The all that speaks the "young Communicant.”
One" Wedding Night," with all its tipsy fun,
And each truth-hallowed sentiment is gone.
Effaced and banished every pious thought,
And every good resolve reduced to nought.
We need no " Trials" to corrupt the land-
No Surgeon candidate + for place to stand-
Our "penny weddings" do the thing as well,
And book full many a candidate for hell.

Archy Tait-the Village Chronicle.
'TWERE endless task, in numbers to relate
The ceaseless wanderings of old “
Archy Tait"-
His lonesome travels thro' the trackless moss-
His hair-breadth accidents-adventures cross-
His stories frightful, meaningless, and odd-
Of ghostly visions on his mighty road-
Of voices bursting from the darksome glen—
"Of tumbling amries," and of headless men-
Of sheeted ghosts, and death-foreboding specks
Of spreading lights on horse's ears and necks-
Of nightly rap-eluding sick man's ear-
But shaking every limb of nurse to hear-
++ Of coffins hammered at the noon of night-
Warning of morning job the quaking wright-
Of wraiths that take our form, to let us know
What hours of future life the fates bestow-
Of fires that cross the doubtful travellers' way,
And blaze, to lead his homeward steps astray―
And he would speak of elves, all clad in green,
On fairy knowe, or green-sward valley seen,
Their airy march has passed him on the lea-
The gingling steed, the peal of jollity.

Of changling Imp-he spoke, no care could rear,
Which backward seemed to orp, from year to year.
From morn to night some hellish trick that planned,
And from a nine years cradle cursed and banned-
Which trail'd its toad-like form around the fire,
Or crawled on knees and elbows through the mire,
At even-tide upset the milk-maid's pail—
Tied up the littered cattle, tail to tail-
Then held its sides, and yelled, to hear the roar,
And see the rushing milk-maid tumble o'er.
And he has heard the wizzard Curlers ply
Their gleesome game beneath a wintry sky,
As up the nightly Rink, the viewless stone,
With sweep, and shout, and booming speed, has gone.
Of" Brownie," he could tell, his hairy strength
Across the midnight hearth-stone laid at length-
The corn he threshed-the various work he did-
The peats he hurled at lazy varlet's head-
His hatred of deceit-the means he chose
To punish her who tasted" Brownie's broze."

Oh, I have sat from eve to early morn,

On Archy's endless stream of " stories" borne-
Eyed every movement-listened every sound-
Called into forms of meaning shapes around-
Yet, still intent to learn each tale of dread,
Tho' deepening o'er my cheek the safron spread-

* Writte during the trial of the Queen.

Written note for Montrose.

The fading ingle urged into a blaze,
From every rafter seen a Terror gaze;

The bounding line of light and darkness scanned,
And sudden flight 'gainst sudden danger planned.

Rest to thy spirit " Archy"-peaceful rest-
Amidst thy fellow-spirits of the blessed-
And ne'er may'st thou, with ghostly visage come,
Around this earth, in " spectre guise," to roam-
With thy unearthly presence, to affright

Some future wandering " Archy" of the night.
JUVENALIS JUNIOR.

NOTES TO ARCHY TAIT.

As these stories of our forefathers, are now gradually dying away, and in a few years will in all probability entirely vanish from the creed of our peasantry, it may be as amusing, to those who consider the study of the human mind under any peculiarity of impression, as interesting, to be put in possession of a specimen of those superstitious legends, with which the memory, or rather the imagination of many an Archy, about forty years ago, was stored.

"His lonesome travels through the trackless moss."

"I was daundering," said Archy, "ae misty morning, just atween day and the sun, thro' Gilchristland moss, and ay as I gaed on, the moss seemed to spin round, and stacks to grow out o' the heather knowes before me. At last, I threw mysel down, just in a fit o' desperation, belly-flaught, on a dry tuft of ling, when-Guid shall be my witness a pot o' fine yellow goud guineas lay peeping through the tod-tails, straught under my nose. The foul Thief, thinks I, has een a plot upon aul' Archy, but he'll cheat him, if he can; so down goes my guid aik stick into the saft peat flow, and off I sets for hame as fast as my feet could carry me. But rest I could na, and rest I did na, till, with the aul clasped Bible in my hand, I wized away west, to see what was become of the stalf and the poze, I had left behind me, and just as I set my nose o'er the Hird knowe, a wee aboon Deansyett, ye ken, and was beginning to clear my een frae the dew draps, for it was a dawky morning-what was to be seen d'ye think, no my single kent sticking in the mud whar I left it, but a hale regiment o' guid aik cudgels, every ane o' them as like my ane, as ae choup is like to anither. I trow I did na let ony grass grow to my heels till I was fairly housed and seated on the bink ayont the fire-and frae that day to this, my guid aik cleeky has never been mair heard tell o'."

