uncouth excuses, he is prevailed on to do, the fiddler playing the tune which here is commonly called Auld Glenae: in short, he is all the time so plied with liquor, that he is understood to get intoxicated, and, with all the ridiculous gesticulations of an old drunken beggar, he dances and staggers until he falls on the floor; yet still in all his riot, nay, in his rolling and tumbling on the floor, with some other drunken motions of his body, he beats time to the music, till at last he is supposed to be carried out dead drunk. TUNE YOUR FIDDLES. [Tune your fiddles, tune them sweetly, Come, my boys, be blithe and gaucy, Shy nor melancholy, &c.] This song was composed by the Rev. John Skinner, nonjuror clergyman at Linshart, near Peterhead. He is likewise author of Tullochgorum, Ewie wi' the Crooked Horn, John o' Badenyond, &c.; and, what is of still more consequence, he is one of the worthiest of mankind. He is the author of an ecclesiastical history of Scotland. The air is by Mr Marshall, butler to the Duke of Gordon, the first composer of strathspeys of the age. I have been told by somebody, who had it of Marshall himself, that he took the idea of his three most celebrated picces, The Marquis of Huntley's Reel, his Farewell, and Miss Admiral Gordon's Reel, from the old air, The German Lairdie. GIL MORICE. This plaintive ballad ought to have been called Child Maurice, and not Gil Morice. In its present dress, it has gained immortal honour from Mr Home's taking from it the groundwork of his fine tragedy of Douglas. But I am of opinion, that the present ballad is a modern composition; perhaps not much above the age of the middle of the last century; at least I should be glad to see or hear of a copy of the present words prior to 1650. That it was taken from an old ballad, called Child Maurice, now lost, I am inclined to believe; but the present one may be classed with Hardyknute, Kenneth, Duncan, the Laird of Woodhouselie, Lord Livingston, Binnorie, The Death of Monteith, and many other modern productions, which have been swallowed by many readers as ancient fragments of old poems. This beautiful plaintive tune was composed by Mr M'Gibbon, the selecter of a collection of Scots tunes. In addition to the observations on Gil Morice, I add that of the songs which Capt. Riddel mentions, Kenneth and Duncan are juvenile compositions of Mr Mackenzie, The Man of Feeling.' Mackenzie's father shewed them in MS. to Dr Blacklock, as the productions of his son, from which the doctor rightly prognosticated that the young poet would make, in his more advanced years, a respectable figure in the world of letters. This I had from Blacklock. TULLOCHGORU M. ['Come, gie's a sang,' Montgomery cried, For what was done before them: Let Whig and Tory all agree, Whig and Tory, Whig and Tory, Whig and Tory all agree, To drop their Whig-mig-morum. Let Whig and Tory all agree To spend the night wi' mirth and glee, And cheerful sing alang wi' me, The reel o' Tullochgorum,' &c.] This first of songs is the master-piece of my old friend Skinner. He was passing the day at the town of Cullen, I think it was,' in a friend's house, whose name was Montgomery. Mrs Montgomery observing, en passant, that the beautiful recl of Tullochgorum wanted words, she begged them of Mr Skinner, who gratified her wishes, and the wishes of every lover of Scottish song, in this most excellent ballad. These particulars I had from the author's son, Bishop Skinner, at Aberdeen. A SOUTHLAND JENNY. [A Southland Jenny that was right bonny, But he was sicken a bashfu' wooer, That he could scarcely speak unto her. But blinks o' her beauty, and hopes o' her siller, Forced him at last to tell his mind till 'er; 'My dear,' quo' he, we'll nae langer tarry; Gin ye can love me, let 's o'er the muir and marry,' &c.] This is a popular Ayrshire song, though the notes were never taken down before. It, as well as many of the ballad tunes in this collection, was written from Mrs Burns's voice. [In reality, the town of Ellon, in Aberdeenshire.] O'ER THE MOOR AMANG THE HEATHER. [Coming through the craigs o' Kyle, O'er the moor amang the heather, Keeping a' her yowes thegither, &c.] This song is the composition of a Jean Glover, a girl who was not only a, but also a thief; and, in one or other character, has visited most of the correction-houses in the West. She was born, I believe, in Kilmarnock. I took the song down from her singing, as she was strolling through the country with a sleight-of-hand blackguard. THE TEARS I SHED MUST EVER FALL. This song of genius was composed by a Miss Cranston.' It wanted four lines to make all the stanzas suit the music, which I added, and are the four first of the last stanza. No cold approach, no altered mien, Just what would make suspicion start; No pause the dire extremes between, He made me blest-and broke my heart! BOB O' DUMBLANE. Ramsay, as usual, has modernised this song. The original, which I learned on the spot, from my old hostess, in the principal inu there, is Lassie, lend me your braw hemp heckle, And we'll gae dance the bob o' Dumblane, &c. I insert this song to introduce the following anecdote, which I have heard well authenticated:-In the evening of the day of the battle of Dumblane (Sheriffmuir), when the action was over, a Scots officer in Argyle's army observed to his Grace, that he was afraid the rebels would give out to the world that they had gotten the victory. Weel, weel,' returned his Grace, alluding to the foregoing ballad, if they think it be na weel bobbit, we'll bob it again.' 