Now Johnie was a clever chiel',
And here his suit he press'd sae weel,
That Jenny's heart grew saft as jeel,

And she birl'd her bawbee.

The name of this song was suggested to Sir Alexander Boswell by an old fragment, which still lives among the peasantry. He borrowed no more, and has filled up the idea which this little symbol of the maiden's wealth presented, with a procession of lovers of many professions, all alike eager for the acquirement of wealth by matrimony. The characters of the competitors for the crown matrimonial are cleverly drawn: Jenny had more prudence than what commonly pertains to maidens who flourish in lyric verse. The old verses are scarcely worth preserving:

And a' that e'er my Jenny had,
My Jenny had, my Jenny had;
A' that e'er my Jenny had,

Was ae bawbee.

There's your plack and my plack,
And your plack and my plack,
And my plack and your plack,

And Jenny's bawbee:

We'll put it in the pint stoup,

The pint stoup, the pint stoup;
We'll put it in the pint stoup,

And birl't a' three.

GREEN GROW THE RASHES.

Theres nought but care on ev'ry han',

In ev'ry hour that passes-o;
What signifies the life o' man,
An' 'twerena for the lasses-o?
Green grow the rashes-o!
Green grow the rashes-o!

The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent amang the lasses-o!

The warldly race may riches chase,

An' riches still fly them-o;

may

An' though at last they catch them fast,

Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them-o.

But gie me a cannie hour at e'en,
My arms about my dearie-o ;

An' warldly cares, and warldly men,
May a' gae tapsalteerie-o!

For

you sae douse, ye sneer at this, Ye're nought but senseless asses-o! The wisest man the warl' e'er saw,

He dearly lov'd the lasses-o.

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears

Her noblest work she classes-o:

Her 'prentice han' she tried on man,
An' then she made the lasses-o.
Green grow the rashes-o!

Green grow the rashes-o!

The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent amang the lasses-o!

The "Green grow the Rashes" of our ancestors was a song of some spirit, and more freedom.-I remember the chorus:

Green grow the rashes-o!
Green grow the rashes-o!

Nae feather-bed was e'er sae saft,

As a bed amang the rashes-o!

It was probably akin to the song of "Pou thou me the Rushes green," mentioned in the "Complaynt of Scotland." This is one of the early songs of Burns, and the incense which it offers in the concluding verse at the shrine of female beauty is the richest any poet ever. brought.

THE BLUE-EYED LASS.

I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen,
A gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue ;
I gat my death frae twa sweet een,
Twa lovely een o' bonnie blue.
"Twas not her golden ringlets bright,
Her lips like roses wat wi' dew,
Her heaving bosom lily white;
It was her een sae bonnie blue.

She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wyl'd,
She charm'd my soul, I wistna how;
And aye the stound, the deadly wound,
Came frae her een sae bonnie blue.

But spare to speak, and spare to speed,
She'll aiblins listen to my vow :
Should she refuse, I'll lay my dead

To her twa een sae bonnie blue.

eyes

The lady, in honour of whose blue this fine song was written, was Miss Jeffrey of Lochmaben, now residing at New York in America-a wife and a mother. It is very popular among the ladies; their sweet clear voices ascend with the music a height which few men can hope to reach. I have a copy of the song in the hand-writing of Burns.

MACPHERSON'S FAREWELL.

Farewell, ye dungeons, dark and strong,
The wretch's destinie!
Macpherson's time will not be long,

On yonder gallows-tree.

Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,

Sae dauntingly gaed he ;

He play'd a spring, and danced it round,
Below the gallows-tree.

O what is death but parting breath!
On many a bloody plain

I have dar'd his face, and in this place

I scorn him yet again!

Untie these bands from off my hands,
And bring to me my sword;

And there's no man in all Scotland,
But I'll brave him at a word.

I've liv'd a life of sturt and strife;

I die by treacherie:

It burns my heart I must depart

And not avenged be.

Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright,

And all beneath the sky