him in, wi' Mr. Johnston's leave, and gar him

sing it."

"You will very much oblige me," said Mr. Johnston. I also added I also added my acknowledgments, and Sandy was accordingly summoned. He soon made his appearance, with his violin under his arm, and on being invited by the hostess, took his seat on the side of the fireplace fronting the "cozy neuk" occupied by Mr. Johnston.

Sandy was a nondescript looking sort of animal. He had a wooden leg, to which he would sometimes capriciously allude in his songs, but he took delight in baffling the curiosity of all his acquaintance respecting the mode in which he had suffered mutilation. He had, about five or six years previously, dropped suddenly into the sequestered valley of Glenquiddart, nobody knew whence: and he speedily acquired a permanent welcome among its simple hearted inhabitants, by the constant exertion of his skill, both as poet and musician, at all their weddings, wakes,

and merry meetings. His form was stout, and his shoulders remarkably muscular and broad, and his keen grey eye was full of intelligent expression. But in other respects his proportions were defective; one of his arms seemed longer than the other, and his features were singularly twisted; whether from natural or accidental deformity it would not have been easy to decide.

Weel, Sandy," said Mrs. M'Cowie, as the minstrel entered, " ye have gotten something new, ye were saying?"

"Troth have I, cummer," answered the poet, complacently.

"A love-sang, belike?" inquired a waggish young farmer.

"Troth that is it no!" replied Sandy, repelling the imputation with becoming scorn. "Weel, mon, will ye let us hae't?" said the matronly Bessie.

"You will favour me much by singing it," said Mr. Johnston, very courteously.

"Troth I wull, wi' muckle pleasure, sir."

"And if it is na a love-ditty, Sandy, pray what is it?" asked the young farmer.

"It is a grand, contemplative, historical, and philosoophical sketch, like, of the inequalities, vagaries, contrarieties, whilk aye beset this mortal life; and whilk I have made some sma' attempt to exemplify, by a reference till certain indubitable records of the fluctuating fortunes of royalty. Hem! hem!"

Bessie M'Cowie looked at me with an eye that seemed to say, "did I no tell ye that our poet was a chield by ordinar?"

To say truth, I felt apprehensive that the historical and philosophical bard might give utterance to something offensive to the ears or feelings of one of his auditors; but Mr. Johnston, who possibly surmised the cause of my anxiety, smiled, and whispered to me,

"I shall sit it out-it will divert me."

The musician began by some flourishes upon his violin, which were certainly executed in a manner that surprised me. He then swept a

few slow chords, and chaunted out in a sweet,

well-pitched voice, and with remarkably distinct articulation, the following ditty, to the air of "AULD LANG SYNE:

"There's nought, my freends, in this brief mortal life, but ups and downs;

Tars lose their legs, or arms, and monarchs lose their

crowns.

Lang syne a Scottish Queen there was, sae young, sae bonnie then!

They said that the puir thing was ower fond of the men. I dinna ken preceesely how the real truth may be,

But strongly I opinionate the charge a bluidy lee!

The carline was nae ither than our ain auld Scottish Mary;
But she fand her leal lieges a' grown unco camsteary.
Sae she sune behuved to quit for aye her native Scottish
land,

For Eleezabeth of England had haulden out her hand,
And gar'd puir Mary trow that she wad faithfully protect

her,

Sae southwards Mary gang'd, wi' evil counsel to direct her. For the fause English deil cuttit off puir Mary's head, And och ochonari! she was numbered with the dead.

Mary's grandson had a wrastle wi' the people for their creed;

He fain wad force on kindly Scots the bishops' bluidy

breed ;

A' kings wha Now wad force folks' faith,-permit me to

remind 'em,

How Charlie, airing at Whiteha', forgot his head behind him.

Ohonari! 'twas an evil day, that royal bluid suld spill,
But honest Charles was ower stiff, as Scotia ken'd fu' weel.

"Neist Jamie laboured hard, my freends, to set up papistrie, But said the while he wussed to leave his subjects' con

science free.

The dour auld carle took fright ae night, and fled frae Britain's shore;

He saved his head, but tint his royal throne for evermore.

"Then cam FEIFTEEN, and FORTY-FIVE-Wow! they were stirring days!

The twa Stuart Chevaliers sune set a' Scotland in a blaze! Our ain puir Chairlie raised sax thousand stalwart Scottish

men;

But thrones are easier tint, my freends, than gotten back again.

"Then FRANCE gets unco tired of kings and queens, and

siccan gear,

And guillotines puir Louis, and his bonny royal dear.
O! France, it is an unco fearfu' place for kings and queens,
Wi' conspiracies, an' traitors dark, and awfu' guillotines !

"I'd rather beg,

Wi' my wooden leg,

Or fiddle jigs

On the harvest riggs,

For Scotia's canny lads and lassies merrily to dance,
Than trust my puir auld hurdies on the kittle throne o'
France.

There's Charlie Bourbon hunted like a tyke till Holyrood,
(I'm sure I wuss the honest mon nae ill, but muckle good ;)
For kingcraft is a kittle trade; the deil a worse ane going,
And the troubles that encompass it suld mak auld Bourbon
knowing.