"His hair-breadth accidents, adventures cross."

When I was a halflins Laddie, hirding the Guidman o' Auchincairns stirks, (Archy lo quitur et loquetur,) I mind it just as well as if it war nae farer gaen than yestreen-me and ane o'the Servan-lasses-and a bonny bit fodgel red cheekit Gawky it was used to milk the Kye, like, every night regularly, about eight o'clock-weel, as I am telling ye, I was just puing away a calf, that was a wee thing countermacious, and I'll no deny it, for I was a wee hailikit mysel' in these days, gieing Jenny a bit pooss in the bye gaun, no thinking o' ony ill eitherin Guid shall be my protection; as I thought I heard a queer unearthly greet coming down the shank, and wizing ay nearer, and nearer to the byre door. OdI thought I should have swarfed wi' down right fear, and Jenny, silly thing, was neither to bin' nor to haud, but out o' a' reason, rinning up and down the groupe, like a creature clean dementit. The very Kye shook at the stake, and the bits o' calfs, poor elfs, war like to rout their end: weel close to the door cheek to be certain, it comes-and sic an' a fearfue skerling as it set up, as gin it had been an aul body a' pued to pieces wi' pincers. There was no way o' escape, but by the byre door, whar the awsome creature was standing centry, an' the wee bit can'le doup was nearly burn't out, Jenny had lost a' reason, and had taken to the twenty-third psalm, an' I had said the Lord's prayer twice o'er without ony effect. There was nae time to be lost, for the very rafters aboon our heads war dirling wi' the skirl, sae down I pu's Jenny's Kirk Bible, that, as Providence had ordered it, was lying on the byre wa' head, the guid places war a' marked wi' rose leaves, which Jenny used whiles to smell at-let nae servan' lass ever be without a Bible—and bethinking mysel' o' the power o' the word, in the guid aul times-an' saining mysel' some twa score o' times o'er wi' the open word turned towards the door, out I flew, like an' arrow out of a bow, an' out came "avoid ye Satan," in the very teeth o' the enemy. But I trow well, frae that day to this, we never heard mair o' the "greeting Boggle."

"Of ghostly visions on his mighty road.”

Let naebody ever try to play tricks wi' the foul thief, for he's ay sure, ae way or ither, to get the better of them at last. It was a tempting o' Providence, and a provoking 'Satan, but what wad ye hac o' a young foolish laddie, nae twa-an'-thretty at the time? I kent fu' weel that Will o' Dressart-land wad be coming thro' the town-cleugh, after

supper-time, just to visit his Joe like; sae naething wad sair me, but I wad gie him a fright, and dressing mysel' in a bottomless sack, and rubbing my hands and face against the sides of the muckle broth pot, off I sets for the gray stane anist the town-cleugh. Weel, it was a clear moon-light night, but yet I canna say but I felt a wee eerie,-I was but halflins satisfied wi' my errand-down, howsomever, I claps upon the apron o' the grey-stane, and keeps my e'e ay wast o'er, on the look-out for Willy-but whenever I thought I saw him coming, it turned out to be either a heather-cow or a rash-bush. I had glowered till my very e'e strings war' crampit-and was just casting a look about me in a careless way, when plump upon the grimmed face and sheeted body of a brother ghost, closely seated by my elbow, my e'en cam' down. It sat a wee still, an' spak na-I thought the grey whin was gaun frae below me-it shook like a wabron-leaf-I had nae power either to speak or to move; it was just like a night-mare. At length, as if to relieve me from the awfu' horrors of silence, and to claim a kind o' friendly connection (the Lord be wi' us!) wi' poor Archy, it whispered in my ear these words, which I canna forget:

"Ye're come to fley, and a'm come to fley;

"We'll sit the-giddy, we'll sit the-giddy."

