m. MWMfMMBWSMM asisiii ^fTTf'^i'"^^ ee James LUMSD EN M ™ THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES P 't ) 7 D, SHEEP-HEAD AND TROTTERS. SHEEP-HEAD AND TROTTERS, BEING SAVOUEY SELECTIONS, POETIC AND PROSAIC, FROM THE BliLKY LITEKARY REMAINS OF SAMUEL MUCKLEBACKIT AND THOMAS PINTAIL, LATE PARNASSIAN HILL AND ARABLE FARMERS IN LOTHIAN ; PKEPAHED AND PRESENTED BY THEIR SOLE LIVING EXECUTOR, JAMES LUMSDEN (LATE OF NETHER HAILES, EAST LOTHIAN). Autliov uf " Bural Ehymes," " Country Chronicles," " Lays and Letters from Linton," d-c. HADDINGTON: WILLIAM SINCLAIR, 63 MARKET STREET. TO ALL JII.S FlU EN 1)8 A N L> I'ATl'.UNS, THIS HOOK IS D E D 1 C A T K D, li Y I T S U N F O H T U N A T 1-: A U T II O K, \V 1 1 II 1> K U F U N U AND UK A U T - F E L T OKA T 1 'I' U U E. P 11 E F A T (J K Y NUT E. ],^^, , L'jGn^^<^ The cause of tli(» publication of this volume was simply the fact that the editions of my former books had given out before the demand for copies of them had abated. After a fresh publication had finally lieen determined upon, at first it was intended merely to put out a new edition of my last work — "Lays and Letters from Linton," but upon consideration this plan was discarded, and a brief selection from the whole writings of Mticklebackit and Pintail decided on instead of it — the "selection" in question to include fresh subject matter, and be revised and amended up to date. The Editor would fain humbly suggest that neither Mucklebackit nor any other "character" pourtrayed in the following pages should for one moment be wholly confounded with himself. For every one of the " persons represented," and nearly every incident related in the book are true — i.e., were drawn fi-om real life, and were actual people and occurrences which at one time or another came within the writer's personal cognizance. To conclude, in the words of the Preface of my last book : — " All that is asked from the fair and just critic is — that he may read the liook honestly through, before pronouncing upon it. AVere we assured of the generosity of oui' friend, we might also recjuest him to remember (or, as is likely, if he be unaware of our ditliculties, to accept the sad fact of them on our word), the terrible days and nights of trials and troubles of the author, during which the "great feck " of the poems and papers were composed and scril)l)led. .Should the present volume meet with a tithe of the success of " Lays and Letters," certes, ere long, in a ceitain " canny neuk," at least, there will be many russet rustic faces exhibiting the broad grin of heart-felt glee and satisfaction. Perhaps it is too audaciously presumptive to anticipate this ? " J. L. Edinburgh, May, 1892. ' -k^' .-■■■' » =■* % ^'if^ - C C) N T 1^: N T S. Page. PlCKFACK. Selections from Samuel Muckiehackit — His Early Days, 1 East Lothian, .-.-.. i>;3 Address to Tkaprain Law, . . . . l>4 The Legend of Traprain Law, . . . 28 AuLD Hansel Monday, 35 Hogmanay, ------- 43 The HiKiNc; Friday, - - - 50 The Wee Broon 8QLiiti;EL, - 59 North Berwick Nell, - - - - - 01 Ye Yowes and Lambs, ----- 63 AuLD Lees, ------- 65 The Flittin' Day, 71 A Nook on Bonnie Tyneside, . - - 74 AuLD Castle Hailes, ----- 75 To the Man in the Moon, - . - . 77 To Rab o' the Hill, - - . - . 79 Wae, Wae is :\[e : - - - - - - 81 Jamie, the Joiter, 83 Tn PrESTONKIRK CllUltCHYAlil), - . - 84 Farewell, ------- 86 Our Ciiuiicii A'acancy, - . - - 88 The Knox Memorial, - - 91 SoNfj— " Far Awa'," ----- 93 Written on a Beautiful October J^ay, - - 95 A Lament for Auld Charlie, - - - 97 Soxa — " Little Lauciiin' Jeax,"' - . . 99 The Foppish Young Farmer, - - - - 101 "Watty," ------- 104 Professor Blackie on Confessions of Faith, - 110 Jeanie's Farewell, - - - - - 112 Morham Dell, - - - - - 114 On "Cremation," - - - - - - 117 Leamng Linton, - - - - - . 120 Song, - - - - - - . . 122 The Adventures of Benjamin Solomon, Yeoman, IN Search of a Spouse, - - - . 123 At the Auld Abbey Brig, - - - . 126 Two Scraps, - - - - . . . 129 Testimonials to Provosts, - - . 133 The Bonxie Tyne Valley, - - - . 135 The Ploughman, - - - . . . i3g Wintry Wind, - - - - _ . 14Q John Knox, ----.._ 14.1 On Mr Robert Sharp, Hotel Proprietor, Leaving Lixton, - - - . . 142 Ane Deevilish Prank of Ye Wicked Elfin King, 145 Marriage Liner, - - - - . . 143 Robert Burns, - - - . . . ]5^ The Agricultural Depression, - - . 159 Epistle to a Friexd in America, - - - 163 Selections J'loia the " Piebald Piper " First Meeting with the Piper, - - . 1G7 Factors AND Farmers, - - . . . 173 Highland Superstitions, - - - . 177 Dreams, - - - . . . . _ i^o The Modern Scoto-Irish, - - . . igg Some Sorrowful Harvest Cogitatioxs, - - 188 The Last Day with the Piper, clrc, - - 191 Selections from Raral Reminiscences — Mingling with the Magxates, - - . 2OI JOHX HgOTSMAN, - .)]f; llii' Aidd Dominie, beiny SulacliuHs from tlie Writ- ings of T/iomn.t Pintail, Efiq., of lildP.hracH, East Lothian - iNTKODlCTCiItY NoTi;. 2."51 AUTOBIOCKAl'llKAI.. - - - - 235 "Woo'd AM) Mahkii.h AM) A',"' - - 2r>0 How TllK LaUCK FaILM ok IJLAEnUAES WAS Taken', 257 A Sailor's AVife, - 26G A " KiHSENix',"" 27:^ A Tenant Faumeh's Wedding Pkeliminaiues, - 291 Ruefully Kethospective — Rather, - - 299 A Rescue, a Reverse, and a Release, - - 307 EsD OF THE AuLi) Domini K, . - - - 315 SELECTIONS FUOM ii SAMUEL MUCKLEBACKIT." HIS EARLY DAYS. As the red sun sank ower the Garleton brae, Wandering lanely — in sorrow an' wae — • Doun by tlie Tyne at the aidd " wood lee," Without ever thinking, the Muse found me ! " Oh, come awa, Sam ! lose your sorrow in me — As aft ye hac dune !" — she said tenderlie ; Sae I smiled thro' my tears, an', like a wcc wean, E.an into her airms an' lauched again I <^y^jS his readers are, many of them, no doubt, about to J^^5g make acquaintance with "Mucklebackit " for the first time, it seemeth meet, and, in fact, necessary, that he should herewith proceed to give, as plainly and succinctly as he can, some account of himself, in order that one and all may fully understand and duly appreciate what is to follow in future papers. I will rapidly jerk into this biographical task by stating that at the time when I first unclosed my optics upon this bewildering world my father was the tenant of the small farm of — most appropriately nick-named — " Scaurden," in East Lothian, and that he afterwards succeeded to Clover Riggs during my adolescence. Nothing that I have heard B 2 .SlIKKl' IIKAD AND TltUT'lKKS. of was oliserved reiiiarkalile Jiljout iiic until T liad readied my twelfth year— excepting iny extraordinary pliysical dimensions and superabundant animal spirits. At twelve I stood five feet six inches in my stockings, and weighed over nine stones imperial. At school T was the acknow- ledged leader in all sorts of boyish sports and scrapes, and would have blushed to have been caught rendiu;/ by a companion between school hours. Secretly, howe\er, T had devoured even by this time at least twenty Chapmen's packs of penny Belfast Almanacks ; long strips of ballads dolefully rehearsing the dying speeches and confessions of scores of blood-handed murderers and malefactors ; handfuls of three-halfpenny pamphlets, giving explanations and true readings of all sorts of dreams ; and, above and beyond all, whole libraries of the most fascinating and delightful narratives of great sea fights, together with enchanting histories of the most dreadful and tremendous pirates imaginable. As a quite natural result following the ad- ministration of this surfeit of such pei'iiicious trash, I ran away from home in my twelfth year, made my way a-foot to Hull, and there joined the merchant-man " Ostrich," Captain Grosse, bound for South America with a cargo of coal, &c. At sea I became a f.ivourite witli all hands, and was much noted and highly prized for my astonishing bodily strength and great powers of endurance — not one man of all the crew even so much as suspecting how my heart was breaking for the old home. On the run home, and while lying becalmed off the coast of Bnizil, the older sailors used to amuse themselves by making me carry them to and from the deck upon my back. ()ur captain was a huge, fat, coarse, bluff man, and an irreclaimable devotee of Bacchus to boot. One sad and memorable day, whilst a bevy of the jolly tars were diverting