UC-NRLF 
 
 $B ISh fiM7 
 
 
p 
 
 Here is ratbet » 
 
 touching bit about John Skmner, t^^ ,^«**i^^,„®f 
 "Tullochgoimm," a dance which according to my 
 excellent friend the Rev Mr. M'Caig of Muck- 
 aim, is a very delightful «»/ .e^^il*'^^*^,^'' 
 formance. *' His manse stood m -;;: ^^^f yj^?^' 
 almost two miles square, m which neither tree 
 nor stone nor shrub, unless a straggling b^«h ot 
 broom deserved the name, w&s to «>« seen, and 
 there it was hia conaolation.to aay, 'My taper 
 never bums in vain.' The light was always at 
 night shining in his xvil>dow; he never Permitted 
 : curtain or shutter to int^^^copt ite rays, ^e useci , 
 to say. • It may cheer some roaming jouth or soli- 
 dary tmveller, sin<» the Polar-star ^^ ft truer to | 
 >it9 po:5ition than is the position of the W.a/« i 
 Uthe name of hia house) m its rise and setting, | 
 true to the Buchan Hind," 
 
TRmm ORIGWAT. BRA-WTNG m Tlffi POSSESSIOTT 05 
 
AMUSEMENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 LEISURE HOURS: 
 
 OR 
 
 POETICAL PIECES, 
 
 CHIEFLY IN THE 
 
 SCOTTISH DIALECT: 
 
 BY THE LATE 
 
 REVEREND JOHN SKINNER; 
 
 AT LONGSIDE5 ABERDEENSHIRE, 
 
 To which U Prefixed, 
 
 A SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR'S LIFE, 
 
 With Some 
 REMARKS ON SCOTTISH POETRY, 
 
 " An early wj»h, (I mind it's power) 
 <* I had, and to my latest hour 
 
 " It still shall heave my breast, 
 •• That I, for poor auld Scotland's sake, 
 " Some useful plan, or beuk could make, 
 
 " Or sing a sang at least." 
 
 Bums, Vol. r.p. 345. 
 
 EDINBURGH : 
 
 Printed by John Moir, Royal Bank Close : 
 AND SOLD BY STUART CHEYNE, EDINBURGH 
 BY ALEXANDER BROWN, ABERDEEN ; 
 And by the Principal Booksellers ia Scotlaad. 
 
 1809. 
 
^0^ 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 A Sketch of the Author^ s Life^ with Remarks on 
 
 Scottish Poetry Pace 5 
 
 The Monymusk Christmas BaHng 41 
 
 "SC^ TuUochgorum^ — called by Burns ^ '^^The First of 
 
 Scottish Songs." 55 
 
 John o' Badenyon 59 
 
 The Ewie wP the crookit horn 63 
 
 The Marquis of Huntly^s Reel 67 
 
 ^^The Old Man's Song. — Tune, — Dunbarton's 
 
 Brums 70 
 
 Still in the wrongs — A Song to its own tune. ... 73 
 Lizzy Liberty^ — Tune^ — Tibby Fowler i' the 
 
 glen 76 
 
 The Stipendless Parson^ — Tune — A Cobler there 
 
 was, &c 81 
 
 The Man of Ross^ — Tune — Miss Ross's Reel. .. 84 
 "^A Song on the Times^-^Tune — Broom o' Cow- 
 
 denknows 87 
 
 Song on the Scotch Militia, — Tune — Roy's wife 
 
 of Ardevalich 89 
 
 A Familiar Epistle to Captain R. B, Sfc , 92 
 
 !vi-1.8i953 
 
Epistle to a Young Bookseller Page 97 
 
 An Answer in kind to a Letter from Portsoy, . . 101 
 On Burns^s — Address to a Lousie on a Lady^s 
 
 Bonnet 105 
 
 The Owl and the Ass, — An Innocent Fable. . . . 109 
 
 Remarks on a Reply to the above 112 
 
 An old Prophecy of Thomas Rhymer^s inter- 
 
 preted 114 
 
 A Letter to a Friend, on giving up a Farm, ... 116 
 
 On the French Convention , . . . . 121 
 
 To the Memory of a Young Gentleman, (^c, . . . 123 
 
 To the Memory of a Worthy Farmer 126 
 
 A Monumental Inscription. 128 
 
 On a Farmer^s Tombstone 130 
 
 To a Young Clergyman on the death of his Mo- 
 ther and Brother, 131 
 
 ^n the Author^ smuch lamented death, by Chris. 
 
 tian Milne of Footdee, Aberdeen 134 
 
 On the death of Mrs Skinner at Berrybank, by 
 
 the same hand ^ 137 
 
 A Glossary 141 
 
SKETCH 
 
 OF 
 
 THE AUTHOR'S LIFE 
 
 WITH 
 
 REMARKS 
 
 ON 
 
 SCOTTISH POETRY* 
 
Digitized by tine Internet Archive 
 in 2007 witii funding from ^ 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.brg/details/amusementsofleisOOsl<inricli 
 
SKETCH 
 
 OF 
 
 THE AUTHOR'S LIFE, 
 
 In a short Memoir prefixed to his posthumous works 
 lately published, some account has been giyen of the 
 Life and Character of the Author of the few pieces 
 of fugitive poetry, which now appear in this lit- 
 tle volume. The proper introduction to Mr Skin, 
 ner's Theological Works seemed to be a sketch of his 
 literary, or, what may be called, his ecclesiastical 
 character ; and in that sketch, the reader has been 
 made sufficiently acquainted with the studies, corres- 
 pondence, writings, and modes of thinking, of a 
 man, who spent a long and laborious life in the pas. 
 toral charge of a numerous congregation in a remote 
 parish in the north of Scotland, and who answered 
 faost literally to Goldsmith's description of the Vil- 
 lage^Preacher : 
 
 " A man he was, to all the country dear, 
 " And passing rich with forty pounds a year, 
 " Remote from towns he ran his godly race, 
 " Nor ere had chang'd, — nor wish'd to change 
 " his place I" 
 
 If a stranger to his graver productions, and thus 
 unpossessed of the information contained in the Me- 
 A 2 
 
moir of Mr Skinner prefixed to those, the reader of 
 this small publication should wish to be made ac- 
 quaiaited with the birth, and parentage, as well as 
 the principles of its author, it may be sufficient to 
 say, that the Reverend John Skinner, for nearly 
 sixty-five years minister of the Episcopal congrega- 
 tion at Longside near Peterhead, was born at Bal- 
 four in the parish of Birse, Aberdeenshire, on the 
 3d of October 1721* His father, then schoolmaster 
 of that parish, was of the same name, and had mar- 
 ried Mrs Jean Gillaiiders, the widow of Donald Far- 
 quharson Esq. of Balfour, About two years after 
 the birth of their only son, (the subject of this short 
 memoir) the mother died, when his father remov- 
 ed to the parish of Echt, within a few miles of A- 
 berdeen, where he continued to discharge the du- 
 ties of parochial teacher for full fifty years, to the 
 entire satisfaction of many persons of distinction, 
 whose children were entrusted to his care and tui- 
 tion ; and so great was his diligence in the line of 
 his profession, that he fitted out more young men for 
 the University, than most country schoolmasters of his 
 time. After having been several years a widower, 
 he married a second time, and had a numerous fami- 
 ly. His eldest son, our Author, studied under his fa- 
 ther; and, at a-very early period, displayed an un- 
 common genius, particularly for acquiring the know- 
 ledge of the Latin language. When only thirteen 
 years of age, he appeared a candidate at the annual 
 competition in Marischal College Aberdeen, and 
 gained a considerable bursary, which he enjoyed dur- 
 
ing the usual term of four sessions in that Univer- 
 sity. 
 
 Having finished 'his academical courses, his first 
 employment was as a teacher for a few months in the 
 parish school of Kemnay near Aberdeen. From 
 thence he went to the adjoining parish of Mony- 
 musk, and acted as assistant to the schoolmaster 
 there, until Lady Grant, having seen some of his 
 poetical effusions in the Scottish dialect, was pleas- 
 ed to encourage his rustic muse, by affording him, 
 in the house of Monymusk, every accommodation 
 for pursuing his studies, and improving his mind 
 in the attainment of useful learning. Here it 
 was, that, enjoying the conversation, and the be- 
 nefit of reading under the direction, of a worthy 
 Episcopal Clergyman in that neighbourhood, he de- 
 clared his predilection for the principles of Episcopa- 
 xy, and united himself to the venerable remains of 
 jthat church, the civil establishment of which was over- 
 turned at the Revolution. This in some degree dis- 
 appointed the views of his father, who had naturally 
 flattered himself, that a son of such promising talents 
 would in time have made a figure in that Church 
 which is now the religious establishment of Scot- 
 land. But respecting, as a man of piety and 
 good sense could not fail to respect, the conscienti- 
 ous and disinterested motives by which his young 
 friend was actuated, the only sentiment which re- 
 mained .for the father to cherish, was a fervent 
 wish that the son might shew himself sincere in his 
 profession, and do credit to the new principles 
 which he had adopted. His attachjnent to these 
 ▲ 3 
 
10 
 
 principles was soon after strengthened by a cir- 
 cumstance, which at once gave him an opportuni- 
 ty of making some farther enquiry into the truth of 
 them, and, by the consequences resulting from it, 
 was the means of fixing his future destiny in life. 
 
 Having, in the summer of 1740, accepted an invi- 
 tation to become tutor to a gentleman's son in Shet- 
 land, he was there introduced to the acquaintance of 
 the Reverend Mr Hunter, the only Episcopal Cler- 
 gyman in that country, from whose company and 
 conversation he found such kind assistance in the 
 prosecution of his studies, and such unaffected zeal 
 for his happy accomplishing the object of them, as 
 made him anxiously wish for a still nearer connec- 
 tion with one of so amiable a character, and from 
 whom he had already experienced such disinterested 
 friendship as seemed to flow from paternal affection. 
 Nor did he, in this, form a vain expectation ; for, be- 
 fore he quitted the society of his venerable friend, 
 and took leave of the Shetland Isles, he had the 
 happiness of receiving in marriage the hand of Mr 
 Hunter's eldest daughter, and with her the best of 
 all earthly blessings, a sweetly soothing, affectionate 
 wife, who was his dear companion, and ministered 
 tenderly to all his wants, for the uncommon space of 
 ffty.eight years. 
 
 Having returned to Aberdeenshire, and complet- 
 ed his preparatory studies, with a view to his enter- 
 ing into the sacred ministry, he received holy orders 
 from a Bishop of the Scotch Church ; and a vacancy 
 happening in the Episcopal Congregation at Long- 
 eide, by the removal to Dundee of its beloved pas- 
 tor Mr William Rol^ertson, Mr Skinner was imme- 
 
II 
 
 diately appointed his successor, . and in November 
 1742, at their unanimous desire, became Pastor of a 
 large and respectable congregation. The ties of pas- 
 toral regard and affection, by which he was so long 
 united to his beloved flock, could be cut asunder only 
 by the stroke of death ; and this dissolution, of all 
 his earthly connections, having happened on the 16th 
 of June 1807, his sorrowing people had no sooner 
 committed his body to the ground, than they set on 
 foot a subscription, for raising a handsome monument 
 to his memory, which has accordingly been erected 
 in the church-yard of Longside, with a suitable in- 
 scription, expressive of that sincere and grateful ve- 
 neration, with which his labours will be long remem- 
 bered in the portion of the christian vineyard to 
 which his services were devoted. 
 
 Without farther reference to these services, it 
 need only be obsen^ed, at present, that even his 
 poetic genius was exercised in the cause of religious 
 truth and virtue. The productions of his fancy, 
 when throwii into simple verse, had always a moral 
 tendency ; and the humour displayed in those effu- 
 sions of a lively imagination, while it afforded a lit- 
 tle sportive play, held out also some useful lesson 
 to the youthful mind. Even in the more advanced pe- 
 riods of his life, he was ever ready to shew this pecu- 
 liar application of his versifying powers. When sur- 
 rounded by his grand-children in their early years, 
 it was delightful to see how he could adapt himself to 
 their yet humble but rising capacities. He would 
 make them verses by the hour. He would puzzle 
 them with riddles, and little arithmetical problems of 
 
u 
 
 his own iiiTention. He would try to call forth the 
 latent spark of genius, by proposing questions on the 
 ^different branches of study in which they were oc- 
 cupied at school. Although in themselves simpk, 
 and easy of solution, yet the grandfather had such 
 art in quaintly arranging, and in enigmatically ex- 
 pressing, his questions, as conveyed the idea of ex- 
 treme difficulty ; while, at the same time, no sooner 
 did he himself proceed to unravel the seeming mys- 
 tery, than even children blushed to find themselves 
 duped and outwitted by means so completely within 
 the reach of their own detection. On one occasion 
 of this kind, when his oldest grandson could not dis- 
 cover the little artifice employed to perplex him, he 
 was not a little alarmed by hearing his grandfather 
 say, that even Thomas the Rhymer had prophesied 
 on the subject of the fourth John Skinner's lament- 
 able weakness of mind, and want of capacity, — 
 
 ^' The world shall four J ohn Skinners see, 
 ^' The Jirst shall teach a school, — 
 
 ^' The other two shall parsons be, 
 " And the fourth shall be a. fool V* 
 
 His old friend however afterwards made him am. 
 pie amends for this rhyming jeu d' esprit. For af- 
 ter the young man became a clergyman, and grand- 
 father^ father,, and son^ had all officiated at one, 
 and the same diet of worship at the chapel at Long- 
 side, he presented him with the following beautiful 
 Latin verses. They are here inserted, not because 
 free from the licentia poeiica^ but because, mingled 
 
i$ 
 
 with the proTerbial blindness of a grandfather's pai"* 
 tiality, the poetical license has completely usurped 
 the place of truth^ and given the manner ^ and not 
 the matter^ a claim to the notice of the learned read- 
 er, 
 
 " Sanguinis ejusdem /re* implent rostra Jo ANNESj 
 *' Est avus;^ e^t pater ^ est cams utrique nepos : 
 " Ingetiio primus^ sermonis laude secundus 
 " Claret ; in ambobus tertius ille nitet. 
 *' Non potuere ultra Naturae tendere vires, 
 " Miscet avo pair em ^ et fingitur inde nepos !" 
 
 These lines being shewn to a friend, the following 
 attempt was made to put them into English,—. 
 
 " Of the same blood, in pulpit now three Johns appear, 
 ** Grandfather, Father, and (alike to both) a Grandson dear, 
 ** Tiht first for genius fam'd ; the second for the preacher's 
 
 art, 
 " In both of which the third now plays a shining part I 
 " The powers of nature's self no farther stretch could bear, 
 " The son she with the father blends, and does the grands 
 
 son rear I 
 
 It has already been mentioned, that some of our 
 Author's poetical efi'usions in the Scottish dialect 
 were the means of introducing him to the notice 
 of Lady Grant of Monymusk. Among these 
 were verses written on a visit to that beautiful spot 
 of pleasure ground, called Paradise^ which Sir 
 Archibald Grant had laid out on the banks of the 
 river Don. But of these verses no copy can now be 
 recovered, and it was with difficulty that a scroll was 
 
14 
 
 found in thiB author's own hand-writing, of Another 
 of his early productions, to which he gave the title 
 of '' The Christmas BaHng^" and which very pro- 
 perly takes the first place in this small collection. 
 When he wrote this little piece the Author was not 
 17 years of age. It may be proper, at the same 
 time, to state, that at that period, and from time im- 
 memorial, it had been the practice in most of the 
 country parishes in Aberdeenshire, for parties of 
 young men to assemble, about the Christmas season, 
 to try their strength and agility at the athletic exer- 
 cise of foot. ball. The contest generally took place 
 in the kirk-yard of the parish. It was while our 
 Author resided at Monymusk, and in consequence of 
 having witnessed one of these scenes, that the humo- 
 rous and descriptive poem alluded to made its ap- 
 pearance. It seems to have been designed as a hum- 
 ble imitation of the old poem, ascribed to James the 
 J^zr^^ of Scotland, called '' Christ.kirk o^ the green^^* 
 of which our Author was so fond,' that before he 
 was twelve years of age, he had it all ]t)y heart, an(| 
 afterwards gave an elegant translation of it into Latin 
 verse, which has been much admired by some of the 
 aJblest judges of such compositions. 
 
 From his earliest youth he appears to have had a 
 particular turn for exhibiting what he called, his 
 " old-fashioaed-muse," in the humble garb of the 
 old Scottish language. On the subject of this lan- 
 guage much diversity of opinion has prevailed. By 
 some philological writers, it has been represented as 
 nothing better than a collection of barbarous dia- 
 lects^ so widely differing in the southern and norths 
 
15 
 
 ern provinces, as to make it almost impossible for 
 the inhabitants of the one part of the kingdom to un- 
 derstand the language rulgarly used in the othef 
 part. Yet it is a circumstance well known, that 
 no farther back than about tho fourteenth century, 
 there was hardly any difference in the language of 
 the two British nations. The English, under the Ed- 
 wards, and the Scots, under Wallace and Bruce, per- 
 fectly understood each other ; and even with regard 
 to poetry, it has been justly obserTed, that the histo. 
 ry of it in Scotland may be carried up to a period 
 nearly as remote as in England. The ancient poets 
 of Scotland, Barbour, and Blind Harry, James the 
 First, Dunbar, Douglas, and Lindsay, were coeval 
 with those who have been considered as the fathers 
 of English poetry, and are acknowledged to be no- 
 wise inferior to them, either in genius, or in compo- 
 sition. It is true, the language of the two countries 
 began gradually to assume somewhat of a different 
 appearance. Yet the difference on the whole was 
 not considerable, nor greater perhaps than between 
 the different dialects of the different provinces of 
 England at the present day. 
 
 At last, however, owing to various causes, the stu- 
 dy of the English language, as seeming to differ 
 widely from the Scotch, was cultivated by persons 
 in the higher classes of society, from the considera- 
 tion of that language being established as the stand- 
 ard for elegant writing, and polite conversation. 
 But, as national prejudices were not easily subdued^ 
 the far greater part of the Scottish nation continued 
 to use their native dialect, and, till the middle of 
 
16 
 
 of the last century, the language of North Britain 
 was much the same among all ranks of inhabitants, 
 equally in the mouths of the peer and the peasant, and 
 well understood through all the intermediate orders*. 
 Why then should it be represented as a composition 
 of various discordant dialects, each of them abound, 
 ing in its peculiar barbarisms, intelligible only in the 
 particular province, or district, to which they be- 
 long ? Yet this seems to have been the opinion of 
 the late celebrated Dr Beattie, who used to observe, 
 that the common people of Aberdeen spoke a lan- 
 guage that would scarce be understood in Fife ; and 
 that the difference of the dialect of Lothian from 
 that of Buchan^ might be seen by comparing Ram- 
 say's " Gentle Shepherd^^ written in the former dia- 
 lect, with " Ajax^s speech to the Grecian Knabbs,^* 
 as a specimen of the latter +. That no sort of differ- 
 ence exists between these two dialects, will not be 
 be pretended : but every person acquainted with the 
 common people of Buchan must know, that the co- 
 medy of the Gentle Shepherd is to be met with al- 
 
 * For some of these remarks on the Scottish language, 
 the Editor is indebted to Dr Carrie in his life of Bums» 
 "who also acknowledges his obligations to the kindness of 
 his ingenious and worthy friend, John Ramsay Esq. of 
 Ochtertyre, near Stirling, with whom Mr Skinner at Long- 
 side had the pleasure, for several years, of carrying on an 
 epistolary correspondence of the most interesting kind. 
 
 f See the Life of Dr Beattie, by Sir William Forbes. 
 Vol. n. page 19. 
 
