animal back to its stance, adding a a few moment's space. supper, glad to be the means of placful"-and so she proceeded to prepare ing horns reeking with delicious soup in her companion's hands, instead of cold and merciless steel. Two loaded panniers were placed on the floor, a cloth was spread over them-of its whiteness I have little to say-and a sheaf of horn spoons was thrown down loose on this simple supper board. The clatter of these instruments of good cheer was the signal for supper, and instantly from all parts of the house came man and woman, and squatted down as they arrived around the table. From a cauldron that had sometime simmered on the fire, the damsel came charged, in succession, with two capacious basins turned out hooped with bands of copper-she of the solid bole of a plane tree, and placed them on the board, and the savoury steam of hares, and hens, and onions, ascended thick and luscious, and eddyed round our heads. A cake of meal, brown and thick, and bearing the knuckle marks of the maiden who brought it, was placed beside each person, the spoons were snatched up, and all seemed to await the signal to commence-grace, I dare not presume to call it-from the lips of the chieftain Peace having resumed her reign once more in the unfinished mansion of the Laird of Collieson, the gypsie damsel, Katherine Marshall, walked slowly away to her place of repose, shrouding her beauties as she went in the Sanquhar mantle. "Damsel," said the chieftain, stopping her, "hast thou ought on spit, in cauldron, in bottle or in basket, to comfort this cannie youth with-he has heen leaping on the top of the Lagg hill for three lang nights and a day, holding his two hands to the cauld moon, with deel soupit atween his lips, save the fizzenless verse of a sang." Willingly, and with a smile that came direct from the heart, the maiden turned back, and said " It is nigh the supper hour, and the strange lad will like company-a single spoon is aye laithu "Ram whatever the old man's wishes were he was forestalled by the impatient Galwegean of the lineage of the Macgrabs, who, plunging his spoon into one of the basins, sang out, horns a piece and hae done we't," and instantly the spoons passed from the dish, with a rapidity I had never seen dish to the lip, and from the lip to the and delicious, and thickened with equalled. The soup, thick and brown, fowls both wild and tame and other choice things, began to vanish before the application of the guests. The damsel, who had seated herself beside good implement of green horn, invited me, and furnished my hand with a me, by many a kind look, to prove the merits of her cookery. This I performed with a good will, and a celeriprowess of Hughie Hiddlestane, who ty almost rivalling the proverbial supped the parridge of three mowers, to show he had no ill will to the house. My ability at the spoon was welcomed in the kindest manner, and the chieftain said, in his softest tone, "Fair fall ye, lad-ye're a red-handed chield-slow to meat and slow to wark-ye'll either make a good spoon or spill a fair horn." nae better weapon in his hands than 66 As soon as we had emptied the basins of their savoury contents, the damsel removed them, and in their place produced a large jar full of snuggled brandy. Drinking cups made of horn, both deep and wide, accompanied it, and the guests proceeded to replenish and empty them with the regularity and rapidity of platoon firing. The gloom and wrath which were visible on the brows of the Galwegean, the man of Dryfe Dubs, and the fiery cousin of Kate Marshall, began to brighten up, smiles were succeeded by opener mirth-mirth by laughter, loud, and long, and boisterous. The names of the ancient heroes and heroines of the clan were toasted, and the toasts were accompanied by brief notices and allusions to their characters and their achievements. The chieftain, hoary and furrowed, and his might subdued by the force of eighty years and odd, sat up erect, and joyous as the glories of ancient times arose to his recollection. The light of youth came back to his faded eyes in fitful and broken gleams. "Ah! lads," said he, with a tone of sorrowful reflection, and conscious that he was fallen on evil days and among little men, "the times are sadly changed and man, once stately and stark, is now stunted and feckless where is the fallow now like black Jamie Macall, the game cock of Glenmannah, who threw a fat wether o'er the West Bow Port of Edinburgh, on a wager of a plack with a porter." "And