Will hap some deacons in a truff,

Inrow'd in the lang leet 1

O' death yon night.

ΤΟ

THE PRINCIPAL AND PROFESSORS

OF

THE UNIVERSITY OF ST. ANDREWS,

ON THEIR SUPERB TREAT TO DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON.

[Boswell, in his 'Tour to the Hebrides,' records this 'superb treat,' so genially 'flyted' about by Fergusson.

"The Professors entertained us with a very good dinner. Present: Murison, Shaw, Cook, Hill, Haddo, Watson, Flint, Brown.-Sub Thursday, 19th August [1773].”]

ST. ANDREWS town may look right gawsy,

Nae grass will grow upo' her cawsey,
Nor wa'-flowers of a yellow dye,
Glour dowy o'er her ruins high,
Sin Samy's head weel pang'd wi' lear,
Has seen the Alma mater there:
Regents, my winsome billy boys!

'Bout him you've made an unco noise;
Nae doubt for him your bells wad clink
To find him upon Eden's brink,2

An' a' things nicely set in order,

Wad kep him on the Fifan border;

1 In the business, says Robert Chambers, of an Edinburgh municipal election, according to the old mode, a large list of eligible persons first presented by the trades, that the magistrates might shorten it, was called the lang leet. When abridged, it was called the short leet. The word is from the French élite, choice persons. Death's endless list is here, with happy humour, called his lang leet.

2 A well-known river near St. Andrews.

I'se warrant now frae France an' Spain,
Baith cooks and scullions mony ane
Wad gar the pats an' kettles tingle
Around the college kitchen ingle,
To fleg frae a' your craigs the roup,
Wi' reeking het and crieshy soup;
And snails and puddocks mony hunder
Wad beeking lie the hearth-stane under,
Wi' roast and boil'd, an' a' kin kind,
To heat the body, cool the mind.

But hear me lads! gin I'd been there,
How I wad trimm'd the bill o' fare!
For ne'er sic surly wight as he
Had met wi' sic respect frae me.
Mind ye what Sam,1
‚1 the lying loun!
Has in his Dictionar laid down?
That aits in England are a feast

To cow an' horse, an' sican beast,

While in Scots ground this growth was common

To gust the gab o' man and woman.

Tak tent, ye Regents! then, an' hear

My list o' gudely hameil gear,
Sic as ha'e often rax'd the wyme

O' blyther fallows mony time:
Mair hardy, souple, steive an' swank,
Than ever stood on Samy's shank.

1 This is literally surly Sam's' definition: but it was literally the common opinion of our fatherland. Scotland owes much to Burns and Scott for disabusing the English mind of its errant notions concerning us: yet still it is astonishing the ignorance that prevails, In all Scottish viewstown or landscape-the 'kilt' figures, and we have seen a picture of Burns and his Highland Mary, in which the immortal ploughman is 'full displayed' in a gorgeous Royal Stuart tartan, and Mary, of course, with an ample, dazzling-coloured plaid. The opprobrious definition was silently suppressed. It was retained, however, in the folios of Fergusson's time. Fourth edition, 1773.

Imprimis, then, a haggis fat,

Weel tottled in a seything pat,
Wi' spice and ingans weel ca'd thro'
Had help'd to gust the stirrah's mow,
And plac'd itsel in truncher clean
Before the gilpy's glowrin een.

Secundo, then a gude sheep's head
Whase hide was singit, never flead,
And four black trotters cled wi' girsle,
Bedown his throat had learn'd to hirsle.
What think ye neist, o' gude fat brose
To clag his ribs? a dainty dose!
And white and bloody puddins routh,
Το gar the Doctor skirl, O drouth!
Whan he cou'd never houp to merit
A cordial glass o' reaming claret,
But thraw his nose, and brize and pegh
O'er the contents o' sma' ale quegh:
Then let his wisdom girn and snarl
O'er a weel-tostit girdle farl,

An' learn, that maugre o' his wame,

Ill bairns are ay best heard at hame.
Drummond,1 lang syne, o' Hawthornden,
The wyliest an' best o' men,

Has gi'en you dishes ane or mae,

That wad ha' gard his grinders play,

Not to Roast Beef,2 old England's life,
But to the auld East Nook of Fife,2
Whare Creilian crafts cou'd weel ha'e gi'en
Scate-rumples to ha'e clear'd his een;

1 See Polemo Middinia' in the original, or in the recent effective and broadly humorous rendering of it by the late lamented Professor Tennant of St. Andrews.