them.selves with me in the manner mentioned, the captain, unannounced, MUCKLEBACKITS EARLY DAYS. 3 suddenly emerged from his quarters below, fully " three sheets " of the wind a-lee. Angrily seeing us thus employed, he caught hold of me by the arm and gruffly asserted, with a terrible oath, that if I did not there and then carry him to the forecastle, he would order the boatswain instantly to " rope-end " me. In my endeavour to fultil his brutal command I tripped ujDon the capstan — the vast human ox coming down atop of me — and was picked up insensible, and with my spine seriously injured. On our landing in England I was carried to hospital, where I lay invalided for many long months before I felt myself capable of undertaking the long journey homewards to my father's house. What a prodigy I was ! As I walked in over the threshold of Scaurden, my old farmer father, with the rain in his eyes, says — " Sam, is this you ? Have ye come frae the schule, Sam ? What for has the maister lat ye back sae quick 1 I believe I maun tak' ye in hand mysel', Sam." The dear, dear grand old man, strange to say, had never got the letter that I should have sent him. Oh, the thoughtless cruelties of boyhood, ifec. No more was said about it — the back healed everything but itself. The broken back was the universal elixir. " Puir thing !" I would hear them cracking ; " pair laddie ! Such a wonderfu' creatur' too !" I was then crowned Head Ab-solute of the Empire of Heart. But my reign was not to be for ever. After a time, my two leading ministers. Pity and Sorrow, went away upon their travels, and although I managed to retain Wonder, the geography of my kingdom was ever after uncertain. But I was free ! No school, no work ; away for ever up among the everlasting hills ! And who met the poor, pale, keeker up there? Ah ' who but the blue-robed, green-mantled, flower-snooded, dreamy-eyed shining one — the distraction of old time — herself, sweet Poesy ! It was about this 4 SHEEP IlKAl) AM> 1 HOTTEKS. time, tot), that I got hold of Scott's " Heart of Miil- Lothiau." (), Effie Deans ! what tears were shed — what tears will be shed for thee through all coming time ! Many things puzzled me. (What for did Uobertson, as the doomster read the accursed sentence, itX)l burnt like a storm into the court, with a hundred-barrel revolver gleaming, and strike the caitiff' lawyers' hearts with a death fear and bear thee scaithless away, albeit the lily of St Leonard's no more? He could have had a coach and six Arabian hor.ses at the door, and a boat, dancing impatience at the pier o' Leith, all ready.) Then Burns — glorious ! Then Blind Harry's " Wallace." To tell what I felt, as a boy, when reading " Wallace," would just be simply impossible. Had it not been for my back, I would have gone straight to London, and not left one little stone of Westminster — where he suffered — standing upon an- other. The Cowpers would not have needed to screech so loud for their " vast wildernesses 1" No ; I don't want to speak of Monteith I I have .said that I took naturally to poetry at this time. I did so, and the making of it, too, in a way. This was my tiist : — •' MITIIEH CALEDON. Shed that veil o' cloud atwain, Loot owre me wi' smile .sae fain. Listen to thy cal hint's strain — Mither Caledou ! Koll on the ages owre thee ! Wallace eras nae mair be ; But thou- — right and liberty I — Mither Caledon ! MUCKLEBACKIT S EARLY DAYS. 5 Generations, law an' line, Tumble frae that lap o' thine ; Thou ! stern an' rude, but heart divine — Mither Caledon ! High in thine eternal seat, Eagle-eyed the epochs greet ; Glean their fair flowers at thy feet — Mither Caledon ! Arise ! and take the " vaward," Girt with righteous purpose hard, Thine old shield and surest guard, Mither Caledon ! Ahead ! scan out the march-way, Point a warld to light an' day. High on hill-tops, and away — Deathless Caledon ! One week, before I became fourteen years old, occurred the October Fair day. My back then was entirely better as regarded pain, and I resolved to go to the fair. My grave attention was instantly arrested at GifFord. " The Battle of Waterloo !" sweetly chanted an individual at the loan head to some sheep drovers, but entirely his own way. ^' Do you say .so?" says I, snufling the battle afar off; but without heeding me, he opened his mouth yet wider, and roared still louder. T waited till it was shut, and advanced. " Do you want a song, governor ?" he said ; *' here you be." I took it from the innocent warbler, and retired to a quiet corner to peruse it. I gat down to the bridge, and had the original effusion all to myself. Of course, it stunned me — as what would not, that began — " On the 16 til day of June, my boys, In Flanders, where we lay f b SIIKICP-HKAI) ANr» TROTTKKS. But tlidUgh the ballad w.is worthless, the idfii and resolution it gave rise to were far from being so. " Sam !" I exclaimed aloud ; " here is a trade I — a writer, singer, and disposer, for bawbees, of battle ballads — of immortal victories and sweet sea-tights — to the rural sons and daughters of your native land. Arise, Sam, and kittle up the olden iJoric harp I Muslin brose, lee-dyke sides, seybies, and a deathless name for ever !" The irrevocable determination to go it was taken, and sealed there and then. Let me here for one moment diverge from the thread of my story, to say that by this time (my fourteenth year) I had managed to gather into my mental storehouse a really extraordinary harvest of information for one of my age, and this without me being then and long after, in the least degree aware of. I had lived among reading people all my days ; and my father, thougli 1 knew he loved me dearly, did anything but praise me. The histories of England and Scotland (l)aiiing, perhaps, a degree of vagueness about dates, and other dry facts of little account), from Ciesar to William IV., were at my fingers' ends ; Bible and Universal History I knew well ; and Shakespeare and Milton were my daily companions. As for Burns and Allan Ramsay, and a few others, I had every word they ever uttered indelibly by lieart long ago. Before the fair day in (]uestion I had grown a little scientific. Hugh ^liller tickled me, but George ComVie's writings pnxluced a revolution in my way of thinking ; but though I am even yet a little of one, he never succeeded in converting me to an out-and-out phrenologist. I believe Combe was above this himself, and posterity will yet do him noble justice. Peace and beauty encompass the Dean Cemetery where lie his philosophic " lobes I" MUCKLEBACKIT S EARLY DAYS. < I went home, as I said, to put my grand scheme into execution. With an old blade of what might have been a razor in the middle ages, I set to work upon u)y own and my father's books, to get paper whereon to inscribe my heroic themes. A few dozen fly-leaves were quickly detached, and, along with some old copy books, made, I thought, a respectable bundle. My plan was to fill these with original songs, written to old popular airs, descriptive of Scottish battles ; and then, like an ancient minstrel, set forth to sing and sell them over the length and breadth of Scotland. This I kept a secret from every one ; and the winter passed away, and the time drew near which I had fixed upon for my second adventurous essay from the paternal roof. It was a bonny spring morning in the latter end of March. I slipped my cable from Scaurden the night previous, as the old " wag-at-the-wa' " chimed to Hecate her awesome hour of spells. I took with me, to be my companion in my wayward raids, a little coarse gray- haired, gruesome, cunning Scotch terrier dog, of doubtful breed, which I had baptised, in an orthodox manner, some time before — " Second Sight." My stock-in-trade — those immortal ballads, bound with a saddle girth — I carried under my arm. I possessed, when I started, exactly £0 Os Od. We trotted (Second Sight and^I) up the High Street of Edinburgh, about nine in the morning, to the Witiiess newspaper oflice, to have an interview with the celebrated editor, Hugh Miller. I had never seen him before ; but from what I had read, I thoutrht I would recognise him at a glance if he came Ti .siii:i:r-iii:.\i) and 'runTKUs. before inc. T (lid not <,'0 into tiie office and iisk for the "editor ;" I knew better I waited !it .