17 
 
 most in every family, and that passages may be dai- 
 ly heard repeated from it, with a feeling of delight 
 which can arise only from a full perception of the 
 beauties which they display, and from a just admi, 
 ration of the tender, pathetic language, in which the 
 sentiments are conveyed. 
 
 A similar remark may be applied to other poeti- 
 cal effusions, which have issued from the Southern 
 districts in the Scottish language ; — and the just ce- 
 lebrity which has been attached to those of the im. 
 mortal Burns^ through the whole of Scotland, is a 
 striking proof, that the delightful productions of his 
 Scottish muse, have been fully understood (if we ex- 
 cept only the Gaelic districts) from one end of " fair 
 Scotia" to the other. Writers no less eminent than 
 those already alluded to, have therefore deemed it 
 absurd to speak of the dialects of Scotland, as intel- 
 ligible only in the several provinces to which they 
 are said respectively to belong. Though there may 
 be a few vulgar phrases peculiar to every district of 
 Scotland, which is equally the case in the different 
 districts of England, there is yet a Scotch language 
 common to the zchole of Scotland, and which, with 
 the exception of the Gaelic Highlands above noticed, 
 is universally spoken, notonly among the lower ranks 
 of people, but even by those of the higher classes in 
 their early years, and till either long residence in 
 England, or with English people, has made themsfor- 
 get, or a fastidious taste has made them wish to forget, 
 their native tongue. This is the consequence of 
 those unceasing efforts, which have been made to 
 assimilate the language of Scotland as nearly as pos- 
 
18 
 
 sible to the pure English standard ; and hence arises 
 the difficulty, or rather the impossibility, of writing 
 in the Scottish dialect, without exciting akind of dis- 
 gust ; not so common perhaps in England, as among 
 those of the Scottish nation who are ambitious of 
 literary fame, or of rising to eminence at the Bar, 
 or in the Senate of the United Kingdom. It has 
 been frequently observed, by those who have had 
 opportunities of making the observation, that an 
 Englishman, if he understands the meaning of the 
 words used in Scottish poetry, is so far from be- 
 ing offended, that he is rather pleased, with the 
 ideas which they convey, and the feelings which they 
 are so well calculated to excite by their native force, 
 and simplicity of diction ; whereas a Scotchman, am- 
 bitious of literary fame, or who wishes it to be thought 
 that he has attained the object of his ambition, is at 
 pains to banish such vernacular words not only from 
 his writings, but also from his lips, because, having 
 been early and daily accustomed to hear them from 
 the vulgar, he deems them totally unfit for the orna- 
 mental elevated style, by which, ia his estimation, 
 poetry ought to be distinguished. Yet a dislike of 
 this kind is to be considered as merely accidental, 
 or factitious, and by no means natural. It is in- 
 deed the more unnatural, as it deprives those who 
 give way to it, of the pleasure which they might 
 otherwise feel in perusing those exquisite pieces of 
 Scottish poetry, so highly admired by all who are ca- 
 pable of appreciating their merits, but which can ex- 
 cite no admiration in the minds of those who have 
 expelled from their memories, as well as from their 
 
19 
 
 mouths, the language ia which the poetry of Scot- 
 land is written. 
 
 It is universally acknowledged, that this country 
 possesses a very peculiar and interesting species of 
 music ; and it is the alliance of the words of the 
 Scottish songs with the music by which they are ac- 
 cotopanied, that has established the fame of both, 
 and given them a popularity which will not easily 
 be wrested from them. It must be evident, there- 
 fore, that those who are most enthusiastically fond of 
 the ancient Scottish music, must yet be incapable of 
 enjoying what adds greatly to the rapture of its 
 sweetly soothing melody, if they happen to be igno- 
 rant of the meaning and pathos of those soft, heart- 
 melting lines, to which the music serves as so de- 
 lightful an accompaniment. It is from his Scottish 
 Songs that Burns has derived his highest meed of 
 praise, insomuch that, as his biographer justly re- 
 marks, " some of his latter compositions of this kind 
 ' may be compaied, in polished delicacy, with the 
 ' finest songs in our language, while in the eloquence 
 ' of sensibility .they surpass them all. Besides, there 
 ' is no species of poetry," as Dr Currie well ob- 
 serves, '' so much calculated to influence the morals, 
 ' as well as the happiness of a people, as those popu- 
 ' lar verses which are associated with national airs, 
 ' and which, being learnt in the years of infancy, 
 ' make a deep impression on the heart before the 
 ' evolution of the powers of the understanding. 
 ' The compositions of Burns, of this kind, like all 
 ' his other m ritings, exhibit independence of senti- 
 ' ment ; they are peculiarly calculated to increase 
 b2 
 
^0 
 
 ** those ties which bind generous hearts to theif 
 *' native soil, and to the domestic circle of their in- 
 *' fancy ; and to cherish those sensibilities which, 
 ** under due restriction, form the purest happiness of 
 ^' our nature." 
 
 If, then, such was the aim and object, and such, 
 it may be hoped, the happy tendency of the compo- 
 sitions of Burns, may it not also be presumed, that 
 the few poetic pieces contained in this little volume, 
 will bear their humble share in producing the same 
 salutary effect? " Burns,'* says the writer of his 
 Life, ^' wrote professedly for the peasantry of his 
 *' country, and by them their native dialect is univer- 
 ^ ' sally relished." What is here presented to the pub- 
 lie, was written under the same conviction, and with 
 a similar view to the employing Scottish Rhyme as a 
 pleasing instructor of Scottish Youth, The declar- 
 ed purpose of Burns was to paint the manners of 
 rustic life, among his " humble compeers," and 
 thereby allure them to the love and practice of vir- 
 tue ; and how beautifully has he expressed his ear- 
 nest, anxious wishj for such a blessing to his coun- 
 try, in these admirable lines of his '' Cottar'' s Sa- 
 iurday Night V^ 
 
 " O Scotia I my dear, my native soil ! 
 
 '' For whom my warmest wish to heaven is sent I 
 *' Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil, 
 
 '' Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet 
 content I 
 ^' And O ! may Heav'n their simple lives prevent 
 
 '* From luxury's contagion, weak and vile \ 
 
<tl 
 
 '^ Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, 
 
 " A virtuous populace may rise the while, 
 *^ And stand a " wall of fire" around their much 
 lov'd Isle," 
 
 Pouring forth such patriotic strains as these, it 
 is no wonder that the muse of Burns was hailed by 
 his delighted countrymen, as the pride and pleasure 
 of the land which gave him birth : And if the flow of 
 poetic fervour from the pen of an Jyrshire Plozc- 
 man has been so well understood, and so highly 
 prized by all the genuine " lovers of song" through- 
 out the kingdom, may it not be hoped, that some 
 share of public favour will be shewn to the poetic ef- 
 fusions of a Buchan Parson^ so well known by the 
 designation of the Reverend Author of TullochgOm 
 rujn, and whom Burns ^ as will appear from the fol- 
 ing correspondence, was pleased to hail a " brother 
 Bard?'' 
 
 In the autumn of the year 1787, Mr Bums was 
 induced, by very flattering invitations, to make a 
 tour through the west and north of Scotland, which he 
 thus describes in a letter to his brother Gilbert, dat,- 
 ed at Edinburgh, 17th September 1787 : 
 
 *' I arrived here safe yesterday evening, after a 
 tour of 22 days, and travelling near six hundred miles, 
 windings included. My farthest stretch was about 
 ten miles beyond Inverness. I went through the 
 heart of the Highlands, by CriefT, Taymouth, the 
 famous seat of Lord Breadalbane, down the Tay, 
 among cascades, and druidical circles of stones, to 
 b3 
 
2S 
 
 Dunkeld, a seat of the Duke of Athole ; thence across 
 Tay, and up one of his tributary streams to Blair of 
 Athole, another of the Duke's seats, where I had 
 the honour of spending nearly two days with his 
 Grace and family ; thence many miles through a wild 
 country, among cliffs grey with eternal snows, and 
 gloomy savage glens, till I crossed Spey, and went 
 down the stream through Strathspey, so famous in 
 Scottish music, Badenoch, &c., till I reached Grant 
 Castle, where I spent half a day with Sir James 
 Grant and family ; and then crossed the country for 
 Fort George, but called by the way at Cawdor, the 
 ancient seat of Macduff. There I saw the identical 
 bed in which, tradition says. King Duncan was mur- 
 dered ; lastly, from Fort George to Inverness, I 
 returned by the coast through Nairn, Forres, and 
 so on to Aberdeen. The rest of ray stages are not 
 worth rehearsing ; warm, as I was, from Ossian's 
 country, where I had seen his very grave, what 
 cared I for fishing towns or fertile carses ? I slept at 
 the famous Brodie of Brodie's one night, and dined 
 at Gordon Castle next day, with the Duke, Duchess, 
 and family." 
 
 On his arrival at Aberdeen, Mr Burns having cal- 
 led on Mr Chalmers, the printer, our Author's son 
 happened to meet him on the stair of the printing- 
 office, and having accompanied him into an adjoining 
 room, was much eatertained by an hour's conference 
 on several very interesting topics. Of this inter- 
 view he wrote a particular account to his father, men- 
 tioning also how much Burns regretted that he did 
 not know where Linshart lay, as he would have 
 
Qi3 
 
 gone twenty miles out of his way to have seen the 
 Author of Tuliochgorum. This compliment produ- 
 ced an acknowledgment, under the title of a " Fa- 
 " miliar Epistle to Robie Burns, the Plowman 
 ^' Poet J in his own style,^^ The following account 
 of it appears in a letter to Miss Margaret Chal- 
 mers, (now Mrs Hay of Edinburgh) in Cromek's 
 '' Reliques of Robert Burns,'' «&c. lately publish- 
 ed, where he says, — " I got an excellent poetic 
 '' epistle yesternight from the old venerable Author 
 '' of Tuliochgorum, John of Badenyon, &c, I sup- 
 " pose you know he is a clergyman. It is by far 
 '' the finest poetic compliment I ever got. I will 
 " send you a copy of it." 
 The Epistle is as follows : 
 
 ^' O happy hour for evermair, 
 
 That led my chill * up Cha'mers^ stairy 
 And gae him, what he values sair, 
 
 Sae braw a skance 
 Of Ayrshire's dainty Poet there, 
 
 By lucky chance. 
 
 *^ Wae's my auld heart I was na wi^you, 
 Tho' worth your while I could na gie you ; 
 But sin' I had na hap to see you, 
 
 Whan ye was north, 
 I 'm bauld to send my service to you, 
 
 Hyne o'er the Forth. 
 
 * Child. 
 
u 
 
 '' Sa« proud 's I am, that ye hae heard 
 O* my attempts to be a Bard, 
 And think my muse nae that ill-fawrd, 
 
 Sell o' your face ! 
 I wadna wish for mair reward 
 
 Than your guid grace. 
 
 '' Your bonny beukie, line by line, 
 I 've read, and think it freely fine ; 
 Indeed, I winna ca't divine, 
 
 As others might : 
 For that, ye ken, frae pen like mine, 
 Wad no be right. 
 
 '' But, by my sang, I dinna wonner, 
 That ye 've admirers mony hun'er ; 
 Let gowkit fleeps pretend to skunner, 
 And tak offence, 
 , Ye 've naething said that leuks like blun'er, 
 To fowk o' sense. 
 
 ^' Your pauky *' Dream'* has humour in 't ; 
 I never saw the like in print. 
 The Birth-day Laurit durst na' mint, 
 
 As ye hae dane ; 
 And yet there 's nae a single hint 
 
 Can be ill ta'en. 
 
 *' Your " Mailie," and your guid " Auld Marc,' 
 And " Hallow-even's" funny cheer — 
 There's nane that reads them far nor near 
 But reezes Robie ^ 
 
25 
 
 ** And thinks them as diverting gear 
 As Yorrick's Tobie. 
 
 *« But O the weil-tauld '' Cottar's Night'* 
 Is what gies me the maist delight — 
 A piece sae finish'd and sae tight, 
 
 There 's nane o's a' 
 Cou'd preachment timmer cleaner dight 
 
 In kirk or ha'. 
 
 ^' But what needs this or that to name ? 
 It 's own'd by a', there 's nae a theme 
 Ye tak in hand, but 's a' the same : 
 
 And nae ane o' them, 
 But weel may challenge a' the fame 
 That we can gie them. 
 
 ^' For me, I heartily allow you 
 The warld of praise sae justly due you ; 
 And but a Plowman ! — sail I trow you ? 
 
 Gin it be sae, 
 A miracle I will avow you, 
 
 Deny't wha may ! 
 
 ** Sae, what avails a leash o' lair 
 
 Thro' sev'n lang years, and some guid mair^ 
 Whan Plowman lad, wi' nature bare, 
 Sae far surpasses 
 , A' we can do wi' study sair 
 To climb Parnassus ? 
 
26 
 
 *' But thanks to praise, ye 're i' your primej 
 And may chant on this lang, lang, time ; 
 For lat me tell you, 'tware a crime 
 
 To had your tongue, 
 Wi* sic a knack's ye hae at rhyme, 
 
 And ye sae young. 
 
 *' Ye ken, it's nae for ane like me 
 To be sae droll as ye can be. 
 But ony help that I can gie, 
 
 Tho 't be but sma', 
 Your least command, I'se lat you see 
 
 Sail gar me draw. 
 
 ^' An hour or sae, by hook or crook, 
 And may be twa, some orrow ouk, 
 That I can spare frae haly beuk, 
 
 For that 's my hobby, 
 I'll slip awa' to some bye neuk, 
 
 And crack wi' Robie. 
 
 *^ Wad ye but only crack again, 
 Just what ye like, in ony strain, 
 I'll tak it kind ; for, to be plain, 
 
 I do expect it ; — 
 And mair than that, I'll no be fain 
 
 Gin ye neglect it. 
 
 '' To Linshart, gin my hame ye speir, 
 Where I hae heft near fifty year, 
 'Twill come in course, ye need na fear, 
 The part's weel kt^nt ; 
 
27 
 
 *' And postage, be it cheap or dear, 
 I'll pay content. 
 
 ^' Now, after a', .hae me exquees'd 
 For wissing nae to be refees'd ; 
 I dinna covet to be reez'd 
 
 For this feel lilt. 
 But feel, or wise, gin ye be pleas'd, 
 
 Ye' re welcome till't. 
 
 " Sae, canty Plowman, fare ye weel, 
 Lord bless you lang wi' hae and heilj 
 And keep you ay the honest chiel 
 
 That ye hae been ; 
 Syne lift you till a better beil 
 Whan this is dane ! 
 
 P. S. 
 " This auld Scot's muse I 've courted lang, 
 And spar'd nae pains to win her ; 
 Dowf tho' I be in rustic sang, 
 
 I 'm no a raw beginner. 
 But now auld age taks dowie turns. 
 
 Yet, troth, as I 'm a sinner, 
 I '11 ay be fond of Robie Burns 
 
 While I can sign — John Skinner, 
 
 '^^Linshart, ^bth September 1787." 
 
 In answer to the above, our Author received the 
 following letter from Burns, which, though without a 
 date, appears to have been written in Edinburgh. 
 
28 
 
 '* Reverend and Venerable Sir, 
 
 '' Accept, in plain dull prose, my most sincere 
 thanks for the best poetical compliment I ever receiv- 
 ed. I assure you, Sir, as a poet, you have conjuTed 
 up an airy demon of vanity in my fancy, which the 
 best abilities in your other capacity would be ill able 
 to lay. I regret, and while I live shall regret, that 
 when I was in the north, I had not the pleasure of 
 paying a younger brother's dutiful respect to the Au- 
 thor of the best Scotch song ever Scotland saw, — 
 '' TuUochgorum's my delight !" The world may 
 think slightingly of the craft of song-making, if they 
 please ; but, as Job says, '' O ! that mine adversa- 
 ry had written a book !" let them try. There is a 
 certain something in the old Scotch songs, a wild 
 happiness of thought and expression, which peculiar- 
 ly marks them, not only from English songs, but also 
 from the modern efforts of song-wrights, in our na- 
 tive manner and language. The only remains of 
 this enchantment, these spells of the imagination, 
 rests with you. Our true brother, Ross of Lochlee, 
 was likewise *' owre camiie,"^ — a " wild warlock" — 
 but now he sings among the " Sons of the morning." 
 I have often wished, and will certainly endeavour, to 
 form a kind of common acquaintance among all the 
 genuine sons of Caledonian song. The world, busy 
 in low prosaic pursuits, may overlook most of us ; — 
 but " reverence thyself." The world is not our 
 peers ^ — so we challenge the jury. We can lash that 
 world, — and find ourselves a very great source of 
 amusement and happiness independent of that world. 
 There is a work going on in Edinburgh^ just now, 
 
39 
 
 which claims your best assistance *. An Engrayer in 
 this town has set about collecting and publishing all 
 the Scotch Songs, with the Music, that can be found. 
 Son]gs in the English language, if by Scotchmen, arc 
 admitted; but the Music must all be Scotch. Drs 
 Beattie and Blacklock are lending a hand, and the 
 first musician in town presides over that department. 
 I have been absolutely crazed about it, collecting old 
 stanzas, and every information remaining, respect- 
 ing their origin, authors, &c. This last is but a ve- 
 ry fragment business ; but at the end of his second 
 number, — the first is already published, — a small ac- 
 count will be given of the Authors, particularly to 
 preserve those of latter times. Your three songs, 
 " Tullochgorum, John of Badenyon^ and Ezcie wi* 
 the crookit Horn^^^ go in this second number. I 
 was determined, before I got your letter, to write 
 you, begging that you would let me know where the 
 editions of these pieces may be found, as you would 
 wish them to continue in future times j and if you 
 would be so kind to this undertaking, as send any 
 Songs, of yo«r own or others, that you would think 
 proper to publish. Your name will be inserted 
 among the other authors, ''' 'Sill ye ^ will ye .'^ One 
 half of Scotland already give your songs to other au- 
 thors. Paper is done, I beg to hear from you, — 
 the sooner the better, as I leave Edinburgh in a fort- 
 night or three weeks. I am, with the w armest since- 
 rity, Sir, your obliged humble servant, 
 
 Robert Burns," 
 . . . ■ ^ 
 
 ♦ Johnson's Musical Miscellany. 
 c 
 
30 
 
 To this letter Mr Skinner's answer was as fol- 
 lows ; 
 
 " Sir, Linsharf^ 14fh November 1787. 
 
