* * * * *

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

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

* * * * *

BEWARE O' BONNIE ANN.

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

* * * * *

THIS IS NO MINE AIN HOUSE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

LADDIE, LIE NEAR ME.

This song is by Blacklock.

* * * * *

THE GARDENER AND HIS PAIDLE.

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

* * * * *

THE DAY RETURNS, MY BOSOM BURNS.

Tune.—"Seventh of November."

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

* * * * *

THE GABERLUNZIE MAN.

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

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

* * * * *

MY BONNIE MARY.

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

* * * * *

THE BLACK EAGLE.

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

* * * * *

JAMIE, COME TRY ME.

This air is Oswald's; the song mine.

* * * * *

THE LAZY MIST.

This song is mine.

* * * * *

JOHNIE COPE.

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

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

"Will ye go the coals in the morning."

* * * * *

I LOVE MY JEAN.

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

N.B. It was during the honeymoon.

* * * * *

CEASE, CEASE, MY DEAR FRIEND, TO EXPLORE.

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

* * * * *

AULD ROBIN GRAY.

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

* * * * *

DONALD AND FLORA.

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

* * * * *

O WERE I ON PARNASSUS' HILL.

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

* * * * *

THE CAPTIVE ROBIN.

This air is called "Robie donna Gorach."

* * * * *

THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY.

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

* * * * *

MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS.

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

* * * * *

CA' THE EWES AND THE KNOWES.

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

* * * * *

THE BRIDAL O'T.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

TODLEN HAME.

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

* * * * *

THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE.

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

* * * * *

THE RANTIN' DOG, THE DADDIE O'T.

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

* * * * *

THE SHEPHERD'S PREFERENCE.

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

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

* * * * *

THE BONIE BANKS OF AYR.

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

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

* * * * *

JOHN O' BADENYON.

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

A WAUKRIFE MINNIE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

TULLOCHGORUM.

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

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

* * * * *

FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT.

This song is mine, all except the chorus.

* * * * *

AULD LANG SYNE.

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

* * * * *

WILLIE BREW'D A PECK O' MAUT.

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

* * * * *

KILLIECRANKIE.

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

* * * * *

THE EWIE WI' THE CROOKED HORN.

Another excellent song of old Skinner's.

* * * * *

CRAIGIE-BURN WOOD.

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

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

* * * * *

FRAE THE FRIENDS AND LAND I LOVE.

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

* * * * *

HUGHIE GRAHAM

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

A SOUTHLAND JENNY.

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

* * * * *

MY TOCHER'S THE JEWEL.

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

* * * * *

THEN, GUID WIFE, COUNT THE LAWIN'.

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

* * * * *

THERE'LL NEVER BE PEACE TILL JAMIE COMES HAME.

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

* * * * *

I DO CONFESS THOU ART SAE FAIR.

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

* * * * *

THE SODGER LADDIE.

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

* * * * *

WHERE WAD BONNIE ANNIE LIE.

The old name of this tune is,—

"Whare'll our gudeman lie."

A silly old stanza of it runs thus—

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

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

* * * * *

GALLOWAY TAM.

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

* * * * *

AS I CAM DOWN BY YON CASTLE WA.

This is a very popular Ayrshire song.

* * * * *

LORD RONALD MY SON.

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

* * * * *

O'ER THE MOOR AMANG THE HEATHER.

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

* * * * *

TO THE ROSE-BUD.

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

* * * * *

YON WILD MOSSY MOUNTAINS.

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

* * * * *

IT IS NA, JEAN, THY BONNIE FACE.

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

* * * * *

EPPIE M'NAB.

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

* * * * *

WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER DOOR.

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

* * * * *

THOU ART GANE AWA.

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

* * * * *

THE TEARS I SHED MUST EVER FALL.

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

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

* * * * *

THE BONIE WEE THING.

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

* * * * *

THE TITHER MORN.

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

* * * * *

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

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

* * * * *

DAINTIE DAVIE.

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

BOB O' DUMBLANE.

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

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

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

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

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 293: Fan, when—the dialect of Angus.]

* * * * *



THE BORDER TOUR.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunday.—A Mr. Robinson, brewer at Ednam, sets out with us to Dunbar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thursday.—Mr. Ker and I set out to dine at Mr. Hood's on our way to England.

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

Friday.—I go with Mr. Hood to see a roup of an unfortunate farmer's stock—rigid economy, and decent industry, do you preserve me from being the principal dramatis persona in such a scene of horror.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Here the manuscript abruptly terminates.]

FOOTNOTES:

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

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

"Fair maid, you need not take the hint, Nor idle texts pursue:— 'Twas guilty sinners that he meant,— Not angels such as you."

Cromek.]

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

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

"The brethren of the mystic level."

"Eyemouth, 19th May, 1787.

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

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

* * * * *



THE HIGHLAND TOUR.

25th August, 1787.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday.—Loch Ness—Braes of Ness—General's hut—Falls of Fyers—Urquhart Castle and Strath.

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

Wednesday.—Cross North Esk river and a rich country to Craigow.

* * * * *

Go to Montrose, that finely-situated handsome town—breakfast at Muthie, and sail along that wild rocky coast, and see the famous caverns, particularly the Gariepot—land and dine at Arbroath—stately ruins of Arbroath Abbey—come to Dundee through a fertile country—Dundee a low-lying, but pleasant town—old Steeple—Tayfrith—Broughty Castle, a finely situated ruin, jutting into the Tay.

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

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

Sunday.—Pass through a cold, barren country to Queensferry—dine—cross the ferry and on to Edinburgh.

