Grampian hills, to Perth--fine, fruitful, hilly, woody country round Perth.

_Saturday Morning._--Leave Perth--come up Strathearn to Endermay--fine, fruitful, cultivated Strath--the scene of "Bessy Bell, and Mary Gray," near Perth--fine scenery on the banks of the May--Mrs. Belcher, gawcie, frank, affable, fond of rural sports, hunting, &c.--Lie at Kinross--reflections in a fit of the colic.

_Sunday._--Pass through a cold, barren country to Queensferry--dine--cross the ferry and on to Edinburgh.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 298: Another northern bard has sketched this eminent musician--

"The blythe Strathspey springs up, reminding some Of nights when Gow's old arm, (nor old the tale,) Unceasing, save when reeking cans went round, Made heart and heel leap light as bounding roe. Alas! no more shall we behold that look So venerable, yet so blent with mirth, And festive joy sedate; that ancient garb Unvaried,--tartan hose, and bonnet blue! No more shall Beauty's partial eye draw forth The full intoxication of his strain. Mellifluous, strong, exuberantly rich! No more, amid the pauses of the dance, Shall he repeat those measures, that in days Of other years, could soothe a falling prince, And light his visage with a transient smile Of melancholy joy,--like autumn sun Gilding a sear tree with a passing beam! Or play to sportive children on the green Dancing at gloamin hour; or willing cheer With strains unbought, the shepherd's bridal day."

_British Georgics, p._ 81]

* * * * *

THE POET'S ASSIGNMENT OF HIS WORKS.

Know all men by these presents that I Robert Burns of Mossgiel: whereas I intend to leave Scotland and go abroad, and having acknowledged myself the father of a child named Elizabeth, begot upon Elizabeth Paton in Largieside: and whereas Gilbert Burns in Mossgiel, my brother, has become bound, and hereby binds and obliges himself to aliment, clothe, and educate my said natural child in a suitable manner as if she was his own, in case her mother chuse to part with her, and that until she arrive at the age of fifteen years. Therefore, and to enable the said Gilbert Burns to make good his said engagement, wit ye me to have assigned, disponed, conveyed and made over to, and in favours of, the said Gilbert Burns, his heirs, executors, and assignees, who are always to be bound in like manner, with, himself, all and sundry goods, gear, corns, cattle, horses, nolt, sheep, household furniture, and all other moveable effects of whatever kind that I shall leave behind me on my departure from this Kingdom, after allowing for my part of the conjunct debts due by the said Gilbert Burns and me as joint tacksmen of the farm of Mossgiel. And

## particularly without prejudice of the foresaid generality, the profits

that may arise from the publication of my poems presently in the press. And also, I hereby dispone and convey to him in trust for behoof of my said natural daughter, the copyright of said poems in so far as I can dispose of the same by law, after she arrives at the above age of fifteen years complete. Surrogating and substituting the said Gilbert Burns my brother and his foresaids in my full right, title, room and place of the whole premises, with power to him to intromit with, and dispose upon the same at pleasure, and in general to do every other thing in the premises that I could have done myself before granting hereof, but always with and under the conditions before expressed. And I oblige myself to warrant this disposition and assignation from my own proper fact and deed allenarly. Consenting to the registration hereof in the books of Council and Session, or any other Judges books competent, therein to remain for preservation and constitute.

Proculars, &c. In witness whereof I have wrote and signed these presents, consisting of this and the preceding page, on stamped paper, with my own hand, at the Mossgiel, the twenty-second day of July, one thousand seven hundred and eighty-six years.

(Signed) ROBERT BURNS.

* * * * *

Upon the twenty-fourth day of July, one thousand seven hundred and eighty-six years, I, William Chalmer, Notary Publick, past to the Mercat Cross of Ayr head Burgh of the Sheriffdome thereof, and thereat I made due and lawful intimation of the foregoing disposition and assignation to his Majesties lieges, that they might not pretend ignorance thereof by reading the same over in presence of a number of people assembled. Whereupon William Crooks, writer, in Ayr, as attorney for the before designed Gilbert Burns, protested that the same was lawfully intimated, and asked and took instruments in my hands. These things were done betwixt the hours of ten and eleven forenoon, before and in presence of William M'Cubbin, and William Eaton, apprentices to the Sheriff Clerk of Ayr, witnesses to the premises.

(Signed)

WILLIAM CHALMER, N.P.

WILLIAM M'CUBBIN, Witness.

WILLIAM EATON, Witness.

* * * * *

GLOSSARY.