 " Yourkind return, without date, but of post-mark 
 October 25th, came to my hand only this day ; and, 
 io testify my punctuality to my poetic engagement, 
 I sit down immediately to answer it in kind. Your 
 acknowledgment of my poor but just encomiums on 
 your surprising genius, and your opinion of my rhym- 
 ing excursions, are both, I think, by far too high. 
 The difference between our two tracks of education, 
 and ways of life, is entirely in your favour, and gives 
 you the preference every manner of way. I know a 
 classical education will not create a versifying taste, 
 but it mightily improves and assists it ; and though, 
 where both these meet, there may sometimes be 
 ground for approbation, yet where taste appears sin- 
 gle, as it were, and neither cramped nor supported 
 by acquisition, I will always sustain the justice of its 
 prior claim to applause. A small portion of taste 
 this way I have had almost from childhood, especial- 
 ly in the old Scottish dialect ; and it is as old a thing 
 as I remember, my fondness for " Chrysfe.Kirk o' 
 iiie Green^^"* which I had by heart ere I was twelve 
 years of age, and which, some years ago, 1 attempt- 
 ed to turn into Latin verse. While I was young,. I 
 dabbled a good deal in these things ; but, on getting 
 the black gowR, I gave it pretty much over, till my 
 daughters grew up, who being all tolerably good 
 singers, plagued me for words to some of their favou» 
 rite tunes, and so extorted those effusions which 
 
31 
 
 have made a public appearance beyond my expecta- 
 tions, and contrary to my intentions, — at the same 
 time that I hope there is nothing to be found in them 
 uncharacteristic, or unbecoming the cloth, which I 
 would always wish to see respected. As to the assist- 
 ance you propose from me in the undertaking you 
 are engaged in, I am sorry I cannot give it so far as 
 I could wish, and you perhaps expect. My daugh- 
 ters, who were my only intelligencers, are aWforis^ 
 familiate^ and the old woman, their mother, has lost 
 that taste. There are two from my own pen, whicii 
 I might give you, if worth the while: One to the 
 old Scotch tune of " Dumbarton's drums.^' The 
 other, perhaps, you have met with, as your noble 
 friend the Duchess has, I am told, heard of it. It 
 was squeezed out of me by a brother parson in her 
 neighbourhood, to accommodate a new highland reel 
 for the Marquis's birth-day, to the stanza of 
 
 " Tune your tiddles, tune them sweetly," &c. 
 
 If this last answer your purpose, you may have it from 
 a brother of mine, Mr James Skinner, writer in 
 Edinburgh, who, I believe, can give the music too. 
 There is another humourous thing, I have heard,, 
 said to be done by the Catholic priest Geddes, and 
 which hit my taste much. 
 
 '' There was a wee wifeikie was comin frae the fair, 
 " Had gotten a little drapikie, which bred her meikil 
 
 c% 
 
32 
 
 ** It took upo' the wifie's heart, and she began to sp*ew, 
 '^ And CO' the wee wifeikie I wish I binna fou. 
 I wish J " Sfc, 
 
 66 
 
 I have heard of another new composition by a young 
 plowman of my acquaintance, that I am vastly pleas . 
 ed with, to the tune of the " Humours of Glen^''^ 
 which, I fear, wont do, as the music, I am told, is 
 of Irish original. I have mentioned these, such as 
 they are, to shew my readiness to oblige you, and to 
 contribute my mite, if I could, to the patriotic work 
 you have in hand, and which I wish all success io. 
 You have only to notify your mind, and what you 
 want of the above shall be sent you. Meantime, 
 while you are thus publicly, I may say, employed, do 
 not sheath your own proper and piercing weapon. 
 From what I have seen of yours already, I am in- 
 clined to hope for much good. One lesson of virtue 
 and morality delivered in your amusing style, and 
 from such as you, will operate more than dozens 
 would do from such as me, who shall be told, it is 
 our employment, and be never more minded ; where- 
 as, from a pen like yours, as being one of the many, 
 what comes will be admired : — Admiration will pro- 
 duce regard, and regard will leave an impression^ 
 especially when example goes along, 
 
 *' Now binna saying I'm ill bred, 
 Else by my troth I'll no be glad ; 
 For cadgers ye ha'e heard it said, 
 
 And sic like fry. 
 Maun ay be harlin in their trade, 
 
 And sae maun I. 
 
33 
 
 Wishing you, from my poet-pen, all success, and in 
 my other character, all happiness and heavenly direc- 
 tion, I remain, with esteem, your sincere friend, 
 
 John Skinner." 
 
 The next letter from ^urns to our Author, is dat- 
 ed at Edinburgh the 14th of February 1788, and the 
 following is a copy of it : 
 
 ** Rererend and dear Sir, 
 
 " I have been a cripple now near three months, 
 though I am getting vastly better, and have been ve- 
 ry much hurried beside, or else I would have wrote 
 you sooner. I must beg ^our pardon for the epistle 
 you sent me appearing in the Magazine. I had gi- 
 ven a copy or two to some of my intimate friends, 
 but did not know of the printing of it till the publi- 
 cation of the magazine. Howev er, as it does great 
 honour to us both, I hope you will forgive it. The 
 second volume of the songs I mentioned to you in 
 my last, is published to-day. I send you a copy, 
 which I beg you will accept as a mark of the vene- 
 ration I have long had, and shall ever have, for your 
 character, and of the claim I make to your continued 
 acquaintance. Your songs appear in the third vo- 
 lume, with your name in the index, as I assure you. 
 Sir, I have heard your Tullochgorum^ particularly 
 among our west country folks, given to many differ- 
 ent names, and most commonly to the immortal Au- 
 thor of the Minstrel,) who, indeed, never wrote any 
 thing superior to " Gie's a Sang Montgomery 
 crieiL^^ Your brother has promised me your verses 
 c 3 
 
34 
 
 to the Marquis of Huntly's reel, which certainly de- 
 serve a place in the Collection. My kind host, Mr 
 Cruickshank, of the High School here, and said to be 
 one of the best Latins in this age, begs me to mal^e 
 you his grateful acknowlq^gments for the entertain- 
 ment he has got in a Latin publication of yours that 
 I borrowed for him from your acquaintance, and my 
 much respected friend, in this place, the reverend Dr 
 Webster. Mr Cruickshank maintains that you write 
 the best Latin since Buchanan. I leave Edinburgh 
 to-morrow, but shall return in three weeks. Your 
 song you mentioned in your last, to the tune of 
 '' Dumbarton Drums^^^ and the other, which you 
 say was done by a brother by trade of mine, a plow- 
 man, I shall thank you much for a copy of each. I 
 am ever, reverend Sir, with the most respectful 
 esteem, and sincere veneration, yours, 
 
 Robert Burns." 
 
 To this letter our Author sent the following 
 reply : 
 
 '' Dear Sir, Linshart 'iSth Jpril 1788. 
 
 '^ I received your last with the curious present yon 
 have favoured me with, and would have made proper 
 acknowledgements before now, but that I have been 
 necessarily engaged in matters of a different com- 
 plexion. And now that I have got a little respite, 
 I make use of it to thank you for this valuable in- 
 stance of your good-will, and to assure you, that, 
 with the sincere heart of a true Scotsman, I highly 
 esteem both the gift and the giver; — as a small 
 
35 
 
 testimony of which I have herewith sent you, for 
 your amusement, (and in a form which I hope 
 you will excuse, for saving postage) the two songs I 
 wrote about to you already. Charming Nancy is 
 the real production of genius in a plowman of twen- 
 ty years of age at the time of its appearing, with no 
 more education than what he picked up at an old 
 farmer grandfather's fire-side. And I doubt not, 
 but you will find in it, a simplicity and delicacy,, 
 with some turns of humour, that will please one of 
 your taste, at least it pleased me when I first saw 
 it, if that can be any recommendation to it. The 
 other * is entirely descriptive of my own sentiments, 
 and you may make use of one or both, as you shall 
 see good. You will oblige me by presenting my 
 respects to your host, Mr Cruickshank, who has gii. 
 ven such high approbation to my poor Latinity : — 
 You may let him know, that as I have likewise been 
 a dabbler in Latin poetry, I have two things that I 
 would, if he desires it, submit, not to his judgment, 
 but to his amusement ; the one, a translation of 
 Chryste.Kirk o' the Greei^ printed at Aberdeen 
 some years ago ; the other Batrachomyomachia 
 llomeri latinis vestita cum additamentis^ given in 
 lately to Chalmers to print, if he pleases. Mr C. 
 will know, " Seria non semper dclectant^ nonjoca 
 semper. Semper delect ant seria mixta joCisJ*^ I 
 
 * See The Old-mans Song, — Tune, " Dumbarton's Drums,'' 
 in this collection. 
 
36 
 
 have just room to repeat eompliments and good wish.^ 
 €s from. Sir, your humble servant, 
 
 John Skinner." 
 
 In what Burns used to call the '^ manufacturing of 
 '^ his verses," the first rough sketch of them was the 
 easy work of his fertile imagination, while following 
 the plough, or engaged in any other of his rural em- 
 ployments. In that state his memory retained them, 
 till an opportunity offered for committing them to 
 paper, when he acknowledges, that the work of the 
 file, in giving them the finishing polish, was often the 
 greatest labour that attended the production of them. 
 Now, this was a task to which the Author of the 
 following little pieces never felt the smallest inclina- 
 tion to submit. His poetical effusions were commit- 
 ted to writing just in the forirr which his fancy origi- 
 nally gave them, and when once dismissed from his 
 thoughts, were never called back to receive any sort 
 of correction or improvement. The dress in which 
 they first appeared from his pen, was that in which 
 they were destined to make their way, as far as the 
 circle of his acquaintance extended. Any attempt 
 to change their appearance, our Author would have 
 deemed a needless waste of time and trouble. Poe- 
 try of every species was by him considered as a mere 
 amusement, in which he was sometimes willing to re- 
 lax from severer studies. Though some of his pro- 
 ductions, especially in Latin verse, have been much 
 admired by very competent judges of their merit, it 
 could not be said, that their Author wished to rest on 
 such things any part of his postliumous fame, had he 
 
37 
 
 over harboured a wish for fame of that sort. But to 
 what is considered as posthumous fame, he was whol- 
 ly indiiferent. The great object of his ambition was 
 to employ the talents with which God had endowed 
 him, in the faithful discharge of the duties of a Chris- 
 tian pastor : and if these duties could be discharged 
 by exhibiting an example of unafiected piety, and 
 actiye virtue, by being " instant in season, and out 
 '" of season," and by never " shunning to declare" 
 to those of whom he had the pastoral care, " all the 
 ^' counsel of God," the object of Mr Skinner's am- 
 bition was undoubtedly obtained. Should any far- 
 ther testimony be required to the truth of this ob- 
 servation, it will be found in the account given of his 
 character, as displayed in the Monumental Inscrip- 
 tion, which has been already mentioned. Of this 
 Inscription the following is a copy taken from the 
 Marble, on which it is beautifully engraved. 
 
38 
 
 Glory to GOD alone ! 
 
 Sacred to the Memory of 
 
 The Rev^ JOHx\ SKINNER, 
 
 FOR LXIV. Years and upwards 
 
 Episcopal Clergyman in this Parish ; 
 
 WHOSE attainments as a Scholar, 
 
 AND scriptural RESEARCH AS A DiVINE, 
 
 OF WHICH MANY WRITTEN DOCUMENTS REMAIN, 
 
 ACQUIRED HIM A NaME 
 
 NEVER TO BE FORGOTTEN IN THE ChURCH 
 
 IN WHICH HE EXERCISED HIS MINISTRY ; 
 
 WHILE HIS PASTORAL LABOURS IN THE CHARGE 
 
 COMMITTED TO HIM 
 
 ENDEARED HIM, ALMOST BEYOND ExAMPLE, 
 
 TO THE SORROWING FloCK, BY WHOM, 
 
 IN TESTIMONY OF THEIR HEARTFELT REGARD^ 
 
 THIS MONUMENT 
 
 IS 
 
 ERECTED. 
 
 On THE XVlth DAY OF JuNE 1807, AGED LXXXYI 
 
 Years, 
 
 HE SLEPT THE SlEEP OF DEATH, IN THE ARMS OP 
 
 The Right Rev. JOHN SKINNER, 
 
 Bishop of the Diocese of Aberdeen, his only 
 
 surviving Son; 
 
 WHO, with his FAMILY AND OTHER NUMEROUS 
 
 DESCENDANTS, 
 
 SHALL NEVER CEASE TO FEEL THE MOST DEVOUT 
 
 AND LIVELY VENERATION FOR THE TaLENTS, THE 
 
 Acquirements, 
 AND Character of a Progenitor, 
 
 WHO LIVED 
 
 SO JUSTLY RESPECTED, 
 
 AND DIED 
 
 SO SINCERELY LAMENTED. 
 
THE 
 
 MONYMUSK 
 
 CHRISTMAS BA'ING. 
 
41 
 
 THE 
 
 MONYMUSK 
 CHRISTMAS BA'ING. 
 
 I. 
 
 Has ne'er in a' this countra been, 
 
 Sic shoudering and sic fa'ing, 
 As happen'd but few ouks sinsyne. 
 
 Here at the Christmas Ba'ing. 
 At evening syne the fallows keen 
 
 Drank till the niest day's dawing, 
 Sae snell, that some tint baith their een. 
 
 And could na pay their lawing. 
 Till the niest day. 
 
 II. 
 
 Like bumbees bizzing frae a byke, 
 
 Whan hirds their riggins tirr ; 
 The swankies lap thro' mire and syke, 
 
 Wow as their heads did birr ! 
 They yowft' 'd the ba' frae dyke to dyke 
 
 Wi' unco speed and virr ; 
 Some baith their shou'ders up did fyke, 
 
 For blythness some did flirr 
 
 Their teeth that day. 
 
42 
 III. 
 
 Rob Roy, I wat he was na dull, 
 
 He first leit at the ba', 
 Syne wi' a rap clash'd Geordie's scull 
 
 Hard to the steeple wa'. 
 Wha was aside but auld Tam TuU ; 
 
 His frien's mishap he saw, — 
 Syne rair'd like ony baited bull, 
 
 And wi' a thud dang twa 
 
 Toth' yird that day. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The tanner was a primpit bit, 
 
 As flimsy as a feather, 
 He thought it best to try a hit. 
 
 Ere a' the thrang shou'd gadyr : 
 He ran wi' neither fear nor wit, 
 
 As fu' o' wind 's a bladder ; 
 Unluckily he lint the fit, 
 
 And tann'd his ain bum-lether. 
 Fell weel that day. 
 
 V. 
 
 Syne Francie Winsy Steppit in, 
 
 A sauchin slivery slype, 
 Ran forrat wi' a furious din. 
 
 And drew a swinging swype. 
 But Tammy Norie thought nae sin 
 
 To come o'er him wi' a snype, 
 Leveird his nose flat wi 's chin, 
 
 And gart his swall'd een sype, 
 
 Sawt tears that day. 
 
43 
 
 VI. 
 
 Bockia red bleed the fleep mair caum, 
 
 Ran hame to his nain mammy : 
 " Alas !" CO' Katie, when she saw him, 
 
 " Wha did you this, my lammie ?" 
 " A meikle man," co' he, " foul faw him," 
 
 But wad na sae 'twas Tammie, 
 *' Rax'd me alang the chafts a wham 
 
 *' As soon as e'er he saw me, 
 
 " And made me blae." 
 
 VII, 
 
 *' Deil rax his chandler chafts^" co' Kate, 
 
 *' For doing you sic wrang, 
 '' Gin I had here the skypel skate, 
 
 " Sae weePs I shou'd him bang !" 
 The gilpy stood, and leuk't fell blate. 
 
 To see her in sic a sang ; 
 He squeel'd to her, like a young gyte, 
 
 But wad na mird to gang 
 
 Back a' that day. 
 
 VIIL 
 
 The hurry-burry now began. 
 
 Was right weel worth the seeing, 
 Wi' routs and raps frae man to man, 
 
 Some getting, and some gieing ; 
 And a' the tricks of fit and hand, 
 
 That ever was in being ; 
 Sometimes the ba' a yirdlins ran. 
 
 Sometimes in air was fleeing, 
 
 Fu' heigh that day. 
 D 2 
 
44 
 
 IX. 
 
 Stout Steen gart mony a fallow stoit, 
 
 And flang them o'er like fail ; 
 Said, " he'd na care ae clippit doit, 
 
 '' Tho' a' should turn their tail." 
 But wi' a yark Gib made his queet 
 
 As dwabil as a flail, 
 And o'er fell he, maist like to greet, 
 
 Just at the eemest ga'ill, 
 
 O' the kirk that day 
 
 X. 
 
 The sutor like tod-lowrie lap. 
 
 Three fit at ilka stend : 
 He did na miss the ba' a chap, 
 
 Ilk ane did him commend. 
 But a lang try pall there was Snap, 
 
 Cam' on him mV a bend ; 
 Gart him, ere ever he wist, cry clap 
 
 Upon his nether end ; 
 
 And there he lay. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Sanny soon saw the sutor slain. 
 
 He was his ain liawf-brither ; 
 I wat right well he was fu' brain. 
 
 And fu' could he be ithcr ? 
 He heez'd in ire a puttin-stane, 
 
 Twa fell on him thegither, 
 Wi' afirm gowff he fell'd the tane, 
 
 But wi' a gowflf the tither 
 
 Fell'd him that day. 
 
 M 
 
45 
 
 XII. 
 
 In icame the insett Dominie, 
 
 Just riftin frae his dinner, 
 A young mess John, as ane cou'd see, 
 
 Was neither saint nor sinner. 
 A brattlin band, unhappily, 
 
 Drave by him wi' a binner. 
 And heels-o'er-goudie coupit he, 
 
 And rave his guid horn penner 
 In bits that day. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Leitch lent the ba' a loundrin lick, 
 
 She flew fast like a flain ; 
 Syne lighted whare faes were maist thick, 
 
 Gart ae gruflf Grunsie grain. 
 He whippit up a rotten stick, . 
 
 I wat he was na fain, 
 Leitch wi's fit gae 'im.sic a kick, 
 
 Till they a' thought him slain, 
 . That very day. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 There was nane there could Cowlie bydc/ 
 
 The gryte guidman, nor nane. 
 He stenn'd bawk-height at ilka stride, 
 
 And rampag'd o'er the green : 
 For the kirk-yard was braid and wide. 
 
 And o'er a knablick stane, 
 He rumbl'd down a rammage glyde, 
 
 And peel'd the gardy-bane 
 
 O' him that day, 
 D 2 
 
46 
 
 XV. 
 
 His cousin was a bierly swank, 
 
 A derf young man, hechi Rob ; 
 To mell wi' twa he wad na mank 
 
 At staffy-nevel job : 
 I wat nafu, but on a bank, 
 
 Whare gadder' d was the mob, 
 The cousins bickerM wi' a clank, 
 
 Gart ane anither sob, 
 
 And gasp that day, 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Tho' Rob was stout, his cousin dang 
 
 Him down wi' a gryte shudder ; 
 Syne a' the drochlin hempy thrang 
 
 Gat o'er him wi' a fudder ; 
 Gin he should rise, and hame o'ergang, 
 
 Lang was he in a swither ; 
 For bleed frae's mou* and niz did bang, 
 
 And in gryte burns did bladder 
 His face that day. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 But, waes my heart, for Petrie Gib, 
 
 The carlie's head 'twas scaw't, 
 Upo' the crown he got a skib. 
 