FOOTNOTES:

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

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

British Georgics, p. 81]

* * * * *



THE POET'S ASSIGNMENT OF HIS WORKS.

Know all men by these presents that I Robert Burns of Mossgiel: whereas I intend to leave Scotland and go abroad, and having acknowledged myself the father of a child named Elizabeth, begot upon Elizabeth Paton in Largieside: and whereas Gilbert Burns in Mossgiel, my brother, has become bound, and hereby binds and obliges himself to aliment, clothe, and educate my said natural child in a suitable manner as if she was his own, in case her mother chuse to part with her, and that until she arrive at the age of fifteen years. Therefore, and to enable the said Gilbert Burns to make good his said engagement, wit ye me to have assigned, disponed, conveyed and made over to, and in favours of, the said Gilbert Burns, his heirs, executors, and assignees, who are always to be bound in like manner, with, himself, all and sundry goods, gear, corns, cattle, horses, nolt, sheep, household furniture, and all other moveable effects of whatever kind that I shall leave behind me on my departure from this Kingdom, after allowing for my part of the conjunct debts due by the said Gilbert Burns and me as joint tacksmen of the farm of Mossgiel. And particularly without prejudice of the foresaid generality, the profits that may arise from the publication of my poems presently in the press. And also, I hereby dispone and convey to him in trust for behoof of my said natural daughter, the copyright of said poems in so far as I can dispose of the same by law, after she arrives at the above age of fifteen years complete. Surrogating and substituting the said Gilbert Burns my brother and his foresaids in my full right, title, room and place of the whole premises, with power to him to intromit with, and dispose upon the same at pleasure, and in general to do every other thing in the premises that I could have done myself before granting hereof, but always with and under the conditions before expressed. And I oblige myself to warrant this disposition and assignation from my own proper fact and deed allenarly. Consenting to the registration hereof in the books of Council and Session, or any other Judges books competent, therein to remain for preservation and constitute.

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

(Signed) ROBERT BURNS.

* * * * *

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

(Signed)

WILLIAM CHALMER, N.P.

WILLIAM M'CUBBIN, Witness.

WILLIAM EATON, Witness.

* * * * *



GLOSSARY.

"The ch and gh have always the guttural sound. The sound of the English diphthong oo is commonly spelled ou. The French u, a sound which often occurs in the Scottish language, is marked oo or ui. The a, in genuine Scottish words, except when forming a diphthong, or followed by an e mute after a single consonant, sounds generally like the broad English a in wall. The Scottish diphthong ae always, and ea very often, sound like the French e masculine. The Scottish diphthong ey sounds like the Latin ei."

A.

A', all.

Aback, away, aloof, backwards.

Abeigh, at a shy distance.

Aboon, above, up.

Abread, abroad, in sight, to publish.

Abreed, in breadth.

Ae, one.

Aff, off.

Aff-loof, off-hand, extempore, without premeditation.

Afore, before.

Aft, oft.

Aften, often.

Agley, off the right line, wrong, awry.

Aiblins, perhaps.

Ain, own.

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

Airles, earnest money.

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

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

Agee, on one side.

Attour, moreover, beyond, besides.

Aith, an oath.

Aits, oats.

Aiver, an old horse.

Aizle, a hot cinder, an ember of wood.

Alake, alas.

Alane, alone.

Akwart, awkward, athwart.

Amaist, almost.

Amang, among.

An', and, if.

Ance, once

Ane, one.

Anent, over-against, concerning, about.

Anither, another.

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

Asteer, abroad, stirring in a lively manner.

Aqueesh, between.

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

Auld, old.

Auld-farran', auld farrant, sagacious, prudent, cunning.

Ava, at all.

Awa, away, begone.

Awfu', awful.

Auld-shoon, old shoes literally, a discarded lover metaphorically.

Aumos, gift to a beggar.

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

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

Awnie, bearded.

Ayont, beyond.

B.

Ba', ball.

Babie-clouts, child's first clothes.

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

Backlins, comin', coming back, returning.

Back-yett, private gate.

Baide, endured, did stay.

Baggie, the belly.

Bairn, a child.

Bairn-time, a family of children, a brood.

Baith, both.

Ballets, Ballants, ballads.

Ban, to swear.

Bane, bone.

Bang, to beat, to strive, to excel.

Bannock, flat, round, soft cake.

Bardie, diminutive of bard.

Barefit, barefooted.

Barley-bree, barley-broo, blood of barley, malt liquor.

Barmie, of, or like barm, yeasty.

Batch, a crew, a gang.

Batts, botts.

Bauckie-bird, the bat.

Baudrons, a cat.

Bauld, bold.

Baws'nt, having a white stripe down the face.

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

Beets, boots.

Bear, barley.

Bearded-bear, barley with its bristly head.

Beastie, diminutive of beast.

Beet, beek, to add fuel to a fire, to bask.

Beld, bald.

Belyve, by and by, presently, quickly.

Ben, into the spence or parlour.

Benmost-bore, the remotest hole, the innermost recess.

Bethankit, grace after meat.

Beuk, a book.

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

Bickering, careering, hurrying with quarrelsome intent.

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

Bie, or bield, shelter, a sheltered place, the sunny nook of a wood.

Bien, wealthy, plentiful.

Big, to build.

Biggin, building, a house.

Biggit, built.

Bill, a bull.

Billie, a brother, a young fellow, a companion.

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

Birdie-cocks, young cocks, still belonging to the brood.

Birk, birch.

Birkie, a clever, a forward conceited fellow.

Birring, the noise of partridges when they rise.

Birses, bristles.

Bit, crisis, nick of time, place.

