"Rise up, gudeman, save Cromie's life, And tak' yere auld cloak about ye." "My cloak was ance a guid grey cloak, When it was fitting for my wear, But now it's scarcely worth a groat, For I ha'e worn't this thretty year." This reference to the cloak manifestly shews the antiquity of the song, as cloaks of the description alluded to have not been in fashion for many years past. The "cloak," or hooded plaid, was a kind of surtout always at hand, which hung upon a peg or pin, at the foot of the bed, and was ever in readiness to cover all deficiences, on any sudden or unforeseen movement. The propriety in the keeping of this song, is, therefore, most strikingly illustrated in this circumstance. Marion had not time nor inclination to dress herself, for she was determined to go instantly to the quay to meet her husband; so she calls for "her cloak," which could be put on in an instant, whilst she gives the necessary orders about those preparations to which time was required. "Rise up and make a clean fire-side, Put on the muckle pat; Gi'e little Kate her cotton gown, And Jock his Sunday's coat; He likes to see them braw." The former commissions and or ders would be executed, in all probability, without rising. But in "making a clean fire-side, and in putting on the muckle pat," it was absolutely necessary that the daughter should bestir herself; so this part of the orders is introduced by a "rise up." The making o' a clean fire-side can only be fully understood where peat-fires are used on a hearth, without grate or fender. The ashes which proceed from the consumed peats are ever and anon spreading themselves over the surrounding floor, and demand all the attention of the housewife, in keeping them within proper bounds, and in preventing the gudeman from sitting hurkling in the ase." 66 "A bleezing ingle and a clean hearthstane,' in the "Gentle Shepherd," holds out to her lover as an inducement towards marriage; and the clean fire-side which is here spoken of must undoubtedly have been accompanied by a bleezing ingle, otherwise the muckle pat would have been put on to little purpose. When the Prodigal Son returned, the fatted calf was killed; and, amidst the virtuous and industrious peasantry of our happy country, the return of a relation, the arrival of a friend, is usually hailed and celebrated by some little fête of indulgence. They who live at "hack and manger," whose "muckle pat" is on every day, and who know no respite from full living or feasting, cannot conceive the enjoyment which the poorer classes have, when, on some 66 Saturnalia," such as the one of which I am speaking, exertions are made to procure good cheer, and the affectionate feelings of the heart are warmed and cherished into full expansion, by such fare as "Partans and buckies, Speldings and haddocks, enew, "Gae mak' their shoon as black as slaes, Their stockings white as snaw." It is not easy for us to conceive in what way the stockings were to assume the whiteness of snaw in so short a period as is here manifestly fixed for the accomplishment of the process. Not even the agency of acids and alkalis would have done the thing in time for Colin's arrival. What then are we to understand by "making their stockings white as snaw?" This likewise carries us back to an early period of society, and to customs materially different from those which obtain in our own times. By "Sir David Lindsay of the Mount," that founder of Scottish poetry, and Scottish feeling and independence, we find mention made of the "Hosen white as clay could mak' them clear, For Sacrament and ither Sabbath wear." And in the works of Gawin Douglas, is one of the comforts which Peggy, there is an allusion made to those who "paint their legs as well as their faces," which in all probability has a reference to the same process. The "cretata ambitio" of the Romans, their "toga candida," with all the process of whitening by means of fuller's-earth, such as our dragoons clear their leather-breeches with, are too well known to require any illustration here. From all these instances, taken in connection with the one before us, we are entitled to infer that "Marion's daughter" was required to apply the whitening-stone, as it was called, instantly, to the stockings in question, so that they might shine out, for Colin, in all their artificial and borrowed purity. "He likes to see them braw." And what father of a family does not like to see his children, if not braw, in the extreme sense of the term, at least neat, clean, and what we call tidy?" Simplex munditiis" is the phrase in Horace; "mundus et feliciter ornatus" is the expression somewhere else. A mother must, of necessity, see and feel her children in a vast variety of forbidding and uncomfortable situations. "Every day braw, mak's Sunday a daw !" but it will ever be her aim, if she wishes to retain her husband's heart and affections, to prevent him from seeing his children when covered with