1 [Afterwards Mrs Dugald Stewart.] PROSE ARTICLES UNPLACED. ADDRESS OF THE SCOTCH RIGHT HONOURABLE DISTILLERS TO THE SIR-While pursy burgesses crowd your gate, sweating under the weight of heavy addresses, permit us, the quondam distillers in that part of Great Britain called Scotland, to approach you, not with venal approbation, but with fraternal condolence; not as what you are just now, or for some time have been, but as what, in all probability, you will shortly be. We shall have the merit of not deserting our friends in the day of their calamity, and you will have the satisfaction of perusing at least one honest address. You are well acquainted with the dissection of human nature; nor do you need the assistance of a fellow-creature's bosom to inform you, that man is always a selfish, often a perfidious being. This assertion, however the hasty conclusions of superficial observation may doubt of it, or the raw inexperience of youth may deny it, those who make the fatal experiment we have done, will feel. You are a statesman, and consequently are not ignorant of the traffic of these corporation compliments. The little great man who drives the borough to market, and the very great man who buys the borough in that market, they two do the whole business; and you well know, they, likewise, have their price. With that sullen disdain which you can so well assume, rise, illustrious sir, and spurn these hireling efforts of venal stupidity. At best, they are the compliments of a man's friends on the morning of his execution: they take a decent farewell; resign you to your fate; and hurry away from your approaching hour. If Fame say true, and omens be not very much mistaken, you are about to make your exit from that world where the sun of gladness gilds the paths of prosperous men: permit us, great sir, with the sympathy of fellow-feeling, to hail your passage to the realms of ruin. Whether the sentiment proceed from the selfishness or cowardice of mankind, is immaterial; but to point out to a child of Misfortune those who are still more unhappy, is to give him some degree of positive enjoyment. In this light, sir, our downfall may be again useful to you: though not exactly in the same way, it is not perhaps the first time it has gratified your feelings. It is true, the triumph of your evil star is exceedingly despiteful. At an age when others are the votaries of pleasure, or underlings in business, you had attained the highest wish of a British statesman; and with the ordinary date of human life, what a prospect was before you! Deeply rooted in royal favour, you overshadowed the land. The birds of passage which follow ministerial sunshine through every clime of political faith and manners, flocked to your branches; and the beasts of the field (the lordly possessors of hills and valleys) crowded under your shade. But behold a watcher, a holy one, came down from heaven, and cried aloud, and said thus: Hew down the tree, and cut off his branches; shake off his leaves, and scatter his fruit; let the beasts get away from under it, and the fowls from his branches!' A blow from an unthought-of quarter, one of those terrible accidents which peculiarly mark the hand of Omnipotence, overset your career, and laid all your fancied honours in the dust. But turn your eyes, sir, to the tragic scenes of our fate. An ancient nation, that for many ages had gallantly maintained the unequal struggle for independence with her much more powerful neighbour, at last agrees to a union which should ever after make them one people. In consideration of certain circumstances, it was covenanted that the former should enjoy a stipulated alleviation in her share of the public burdens, particularly in that branch of the revenue called the Excise. This just privilege has of late given great umbrage to some interested, powerful individuals of the more potent part of the empire, and they have spared no wicked pains, under insidious pretexts, to subvert what they dared not openly to attack, from the dread which they yet entertained of the spirit of their ancient enemies. In this conspiracy we fell; nor did we alone suffer-our country was deeply wounded. A number of (we will say) respectable individuals, largely engaged in trade, where we were not only useful, but absolutely necessary to our country in her dearest interests; we, with all that was near and dear to us, were sacrificed without remorse to the infernal deity of political expediency! We fell to gratify the wishes of dark Envy, and the views of unprincipled Ambition! Your foes, sir, were avowed; were too brave to take an ungenerous advantage: you fell in the face of day. On the contrary, our enemies, to complete our overthrow, contrived to make their guilt appear the villainy of a nation. Your downfall only drags with you your private friends and partisans: in our misery are more or less involved the most numerous and most valuable part of the community-all those who immediately depend on the cultivation of the soil, from the landlord of a province down to his lowest hind. Allow us, sir, yet further, just to hint at another rich vein of comfort in the dreary regions of Adversity-the gratulations of an approving conscience. In a certain great assembly, of which you are a distinguished member, panegyrics on your private virtues have |