Bizz, a bustle, to buzz.

Black's the grun', as black as the ground.

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

Blastit, blasted.

Blate, bashful, sheepish.

Blather, bladder.

Blaud, a flat piece of anything, to slap.

Blaudin-shower, a heavy driving rain; a blauding signifies a beating.

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

Bleerit, bedimmed, eyes hurt with weeping.

Bleer my een, dim my eyes.

Bleezing, bleeze, blazing, flame.

Blellum, idle talking fellow.

Blether, to talk idly.

Bleth'rin, talking idly.

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

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

Blinkin', smirking, smiling with the eyes, looking lovingly.

Blirt and blearie, out-burst of grief, with wet eyes.

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

Bluid, blood.

Blype, a shred, a large piece.

Bobbit, the obeisance made by a lady.

Bock, to vomit, to gush intermittently.

Bocked, gushed, vomited.

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

Bogie, a small morass.

Bonnie, or bonny, handsome, beautiful.

Bonnock, a kind of thick cake of bread, a small jannock or loaf made of oatmeal. See Bannock.

Boord, a board.

Bore, a hole in the wall, a cranny.

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

Boost, behoved, must needs, wilfulness.

Botch, blotch, an angry tumour.

Bousing, drinking, making merry with liquor.

Bowk, body.

Bow-kail, cabbage.

Bow-hought, out-kneed, crooked at the knee joint.

Bowt, bowlt, bended, crooked.

Brackens, fern.

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

Braid, broad.

Braik, an instrument for rough-dressing flax.

Brainge, to run rashly forward, to churn violently.

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

Brak, broke, became insolvent.

Branks, a kind of wooden curb for horses.

Brankie, gaudy.

Brash, a sudden illness.

Brats, coarse clothes, rags, &c.

Brattle, a short race, hurry, fury.

Braw, fine, handsome.

Brawlys, or brawlie, very well, finely, heartily, bravely.

Braxies, diseased sheep.

Breastie, diminutive of breast.

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

Brechame, a horse-collar.

Breckens, fern.

Breef, an invulnerable or irresistible spell.

Breeks, breeches.

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

Brewin', brewing, gathering.

Bree, juice, liquid.

Brig, a bridge.

Brunstane, brimstone.

Brisket, the breast, the bosom.

Brither, a brother.

Brock, a badger.

Brogue, a hum, a trick.

Broo, broth, liquid, water.

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

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

Brugh, a burgh.

Bruilsie, a broil, combustion.

Brunt, did burn, burnt.

Brust, to burst, burst.

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

Buckskin, an inhabitant of Virginia.

Buff our beef, thrash us soundly, give us a beating behind and before.

Buff and blue, the colours of the Whigs.

Buirdly, stout made, broad built.

Bum-clock, the humming beetle that flies in the summer evenings.

Bummin, humming as bees, buzzing.

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

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

Bunker, a window-seat.

Bure, did bear.

Burn, burnie, water, a rivulet, a small stream which is heard as it runs.

Burniewin', burn this wind, the blacksmith.

Burr-thistle, the thistle of Scotland.

Buskit, dressed.

Buskit-nest, an ornamented residence.

Busle, a bustle.

But, bot, without.

But and ben, the country kitchen and parlour.

By himself, lunatic, distracted, beside himself.

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

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

C.

Ca', to call, to name, to drive.

Ca't, called, driven, calved.

Cadger, a carrier.

Cadie or caddie, a person, a young fellow, a public messenger.

Caff, chaff.

Caird, a tinker, a maker of horn spoons and teller of fortunes.

Cairn, a loose heap of stones, a rustic monument.

Calf-ward, a small enclosure for calves.

Calimanco, a certain kind of cotton cloth worn by ladies.

Callan, a boy.

Caller, fresh.

Callet, a loose woman, a follower of a camp.

Cannie, gentle, mild, dexterous.

Cannilie, dexterously, gently.

Cantie, or canty, cheerful, merry.

Cantraip, a charm, a spell.

Cap-stane, cape-stone, topmost stone of the building.

Car, a rustic cart with or without wheels.

Careerin', moving cheerfully.

Castock, the stalk of a cabbage.

Carl, an old man.

Carl-hemp, the male stalk of hemp, easily known by its superior strength and stature, and being without seed.

Carlin, a stout old woman.

Cartes, cards.

Caudron, a cauldron.

Cauk and keel, chalk and red clay.

Cauld, cold.

Caup, a wooden drinking vessel, a cup.

Cavie, a hen-coop.

Chanter, drone of a bagpipe.

Chap, a person, a fellow.

Chaup, a stroke, a blow.

Cheek for chow, close and united, brotherly, side by side.

Cheekit, cheeked.

Cheep, a chirp, to chirp.

Chiel, or cheal, a young fellow.

Chimla, or chimlie, a fire-grate, fire-place.

Chimla-lug, the fire-side.

Chirps, cries of a young bird.

Chittering, shivering, trembling.

Chockin, choking.

Chow, to chew; a quid of tobacco.

Chuckie, a brood-hen.

Chuffie, fat-faced.

Clachan, a small village about a church, a hamlet.

Claise, or claes, clothes.

Claith, cloth.

Claithing, clothing.

Clavers and havers, agreeable nonsense, to talk foolishly.

Clapper-claps, the clapper of a mill; it is now silenced.

Clap-clack, clapper of a mill.

Clartie, dirty, filthy.

Clarkit, wrote.

Clash, an idle tale.

Clatter, to tell little idle stories, an idle story.

Claught, snatched at, laid hold of.

Claut, to clean, to scrape.

Clauted, scraped.

