have injured either its tenderness or its simplicity. We have, however, many varieties of the song. Some fastidious persons, who believe that a man never addresses his wife by any familiar name, have substituted " Wifie, lie near me;" others, again, supposed they had amended the imaginary indecorum by singing "Laddie, lie near me." If I am called on to confess my own belief in this matter, I must say that men both of the north and south are in the practice of bestowing familiar and endearing names on their wives, and that I see in the hero and heroine of this song a wedded pair, who, separated by misfortune, had met again in mutual and overflowing joy. THE TURNIMSPIKE. Hersell pe highland shentleman, Amang the lawland whig, man. Nainsell was droving cows, man, Nainsell did wear the philabeg, But curse upon these Saxon preeks, Every thing in the highlands now Te sodger dwall at our door cheek, Anither law came after tat, Me never saw te like, man; And ca' him Turnimspike, man: And wow she pe a ponny road, They charge a penny for ilka horse, They take the horse then py te head, And there they make him stand, man ; She tells them she had seen the day They had nae sic command, man. And Nae doubt nainsell maun draw her purse, Save when she comes to purn her. The humour of this lowland ditty lies not altogether in the comic style of the highlander: there is considerable naïveté in his complaint against the innovation of good roads and turnpike-gates, and still more in his wrath against that injurious and insulting but ludicrous act of Parliament which imprisoned him in lowland breeches. I am no admirer of songs which seek to excite laughter by the imperfections of language; and I shall insert no more of those ditties which show up a highlander floundering along in the mysterious humour of broken English. Maxwelltown banks are bonnie, Made up the promise true; Made up the promise true, And for bonnie Annie Laurie She's backet like a peacock, She's breasted like a swan, She's jimp about the middle, Her waist you weel may span: I'd lay down my head and die. . I found this song in the little "Ballad Book," collected and edited by a gentleman to whom Scottish literature is largely indebted-Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe of Hoddam. It is accompanied by the following notice:-"Sir Robert Laurie, first Baronet of the Maxwelton family (created 27th March, 1685), by his second wife, a daughter of Riddell of Minto, had three sons and four daughters, of whom Anne was much celebrated for her beauty, and made a conquest of Mr. Douglas of Fingland, who is said to have composed the following verses under an unlucky star-for the lady married Mr. Ferguson of Craigdarroch." I have only to add, that I am glad such a song finds a local habitation in my native place. GIN LIVING WORTH COULD WIN MY Gin living worth could win my heart, But in the darksome grave it's laid, Never to rise again. My waefu' heart lies low wi' his Whose heart was only mine; Yet oh! gin heaven in mercy soon And tak this life, now naething worth, VOL. III. S |