sad and sair he rued it," said Kate Marshall," the deed was done in anger, and the poor creature bleated as it flew owre the wall, thirty feet high and three, and Jamie said he heard the bleat o' the waefu brute in his lug as he lay on his death-bed!" "Then there was Jock Johnstone," said the chieftain, heedless of his grand-daughter's illustrations, "Rab's Jock of the Donkeydubs of Lochmaben, kenned far and near by the name of double-ribbed Jock, who fought his way from among iron stanchells, with The audience seemed as prepared to listen as the Galwegean was to sing, and he accordingly delivered, in a kind of rough and careless chant, the following rude verses: 1 My love shall neither sigh nor sab And flocks i' the fold, and fish i' the flood. a cursed gird-an-girns to grip all kinds of spulziers-slight maun to do, for might canna do, sae said Tam Marshall, wight as he was, and sae say I-and talking o' gallant Tam, I might do waur than gie ye ane of his sangs-he had a soul to make, and a sweet voice to sing-sangs that shall live while heads wear horns, and that's a right bauld boast." 2 The moor-hen swears by her rough legs, The Galwegean ceased, and applauses prolonged, and almost rivalling in discordance the mixed greeting of the owl and raven, when the fox glides under their secure roosts, followed the traditional ballad of the tribe. "May I be ridden by the reeket deil round the roons o Galloway," said the descendant of the Macgrabs, "without saddle or sonks, if lady's fingers ever touched stented thairm to a better sang than that. I should like to see the lad that said no till't-" "Its a ballad o' bauld bearing doubt less," said the chieftain, " and brags o' hership and bodily harm. Tam 1 3 When the hare has might to break my mesh, men Marshall made sangs of a safter sorthe had a tender heart at times-it aye grew hardened by the Candlemas fair o' Dumfries-whan rade hame with dizzy heads and heavy purses. Kate Marshall, my winsome lass, e'en sing me thy uncle's sang that he made for poor Christian Kennedy o' Cummertrees, whan the salt sea swallowed up the father o' her lad bairn." The gay look of the gypsey maiden saddened as the old man spoke, and she sung, with a voice exceedingly pathetic and sweet, some verses which I have never forgotten. CHRISTIAN KENNEDY'S SONG. The lea shall have its lily bells, The tree its bud and blossom, But when shall I have my leal love Hame frae the faithless ocean. 2 Sair, sair I pled, and followed him "Sweet be your tongue, my sonsie 3 All night I woo the tender stars, Oh sweetly sweet would be the sleep, poncrapin's numerous roosts-see if the carse pool keeps a salmon with a fat mergh-fin-seek for a hare in the hedge, and a moorhen on the hill-and, aboon a', pluck some ripe plumbs and apples for my fair and kind cousin Kate-We maun cease singing and rin." Instant preparation was made for this excursion, and I had no doubt that the laird and the captain would mourn o'er their diminished flocks in the morning, and plan an expedition with hound and horn, against the foxes of Dalswinton wood and Queensberry mountain. The alert Macgrab, and the cousin of bonny Kate, stood ready awaiting the signal to march from the chieftain, but the desperado from the Dub of Drufe shewed evident reluctance to prepare, and seemed contending with some strong internal feeling. He put his emotions in words: "By the spur o' the Johnstones," said he, "and its a winged ane, if the sough of Christian Kennedy's sang is no ringing in baith my lugs, like the wether's bleat i' the lug o' black Jamie o' Glenmannah. De'il hae me if I'se owre prood ot. Kate, my winsome kimmer, hae ye nae sang -some kissing kind ane, to drive this wail o' dool and sorrow out of my lug. Conscience, if ye'll sing me ane, I'se bribe your lips with a pocket-full o' the sweetest plumbs that ever hung under a green leaf to the sun, d-n me 1. if I disna." The gypsey maiden looked on the Drysdale suppliant with mingled pity and scorn-but her grandfather said: "Sing him a sang, Katherine, my dow; its a sad thing to have the sough of a dirge in ane's ear, it never comes but dole and sorrow follow-dinna let him gang to his doom, may be, uncheered, if your tongue can charm him." To her grandfather's request the maiden complied, and sung, with an easy and arch grace, the ballad I shall try to repeat to you. THE GYPSEY'S SONG. 0, haste ye, and come to our gate en', 2. I ha'e a pan o' my ain to clout, 3. Now, wad ye but leave your gay lady, And carry the tinkling tools wi' me; And lie on kilns, on clean ait straw, My winsome lass o' Gallowa." 