Claw, to scratch.

Cleed, to clothe.

Cleek, hook, snatch.

Cleekin, a brood of chickens, or ducks.

Clegs, the gad flies.

Clinkin, "clinking down," sitting down hastily.

Clinkumbell, the church bell; he who rings it; a sort of beadle.

Clips, wool-shears.

Clishmaclaver, idle conversation.

Clock, to hatch, a beetle.

Clockin, hatching.

Cloot, the hoof of a cow, sheep, &c.

Clootie, a familiar name for the devil.

Clour, a bump, or swelling, after a blow.

Cloutin, repairing with cloth.

Cluds, clouds.

Clunk, the sound in setting down an empty bottle.

Coaxin, wheedling.

Coble, a fishing-boat.

Cod, a pillow.

Coft, bought.

Cog, and coggie, a wooden dish.

Coila, from Kyle, a district in Ayrshire, so called, saith tradition, from Coil, or Coilus, a Pictish monarch.

Collie, a general, and sometimes a particular name for country curs.

Collie-shangie, a quarrel among dogs, an Irish row.

Commaun, command.

Convoyed, accompanied lovingly.

Cool'd in her linens, cool'd in her death-shift.

Cood, the cud.

Coof, a blockhead, a ninny.

Cookit, appeared and disappeared by fits.

Cooser, a stallion.

Coost, did cast.

Coot, the ankle, a species of water-fowl.

Corbies, blood crows.

Cootie, a wooden dish, rough-legged.

Core, corps, party, clan.

Corn't, fed with oats.

Cotter, the inhabitant of a cot-house, or cottage.

Couthie, kind, loving.

Cove, a cave.

Cowe, to terrify, to keep under, to lop.

Cowp, to barter, to tumble over.

Cowp the cran, to tumble a full bucket or basket.

Cowpit, tumbled.

Cowrin, cowering.

Cowte, a colt.

Cosie, snug.

Crabbit, crabbed, fretful.

Creuks, a disease of horses.

Crack, conversation, to converse, to boast.

Crackin', cracked, conversing, conversed.

Craft, or croft, a field near a house, in old husbandry.

Craig, craigie, neck.

Craiks, cries or calls incessantly, a bird, the corn-rail.

Crambo-clink, or crambo-jingle, rhymes, doggerel verses.

Crank, the noise of an ungreased wheel—metaphorically inharmonious verse.

Crankous, fretful, captious.

Cranreuch, the hoar-frost, called in Nithsdale "frost-rhyme."

Crap, a crop, to crop.

Craw, a crow of a cock, a rook.

Creel, a basket, to have one's wits in a creel, to be crazed, to be fascinated.

Creshie, greasy.

Crood, or Croud, to coo as a dove.

Croon, a hollow and continued moan; to make a noise like the low roar of a bull; to hum a tune.

Crooning, humming.

Crouchie, crook-backed.

Crouse, cheerful, courageous.

Crously, cheerfully, courageously.

Crowdie, a composition of oatmeal, boiled water and butter; sometimes made from the broth of beef, mutton, &c. &c.

Crowdie time, breakfast time.

Crowlin, crawling, a deformed creeping thing.

Crummie's nicks, marks on the horns of a cow.

Crummock, Crummet, a cow with crooked horns.

Crummock driddle, walk slowly, leaning on a staff with a crooked head.

Crump-crumpin, hard and brittle, spoken of bread; frozen snow yielding to the foot.

Crunt, a blow on the head with a cudgel.

Cuddle, to clasp and caress.

Cummock, a short staff, with a crooked head.

Curch, a covering for the head, a kerchief.

Curchie, a curtesy, female obeisance.

Curler, a player at a game on the ice, practised in Scotland, called curling.

Curlie, curled, whose hair falls naturally in ringlets.

Curling, a well-known game on the ice.

Curmurring, murmuring, a slight rumbling noise.

Curpin, the crupper, the rump.

Curple, the rear.

Cushat, the dove, or wood-pigeon.

Cutty, short, a spoon broken in the middle.

Cutty Stool, or, Creepie Chair, the seat of shame, stool of repentance.

D.

Daddie, a father.

Daffin, merriment, foolishness.

Daft, merry, giddy, foolish; Daft-buckie, mad fish.

Daimen, rare, now and then; Daimen icker, an ear of corn occasionally.

Dainty, pleasant, good-humored, agreeable, rare.

Dandered, wandered.

Darklins, darkling, without light.

Daud, to thrash, to abuse; Daudin-showers, rain urged by wind.

Daur, to dare; Daurt, dared.

Daurg, or Daurk, a day's labour.

Daur, daurna, dare, dare not.

Davoc, diminutive of Davie, as Davie is of David.

Dawd, a large piece.

Dawin, dawning of the day.

Dawtit, dawtet, fondled, caressed.

Dearies, diminutive of dears, sweethearts.

Dearthfu', dear, expensive.

Deave, to deafen.

Deil-ma-care, no matter for all that.

Deleerit, delirious.

Descrive, to describe, to perceive.

Deuks, ducks.

Dight, to wipe, to clean corn from chaff.

Ding, to worst, to push, to surpass, to excel.

Dink, neat, lady-like.

Dinna, do not.

Dirl, a slight tremulous stroke or pain, a tremulous motion.

Distain, stain.

Dizzen, a dozen.

Dochter, daughter.

Doited, stupefied, silly from age.

Dolt, stupefied, crazed; also a fool.

Donsie, unlucky, affectedly neat and trim, pettish.

Doodle, to dandle.

Dool, sorrow, to lament, to mourn.

Doos, doves, pigeons.