"The _ch_ and _gh_ have always the guttural sound. The sound of the English diphthong _oo_ is commonly spelled _ou._ The French _u_, a sound which often occurs in the Scottish language, is marked _oo_ or _ui._ The _a_, in genuine Scottish words, except when forming a diphthong, or followed by an _e_ mute after a single consonant, sounds generally like the broad English _a_ in _wall._ The Scottish diphthong _ae_ always, and _ea_ very often, sound like the French _e_ masculine. The Scottish diphthong _ey_ sounds like the Latin _ei._"

A.

_A'_, all.

_Aback_, away, aloof, backwards.

_Abeigh_, at a shy distance.

_Aboon_, above, up.

_Abread_, abroad, in sight, to publish.

_Abreed_, in breadth.

_Ae_, one.

_Aff_, off.

_Aff-loof_, off-hand, extempore, without premeditation.

_Afore_, before.

_Aft_, oft.

_Aften_, often.

_Agley_, off the right line, wrong, awry.

_Aiblins_, perhaps.

_Ain_, own.

_Airn_, iron, a tool of that metal, a mason's chisel.

_Airles_, earnest money.

_Airl-penny_, a silver penny given as erles or hiring money.

_Airt_, quarter of the heaven, point of the compass.

_Agee_, on one side.

_Attour_, moreover, beyond, besides.

_Aith_, an oath.

_Aits_, oats.

_Aiver_, an old horse.

_Aizle_, a hot cinder, an ember of wood.

_Alake_, alas.

_Alane_, alone.

_Akwart_, awkward, athwart.

_Amaist_, almost.

_Amang_, among.

_An'_, and, if.

_Ance_, once

_Ane_, one.

_Anent_, over-against, concerning, about.

_Anither_, another.

_Ase_, ashes of wood, remains of a hearth fire.

_Asteer_, abroad, stirring in a lively manner.

_Aqueesh_, between.

_Aught_, possession, as "in a' my aught," in all my possession.

_Auld_, old.

_Auld-farran'_, auld farrant, sagacious, prudent, cunning.

_Ava_, at all.

_Awa_, away, begone.

_Awfu'_, awful.

_Auld-shoon_, old shoes literally, a discarded lover metaphorically.

_Aumos_, gift to a beggar.

_Aumos-dish_, a beggar's dish in which the aumos is received.

_Awn_, the beard of barley, oats, &c.

_Awnie_, bearded.

_Ayont_, beyond.

B.

_Ba'_, ball.

_Babie-clouts_, child's first clothes.

_Backets_, ash-boards, as pieces of backet for removing ashes.

_Backlins_, comin', coming back, returning.

_Back-yett_, private gate.

_Baide_, endured, did stay.

_Baggie_, the belly.

_Bairn_, a child.

_Bairn-time_, a family of children, a brood.

_Baith_, both.

_Ballets_, _Ballants_, ballads.

_Ban_, to swear.

_Bane_, bone.

_Bang_, to beat, to strive, to excel.

_Bannock_, flat, round, soft cake.

_Bardie_, diminutive of bard.

_Barefit_, barefooted.

_Barley-bree_, barley-broo, blood of barley, malt liquor.

_Barmie_, of, or like barm, yeasty.

_Batch_, a crew, a gang.

_Batts_, botts.

_Bauckie-bird_, the bat.

_Baudrons_, a cat.

_Bauld_, bold.

_Baws'nt_, having a white stripe down the face.

_Be_, to let be, to give over, to cease.

_Beets_, boots.

_Bear_, barley.

_Bearded-bear_, barley with its bristly head.

_Beastie_, diminutive of beast.

_Beet_, _beek_, to add fuel to a fire, to bask.

_Beld_, bald.

_Belyve_, by and by, presently, quickly.

_Ben_, into the spence or parlour.

_Benmost-bore_, the remotest hole, the innermost recess.

_Bethankit_, grace after meat.

_Beuk_, a book.

_Bicker_, a kind of wooden dish, a short rapid race.

_Bickering_, careering, hurrying with quarrelsome intent.

_Birnie_, birnie ground is where thick heath has been burnt, leaving the birns, or unconsumed stalks, standing up sharp and stubley.

_Bie_, or _bield_, shelter, a sheltered place, the sunny nook of a wood.

_Bien_, wealthy, plentiful.

_Big_, to build.

_Biggin_, building, a house.

_Biggit_, built.

_Bill_, a bull.

_Billie_, a brother, a young fellow, a companion.

_Bing_, a heap of grain, potatoes, &c.

_Birdie-cocks_, young cocks, still belonging to the brood.

_Birk_, birch.

_Birkie_, a clever, a forward conceited fellow.

_Birring_, the noise of partridges when they rise.

_Birses_, bristles.

_Bit_, crisis, nick of time, place.

_Bizz_, a bustle, to buzz.

_Black's the grun'_, as black as the ground.

_Blastie_, a shrivelled dwarf, a term of contempt, full of mischief.

_Blastit_, blasted.

