Whare three lairds' lands met at a burn,*
To dip her left sark-sleeve in,

Was bent that night.

XXV.

Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays,
As thro' the glen it wimpl't;
Whyles round a rocky scar it strays;
Whyles in a wiel it dimpl't;
Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays,
Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle:
Whyles cookit underneath the braes,
Below the spreading hazel,

Unseen that night.

XXVI.

Amang the brachens, on the brae,

Between her an' the moon,
The deil, or else an outler quey,
Gat up an' gae a croon;

Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool;
Near lav'rock height she jumpit,
But mist a fit, an' in the pool
Out-owre the lugs she plumpit,

Wi' a plunge that night.

* You go out, one or more, for this is a social spell, to a south-running spring or rivulet, where three lairds' lands meet,? and dip your left shirt sleeve. Go to bed in sight of a fire, and hang your wet sleeve before it to dry. Lie awake; and, some time near midnight, an apparition, having the exact figure of the grand object in question, will come and turn the sleeve, as to dry the other side of it.

XXVII:

In order, on the clean hearth-stane,
The luggies three* are ranged,
And ev'ry time great care is ta'en,
To see them duly changed;
Auld uncle John, wha wedlock's joys
Sin' Mar's-year did desire,
Because he gat the toom-dish thrice,
He heav'd them on the fire

In wrath that night.

XXVIII.

Wi' merry sangs, an' friendly cracks,
I wat they did na weary ;
An' unco tales, an' funnie jokes,

Their sports were cheap an' cheery;
Till butter'd so'ns,† wi' fragrant lunt,
Set a' their gabs a-steerin ;
Syne wi' a social glass o' strunt,
They parted aff careerin

Fu' blithe that night.

Take three dishes: put clean water in one, foul water in another, leave the third empty : blindfold a person, and lead him to the hearth where the dishes are ranged; he (or she) dips the left hand: if by chance in the clean water, the future husband or wife will come to the bar of matrimony a maid; if in the foul, a widow; if in the empty dish, it foretells, with equal certainty, no marriage at all. It is repeated three times, and every time the arrangement of the dishes is altered.

Sowens, with butter instead of milk to them, is always the Halloween Supper.

THE AULD FARMER'S

NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION

TO HIS

AULD MARE MAGGIE,

On giving her the accustomed Ripp of Corn to hansel in the New
Year.

A Guid New-year I wish thee Maggie!
Hae, there's a ripp to thy auld baggie:
Tho' thou's how-backit, now, an' knaggie,
I've seen the day,

Thou could hae gaen like onie staggie
Out-owre the lay,

Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, an' crazy,
An' thy auld hide's as white's a daisy,
I've seen thee dappl't, sleek, and glaizie,
A bonny gray:

He should been tight that daur't to raize thee,
Ance in a day.

Thou ance was i' the foremast rank,
A filly buirdly, steeve, an' swank,
An' set weel down a shapely shank,

As e'er tread yird!”

An' could hae flown out-owre a stank,
Like onie bird.

It's now some nine-an-twenty year, Sin' thou was my guid father's meere ; He gied me thee, o' tocher clear,

An' fifty mark;

Tho' it was sma', 'twas weel-won gear,
An' thou was stark.

When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, Ye then was trottin wi' your minnie Tho' ye was trickie, slee an' funnie,

:

Ye ne'er was donsie ;

But hamely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie,
An' unco sonsie.

That day, ye pranc'd wi muckle pride,
When ye bure hame my. bonnie bride:
An' sweet an' gracefu' she did ride,
Wi' maiden air!

Kyle Stewart I could bragged wide,
For sic a pair,

Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hobble, An' wintle like a saumont-coble,

That day ye was a jinker noble,

For heels an' win'!

An' ran them till they a' did wauble,
Far, far behin'..

When thou an' I were young and skeigh, An' stable-meals at fairs were dreigh,

How thou wad prance, an' snore, an' skreigh, An' tak the road!

Town's bodies ran, an' stood abeigh,

An' ca't thee mad...

When thou was corn't, an' I was mellow,

We took the road ay like a swallow;

At Brooses thou had ne'er a fellow,

For pith an' speed;

But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow,
Whare'er thou gaed.

The sma', droop-rumpl't, hunter cattle, Might aiblins waur't thee for a brattle : But sax Scotch miles thou try't their mettle, An' gar't them whaizle;

Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle

O' saugh or hazel.

Thou was a noble fittie-lan',.

As e'er in tug or tow was drawn !
Aft thee an' I, in aught hours gaun,.

On guid March weather,

Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han',
For days thegither.

Thou never braindg't, an' fech't, an' fliskit,
But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit,
An' spread abreed thy weel-fill'd brisket,
Wi' pith and pow'r

Till spritty knowes wad rair't and risket,
An' slypet owre.

When frosts lay lang, an' snaws were deep, An' threaten'd labour back to keep,

I gied thy cog a wee-bit heap

Aboon the timmer;

I ken'd my Maggie wad na sleep

For that, or simmer.