Dorty, saucy, nice.

Douse, or douce, sober, wise, prudent.

Doucely, soberly, prudently.

Dought, was or were able.

Doup, backside.

Doup-skelper, one that strikes the tail.

Dour and din, sullen and sallow

Douser, more prudent.

Dow, am or are able, can.

Dowff, pithless, wanting force.

Dowie, worn with grief, fatigue, &c., half asleep.

Downa, am or are not able, cannot.

Doylt, wearied, exhausted.

Dozen, stupified, the effects of age, to dozen, to benumb.

Drab, a young female beggar; to spot, to stain.

Drap, a drop, to drop.

Drapping, dropping.

Draunting, drawling, speaking with a sectarian tone.

Dreep, to ooze, to drop.

Dreigh, tedious, long about it, lingering.

Dribble, drizzling, trickling.

Driddle, the motion of one who tries to dance but moves the middle only.

Drift, a drove, a flight of fowls, snow moved by the wind.

Droddum, the breech.

Drone, part of a bagpipe, the chanter.

Droop rumpl't, that droops at the crupper.

Droukit, wet.

Drouth, thirst, drought.

Drucken, drunken.

Drumly, muddy.

Drummock or Drammock, meal and water mixed, raw.

Drunt, pet, sour humour.

Dub, a small pond, a hollow filled with rain water.

Duds, rags, clothes.

Duddie, ragged.

Dung-dang, worsted, pushed, stricken.

Dunted, throbbed, beaten.

Dush-dunsh, to push, or butt as a ram.

Dusht, overcome with superstitious fear, to drop down suddenly.

Dyvor, bankrupt, or about to become one.

E.

E'e, the eye.

Een, the eyes, the evening.

Eebree, the eyebrow.

Eenin', the evening.

Eerie, frighted, haunted, dreading spirits.

Eild, old age.

Elbuck, the elbow.

Eldritch, ghastly, frightful, elvish.

En', end.

Enbrugh, Edinburgh.

Eneugh, and aneuch, enough.

Especial, especially.

Ether-stone, stone formed by adders, an adder bead.

Ettle, to try, attempt, aim.

Eydent, diligent.

F.

Fa', fall, lot, to fall, fate.

Fa' that, to enjoy, to try, to inherit.

Faddom't, fathomed, measured with the extended arms.

Faes, foes.

Faem, foam of the sea.

Faiket, forgiven or excused, abated, a demand.

Fainness, gladness, overcome with joy.

Fairin', fairing, a present brought from a fair.

Fallow, fellow.

Fand, did find.

Farl, a cake of bread; third part of a cake.

Fash, trouble, care, to trouble, to care for.

Fasheous, troublesome.

Fasht, troubled.

Fasten e'en, Fasten's even.

Faught, fight.

Faugh, a single furrow, out of lea, fallow.

Fauld, and Fald, a fold for sheep, to fold.

Faut, fault.

Fawsont, decent, seemly.

Feal, loyal, steadfast.

Fearfu', fearful, frightful.

Fear't, affrighted.

Feat, neat, spruce, clever.

Fecht, to fight.

Fechtin', fighting.

Feck and fek, number, quantity.

Fecket, an under-waistcoat.

Feckfu', large, brawny, stout.

Feckless, puny, weak, silly.

Feckly, mostly.

Feg, a fig.

Fegs, faith, an exclamation.

Feide, feud, enmity.

Fell, keen, biting; the flesh immediately under the skin; level moor.

Felly, relentless.

Fend, Fen, to make a shift, contrive to live.

Ferlie or ferley, to wonder, a wonder, a term of contempt.

Fetch, to pull by fits.

Fetch't, pull'd intermittently.

Fey, strange; one marked for death, predestined.

Fidge, to fidget, fidgeting.

Fidgin-fain, tickled with pleasure.

Fient, fiend, a petty oath.

Fien ma care, the devil may care.

Fier, sound, healthy; a brother, a friend.

Fierrie, bustle, activity.

Fissle, to make a rustling noise, to fidget, bustle, fuss.

Fit, foot.

Fittie-lan, the nearer horse of the hindmost pair in the plough.

Fizz, to make a hissing noise, fuss, disturbance.

Flaffen, the motion of rags in the wind; of wings.

Flainen, flannel.

Flandrekins, foreign generals, soldiers of Flanders.

Flang, threw with violence.

Fleech, to supplicate in a flattering manner.

Fleechin, supplicating.

Fleesh, a fleece.

Fleg, a kick, a random blow, a fight.

Flether, to decoy by fair words.

Flethrin, flethers, flattering—smooth wheedling words.

Fley, to scare, to frighten.

Flichter, flichtering, to flutter as young nestlings do when their dam approaches.

Flinders, shreds, broken pieces.

Flingin-tree, a piece of timber hung by way of partition between two horses in a stable; a flail.

Flisk, flisky, to fret at the yoke.

Flisket, fretted.

Flitter, to vibrate like the wings of small birds.

Flittering, fluttering, vibrating, moving tremulously from place to place.

Flunkie, a servant in livery.

Flyte, flyting, scold: flyting, scolding.

Foor, hastened.

Foord, a ford.

Forbears, forefathers.

Forbye, besides.

Forfairn, distressed, worn out, jaded, forlorn, destitute.

Forgather, to meet, to encounter with.

Forgie, to forgive.

Forinawed, worn out.

Forjesket, jaded with fatigue.

Fou', full, drunk.

Foughten, forfoughten, troubled, fatigued.

Foul-thief, the devil, the arch-fiend.

Fouth, plenty, enough, or more than enough.