mud and ashes, or when flying and fluttering in rags. Next to cleanliness and sweetness in her own person and temper, every mother would act wisely in reference to the gudeman, in endeavouring to promote these objects in respect of the minds and the bodies of their children. "There are twa hens into the crib, Ha'e fed this month and mair; Make haste and thraw their necks about, That Colin weel may fare." "Twa hens into the crib." This Scotch, and somewhat common use of the word into, where in might have been expected, has often struck me as somewhat analogous to the present use which we find in the Roman writers, of the accusative governed by the preposition in, where the ablative might have appeared preferable. "Veluti in speculum; in amicitiam esse; in dotem esse; in quos sumus," &c., are examples of the class referred to. But so near does the idea expressed by the words in and into sometimes coincide in English, that I still hesitate betwixt the phrase, "I dashed a stone into, and I dashed it in the water;" both are found in the very best authors. Let these observations, therefore, suffice it to shew that the idiom here adopted is by no means uncommon, or limited to the Scotch language exclusively." Into the crib." It is necessary here to observe, that Marion is a townswoman; she lives in a seaport; for we hear, by-and-by, of the Bailie's wife, a personage who is only to be found in burghs; consequently her hens must have been cribbed or confined; they could not ing at large; they must have been enjoy the glorious privilege of roampurchased, as the English dealers buy the Irish bullocks, in a lean state, to be fattened by feeding, afterwards. "A month and mair" was not, inthen every thing must yield to the deed, a long season of fattening, but made, "that Colin weel may fare." occasion, every sacrifice must be "Sae sweet his voice, sae smooth his tongue, His breath's like cauler airHis very fit has music in't, As he comes up the stair." The good, affectionate, but garrulous woman, reverts alternately from the objects around her, and the provision to be made to her beloved husband; and thinking of him, she cannot fail to recollect him in the most favourable and engaging attitude; she thinks of him probably as she first knew him, when, in the softness and smoothness of a lover's insinuating manner, he presumed to solicit the favour of her hand. The fact is, that a woman never forgets the impression which is made upon her, during the delightful and intoxicating period of courtship;she reverts to this amidst all her after troubles and disappointments; and when at times, as in the present instance, her husband returns upon her under peculiarly pleasing circumstances, she sees in him only the lover of her youth,-she can talk of nothing but the "sweet voice" and the "smooth tongue" which won her from her mammy, and made her the mistress of a household. "His breath is sweeter than new hay," says Peggy of her Pate; and assuredly our Marion Stedfast was equally well entitled to speak favourably of the breath of her own seventeen-years-wedded husband. In these days, tobacco, that most noxius and abominable of all weeds, Lich owes its use entirely to the caprice of later times, had not come into fashion,-smoking, snuffing, and chewing, were then unknown; and, consequently, a fine, fodgel, cleanly, canny lass, might come within the breath of her lover, without running any risk of contamination, or of downright suffocation. "His very fit has music in't." This is indeed the very truth of passion. Alison explains all this to a t. Association, agreeable, delightful association, will convert even the jerking and creeking of shoes into the most delightful musical notes;-and how quick are love and affection in discovering the true character and individuality of various steps, even previous to the appearance of the person by whose tread the sound is occasioned! Marion not only recollects the particular tread of her husband, but she conceives it to be me lodious. "It has music in't"-ad "mirable! "And will I see his face again? And will I hear him speak? In troth I'm like to greet." Is there any individual who requires to be reminded, that, as there were periods of his life when he was stunned or stupified, as it were, with sorrow, so there were other occasions again, when, from an intensity of delight, he could scarcely believe his happiness real. This latter case is Marion's here. She wishes to know, as it were, what she already knows, to hear over and over again the delightful intelligence,-she cannot have enough of it. "To see his face again" were indeed extacy; but to hear him speak,-to listen to all his endearing words,-to have the narrative of his voyages and ad ventures from his own dear lips,this is indeed insupportable;-1 feel my brain give way,-I shall undoubtedly sink under the tidings,-I am dizzy, and my ears sing, and my brain burns,-nothing but tears can give me safety