-i close head till he passed, on his way from his house at Portobello. At a few minutes l)efore ten he was visible ; he was like no other man, and thereby I knew him — the mii^hty Scandinavian I I crept out, and kept close to Miller behind. I was right ; he went in, passed throuj^h the office into his sanctum sanctorain, and had the door l)olted upon us before he saw me. He started back, then ; took on a ferocious look ; clutched at something in his breast pocket, and shouted — "Who? how?" Had it not been for the invaluable Second Sight, in that supreme moment, I believe in my heart he would have struck me to his feet a dead man. For down in Miller — T may remind you — reposing, but not altogether buried, under strata of a gentler external nature, dwelt the lingering savage and superstitious elements of his mixed Celtic and Scandinavian origin. Hugh ISIiller was a visionary, and I am convinced he, at first, actually took me for a visitant from the lower regions, as I so unexpectedly stood before him. Second Sight alone saved me. (That obscure, canine iniage was worth his weight in refined gold !) He barked, leaped, and throttled the old mason, while I cried — "Siller, Mr Miller! it's siller; I only want siller !'' Thereby he perceived that I was only human ; for he at once drew his hand from his breast, and said mildly — " How much do you ask ?" and sat down on his seat much relieved. I told him all ; gave him a sketch of my life — my plans for the future, prospects, and present needs. Told him I was going to sing my way over Scotland for the purpose of visiting the scenes of old battles, and places famous in history and literature ; that I intended, in the first place, to cross the sea, and open proceedings at Burntisland ; that I wanted siller to pay for the boat, and no more ; and that I had come to him MUCKLEI5ACKITS EARLY DAYS. 9 because I had read all liis great books, and loved him for his own and our common country's sake. I said iny father •did not know, but that if lie gave me siller I would write him — and he knew Sam too well to be much put about concerning me. He listened with great attention, I saw ; for he sat as one transfixed, and stared over at me with such a thin smile on his face — like moonlight on an ancient monument of gravity, done in old red sandstone ! After I had done he suddenly rose from his chair, strode over to me, catched me by the ann, and again sat down. He stared at me again for another minute or so. At the end, and all at once, as if he had just received the order from some outside Fate at his elbow, he lifted me up on to his great knee. Again, that long, anxious, wondering stare, without one word. I spoke first, at last — I couldn't help it — the silence was so oppressive. I said — " Hugh, if you are going to lend me siller, mind it is only a lend ', for I will bring it back when I return ; and if you like, just now, I will sing you my ' Battle of Bannockburn ' for your kindness ?" He stroked me on the head with his mason's mallet of a fist, like a mother, and nodded compliance. In a beautiful, low voice, then, I began, and soothed his cares asleep with my melodious idyll. It was a sight sublime — the old sage and the young singer crossing each ■other on the way to the eternal end, and binding with harmony the recollection for ever of the happy hour. Second Sight enjoyed it to the full, seemingly, for lift sat on his hurdles, and looked Patience herself (save winking) all the time. After the song, " Old Red " handed me •down gently, and took from his pocket a tape line and measured my head. Then he gave me more than I wanted in shape of shillings ; and after telling me to have an eye ■on my road for "specimens," I departed. 10 SIIKKP-IIEAI) AM) TUOTTKKS. "tmk hattlk of DANXOCKBUUX." Price Que Halfpenny. Fast plialanx'cl on Bannock side — Oh ! look a risen land ; For one last stroke for freedom dear, Take up her final stand ! Confess'd in heaven's fixed decree — 'Tis life, 'tis death — but liberty ! Her pennons, dyed in war's red tide, AikI banners shaped in figlit. Flap memories about the winds. And wrongs of AVallacc wight ! A thousand arms shall pledge the foe — A thousand fold the tyrant's blow ! De Ijoune and Cliftord, heralding, Tiie dawn of freedom's morn. First cross the weirds in deathly strife, The foes of Bannockburn. And summer Sol bursts out to see, A sacrifice to liberty ! A voice, as of a mighty wind Up from a redeem'd sea. Sweeps every wrong and woe away With one word --Victory ! And smiling peace, so long forlorn, Hallows the sod of Bannockburn I Aftf^' I left the Witness office, I went to an hunjble lodging, had Second Sight and myself fed, passed the remainder of the day in sleep, and started next morning to be in ffood time for the first boat crossing the Firth to mucklebackit's karly days. 11 Burntisland. As I walked across the short distance of country between Edinburgh and Granton, and just as I had passed the last Edinburgh house, I noticed, some sixty yards before me on the road, and going also west- ward, an odd little figure, clad in a brown overcoat, and finished a-top with a hat, whose brim inclined lovingly Vjack towards the sun. The stranger also flourished a heavy polished walking-stick in his right hand, i fancied him, and, giving myself freedom, soon trotted alongside of him. He was an out-and-out original — the face and figure said so, and I believed them, and acted up to my faith. " My dear sir," I said, "if you please, is this the way to Granton Ferry, and Bui-ntisland, and Perth, and Glentilt in the Grampians, and Culloden Moor. Is this, O my dear sir — is this the road to Falkland Palace V This last took the child by the ears, wheeled him round, and brought him to a dead lock. Odd as he was, I instinctively felt then I was in the presence of a gentleman, and a highly learned and great intellectual man. He was all three at least, as the sequel showed ; for the child, and no other, was Thomas De Quincey, the "English Opium Eater" — the critic of Cato and Milton, the essayist and logician, and the pui-est, subtlest, most pointed, distinct, and correct general writer that ever perhaps wielded an English pen. tJis writings flow on like classic waters from classic hills, through classic lands, and fall into classic seas. Almost every sentence is a stream of purest crystal thought, which, rolling on and gathering, takes up its tributary clauses from either side, and carries them away in swelling pride and conscious power, flashing in mid-day, to the one inevitable bourne of full and unbounded conviction. I had read a little of him then as the " Opium Eater " in "Wilson's " Noctes ;" but I chiefly knew him from a conversation I had heard between my father and two young students, 12 SIIEEP-IIKAD AND TKOTTEHS. who called and slept one night at Scaurden, when passing over the hills on a fishing excursion. To bo with Wilson, they said, he had come to Edinburgh, and taken a house at Lasswade, where he now lived with his family. When he stopped, I repeated my question in an urbane manner — " I asked you, kind sir, was this the way to Falkland Palace ?" He looked up at me, but answered naught for a while. I thought at that time I had never beheld a more beautiful head tli.ui this same tiny, fragile, wrinkled, manikin wizard's. His age might be about sixty, or a little more ; his burning little eyes were deep set, and his brow exceeding large. "Falkland?" he said, with a voice like a moonbeam; "yes. But mayn't I, before answering, and without appearing rude, request to be honoured with the name of my interi'ogator ?" "Oh yes, sir ! I am Samuel Mucklebackit. Hou do they ca' you at hame ?" " Thomas De Quincey ; at times, but cantingly, the ' English Opium Eater.' Don't start .so ; oh, do not ! Truly I am De Quincey ; but tell me, how Falkland Palace — how Scottish minstrel 1 I do not understand." I stripped myself of all mystery, and stood before him the well- marked, naked Mucklebackit in five flashes. After which, lamented the wee southern wizard, iu words like sad waters in lonely glens, up among drear de.solate hills — " Oh, how exceedingly unfortunate ! Samuel, were it not for the ties that bind me to family, I would shake hands with ceremony, and say good-bye to all civil and social com- munions—their crippling forms and