Fow, a measure, a bushel: also a pitchfork.

Frae, from.

Freath, froth, the frothing of ale in the tankard.

Frien', friend.

Frosty-calker, the heels and front of a horse-shoe, turned sharply up for riding on an icy road.

Fu', full.

Fud, the scut or tail of the hare, coney, &c.

Fuff, to blow intermittently.

Fu-hant, full-handed; said of one well to live in the world.

Funnie, full of merriment.

Fur-ahin, the hindmost horse on the right hand when ploughing.

Furder, further, succeed.

Furm, a form, a bench.

Fusionless, spiritless, without sap or soul.

Fyke, trifling cares, to be in a fuss about trifles.

Fyte, to soil, to dirty.

Fylt, soiled, dirtied.

G.

Gab, the mouth, to speak boldly or pertly.

Gaberlunzie, wallet-man, or tinker.

Gae, to go; gaed, went; gane or gaen, gone; gaun, going.

Gaet or gate, way, manner, road.

Gairs, parts of a lady's gown.

Gang, to go, to walk.

Gangrel, a wandering person.

Gar, to make, to force to; gar't, forced to.

Garten, a garter.

Gash, wise, sagacious, talkative, to converse.

Gatty, failing in body.

Gaucy, jolly, large, plump.

Gaud and gad, a rod or goad.

Gaudsman, one who drives the horses at the plough.

Gaun, going.

Gaunted, yawned, longed.

Gawkie, a thoughtless person, and something weak.

Gaylies, gylie, pretty well.

Gear, riches, goods of any kind.

Geck, to toss the head in wantonness or scorn.

Ged, a pike.

Gentles, great folks.

Genty, elegant.

Geordie, George, a guinea, called Geordie from the head of King George.

Get and geat, a child, a young one.

Ghaist, ghaistis, a ghost.

Gie, to give; gied, gave; gien, given.

Giftie, diminutive of gift.

Giglets, laughing maidens.

Gillie, gillock, diminutive of gill.

Gilpey, a half-grown, half-informed boy or girl, a romping lad, a hoyden.

Gimmer, an ewe two years old, a contemptuous term for a woman.

Gin, if, against.

Gipsey, a young girl.

Girdle, a round iron plate on which oat-cake is fired.

Girn, to grin, to twist the features in rage, agony, &c.; grinning.

Gizz, a periwig, the face.

Glaikit, inattentive, foolish.

Glaive, a sword.

Glaizie, glittering, smooth, like glass.

Glaumed, grasped, snatched at eagerly.

Girran, a poutherie girran, a little vigorous animal; a horse rather old, but yet active when heated.

Gled, a hawk.

Gleg, sharp, ready.

Gley, a squint, to squint; a-gley, off at the side, wrong.

Gleyde, an old horse.

Glib-gabbit, that speaks smoothly and readily.

Glieb o' lan', a portion of ground. The ground belonging to a manse is called "the glieb," or portion.

Glint, glintin', to peep.

Glinted by, went brightly past.

Gloamin, the twilight.

Gloamin-shot, twilight musing; a shot in the twilight.

Glowr, to stare, to look; a stare, a look.

Glowran, amazed, looking suspiciously, gazing.

Glum, displeased.

Gor-cocks, the red-game, red-cock, or moor-cock.

Gowan, the flower of the daisy, dandelion, hawkweed, &c.

Gowany, covered with daisies.

Goavan, walking as if blind, or without an aim.

Gowd, gold.

Gowl, to howl.

Gowff, a fool; the game of golf, to strike, as the bat does the ball at golf.

Gowk, term of contempt, the cuckoo.

Grane or grain, a groan, to groan; graining, groaning.

Graip, a pronged instrument for cleaning cowhouses.

Graith, accoutrements, furniture, dress.

Grannie, grandmother.

Grape, to grope; grapet, groped.

Great, grit, intimate, familiar.

Gree, to agree; to bear the gree, to be decidedly victor; gree't, agreed.

Green-graff, green grave,

Gruesome, loathsomely, grim.

Greet, to shed tears, to weep; greetin', weeping.

Grey-neck-quill, a quill unfit for a pen.

Griens, longs, desires.

Grieves, stewards.

Grippit, seized.

Groanin-Maut, drink for the cummers at a lying-in.

Groat, to get the whistle of one's groat; to play a losing game, to feel the consequences of one's folly.

Groset, a gooseberry.

Grumph, a grunt, to grunt.

Grumphie, Grumphin, a sow; the snorting of an angry pig.

Grun', ground.

Grunstone, a grindstone.

Gruntle, the phiz, the snout, a grunting noise.

Grunzie, a mouth which pokes out like that of a pig.

Grushie, thick, of thriving growth.

Gude, guid, guids, the Supreme Being, good, goods.

Gude auld-has-been, was once excellent.

Guid-mornin', good-morrow.

Guid-e'en, good evening.

Guidfather and guidmother, father-in-law, and mother-in-law.

Guidman and guidwife, the master and mistress of the house; young guidman, a man newly married.

Gully or Gullie, a large knife.

Gulravage, joyous mischief.

Gumlie, muddy.

Gumption, discernment, knowledge, talent.

Gusty, gustfu', tasteful.

Gut-scraper, a fiddler.

Gutcher, grandsire.

H.

Ha', hall.

Ha' Bible, the great Bible that lies in the hall.

Haddin', house, home, dwelling-place, a possession.

Hae, to have, to accept.

Haen, had, (the participle of hae); haven.

Haet, fient haet, a petty oath of negation; nothing.

Haffet, the temple, the side of the head.

Hafflins, nearly half, partly, not fully grown.

