But if you bawl out to me, then I'm mute, As the old woman who shew'd Roslin Chapel ;

"Tis no long process, when the throat wants rippling;

Less time than centuries has often done it :

grinning,

I must begin again at the beginning.

Now for it! Berendeth soon took a wife, And running from her t'wards the Pictish army,

In the first bickering he lost his life, Which made his widow sad, his brother barmy:

Says he, "My sister, get thee hence to Fife,
For these our noisy battles will alarm ye."
The lady then retired to Eden water,
And in her mansion there she bore a
daughter.

This daughter was a charming maid at twenty,

Having upon her face the rose and lily; Flowers that were quite sufficient to con

Reminded you of some huge violoncello ; The other's joints were nimble as a shrimp's,

And he did dress so well in fine prunello, That a rich lady sought him for her lord, And he had soon ten children round his board:

Eight died in battle, and one died in bed; Glory, you see, that makes our stanzas glorious;

And yet, for my part, talking of the dead, I've no great notion of your death victorious;

To pine, and bleed, and lay your dying

head

To an old woman, or a young one rather ;

But she grew old, yet not before her wedding,

Which happen'd in the earliest month of Autumn:

Then a proud Dane, his native soldiers heading,

Sought some Scots noble-but in vain he sought him.

This girl was in a hay-field, and while tedding,

Turn'd up a rick; the son of Lochlin caught him,

For he (the Scotsman) there had made his bed in,

And he (the Dane) married the lucky

Well, at an age not much above nineteen, He went in search of Fortune, that old cat;

proceed.

The sole remaining scion was a stripling Of no great promise, take my word upon

it;

His chief fault was an ardent love of tippling,

For which he sold house, lands, coat, sword, and bonnet :

And learn'd in France their free and easy chat,

He came to England, where he liv'd full

The latter is by far the better prize,
Being of industry the very honey:
The other is mere wax, of different dyes,
And shapes vermicular as macaroni :
The dyes are red, or green, or white like
paper,-

The shapes a doll, a candle, or a taper.

Sweet ladies! I have got no quizzingglass,

Nor do I mean to ogle your fair faces,
For I abominate that foppish class
Who praise you first, then mock you with
grimaces;

I am a simple bard: well, let that pass,
For I must push on with my lineal traces:
Lo, then, thy husband's lady lived to see
Her great-grand-children climbing round
her knee!

One fought a glorious battle, and did won it,

For which great action he was made a knight;

And then his wife was lady in a minute, By a known rule of privilege and right: One flesh, you know, there's no chicane within it ;

Exalt the one's, you raise the other's plight; For man and wife, oh ancient days! as ye

saw,

Were not like little children playing see

saw.

Their second son, black as a chimney.

sweeper,

Bold as a game cock, saucy as a goose,
A nimble runner and a better leaper,
Whene'er his legs and passions were let

loose;

He fitter, as you see, for some goal-keeper, Married the great-grand-daughter of the Bruce,

(Though in her genealogical chronology The priest was absent once, I must acknowledge ye.)

This fruitful lady had as many sons

As ever had the wife of healthy yeoman; Supposing they had double-barrelled guns, They might have shot about three-score of foemen;

But they were shot themselves (you'll pardon puns),

Some by an arrow, others by a woman; The former found the weapon Death's sad seasoners,

The latter liv'd, and took the en'my prison

ers.

The first of sweet captives was so hand

some,

That she became her lord's delight and joy;

The second brought with her a very

grand sum,

Twelve hundred merks, (in our days but a toy ;)

curious

To trace one's fathers down from times so old,

And to observe the fights and quarrels furious

Which they have shar'd, like heroes firm and bold:

We had our clans before; but when so clann'd,

As when in Embro' lately, in one host? Like their own Urisk, and their mountain fairy,

Of whom no deed of moment can be told :

I said ourselves—I mean the generation That lives in this and every other nation." Dan was delighted with this long recital, (More than my gentle readers are, perhaps;

But then they may obtain a small requital For all this trash, by a few pleasant naps ;)

Dan wish'd to search for fathers, buy a title,

Examine into heraldry and maps,
Either in high Auld Reekie or Edina-
That huge black tea-pot and fair tray of
china.

The Castle is suppos'd to be the spout,
Particularly so if it is smoking,

And then St. Giles's is the top, no doubt, And, I think, pat enough to wave all joking:

The rest o' the simile I can't find out, Which, you will own, is something like provoking;

Unless we call old Holyrood the handleBut this may be interpreted as scandal. Edina's like twelve tea-cups, neatly placed Quite parallel, and rang'd in double row; Between whose edges easily is traced Prince's, and George's, and Queen's streets, you know;

The gilded margins (if with gilt they're graced)

Will answer for some ornament or shew; And you may make cream-pot and sugarbason

To stand for church, or-you may ask

the mason.

I said that Dan was rather in the humour Of pushing on to Edinburgh, and then To satisfy his growing lineal tumour, And be made known to scientific men ; Of course his deeds would make a nine days' rumour,

And he subjected to the tongue and pen: He own'd he rather would wear Highland tartan,

Than have been born a Roman or a Spartan.

The tartan-oh! when, by the King's command,

(His sceptre's magic, man's invidious boast,)

VOL. XIII.

And there he landed, ruin'd, shent, and batter'd,

His body bruis'd, and soften'd to a jelly, His notions and ideas flown and scatter'd, And sad and sore in spirits, let me tell ye;

As for his raiment, it was so bespatter'd, And worn, somehow, to threads of vermicelli,

That it was requisite to get a new oneI mean a pair-to substitute the ruin.

"Oh fond desire to view fine rural scenery, And wander o'er the bosom of a nation In search of manufactures and machinery, Clapping the hand of joyous admiration!. Weeping to see old bishopric and deanery Cast to the ground, (those roads to our salvation,)

Looking at caverns, rocks, streams, towns, and palaces

Thinking of Burnses, Knoxes, Bruces, Wallaces

MR EDITOR,

PERHAPS, in the whole range of your acquaintance, there is not a single he that loveth his native land more affectionately than I do, nor one that calleth to mind the scenes of his childhood more frequently; yet have I great cause to be thankful that my heart refuseth not to receive kindly impressions on this side of the Tweed; and, between you and me, it is now pretty rich in that respect, because there certainly never was an outlandish man that had greater cause to extol Southern benevolence.

Ever since the destructive fire at Millennium, my basket and store have teemed with abundance of creature comforts. Geese, turkies, game, venison, hams, cheeses, and every other munchable, that causeth the belly to rejoice and the lips to smack, have been forwarded to Mrs Vandervrow's, by Englishmen of all creeds, both religious and political; and now that the mental benevolences, transmitted from Nithsdale, have made such a mighty noise in this lower world, these worthy Saxons, in imitation of their Northern brethren and sisters, have begun to supply my literary larder also. I received a packet yesterday afternoon, by the Lincoln mail, containing a queer story, the which I herewith inclose for your perusal. The introductory epistle that accompanied it is also a curiosity, and would have been transmitted for publication, but there are certain passages, extolling me to the skies for taste and talent, that Modesty sayeth I really do not possess; and I am therefore of opinion, that my safest plan will be to suppress every syllable thereof, except the latter end, which is altogether unexceptionable. The writer concludeth thus: "But, thank God, all these prejudices are now most happily removed, and a North Briton may walk the streets of Lincoln, morning, noon, and night, without falling in with a single citizen foolish enough to say Dn your Scotch eyes.' Of a truth, Mr Killigrew, we looked upon the way

faring Scotsmen with visuals similar to those used by the Egyptians when contemplating a swarm of locusts about to hive on their cultivated fields; and so completely were our faculties under the influence of na tional dislike, that we actually associated for the purpose of annoying your countrymen by every means we could devise. Our Clergy assailed them with sly wipes from the pulpit; our Magistrates administered justice agreeably to Act of Parliament, whenever a Sandy M'Gregor or a Duncan Campbell made his appearance in the habiliments of an evil doer, and even scrupled not to give the law a bit of a twist, in order to make it bear more effectually on the pannel's case; whilst our Johnny Raws were not idle in pelting the breekless loons with epithets that neither types nor scribbling-tools, it is to be hoped, will ever commit to foolscap. But it pleased Providence to send that most wonderful and singularly discreet man, Saunders Waumphrey, the pedlar, amongst us, to remove the film from our eyes, and illumine our benighted minds. He put up at the Goat Inn, where one of our annoyance-committees usually met, and luckily mistaking the club-room for his bed-chamber, being rather nearsighted, Mr Waumphrey lifted the latch, walked in, bolted the door, and set down his pack, before he was aware of being an intruder; but Mr Ralph Maudlin, the chairman, soon let him know that he stood in the presence of Lincolnshire gentlemen. "Well, Sawney,"quoth Ralph, "what have ye got for sale-curry-combs and Edinburgh ointment, I presume?" "Likely enough," said Tim Joskin. "The land is so infested with Northern interlopers, and every man's hide in such a fidgetty condition, that brimstone is bought up with avidity, and scratching tools are become saleable commodities. Good Lord deliver old England from the pest!" "Dem all outlandish vermin, say I, and make them turnspits in old Cloven-foot's kitchen," vociferated Mr Deputy Swaggler, as he