Vnnding and thereby oppressive punctualities, and join thee, noble boy ! in thine enthusiastic and musical peregrinations over your own romantic land, which ■" (lie couldn't stop, there- fore I took and stopped him.) " Your family, sir ; certainly. And another thing, f could not hear of you mucklebackit's e\hly days. 13 going with ine, because of Second Sight, sir. I would not risk you with me in company with that antipode of respectability, Second Sight, sir. The villain wags in every hair of his person ! He hath only one honest spot in his body — it is his heart, and that because it can only hold one thing — love for his master (and with that it is already full to bursting), the quaint bard before you." "You are," returned he, " an interesting pair, and ■." " What do you call yourself. Tarn ?" " Well, never mind. I shall, Sam, never forget you. We can walk on and talk. First (do not linger), give me a touch of your minstrelsy." I did. With hat in hand, hair streaming, face glowing, and soul in the seventh heaven — first, " William Wallace," and then in pity of his being an Englishman, " Flodden." (At present, I only transcribe the first of these two) : — " WILLIAM WALLACE." They slew thee — did they 1 Let it be I No more : it cannot be undone. But, truly, could thy fate back run, I would not wish one breath for thee. The tyrant and the hero sleep — Lift up thy heavens, God, on high. Let light abound, let darkness die. Let truth thy utmost confines keep. The tyrant and the hero, then, In equal, perfect justice show — The fiendish lust — against the glow Of truest, noblest love for men. 14 SIIKKP IIKAI) AND TUOTIKKS. He, Iiigli Ix-yond all factions, ^rew, And, (lesjiite them, his purpose lield, Tliiou<;h petty turmoil, still unqueU'd, T\\o hero rose — we sec him now. All power, the woildling's power, and gold, To stoop .and take were at his feet ; Or, earthly death, defamed to greet, And let sure time his worth unfold. And, all undoubting, death was ta'en. Through torture and the traitor's free ! ( ) Wallace : ne\er liberty, For this forsakes our land again! After the songs, De Quincey shook me warmly Ijy both hands, spoke no words, but took an enormous gold watch from liis " spung " and handed it toward me. " What do you mean ?" I asked, observing that he did not offer to explain himself. " T mean," said he, " to present you with this, the only article of value I have now in my possession, as a token of my sympathy for your noble enthusiasm, and a little mark of my admiration of your exalted courage and poetical genius." " Don't tell, sir, what I am," I replied, " I know what I am — and would have been, besides, sir, Vjut for my poor back, the greatest, the dreadest, and the most profound sea scourge and pirate of this or any former aire — I don't mind which, sir. Neptune never had such a son. T would have raked your seas. A price of ten thou- sand would have heen upon my head. Through black night, over the deep I would ride supreme, and none but T — Samuel !Mucklebackit, the Dark Dread of both Poles! Mr Quincey, knuckle in your trinket ; T will none of it. Out with the real George, and hand me coin for my two songs. One penny, British money, and no more. Thanks !"' mucklkbackit's eauly days. 1-3 So saying, I walked briskly ahead, and caught the boat just in the nick of time. We were steamed across in the usual way. The Forth was as quiet as a basin of milk. I took post behind the starboard paddle-box, and Second Sight sat near on the bulwark looking at me. The only incident of our voyage that I have to note is this. Second Sight, having never been to sea before, and consequently a lubber, jumped overboard after a buoy, and a boy (myself) jumped after him. We were both recovered. At Burntisland I commenced warbling at once, for I was anxious to try my luck. However, after singing myself hoarse through two streets, and seeing nobody (I learned from an auld wife that it was their Fast Day !) I disappeared. I \isited, then, the spot where Alexander III. fell from his horse and was killed. The place is between Burntisland and Kinghorn, and called the " King's Wood End." I now struck north-east up the " Kingdom " to Cupar, in order to attend the fair held there on the last Thursday of March ; likewise to visit Falkland, where young Rothesay was starved. jNIy success was but middling at Cupar, and I shut up after selling three dozen copies of various songs. As I was limping my way through the fair at my leisure, after this, I heard a voice directly behind me utter these words — " Kyley, Kyley, .saxteen pund for thae knurlin creatures. Hoot awa !"' Kyley Brown ! — no man in Scotland I wislied more to see, and this is why. Donald Brown, of Perth, was an adept at his trade — a dealer in Highland and West of Scotland cattle, hence his familiar cant name, " Kyley Brown " — but he did not always adhere to the " Honesty's the l^est policy " mode in his transactions. He had " done " my father most grievously at the last Hallow Fair l)ut one, near Edinburgh. The story is too long to tell, so suffice it 16 SIIKKP IIKAD AND TltnilKKs. to say that it proved liiDwii to he an accoinplislied black- guard, if not actually a fi)rgcr. (Jften had T wislied, and almost prayed, for an opportunity to expose and mete out justice to this heartless villain — and here it was, and had come wlion I was thinking nothing at all about it. A grand thfjught struck me like an inspiration, and my plan was made in an instant. He had a lot of about seventy head of cattle on the stance. Slipping round these, T got liold of one of his men and gave him a glass. He told me his master was indeed the right " Kyley," and no mistake, and all about him else that I wislied to know. After I had g(jt my information, I retired from the market, and composed the song Vjclow. I then hired a man to write and supply me with copies, for I intended to push their sale, and my efforts met with the highest success. I borrowed an old barrel, and carried it as near to Brown's lot of cattle as possible. Upon this I mounted, and held forth to an appreciating circle on the one theme (lecturing, spouting, and singing), without intermission for five long hours, for, with S(!Cond Sight at my foot, I feared not the face of mortal man. After I had done, the copies sold in bawbees, made the enormous sum of eight shillings and tenpence sterling. Brown had to remove his cattle from the market without selling a single head. T heard many years after that he had sold off and left for Australia, where he actually met the doom spoken of in the rant, for being concerned, along with twelve others, in the murder and robbery of a gold-digging party returning to ]\Iel- bourne. " KYLKV ItliOL'N," The Deceiving Drover of Perth. O, a' ye men folk come to buy At canny Cupar Fair, mucklebackit's kai:ly days. 17 Heilaii cattle, stots, or kye, Of y<»ur spare brass beware ! There is a little Highlander — A man of lies and meikle stir ; Tak' ye tent — beware of " her," An' keep an e'e aroun'. He'll blaw his beasts up to the skies — Swear ilk ane 's ta'en ta Hielan' prize, An' toss his heid — this Man o' Lies — As 'twerna Kyley Broun. When he's at hame, he flees aboot An' Ijuys up auld wives' kye (Nae doubt he'd steal them, tail an' clout, If he but daur'd to try). Within his byre, aff coat he flings. An' binds ilk Crum wi' wicked strinofs — Frae ilka horn risps aff the " rings " To ca' her young, the loon. He'll blaw his beasts, &c. His stiiks he wiles frae Hielan herds Wi' tales o' strong Glenlivet, But when the barrel comes frae Perth, There's no a man will have it. He starves the young, he clips the auld — ■ Dog-kennel victims gingers bauld, No matter what — if they're but said. An' he can clear a croon. He'll ))law his beasts, etc. His waefu' mither's heart he'll l)reak. If it can lireak ava' : 18 SllKlCr-HKAD AND TKOTTKICS. Her fine red head, T tiow, alake ! E'en now is streakod \vi' siiaw. 