Hag, a gulf in mosses and moors, moss-ground.

Haggis, a kind of pudding, boiled in the stomach of a cow, or sheep.

Hain, to spare, to save, to lay out at interest.

Hain'd, spared; hain'd gear, hoarded money.

Hairst, harvest

Haith, petty oath.

Haivers, nonsense, speaking without thought.

Hal', or hald, an abiding place.

Hale, or haill, whole, tight, healthy.

Hallan, a particular partition-wall in a cottage, or more properly a seat of turf at the outside.

Hallowmass, Hallow-eve, 31st October.

Haly, holy; "haly-pool," holy well with healing properties.

Hame, home.

Hammered, the noise of feet like the din of hammers.

Han's breed, hand's breadth.

Hanks, thread as it comes from the measuring reel, quantities, &c.

Hansel-throne, throne when first occupied by a king.

Hap, an outer garment, mantle, plaid, &c.; to wrap, to cover, to hap.

Harigals, heart, liver, and lights of an animal.

Hap-shackled, when a fore and hind foot of a ram are fastened together to prevent leaping he is said to be hap-shackled. A wife is called "the kirk's hap-shackle."

Happer, a hopper, the hopper of a mill.

Happing, hopping.

Hap-step-an'-loup, hop, step, and leap.

Harkit, hearkened.

Harn, very coarse linen.

Hash, a fellow who knows not how to act with propriety.

Hastit, hastened.

Haud, to hold.

Haughs, low-lying, rich land, valleys.

Haurl, to drag, to pull violently.

Haurlin, tearing off, pulling roughly.

Haver-meal, oatmeal.

Haveril, a half-witted person, half-witted, one who habitually talks in a foolish or incoherent manner.

Havins, good manners, decorum, good sense.

Hawkie, a cow, properly one with a white face.

Heapit, heaped.

Healsome healthful, wholesome.

Hearse, hoarse.

Heather, heath.

Hech, oh strange! an exclamation during heavy work.

Hecht, promised, to foretell something that is to be got or given, foretold, the thing foretold, offered.

Heckle, a board in which are fixed a number of sharp steel prongs upright for dressing hemp, flax, &c.

Hee balou, words used to soothe a child.

Heels-owre-gowdie, topsy-turvy, turned the bottom upwards.

Heeze, to elevate, to rise, to lift.

Hellim, the rudder or helm.

Herd, to tend flocks, one who tends flocks.

Herrin', a herring.

Herry, to plunder; most properly to plunder birds' nests.

Herryment, plundering, devastation.

Hersel-hirsel, a flock of sheep, also a herd of cattle of any sort.

Het, hot, heated.

Heugh, a crag, a ravine; coal-heugh, a coal-pit, lowin heugh, a blazing pit.

Hilch, hilchin', to halt, halting.

Hiney, honey.

Hing, to hang.

Hirple, to walk crazily, to walk lamely, to creep.

Histie, dry, chapt, barren.

Hitcht, a loop, made a knot.

Hizzie, huzzy, a young girl.

Hoddin, the motion of a husbandman riding on a cart-horse, humble.

Hoddin-gray, woollen cloth of a coarse quality, made by mingling one black fleece with a dozen white ones.

Hoggie, a two-year-old sheep.

Hog-score, a distance line in curling drawn across the rink. When a stone fails to cross it, a cry is raised of "A hog, a hog!" and it is removed.

Hog-shouther, a kind of horse-play by justling with the shoulder; to justle.

Hoodie-craw, a blood crow, corbie.

Hool, outer skin or case, a nutshell, a pea-husk.

Hoolie, slowly, leisurely.

Hoord, a hoard, to hoard.

Hoordit, hoarded.

Horn, a spoon made of horn.

Hornie, one of the many names of the devil.

Host, or hoast, to cough.

Hostin, coughing.

Hotch'd, turned topsy-turvy, blended, ruined, moved.

Houghmagandie, loose behaviour.

Howlet, an owl.

Housie, diminutive of house.

Hove, hoved, to heave, to swell.

Howdie, a midwife.

Howe, hollow, a hollow or dell.

Howebackit, sunk in the back, spoken of a horse.

Howff, a house of resort.

Howk, to dig.

Howkit, digged.

Howkin', digging deep.

Hoy, hoy't, to urge, urged.

Hoyse, a pull upwards. "Hoyse a creel," to raise a basket; hence "hoisting creels."

Hoyte, to amble crazily.

Hughoc, diminutive of Hughie, as Hughie is of Hugh.

Hums and hankers, mumbles and seeks to do what he cannot perform.

Hunkers, kneeling and falling back on the hams.

Hurcheon, a hedgehog.

Hurdies, the loins, the crupper.

Hushion, a cushion, also a stocking wanting the foot.

Huchyalled, to move with a hilch.

I.

Icker, an ear of corn.

Ieroe, a great grandchild.

Ilk, or ilka, each, every.

Ill-deedie, mischievous.

Ill-willie, ill-natured, malicious, niggardly.

Ingine, genius, ingenuity.

Ingle, fire, fire-place.

Ingle-low, light from the fire, flame from the hearth.

I rede ye, I advise ye, I warn ye.

I'se, I shall or will.

Ither, other, one another.

J.

Jad, jade; also a familiar term among country folks for a giddy young girl.

Jauk, to dally, to trifle.

Jaukin', trifling, dallying.

Jauner, talking, and not always to the purpose.

Jaup, a jerk of water; to jerk, as agitated water.

Jaw, coarse raillery, to pour out, to shut, to jerk as water.

Jillet, a jilt, a giddy girl.