 That gart him yowll and claw't. 
 Sae he wad slip his wa' to Tib, 
 
 And spy at hame some fawt ; 
 I thought he might hae gott'n a snib, 
 
 Sae thought ilk ane that saw't, 
 
 0' th' green that day, 
 
47 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 But taylor Hutcliin met him there, 
 
 A curst unhappy spark. 
 Saw Pate had caught a camshack cair 
 
 At this uncanny wark. 
 He bade na lang to seek his lare, 
 
 But, wi' a yawfu' yark, 
 Whare Pate's right spawl, by hap, was bare, 
 
 He derfly dang the bark 
 
 Frae's shins that day. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Poor Petrie gae a weary winch. 
 
 He could na do but bann ; 
 The taylor baith his sides did pinch, 
 
 Wi' laughing out o' hand ; 
 He jee'd na out o' that an inch. 
 
 Afore a menseless man, 
 Came a' at anes athort his hinch, 
 
 A sowfF, and gart him prann 
 
 His bum that day. 
 
 XX. 
 
 The Priest's hi reman, a chiel as stark , 
 
 As ony giant cou'd be, 
 He kent afore o' this day's wark, 
 
 For certain that it would be.- 
 He ween'd to drive in o'er the park. 
 
 And ilk ane thought it should be ; 
 Whether his foot had misfits mark, 
 
 I canna tell, but fou't be, 
 
 He fell that day. 
 
48 
 
 XXI. 
 
 'Ere he cou'd change th' uncanny Jair,, 
 
 And nae help to be gi'en him, 
 There tumbled a mischievous pair 
 
 O' mawten'd lolls ahoon him. 
 It wad ha made your heart fu' sair. 
 
 Gin ye had only seen -him ; 
 An't had na been for Davy Mair, 
 
 The rascals had ondune him, 
 
 Belyve that day. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Cry'd black Pate Mill, " God save the King !'* 
 
 Cry'd gley'd Gib Gun, " God grant it ;" 
 Syue to the ba' like ony thing, 
 
 Baith ran, and baith loud vauntit. 
 But auld James Stuart drew his sting, 
 
 Tauld them they could na want it ; 
 He sware he'd gar. their harnpans ring 
 
 Till black Pate Mill maist fautit, , 
 For fear that day. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 A stranger bra', in Highland claise, 
 
 Leit mony a sturdy aith. 
 To bear the b a' thro' a' his faes, 
 
 And nae kep meikle skaith. 
 Rob Roy heard the fricksome fraise^ . 
 
 Weel girded in his graith ; 
 Gowff'd him alang the shins a blaize. 
 
 And gart him tyne his faith 
 
 And feet that day. 
 
49 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 His neiper was a man o' might, 
 
 Was few there could ha' quelPd him. 
 He did na see the dreary sight, 
 
 Till some yap gilpy tell'd him. 
 To Robin syne he flew outright. 
 
 As he'd been gaun' to geld him ; 
 But, dolefu' chance, frae some curst wight, 
 
 A clammy-houit fell'd him 
 
 Hawf dead that day. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 The millart's man, a suple fallow. 
 
 Ran 's he had been red wud ; 
 He fethir'd fiercely like a swallow, 
 
 Cry'd, hech ! at ilka thud. 
 A gawsie gurk, wi' phiz o' yellow, 
 
 In youthood's sappy bud, 
 Nae twa there wad ha gart him wallow, 
 
 Wi' fair play i' the mud 
 
 On's back that day. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Tam Tull upon him cuist his ee, 
 
 Saw him sae mony fuilzie ; 
 He green'd again some play to prec. 
 
 And raise another bruilzie. 
 Up the kirk-yard he fast did jee, 
 
 I wat he was na hoilie, 
 And a' the kenzies glowr'd to see 
 
 A bonny kind o' tuilzie 
 
 Atween them twa. 
 
50 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 The millart never notic'd Tarn, 
 
 Sae browden'd he the ba'^ 
 He rumbl'd rudely like a ram, 
 
 Dang o'er whiles ane, whiles twa. 
 His enemy in afore him cam^ 
 
 Ere ever he him saw ; 
 Raught him a rap on the forestam. 
 
 But had na time to draw 
 
 Anither sae. 
 
 XXVIH. 
 
 Afore he could step three inch back, 
 
 The millart drew a knife, 
 A curst.Iike gullie and a snack, 
 
 Some blacksmith's wark in Fife. 
 The lave their thumbs did blythly knack, 
 
 To see the stalwart strife ; 
 But Tam, I ken, wad gien a plack 
 
 T' hae been safe wi* his wife, 
 
 At hame that day. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The parish- dark came up the yard, 
 
 A man fu' meek o' mind ; 
 Right jinch he was, and fell weel-fawr'd, 
 
 His claithing was fu' fine. 
 Just whara their feet the dubs had glawr'd, 
 
 And barken'd them like bryne, 
 Gley'd Gibby Gun wi* a derf dawrd, 
 
 Beft o'er the grave divine 
 
 Ou's bum that day. 
 
51 
 
 XXX. 
 
 When a' were pitying his mishap. 
 
 And swarm' d about the dark, 
 Wi' whittles some his hat did scrap, 
 
 Some dighted down his sark. 
 Will Winter gae the ba' a chap, 
 
 He ween'd he did a wark, 
 While Sanny wi' a weel-wyl'd wap, 
 
 Youflf'd her in o'er^he park 
 
 A bpace and mair, 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Wi' that Rob Roy gae a rair, 
 
 A rierfu' rout rais'd he, 
 'Twas heard, th«y said, three mile and mair, 
 
 Wha likes may credit gie. 
 I wyte his heart was fu' o' care. 
 
 And knell'd fell sair to see, 
 The cleverest callant that was there, 
 
 Play himsel' sic a slee 
 
 Begeck that day. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Jock Jalop shouted like a gun. 
 
 As something had him ail'd : 
 Fy, Sirs, co' he, the ba' spel's won, 
 
 And we the ba' ha'e hail'd. 
 Some greened for hawf an hour's mair fun, 
 
 *Cause fresh, and nae sair fail'd : 
 Ithers did Sanny gryte thanks cunn, 
 
 And thro' their hatFats trail'd 
 
 Their nails that day. 
 
52 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Syne a' consented to be frien's, 
 
 And lap like sucking fillies : 
 Some red their hair, some maen'd their banes, 
 
 Some bann'd the bensome billies. 
 The pensy blades doss'd down on stanes, 
 
 Whipt out their snishin millies ; 
 And a' ware blyth to tak their einds. 
 
 And club a pint o' Lillie's 
 
 Best ale that day. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Has ne'er in Monymuss been seen 
 
 Sae mony weel-beft skins : 
 Of a' the bawmen there was nane 
 
 But had tw a bleedy shins. 
 Wi' strenzied shouders mony ane 
 
 Dree'd penance for their sins ; 
 And what was warst, scoup'd.hame at ee'n. 
 
 May be to hungry inns, 
 
 And cauld that day. 
 
SONGS, EPISTLES, ELEGIES, 
 
 8fc. SCc. 
 
 ► 
 
55 
 
 TULLOCHGORUM. 
 
 In that part of the Re LI QVES of Burns^ lately 
 published by R. H. Cromek, entitled " tinctures 
 on Scottish Songs and Ballads," Sfc, is the follow • 
 ing Account of Tullocmgorum, 
 
 *' This first of Songs ^ is the master-piece of my 
 " old friend Skinner. He was passing the 
 *' day at the tozon of Ciillen, I think it was^ 
 *' \_should have said FAlon'] in a friend^ s house^ 
 '' whose name was Montgomery. Mrs Montm 
 *' gomery observing ^ en passant, that the beauti. 
 ^' ful reel of Tultochgorum wanted words ^ she 
 " begged them of Mr Skinner^ who gratified 
 '' her zcishes, and the wishes of every lover of 
 '' Scottish song^ in this most excellent ballad,** 
 
 I. 
 
 Come gie's a sang, Montgomery cry'd, 
 And lay your disputes all aside, 
 What signifies'tfor folks to chide 
 
 For what was dbne before them : 
 Let Whig and Tory all agree. 
 
 Whig and Tory, Whig and Tory, 
 Whig and Tory all agree, 
 
 To drop their Whig-mig-morum ; 
 E.2 
 
56 
 
 Let Whig and Tory all agree 
 
 To spend the night wi' mirth and glee. 
 
 And cheerful sing alang wi' me 
 
 The Reel o' Tullochgorum. 
 
 II. 
 
 O' Tullochgorum's my delight, 
 
 It gar« us a' in ane unite, 
 
 And ony sumph that keeps a spite, 
 
 In conscience I abhor him : 
 Por blythe and cheerie we'll be a', 
 
 Blythe and cheerie, blythe and cheerie, 
 Blythe and cheerie we'll be a', 
 
 And make a happy quorum, 
 For blythe and cheerie we'll be a' 
 As lang as we hae breath to draw, 
 And dance till we be like to fa' 
 
 The Reel o' Tullochgorum. 
 
 III. 
 
 What needs there be sae great a f raise 
 Wi' dringing dull Italian lays, 
 I wadna gie our ain Strathspeys 
 
 For half a hunder score o' them ; 
 They're dowf and dowie at the best,^ 
 Dowf and dowie, dowf and dowie j^ 
 Dowf and dowie at the best, 
 
 Wi' a' their variorum ; 
 They're dowf and dowie at the best, 
 Their allegros and a' the rest. 
 They canna' please a Scottish taste 
 
 Compar'd wi' Tullochgorum. 
 
57 
 
 IV. 
 
 Let warldly worms their minds oppress 
 Wi' fears o' want and double cess, 
 And sullen sots themsells distress 
 Wi* keeping up decorum : 
 Shall we sae sour and sulky sit, 
 
 Sonr and sulky, sour and sulky, 
 Sour and sulky shall we sit 
 Like old philosophorum I 
 Shall we sae sour and sulky sit, 
 Wi' neither sense, nor mirth, nor wit, 
 Nor ever try to shake a fit 
 
 To th' Reel o' Tullochgorum? 
 
 V. 
 
 May choicest blessings ay attend 
 Each honest, open hearted friend, 
 And calm and quiet be his end, 
 
 And a' that's good watch o*er him ; 
 May peace and plenty be his lot, 
 
 Peace and plenty, peace and plenty, 
 Peace and plenty be his lot, 
 
 And dainties a great store o' them ; 
 May peace and plenty be his lot, 
 Unstain'd by any vicious spot. 
 And ^ay he never want a groat, 
 
 That's fond o' Tullochgorum ! . 
 
 e3 
 
6B 
 
 VI. 
 
 But for the sullen frumpish fool, 
 That loves to be oppression's tool, 
 May envy gnaw his rotten soul, 
 
 And discontent devour him ; , 
 May dool and sorrow be his chance, 
 Dool and sorrow, dool and sorrow 
 Dool and sorrow be his chance. 
 And nane say, wae's me for him J 
 May dool and sorrow be his chance, 
 Wi' a' the ills that come frae France^ 
 Wha e'er he be that winna dance 
 The Reel o' Tullochgorum. 
 
59 
 
 JOHN O' BADENYON 
 
 This excellent song^^^ says Burns^ "• is the 
 *' composition of my worthy friend old Skinner 
 '' at Linshart,^' 
 
 I. 
 
 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 every where 
 
 Was like a morn in May ; 
 No care I had nor fear of waiit, 
 
 But rambled up and down, 
 And for a beau I might havfe past 
 
 In country or in town ; 
 I still was pleas'd wherever I went, 
 
 And when I was alone^ 
 I tun'd my pipe and pleas'd myself 
 
 Wi» John o' Badenyon, 
 
60 
 
 II. 
 
 Now in the days of youthful prime 
 
 A mistress I must find, 
 For love^ I heard, gare one an air 
 
 And ev'n improv'd 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 girl, and tun'd my pipe 
 
 To John o' Badenyon. / 
 
 III. 
 
 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 lovers' 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 
 
 1 freely might apply i 
 
61 
 
 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. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Methought I should be wiser next 
 
 And would a patriot turn, 
 Began to doat on Johnny Wilkes 
 
 And cry up Parson Home *• 
 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 knares 
 
 Insult the very throne, 
 I curs'd them a', and tun'd my pipe 
 
 To John o* Badenyon. 
 
 V. 
 
 What next to do I mus'd a while, 
 
 Still hoping to succeed, 
 I pitch'd on books for company 
 'And gravely try'd to read ; 
 
 * This song was composed when Wilkes, Home, &c. 
 were making a noise about liberty. 
 
6^ 
 
 I bought and borrowed every where 
 
 And study'd night and day, 
 Nor mist what dean or doctor wrote 
 
 That happened in my way : 
 Philosophy I now esteem' d 
 
 The ornament of youth, 
 And carefully through many a page 
 
 I hunted after truth. 
 A thousand various schemes I try'd, 
 
 And yet was pleas'd with none, 
 I threw them by, and tun'd my pipe 
 
 To John o' Badenyoa. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And now ye youngsters every where. 
 
 That wish to make a show, 
 Take heed in time, nor fondly hope 
 
 For happiness below ; 
 What you may fancy pleasure here. 
 
 Is but an empty name. 
 And girls, a,nd friends^ and books , and so, 
 
 You'll find them all the same ; 
 Then be advised and warning take 
 
 From such a man as me ; 
 I'm neither Pope nor Cardinal, 
 
 Nor one of high degree ; 
 You'll meet displeasure every where ; 
 
 Then do as I have done, 
 Ev'n tune your pipe and please yourselves 
 
 With John o' Badenyon. 
 
69 
 
 THB 
 
 EWIE WI' THE CROOKTT HORN. 
 
 I. 
 
 Were I but able to fehearse 
 
 My Ewie's praise iii profper verse, 
 
 I*d soiind it forth as loud and fierce 
 
 As ever piper's drone could blaw ; 
 The Ewie wi' the crookit horn, 
 Wha had kent her might hae sworn 
 Sic a Ewe was never born, 
 
 Hereabout nor far awa', 
 Sic a Ewe was never born, 
 
 Hereabout nor far awa*. 
 
 II. 
 
 I never needed tar nor keil 
 To mark her upo' hip or heel, 
 Her crookit horn did as weel 
 
 To ken her by amo' them a' ; 
 She n*^ver threatened scab not rot. 
 But keepit ay her ain jog-trdt, 
 Baith to the fauld and to the cot, 
 
 Was never sweir to lead nor caw, 
 Baith to the fauld and to the cot, 4*c. 
 
64 
 III. 
 
 Cauld nor hunger never dang her, 
 Wind nor wet could never wrang her, 
 Anes she lay an ouk and 1 anger 
 
 Furth aneath a wreath o' snaw : 
 Whan ither Ewies lap the dyke, 
 And eat the kail for a' the tyke. 
 My Ewie never play'd the like, 
 
 But tyc'd about the barn wa' ; 
 My Ewie never play'd the like, 8fc, 
 
 IV, 
 
 A better or a thriftier beast, 
 
 Nae honest man could weel hae wist, 
 
 For silly thing she never mist. 
 
 To hae ilk' year a lamb or twa' ; 
 The first she had I gae to Jock, 
 To be to him a kind o' stock. 
 And now the laddie has a flock 
 
 O' mair nor thirty head ava' ; 
 And now the laddie has a flock, 8fc. 
 
 V. 
 
 I lookit aye at even' for her, 
 
 Lest mishanter shou'd come o'er her, 
 
 Or the fowmart might devour her, 
 
 Gin the beastie bade awa ; 
 My Ewie wi' the crookit horn, 
 Well deserv'd baith girse and corn, 
 Sic a Ewe was never born, 
 
 Here-about nor far awa. 
 Sic a Ewe was never born, Sfc, 
 
65 
 
 VI. 
 
 Yet last ouk, for a» my keeping, 
 
 ( Wha can speak it without greeting ?) 
 
 A villain cam when I was sleeping, 
 
 Sta' my Ewie, horn and a' : 
 I sought her sair upo' the morn, 
 And down aneath a buss o' thorn 
 I got my Ewie's crookit horn, 
 
 But my Ewie was awa'. 
 I got my Ewie's crookit horn, Sfc. 
 
 VII. 
 
 ! gin I had the loun that did it, 
 Sworn I have as well as said it, 
 Tho' a' the warld should forbid it, 
 
 I wad gie his neck a thra' : 
 
 1 never met wi' sic a turn. 
 As this sin ever I was born. 
 My Ewie wi' the crookit horn, 
 
 Silly Ewie stown awa'. 
 My Ewie wi' the crookit horn, Sfc. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 O ! had she died o' crook or cauld. 
 As Ewies do when they grow auld, 
 It wad na b' en, by mony fauld, 
 
 Sae sair a heart to nane o's a' ; 
 For a' the claith that we hae worn, 
 Frae her and her's sae afien shorn. 
 The loss o' her we cou'd liae born. 
 
 Had fair strae-death ta'en her awa*. 
 The loss o' her we cou'd hae born, SfC, 
 
66 
 
 IX. 
 
 But thus, poor thing, to lose her life, 
 Aneath a bleedy villain's knife, 
 I'm really fley't that our guidwife 
 
 Will never win aboon't ava : 
 O ! a' ye bards benorth Kinghorn, 
 Call your muses up and mourn, 
 Our Ewie wi' the crookit horn, 
 
 Stown frae *s, and fellt and a' ! 
 Our Ewie wi' the crookit horn, Sfc, 
 
67 
 
 MARauis OF huntly'S reel. 
 
 i« W i « .i) j jliijl i .;' } >*• 
 
 ■' This Song,^* saifs Bvr^s, in his Reliques, '' was 
 
 * composed b^ the Reverend Jobn SKtf^NER, 
 
 * Non-juring Clergyman at Linshart^ near Pe- 
 ' terhead. He is likewise the Author of ** 7W- 
 '' lochgorum, Ewie wV the crookit horuy John o' 
 " Badenyon^^^ Sfc» ; and, what is of still morecon* 
 ' sequence, he is one of the worthiest of mankind, 
 ' He is the Author of an ^' Ecclesiastical History 
 " of Scotland.'* The air is by Mr Mars ma ll, 
 ' Butler to the Duke of Gordon^ the ^st Comm 
 ' poser of Strathspeys of the age,* 
 
 I. 
 Tune your fiddles, tune them sweetJj^- 
 Play the Marquis' reel disereetty, 
 Here we are, a band completely 
 
 Fitted ta be jolly.— -s 
 Come, my boys, blythe and gawcie, 
 Every youngster chuse his lassie. 
 Dance wi' life, and be not sa^cy. 
 
 Shy iior melancholy, . 
 Come, my boys, Sfc, 
 
 f2. 
 
68 
 
 II. 
 