2 Alluding to two tunes under these titles.-F.

Than neist whan Samy's heart was faintin,
He'd lang'd for scate to make him wanton.
Ah! willawins, for Scotland now,
Whan she maun stap ilk birky's mow
Wi' eistacks, grown as 'tware in pet
In foreign land, or green-house het,
o' brose an' cutty spoon

When cog
Is a' our cottar childer's boon,

Wha thro' the week, till Sunday's speal,
Toil for pease-cods an' gude lang kail.
Devall then, Sirs, and never send
For daintiths to regale a friend,

Or, like a torch at baith ends burning,
Your house 'll soon grow mirk and mourning.
What's this I hear some cynic say?1
Robin, ye loun! its nae fair play;

Is there nae ither subject rife

To clap your thumb upon but Fife?

Gi'e o'er, young man, you'll meet your corning,
Than caption war, or charge of horning;
Some canker'd surly sour-mow'd carline
Bred near the abbey o' Dumfarline,
Your shoulders yet may gi'e a lounder,
An' be of verse the mal-confounder.

Come on, ye blades! but ere ye tulzie,
Or hack our flesh wi' sword or gulzie,

1 The poet refers to a 'duel-challenge,' which was addressed to him by a chivalric gentleman in Dunfermline, who was highly offended with the closing reflections in the 'Expedition to Fife,' which see. Fergusson, however, had admirers in Fife, for in a copy of verses which were sent to the publisher of the Weekly Magazine' from Fife, it is said,

"In Fife, troth, ilka body's keen

To see his verse:

Faith you may greet wi' baith your e'en

When Rob grows hearse."

Vol. L. p. 16.

Ne'er shaw your teeth, nor look like stink,
Nor o'er an empty bicker blink :

What weets the wizen an' the wyme,

Will mend your prose and heal my rhyme.

ELEGY ON JOHN HOGG,

LATE PORTER TO THE UNIVERSITY OF ST. ANDREWS.

[John was a great favourite with the students. He was what is generally signified in Scotland by a "bien body," being proprietor of a park of land lying on the south-west of St. Andrews, betwixt the Mill Lead and Nether Burn, which now belongs to Mr. David Anderson, Farmer. It is a pretty little spot. He had likewise an acre of land on the other side of the Burn:' and some house property in North Street, St. Andrews. John must have been somewhat parsimonious in his way, for it is told of him 'among the old people in St. Andrews still,' that his wife, "his winsome Kate," was anxious on a time to get a 'black silk cap' [bonnet], but John said, “Na, what mair would the regents' wives hae?" meaning the Professors, who were then called regents. Mrs. Hogg, it would appear, was rather inclined "to be the ledy," and often urged John to allow her tea, which was not every one's beverage then, but John indulged her seldom, and when that outlay was made, he pinched her in the article of white bread, keeping her strictly to the bannocks or oat cakes. John [alas!] has no head-stone. His "dowy widow," whose name was Catharine Gourlay, was married again to Dean of Guild Landale, a respectable man, a dyer in St. Andrews, whose 'silver ball' hangs first on the Silver Club of the ancient Golf Club Society there, at this day. 'Winsome Kate' survived Mr. Landale also: and I find that she kept a sewing school after his death.-Communicated in substance by John Buddo, Esq., Writer, St. Andrews.]

DEATH, what's ado? the de'il be licket,
Or wi' your stang ye ne'er had pricket,