and relief,—thank God, they are coming at last "In troth I'm like to greet," Now, I ask all the readers of classical poetry, and of lyrical poetry in particular, to mention a parallel to this sweet and delightful old song. Not the "Jactare basia" of Catullus, not the "Amaryllis" of Virgil, not the "Lalage" of Horace, not the "Wee bit mou' sae sweet and bon ny" of Roy's Wife, not the " John o Badynyon" of Skinner, scarcely "Auld acquaintance," and only "The Land o' the Liel," can match with this. Here is a married couple who have a numerous family of children, and who have, consequently, been married many years, and have all the usual chances against them, in respect of domestic happiness, under so long a trial; and yet every reader envies their happiness. There is no love-sick girl, or dying swain, who would not willingly exchange situations with Marion and Colin Stedfast, the happy married pair. And what is the key to all this? How comes the mariner's wife to en joy so much more happiness than the tailor's, the shoemaker's, or the shopkeeper's? The reason is obvious, the mariner is a stranger at home. "Oh, for Godsake," said an honest woman to her husband, in my hearing, "trouble yourself less wi' the house affairs;-ye're aye sae muckle about hame, that a body has nae room to turn themsel', for ye're aye girn, girning, and fash, fashing, and spier, spiering, and gnatter, gnattering,-I wish in my heart ye had been a sailor." There, on the other hand, they sit, the truly happy pair, with nothing on earth to separate them from each other's company, were it only for a single instant," amandus he, amanda she," fixed irrevocably in the sacred and indissoluble bands of matrimony,-he endeared, she endearing, he ever ready to anticipate every wish, and she ever wishing for his happiness,--he only living for her, and she a whole world of variety,— a mind highly cultivated and well informed, a countenance expressive of a whole gamut of amiable and fascinating sentiments and feelings. How is it possible that either, even for an instant, can experience tedium or weariness? That covering of the mouth with the hand could not possibly be meant to conceal a yawn! That restless outlooking at the window, and turning over and over of a ten-days-old newspaper, cannot indicate any thing short of exstacy! Those long pauses, filled up with active* manifestation of affection, are assuredly expressive of genuine and inexpressible delight! That counting of the hours, and wishing for the time of dinner, and of retiring to rest, can only indicate how swiftly the day flies, when urged on by wishing! And this is a happy pair! What says experience? No. What says reason? No.-What says Mr and Mrs Loveall, the three weeks married pair? No, no, no. A SPEECH DELIVERED AT THE LATE ANNIVERSARY OF THE POET BURNS; BY THE PRESIDENT OF AN OBSCURE CLUB, IN THE TOWN OF SHADOW, IN UTOPIA, COMPASSIONATELY PUBLISHED FOR THE BENEFIT OF FUTURE BRAIN-BEATING PRESIDENTS. "GENTLEMEN, "COULD I justly affirm, that my confidence were at all equal to the deep sense I entertain of the honour done me, I should not perhaps despair of discharging, in some feeble, though inadequate manner, the pleasing duty which my situation prescribes. But the elevation on which your partiality has set me, while it fills me with delight, I fear, in the feelings it engenders, renders even my weak inability the greater. The name of the distinguished person, however, whom we have met to celebrate, in the power and the charm which it bears with it, shall make my poor endeavours forgot. Its very sound, however feebly uttered, shall be like the whispers, which are sufficient to arouse the swell and loud rolling of a mighty echo. It shall be enough for me, if my feeble hand, in that name we revere, shall touch the notes of that chord, which shall acquire a growing richness, and more harmonious power, in the hallowed and cherished recollections of you all. "Gentlemen, perhaps of all public assemblages, those of the present nature are the most satisfying and delightful. Here we meet to express our approbation of no transient public benefit, and we escape from the influence of those political opinions, which, in the zeal and fervour with which they are proclaimed, often sow the seeds of inveterate dissension, and deepen the line of separation be tween our different parties in the state. The cause of our meeting is yet more powerful and lasting in its attraction. We assemble to do honour to the memory of our great National Poet, who, by his magical power, has so often either thrilled us with transport, or steeped us in sad ness. "It would, Gentlemen, be idle in me to touch upon those incidents of his life, or those features of his character, with which all of you are familiar. There are those present who can yet well remember the vigour with which, like a meteor, he shot forth from the gloom of an obscure condition, and the power and fervid