 Lay aside your sour grimaces, 
 Clouded brows, and drumly faces, 
 Look about, and see their Graces, 
 
 How they smile delighted • 
 Now 's the season to be merry. 
 Hang the thoughts of Charon's ferry. 
 Time enough to turn camsterry 
 
 When we're auld and doited. 
 Now's the season, Sfc, 
 
 IIL 
 
 Butler, put about the claret, 
 Thro' us a' divide and share it, 
 Gordon-Castle well can spare it. 
 
 It has claret plenty. 
 Wine 's the true inspiring liquor, 
 Draffy drink may please the Vicar, 
 When he grasps the foaming bicker. 
 
 Vicars are not dainty. 
 Wine 's the true inspiring liquor, Sfc, 
 
 IV. 
 
 We'll extoll our noble Master, 
 Sprung from many a brave ancestor, — 
 Heaven preserve him from disaster. 
 
 So we pray in duty. 
 Prosper, too, our pretty Duchess, 
 Safe from all distressful touches. 
 Keep her out of Pluto's clutches. 
 
 Long in health and beauty. 
 Prosper, too, our pretty Duchess, Sfc, 
 
69- 
 
 V. 
 
 Angels guard their gallant boy, . 
 Make him long his father's joy, 
 Sturdy, like the heir of Troy, 
 
 Stout and brisk and healthy. 
 Pallas, grant him every blessing. 
 Wit aad strength afnd size increasing, 
 Plutus, what's in thy possessing, 
 
 Make him rich and wealthy. 
 Pallas, grant him every blessing, S^c, 
 
 VI. 
 
 Youth, solace him with thy pleasure. 
 In refin'd and worthy measure ; 
 Merit, gain hire choicest treasure, 
 
 From the Royal donor. 
 Famous may he be in story. 
 Full of days, and ftiJl of glory ; 
 To the grave, when old and hoary. 
 
 May be go with honour 1 
 Famous may he be in story, Sfc, 
 
 VII. 
 
 Gordons, join our hearty praises, 
 Hone&t, though in homely phrases, 
 Love our cheerful spirits raises, 
 
 Lofty as the lark is s 
 Echo, waft our wishes daily. 
 Thro' the grove, and thro' the alley, 
 Sound o'er every hill and valley. 
 
 Blessings on our Marquis 
 Echo, waft our wishes daily, Sfc, 
 
 ¥3 
 
70 
 
 OLD MAN'S SONG. 
 
 TUNE DUMBARTON DRUMS. 
 
 I. 
 
 X O ! why should old age so much wound us ! * 
 There is nothing in it all to confound us : 
 
 For how happy now am I, 
 
 With my old wife sitting by ; 
 And our bairns and our oys all around us ; 
 
 For how happy now am I, Sfc, 
 
 II. 
 
 We began in the warld wi' naething, 
 And we've jogg'd on, and toil'd for the ae thing 
 We made use of what we had, 
 And our thankful hearts were glad ; 
 When we got the bit meat and the claithing, 
 We made use of what we had, Sfc. 
 
 * This Tune requires O to be added at the end of 
 each of the long lines, but in reading the Song the O 
 is better omitted. 
 
71 
 
 III. 
 
 We have liv'dall our life-time contented^ 
 Since the day we became first acquainted i 
 
 It's true we've been but poor, 
 
 And we are so to this hour ; 
 But we never yet repin'd or lamented. 
 
 It's true we've been but poor, Sfc. 
 
 IV. 
 
 When we had any stock, we ne'er vauntit, 
 Nor did we hing our heads when we wantit ; 
 
 But we always gave a share 
 
 Of the little we cou'd spare, 
 When it pleas' d a kind Heaven to grant it. 
 
 But we always gave a share, 8fc, 
 
 v.. 
 
 We never laid a scheme to be wealthy, 
 By means that were cunning or stealthy ; 
 But we always had the bliss, 
 And what further could we wiss, 
 To be pleas'd with ourselves, and be healthy. 
 But we always had the bliss, Sfc, 
 
 VI. 
 
 What tho' we cannot boast of our guineas, 
 We have plenty of Jockies and Jeanies ; 
 
 And these, I 'm certain, are 
 
 More desirable by far 
 Than a bag full of poor yellow steinies. 
 
 And these, I am certain, are, Sfc. 
 
72 
 
 VII. 
 
 We have seen many weader and ferlr, 
 Of changes that almost are yearly, 
 
 Among rich folks up and down, 
 
 Both in country and in town, 
 Who now Eve but scrimply and barely. 
 
 Amoog rich folks up and dawn, Sfc. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Then why should people brag o€ prosperrty ? 
 
 A straiten' d life we see is no rarity ; 
 Indeed we've been ia want, 
 And our living 's been but scant. 
 
 Yet we never were reduced to need charity. 
 Indeed we've been in want, Sfc. 
 
 IX. 
 
 In this house we first came together. 
 Where we've long been a father and mither 5 
 
 And tho' not of stone and lime. 
 
 It will last us all our time ; 
 Andj I hope, we shall ne'er need anither. 
 
 And tbo*^ not of stone and Kme, SfC, 
 
 X. 
 
 And when we leave this poor habitation, 
 We'll depart with a good commendation ; 
 
 We'll go hand in hand, I wiss, 
 
 To a better house than this. 
 To make room for the ftext generation. 
 
 We'll go hand in hand, I wiss, SfC, 
 Then xsht/ should old age so much wound us, ^e. 
 
73 
 
 STILL IN THE WRONG. 
 
 TO ITS OWN TUNE. 
 
 I. 
 
 It has long been my fate to be thought in the wrong y 
 
 And my fate it continues to be ; 
 The wise and the wealthy still make it their song, 
 
 And the clerk and the cottar agree. 
 There is nothing I do, and there's nothing I say. 
 
 But some one or other thinks wrong ; 
 And to please them I find there is no other way, 
 
 But do nothing, and still hold my tongue. 
 
 II. 
 
 Says the free-thinking Sophist ^ *' The times are refin'd 
 
 " In sense to a wondrous degree ; 
 '^ Your old fashion' d faith does but fetter the mind, 
 
 " And it's wrong not to seek to be free." 
 Says the sage Politician^ " Your natural share 
 
 '' Of talents would raise you much higher, 
 ^' Than thus to crawl on in your present low sphere, 
 
 " And it's wrong in you not to aspire.'* 
 
74 
 
 III. 
 
 Says the Man of the World, " Your dull stoic life 
 
 ''Is surely deserving of blame ? 
 '' You have children to care for, as well as a wife, 
 
 " And rt*s wrong not to lay up for tliem." 
 Says the fat Gormandizer, " To eat and to drink 
 
 " Is the true summum bonum of man : 
 •^ Life is nothing withotit it, whate'ef you may think, 
 
 '' And its wrong not to live while you can." 
 
 Says the new made Divine, ' ' Your old modes we reject, 
 
 '' Nor give ourselves trouble about them : 
 '' It is manners and dress that procure us respect, 
 
 '' And it's wrong to look for it without them." 
 Says the grave peevish Saint, in a fit of the spleen, 
 
 " Ah ! me, but your manners are vile : 
 ''A parson that's blythe is a shame to be seen, 
 
 *' And it's wrong in you even to smile," 
 
 V. 
 
 Says the Clown, when I tell him to do what he ought, 
 
 '' Sir, whatever your character be, 
 '' To obey you in this I will never be brought, 
 
 '' And it's wrong to be meddling with me." 
 Says my Wife, when she wants this or that for the fcowse, 
 
 '' Our matters to ruin must go : 
 " Your reading and writing is not worth a souse, 
 
 " And it's wrong to neglect the hous* so," 
 
74 
 
 VI. 
 
 Thus a^/ judge of ine by tlvejr tajte or tkeii: wit, 
 
 And I'm censur'd by old and by young. 
 Who in one point agree, though in others they split, 
 
 That in something I'm still in the wrong. 
 But let them say on to the end of the song. 
 
 It shall make no impression on me : 
 If to diiJer from such be to be in the wrongs 
 
 In the wrong I hope always to be. 
 
76 
 LIZZY LIBERTY. 
 
 TUKE TIBBIE FOWLER l' THE GLEN. 
 
 I. 
 
 There lives a lassie i' the braes. 
 
 And Lizzy Liberty they ca' her, 
 Whan she has on her Sunday's claes. 
 
 Ye never saw a lady brawer ; 
 So a' the lads are wooing at her, 
 
 Courting her but canna get her, 
 Bonny Lizzy Liberty, there's ow'r mony wooing at her! 
 
 IL 
 
 Her mither ware a tabbit mutch, 
 
 Her father was an honest dyker, 
 She's a black eyed wanton witch. 
 
 Ye winna shaw me mony like her, 
 So a' the lads are wooing at her, 
 
 Courting her but canna get her. 
 Bonny Lizzie Liberty, wow so mony 's wooing at her \ 
 
 IIL 
 
 A kindly lass she is, I'm seer. 
 
 Has fowth o' sense and smeddum in her, 
 
 And nae a swankie far nor near. 
 But tries wi' a' his might to win her : 
 
 ^ 
 
77 
 
 They're wooing at her, fain would hae her, 
 Courting her but canna get her, 
 Bonnie Lizzy Liberty, there's ow'rmony wooing at her, 
 
 IV. 
 
 For kindly tho' she be nae doubt, 
 She manna thole the marriage-tether, 
 
 But likes to rove and rink about, 
 
 Like highland cowt amo' the heather : 
 
 Yet a' the lads are wooing at her, 
 Courting her but canna get her, 
 Bonny Lizzy Liberty, wow, sae mony's wooing at her, 
 
 V. 
 It's seven year, and some guid mair, 
 
 Syn Dutch Mynheer made courtship till her, 
 A merchant bluff and fu' o' care, 
 
 Wi' chufFy cheeks, and bags o' siller ; 
 So Dutch Mynheer was wooing at her, 
 Courting her but cudna get her, 
 Bonny Lizzy Liberty, has ow'r mony wooing at her, 
 
 VI. 
 
 Neist to him came Baltic John, 
 
 Slept up the brae, and leukit at her, 
 
 Syne wear his wa wi' heavy moan, 
 And in a month or twa forgat her : 
 
 Baltic John was wooing at her. 
 Courting her but cudna get her, 
 Filthy elf she's nae herself, wi' sae mony wooing at her. 
 
78 
 
 VII. 
 
 Syne after him cam Vankie Doodle, 
 
 Frae hyne ayont the muckle water ; 
 Tho' Yankie's nae yet worth a boddle, 
 
 Wi' might and main he would be at her :^ 
 Yankie Doodle's wooing at her, 
 
 Courting her, but canna get her, 
 Bonny Lizzy Liberty, wow, sae mony 's wooing at her. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Now Monkey French is in a roar, 
 
 And swears that nane but he sail hae her, 
 
 Tho' he sud wade thro' bluid and gore, 
 It's nae the king sail keep him frae her : 
 
 So Monkey French is wooing at her, 
 Courting her, but canna get her. 
 Bonny Lizzy Liberty has ow'r mony wooing at her. 
 
 IX. 
 
 For France, nor yet her Flanders frien', 
 Need na think that she '11 come to them ; 
 
 They 've casten aff wi' a' their kin, 
 
 And grace and guid have flown fae them : 
 
 They're wooing at her, fain wad hae her. 
 Courting her, but canna get her. 
 Bonny Lizzy Liberty, wow, sae mony's wooing at her 
 
 X. 
 
 A stately chiel, they ca' John Bull, 
 Is unco thrang and glaikit wi' her ; 
 
 And gin he cud get a' his wull. 
 
 There 's nane can say what he wad gi'c her : 
 
79 
 
 Johnny Bull is wooing at her, 
 Courting her, but canna get her, 
 Filthy Ted, she 'U never wed, as lang 's sae mony 's 
 wooing at her. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Even Irish TeagiWy ayont Belfast^, 
 
 Wadna care to speir about her ; 
 And swears, till he sail breathe his last, 
 
 He '11 never happy be without her ; 
 Irish Teague is wooing at her. 
 
 Courting her, but canna get her. 
 Bonny Lizzy Liberty has ow'r mony wooing at her. 
 
 XII. 
 
 But Donald Scot ^s the happy lad, 
 Tho' a' the lave sud try to rate him ; 
 
 Whan he steps up the brae sae glad 
 She disna ken maist whare to set him : 
 
 Donald Scot is wooing at her, 
 
 Courting her, will may be get her. 
 Bonny Lizzy Liberty, wow sae mony's wooing at her. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Now Donald tak a frien's advice, 
 
 I ken fu' weel ye fain wad hae her. 
 As ye are happy, sae be wise, 
 
 And ha'd ye wi' a smackie frae her : 
 Ye 're wooing at her, fain wad hae her. 
 Courting her, will may be get her, 
 Bonny Lizzy Liberty, there's ow'r mony wooing at her. 
 o 2 
 
80 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Ye 're weel, and wat'sna, lad, they're sayin' 
 
 Wi' getting leave to dwall aside her ; 
 And gin ye had her a' your ain, 
 
 Ye might na find it mows to guide her. 
 Ye 're wooing at her, fain wad hae her, 
 Courting her, will may be get her, 
 Cunning quean, she 's n( 'er be mine, OpS lang 's sae 
 mony 's wooing at her. 
 
81 
 
 THE STIPENDLESS PARSON. 
 
 TITNE, A COBLER THERE WAS, &C. 
 
 I. 
 
 How happy a life does the Parson possess, 
 Who would be no greater, nor fears to be less ; 
 Who depends on his book and his gown for support. 
 And derives no preferment from conclave or court, 
 
 Derry down^ Sfc^ 
 
 II. 
 
 Without glebe or manse settl'd on him by law, 
 No stipend to sue for, nor vie' rage to draw ; 
 In discharge of his office he holds bim content. 
 With a croft and a garden, for which he pays rent. 
 
 Derri/ down^ Sfc, 
 
 III. 
 
 With a neat little cottage and furniture plain. 
 And a spare room to Melcome a friend now and then, 
 With a good humour'd wife in his fortune to share, 
 And ease him at all times of family care. 
 
 Derri/ downy 8^c, 
 g3 
 
82 
 
 IV. 
 
 With a few of the Fathers, the oldest and best, 
 And some modern Extracts pick'd out from the rest, 
 With a Bible in Latin, and Hebrew, and Greek, 
 To afford him instruction each day of the week. 
 
 Derry down, Sfc. 
 
 V. 
 
 With a poney to carry him when he has need, 
 And a cow to provide him some milk to his bread ; 
 With a mug of brown ale when he feels himself for 't, 
 And a glass of good whisky in place of red port. 
 
 Derry down, S^c. 
 
 VI. 
 
 What children he has, if any are given, 
 He thankfully trusts to the kindness of heaven ; 
 To religion and virtue he trains them while young, 
 And with such a provision he does them no wrong. 
 
 Derry down, Sfc. . 
 
 VII. 
 
 With labour below, and with help from above. 
 He cares for his^ocA:, and is blest with their love : 
 Tho* his living perhaps in the main may be scant. 
 He is sure, while thei/ have, that he '11 ne'er be in want. 
 
 Derry dozon^ Sfc, 
 
 VII. 
 
 With no worldly projects nor hurries perplext, 
 He sits in his closet and studies his text ; 
 
83 
 
 And while he converses with Moses or Paul, 
 He envies not bishop, nor dean in his stall. 
 
 Derry down, Sfc, 
 
 XI. 
 
 Not proud to the poor, nor a slave to the great, 
 Neither factious in church, nor pragmatic in state, 
 He keeps himself quiet within his own sphere, 
 And finds work suflicient in preaching and pray'r. 
 
 Derry down, Sfc. 
 
 X. 
 
 In what little dealings he 's forc'd to transact. 
 He determines with plainness and candour to act, 
 And the great point on which his ambition is set. 
 Is to leave at the last neither riches nor debt. 
 
 Derry down, Sfc, 
 
 XI. 
 
 Thus calmly he steps thro' the valley of life, 
 Unencumbered with wealth, and a stranger to strife ; 
 On the bustlings around him unmov'd he can look. 
 And at home always pleas'd with his wife and his book. 
 
 Derry down, Sfc* 
 
 xn. 
 
 And when in old age he drops into the grave, 
 This humble remembrance he wishes to have ; 
 ' By good men respected, by the evil oft tried, 
 ' Contented he Uv'd, and lamented he died ! 
 
 Derry down, Sfc. 
 
84 
 
 THE MAN OF ROSS. 
 
 TUNE, MISS ROSS'S REEL. 
 
 I. 
 
 When fops and fools together prate. 
 O'er punch or tea, of this or that, 
 What silly poor unmeaning chat 
 
 Does all their talk engross ? 
 A nobler theme employs my lays. 
 And thus my honest voice I raise 
 In well deserved strains to praise 
 
 The worthy Man of Ross. 
 
 II. 
 
 His lofty soul (would it were mine) 
 Scorns ev'ry selfish low design. 
 And ne'er was known to repine. 
 
 At any earthly loss : 
 But still contented, frank, and free, 
 In ev'ry state, whate'er it be, 
 Serene and stay'd we always see 
 
 The worthy Man of Ross. 
 
85 
 
 Let misers hug their worldly store, 
 And gripe and pinch to make it more ; 
 Their gold and silver's shining ore, 
 
 He counts it all but dross : 
 'Tis better treasure he desires ; 
 A surer stock his passion fires. 
 And mild benevolence inspires 
 
 The worthy Man of Ross. 
 
 IV. 
 
 When want assails the widow's cot, 
 Or sickness strikes the poor man's hut. 
 When blasting winds or foggy rot 
 Augment the farmer's loss : 
 The sufferer straight knows where to go, 
 With all his wants and all his woe, 
 For glad experience leads him to 
 
 The worthy man of Ross. 
 
 V. 
 
 This man of Ross I '11 daily sing, 
 With vocal note and lyric string, 
 And duly, when I 've drank the king, 
 
 He '11 be my second toss. 
 May heaven its choicest blessings send, 
 On such a man, and such a friend ; 
 And still may all that's good attend 
 The worthy Man of Ross. 
 
86 
 
 VI. 
 
 Now if you ask about his name. 
 And where he lives with such a fame. 
 Indeed I'll say you are to blame, 
 
 For truly inter nos^ 
 'Tis what belongs to you and me. 
 And all of high or low degree. 
 In every sphere to try to be 
 
 The worthy Man of Ross. 
 
87 
 A SONG ON THE TIMES. 
 
 TUNE, BROOM OF THE COWDENKNOWS. 
 
 I. 
 
 When I began the world first, 
 
 It was not as 'tis now, 
 For all was plain and simple then. 
 
 And friends were kind and true : 
 
 ! the times, the weary weary times. 
 The times that I now see, 
 
 1 think the world's all gone wrong, 
 From what it used to be. 
 
 II. 
 
 There were not then high capering heads, 
 
 Prick' d up from ear to ear, 
 And clocks and caps were rarities. 
 
 For gentle folks to wear. 
 O ! the times the weary weary times. Sec, 
 
 HI.' 
 
 There 's not an upstart mushroom now, 
 
 But what sets up for taste. 
 And not a lass in all the land, 
 
 But must be lady-drest. 
 O I the times the weary weary times, &c. 
 
