The youngest dochter ga'e a shout,
O mother dear! your teeth's a' out,
Besides half blind, you have the gout,
Your mill can haud nae snishing.

Ye lie, ye limmers! cries auld Mump,
For I hae baith a tooth and stump,
And will nae langer live in dump
By wanting of my snishing.

Aweel, says Peg, that pauky slut,
Mother, if you can crack a nut,
Then we will a' consent to it,

That you shall have a snishing.

The auld ane did agree to that,
And they a pistol-bullet gat;
She powerfully began to crack,
To win hersell a snishing.

Braw sport it was to see her chow't,

And 'tween her gums sae squeeze and row't,

While frae her jaws the slaver flow'd,

And ay she curs'd poor stumpy.

At last she gae a desperate squeeze,
Which brak the lang tooth by the neez,

And syne poor stumpy was at ease,

But she tint hopes of snishing.

She of the task began to tire,

And frae her dochters did retire,
Syne lean'd her down ayont the fire,
And died for lack of snishing.

Ye auld wives, notice well this truth,
As soon as ye're past mark of mouth,
Ne'er do what's only fit for youth,

And leave aff thoughts of snishing:
Else, like this wife beyont the fire,
Ye'r bairns against you will conspire;
Nor will ye get, unless ye hire,

A young man with your snishing.

There can be little doubt that the "Auld Wife beyont the fire" has been "pruned and starched and lander'd" by Allan Ramsay; he marks it in his collection as an old song with corrections: and any one who compares the corrected songs of Ramsay with the old verses which survive in their original state will conclude that he has striven to purify the ancient song, which perhaps spoke a plainer and less mystical language. The note which he has found it necessary to add as a supplement to the text shows the embarrassment of the bard, for he explains "snishing," about which the old dame is so ludicrously clamorous, to mean, sometimes contentment, a husband, love, money, and, literally, snuff. Was there ever such allegorical confusion any where seen, except in some of our national monuments? It has its

use; it gives the more prudent reader an opportunity of escaping from a moral scruple, through the open door of any favourite figure of speech.

SWEET SUSAN.

The morn was fair, saft was the air,
All nature's sweets were springing;
The buds did bow with silver dew,
Ten thousand birds were singing:
When on the bent, with blithe content,
Young Jamie sang his marrow,
Nae bonnier lass e'er trod the grass,
On Leader-haughs and Yarrow.

How sweet her face, where ev'ry grace
In heavenly beauty's planted;
Her smiling een, and comely mien

That nae perfection wanted.
I'll never fret, nor ban my fate,
But bless my bonny marrow;
If her dear smile my doubts beguile,
My mind shall ken nae sorrow.

Yet though she's fair, and has full share
Of every charm enchanting,

Each good turns ill, and soon will kill

Poor me, if love be wanting.

O bonny lass! have but the grace

To think, e'er ye gae furder,
Your joys maun flit, if ye commit
The crying sin of murder.

My wand'ring ghaist will ne'er get rest,
And night and day affright ye;
But if ye're kind, with joyful mind
I'll study to delight ye

Our

years around with love thus crown'd,
From all things joys shall borrow;
Thus none shall be more bless'd than we
On Leader-haughs and Yarrow.

O sweetest Sue! 'tis only you'
Can make life worth my wishes,

If equal love your mind can move
To grant this best of blisses.

Thou art my sun, and thy least frown

Would blast me in the blossom:
But if thou shine, and make me thine,

I'll flourish in thy bosom.

I have no better authority than tradition for ascribing this song to the pen of William Crawford. It was printed in Allan Ramsay's collection without any token of age or author; and though a pretty song, it is far inferior to the ancient song of "Leader Haughs and Yarrow," which seems to have suggested it. I am afraid that few ladies have an imagination so sensitive as to be

alarmed into love and matrimony with the terror of a visitation from their lover's ghost; and that a lover who reinforces his persuasions with threats of self-destruction, if the lady continues cruel, is in a fair way of becoming a subject for the sheriff's examination, if there be any sincerity in his nature.

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If love's a sweet passion, why does it torment?
If a bitter, O tell me whence comes my complaint?
Since I suffer with pleasure, why should I complain,
Or grieve at my fate, since I know 'tis in vain ?
Yet so pleasing the pain is, so soft is the dart,
That at once it both wounds me, and tickles my heart.

I grasp her hands gently, look languishing down,
And by passionate silence I make my love known.
But oh! how I'm bless'd when so kind she does prove
By some willing mistake to discover her love;
When in striving to hide, she reveals all her flame,
And
our eyes
tell each other what neither dare name.

How pleasing her beauty! how sweet are her charms! How fond her embraces! how peaceful her arms!

Sure there is nothing so easy as learning to love, "Tis taught us on earth, and by all things above:

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