As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, When, pop! she starts before their nose; 6 When, Catch the thief!' resounds aloud; Wi' many an eldritch skreech and hollow. Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, 1 It is a well-known tradition that witches, or any evil spirits, have no power to follow a poor wight any farther than the middle of the next running stream.-It may be proper likewise to mention to the benighted traveller, that when he falls in with bogles, whatever danger may be in his going forward, there is much more hazard in turning back. VOL. II. F Whene'er to drink you are inclin❜d, EPITAPH ON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER. HERE SOwter **** in death does sleep; EPITAPH ON A NOISY POLEMIC. BELOW thir stanes lie Jamie's banes : Thou ne'er took such a bleth'rin b-tch EPITAPH ON WEE JOHNNY. Hic jacet wee Johnnie. WHOE'ER thou art, O reader, know, That death has murder'd Johnnie! An' here his body lies fu' low- A BARD'S EPITAPH. Is there a whim-inspired fool, Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool, Let him draw near; And owre this grassy heap sing dool, And drap a tear. Is there a bard of rustic song, 1 Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, That weekly this area throng, O, pass not by! But, with a frater-feeling strong, Here, heave a sigh. Is there a man, whose judgment clear, Wild as the wave; Here pause-and, through the starting tear, Survey this grave. The poor inhabitant below Was quick to learn and wise to know, And softer flame, But thoughtless follies laid him low, And stain'd his name! Reader, attend-whether thy soul Know, prudent, cautious, self-control, ON THE LATE CAPTAIN GROSE'S PEREGRINATIONS THROUGH SCOTLAND, COLLECT- HEAR, Land O' Cakes, and brither Scots, I rede you tent it: A chield's amang you, taking notes, And, faith, he'll prent it. If in your bounds ye chance to light That's he, mark weel And wow! he has an unco slight O' cauk and keel. By some auld, houlet-haunted, biggin', It's ten to ane ye'll find him snug in Some eldritch part, Wi' deils, they say, L-d safe 's! colleaguin At some black art. Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or chamer, Ye gipsey-gang that deal in glamor, And you deep read in hell's black grammar, Warlocks and witches; Ye'll quake at his conjuring hammer, Ye midnight b Its tauld he was a sodger bred, -es. And dog-skin wallet, And ta'en the-Antiquarian trade, I think they call it. He has a fouth o' auld nick-nackets: And parritch-pats, and auld saut-backets, Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder; O' Balaam's ass; A broom-stick o' the witch of Endor, Weel shod wi' brass. 1 Vide his Antiquities of Scotland. 2 Vide his treatise on ancient armour and weapons. |