88 
 
 IV. 
 
 Our young men married then for love, 
 
 So did our lasses too, 
 And children lov'd their parents dear, 
 
 As children ought to do. 
 O ! the times, the weary weary times, &c, 
 
 V. 
 
 For O ! the times are sadly chang'd, 
 
 A heavy change indeed ! 
 For truth and friendship are no more, 
 
 And honesty is fled. 
 O ! the times, the weary weary times, &c. 
 
 VI. 
 
 There's nothing now prevails but pride. 
 
 Among both high and low, 
 And strife, and greed, and vanity, 
 
 Is all that's minded now. 
 O ! the times, the weary weary times, &c. 
 
 VII. 
 
 When I look through the world wide. 
 
 How times and fashions go, 
 It draws the tears from both my eyes. 
 
 And fills my heart with woe. 
 
 ! the times, the weary weary times, 
 The times that I now see, 
 
 1 wish the world were at an end, 
 
 For it will not mend for me ] 
 
89 
 
 SONG. 
 
 ON 
 
 THE SCOTCH MILITIA. 
 
 4 
 
 TUNE, ROY'S WIFE IN ARDEVALICH, 
 
 Saw ye e'er a lawland lassie 
 
 Happy in her lawland laddie ? 
 I was she sae blythe and gawsie, 
 
 As though I'd ca'd the king my daddie. 
 My laddie was my heart's delight, 
 
 Kind and canty was my Johnnie, 
 In liking him had I the wyte, 
 
 Whan a' the warld ca'd him bonnie ? 
 
 II. 
 
 Oiir bridal day was set, and a' thing 
 
 Ready made to pit's togither. 
 My tartan plaid, and mony bra' thing 
 
 I gat frae my honest mither, 
 A short fourteen days, Johnnie sware it, 
 
 Wu'd make me a' his ain for ever, 
 And right glad was I to hear it, 
 
 We sud now be parted never. 
 
.90 
 III 
 
 But O ! there cam a wearie order, 
 
 About a thing they ca' militie ; 
 Ye cam frae hyn ayont the border, 
 
 O ! waly fa* the chiel that feish ye ! 
 Cam to tak my Johnnie frae me, 
 
 Left me here to mourn about him, 
 And till he back again cum to me, 
 
 I'll never easy be without him. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Sae ance I thought, till ae lang night. 
 
 About my Johnnie I was dreamin. 
 Whan i' my sleep I saw him bright, 
 
 Wi' mony gentlemen and wimen ; 
 He took my hand afore them a* 
 
 And gae me kindly kisses plenty, 
 A saxpence fyte he brak in twa, 
 
 His words were sweet as ony dainty. 
 
 V. 
 
 " Till my militia day« are ended, 
 
 " Jeanie ye maun wait wi' pleasure, 
 *' Whan King and Country I've defended, 
 
 '^ Ye shall then be a' my treasure, 
 * * Ye shall hear my gallant story, 
 
 " How I fought in Jeanie's favour ; 
 '' Fought wi' Frenchmen a' for glory, 
 
 " And from tlieir cruel claws to save h«r." 
 
91 
 
 VI. 
 
 When Scotland's faes are fairly frighten'd^ 
 
 Neyer mair to glory o'er her, 
 Then our hearts will a' be lighten'd 
 
 Frae ony fear o' the great devourcr. 
 Sae I'll yield to my country's laws, 
 
 And pray for her and Johnnie's honour j 
 Whan he is fighting in her cause, 
 
 May blessings ever light upon her! 
 
 Bt 
 
A 
 
 FAMILIAR EPISTLE. 
 
 TO 
 
 CAPTAIN R***** B******5 
 
 WHO FROM BEING A JAMAICA SHIPMASTER BE- 
 • CAME A SUTHERLAND PARMER. 
 
 I. 
 
 " Ay, ay, what's this ?'* I ken you'll say, 
 '^ And whare comes this epistle frae ?" 
 Forsooth it comes frae Linshart brae, 
 
 Whare anes we twa 
 Us'd to be merry mony a day : 
 
 But that 'sawa'. 
 
 II. 
 
 I want to crack a touchie wi' you. 
 Since now I've little chance to see you. 
 It 's a' the guid that I can do you 
 
 To wiss you weel. 
 And pray the Lord may ever gie you, 
 
 Baith hae and heal ! 
 
93 
 
 III. 
 
 Ye've taen a jump leuks right gigantic, 
 To norland hills frae gulf Atlantic ; * 
 
 And fowk may think ye some wee frantic, 
 
 In sic a lowp ; 
 But tarry breeks was ay romantic, 
 
 And lykit scowp . 
 
 IV. 
 
 Better, ye'U say, be telling tales 
 Aneath a reef o' highland dales, 
 Or greeving follows at their flails, 
 
 In barns we el thackit, 
 Than hoize and furl at flappin sails 
 
 \Vi' droukit jacket. 
 
 V. 
 
 I doubt na, whan ye steer'd your ship, 
 The bleed has aft gane frae your lip, 
 Now ye may lie upo' your hip. 
 
 And tak your ease ; 
 Or thro' the hills a hunting skip 
 
 As far's you please. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Your hawsers and your fleeand sheets, 
 Ye've turn'd them into sowms and theeta. 
 An' a' your sough o' sonsie fleets. 
 
 An shippin news. 
 Is fawin awa' to couping breets. 
 
 An' trailing pleughs. 
 
 H 3 
 
94 
 
 VII. 
 
 Yet mony a risk's in farmin'-wark, 
 Tho' pleugh, and purse, and a' be stark^ 
 It's but like rinnin V the dark, 
 
 Whare mony ane 
 Has run fou sair and mist their mark, 
 
 Whan a' was dane. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 I wadna hae ye o'er soon boast. 
 
 Or count your winnnins by your cost, 
 
 A dreel o* wind, or nip o' frost, 
 
 Or some sic flap, 
 Has aft the farmer's prospects crost. 
 
 And fell'd the crap, 
 
 IX. 
 
 Sae live at land 's ye did at sea, 
 Uncertain now what neist may be, 
 There's naething sure to you nor me, 
 
 Aneath the meen. 
 But that we baith sometime maun die. 
 
 Lord kens how sein ! 
 
 X. 
 
 Nae doubt your schemes may right weel wirk, 
 'Mang girssy glens and braes o' birk. 
 Wi' mony a staig, and mony a stirk, 
 
 An' fowth o' gear ; 
 But what comes o' ye for a Kirk, 
 
 Gin I might speir ? 
 
95 
 
 XI. 
 
 I 've spoken to a frien' o' mine. 
 
 An 'onest aefauld soun' divine. 
 
 Gin he cou'd sometimes wi' you dine, 
 
 Ye 've seen the man, 
 And do 't he will, I ken his stryne, 
 
 As far's he can. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Be that as 't may, keep true and tight. 
 To what ye ken to be the right, 
 An' whare ye hae na best o' light, 
 
 Tak' what ye hae, 
 But dinna turn a graceless wight. 
 
 For ony say. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Now binna sayin' I 'm ill bred. 
 Else o' my troth, I '11 no be glad, 
 For cadgers, ye hae heard it said. 
 
 And sic like fry, 
 Maun ay be harlin in their trade. 
 
 An sae maun I. 
 
 XIV. 
 An' yet I wad on nae pretence, 
 Incline to gie a frien' offence, 
 Nor wad I had sae little mense, 
 
 As gane sae far, 
 Had ye not been the lad o' sense, 
 
 I 'm seer ye are. 
 
96 
 
 XV. 
 
 Ye ken or e'er ye got a frock, 
 I took you in to my sma' flock, 
 An' ye and I have had a trock 
 
 This forty year, 
 Sae what I gab in sooth or joke, 
 
 Ye e'en maun bear. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 My love to a' about Midgairty^ 
 To Menie, Bob, and bonny Bertie, 
 I hope ye fin't as braw a pairtie 
 
 As mill o' Rora, 
 Lang may ye a' keep haill and hairtie. 
 
 An free o' sorrow, 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Now, Robie, fareweel for a time. 
 My muse ye see 's nae way sublime, 
 But 's rattled out a leash o' rhyme, 
 
 Sic as was in her. 
 An a' to tell you just that I 'm 
 
 Your frien' John Skinner, 
 
97 
 
 TO 
 
 A YOUNG BOOKSELLER. 
 
 I. 
 
 I got your letter, honest cock. 
 And thank you for your kindly joke ; 
 But d'ye think a saughin block 
 
 The like o' me, 
 Can furnish out a decent stock 
 
 O' poetrie ? 
 
 IL 
 
 Wad ye hae me be sic a fiel, 
 As gin I were but at the skuil. 
 To gather ilka rhyme or reel 
 
 That I hae scrawPd, 
 An gie them out to ony chiel, 
 
 To be o'erhawl'd ? 
 
 III. 
 
 Na, na, my lad, that winna do, 
 
 I ken the warld better now ; 
 
 Whan I was young and daft like you 
 
 It might hae dane. 
 But near threescore wad best I trow, 
 
 Lat that alane. 
 
98 
 
 IV. 
 
 Besides, I 'm tauld, the singin Lasses, 
 That heft sae aft about Parnassus, 
 Were never fond o' sober asses, 
 
 That cou'd na drink 
 A score or twa o' bumper glasses, 
 
 To mend their clink. 
 
 V. 
 
 Your bucks that birl the forain berry, 
 Claret, and port, and sack, and sherry. 
 Or ev'n as muckle English perry 
 
 As they can draw : 
 I dinna main them to be merry, 
 
 And lilt awa'. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But that camsteary what-d' ye-caw't 
 (I think it's genius, walie fa't,) 
 That helps the Poet to create 
 
 Baith form and matter. 
 Will never dreep frae draffy mawt. 
 
 Or bare spring water. 
 
 VII. 
 
 An' then there 's that ill hadden ghaist, 
 
 That Gerard has sae finely grac'd 
 
 Wi stately stile, and ca't her " Taste ^^ 
 
 A pox upon her. 
 She winna let a poor auld Priest 
 
 Gain muckle honour. 
 
99 
 VIII. 
 
 Now baith o' them 's aboon my reach, 
 For a' that I can fraise or fleitch, 
 What tho* fowk says that I can preach, 
 
 Nae that dein ill, 
 I tell you, man, I hae na speech 
 
 For critics' skill. 
 
 IX. 
 
 It 's them that fleys me wi' their taws. 
 Their cahkart cuifs, and whitty whaws. 
 An' troth the carlies might hae cause. 
 
 To curse and bann, 
 Gin I were ane that sought applause 
 
 Frae ony man. 
 
 X. 
 
 But now and then to spin a line 
 
 Or twa, nor fash the tunefu' nine ; 
 
 I 'm seir, there 's nae man needs repine, 
 
 Whae'er he be. 
 Critic, or bard, o' hamil kine, 
 
 Or high degree, 
 
 XI. 
 
 Yet after a' I 'm unco' sweir 
 To lat you print the idle geir 
 That I 've made up this forty year, 
 
 And some guid mair. 
 Ye wadna clear the cost, I fear, 
 
 Wi' a' the ware. 
 
100 
 
 XII. 
 
 But, may be, gin I live as lang, 
 
 As nae to fear the chirmin chang 
 
 Of Gosses grave, that think me wrang, 
 
 And even say't, 
 I may consent to lat them gang, 
 
 And tak their fate. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Remember me to a' our friens, 
 
 The lads like you that lie their lanes, 
 
 And them that 's gotten bonny Jeans 
 
 To lie aside them, 
 Lang may they fitt the causey stanes. 
 
 An' guid betide them ! 
 
101 
 
 AN ANSWER IN KIND, 
 
 TO 
 
 A LETTER FROM PORTSOY. 
 
 I. 
 
 What can ye be that cou'd employ 
 Your pen in a sic a tHy-toy, 
 Frae hyne awa' as far's Portsoy 
 
 Aside the sea, 
 Whare I ken neither man nor boy. 
 
 Nor ane kens me ? 
 
 II. 
 
 Be wha ye will, ye 're unco frush 
 At praising what's nae worth a rush. 
 Except it be to show how flush 
 
 Ye 're at sic sport, 
 Yet tho' ye even gar me blush, 
 
 I thank you for't. 
 
 III. 
 
 For, troth, I ha'ena seen a letter 
 
 This raony a day 1 likit better ; 
 
 Ye ken there 's something in our nature 
 
 Likes to be reez'd ; 
 Be 't just or no, makes little matter, 
 
 An we be pleas'd. 
 I 
 
102 
 
 IV. 
 
 My sangs, it seems, hae made a din, 
 But still I hope it 's nae a sin, 
 Sometimes to tirl a merry pin 
 
 As weel 's we 're able, 
 Whan fowks are in a laughin bin 
 
 For sang or fable. 
 
 V. 
 
 It 's bat about sic smeerless things, 
 That my auld doited maiden sings. 
 She never fykes wi' flighty flings 
 
 Of heathen Gods ; 
 Nor seeks to please or pester kings 
 
 Wi* birth- day odes. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And yet may be some girnin gowks 
 May tak the pett at harmless jokes, 
 And think sic simple silly strokes 
 
 O' poetrie, 
 Far unbecomin sacred fowks 
 
 The like o' me. 
 
 VII. 
 
 What tho' some Sage o' holy quorum. 
 Should lightlie me for Tillygorum, 
 ,1 '11 never steer my sturdy for him, 
 
 Wha e'er he be ; 
 As lang 's i ken to keep decorum 
 
 As well as he. 
 
103 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Indeed I wad on nae pretence 
 Wiss to tyne sight o' reverence ; 
 Sae, if sic fowk be men o' sense, 
 
 I ask their pardon, — 
 But value not a fool's offence 
 
 Ae single fardin. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Your M. A.s and your L. L. D.s, 
 That get a vogue and make a fraize, 
 I dinna hadd them worth three straes, 
 
 Wi» a' their fame ; 
 Nor do I envy ony praise 
 
 That's gi'en to them, 
 
 X. 
 
 A frien' like you delights me sair, 
 An' hits my fancy till a hair, 
 Sae couthy and sae debonnair. 
 
 An' then sac plain • 
 It does nae need a birn o' lair 
 
 To write again, 
 
 XI. 
 
 Now, honest onkent, fare ye weel, 
 I guess you be some pawky chiel, 
 That 's may be been at Allan's skuil 
 
 Some orra time, 
 And eems to understand the tweel 
 
 O' rustic rhyme. 
 i2 
 
104 
 
 XII. 
 
 But print nae mair, I beg it o' you. 
 Lest Cha'mers say, he's plaguit wi' yow. 
 You see I have nae thing to gie you 
 
 That 's worth your while, 
 But only send my wisses to you^ 
 
 I' your ain style. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Lord keep you, man, frae sin and shame ; 
 Frae skaith a' outing, and at hame ; 
 An gie you ay, (blest be his name !) 
 
 What he thinks fit ; 
 Tak* this frae me in kindly frame, 
 
 Instead o' wit. 
 
105 
 
 WRITTEN AT THE DESIRE OF 
 
 A LADY 
 
 > DID NOT LIKE BURNS' " ADDRESS TO 
 ^' A LOUSE ON A LADY^S BONNET." 
 
 I. 
 
 A LousiE on a lady's bonnet! 
 Disgracefu' dirgy ! fie upon it ! 
 An' you^ forsooth, to write a sonnet 
 
 On sic a theme I 
 Guid fa' me, man, I wad na done it 
 
 For a' your fame. 
 
 II. 
 
 Nae doubt your ballad 's wise and witty ; 
 But fowks will say it was na pretty 
 To yoke sic twa in conjunct ditty. 
 
 Them baith to hit ; 
 And ca' you but a twa-fac'd nitty^ 
 
 Wi' a' your wit. 
 
 III. 
 
 For a* your being a bard of note. 
 Ye shou'd na minded sic a mote, 
 l3 
 
106 
 
 To mak a warl's wonner o't, 
 
 As ye hae dane ; 
 But past it for an orra spot, 
 
 Whare 't shou'd na been. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Your philosophic fitty fies, 
 Tho' clad in sweet poetic guise. 
 The ladies will them a' despise. 
 
 Gin ye express 
 The least rebaghle ony wise 
 
 Upo' their dress. 
 
 V. 
 
 When ye bemoan'd the herryt mousie, 
 Rinning as gin't had been frae pousie ; 
 When couter-nib down-stroy'd her housie, 
 
 Ye pleas' d us a' ; 
 But thus to lilt about a lousie, 
 
 Black be your fa' ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 What tho*^ at godly Ayrshire meeting, 
 Sic thing had happen'dpast dispeeting, 
 Was that aneugh to fa' a writing 
 
 About a story, 
 That ladies canna hear repeating 
 
 Wi* ony glory ? 
 
 VII. 
 
 Its nae mows matter, man, to jibe 
 Your jeer-cuts at the sweet-fac'd tribe ; 
 
107 
 
 Their charms will ay some body bribe 
 To tak side wi' them, 
 
 Whan chiels like you set up to scribe 
 O'er freely o' them. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The bonny Duchess, seil upon her ! 
 That's heez'd you up to a' your honour. 
 And been to you sae braw a Donor, 
 
 May say " what raiks I" 
 And think ye 've flung some wee dishonour 
 
 At a' the sex. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Fouk wad do well to steek their een, 
 At sights that shou'd na a' be seen, 
 Or whan they see, lat jokes alane. 
 
 Gin they had sense ; 
 For little jokes hae aften gein 
 
 Fell great oflence. 
 
 X. 
 
 I'se warran ye hae read or heard, 
 Of an aid hairum-skairum bard. 
 Saw anes a sight was as ill.fawrd *, 
 
 As your's cou'd be ; 
 An for his sight got sma' reward. 
 
 And sae may ye, 
 
 * " Cur aliquid vidi, cur noxia lumina feci ?"— *Ovid. 
 
108 
 
 XI. 
 Sae RoBiE Burns tak tent in time. 
 And keep mair haivins wi' your rhyme, 
 Else you may come to rue the crime 
 
 O' sic a sonnet, 
 And wiss ye had ne'er seen a styme 
 
 O* Louse nor Bonnet. 
 
109 
 
 THE 
 
 OWL AND THE ASS, 
 
 AN INNOCENT FABLE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Once on a time, no matter when. 
 
 Nor under what a king. 
 But so it was, in yonder wood 
 
 An Owl began to sing : 
 
 II. 
 
 With phiz so grave, and whoop so loud. 
 
 He made a learned din. 
 And all the burden of his song 
 
 Was " O I the light within ! 
 
 III. 
 
 '^ This inward light, this jewel hid 
 
 ^' Is all in all to me, 
 *' By it I know, I judge, and act, 
 
 " Nor would I wish to see. 
 
 IV. 
 
 *' What blockheads call external guides, 
 '' I'm wiser far without, 
 
110 
 
 ^' And had I eyes, as others have, 
 " IM surely pluck them out. 
 
 V. 
 
 " No foreign help do I require, 
 " To guide my flights of youth, 
 
 '^ For common sense is all I need 
 " To lead me into truth. 
 
 VI. 
 