They may sit here that likes their company, thinks I, (for by this time I had come a wee to mysel') but I'll sit nae langer than I can help-sae, flinging aff the aul' sack, and putting my soul and body into the keeping o' the Most Hee, I was o'er the muir ere ever ye could have said "Jack Robison." Next day the sack was found on the spot, a' torn to pieces" the Lord be wi' us !"

"Of voices bursting from the darksome glen.”

It was rather late on a har'st night, as I was coming hame frae Croalchapel, up by the Nether Pothouse, and just snooving awa' alang the woods o' Loch-dunton, whar the aul' Pyot bigs her nest-ye ken, a wee aboon the black charcoal pit-and there was neither moon nor stars-naething but a flaught o' fire every now and than, to keep the road by— when, just at the root o' the pyet-tree, and no a stane-cast frae whar I stood, I hears an awsome groaning, and sighing, and maening, as if some puir frail failt body had been gasping its last. Help, poor fallow, after snouking a wee about the roots o' the hazel bushes, comes back to me yowling, wi' his tail atween his feet-an' out frae amang mine nae power on earth could stir him. Yea, yea, thinks I, the aul' boy has e'en taen up his quarters in a charcoal pit the night, an' its no for nought that the glaed whistles-but, thro' the strength o' Guid, I'll set him at defiance. Sae up I gaes, firm and fearless, till I sees the figure of an aul' man in a Kilmarnock night-cap, wi' a grey-looking doublet rocking an' rowing back and forit, to and fro, under the scoug o' a hazel bush." Ye're unco sair forfouchen, man," says I-(for its safer ay to hae the first word o' ought ill)"what's the matter wi' ye? that's no a guid bed for a sick body, in the how-dumb-dead o' a caul' har'st night." It took nae mair notice o' me than gin I had been the aul' Pyot jarking." "A weel," says I," I sall neither mak' nor meddle wi' ye mair, but leave ye to the care o' him wha taks tent o' deil as weel as body." I had na weel said the word, whan I thought I was dung blin' wi' a splutter o' fire, an' up the Pothouse-linn gaed the most awfu' yelloch 1 ever heard afore or sinsyne. They're a' weel keepit that God keeps, my bairn!

"Of tumbling amries, and of headless men.'

99

Whether the word Amrie, applied in the south of Scotland, the true Saxon district, to that large square press, which being placed immediately under the dresser, forms a ready and convenient receptacle for broken meat, meal basin, with a long et cetera of odds and ends has any connection with the " amus, or alms, we presume not (Jamiesone vivente) to determine. It is sufficient for our present purpose, to have made our readers conceive of this object, as large and shapeless.

"As I was coming down by the chaise craig, ('ns paro μavis aμvv) and wearing awa' by staffy-biggam, alang Maxwell's cruik, ye understand, just as I had crossed the ford, and was drawing my plaid up o'er my shoulders. The night was fearfu' dark, and rainy, what does I meet, wot ye, but a coach and six driving furiously down the very face o' the scaur. The coach was a' set round about wi' black lamps, an' something looked out of it like a muckle black cat, just ready to jump out o' an "amrie" door. But ere I had breath to say, "His presence be about us,"-The vision had vanished, an' I could hear, for see I couldna, the muckle amric-stenning an' o'erenning down the brae, a' the way to the Mar-burn, whar' it fizzed in the water like a red hot gad o' airn, preserve us a !”

Of sheeted ghosts, and death-foreboding specks."

Aye, Sirs, my sister Jeanie's death was a sair blow to me-in spite o' a' the medicines I could apply and I spared neither Tartar nor Black Apple, she boud to die, her wierboud to be dried, an' it fell to my care to see her straughted, an' decently laid in her coffin. It was a sad sight an' a sair ane-but that was na' the warst o't after a', for the coffin at a sharp turn in the planting wiest off the spakes, an' the lid was fairly broken up, I saw my ain sister's face wi' the dead claes o'er't, My poor Jeanie was buried at last, an' hame I comes in the afternoon, an' down I sits in my lanely bield, by the ingle-cheek, it was a cauld hearth, an' a dowy seat atweel. There was the chair she used to sit on, There