_Blate_, bashful, sheepish.

_Blather_, bladder.

_Blaud_, a flat piece of anything, to slap.

_Blaudin-shower_, a heavy driving rain; a blauding signifies a beating.

_Blaw_, to blow, to boast; "blaw i' my lug," to flatter.

_Bleerit_, bedimmed, eyes hurt with weeping.

_Bleer my een_, dim my eyes.

_Bleezing_, _bleeze_, blazing, flame.

_Blellum_, idle talking fellow.

_Blether_, to talk idly.

_Bleth'rin_, talking idly.

_Blink_, a little while, a smiling look, to look kindly, to shine by fits.

_Blinker_, a term of contempt: it means, too, a lively engaging girl.

_Blinkin'_, smirking, smiling with the eyes, looking lovingly.

_Blirt and blearie_, out-burst of grief, with wet eyes.

_Blue-gown_, one of those beggars who get annually, on the king's birth-day, a blue cloak or gown with a badge.

_Bluid_, blood.

_Blype_, a shred, a large piece.

_Bobbit_, the obeisance made by a lady.

_Bock_, to vomit, to gush intermittently.

_Bocked_, gushed, vomited.

_Bodle_, a copper coin of the value of two pennies Scots.

_Bogie_, a small morass.

_Bonnie_, or _bonny_, handsome, beautiful.

_Bonnock_, a kind of thick cake of bread, a small jannock or loaf made of oatmeal. See _Bannock._

_Boord_, a board.

_Bore_, a hole in the wall, a cranny.

_Boortree_, the shrub elder, planted much of old in hedges of barn-yards and gardens.

_Boost_, behoved, must needs, wilfulness.

_Botch_, _blotch_, an angry tumour.

_Bousing_, drinking, making merry with liquor.

_Bowk_, body.

_Bow-kail_, cabbage.

_Bow-hought_, out-kneed, crooked at the knee joint.

_Bowt_, _bowlt_, bended, crooked.

_Brackens_, fern.

_Brae_, a declivity, a precipice, the slope of a hill.

_Braid_, broad.

_Braik_, an instrument for rough-dressing flax.

_Brainge_, to run rashly forward, to churn violently.

_Braing't_, "the horse braing't," plunged end fretted in the harness.

_Brak_, broke, became insolvent.

_Branks_, a kind of wooden curb for horses.

_Brankie_, gaudy.

_Brash_, a sudden illness.

_Brats_, coarse clothes, rags, &c.

_Brattle_, a short race, hurry, fury.

_Braw_, fine, handsome.

_Brawlys_, or _brawlie_, very well, finely, heartily, bravely.

_Braxies_, diseased sheep.

_Breastie_, diminutive of breast.

_Breastit_, did spring up or forward; the act of mounting a horse.

_Brechame_, a horse-collar.

_Breckens_, fern.

_Breef_, an invulnerable or irresistible spell.

_Breeks_, breeches.

_Brent_, bright, clear; "a brent brow," a brow high and smooth.

_Brewin'_, brewing, gathering.

_Bree_, juice, liquid.

_Brig_, a bridge.

_Brunstane_, brimstone.

_Brisket_, the breast, the bosom.

_Brither_, a brother.

_Brock_, a badger.

_Brogue_, a hum, a trick.

_Broo_, broth, liquid, water.

_Broose_, broth, a race at country weddings; he who first reaches the bridegroom's house on returning from church wins the broose.

_Browst_, ale, as much malt liquor as is brewed at a time.

_Brugh_, a burgh.

_Bruilsie_, a broil, combustion.

_Brunt_, did burn, burnt.

_Brust_, to burst, burst.

_Buchan-bullers_, the boiling of the sea among the rocks on the coast of Buchan.

_Buckskin_, an inhabitant of Virginia.

_Buff our beef_, thrash us soundly, give us a beating behind and before.

_Buff and blue_, the colours of the Whigs.

_Buirdly_, stout made, broad built.

_Bum-clock_, the humming beetle that flies in the summer evenings.

_Bummin_, humming as bees, buzzing.

_Bummle_, to blunder, a drone, an idle fellow.

_Bummler_, a blunderer, one whose noise is greater than his work.

_Bunker_, a window-seat.

_Bure_, did bear.

_Burn_, _burnie_, water, a rivulet, a small stream which is heard as it runs.

_Burniewin'_, burn this wind, the blacksmith.

_Burr-thistle_, the thistle of Scotland.

_Buskit_, dressed.

_Buskit-nest_, an ornamented residence.

_Busle_, a bustle.

_But_, _bot_, without.

_But and ben_, the country kitchen and parlour.

_By himself_, lunatic, distracted, beside himself.

_Byke_, a bee-hive, a wild bee-nest.

_Byre_, a cow-house, a sheep-pen.