'Tis g()(i(l to wisli slic iiiayna see The destiiu'il dooin tliit In- iiiaiiii dree, When, racking at a gallows tree, He birles canny roun'. He'll hlaw na', then, up at the skies — Swear she liath got ta Hielan' prize ; But hing her heid — this Man of Lies — As 'twerna Kylie Broun. ^lany even more than commonly wondei-ful and astound- ing experiences and adventures befel me on this never-to- be-forgotten musical circuit ; but, though fain, I may not linger at present to recall any of them. For eighteen wild and distracting months my minstrel peregrinations without break continued ; l)ut when at last these all had come and gone, T discreetly again sought the home of my fathers, wisely resolving to buckle to and .settle down as a douc(? and canny agriculturist for life. Alas ! " the best laid schemes of mice and men," etc. I had hardly t;i.sted of home comforts for more than one shoi-t twelvemonth, ere I was once agiiin l>eset and attacked by mine ancient enemies — an unendurable longing after travel, and love of jwlven- ture. This time, however, my ySeii, 111 .1 ship ca'il the " Os-siau '" In iianic ! Noo Johnny Kirk an' Mt- Pine far owre the 8ea, An' greet 'cause we canna win hanie. We ultimately contracted with the captain of the same vessel we went up with to carry us back to Leith for our laVxiur on the passage. Whilst skirting St Abb's Head on our run (Idwii, we were nearly lost in a violent storm of wind, and only reached the Roadsteiul off Leith next morning after great damage had been done to our masts and rigging, and after we had fatally fractured our pro- peller. After a Ijrief interval of about three months in various districts in Scotland, I re-entered London one fine morning — this time " all alone by myself " — and succeeded in obtaining a situation on the \ery day of my arrival. However, it soon became evident that I was " in for it again," for, a " lock-out " taking place in the building trades before I had been a " Cockney " two weeks, I was ere long i-educed t) the greatest straits — even, at one time, being consti-ained to drag out existence for eight days upoii eightpence sterling ! At length, along with another young Scotsman from Glasgow, T .spning at and reached relief by engaging on board a steamer trading between Sheerness and London. At tlie end of six weeks our vessel was ordered t(^ clear out for Calais in France, upon a .special commercial errand. The skipper of this boat was an able navigator, Vjut he \\ ADDllESS T(J TRAPRATN LAW i^r^l^AIL I veneralile, ample, steadfu.st frieiul i=k Dear as a mother's form is thine to me, So, as a child might, at thy foc^t I bend, To pour this lay of filial love to thee. Thou wast the wonder of mine infancy. And tho' in youth afar I drifted hence. Again thou art my sacred mount to be — Mine own Parnassus — whose hi^h irrottoes whence The mature Muse may sweep the Universe immense ! For thou ait as the pivot of my world. All lound thee circles that I love or know ; Tho' to the utmost Cosmos thought were hurl'd Back to this source and centre, here below. Would it rebound — tho' loathing to forego The Ijootless chase of problems which old Time Makes mockeis of research — life, death, and woe — The How and Why of Nature's wonders prime — The secret infinite — the mystery sublime ! To jaded, Ijaffled Ijard, how cahii, Ikjw sweet, Are thy familiar and mute-mountain nooks I press thy springy turf beneath my feet, I breathe thy purer air- -which holds oi- l)i()()k No element to feed the pain that liooks — Not Nature's — breed Ijy false imaginings ; And all my morbid cares take wing, like rooks, When sudden March-dawn on tlicir beech-wood I springs, ^■Vnd Boreas e'en is hushed w itli sough of clanging wings. ADDRESS TO TRAPRAIN LAW. 25 Then o'er the rounded field of thy grand dome, And craggy glories of thy southern .side, With zest unwearied do T climb, and roam, And revel in the spreading prospect wide, Which, from far Ochils to the Northern tide. And from green Lammermoor to Grampians grey Aftords one landscape seen in summer's pride — Might well ev'n Dryasdust himself betray Beyond his highest flight — luguln'ious " Lack-a-day I" For what unutterable beauty 's given, And spread to man o'er this his natal sphere ; And if this is but earth, what will be heaven, Tho' sure its sheen 's anticipated here ! Its gates stand all ajar, and thro' thein clear A l)eam celestial streams athwart our strand. Flooding each valley, moorland, plain, and mere. Up to the mountain tips, with mantling grand, Till rare old Scotia 's dight like the Enchanted Land I Hither and thither o'er the green expanse. Sprinkled with homesteads — as thy slopes with flocks — Gleaming and glistening in June's radiance, The raptured breezes flit in fragrant shocks, And sing like children 'mong thy rifted rocks Where I sit musing, Ijlessing heaven the while. That such a land no malison 23rovokes, Or lawless anarchy, or slav'ry vile. But 'tis of Freedom true the law-ruled home and isle. Around thy swelling base and beetling crags No more, Dumpender* I whirls the rout of war ! * The olil name of Trapraiu Law. 26 SHKKP IIKAD AM> IKOTTKItS. Whcic oft li.i\(' Houtod pitti'd Icjiiun's llii-^s, Now the <(reen tree Jiiid '• milk \\ liitc hawthorn " uk Seen wavin<^ in tins suniinri- |>eace afar ; And for f)ie l)hii'iiiose. The monarch kept court at some (juarter of his dominions not far from Trajirain. A shepherd yo\ith lived at this jilace, with whom the yonng princess fell hopelessly in love. Stolen interviews followed, and the king too late discovered that his (laughter had brought disgrace on her lineage. The punishment was rlcath, and that in one of its most ajipalling forms. The erring dainsel was taken to the toj) of Trajirain, and was thrown from the dizzy height of three or four hundred feet on the plain below. The sjMit where she fell was ever afterwards known by a sjjring of delicious water that burst forth from the ground the moment she alighted upon it. She was found by her friends not (juite deaciated the tenderest memories of the family and the fireside circle, and every home tie that a loving heart holds dear. From the loud-sounding, sense-confounding, and busy cities come the servant girls, the shop boys, and the artisans, back to their native calf ground. Whole families are re-united, and here and there, alas, there is one amissing. In the rapid glance of the eye, in the hurried, vigorous, grasp of the hand, untold volumes of well-understood meanings, are conveyed by Scottish men and women from one to another on Hansel Monday morning. Long-suppressed feelings have this day an outlet. The village streets, from an early hour in the morning are thronged with visitors. The early trains bring in large numbers of them from almost every conceivable quarter of the country. From the surrounding rural districts come all the forenoon literally crowds of youngsters, well-dressed, respectable-looking young men and " bonnie lassies," and grave, sagacious- looking, conscientious, grey-headed Scotchmen — men, the like of whom can be seen in no other country.] HOGMANAY.* feET sighing " saunts " and mim-mou'd bards Rant owre their " dying year ;" The rustic muse, mair meet, awards And speeds 't wi' sang' an cheer, And joys that Mirth, as far owre earth As common sense hath sway, 'Mang simple folk her e'e shall cock. And welcome Hogmanay Ance mair this nicht. Auld Hogmanay ! Thou funniest nicht, Tho' hindmost o' the year, That ev'n in sulkiest, sourest wicht Gars gleams o' glee appear. And young an' auld mak'st blythe an' bauld, And nane but sumphs look glum ; Let cakes and ale a'wliere prevail Till dyvours even are rum Wi' joy this nicht ! The youngsters in yon wee cot hoose At hame whare we were born. * New Year's Day Eve, 1890. The customs and practices described iu the above verses were universally in fashion amongst the peasantry of East Lothian in the writer's early day«. Nor are they altogether for- gotten, or obsolete yet in the rural parts of the county. The "big bands " of mummers or guiscrs, indeed, may not be as often met with now as formerly, but this time-honoured species of frolic is still very common and popular amongst the country and village children during " Yule Tide " — and especially on the evening of Hogmanay. — S.M. 44 SIIEEP-HEAD ASn TROTTERS. This nicht, task-free, are looten lowse, And merry guisers turn : Fauso-faoes on, and sarks they don Abune their bits o' breeks ; Syne ramp an' roar f rae door to door. And tirl the neebors' snecks Like ouphes this nicht ! Against this time, for weeks before, They've conn'd their ploys and sangs ; Sae furth they troop, e^juipped galore. In noisy groups and gangs. And ilk guidman and wife afifhaun' The "bairns " richt welcome gi'e, For lang, lang syne they bring to min'. Whan they themsel's wad be " Guisers " tliis nicht ! Whyles Kate or Johnny's feart an' blate. But ane — their " Judas " he- Is, sure, nae " Muff" at onyrate, Tho' timmer-tuned he be. Sae forth he stands, and shouts wi' pride— " Goloshan is my name ! "With sword and pistol by my side, It 's we shall win the game. Ye dwarfs, this nicht !" Whereat a mannikin wee " lord " — A kid Napoleon — Strides oot, and waves his wooden sword, Crying, " Golosh, follow on ! The game, sir ! the game, sir ! HOGMANAY. 