was the Cutty still lying on the Hud, wi' the embers o' the last blast she drew sticking in the throat o't-every thing seemed to speak o' Jeanie. The shoon standing wi' the heels down by her bed-side, and the very cat, that rubbit itsel' contentedly on her apron tail, whan she was drawing out a thread o' sale yarn. An' tho' her an' I war often no that great friends whan she was living, for she had an awful tongue whiles, an' was nae ways sparing o't, I was unco wae atweel, now that Jeanie was housed in the caul yerd, an' me sitting by a bien pantry, and a warm Greishoch. So out I stavers, for rest 1 could na' within. It was like no using Jeanie weel, to enjoy ony o' this warl's comforts, and her sae lanely an' sae comfortless, beneath the drap o' an' auld ash tree. The sun was gaen down, an' I could hear the sugh o' the brumbling pool-sae down I claps close by the side o't, just to doze a wee, for I was a kind o' stupid.-But oh my bairns, may nane o' you ever ken my ken, that fearfu' hour, for as sure as my name's Archy, did my sister Jeanie rise out o' the black belling water, an' try to clasp me in her arms.-I gat but ae glisk o' the apparition, till it raise high up in the air, an' gaed aff wi' the flap an' the scream of "a Lang Neckit Heron."-The Lord be wi' the just, an' keep them a' in their graves till the resurrection !"

66

Of nightly rap, eluding sick man's ear.”

I remember weel, my mother, honest woman, wha' was never in her life blamed for leeing and she had been sitting up ae winter night wi' the auld Guidman o' Gilchristland, auld Crairie-ye ken-wha wore ay the red nightcap, an' prayed sae loud an' sae lang on the Quarrie Knowe; an' if he binna weel now, mony a ane may be feart, that's a sure thing;-a weel, as I was telling ye, the Guidman was a wee easier-a' the family had gane to rest-the doors war a' shut, and the dogs a' sleeping. My mother had laid down" th' Afflicted Man's Companion," with which she had read the Guidman into a sort o' dover, and had thrown hersel' back just for a gliffy, to tak' a nap, in the easy chair-when skelp goes the mid-door, as if it had been fairly riven in twa, before her een. She visited the kitchen; she peeped into the pantry-door; there was not even a mouse stirring. The Guidman died nine weeks after, nae doubt it was a warning.

"Of coffins hammered at the noon of night."

There is a Wright or Carpenter, still living, with whom the author of these sketches has conversed, and who has assured him in perfect sincerity, that in his earlier days, and when he was first apprenticed to the trade, his master was wont to waken him in the night-time, that he might mark the hammering in the work-shop adjoining-nor did the augured event, ever of course, fail to follow!

"To punish her who tasted Brownie's broze.'"

Brownie, in more recent times, (and for his earlier history and character, consult King James's VI. Dæmonologie, page 126, the splendid edition 1616, by the Bishop of Winton,) was pretty generally supposed to take up his residence, during the day, in what the farmer termed his peat garret, immediately over, and in full view of the kitchen, from which commanding station, the immemorial residence of undisturbed vermin, he sent down his black messengers of admonition in the shape and substance of peat clods, upon the heads of such servan-lassies," as seemed disposed to negligence or indiscretion. His presence, even, when not thus attested, was, at times, indicated, by the selfrocking of a cradle, or by the continued, and pendulum measured motion, from "wig to wa" of the slack rope which generally crossed the farmer's ha', and over which were flung, in wide spreading suspense, all the loose suspendibles of the family, such as sheepskins, worsted aprons, stockings, hoshings, &c. One day, according to the record of veritable tradition, a maid-servant, who had been in the habit of preparing, and serving up brownie's morning repast, (he being at this time very intent upon a threshing job, in the barn), whether, from mere curiosity, or from a desire (like Sancho's jesters) to please his guest, is not fully ascertained, inadvertently put the spoon, which had been used in stirring the broze, to her lips, whereupon Brownie, who did not seem altogether to relish this mark of attention, proceeded in the coolest and most civil manner imaginable, to toss her backwards and forwards, like a flying shuttlecock, over one of the barn-bawks, repeating, at every toss he made, this short monitory speech.

VOL. VIII.

"I'll learn you to sup brownie's broze?"

2 C

REMARKS ON CAPTAIN BROWN'S LETTER TO THE LORD PROVOST OF EDINBURGH.'

• Printed for Archibald Constable & Company, Edinburgh.