bodies corporate, every member, on admission, should produce a seypiece (Anglicè, a specimen of his craft) in verse, before inauguration, to be approved of, or rejected, by a majority of votes at the recitation; the speaker to be then recognised and addressed, in the Club, by some title or appellation appropriate to the subject he had adopted. It was a matter of no little difficulty to fix on a name for our institution; but from our previous acquaintance with the minds of the members proposed, it was suggested by the Schoolmaster that it should be called "The HarumScarum Club," as this title was not incompatible with diversities of opinion and incongruous subjects; and the proposition was acceded to unanimously.

We mustered six, on the night when the first bantling was to be placed in the cradle of genius. As

the Schoolmaster had been the founder of the institution, and it was believed would still be the brightest star in the constellation, he was called on to take the lead, and open the meeting, with which request he complied, by reciting the following tale, under the title of

The Muses.

A candidate to join the corps
Who leave their cares without the door,
Though meanest in the motley throng,
That rave and rhyme in measur'd song;
Yet dinna smoor my smoking fire,
Nor rashly scorn my rustic lyre:
The eagle, that wi' steady e'e

Can face the sun and mount on hie,
Was in his nest a feckless thing,
Wi' no a feather on his wing;
And Byron, now sae far renown'd,
Wi' bays, baith green an' blighted,
crown'd,

First tried if he had breath to blaw,
'Mang frosty wreaths of Norland snaw,
By lonely lake, in Highland glen,
Far frae the polish'd haunts of men.

I for a sey-piece seiz'd my quill,
Resolv'd to shew my scrimpit skill;
But felt my fancy at a stand,
Sae rich the Muses' fairy-land;
Sae mony subjects came in sight,
My head grew dizzy wi' delight:
Like country lass, still in her teens,
'Midst muslins, chintzes, bombazeens,
She pauses, ponders, glow'rs, and gapes,
O'er poplins, prints, and Norwich crapes;
Quite lost to chuse her Sunday's gown,
Or Esterhazy, buff, or brown.

Sae I sat biting at my pen,
And scratch'd my head, and mused again,
If I should "build the lofty rhyme,"
And soar in epic song sublime;
Or paint the pleasures of the plains,
Of loving lasses, laughing swains;
Or dry, didactic ethics teach,
Wi' metaphors, and flowers of speech;
Or shew my canker'd, crabbed nature,
In vile lampoons and bitter satire;
Or try to move your hearts to pity,
By crooning o'er some love-sick ditty.

But, in my lug, dame Prudence said,
"Ere you begin this idle trade,
Take my advice-your stock's but sma'
Sae dinna fling your wealth awa’;
Avoid the common, beaten track,
Nor make your Pegasus a hack;
For he's a nag of might and mettle;
But if you spur, you'll miss your ettle:
And should you, reckless, try to gallop,
Soon in a mire you'll get a wallop;
Keep aye a bridle hand-tak' tent;

Or rash, or careless, you'll repent.
Ye maunna soar on epic wing,
Nor touch the moralizing string;
Leave satire to the Liberal's page,
A vapid mass of frothy rage;
For dogs when mad display their spite,
And slaver when they canna bite!
Good polish'd taste alike disowns
Envenomed wasps and humming drones ;
And leave the love-lamenting lay,
To lads and lasses making hay."

Thus forced again to pause and think,
My fancy soon began to wink;
When, mid the gloom of mirk midnight,
I saw, afar, a glint of light;

And, like the laverock mounting hie,
Ere morning lifts her dewy e'e,
The Muse spread out her fluttering wing,
And said, "Cheer up, nor fear to sing;
I'll find a subject yet unsung,
Though better kent when time was young,
A legend of the olden time,
Sae try the tale in Doric rhyme."

You've aiblins heard about a blade
Who was a fiddler to his trade,
And, seated on a foggy cairn,
Claim'd ilka poet as his bairn.
This chap had cummers nine or ten,
A' glaikit hizzies wi' the men;
They had a fouth of female graces,
Gleg sparklin' e'en, and smirkin' faces,
Forby a stock o' witching wiles-
This ane wi' tears, and that wi' smiles;
Syne they would join and lilt a sang,
Till a' the lift around them rang;
And he wha anes had heard the strain,
Neist gloamin' wad come back again.