Jimp, to jump, slender in the waist, handsome.

Jink, to dodge, to turn a corner; a sudden turning, a corner.

Jink an' diddle, moving to music, motion of a fiddler's elbow. Starting here and there with a tremulous movement.

Jinker, that turns quickly, a gay sprightly girl.

Jinkin', dodging, the quick motion of the bow on the fiddle.

Jirt, a jerk, the emission of water, to squirt.

Jocteleg, a kind of knife.

Jouk, to stoop, to bow the head, to conceal.

Jow, to jow, a verb, which includes both the swinging motion and pealing sound of a large bell; also the undulation of water.

Jundie, to justle, a push with the elbow.

K.

Kae, a daw.

Kail, colewort, a kind of broth.

Kailrunt, the stem of colewort.

Kain, fowls, &c., paid as rent by a farmer.

Kebars, rafters.

Kebbuck, a cheese.

Keckle, joyous cry; to cackle as a hen.

Keek, a keek, to peep.

Kelpies, a sort of mischievous water-spirit, said to haunt fords and ferries at night, especially in storms.

Ken, to know; ken'd or ken't, knew.

Kennin, a small matter.

Ket-Ketty, matted, a fleece of wool.

Kiaught, carking, anxiety, to be in a flutter.

Kilt, to truss up the clothes.

Kimmer, a young girl, a gossip.

Kin', kindred.

Kin', kind.

King's-hood, a certain part of the entrails of an ox.

Kintra, kintrie, country.

Kirn, the harvest supper, a churn.

Kirsen, to christen, to baptize.

Kist, a shop-counter.

Kitchen, anything that eats with bread, to serve for soup, gravy.

Kittle, to tickle, ticklish.

Kittling, a young cat. The ace of diamonds is called among rustics the kittlin's e'e.

Knaggie, like knags, or points of rocks.

Knappin-hammer, a hammer for breaking stones; knap, to strike or break.

Knurlin, crooked but strong, knotty.

Knowe, a small, round hillock, a knoll.

Kuittle, to cuddle; kuitlin, cuddling, fondling.

Kye, cows.

Kyle, a district in Ayrshire.

Kyte, the belly.

Kythe, to discover, to show one's self.

L.

Labour, thrash.

Laddie, diminutive of lad.

Laggen, the angle between the side and the bottom of a wooden dish.

Laigh, low.

Lairing, lairie, wading, and sinking in snow, mud &c., miry.

Laith, loath, impure.

Laithfu', bashful, sheepish, abstemious.

Lallans, Scottish dialect, Lowlands.

Lambie, diminutive of lamb.

Lammas moon, harvest-moon.

Lampit, kind of shell-fish, a limpet.

Lan', land, estate.

Lan'-afore, foremost horse in the plough.

Lan'-ahin, hindmost horse in the plough.

Lane, lone; my lane, thy tune, &c., myself alone.

Lanely, lonely.

Lang, long; to think lang, to long, to weary.

Lap, did leap.

Late and air, late and early.

Lave, the rest, the remainder, the others.

Laverock, the lark.

Lawlan', lowland.

Lay my dead, attribute my death.

Leal, loyal, true, faithful.

Lear, learning, lore.

Lee-lang, live-long.

Leesome luve, happy, gladsome love.

Leeze me, a phrase of congratulatory endearment; I am happy in thee or proud of thee.

Leister, a three-pronged and barbed dart for striking fish.

Leugh, did laugh.

Leuk, a look, to look.

Libbet, castrated.

Lick, licket, beat, thrashen.

Lift, sky, firmament.

Lightly, sneeringly, to sneer at, to undervalue.

Lilt, a ballad, a tune, to sing.

Limmer, a kept mistress, a strumpet.

Limp't, limped, hobbled.

Link, to trip along; linkin, tripping along.

Linn, a waterfall, a cascade.

Lint, flax; lint i' the bell, flax in flower.

Lint-white, a linnet, flaxen.

Loan, the place of milking.

Loaning, lane.

Loof, the palm of the hand.

Loot, did let.

Looves, the plural of loof.

Losh man! rustic exclamation modified from Lord man.

Loun, a follow, a ragamuffin, a woman of easy virtue.

Loup, leap, startled with pain.

Louper-like, lan-louper, a stranger of a suspected character.

Lowe, a flame.

Lowin', flaming; lowin-drouth, burning desire for drink.

Lowrie, abbreviation of Lawrence.

Lowse, to loose.

Lowsed, unbound, loosed.

Lug, the ear.

Lug of the law, at the judgment-seat.

Lugget, having a handle.

Luggie, a small wooden dish with a handle.

Lum, the chimney; lum-head, chimney-top.

Lunch, a large piece of cheese, flesh, &c.

Lunt, a column of smoke, to smoke, to walk quickly.

Lyart, of a mixed colour, gray.

M.

Mae, and mair, more.

Maggot's-meat, food for the worms.

Mahoun, Satan.

Mailen, a farm.

Maist, most, almost.

Maistly, mostly, for the greater part.

Mak', to make; makin', making.

Mally, Molly, Mary.

Mang, among.

Manse, the house of the parish minister is called "the Manse."

Manteele, a mantle.

Mark, marks. This and several other nouns which in English require an s to form the plural, are in Scotch, like the words sheep, deer, the same in both numbers.

Mark, merk, a Scottish coin, value thirteen shillings and four-pence.

Marled, party-coloured.

Mar's year, the year 1715. Called Mar's year from the rebellion of Erskine, Earl of Mar.

Martial chuck, the soldier's camp-comrade, female companion.

Mashlum, mixed corn.