45 Its not within thy povv'r, For with this — my bloody dagger — I shall flay thee on that floor, Thou sheep, this nicht !" Like Celts at feud they weapons wiel', But little Nap, I trew ; Like Nap the Great, sin pruves his skill, And rins his foeman " through." Then giant Golosh on the floor, A driedfu' doom wid dree. But " Doctor Gore " does him restore, As soond as you or me, Wi' a funk this nicht. Lang ere the tragedy is closed, A' bash fulness hath fled ; Ilk youngster's lilt will sune be lowsed. And bawbee ballads bled, Syue currant scones, and ha'p'nies round. Will mak their hogmanay ; And merrier weans may not be found In Christendie than they, This joyous nicht. But noo, in yonder auld toom hoose, A greater band convene — Big country chiels, an' cummers crouse, And halflin' lads a wheen ; Oot-workers, they, their toggery gay, The lads wi' lasses swap ; And as ilk ane, transformed comes in, Wi' mirth they maist do drap, Like drunks this nicht. 10 SIIEKP-IIKAD AND TKOTTERS. Jock Skaed in Maggie Ritcliie's goun, And dress improver lairge, Comes airin in ainii wi' wild Tarn Broun, Wha, despite cost or chairge, Is buskit oot, and Hounccd aboot — For a' his tawny baird — Like Royal Bess in a " progress," When wi' Leicester's laird They'd toy at nicht. Wee Katie Todd, sae sweet an' snod, For a' her toils obscure, Comes thundering in wi' Kirsty Glen, A brigand black-a-nuH:)r ; And Jeanie Hogg, the winsome rogue, And rage o' a' the toun, Ev'n joins the band — togged like a grand And dashing smart dragoon. Love-bound this nicht ! Whan tliey've a' met, the band will tell, Wi' fiddlin' Joseph More, And Hielant piper, Rob M'Call, Both sexefi — near a score ; And, for time's short, they tak the road, Belvye wi' richt guid will ; The mune comes oot in heaven abroad, And glamori^ rare will till The warld this nicht. The starrie gleams thro' rifts on' seams Of stormy skies are seen, And darklin' wuds, like thunder cluds, Tower huge and black between HOGMANAY. 47 The shadowy fields, and owrie bields, Whare lonesome flocks repose ; The winds sough by, and seem to sigh — " The Auld Year's at a close, And dees this nicht !" The guiser bands meet guiser l^ands, And merrily fraternise ; Their lood guffaws, like storms on strands, Resound alang the skies. And echo frae the wonderins: hills. As freends at kenn'd freends start ; In sooth their looks micht scare life's ills Frae even an auld maid's heart, Love-lorn this nicht. Anon they pairt in hurrying glee, And rin their several ways, For lang the tramps this nicht do be That ilka band essays ; Oor gentry's ha's for miles around, Maun stage their mimic fun, And ilk ferm house 'ithin their bound Be in its turn owre-run. Ere twal this nicht. Their pipes an' fiddles skirl an' squeck, And, on the flaggit floors. They dance till doors and winnocks shake, And own the plough-boy's pow'rs ; And gentles draw in Grange an' Ha' To swithly join their plays — A' folk are loved — a' hearts are moved, And melt in Hogmanay's Warm clasp this nicht ! 48 SHEEP-HEAD AND TROTTERS. The yill gaes round — sangs, toasts abound, Wow ! hoo the gentles laugh ! Oor proud Queen Bess, in his Court dress, Ev'n condescends to quaff A flowing can " Tae the gudeman And mistress o' this hoosf' ;" Wha, pleased, rejoin, and a gowd coin Slip him, for the band's use And treat this nicht. Meantime the auld folk, blythe at hame. Await the youths' return, Wi' neebors they a winning game Play wi' John Barleycorn : Auld yarns are spun, auld ballads sung — Screeds heard but ance a year ; The spell-bound bairns — baith auld and young- Sit up, them a' to hear Again, this nicht ! But anxious keeks are gi'en the clock- Nae mean Wag-at-the-Wa', But ane frae Alec Cameron's stock. An " aucht-day," lairge and bra\v — Its twa hands a'maist meet at twal, When, sudden at the door, The band returned, are here to brawl. And clamour owre their store O' erifts this nicht. o Fu' sune they crood the cottar's house. Till guests and guisers fill Its but and ben sae fou, a mouse A cat there couldna kill. HOGMANAY. And they a' stare the aucht-day dock, And every saul is dumb — Husht — listening for the Auld Year's stroke, And the — " I come ! I come ! Lo ! I am here, the Nevv-born Year, On the ' for ever ' cast ; To strive and speed, thro' peace and feide, Till I shall gasp my last, Tvval months this nicht." The haill crood bound upo' tlieir feet, And, with a Scotch huzza. They joyously the New Year greet, And shake hands ane an' a'. The young chaps bring their bottles oot, And ilk ane gets a wettin' ; Syne, sune's they're tasted, turn aboot, They a' set afF first-fittin' On New Year's morn I 49 THi: IITIMNC FlUDAY. (LINES \V)UITKN AKTKK CUMINU FKOM THi: MAKKET). ^JmtS business euU'd, I gaecl to toun, ^^ An bra\ cd the hirinj,' warsle ; 80 thae " impressions " I note doun ()' the «,'reat human hirsel. :Morosely, by a glowing tire, I i-etrospect the babble : Yet scorn my soon-suppiessed desire To execrate the " rabble." For while Immunity is ilust, And man a vagrant creatur — Whaes aft daft antics bring disgust Your sagely meditator ; He is not all he seems to be In holiday careering ; Aft thro' the scum of foamy sea, The pearly treasures peering ! AVhere ignorance and folly meet Wi' yuuthfu' glee to prompt them, What if vulgarity should greet. An' her dear children compt them? The boorish speech, the gait, the leer, An' mind a blank— we pity. Yet what ye lack— (iod's truth— is here, Ye shams in toun or city ! THE lllUIXf; FKIDAY. 51 Here simple human nature shaws, All unsophisticated ; Unknown, unheeding fashion's laws — Her yearning heart unsated ! That one heart, worn on rustic sleeves This day for knaves to peck at, Is Adam's still — and joys and grieves Or plush or purple deck it ! 8till, cross'd was I oor manlike " hinds " To see them fool'd an' cheated. By gallows scamps, wi' tricks an' blinds, A school miss might defeated ! By riff-raff rogues, whaes victims were. In a' that decks the wearer. To such tag knaves — as Tjmeside air To Cowgate reek — superior ! But d runts aside ; the " ither facts," Let us a moment scan them — Behold auld Scotland's buirdly backs. An' shanks tltat sliaw men aicn tliem ! " Beloved at hame — revered abroad !" The " wall of fire " around her ! The arm with whilk she cuts her road When thick faes would confound lier ! An' lasses, sweet ! as lads are stoure ! — Braw cockernonied leddies ! Show faces that wad papists sour, Mak' benedicts an' daddies ! Nae prim-faced, dwarfish, dolly jades That cankered guidmen bothers. But, " plump an' strapin' " stately maids — Proud Scotland's future mothers! 52 S11KKP-U1L\1> AM) IKOTTKKH. [NoTK. — This day is a "red-letter" day in the lives of the peasantry of East Lothian - the Jliring Friday at Haddington. From time inmiemorial public markets for the hiring of agricultural and domestic servants have been common in Scotland and in the North of England. The questions of their utility, desirability, S:c., have been long discussed. Ts it derogatory, or is it not, tc) a free-born Briton to expo.se himself for the purpose of selling his labour to the best advantage before the eves of all men in a public street ? If it be derogatory, then the practice must necessarily be degi-ading all lound, and the workmen in oui' large towns and cities who come out and hang around dockyards and the gates of manufactories awaiting employ- ment must be put under the same ban beneath which a countryman stands at a hiring fair. The principle, if in one case, must necessarily and logically hold in all, Whether it would be better that employers should engnge their servants and workmen by means of registiation, or in any other ([uiet and private manner, there scarely, we think, can be two opinions — that is, were it always practicable. There is, without doubt, something exceed- ingly repugnant to the idea of freedom and manly independance in the sight of bands of men and women standing like dumb brutes in the maiket place awaiting a purchaser. But this semblance to a cattle market or a slave inart is an entirely misleading one. The instances are really not analogous in the slightest degree. The ploughmen themselves neither .see nor feel any derogation to their manhood in attending or entering into engage- ments in the hiring market. Indeed, both for the plough- man and the faimer, su< h a custom posse.sses many- advantages. O"^ In the first place, for the ploughmiin it secures at once a THE IIIRIXG FRIDAY. 