Then said the one unto the other, "Here, man, tak' ye my knife, Do ye tak' aff the auld man's beard, And I'll kiss the gudewife." "But there's nae water in the house, And what shall we do than?" "What ails you at the puddin' bree, That boils into the pan?" O up then started our gudeman, And an angry man was he; "Will ye kiss my wife before my een, And scad me wi' pudding bree?" Then up and started our gudewife. Gied three skips on the floor : "Gudeman, ye've spoken the foremost word, Gut up and bar the door." THE SCOTTISH KAIL BROSE. When our ancient forefathers agreed wi' the laird, For a wee piece grund to be a kail-yard, It was to the brose that they paid their regard ; O the kail brose of auld Scotland; When Fergus, the first of our kings I suppose, At the head of his nobles had vanquish'd our foes, At our annual election of bailies or mayor, Nae kickshaws or puddings or tarts were seen there, But a cog o' guid brose was the favourite fare. O! the kail brose, &c. But when we remember the English, our foes, Our ancestors beat them wi' very few blows; John Bull oft cried, O! let us rin—they've got brose; O! the kail brose, &c. But now that the thistle is joined to the rose, And the English nae langer are counted our foes, We've lost a good deal of our relish for brose ; O! the kail brose, &c. Yet each true-hearted Scotchman, by nature jocose, Likes always to feast on a cog o' guid brose, And, thanks be to Heaven, we've plenty of those. O! the kail brose, &c. THE JACOBITE SHOWMAN. [We have some doubts of this being a Scotch production, although we found Just before they began they'd been feastin' it in a somewhat rare collection of on brose. O! the kail brose, &c. Jacobite songs, more than nineteentwentieths of which are Scotch.] Our sodgers were drest in their kilts and Pray, shentlemens, come now and see my short hose, vine show, With bonnet and belt which their dress And den I vill tell you now more den you He vore little vigs, boys, when virst he came here, Virst dere is de vine king, just landed at Greenwich, But dere is a brave king, dat still remains But now he has great vones, as you may banish; zee dere; He came a great way, to save dis poor And I have been told it, both over and people, Who, vor vear of de Pope, have made Ven he puts on de vine vig, no brains he choice of de Devil. over, can cover. Some zay he has brought us a great deal Pray look now and zee, how he holds up of monish, his head, In hopes you'll give him and his children zome bread; But if you look dere, it is vone, two, tree, Connish; Dis is de Hannover, and dose are his You may give dem zome sheese too, and bishes, Who vill gul de poor English of all deir But de devil sall take me if I give dem a brave rishes. Dere is his wife, in de castle of stone, And vat she is dere vor is very vell known; Dere lies de poor man, too, vhose blood he did shed, Vor planting of horns upon his dull head. But now you sall zee him, and both his two Turks, At mending deir stocking, because dey love work; And dere dey are rubbing, and scrubbing his skin, if you tink fitt, bitt. Look on dat zame voman, vor dhat is his vife, Who ne'er was so vine all the days of her life; She's as vat as a pork, he's as proud as a pimp, And all de whole crew are a parcel of imp. Cast but your eyes round, and view dat brave hero, Who, if you'll assist him, vill kick out dis Nero ; Now he is de best king dat ever I knew, To keep de louse out, which he knows And it is great pity ye are not all true. vold creep in. Look, dere is de vine Prince, and don't he look pretty? But do you all know, dat de vool is not vitty; You zee de artillery, all kissing his hand, And will have him before dem, to valk and to stand. I pray and I hope that you soon vill be vise, And de false king instead of the true vone despise ; And zure none will grudge vor to gie me vone guinea, 'Tis to drink a good health to noble king Jamie. BURNS's is perhaps the only Scottish | remarkable for her ignorance, credulity, poetry that has never shown the least signs of diminished popularity; for there is hardly a year since his death in which an edition of it has not been published; and at present (1877), what promises to be the most complete and elaborate edition of his works that has yet been attempted, is passing through the press. The same may be remarked of his life, which has attracted, and still attracts, the study of the best thinkers, not only among his own countrymen, but among foreigners. Robert Burns was the son of William Burnes, a native of Kincardineshire, who left that district in youth, and after some time settled in Ayrshire, where he married Agnes Brown, a native of that county. The poet, their first-born, as he himself remarks, first saw the light on the stormy morning of January 25th, 1759, in a small cottage still standing, about a mile and a-half south of Ayr. He received a good English education and a smattering of French; and, with the example of his father, who was a man of sterling worth and intelligence, aided by a few standard English and Scotch classics, the foundations of his character and of his literary stock, which may be said to have been select rather than extensive, were laid. Another element in his education may be best told in his own words:-"In my infant and boyish days, too, I owed much to an old woman who resided in the family, (11) and superstition. She had, I suppose, the largest collection in the country of tales and songs concerning devils, ghosts, fairies, brownies, witches, warlocks, spunkies, kelpies, elf-candles, dead-lights, wraiths, apparitions, cantraips, giants, enchanted towers, dragons, and other trumpery. This cultivated the latent seeds of poetry, but had so strong an effect on my imagination, that to this hour, in my nocturnal rambles, I sometimes keep a sharp look-out in suspicious places; and though nobody can be more sceptical than I am in such matters, yet it often takes an effort of philosophy to shake off these idle terrors." In 1766, Burns's father took a lease of the farm of Mount Oliphant, which turned out a very unprofitable speculation, notwithstanding all his efforts to work it economically. He was, therefore, at the end of six years, under the necessity of giving it up and removing to Lochlea, a larger farm, in the parish of Tarbolton. This turned out a more promising adventure, and for three or four years comparative prosperity smiled upon their efforts; yet, in consequence of the want of a written lease with his landlord, disputes arose which led to litigation, in the midst of which his health gave way, and death "saved him from the horrors of a jail," in February 1784. Robert now became the male head 2 S of the family, and with the sad experience of his father's struggles fresh in his mind, and his own increased responsibilities weighing upon him, he, with his brother Gilbert, shortly before their father's death, took a lease of the farm of Mossgiel, in the neighbourhood of Mauchline. To the plenishing of this farm the members of the family gave what little savings they had, and contributed their efforts to its working. Here their misfortunes began earlymisfortunes aggravated by the poet's passionate imprudence-which impelled him to give up his share of the farm to his more sedate brother Gilbert, and to resolve upon leaving his native land for a situation in Jamaica. Some years before this, Burns, through the reflex action of a melancholic ill ness, had acquired a passionate fondness for social enjoyment, and he discovered a remarkable power of contributing to the entertainment of convivial gatherings by his ready eloquence and his poetic powers. To this has to be added an uncommon sensitiveness to the charms of the fair sex. This latter propensity led to his having formed a clandestine connection with Jean Armour, the daughter of James Armour, a stone-mason in Mauchline, to whom, in the prospect of becoming a mother, he gave a written acknowledgment of their private marriage, a form of contract which is valid by the law of Scotland. Jean's father, who appears to have been of a stern and uncompromising disposition, and unfavourably impressed with Burns's character as a husband for his daughter, destroyed the evidence of their marriage, and refused to admit Burns's claims to her as his wife. Such were the circumstances that determined his resolution of exiling himself. Instigated by his friend Gavin Hamilton, and the necessity of providing means for his projected voyage, he determined to publish by subscription a collection of those poems which had hitherto only amused his rustic companions. The story of the publication can never be told so well as in his own words :-" I weighed my productions as impartially as was in my power: I thought they had merit; and it was a delicious idea that I should be called a clever fellow, even though it should never reach my ears-a poor negrodriver, or perhaps a victim to that inhospitable clime, and gone to the world of spirits! I can only say that, pauvre inconnu as I then was, I had pretty nearly as high an idea of myself and of my works as I have at this moment, when the public has decided in their favour. . . . I threw off six hundred copies, of which I got subscriptions for about three hundred and fifty. My vanity was highly gratified by the reception I met with from the public; and, besides, I pocketed, all expenses deducted, nearly twenty pounds. This sum came very seasonably, as I was thinking of indenting myself, for want of money to pay my passage. . . I had been for some days skulking from covert to covert under all the terrors of a jail; as some ill-advised people had uncoupled the merciless pack of the law at my heels. I had taken the last farewell of my few friends; my chest was on the road to Greenock. I had composed the last song I should ever |