period it has been augmented by other hands. The idea of the song is very original, and some parts of the execution felicitous. A peasant of Nithsdale once expressed to me his horror at braving a winter morning, in very poetical language. "Snow, the inspired man sings, is beautiful in its season. It was nought for him, sitting with his lasses and his wine, to say sae: had he been a dry stane diker, he would have said nae sic thing. As for me, I never see snaw at my window but I lang to fa' asleep again; and I never wish to step o'er the door stane till I am sure I can set my foot on the bloom of three gowans." MAGGIE LAUDER. Wha wadnae be in love Wi' bonnie Maggie Lauder! A piper met her gaun to Fife, And spier'd what was't they ca'd her: Jog on your gate, you blether-skate, Maggie, quoth he, now by my bags, I'm fidging fain to see you Sit down by me, my bonnie bird, In troth I winna steer you; For I'm a piper to my trade, Men call me Rab the Ranter: The lasses loup as they were daft, Piper, quo' Meg, have you your bags, Have heard of Rab the Ranter- Then to his bags he flew wi' speed, Meg up and walloped o'er the green, Weel done, quoth he; play up, quoth she; When I get sic a dancer. Weel hae you played your part, quoth' Meg, There's nane in Scotland plays sae weel I've lived in Fife, baith maid and wife, Spier ye for Maggie Lauder. Much idle controversy has arisen respecting the meaning of this admirable song: certain sensitive critics imagine the story to be an impure allegory, like " The Fleming Barge," while others accept the strict and literal and honest meaning of the words. It was written by Francis Semple about the year 1650, if we may trust family tradition. Tradition has lately accepted the aid of some very suspicious anecdotes, accompanied by oral verses, confirmatory of the claim of Semple to this song; and it would be well if the family would set such matters at rest. Under the name of " Mogey Lauther" this song was a favourite in England at the Restoration. THE AULD MAN'S MARE'S DEAD. The auld man's mare's dead, She gae a tug and drappit dead, A mile aboon Dundee. And yet the brute did die. The auld man's mare's dead, And peats and sticks and corn to lead, What ailed the brute to die. Her lunyie bones were knaggs and neuks, And the howks aboon her e'e. The auld man's mare's dead, That bore his banes and wan his bread; Used half so tenderlie. The auld man he was rough and dour, They loved like birds in summer bower, On the authority of some verses by Allan Ramsay, this curious song might be ascribed to Patie Birnie, "the famous fiddler of Kinghorn." But the testimony of verse is very suspicious. There are many variations of the song; and all the diseases which the art of farriery knows have been visited on the auld man's mare by our provincial rhymers. What bard would think now of singing in honour of such a miserable animal, and wonder at the end of every verse that she should have died, when every line shows it was much more wonderful that she lived so long? THE RINAWAY BRIDE. A laddie and a lassie fair Lived in the south countree; She had nae run a mile or mair The slighting of the silly bridegroom, Then hey play up the rinaway bride, Her father and her mither baith And ay they ran and cryed, hou, Ann! O that's the bride, the rinaway bride, |