They had their hame on Mount Par

nassus,
And lightsome 'twas to see the lasses
Upon the green, in gloamin's striddle,
A' dancin' to their father's fiddle;

And as she touch'd the trembling strings,
He smiled, and shook his purple wings:
Their lugs the strain sae saftly tirl'd,
That ilka heart wi' rapture dirl❜d;
Her witching power the cummer saw,
And neist the mellow flute would blaw;
Sae saft she touch'd each plaintive note,
It distant seem'd in air to float;
As when the woodland echoes bear
The strain saft mellow'd to the ear,
Each full-toned note's melodious swell
And cadence, melting as it fell,
In saft delirium lull'd each boy
Wi' fairy dreams of fancied joy;
'Till sunk in love's delightful chains,
Voluptuous langour fill'd his veins.

To rouse the chaps to active life,
The flute was changed to skirling fife,
Whose screech set, a' their lugs a dinling,
Ilk saul wi' martial glory kindling;
Neist, tout! came the Tyrtéan trumpet,
Till ilka stirrah struck and jumpit,
And scorning beauty's saftest charms,
A'join'd the cry, "To arms!-To arms!"
To please hersel', and hush the clamour,
Was seen the fifth, well skill'd in gla-
mour;

She lang had studied human hearts,
And thumb'd the passions o'er like cartes;
The tear stood trembling in her e'e,
Like dew-draps on a willow tree,
Its flitting lustre, ane might spy,
Like lightnings o'er a winter sky;
Her haffit thin, her cheek was pale,
Her dark locks waving to the gale;
Her trembling lip, when like to greet,
Sae lovely seem'd, sae saft and sweet,
"Twad been delight that lip to press,
And drink her tears of sad distress!
Though sorrow bow'd her angel form,
Her bosom swell'd to meet the storm,
In semi-globes sae full and fair,
That nought but love should e'er been
there!

Then would she pour sic heavy main,
And cronach o'er sae sad a strain,
That ilka callan might be seen
Wi' hanging head and bluther'd e'en ;
For, to the honour of our nature,
Though valour is nae gentle feature,
Yet when it fires a noble mind,
Saft Pity follows close behind.

'Midst tragic tales and bursting grief, To give the bosom some relief,

The sixth would start some kittle question,

Syne take a side, whiles not the best ane;
Yet she would argufy so rarely,

As frae the field to drive them fairly:
Of kittle words she had sic wale,
And screev'd them aff sae clean and hale,

* Melpomene, the Tragic Muse + Polyhymnia, the Muse of Rhetoric and Logic.

Of learn'd logic sic a cargo,
Sma' chance had ane wi' her to argue ;
Her gab commanded fouks' assent,
Before they fairly saw her bent;
When ane replied, she took him quick,
To what he said she gart him stick,
Syne drew some unforeseen conclusion,
Which crush'd his system in confusion;
And, vanquish'd by superior skill,
He sat convinced, against his will.

When arguments were turning het,
And fouks confuted took the pet,
The seventh sister *, in a clatter,
Would set the squad a-laughing at her;
Whene'er this queer and comic lass
But hinted up her keeking glass,
They throng'd in bouracks at her ca';
For, by some cantraip, she could shaw,
Whate'er another wish'd to hide,
Black Envy's ga', or swelling Pride;
Though fouks were laith to ken themsel",
Her pictures seldom fail'd to tell;
She'd let you see, by mimic art,
How fools and pedants play'd their part;
She mov'd sae, easy in her mask,
It seem'd a pleasure, not a task;
Now, Quaker-like-precise and prim ;
Neist fun and frolic-mirth and whim;
A wither'd prude, with envious e'e;
A gay coquette, with glances slee;
A toothless granny, auld and crazy;
Syne, fair and fresh, a blooming daisy.
If ony chap had ta'en the chair,
Wi' paughty, philosophic air,
She'd sic a knack of making faces,
Wi' solemn looks, and dull grimaces,
And aye the tither gaunt and hoast,
As made him, hirpling, leave his post :
The hare-brain'd poet's love-sick sonnet
She'd twine like ribbons in her bonnet;
Syne, if he kneel'd to kiss her loof,
She'd scorn him for a bleth'ring coof,
And pointing upwards to the moon,
Ding heart and harns baith out of tune.
The scented beau, and modish fop,
Whose temple was a tailor's shop,
Nae better far'd when she espied him ;
For she would hunker down beside him,
Admire his boots, his whiskers praise,
And talk of gloves, surtouts, and stays;
When weel blawn up, wi' love of self,
To teach the consequential elf,
A box of butterflies she'd shaw,
And prove he was not half so braw :
The hen-peck'd snool-the jealous wife,
Whose jaundiced e'e embitters life;
The doating gowk, aye seen to hing
Tied to his dearie's apron string;
She shaw'd them a' in sic a light,
They cou'dna thole to bear the sight;
Each painting prov'd a moral stricture,
Truth stood confess'd in ilka picture;

Thalia, the Comic Muse.