inspiration with which he touched the long-neglected strings of his native lyre. The poets who had preceded him in our native tongue, and who had caught the affections of the people, at once lost their general estimation, and the warmth of universal admiration was yielded to one who displayed the energies of a more capacious and seducing power. Let me not deeply awaken your regrets, in touching upon his errors or his misfortunes. If by these he has added one more to the mournful and crowded catalogue of unfortunate genius, let us at least, in this late tribute, resemble the poor bondman of Pompey, on the shores of Egypt, honouring the memory of his mighty master; or that obscure woman, who * The parish priest of reverend famer, entombed the hallowed remains of the exiled Phocion, even beneath her own hearth;-let us (so to speak) carefully gather the ashes of this gifted poet of Nature, who has so often wielded, with power, our affections; and, in the fervour of our veneration, shew the depth of our regrets. "What poet, may we not ask, is there, who has acquired a more enviable fame? The verses of the Italian bards, Tasso and Ariosto, are yet, after the lapse of ages, breathed in their sweetness, in the musical accents of the Gondaliers, along the calm bosom of the Adriatic. The strains of our poet possess the same publicity, and have descended to every variety of condition. They are heard cheering the labours of rustic life, they have stamped unfading durability and celebrity upon acts of national patriotism, or individual enterprise. They have imparted interest and attraction to traditions, and given name, and a classical dignity, to our streams, our mountains, and our vallies. He has imparted to our national airs, (whose rich excellencies, contrasted with the supposed remote and rude period of their production, have proved an insurmountable problem to the antiquary,) as it were, a more direct voice and intelligence. He has heightened what was comic, and added to the force of what was tender or pathetic. There are found in his productions what adapts itself, as a powerful and salutary medicine, to every diversity of condition, to every peculiarity of situation, and to every change and combination of human character. His rich poetic power resembles a stream, which, by its varying murmurs, and the graceful sweep, and often abrupt intricacies of its windings, may be said to infuse animation and a soul into every majestic, every rugged, and every soft variety of scene through which it passes. He "Our venerated poet has built no stately rhyme which can elicit only a cold, reluctant admiration. makes no vain parade of the mechanical part of his art. Like the unrivalled Shakespeare, he speaks at once to our affections; and while he associates near each other the sublime, the pathetic, and the ludi crous, he impresses us deeply with the universality of his power, in which he has only one prototype, and one superior. His fame daily grows and increases. Like a river flowing in a deep valley, and drawing to it every rivulet which descends from the encircling mountains, he attracts to himself, by the abundance of his poetic power, the willing tribute of the strong and varied emotions of the human heart. "But how superfluous may you well deem it, and, I fear, how presumptuous in me, to attempt the eulogium of a poet, whose fame lives in every cottage,-whose songs "welcome the morning, and amuse the evening,”whose verses not only kindle and inflame, and touch those who live amidst the scenes he has celebrated, but which are the constant companions of our countrymen in distant lands,-which soothe them amidst the toils and hardships they endure, which cherish and preserve in vigour their national attachments,which, by their crowd of images, melt them with early and loved recollection, and which, in the ardour they inspire, lead them, even amidst all the diversities of a foreign scene, to picture forth some features of resemblance to the stream which murmured past the cottage of their infancy, or to those towering and fantastically-shaped mountains, which bounded in their early prospect. "In giving permanency and durability to our native tongue, our poet has stamped and secured his own immortality; and if we, who live so near his time, feel so enthusiastically his power, we can with difficulty appreciate those hallowed emotions, which his productions shall beget in a distant posterity. They shall be like a venerable pile o'erspread with ivy, over which hoar Time seems only to shed a more picturesque and impressive beauty. They shall possess over the souls of our remote descendants somewhat of that magical and indescribable power, which, after the lapse of hundreds of years, Dante exercises over the minds of the Italians; somewhat of that direct and subduing voice with which the mighty Shakespeare, even now, touches irresistibly the chords of our passions and our affections. MARCUS." |