4. The fingers that starch my lady's frills During the gypsey maiden's song, the sky, which before had become cloudy and overcast, darkened down to earth at once; thunder was heard nearer and nearer, and the crooked fires came flashing rapid and bright among the green branches of the forest. The applause which succeeded her song was sobered down by the presence of the tempest ;-I was busy with internal prayer;-the old man alone seemed unawed, he snatched up the unfinished harvest-horn that lay at his feet, and gave one brief blast: "Bairns, to 5. Her hair in hanks o' gowden thread 5. I took her by the jimpy waist; 7. Now quat the grip, thou gypsey loon. And my lady will fret frae bower to ha', 8. Ye've coupit the soldering-pan, my lass, And ye have scaled my clinks o' brass; And my gude spoon caams ye've split in twa, My winsome lass o' Gallowa'. wark!" he half shouted, "bairns to wark! when mankind are humbled we maun work, a praying eye is aye steeked ;-a dunt o' thunder and a flaff o' fire are just the tongue and the light to make our trade thrive ;-mind, the fattest ewe has the fairest fleece; and the best hen sits at the wing o' the cock;-prime matters to remember.Rin, rin while the light shines."And away started the gypsey marauders, leaving me alone with the hoary conductor of this roving horde, and his hopeful grand-daughter. 2 The moor-hen swears by her rough legs, The Galwegean ceased, and applauses prolonged, and almost rivalling in discordance the mixed greeting of the owl and raven, when the fox glides under their secure roosts, followed the traditional ballad of the tribe. "May I be ridden by the reeket deil round the roons o' Galloway," said the descendant of the Macgrabs, "without saddle or sonks, if lady's fingers ever touched stented thairm to a better sang than that. I should like to see the lad that said no till't-" "Its a ballad o' bauld bearing doubt less," said the chieftain, "and brags o' hership and bodily harm. Tam 1 3 When the hare has might to break my mesh, men Marshall made sangs of a safter sort— he had a tender heart at times-it aye grew hardened by the Candlemas fair o' Dumfries-whan rade hame with dizzy heads and heavy purses. Kate Marshall, my winsome lass, e'en sing me thy uncle's sang that he made for poor Christian Kennedy o' Cummertrees, whan the salt sea swallowed up the father o' her lad bairn." The gay look of the gypsey maiden saddened as the old man spoke, and she sung, with a voice exceedingly pathetic and sweet, some verses which I have never forgotten. CHRISTIAN KENNEDY'S SONG. The lea shall have its lily bells, The tree its bud and blossom, But when shall I have my leal love Hame frae the faithless ocean. 2 Sair, sair I pled, and followed him With weeping and with wailing; "Sweet be your tongue, my sonsie lass," said the man of Galloway; "I shouldna scunner at a bed aneath the billows myself-providing I could be drowned within sight o' Tongland, my native place to have sae saft and tender a voice to warble aboon me-Faith, I count it nae uncomfortable thing to have a sweet sang sung by cherry lips about ane whan their head's happit."-" And what voice shall sing owre thee," said the iron man of Dryfe, who had no sympathy for the fame of song after the turf had opened and closed upon him"The hooded crow shall have its sunket off yere brisket bane some mornin, and ye winna hear its croakdom me, if ye will-" "It's now near ane o'clock," said Kate Marshall's cousin ; " and we maun count the sheep on Cursan Collieson's hill-side number the fat hens on Captain Ca 3 All night I woo the tender stars, 4 Oh sweetly sweet would be the sleep, poncrapin's numerous roosts-see if the carse pool keeps a salmon with a fat mergh-fin-seek for a hare in the hedge, and a moorhen on the hill-and, aboon a', pluck some ripe plumbs and apples for my fair and kind cousin Kate-We maun cease singing and rin." Instant preparation was made for this excursion, and I had no doubt that the laird and the captain would mourn o'er their diminished flocks in the morning, and plan an expedition with hound and horn, against the foxes of Dalswinton wood and Queensberry mountain. The alert Macgrab, and the cousin of bonny Kate, stood ready awaiting the signal to march from the chieftain, but the desperado from the Dub of Drufe shewed evident reluctance to prepare, and seemed contending with some strong internal feeling. He put his emotions in |