 " When in self- cogitation wrapt> 
 
 '' I use my Light innate, 
 ^^ 'Tis then I search th' eternal laws 
 
 *' Of nature and of fate, 
 
 VII. 
 
 *' Your outward light may be of use 
 " To yonder herd of fools, 
 
 *^ The light within is what directs 
 " Philosophers and owls," 
 
 VIII. 
 
 An Ass, who long had been his friend, 
 Pricks up his leathern ears. 
 
 And gapes and swallows every note. 
 Like music of the spheres. 
 
 IX. 
 
 '' So sweet a song so wondrous sweet, 
 " Was ever such a strain ? 
 
 ** And O ! my dearest Doctor Owl, 
 " Repeat it o'er^again I" 
 
Ill 
 
 X. 
 
 Chann'd with the sound of booby's praise, 
 
 The self-taught Sage agrees, 
 And makes additions here and there 
 
 A second time to please. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Then o'er and o'er like minstrels meet, 
 
 They both in concert act, 
 And what the one demurely sings, 
 
 The other echoes back. 
 
 XII. 
 
 And now the Ass is qualified 
 
 To play the Teacher's part, 
 Till every ass in yonder wood 
 
 Has got the song by heart. 
 
112 
 
 Some silly remarks on the above^ having 
 appeared in the Newspapers^ under the 
 mask of A scampering wolf ^^^ pro. 
 duced the following R E PL V, 
 
 I. 
 
 How must fair Science now reTive, 
 
 And Truth lift up her head, 
 When owls thus sing, and asses learn. 
 
 And wolves vouchsafe to read ? 
 
 II. 
 
 That birds and beasts in old tim^s spoke, 
 We know from ^sop's page, 
 
 But never one essa} 'd to read. 
 Till this enlightened age. 
 
 III. 
 
 Thrice happy age above what has 
 
 In former ages been, 
 And blest the land, above all lands, 
 
 Where such rare sights are seen. 
 
113 
 
 IV. 
 
 Philosophy shall surely now 
 
 Her blossoms wide expand. 
 And good old heathen wisdom shed 
 >Her blessings o'er the land, 
 
 V. 
 
 Long therefore may Minerva's bird 
 
 Possess unrivall'd fame, 
 And long may. all the long ear'd tribe 
 
 Their praises loud proclaim ! 
 
 And O ! that every '^ scampering wolp* 
 Would thus employ his time, 
 
 To " sport himself with paper scraps,** 
 And snarl in harmless rhime. 
 
114 
 
 AN OLD 
 
 PROPHECY OF THOMAS THE RHYMER 
 
 INTERPRETEBy 
 
 WHEN THE UNION WAS PROPOSED BETWEEN 
 king's and MARISCHALL COLLEGES, 
 
 'Ere Scotia was by Longshanks thrall'cf, 
 
 A noted bard she had. 
 And Thomas Rhymer he was call'd. 
 
 As I have somewhere read. 
 Thro' Albion's regions far and wide 
 
 Of mighty fame he was, 
 And wondrous things he prophesy'd 
 
 Should sometime come to pass. 
 " That Dee and Don should run in one,' 
 
 'Mong other things he told, 
 But to this day 'twas never known 
 
 How such. a thing could hold. 
 In mystic garb Jtiis speech he drest, 
 
 As prophets use to do. 
 And what he darkly thus exprest. 
 
 Begins to open now. 
 
115 
 
 'Twas not that Don should run to Dee, 
 
 Or Dee run into Don, 
 But that their Colleges should be 
 
 United into one. 
 In honour then of Scotland's bard 
 
 May King and Earl agree. 
 And royal Don not think it hard, 
 
 To join with martial Dee. 
 So shall Philosophy's fair streams 
 
 Enlarge their former course. 
 And Learning's congregated beams 
 
 Shall shine with double force. 
 
 K2 
 
116 
 
 LETTER TO A FRIEND, 
 
 ON CITING UP A FARM WHICH THE AUTHOR HEEB 
 OF THE EARL OF ERRQL. 
 
 You ask, my friend, whence comes this sudden flight 
 
 Of parting thus with husbandry outright ? 
 
 What mean I by so strange a foolish whim,' 
 
 Am I in earnest, or think you I but dream ? 
 
 True, you may think so, but suspend, I pray, 
 
 Your judgment, till you hear what I can say. 
 
 I join with you that there is no great harm 
 
 In clergy-folks to hold a little farm. 
 
 But poverty 's the scourge, and I can tell, 
 
 As dire a scourge as any out of Hell : 
 
 The farm indeed can furnish malt and meal, 
 
 But gentry must have more than cakes and ale. 
 
 There 's wife, and sons, and daughters to maintain, 
 
 Sons must be bred, and daughters will be vain, 
 
 What signifies, that they can knit or spin ? 
 
 There *s twenty needs for all that they can wio. 
 
117 
 
 Thus one needs this, another she needs that, 
 Ribbons, and gloves, and lace, and God knows what. 
 As far as their own penny goes they pay. 
 When that is spent, they then must take a day, 
 '^ Papa will clear 't ;" they have no more to say. 
 
 You can't imagine how much I 'm distrest, 
 There's not a day that I enjoy rest : 
 Except on that blest day the first in seven. 
 That day appointed, as it was in Heaven ! 
 Then I'm myself; For when the gown goes on, 
 I 'm no more Farmer then but Pres'ter John. 
 The folks with pleasure hear me sermonize. 
 And once a week I 'm reckon'd learn'd and wise; 
 The pulpit brings me into peoples favours, 
 And Sunday screens from creditors and cravers : 
 But Monday comes of course, and then begins 
 A new week's penance for the last week's sins. 
 The mistress takes the morning by the top. 
 She must have tea and sugar, starch and soap, 
 Candles and hops, all which are now so dear, 
 I answer nothing, but am forc'd to hear. 
 
 In comes the ploughman with important brow, 
 '^ Well, Thomas lad, and what would you say now ?" 
 ** We 're out of iron, the horses must be shod, 
 " The coulter needs a lay :" — '' That 's very odd ; 
 ** Go to the merchant" — '^ He has none come home," 
 (I know the cause, but must conceal 't from Tom,) 
 ** Why, then, we'll get it somewhere else.".'' That's true^. 
 " The pleugh needs claithing and must have it new^ 
 k3 
 
118 
 
 ^^ We cannot do without a foremost yoke, 
 " And t'other day the meikle stilt was broke."' 
 '' Well I shall see about it." — Tom goes out, 
 And I gf,t clear of him for once about* 
 
 There 's one knocks — '' Is the minister within ?" 
 The servant answers " yes," and he comes in : 
 ^' Well John, I 'm glad to see you ; howd' ye do ?" 
 " I thank you Parson, how goes all with you?" 
 '' Sit down ! what news ?" — " not much, the times are 
 
 '^hard: 
 (I know what's coming now, and am prepar'd,)' 
 '' I 've got a rub, I ne'er got any such," 
 '^ I 'm sorry for 't, but hope it is not much." 
 *' Why, faith, a great deal, forty pounds and more, 
 *' I can assure you, will not- clear the score :" 
 *' What way ?"-" by that damn'd rascal Duncan Aire, 
 *' Losses like this must soon make merchants bare, 
 *^ And force them many times to seek their own, 
 ••* Sooner than otherwise they would have done." 
 *' Afflictions, John, you know will always be, — " 
 ** The little triflej Sir, 'twixt you and me," 
 *' Betty, bring in a drink — here's to you, John," 
 *' Your good health, Parson," drinks and then goes on :; 
 I study all I can to ward the blow. 
 And try to shift the subject but no — no ; 
 What can I da, but tell how matters stand ; 
 " I cannot pay yon, — money's not at hand, 
 " As soon's I can I'll do 't," — John in a hulF, 
 Syysj '^ Parson, fare ye well" — and so walks off. 
 
irg 
 
 Now I expect some ease, when, in a crack,^ 
 In comes a note, with Reverence on the back r 
 '' Sir, times are bad, I know not what to do, 
 '^ I 'm in a strait, else had not troubled you, 
 '' Have sent you your account, which please peruse, 
 '' Errors excepted — hopes your kind excuse. 
 '' A draught comes on me, money must be got, 
 *' And I '11 be ruined, if you send it not ; 
 '' At any other time you may command, 
 *' And shall be serv'd with what I have in hand^ 
 '' So, Sir, no more at present, but remains." 
 This must be answered, so I rack my brains. 
 And fall to work, part argue, partly flatter, -^ 
 
 Be 't taken well or ill makes little matter ; S 
 
 Debtors must still be dungeons of good nature. ^ 
 
 My Lord's officer comes next, with '^ Sir, I'm sent, 
 " To warn you in to pay the Whitsuw rent : 
 '^ The factor's angry, and bade tell you so, 
 " That you're so long in paying what you owe, 
 " Expects you will with speed provide the sum, 
 ; " And be more punctual in time to come :" 
 J I hing my head betwixt chagrin and awe, 
 For ofiicers, you know, are limbs of law. 
 
 Thus farm and house demands come on together. 
 Both must be answer'd, I can answer neither ; 
 I put them oft' till Lammas, Lammas comes, 
 : Gur vestry meets, and I get in my sums ; 
 
 The half year's stipend makes a pretty show, 
 , But twenty ways poor fifteen pounds must go : 
 i Scarce one night does it in my coffers stay, 
 [ Like Jonah's gourd that withered ia a day ; 
 
im 
 
 First come, first serv'd with me, is still the way ; 
 
 Then for my Lord, whatever comes to pass, 
 
 My Lord must even wait till Martinmas : 
 
 Well, Martinmas a few weeks hence comes on. 
 
 As certainly it will : what's to be done ? 
 
 Shoemakers, tailors, butchers, to be paid, 
 
 For shoes, and clothes, and meat, must all be had r 
 
 There 's servants fees, and forty things beside ; 
 
 How then can fifteen pounds so far divide ? 
 
 Why ! we '11 set through, and try another year, 
 
 The worst is but the worst, let 's never fear ; 
 
 My Lord, God bless him, is a gracious man, 
 
 And he can want awhile, if any can ; 
 
 We'U sell some meal, perhaps, or spare a cow ; 
 
 But what will be the case, if that wont do : 
 
 Why then I '11 borrow ! [ have many a friend ; 
 
 There 's such and such a one, all rich, and surely kind j 
 
 Well they're applied to, and behold the end : 
 
 They all condole indeed, but cannot lend ; 
 
 They're griev'd to see the minister in strait. 
 
 And fain would help him, but I come too late. 
 
 And, after trying every shift in vain, 
 
 The old distressful life returns again. 
 
 Would any friend advise me thus to bear 
 
 Repeated strokes like these, from year to year ? 
 
 No ! th' event, be what it will, prepar'd am I, 
 
 And now resolv'd another course to try : 
 
 Sell corn and cattle off ; pay every man ; 
 
 Get free of debt and duns as fast 's I can : 
 
 Give up the farm with all its wants, and then, 
 
 Why even take me to the book and pen, 
 
 The fittest trade I find, for clergymen. 
 
121 
 
 on THE 
 
 FREP^CH CONVENTION. 
 
 What stupid creatures are the French, 
 Quite free from superstition ; 
 
 Yet when they die, 'tis hard to say. 
 What can be their condition ? 
 
 Of Heaven they entertain no thought j. 
 
 Since it can no way fit them ; 
 And as for hell, the despot there 
 
 Has more sense than admit them. 
 
 If then for Hell they have no chance, 
 And to Heav'n have no pretension ; 
 
 Some other dwelling must be found, 
 To lodge the French Convention. 
 
 ©r, as their new philosophy 
 Has laid the fine foundation, 
 
 Their only prospect now must be 
 A blest annihilation. 
 
 How must these miscreant wretches move- 
 
 Our anger, or our laughter. 
 Who wish to live like monsters here,^. 
 
 And nothing be hereafter ! 
 
122 
 
 Preserve us Reason^ taught l?y Grace, 
 
 From reveries so beastly ; 
 By whomsoever set afloat, 
 
 By Price, or Paine, or Priestly, 
 
 May Britons thankful still, and wise, 
 
 Beware of Gallic leaven ; 
 jSo we need have no fear of Hell, 
 
 And grace will give us Heaven, 
 
123 
 
 10 THE 
 
 MEMORY OF A YOUNG GENTLEMAN 
 
 "WHO DIED OF THE SMALL POX. 
 
 'Twas winter, and the sickly sun was low, 
 Thro' yonder fields I took my lonely way; 
 
 Musing on many a gloomy scene of woe, 
 As oft I wont in evening calm to stray. 
 
 With languid step, advancing I perceived 
 
 A passenger of aspect pale and wan ; 
 With frequent sighs his labouring bosom heav'd. 
 
 And down his cheek the briny torrent ran, 
 
 *' What ails thee, friend ? (I ask'd in pitying tone 
 
 Of sympathetic mood to speak relief) 
 *' Say, what 's the cause that makes thee thus to moan, 
 " And why thy visage pictur'd thus with grief?'* 
 
 ^' Shall I not moan ?" (the stranger sad reply'd) 
 " And thus in sighs my inward grief express ? 
 
 •*' How can my troubled heart is sorrows hide? 
 '' My melting soul conceal its deep distress ? 
 
124 
 
 ^^ Last week a darling brother was my boast, 
 " The last bbrn product of my mother's womb ; 
 
 ^' This darling brother t'other day I lost, 
 *' To day I laid him in the silent tomb. 
 
 '' Meek his deportment, and his manners mild, 
 '' In all his carriage undisguis'd and plain ; 
 
 ^' As virgin chaste, and soft as new born child, 
 *' Comely his features, and his look serene. 
 
 ^^ Steady in principle, and in practice pure, 
 " With modesty and manly sense endued ; 
 
 '' His honest heart from vanity secure, 
 
 ^' The paths of vice with just abhorrence viewed. 
 
 '' Not poorly mean, nor anxious to be great, 
 " His mind tho' lofty, and his genius bright ; 
 
 " Yet pleas'd and happy in his humble state, 
 " And Music, heavenly gift, his dear delight ! 
 
 ^* How gracefully, amidst th' applauding ring, 
 '' His well taught fingers mov'd the lyre along ; 
 
 '^ Whether to mirth he briskly struck the string, 
 " Or on soft psalt'ry touch'd the sacred song ! 
 
 '^ Oft have I seen, when jocund friends were met, 
 " In summer's evenings or by winter's fire ; 
 
 '^ The listening choir in emulation set ! 
 
 ^ ' What tougue should most th' enchanting youth admire ! 
 
 '' But now no more his notes shall charm the fair, 
 '^ No more his Numbers soothe th' attentive Swain^ 
 
125 
 
 " With Tullochgorum's dance-inspiring air, 
 '' Or Roslln-castle's sweet, but solemn strain. 
 
 " In early dawn of merit and of fame, 
 
 " To wish'd-for health, from sickness just restored ; 
 ^' The loathsome pustules seiz'd his tender frame, 
 
 " And sudden gave the stroke that's now deplor'd ! 
 
 '' 'Tis this that grieves me, — this the loss I mourn, 
 ^' Excuse a sorrowing brother*s heavy tale ; 
 
 ^' No more shall he to earth and me return, 
 
 '' Nor sighs, nor tears, nor love, can now prevail !" 
 
 He stopt, the tears again began to flow. 
 
 And sigh on sigh burst from his throbbing breast; 
 
 My feeling heart soon catch' d the poor man's woe, 
 And soon my eye the rising tear confest, 
 
 " Dear youth," I cry'd, '^ whomheav'n has call'daway, 
 " 'Midst early innocence from this vain stage; 
 
 ^' Safe now, we hope, in fields of endless day, 
 " Above the follies of a sinful age \ 
 
 '' In these bright regions fiU'd with many a Saint, 
 '' Sweet be thy rest, and blest thy wakening be ! 
 
 '' And may kind Heav'n at last in mercy grant 
 " A happy meeting to thy friends and thee !" 
 
126 
 
 TO THE 
 
 MEMORY OF A WORTHY FARMER. 
 
 What ! shall my rural muse in feeble strain 
 
 Of pompous deaths and titled woes complain, 
 
 And shall she be asham'd to drop a tear 
 
 In public o'er a worthy Farmer^s bier ? 
 
 A Farmer ! name of universal praise, 
 
 And noble subject for the poet's lays : 
 
 This one, a Farmer of superior mind, 
 
 For higher spheres from early youth designed, 
 
 Taught to converse with men of rank and note, 
 
 Yet stooping to adorn the rural cot ; 
 
 There, calm and quiet in his humble state, 
 
 Lov'd by the good, and valu'd by the great, 
 
 Disdaining flattery, yet without offence, 
 
 The man of manners, virtue, grace, and sense. 
 
 In Agriculture's wide extended tract 
 
 Skill'd and instructive, punctual and exact, 
 
 Prudent from principle in every part. 
 
 Which or concerns the head, or moves the heart. 
 
 To God religious, to his neighbour just. 
 
 And strictly honest in each branch of trust ; 
 
 Ne'er jarring from himself, but still the hame. 
 
 Clear in his thoughts, and steady in his aim ; 
 
127 
 
 In speech engaging and in taste refin'dj 
 The Farmer's pattern, and the scholar's friend. 
 To such a Farmer surely praise is due, 
 And all who knew him can declare it true, 
 Can tell how uniform o'er life's vain stage 
 He stept in virtue's paths to good old age. 
 Fair was his life, and blest, we hope, his end ; 
 To each good man may Heav'n such mercy send I 
 Asks any reader who this man could be, 
 So much esteem'd by all, and praisM by me : 
 Know, honest friend, that in thy way to fame, ' 
 A Farmer's footsteps do thy notice claim, t 
 
 And James Arbuthnox was that Farmer's name.- 
 
 X 2 
 
128 
 
 MONUMENTAL INSCRIPTION. 
 
 And is she gone, the once so lovely maid, 
 Gone hence, and now a dear departed shade ! 
 Snatch'd from this world in early dawn of life, 
 When but beginning to be call'd a wife ? 
 
 Ye virgin tribe, whom chance may lead this way, 
 Where brightest beauty moulders into clay. 
 Behold this stone, nor be asham'd to mourn 
 A while o'er Mary Alexander's urn — . 
 Then pause a little, while these lines you read, 
 And learn to draw instruction from the dead — , 
 She, who lies here, was once like one of you, 
 Youthful and blyth, and fair, as you are now ; 
 One week beheld her a bright blooming bride^ 
 In marriage pomp laid by her lover's side ; 
 The next we saw her in death's livery drest, 
 And brought her breathless body here to rest. 
 Not all this world's gay hopes, nor present charms, 
 Nor parents tears, nor a fond husband's arms, 
 
129 
 
 Could stamp the least impression on her mind, 
 Or fix to earth a soul for heav'n designed ; 
 Calmly she left a scene so lately try'd, 
 Heav'n call'dher hence, with pleasure she complied 
 Embrac'd her sorrowing friends, then smiPd-and dy'd. 
 
 ied,{ 
 v'd.) 
 
 L$ 
 
ISO 
 
 ox 
 
 A FARMER'S GRAVESTONE, 
 
 IN THE CHURCH- YARD OF LOXGSIDE. 
 
 Here lies, consign'd a while to promis'd rest, 
 In hopes to rise again among the blest, 
 The precious dust of one, whose course of life 
 Knew neither fraud, hypocris^^jt n6r strife : 
 A Husband loving, and of gentle mind ; 
 A Father careful, provident and kind ; 
 A Farmer active, from no sordid view ; 
 A Christian pious, regular, and true : 
 One who, in quiet, trod the private stage 
 Of rural labour, to a ripe old age. 
 Lov'd by his neighbours, honour'd by his own 
 Liv'd without spot, and died without a groan. 
 
 Long may his humble virtues be rever'd ; 
 Long be his name remembered with regard ; 
 And long may Agriculture's school produce 
 Such honest men as Alexander Bruce. 
 
 Si musae fas sit pietatis pangere laudes, 
 Quid vetat Agricolas coinmemor^sse pios ? 
 
131 
 
 TO A 
 
 YOUNG CLERGYMAN, 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF HIS MOTHER AND A BRO- 
 THERy CRUSHED BY THE SUDDEN FALL OF 
 THEIR DWELLING-HOUSE. 
 
 How hard, Lorenzo, is the boon you ask, 
 
 And how unequal I to such a task ? 
 
 I, whose weak muse, borne down with weight of years, 
 
 O'er common griefs might shed some tender tears. 
 
 But finds her powers of lamentation fail. 
 
 And sinks and sickens at thy doleful tale ? 
 
 A Mother I (ah, the venerable name, 
 "Which my young lips were never taught to frame,) 
 She, whose warm bowels form'd thy infant span. 
 Whose tenderest watchings nurs'd thee up to man, 
 She, earthly image of the highest love. 
 Which ev'n the yearnings of a God could move ! 
 
 A Brother, too ! the next congenial tie 
 Of strongest force in nature's symmetry ! 
 Thy partner thro' a course of prattling years. 
 In all youth's fondnesses, and all its fears I 
 
132 
 
 Both in a moment robb'd of vital breath, 
 And quick and sudden hurry'd into death ! 
 No hasty fever, no slow pac'd decay, 
 To snatch the young, or wear the old away ; 
 The humble cot, which, for convenience rear'd, 
 Harbour'd no mischief, and no danger fear'd. 
 Where, by the cheerful fire in peace secure. 
 They now had spent the pleasant evening hour, 
 Crush'd all at once by one stupendous shock 
 Of tumbling rubbish from th' impending rock ! 
 No sturdy pillars to support the weight 
 Of such a burthen, thrown from such a height ; 
 The unsuspecting victims, half undrest. 
 In preparation for a sweet night's rest ; 
 No boding omen heard, no warning giv'n. 
 No time to lift their souls and eyes to heav'n ; 
 Bury'd beneath th' enormous mass all round. 
 And breathing, tomb'd in dust above the ground ; 
 Their shatter'd limbs all into atoms crash' d. 
 And bones and bowels to one chaos dash'd ! ! 
 
 But why attempt description ? words are vain ! 
 The dreadful ruin mocks my languid strain — 
 And does my friend need counsel how to bear 
 This wound so piercing, a stroke indeed severe ; 
 Then think on what thy hoary sire must feel, 
 (For sure thy sire had not a heart of steel) 
 When by next dawn return'd from distant toil, 
 In hopes of welcome from thy mother's smile. 
 He saw, and star'd, and gaz'd at this and that. 
 And hop'd, and fear'd, andwish'd he knew not what ? 
 
133 
 
 'Till, like a voice, he heard from menial maid, 
 With wife and son in dire sepulchre laid,' 
 Who ten long hours had groan'd an age of pain. 
 And just expiring, breath'd the how and when. 
 Now view him in a gulph of horror cast, 
 His heart-strings breaking, and his eyes aghast, 
 Like pictured patience, all benumb'd he stands, 
 And tries to lift, but drops his trembling hands ; 
 No groan his heart emits, his eye no tear — 
 Good heaven ! what more can mortals suffer here ? 
 
 'Tis this, you say, that aggravates the smart, 
 'Tis this that doubly rends the filial heart. 
 True, unfledg'd sufferer, thou hast much to do, 
 To act the Son^ and shine the Christian too : 
 Insensible to this what heart can be, 
 Not form'd of marble, or hewn out of tree ? 
 Lorenzo's heart, tho' cut, must not repine 
 At what, it knows, comes from a hand divine ; 
 But strive in due submission to comply, 
 Nor boldly dare to guess the reason why. 
 The philosophic sage, from self's proud school, 
 May act, or feign to act, th' heroic fool : 
 At nature's feelings may pretend to mock. 
 And wisely sullen, stand th' appalling shock. 
 The heav'n-taught Christian may, and must do more, 
 May grieve from nature, must from grace adore ; 
 Adore the love of ev'n a chast'ning God, 
 And kiss the gracious hand that wields the rod. 
 
134 
 
 ON THE MUCH LAMENTED 
 
 DEATH OF THE AUTHOR, 
 
 ST 
 
 cattisrtdN atiLJfM of footdes^ 
 
 ABERDEEy, 
 
 See where Genius drooping stands, 
 Swell'd with grief her bosom fair, 
 Tearful eyes, and folded hands, 
 Mark her wild disordered air, 
 " Alas ! my Son,' she cries, and art thou laid 
 ' With all thy powers in this low grassy bed ? 
 
 ' What happy parent e'er could show 
 * More life and spirit in a child ; 
 
 * How did my heart with joy o'erflow, * 
 ^ When I on thee delighted smil'd ? 
 
 ' But now how quick to grief my joy is turn'd, 
 ' And thou my Son must daily thus be mourn'd ! 
 
 * The tuneful nine have strcw'd thy tomb 
 
 ' With nature's simplest, sweetest flow'rs, 
 ' And taste will long admire their bloom ; 
 ' For what's so fair as nature's bow'rs ? 
 
135 
 
 * I too will plant the fadeless laurel there, 
 
 * And bathe thy turf with many a drop sincere. 
 
 ^ Though age had silver'd o'er thy hair, 
 * Bright thy talents beam'd and strong, 
 
 * As when thy youth, with morning fair, 
 
 ^ Breath' d the sweet enliTcning song ; 
 
 ^ Scarce had I left thee, one short hour alone, 
 
 * Quick I returned, but thou wert ever gone. 
 
 A radiant Angel hover' d o'er 
 
 Thy yet belov'd, though breathless clay ; 
 " Bright maid" said he, '' thy power no more 
 " On earth thy favourite will display. 
 ''' By thee his mortal brow has oft been crown'd, 
 '' Immortal now with fairer wreath 'tis bound. 
 
 ^' A tender flock the Pow'r Supreme 
 
 " Had plac'd beneath his watchful eye, 
 '' Oft did he look to Heav'n for them, 
 
 " And seek what might their wants supply : 
 " The pastoral care did all his thoughts employ, 
 " Till call'd from hence to meet his Master's joy. 
 
 '' He felt not nature's pangs in death, 
 
 " But as the Fathers did of old, 
 " Without a sigh resign'd his breath — 
 ** Blest privilege of the faithful fold ! 
 '*' His lyre harmonious now is us'd above, 
 " To sing the true, the good, th' Almighty Shepherd's 
 " love. 
 
136 
 
 '' He ask'd not Heav'n for wealth nor power, 
 
 ^' For these, he knew, brought countless harms, 
 ^' But that his life's last parting hour 
 *' Might pass in his dear childrens arms. 
 *^ And lo ! by them surrounded, full of years, 
 *' He died in peace : Bright maid, wipe off thy tears !'* 
 
137 
 
 The Editor feels a strong desire to subjoin anom 
 ther Elegiac lay from the same pen^ occasion, 
 ed by the death of Mrs Skinner^ wife of 
 Bishop Skis'ner, Aberdeen, the 4ih day of 
 March 1807, written in August following. 
 
 Shall weary pilgrims on their way 
 Meet countless dangers as they go, 
 
 Yet wish they onward still may stray, 
 To kiss the shrine, and end their woe! 
 
 Shall man, to pain and trouble born. 
 Still to life's sunshine fondly trust ! 
 
 Ev'n poets sing — *' M-an 's made to mourn," 
 And dire experience proves it just. 
 
 Last eve I viewed a lovely spot, 
 
 But ah ! its charms have lost their pow'r, 
 
 Unless the past could be forgot. 
 
 And sorrow's clouds should cease to lour ! 
 
 I saw the tree's refreshing shade, 
 I heard the birds melodious sing ; 
 
 I saw the mead with grain o'er spread, 
 
 The fruits, the flow'rs, and chrystal spring ! 
 
138 
 
 I found the mansion of my friends, 
 But every eye was sunk in woe ; 
 
 I found (what real grief portends) 
 The hollow cheek, the furrowM brow ! 
 
 For me the rich repast was spread, 
 CulPd from a garden richly stor'd ; 
 
 But ah !-r-no hostess there — no head 
 To grace the hospitable board ! 
 
 To those who knew my valued friend, 
 And can, in life, contemplate death, 
 
 I'd tell how tranquil was her end. 
 
 How she employ' d her parting breath ! 
 
 Short ere she fled, with zeal impress'd, 
 Of Jesus' sacred Feast she shar'd ; 
 
 Nor hop'd so soon to taste, in rest. 
 What's for the faithful there prepar'd ! 
 
 Though sick herself, a dying friend 
 She sought, the cheering hope to pour 
 
 Of joys that on the good attend, 
 
 When cares, and pains, and life are o'er ! 
 
 This done, she slowly homeward sped, 
 With painfal steps she reach'd the door ; 
 
 The couch of death for her was spread. 
 She laid her down — to rise no more ! 
 
 And thus she spake — " How blest in death 
 ^' Am I, to see my children dear, 
 
139 
 
 '' All pious, wait to catch my breath, 
 " And bathe my cheek with filial tear! 
 
 ^' Moura not, as void of hope," she said, 
 " But kiss the kind chastising rod ; 
 
 *' In all things follow, by His aid, 
 
 '' Your bless'd Redeemer, and your God. 
 
 * ' Though sorrows compass you around, 
 *' Look forward still to endless rest!, 
 
 *' And what agreeable in me you found, 
 " Be ever on your minds impress'd. 
 
 *^ All praises be to God on l»gh, 
 " Who aids me in this trying hour, 
 
 *' And gives his servant strength to die, 
 
 '' Strength, which exceeds all human power !' 
 
 To paint the pains she underwent. 
 
 Requires an abler pen than mine ! 
 The summons came — she smil'd assent. 
 
 And hall'd of bliss the Source Divine ! 
 
 Thus fled the best, the kindest wife, 
 
 That ever grac'd a husband's side ; 
 The Christian's course she walk'd through life, 
 
 And thus, " the death of ih' righteous died!*' 
 
 THE FND, 
 
ERRATA. 
 
 Page 12. Line 27. for ai the read in the 
 
 — — 14. 6. for 17 read 18. 
 
 S7. 9. for shins read shin. 
 
 — — 43, 6. for sae read say. 
 
 ■ 65. 2. for greeting lezd iveeping, 
 
 101. 5. for in a sic read in sic. 
 
141 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 A 
 
 Chafts, mouth, lower part 
 
 AiTH^ oath. 
 
 of the face. 
 
 uithorty across. 
 
 Chap, stroke. 
 
 uiva^, in whole, at all. 
 
 Claise, clothes. 
 
 B 
 
 Clammy -houit, heavy blow. 
 
 Ba'ing^ balling, playing at 
 
 Clank, noise. 
 
 the bail. 
 
 Coupit, tumbled. 
 
 Barkin^d, coated. 
 
 Cuist, cast. 
 
 Bauld, bold. 
 
 Cunn, owe, give, pay. 
 
 Beft, threw, beat. 
 
 D 
 
 Begeck, trick, disappoint- 
 
 DdwiNG, dawning. 
 
 ment. 
 
 Dawrd, push, or fling. 
 
 Beily home, or shelter. 
 
 Derf, stout. 
 
 Binner, noise. 
 
 Dossd.down, threw them- 
 
 Binsome^ quarrelsome. 
 
 selves down. 
 
 Birl, push about. 
 
 Dowf, dull. 
 
 Birr, stand upright; also 
 
 Dowie, sad, spiritless. 
 
 noise, force. 
 
 Dreed, suffered. 
 
 Bierly big. 
 
 Drochlin, tottering. 
 
 Blae, pale. 
 
 Droukit, drenched 
 
 Blaize, blow. 
 
 DwabiL loose, weak. 
 
 Booking, vomiting. 
 
 E 
 
 Bra, finely clad. 
 
 Eemest, uppermost. 
 
 Brain, angry. 
 
 Binds, refreshment. 
 
 Brattling^ running tumul- 
 
 F 
 
 tuously. 
 
 Fa NT IT, fainted. 
 
 Browdind, was keen for. 
 
 Fat, what. * 
 
 Bruilzie, fighting match. 
 
 Fawt, fault. 
 
 Buke, beehive in the earth. 
 
 Feish ye, brought ye. 
 
 C 
 
 Feil, foolish. 
 
 CallaUt, young fellow. 
 
 Fell-blate, right foolish. 
 
 C am shack -k air, unlucky 
 
 Fell, pretty much, not a 
 
 concern. 
 
 little. 
 
 Cantie, chearful, merry. 
 
 Ferly, something strange. 
 
 * It may not be improper to remark, that in the Aberdeenshire dia- 
 lect nob u uniformly pronounced/; as what,y«f ; white,/»^ff, &c. 
 
142 
 
 Fether^d, flew. 
 Flain, feather. 
 Fleep^ stupid fellow. 
 Flirr, gnash. 
 Fleyt^ afraid. 
 For est am ^ forehead. 
 Fou H bCy however it be. 
 Fowth^ plenty. 
 Fricksome /raise, vain 
 
 talking. 
 Frumpish^ ill humoured. 
 Frush, frank, forward, 
 Fudder, hurry. 
 Fuilzie^ get the better of. 
 Fyke, shrugg. 
 Flakes, troubles 
 Fijte, white. 
 
 Gab, speak. 
 
 Gae, gave. 
 
 Gar, make, force. 
 
 Gardy, arm. 
 
 Gawsie, well-looking, 
 
 Gilpy, blockhead. 
 
 Girse, grass. 
 
 Glaiket, over fond, giddy. 
 
 Glawr^d, made slippery. 
 
 Glowr^d, looked wistfully. 
 
 Grunsie, sour fellow. 
 
 Gosses, dolts. 
 
 Gowf, blow. 
 
 Grain, groan. 
 
 Gullie, large knife. 
 
 Gyte, goat. 
 
 H 
 Hae and Heil, wealth and 
 health. 
 
 Haffets, sides of the head. 
 Harlan^ trailing, bringing. 
 Harnpans, sculls. 
 Heels-o^er-goudie, heels 
 
 over head. 
 Heft, dwelt. 
 
 Hempy, name of reproach. 
 Herryt, beggard. 
 Ueez^d, raised up. 
 Hinch, thigh, 
 Huilie, glow. 
 Hyne, far. 
 
 Ijnch, neat. 
 
 / wat na fu, I know not 
 
 how. 
 IlLfaurd, ugly. 
 Ill hadden ghaitt^ ilUman. 
 
 nered vitdtor* 
 
 K 
 Kenzies, fighting throng. 
 
 L 
 Lap, leaped. 
 Lave, the rest. 
 Lazcing, shot, tavern bill. 
 Leit, gave a stroke^ or ut. 
 terance. , 
 
 M 
 
 Main^d, moaned. 
 
 Mank, fail. 
 
 Maun, must. 
 
 Mawt, malt. 
 
 Mazctin'd lolls, heavy 
 
 clumsy fellows. 
 Mein them, thank them. 
 
143 
 
 Mensless^ without thought. 
 Mell, fight. 
 Mird^ venture. 
 Mishanter^ misfortune. 
 Mows^ nae mowSy not easy. 
 Meen^ moon. 
 
 N 
 Neipev^ neighbour. 
 Nitty ^ little knave. 
 
 O 
 
 Onkent unknown. 
 Orra^ idle, spare. 
 Ouk^ week. 
 Outing^ abroad. 
 Oys^ grandchildren. 
 
 Pawky^ witty, good hu- 
 moured. 
 
 Pensy blades^ nice looking 
 lads. 
 
 Prann^ to hurt, or bruise. 
 
 Pree^ taste. 
 
 Primpit, delicate. 
 
 Q 
 
 QuEET, ancle. 
 
 R 
 
 Raird^ roared. 
 Raughty reached. 
 To RatCy to slander. 
 Rax'd, reached. 
 Reef, roof. 
 Rebaghle, reproach. 
 Red, combed. 
 Red zsiud, stark mad, 
 Rinky run about. 
 
 Reeze, to praise. 
 
 Reirfu rout, roaring noise. 
 
 Satr, very much, sore. 
 
 Saiichin, soft. 
 
 Sawt, hot as with salt. 
 
 Scawt, scabbed. 
 
 Sctb, stroke. 
 
 Scoup^d hame, went home, 
 
 Seil, blessing. 
 
 Sin', since. 
 
 Skaith, hurt, or loss, 
 
 Skance^ view. 
 
 Skunner, be disgusted. 
 
 Skypel skate, ugly fellow. 
 
 Slee, sly. 
 
 Slip his wa, go his way. 
 
 Slype, coarse fellow. 
 
 Smeddum, cleverness. 
 
 Smeerless, simple. 
 
 Snack, fit for the purpose. 
 
 Snap, ready, clever. 
 
 Snype, smart blow. 
 
 Sozof, stroke. 
 
 Spazsl, leg. 
 
 Squeeld squale'd. 
 
 Stakeart, strong, stout. 
 
 Steer my sturdy, trouble 
 
 my head. 
 St end, wide step. 
 Stoit, stumbled. 
 Stown, stolen. 
 Strenzeed, sprained. 
 Stryne, turn of mind. 
 Swankies, clever lads. 
 Szceir, slow, backward. 
 Szcype, stroke. 
 Syke, bog. 
 
144 
 
 Ted^ toad, 
 Te?i(, care. 
 Thole, bear. 
 Thrang, busy. 
 Thra, twist. 
 Thud, stroke. 
 Tirr, uncover. 
 Trypal, ill made fellow. 
 Tuilzie, struggle. 
 Tzceel, texture. 
 Ti/c^d about, went slowly 
 about. 
 
 Virr, force, fury. 
 
 W 
 Wjly fa, woe be to 
 
 Weel zct/led wap, well cho- 
 sen stroke. 
 
 Weel beft, well beaten. 
 
 Wham, a blow. 
 
 What.raiks I what do you 
 deserve ! 
 
 Wow, an exclamation of 
 pleasure, or wonder. 
 
 Wreath o' snaw, drift, or 
 heap of snow. 
 
 Wyte, fault. 
 
 Y 
 
 Yap, fonvard. 
 Yark, hard stroke. 
 Yawfu, awful. 
 Yird, earth. 
 Yowjf'd, drave. 
 Yoz;^l, yell. 
 
 I'rimed by Jutin Moir, Edinliuigh. 
 
i -4 
 
Skirxer, J 
 
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 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
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