And her ain fit it brunt it;

While Willie lap, and swore, by jing,
'Twas just the way he wanted
To be that night.

Nell had the fause-house in her min',
She pits hersel' and Rob in;
In loving bleeze they sweetly join,
Till white in ase they're sobbin'.
Nell's heart was dancin' at the view,

She whispered Rob to leuk for't:
Rob, stowlins, prie'd her bonny mou,
Fu' cozie in the neuk for't,

Unseen that night.

But Merran sat behint their backs,

Her thoughts on Andrew Bell;

She lea'es them gashin' at their cracks,
And slips out by hersel:

She through the yard the nearest taks,
And to the kiln she goes then,
And darklins graipit for the bauks,
And in the blue-clue* throws then,
Right fear't that night.

And aye she win't, and aye she swat,
I wat she made nae jaukin';
Till something held within the pat,
AND THEN! but she was quakin'!
But whether 'twas the deil himsel,
Or whether 'twas a bauk-en',
Or whether it was Andrew Bell,
She did na wait on talkin'
To spier that night.

Wee Jenny to her granny says,
Will ye go wi' me, granny?

I'll eat the applet at the glass

I gat frae uncle Johnny:"

chimney

sore

burnt, demure

pet

leapt own foot

puts blaze

ashes

observe

stealthily kissed snugly, nook

conversing

groped, cross-beams

winded, perspired know, dallying

pot

beam-end

inquire

Whoever would, with success, try this spell, must observe these directions:Steal out, all alone, to the kiln, and, darkling, throw into the pot a clue of blue yarn ; wind it in a clue off the old one, and, towards the latter end, something will hold the thread; demand "wha hauds?" that is, who holds? An answer will be returned from the kiln-pot, by naming the Christian and surname of your future spouse.-B. Take a candle, and go alone to a looking-glass; eat an apple before it, and omb your hair all the time; the face of your conjugal companion, to be, will be seen in the glass, as if peeping over your shoulder.--B.

She fuff't her pipe wi' sic a lunt,
In wrath she was sae vap'rin',
She notic't na, an aizle brunt
Her braw new worset apron
Out through that night.

"Ye little skelpie-limmer's face!

I daur you try sic sportin',
As seek the foul thief ony place,
For him to spae your fortune:
Nae doubt but ye may get a sight!
Great cause ye hae to fear it;
For mony a ane has gotten a fright,
And lived and died deleeret
On sic a night.

"Ae hairst afore the Sherra-muir-
I mind't as weel's yestreen,

I was a gilpey then, I'm sure

I was na past fifteen :

The simmer had been cauld and wat,

And stuff was unco green;

And aye a rantin' kirn we gat

And just on Hallowe'en

It fell that night."

Then up gat fechtin' Jamie Fleck,

And he swore by his conscience,

That he could saw* hemp-seed a peck;
For it was a' but nonsense.

The auld guidman raught down the pock,

And out a handfu' gied him;

fighting

80W

reached

gave

then

saw

timorous

dung-fork

drags, rear

He was sae fley'd and eerie :

frightened

Steal out, unperceived, and sow a handful of hemp-seed, harrowing it with anything you can conveniently draw after you. Repeat, now and then," Hempseed I saw thee, hemp-seed I saw thee; and him (or her) that is to be my true love, come after me and pou thee." Look over your left shoulder, and you will see the appearance of the person invoked, in the attitude of pulling hemp. Some traditions say, "Come after me, and shaw thee," that is, show thyself; in which case it simply appears. Others omit the harrowing, and say, "Come after me, and harrow thee.-B.

Till presently he hears a squeak,
And then a grane and gruntle;
He by his shouther ga'e a keek,
And tumbled wi' a wintle

Out-owre that night.

He roared a horrid murder-shout,
In dreadfu' desperation!

And young and auld cam rinnin' out
And hear the sad narration:
He swore 'twas hilchin Jean M'Craw,
Or crouchie Merran Humphie,
Till, stop-she trotted through them a'
And wha was it but Grumphie
Asteer that night!

Meg fain wad to the barn hae gaen,
To win three wechts o' naething;*
But for to meet the deil her lane,

She pat but little faith in :

She gies the Herd a pickle nits,
And twa red-cheekit apples,

To watch, while for the barn she sets,
In hopes to see Tam Kipples
That very night.

She turns the key wi' canny thraw,
And owre the threshold ventures;
But first on Sawny gies a ca',

Syne bauldly in she enters:

A ratton rattled up the wa',

And she cried out, "Preserve her!"
And ran through midden hole and a',
And prayed wi' zeal and fervour,
Fu' fast that night.

They hoy't out Will, wi' sair advice;
They hecht him some fine braw ane;

It chanced, the stack he faddom't thrice,t
Was timmer-propt for thrawin';

He taks a swirly auld moss oak

For some black, grousome carlin;
And loot a winze and drew a stroke,
Till skin in blypes cam haurlin'
Aff's nieves that night.

A wanton widow Leezie was,

As canty as a kittlin;

groan, grunt

peep stagger

halting

crook-backed

the pig

astir

would, gone corn-baskets

put few nuts

gentle

over

then boldly

rat

urged, strong promised, one

measured timber, twisting twisted odious-looking fellow let, oath shreds, dragging

off his hands

merry, kitten

This charm must likewise be performed unperceived, and alone. You go to the barn, and open both doors, taking them off the hinges if possible; for there is danger that the being about to appear may shut the doors, and do you some mischief. Then take that instrument used in winnowing the corn which, in our country dialect, we call a wecht, and go through all the attitudes of letting down corn against the wind. Repeat it three times; and the third time an apparition will pass through the barn, in at the window door, and out at the other, having both the figure in question, and the appearance or retinue, marking the employment or station in life.-B.

Take an opportunity of going, unnoticed, to a bean-stack, and fathom it three times round. The last fathom of the last time you will catch in your arms the appearance of your future conjugal yoke-fellow.-B.

But, och! that night, amang the shaws,
She got a fearfu' settlin'!

She through the whins, and by the cairn,
And owre the hill gaed scrievin,
Where three lairds' lands meet at a burn,*
To dip her left sark-sleeve in,
Was bent that night.

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

Unseen that night.

Amang the brackens, on the brae,
Between her and the moon,
The deil, or else an outler quey,
Gat up and gae a croon :

woods [stones

gorse, heap of went swiftly

shift

sometimes, cascade

meandered

cliff

eddy

racing

appear and disappear

fern

unhoused moan

Poor Leezy's heart maist lap the hool;

almost, leapt, sheath

Near lav'rock-height she jumpit,

lark

missed, foot

But mist a fit, and in the pool
Out-owre the lugs she plumpit,
Wi' a plunge that night.

In order, on the clean hearth-stane,
The luggies three are ranged.

ears

dishes

And every time great care is ta'en

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 if to dry the other side of it.-B.

The year 1715, when the Earl of Mar raised an insurrection in Scotland. Sowens, with butter instead of milk to them, is the Hallowe'en supper.-B. Most of these superstitious ceremonies have fallen into disuse.

SECOND EPISTLE TO DAVIE,

AULD NEIBOR,

A BROTHER POET.

I'M three times doubly o'er your debtor,
For your auld-farrant, frien❜ly letter;
Though I maun say't,. I doubt ye flatter,
Ye speak sae fair,

For my puir, silly, rhymin' clatter
Some less maun sair.

Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle;
Lang may your elbock jink and diddle,
To cheer you through the weary widdle
O' warly cares,

Till bairns' bairns kindly cuddle

Your auld gray hairs.

But, Davie lad, I'm red ye're glaikit;
I'm tauld the Muse ye hae negleckit;
And gif it's sae, you sud be licket,
Until ye fyke;

Sic hauns as you sud ne'er be faiket,
Be hain't wha like.

For me, I'm on Parnassus' brink,

sensible

must

poor

serve

elbow

bustle

worldly

caress

guess, foolish told

if so, should, beaten be restless hands, wanted

spared

Rivin' the words to gar them clink;

Whyles daez't wi' love, whyles daez't wi' drink,

Wi' jads or masons;

And whyles, but aye owre late, I think,

Braw sober lessons.

Of a' the thoughtless son's o' man,

Commen' me to the bardie clan;

Except it be some idle plan

O' rhymin' clink,

NAE NEED INDEED that I sud ban,

They ever think.

Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme o' livin',

Nae cares to gie us joy or grievin;'

But just the pouchie put the nieve in,

And while ought's there,

Then hiltie skiltie, we gae scrievin',
And fash nae mair.

Leeze me on rhyme! it's aye a treasure,
My chief, amaist my only pleasure,

At hame, a-fiel', at wark, or leisure;
The Muse, poor hizzie !

Though rough and raploch be her measure,
She's seldom lazy.

Haud to the Muse, my dainty Davie:

tearing, make

stupified

sometimes, too

poet

should

pocket, fist

gleesomely

trouble

blessings on almost

in field, work

lass coarse

keep

The warl' may play you monie a shavie;

prank