53 day's remission from his ceaseless toil, and the best imagin- able opportunity for meeting old acquaintances and renewing old friendships. Morover, in the market he has the means ready at hand in the presence of his fellows of hearing and finding out all about any place he may be after — his prospective master, itc. — before he finally contracts for the coming year. At the market he learns the current rate of payment, and he knows in consccjuence almost to a penny what he should ask and what he should receive for his services, which it would be extremely difficult for him to do were any other conceivable system adopted. For the farmer the hiring market also afibrds a ready, and upon the whole a safe, method of supplying his wants. He needs say two or three ploughmen and cottars ; he goes to the market, meets and sees the men personally, talks witli them and their present employers — if he has a mind to — at the same time and place, and completes the whole business ofi'hand, without further expense, fuss, or bother. The real evils of hiring markets are the social temptations to excess which the re-union of so many old friends and neighbours natui-ally leads to, the too often unavoidable hurry and confusion in which bargains have to be made, and the bad encouragement they supply to inferior workmen. If a man has the body and the outward appearance befitting a sturdy son of the soil, no matter how shiftless and useless he may be at the tail of the plough or in the farmyard, he may, in the market, with a little push and forwardness, secure as large a wage as the first-class workman. This gross injustice to the clever workman is too often perpetrated, and its perpetration offers perhaps the greatest argument against hiring fairs. But this, of course, with the exercise of more caution, and the expenditure of more time on the part of the farmer, might be obviated ; but the induce- ments to effect a rapid agreement are often so many and ■ >l SIIKKI'-IIKAl) ANI> TliiiTIKKS. urgent th;it the practical result is too generally what we have stated it t«i Ik". It is impossible to uverlnok the fact <»f the absence of combination which there is amongst farm servants. Miners, weavers, artisans of all kinds, and even sailors, liave their trade unions and other associations for the maintenance of \vli;it they deem tlieii- rights, and the advancement of their orders, and furtherance of their several causes nowadays. The farm labourers, almost alone, stand aloof from such S(jcieties. Of cimrse there are reasons which can easily be advanced, partly to explain this to the satisfaction of some people. A ploughmen's strike of any length would be a most disastrous matter for East Lothian and the country generally : and, happily, such a dreadful misfortune — so long as the present system of yearly engagements holds — is practically an impossibility, because the moment they struck the men would come under the whip of the law, and render themsehes liable to the penalties of heavy fines, and even terms of imprisonment for breach of service contract. If the mode of engagement were the .same as that which obtains in tlie midland and southern counties of England, the risk of such a calamity would be increased incalculably. About forty or forty-five years ago, a large number of East Lothian hinds publicly combined, and, in a manner, " struck." Their object was the removal of the compul- sory " bondager." Prior to tiiat time, every ploughman — every per-son on the farm who held a cottage as pait of his or her yearly agreement, was bound to provide a fuU- botlied out-worker, or bondager, for service on the farm ; and for the cottage itself, this worker— it was always stipulated for— gave twenty-one days' labour in the harvest THE IIli;l\(. FltlDAV. 55 field, without otlier char<,'e than tlie usual rations to the farmer. Where the hind had a " halHin " son, or a ifrown-up daughter, this iniquitous custom did not press severely ; but in all those cases in which a stranger had to be engaged, and taken in, and lodged and fed in the wee Lot-house as the " bondager,' the enactment was cruelly expensive, and peculiarly galling and annoying to the poor men and their families. One, Thomson, from about Tranent, Was the leading man up in arnas against this truly obnoxious condition in the ploughmen's lot. On the morning of Hiring Friday 1845 or 184G, all those opposed to the bondager system were invited by messengers to meet him in the East Haugh. The invitation was widely accepted, and a very large concourse of farm people and others assembled at the appointed time and place. •Speeches by Mr Thomson and many others were delivered at this unique meeting, all warmly exhorting the plough- men to prove true to themselves and their families ; and a resolution was unanimously passed that all the farm servants present should stand out as one man against the deprecated condition, and not enter into engagements unless their demands were complied with. Bows of blue ribbon were distributed to all men favourable to the uaovement. These they were instructed to pin to the lappits of their coats, so that the farmers might see at a glance that their wearers would not hire if the intolerable liondager was sought to be thrust upon them. At the close of the meeting, the men marched in a body to the scene of the mai-ket — Market Street, from the Black Bull to the east end of Court Street— and there dispersed. Before the close of the day, it was estimated that fully one- half of the men had broken their pledge, and weakly allowed themsehes to become l)ound as of old, through ~»0 SlIKKP-mCAD ANIt IKctTTKItS. sheer tenoi- tli.it if they niJiufully stood out they iiii;,'lit at the ensuing AVhitsund.iy hecomo lionieless outcasts. Shortiv • ifter this abortive strike, the shrewd fanners wisely settled the matter themselves l>y conceding the just demands of their men, and n^w the hated " bondager"' system is looked Ijack upon in East Lothian as one of the liori-ors rtf a dark and by -gone ai;e. Daring this pei-iod, and long subsequent to the time of the bondager agitation, tlie wages of the hind were mainly paid in kind, with a cow's keep for each family. Tiie common yearly remuneration for a capable man was as follows: — £12 in cash, half boll potatoes i>lanted (or lOOU yards), 9 bolls oats, 4 bolls barley, 1 boll beans, a cow's keep or £5 in cash, and a free house and garden. The usual wage of outworkers was lOd per day throughout the yeai-, and a firlot of potatoes planted. Within the last twenty years the above plan of paying ploughmen has been greatly modified, and in some instances entirely abolished, and a weekly or monthly money wage substituted. The vast majority of tlie men, however, are now in receipt of a yearly pay of 6^ bolls oatmeal, 5 or G bolls potatoes, 1 boll beans, and from £18 to £24 cash, and house and garden, and coals driven free. Liberty to keep and feed a pig, or even two, is likewise generally given. The old and much- prized privilege of cow's keep has now almost universally been lost by the men — which is, we think, an evil almost amounting to a national calamity. The practice also of paying in cash monthly or fortnightly, we think, has been detrimental to the welfare of the ploughmen and their families. Notwithstanding all these too patent drawbacks, however, there can be no <|uestion that the general lot of the present-day working agriculturi.sts is a vast improve- ment upon that of their predecessors of forty or fifty years TUB HIRING FRIDAY. 