The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae ill, I might multiply instances enough, where the tailor is introduced in a ludicrous manner, but hope the two following will suffice. I give them the more readily as they appear to me to have furnished Burns with the ideas of the present song. to be found in Herd's collection. The tailor came to clout the claise, Sic a braw fellow ! He fill'd the house a' fou' of fleas, The lassie slept ayont the fire, Oh she was a' his heart's desire, The lassie she fell fast asleep, The tailor close to her did creep; The first is The tailor he came here to sew, Sae weel's he kent the way o't, Sae weel's he kent the way o't, There were other two stanzas to this old ditty, but in the present age they are scarcely admissible.-B. Gie me the groat again, canny young man, There's somebody weary wi' lying her lane, BLOOMING NELLY.* Tune-" On a Bank of Flowers." On a bank of flowers, in a summer-day, Who for her favour oft had sued, He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd, *This is an improvement on an old English song, which appears in various collections. A copy is given in Ramsay's Tea Table Miscellany, from which Burns apparently has modelled the present rather warm lyric. The following is the first verse of the old song, the other verses are too indelicate for insertion: On a bank of flowers, In a summer-day, Her closed eyes like weapons sheath'd, Were seal'd in soft repose; Her lips still as she fragrant breath'd, It richer dy'd the rose. The springing lilies sweetly prest, Wild-wanton, kiss'd her rival breast; He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'dHis bosom ill at rest. Her robes light waving in the breeze, Her lovely form, her native ease A faltering, ardent kiss he stole ; As flies the partridge from the brake, On fear-inspired wings, So Nelly starting, half awake, But Willy followed, as he should, He overtook her in the wood; In her bloom of youth, Fair Celia lay, With love and sleep oppress'd; When a youthful swain, With admiring eyes, The sweet maid surprise; With a fa, la, la, la, etc. M. MY JEAN !* Tune-" The Northern Lass." THOUGH cruel fate should bid us part, Far as the pole and line, Should tenderly entwine. Though mountains rise, and deserts howl, And oceans roar between; I still would love my Jean. The heroine of this sweet snatch is Jean Armour, and it was composed when the poet was on the eve of leaving his native land and all that was dear to him therein. The tune is that of an English song which is to be found in the Charmer, and other collections. As it is short, and some of the verses pretty, we extract it : Come, take your glass, the northern lass I drank her health, and really was Her shape so neat, her voice so sweet, The syren charm'd me from my meat,- If from the north such beauty came, Within my breast that glowing flame No tongue can e'er reveal? Though cold and raw the north-wind blow, All summer's on her breast; Her skin was like the driven snow, Her heart may southern climates melt, Though frozen now it seems; That joy with pain be equal felt, And balanc'd in extremes. Then, like our genial wine, she'll charm Me like our sun her heart shall warm, M. MY HARRY WAS A GALLANT GAY.* Tune-"Highlander's Lament." My Harry was a gallant gay, Fu' stately strode he on the plain : I'll never see him back again. In his recent edition of Burns' works, Allan Cunningham has this note on the above song:--"The oldest title,' says Burns, 'I ever heard to this air, was "The Highland Watch's Farewell to Ireland." The chorus I picked up from an old woman in Dumblane; the rest of the song is mine.' Part of the farm of Mossgiel bears the name of Knockhaspie's land: the Poet recollected this when he modified the chorus from recitation it is almost needless to add that The Highland Watch' is the gallant forty-second regiment: and that Highland Harry was Prince Henry Stuart, the last male of the ancient Scottish line. That prince lived to a good old age, and when he died a monument was raised to his memory at the expense of George IV., sculp tured by the skilful hand of Canova." Mr Cunningham, we apprehend, is perfectly wrong in the hero whom he has assigned to this song. Instead of the Highland Harry alluded to in the song being "Prince Henry Stuart, the last male of the ancient Scottish line," he was the second son of a Highland chieftain who came down to the Garioch, a district in Aberdeenshire, and made love to Miss Jeanie Gordon, daughter to the laird of Knockhaspie. This lady, we are informed by Mr Buchan, whose intimate acquaintance with the family history and the traditionary song of the north of Scotland is above all praise, was afterwards married to her cousin Habichie Gordon, second son to the laird of Rhynie. A farther interesting fact is mentioned by Mr Buchan, namely, that sometime after the lady had been married, Harry Lumsdale, the hero of the song, and her former lover, accidentally met with her, and while in the act of shaking her kindly by the hand, was treacherously assailed by her husband, who, drawing his sword, lopped off several of Lumsdale's fingers. This Lumsdale took so much to heart that it ultimately proved the cause of his death shortly after. "The old song has been known," says Mr Buchan, "in this part of the country for ages. I never saw it in print." First when Harry came to Clatt, Wi' saddled horse, and bridled keen, |