For 'twas the object of her satire,
To "hold the mirror up to Nature :"
Thus, first wi' ane, and then anither,
She'd anger a' the squad thegether.

Syne as they a' bang'd up for hame,
In came the neist *, a strapping dame;
Straight as a rash, and light of heel,
Ilk joint as supple as an eel;
Her leg sae neat-nane ever view'd it
But frae his heart fu' sairly rued it;
For though she lik'd a gloamin's daffin,
When they grew serious, she was laugh-
ing;

Yet a' wha suffer'd by her scorn
Were fain to come and tect the morn.
To put the blades in blithsome mood,
She'd buckle on her silken snood,
While ilka lock and wanton curl
Made mony a youngster's heart-strings
dirl;

And as they gaz'd wi' glamour'd e'en,
She'd shake her fit upo' the green,
And, lilting o'er some lightsome spring,
Would let them see the Highland fling:
For nane on a' the Olympian brae
Could boast her "light fantastic tae;"
There ne'er was ane it set sae weel
To bob about in jig or reel;
She'd trip you o'er a brisk strathspey,
As light's a lamb upon the ley;
And when she join'd a country-dance,
Love flang his shafts at ilka glance;
In cleeking arms, or clasping looves,
The pawky quean coost aff her glooves;
Her milk-white hand, sae warm and saft,
Made ilka bosom dunt like daft;
While they mistook baith time and tune,
But thought it ended aye o'er soon.

Whate'er the step, be't quick or slaw,
Her gait was graceful in them a';
In minuets, Minerva's air
And solemn dignity was there;
But when she tripp'd cotillions light,
'Twas Venus sporting in the sight;
Be 't Sleepy Meg, or Dainty Davie,
She play'd them aye the tither shavie;
In Jacky Tar, or Tullochgorum,
She'd aye some cantraip variorum,
That while she spang'd upo' the green,
The feint a chiel cou'd lift his e'en :
But though she was a lightsome lassie,
Aye merry-mouth'd and never saucy,
She never would degrade her charms
By waltzing in a swankie's arms;
She thought a young and modest woman
Sic freedoms should allow to no man ;
And they wha wriggled wi' the chiels,
Had heads far lighter than their heels!

When she had kittled ilka heart, And lads got up, though laith to part, Her eldest sister + would come forth, Of manners douce and modest worth;

Terpsichore, the Muse of Dancing. + Urania, the Muse of Astronomy.

In gloamin' light but seldom seen
Among the rest, upo' the green;
She sat and goupit at the starns
Till some fouk thought they'd turn'd her
harns;

She had sic trantlums in her cham'er,
It was believ'd she dealt in glamour;
Maps, sextants, quadrants, globes, and
glasses,

Not such as aft delight the lasses,
Her purpose was wi' them to spy,
And keek at ferlies in the sky;
For she had sic a wondrous gift,
She weel could measure a' the lift;
Girth round the planets wi' a string,
And tell the size of Saturn's ring.
This lass would lead the fallows out,
And guide their e'en a' round about,
Syne, gleg's a razor, rattle aff
The length and height of Peter's staff;
Point ilka planet's path fu' plain,
Between the Dog and Charlie's Wain;
And bid them tent the milky way,
Where orbs unseen in clusters lay ;—
Syne would she tell of warlds aboon,
Ten thousand miles ayont the moon ;
And starns, sae far frae mortal sight,
That fouks below ne'er saw their light;
With warlds and systems still behind
them,

That ding our telescopes to find them.

Thus have I sung, how lads and lasses Erewhile gallanted round Parnassus ; Langsyne they sought our sea-girt isle, Where still they shed their saftest smile: Sometimes, I think, Thalia's e'e, In summer gloamin's, blinks on me; When lilting o'er this lightsome strain, I thought the cummer smirkled fain. Should you admit me as a brither, The muse and I may come thegither, To join the splore, when neist we meet; Her dimpling cheek, and smile sae sweet, Her laughing e'e, and witching tongue, Will glad the hearts of auld and young ; Till ane mair apt get up an' sing, And safter touch the trembling string.

When the Dominie sat down, patting of feet and clapping of hands indicated the high approbation of the company; but the Schoolmaster again starting to his feet, cried,

Hooly, callans! ye're maybe minding on the auld byeword, claw me an' I'll claw you.' But I warn man and mither's son of you, that if ony ane of you speak what I think nonsense, I'll no fleech you up wi' blaeflum flattery. However, come awa', laird; loose your pock, and shaw your sample." He who was now called on was a young man, heir to a small estate in the neighbourhood; his