haps half a century hence, you must certainly include The bonniest lass in a' the warld in your collection.

Dainty Davie, I have heard sung, nineteen thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine times, and always with the chorus to the low part of the tune and nothing has surprised me so much as your opinion on this subject. If it will not suit as I proposed, we will lay two of the stanzas together, and then make the chorus follow.

Fee him father-I inclose you Frazer's set of this tune when he plays it slow; in fact he makes it the language of despair. I shall here give you two stanzas, in that style, merely to try if it will be any improvement. Were it possible, in singing, to give it half the pathos which Frazer gives it in playing, it would make an admirably pathetic song. I do not give these verses for any merit they have. I composed them at the time in which Patie Allan's mither died, that was about the back o' midnight; and by the lee-side of a bowl of punch, which had overset every mortal in company, except the hautbois and the muse.

THOU hast left me ever, Jamie, Thou hast left me

ever,

Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, Thou hast left me

ever.

Aften hast thou vow'd that death, Only should us

sever,

Y

Now thou'st left thy lass for ay-I maun see thee

never, Jamie,

I'll see thee never. *

Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, Thou hast me for

saken,

Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, Thou hast me for

saken.

Thou canst love anither jo, While my heart is breaking:

Soon my weary e'en I'll close-Never mair to waken, Jamie,

Ne'er mair to waken.†

Jockey and Jenny I would discard, and in its place would put There's nae luck about the house, which has a very pleasant air, and which is positively the finest love-ballad in that style in the Scottish, or perhaps in any other language. When she came ben she bobbet, as an air, is more beautiful than either, and in the andante way, would unite with a charming sentimental ballad.

Sar

ites.

ye my Father? is one of my greatest favourThe evening before last, I wandered out, and began a tender song; in what I think is its native style. I must premise, that the old way, and

The Scottish (the Editor uses the word substantively, as the English) employ the abbreviation I'll for I shall as well as I will; and it is for I shall, it is used here. In Annandale, as in the northern counties of England, for I shall they use I'se. E.

This is the whole of the song. The bard never proceeded any farther. Note by Mr Thomson.

the way to give most effect, is to have no starting note, as the fiddlers call it, but to burst at once into the pathos. Every country girl sings-Saw ye my father, &c.

My song is but just begun; and I should like, before I proceed, to know your opinion of it. I have sprinkled it with the Scottish dialect, but it may be easily turned into correct English.*

Todlin hame. Urbani mentioned an idea of his, which has long been mine; that this air is highly susceptible of pathos; accordingly, you will soon hear him at your concert try it to a song of mine in the Museum; Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon. One song more and I have done: Auld lang syne, The air is but mediocre; but the following song, the old song of the olden times, and which has never been in print, nor even in manuscript, until I took it down from an old man's singing, is enough to recommend any air.

AULD LANG SYNE.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to min'?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days o' lang syne?

CHORUS.

For auld lang syne, my dear,

For auld lang syne,

This song appears afterwards.

It begins,

E.

"Where are the joys I hae met in the morning."

We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

We twa hac run about the braes,
And pu't the gowans fine;

But we've wandered mony a weary foot,

We twa hae paidl't i̇' the burn,
Frae mornin sun till dine;

But seas between us braid hae roar'd,
Sin auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

And here's a hand, my trusty fiere,

And gie's a hand ' thine

And we'll tak a right guid willie-waught,

For auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,

And surely I'll be mine;

And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet

For auld lang syne.*
For auld, &c.

Now, I suppose I have tired your patience fairly. You must, after all is over, have a number of ballads,

This song, of the olden time, is excellent. It is worthy of

our bard.

E.

properly so called. Gill Morice, Tranent Muir, M'Pherson's Farewell, Battle of Sheriff Muir, or We ran and they ran (I know the author of this charming ballad, and his history), Hardiknute, Barbara Allan (I can furnish a finer set of this tune than any that has yet appeared), and besides, do you know that I really have the old tune to which The Cherry and the Slae was sung; and which is mentioned as a well known air in Scotland's Complaint, a book published before poor Mary's days. It was then called The Banks o' Helicon; an old poem which Pinkerton has brought to light. You will see all this in Tytler's history of Scottish music. The tune, to a learned ear, may have no great merit; but it is a great curiosity. I have a good many original things of this kind.

No. XLIII.

MR BURNS to MR THOMSON.

September, 1793.

I AM happy, my dear Sir, that my ode pleases you so much. Your idea," honour's bed," is, though a beautiful, a hackneyed idea; so, if you please, we will let the line stand as it is. I have altered the song as follows: