Some kindle, couthie, side by side,
An' burn thegither trimly;
Some start awa wi' saucy pride,
And jump out-owre the chimlie
Fu' high that night.

Jean slips in twa wi' tentie e'e;
Wha 'twas she wadna tell;
But this is Jock, an' this is me,
She says in to hersel':

He bleez'd owre her, an' she owre him,
As they wad never mair part;
Till, fuff! he started up the lum,
An' Jean had e'en a sair heart
To see't that night.

Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt,

Was brunt wi' primsie Mallie;
An' Mary, nae doubt, took the drunt,
To be compar'd to Willie;
Mall's nit lap out wi' pridefu' fling,
An' her ain fit it brunt it;
While Willie lap, and swoor, by jing,
'Twas just the way he wanted

To be that night.

Nell had the fause-house in her min',
She pits hersel' an' Rob in ;
In loving bleeze they sweetly join,
Till white in ase they're sobbin';
Nell's heart was dancin' at the view,
She whisper'd Rob to leuk for't:
Rob, stownlins, prie'd her bonie 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,
An' to the kiln she goes then,
An' darklins graipit for the bauks,
And in the blue-clue1 throws then,
Right fear't that night.

An' ay she win't, an' ay she swat,
I wat she made nae jaukin';
Till something held within the pat,

Guid L-d! but she was quaukin'!

lad and lass to each particular nut, as they lay them in the fire, and according as they burn quietly together, or start from beside one another, the course and issue of the courtship will be. (1) Whoever would, with success, try this spell, must strictly 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 ?" i.e. who holds an answer will be returned from the kiln-pot, naming the Christian and surname of your future spouse.

VOL. II.

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 graunie says,
"Will ye go wi' me, graunie?
I'll eat the apple2 at the glass,
I gat frae uncle Johnie:"
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 thro' that night.

"Ye little skelpie-limmer's face!
I daur you try sic sportin',
As seek the foul Thief onie place,

For him to spae your fortune:
Nae doubt but ye may get a sight!
Great cause ye hae to fear it;
For monie a ane has gotten a fright,
An' liv'd an' died deleeret
On sic a night.

"Ae hairst afore the Sherra-moor,
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 an' wat,
An' stuff was unco green;
An' ay a rantin' kirn we gat,

An' just on Halloween

It fell that night.

"Our stibble-rig was Rab M'Graen,

A clever, sturdy fallow:
His sin gat Eppie Sim wi' wean,

That liv'd in Achmacalla:
He gat hemp-seed,3 I mind it weel,
And he made unco light o't;
But monie a day was by himsel',
He was sae sairly frighted
That vera night."

Then up gat fechtin' Jamie Fleck,
An' he swoor by his conscience,
That he could saw hemp-seed a peck;
For it was a' but nonsense;

(2) Take a candle, and go alone to a looking-glass; eat an apple before it, and some traditions say, you should comb 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.

(3) Steal out unperceived, and sow a handful of hemp-seed, harrowing it with anything you can conveniently draw after you. Repeat, now and then, "Hemp-seed, I saw thee; hempseed 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,

:

F

The auld guidman raught down the pock,

An' out a' handfu' gied him;

Syne bad him slip frae 'mang the folk, Sometime when nae ane see'd him, An' try't that night.

He marches thro' amang the stacks,
Tho' he was something sturtin;
The graip he for a harrow taks,
An' haurls at his curpin;
An' ev'ry now an' then he says,
"Hemp-seed I saw thee,
An' her that is to be my lass,
Come after me, an' draw thee
As fast this night."

He whistl'd up Lord Lennox' march,
To keep his courage cheery;
Altho' his hair began to arch,
He was sae fley'd an' eerie:
Till presently he hears a squeak,
An' then a grane an' gruntle;
He by his shouther gae a keek,
An' tumbl'd wi' a wintle

Out-owre that night.

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

An' young an' auld cam rinnin' out,
To hear the sad narration;

He swoor 'twas hilchin Jean M'Craw,
Or crouchie Merran Humphie,
Till, stop! she trotted thro' them a';
An' 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,
An' twa red-cheekit apples,

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

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."

(1) 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 windy door, and

She turns the key wi' cannie thraw,
An' owre the threshold ventures;
But first on Sawnie gies a ca',

Syne bauldly in she enters :

A ratton rattled up the wa',

An' she cried, L-d, preserve her! An' ran thro' midden-hole an' a', An' pray'd wi' zeal and fervour, Fu' fast that night.

They hoy't out Will, wi' sair advice;
They hecht him some fine braw ane;
It chanc'd the stack he faddom't thrice,"
Was timmer-propt for thrawin';
He taks a swirlie auld moss oak,

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

A wanton widow Leezie was,

As canty as a kittlin;

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

She thro' the whins, an' by the cairn,
An' owre the hill gaed scrievin,
Where three lairds' lands met at a burn,3
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 glitter'd 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 an' the moon, The deil, or else an outler quey, Gat up an' gae a croon :

out at the other, having both the figure in question, and the appearance of retinue, marking the employment or station in

life.

(2) 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.

(3) 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.

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.

In order, on the clean hearth-stane,
The luggies three1 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.

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'ns2 wi' fragrant lunt,
Set a' their gabs a-steerin';
Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt,
They parted aff careerin'

Fu' blythe that night.

XXVI.

MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN.

A DIRGE.

[The origin of this fine poem is alluded to by Burns in one of his letters to Mrs. Dunlop: "I had an old grand-uncle with whom my mother lived in her girlish years: the good old man was long blind ere he died, during which time his highest enjoyment was to sit and cry, while my mother would sing the simple old song of 'The Life and Age of Man.'” From that truly venerable woman, long after the death of her distinguished son, Cromek, in collecting the Reliques, obtained a copy by recitation of the older strain. Though the tone and sentiment coincide closely with "Man was made to Mourn," I agree with Lockhart, that Burns wrote it in obedience to his own habitual feelings.]

WHEN Chill November's surly blast
Made fields and forests bare,

One ev’ning, as I wandered forth
Along the banks of Ayr,

I spy'd a man whose aged step
Seem'd weary, worn with care;

(1) Take three dishes: put clean water in one, foul water in another, and 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

His face was furrow'd o'er with years, And hoary was his hair.

"Young stranger, whither wand'rest thou?"

Began the rev'rend sage;

"Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, Or youthful pleasure's rage?

Or haply, prest with cares and woes,
Too soon thou hast began

To wander forth, with me to mourn
The miseries of man.

“The sun that overhangs yon moors,
Out-spreading far and wide,
Where hundreds labour to support
A haughty lordling's pride:
I've seen yon weary winter-sun

Twice forty times return,
And ev'ry time has added proofs

That man was made to mourn.

"O man! while in thy early years,
How prodigal of time!

Misspending all thy precious hours,
Thy glorious youthful prime!
Alternate follies take the sway;
Licentious passions burn;

Which tenfold force gives nature's law,
That man was made to mourn.

"Look not alone on youthful prime,

Or manhood's active might; Man then is useful to his kind,

Supported in his right:

But see him on the edge of life,

With cares and sorrows worn; Then age and want-oh! ill match'd pair!-Show man was made to mourn.

"A few seem favourites of fate,

In pleasure's lap carest:
Yet, think not all the rich and great
Are likewise truly blest.

But, oh! what crowds in every land,
All wretched and forlorn!
Thro' weary life this lesson learn-
That man was made to mourn.

"Many and sharp the num'rous ills Inwoven with our frame!

More pointed still we make ourselves, Regret, remorse, and shame!

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. (2) Sowens, with butter instead of milk to them, is always the Halloween supper.

And man, whose heaven-erected face
The smiles of love adorn,
Man's inhumanity to man

Makes countless thousands mourn.

"See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight,
So abject, mean, and vile,
Who begs a brother of the earth
To give him leave to toil;
And see his lordly fellow-worm
The poor petition spurn,
Unmindful, though a weeping wife
And helpless offspring mourn.

"If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave-
By Nature's law design'd-
Why was an independent wish
E'er planted in my mind?
If not, why am I subject to

His cruelty or scorn?

Or why has man the will and power

To make his fellow mourn?

"Yet, let not this too much, my son, Disturb thy youthful breast; This partial view of human-kind

Is surely not the best!

The poor, oppressed, honest man

The mightiest empires fall!
Thy cruel, woe-delighted train,
The ministers of grief and pain,
A sullen welcome, all!
With stern-resolv'd, despairing eye,
I see each aimed dart;
For one has cut my dearest tie,
And quivers in my heart.

Then low'ring and pouring,

The storm no more I dread; Though thick'ning and black'ning, Round my devoted head.

II.

And thou grim pow'r, by life abhorr'd, While life a pleasure can afford,

Oh! hear a wretch's prayer!
No more I shrink appall'd, afraid;
I court, I beg thy friendly aid,
To close this scene of care!
When shall my soul, in silent peace,
Resign life's joyless day;

My weary heart its throbbings cease,
Cold mould'ring in the clay?
No fear more, no tear more,
To stain my lifeless face;
Enclasped, and grasped
Within thy cold embrace!

XXVIII.

ΤΟ

JOHN GOUDIE OF KILMARNOCK,

ON THE PUBLICATION OF HIS ESSAYS.

XXVII.

TO RUIN.

["I have been," says Burns, in his common-place book, "taking a peep through, as Young finely says, 'The dark postern of time long elapsed.' 'Twas a rueful prospect! What a tissue of thoughtlessness, weakness, and folly! my life reminded me of a ruined temple. What strength, what proportion in some parts! what unsightly gaps, what prostrate ruins in others!" The fragment, To Ruin, seems to have had its origin in moments such as these.]

I.

ALL hail! inexorable lord!

At whose destruction-breathing word,

[This burning commentary, by Burns, on the Essays of Goudie in the Macgill controversy, was first published by Stewart, with the Jolly Beggars, in 1801; it is akin in life and spirit to Holy Willie's Prayer; and may be cited as a sample of the wit and the force which the poet brought to the great but now forgotten, controversy of the West.]

O GOUDIE! terror of the Whigs,
Dread of black coats and rev'rend wigs,
Sour Bigotry, on her last legs,

Girnin', looks back, Wishin' the ten Egyptian plagues

Wad seize you quick.

Poor gapin', glowrin' Superstition, Waes me she's in a sad condition: