David Herd obliged all the admirers of original song by picking up and publishing this charming little domestic lyric. Who the rustic poet was who speculated so beautifully on the joys and endearments of home, tradition has neglected to tell us. He seems indeed to have been a sensible person, and the patience, and the good humour, and the caresses which he recommends to the husband, are all necessary for smoothing down the wayward temper of woman till she smiles and is satisfied. Miss Jenny Grahame of Dumfries appears to have apprehended the misery which might come on man by listening to these deluding strains; and her song of

Alas! my son, ye little know,

may be considered as a kind of antidote to the pleasant poison of "Bide ye yet."

LOW DOWN IN THE BROOM.

My daddy is a canker'd carle,

He'll no twin wi' his gear;

Mý minny is a scolding wife

Hauds a' the house asteer.

But let them say, or let them do,

It's a' ane to me;

For he's low down amang the broom

That's waiting for me;

་

Awaiting for me my love,
That's waiting for me,

For he's low down amang the broom
That's waiting for me.

My aunty Kate sits at her wheel,
And sair she lightlies me;
But weel I ken its a' for spite,
For ne'er a jo has she.

My cousin Madge was sair beguil'd
Wi' Johnie o' the glen;

And aye sinsyne she cries, Beware

Of false deluding men.

Gleed Sandy he came west ae night
And speer'd when I saw Pate;
And aye sinsyne the neighbours round
They jeer me air and late.

There can be no doubt that the chorus, at least, of this song is of great antiquity, since it is quoted in the

Complaynt of Scotland." It was first published by David Herd, who found it among those portable lyrical collections which were once spread over the lowlands, and contributed to diffuse and preserve the love of song among the peasantry. Mr. Struthers in his collection says, "Low down in the Broom" is said to be the work of the late James Carnegie, Esq, of Balnamoor, a beautiful estate on the slope of the Grampians, within five

miles of Brechin. I hope, however, that the laird of Balnamoor had a surer claim to the authorship of this lyric than what arises from the inaccurate logic of one of his dependants. "I have conversed with a worthy farmer of fourscore," says one of the editor's correspondents, I who has lived on the Balnamoor estate from his infancy: the garrulous old man observed, I kent the auld laird weel he was a curious bodie, and there's nae doubt he made up the song.""

ANDRO AND HIS CUTTY GUN.

Blithe, blithe, blithe was she,
Blithe was she butt and ben;
And well she loo'd a Hawick gill,
And leugh to see a tappit hen.
She took me in, and set me down,
And heght to keep me lawing-free;
But, cunning carline that she was,
She gart me birle my bawbee.

We loo'd the liquor well enough;

But waes my heart my cash was done,
Before that I had quench'd my drowth,
And laith I was to pawn my shoon.

VOL. II.

T

When we had three times toom'd our stoup,
And the neist chappin new begun,
In started, to heeze up our hope,

Young Andro with his cutty gun,

The carline brought her kebbuck ben,
With girdle-cakes well toasted brown;
For well the canny kimmer kens,

They gar the swats gae glibber down.
We ca'd the bicker aft about,

Till dawing we ne'er jee'd our bun,
And
aye the cleanest drinker out,
Was Andro with his cutty gun.

He did like ony mavis sing,

And as I in his oxter sat,

He ca'd me aye his bonny thing,
kiss I gat.

And mony a sappy

I hae been east, I hae been west,

I hae been far ayont the sun;
But the blithest lad that e'er I saw,

Was Andro with his cutty gun.

In the fourth volume of Allan Ramsay's Miscellany this admirable song found a place; and I imagine had the existence of honest Andrew been known sooner he would have appeared earlier in the work. We are uninformed whether it is old, or remodelled or amended. Of its lively humour and sly merriment all

can judge, since none can help feeling the happy gaiety and joyous festivity of the scene which it presents. Some country ale-house will arise on the reader's fancy with its cheerful fire, foaming tankards, merry songs, and boundless laughter; and while some youth as blithe as Andro, and some maiden as gay as the heroine, are the chief attraction, the smiling and assiduous hostess will glide from table to table with materials for increasing or allaying drouth. Burns says, " Andro and his cutty gun is the work of a master." The introduction of Andro when money was scant and mirth flown is very happy, and the increasing joy and augmenting din rings far and wide.

I have heard several variations of the song-one of them seemed happy :

The carline brought her kebbuck ben,

Wi' knuckled cakes weel brander'd brown.

Knuckled cakes, as their name implies, are kneaded out with the knuckles alone without the aid of a roller, and prepared over the embers of wood on a brander or gridiron. The flavour is increased by this primitive mode of cooking, and when eaten warm with ale the charm of each is increased.

For weel the cannie kimmer kens

To

gaur the swats gae glibber down.