57 ago. Houses, wages, educational f;icilities, social and political position — all these within the period specified have in a manner been (juietly revolutionised for our noble, hard-working ploughmen. Forty years ago the social and political standing of our hinds was little in advance of that of tlie serfs of Russia ; they were, in fact, as much ignored politically as the horses which they daily yoked to the plouch. To-day they are recognised, they are enfranchised and free, they are a great party in the State, their vote is courted and sedulously sought for, and the present-day ploughman can in literal fact exert as much influence over the Government of his country as his master, or even the laird and owner of the broad acres in cultivating which he spends his life and sti^ength. Hiring Friday market, however, despite all these great changes, i-emains much as it was thirty or f(.)rty years ago. We can indicate no great alterations which have been affected in its general characteristics during that period. No doubt the conduct, the demeanour, the customs and manners of the people attending it have in the interval in- finitely improved. There is a thousand times less rudeness, vulgarity, rowdyism, and intemperance observable now. In the crowd a drunk man is the exception ; forty years ago a perfectly sober man was the exception. Towards nightfall in those days the burgh on a Hiring Friday was a miniature pandemonium, and • bloody blattles between young intoxi- cated hinds enlivened every street of the town. All this has now happily passed away, we hope foi' ever and a day. The other aspects of the fair are much on a par as they ■iippeared long ago. Perhaps the numbers who habitually frequent Haddington on a Hiiing Friday, are greater now than they were then — we are inclined to think much greater. We liave been intimately acut foi' them our marr0 SIIi;i;i' lIKAli .\M> TKolTKHs. The born Jack tar o' the wiindland aiu I — " Steeple-Jack " daurna wage a spiel \\ i" inc. Yon spruce-pine tap, spearin' the h(nvn, like the thunderbolt, Syne, oh whaur, " Steeple Jackie," wad a' yei- glnry be '/ Up a tree, look at me, the wee broon squirrel, Merrier than Kdbin Hciod, the lea-lang day I Ye little plumed piince o' the greenwood warl' What time the nicht faes daurna shake a tae. Cockit lugs, an' curly Lang tail, an' swirly, A' the elves are sloths to me, the wee broon s(|uirr('l ! W NORTH BERWICK NELL. f-OY, joy, could I but have her, , Could I catch this peerless belle ; Only at death's yett I'd leave her — Charming sweet North Berwick Nell ! The Linton lasses wash an' kame, An' ilk ane thinks she 's nae sma' swell ; They're ghosts an' scares awa' frae hame, As sune's they meet North Berwick Nell ! J<^>y, j<>y> '^c- Them at Dunbar, an' Ada's toon * Wi' saip ;ui' pent l)Usk up to " tell " ; But when a's dune, they're dun an' broon — Fair frichts beside North Berwick Nell ! Joy, joy, il'c. Thou'rt in thy fisher garb an' goon, Short coaties to thy knees — a belle, That needna fear to shaw thy shoon. Nor thy twa legs, North Berwick Nell 1 Joy, joy, «tc. What tho' thy niinnie ilytes an' scolds, What tho' thy dad goes on the " gell " ; Such virtue to thine ainsel' h( lus, Thy freends seem saunts, Nt.rtli Berwick Nell I J'>.y, j*>y» '^^■ * Hadd.Uitiii. 02 siii:i:p-hk.\i> wn i koitkhs. I'po' Iifi Ituck the wjiuclity cicfis, She tliraws as eitlily in u spell ; As yoks, map.s, in.struments, and other knick-knacks, tlenis and gland demonstrative experiments of meteorology, or the " wauther science," in his own parlance; and in pursuit of these he had actually constructed with his own hand all the appliances and instruments named in the annexed rhyme. This rhyme I wrote at his own earnest request, but for reasons which I need not here allude to, it was never before printed — barring two or three of the last ^erses. The occasion of it was an intolerably cold, wet, and evil year for farmers, whom he deeply commiserated, and whom he longed to re-inspire with hope and to incite and encourage to fresh efforts by his infallible and brilliant " forecasts" of a bright time coming. The brother of this I'emarkable man was also a mechanical genius in his way, and an ardent amateur musician, and I once had in my hands a beautiful fiddle he had made with his knife solely out of a portion of a paling rail taken from a gap in a thorn hedge. Both brothers have now " joined the majority," leaving no sign, and for some time I have lost all trace of the whereabouts of their surviving relatives. I now append the full rhyme in order to illustrate and recoi'd the indefatigable industry, ingenuity, and, I may add, the admirable sagacity of this wonderful being. The phrases and the substance of the verses placed within inverted commas were mostly taken from his own lips. " THE WAUTHEK." *' Auld Lees' " been tichtly " exerceesed " this while about the " wauther," That endless theme to ferm fowk o' deevilish frait and bather ; Sae in my noddle a' his pranks hae been conspiring lang. To clank me down an' ease mysel' wi' a liit blast o' sani ig- Gi< siii:i;i' iii:ai) am) Ti;(i'rTi:i!s. He kens u' kind " haionietei's " — the Siphon; Common Wheel ; Till' 1 1 crmatic ^'^ \)Vi\v man's wautlifi- i^'lews " — that never (lis work weel ; The touchy Sijmpiesoinetei\ of " heeihoj^cn an' ih- " ; An' niony a sic-like instrument^ — owre fashions here to style. Leeze me on hi/ " tlicrmonieters '' that tell o' cauld an' heat — Hoo muckle or hoo little aye will gar ane grue or sweat ; Or, wi' a meenit feegurin', as owre the hills we stride, Can tell 's their hichts, niaist to an inch, ahune the Noilan Tide. " Itain gauge.s," "spheres" to weigh the winds, an' note hoo fast they l)law, *' Anemometers," " Hygiometers," " Electi'f)meters " braw, Maps, plates, an' grit "charts synchroiums " o' storms past an' to come. An' learn'd gal) aniljiguous, their grand r'csults to sum ! Hf'U state hoo great the " ])re. ANU TUOTTKIIS. livit tlicy ui.iuii (liclit tlicii- tt'iii-s uiii;iiii .iii' lnnk F.itf in the fact*, An' diiur her \v;ii-.st like Scottishnien -ti» whom ilespaii-'s disgrace. "Let ' Ahnanacks ' an' ' Wauther Seers' prognostic 'evil (lays ' I- - Vile caterers to ignorance wha lie Ijecause it pays ! Pass them a' by as knavisli rants -nane scans the Wauthcr gleam Beyond twa days for certain — huosoever wise they seem. " Neither Ije o' hope forloin, but frae this deid wa' o' time Streetch to pluck the golden fruitage, peerin' .surely thi-o' its grime. There are les.sons hung like signljoards, that a little child may read, What your wants are — where to fill them— tho' Necessity cry speed ! "Then the mirk hour o' the present in immediate time shall be The prelude, birth, an' earnest o' restored prospeiity. The overthrow o' Pooitith grim maun aye forerun the reign 0' the smiling prince his brither — jovial Plenty, fat and f; t J? Hill . THE FLTTTTN' DAY. ^>^;E sweet May mom, wlien blaLs o' dew ;^^^ At bud an' blade were hingin', An' larks, to hail the dawn anew, Spiel'd up the lift a'-singin'; 'Twas then that I, my Peg to try, Slipt doun the auld green loaning, To ane dear nook, beside the brook, Whaur sune I fell a-moaning. A rumblin' like a yirthquake sheuk My simmer morning bourie ; Sae I ran out, an' lap the brook, Tae see what was the stourie : Alack, alack ! I stagger'd Ijack, My l)ardie wrath forgettin' — To learn its cause was cairts in raws, Wi' scores of puir fowks " flittin' ! " On every road the heapit teams Swung hameward — rockin', noddin'; The household gods protentious gleams Of instant wreck forbodin' ! Bu ropes an' strae made gude that day To baud in coalition. Clocks, cradles, stools, beds, tikes, and dails. Secure — despite position. A-tap the cairt loads, wives and weans, Crouch'd eerie an' dumfoun'ert ; 72 sii:;i:i' iiiCAi) and tkottkhs. T vrat, weel sheukon were their l);iiut;, An' siir was imtiiy h lf)ii(' licart. The ^ri-ve, gucloinan, the "coo " in li.uxl, Cam" soberly an' hinniaist ; But aft, T tiew, nac ciununie iioo, As in past time was seen maist ! 15ut wlial by onluiir' luoked to ane That siccan scenes lias view'd aft, Was, — the new modes in plenishin', — Clocks, knick-knacks, grates, an' woodcraft ; Red polish gleam'd, veneerin' aeem'd The real mahogany that day ; An' easy chairs, and sofa lairs, Tauld plainly how the eat lay ! The lads hail clad, the lassies braw. An' deil