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As she had trysted, I met wi' 'er this night;
But may nae frien o' mine get such a fright!
For the curst hag, instead of doing me guid,
(The very thocht o'ts like to freeze my bluid!)
Raised up a ghaist, or deil, I kenna whilk,
Like a dead corse, in sheet as white as milk;
Black hands it had, and face as wan as death;
Upon me fast the witch and it fell baith,
And got me down; while I like a great fool
Was 'laboured* as I used to be at school:
My heart out o' its hoolf was like to loup,
I pithless grew wi' fear, an' had nae houp,
Till wi' an elritch laugh, they vanished quite;
Syne I, hauf dead wi' anger, fear and spite,
Crap up, and fled straught frae them."

Tidings had arrived that Sir William, who had now been absent several years, might be expected home, as the king was restored and the royal party was now predominant.

This tidings created the liveliest sensations of joy among Sir William's tenantry, as he was much beloved for his kindness and generosity of disposition. Old Symon Scott and Glaude Anderson were especially delighted, and resolved, each of them, to celebrate the event with a feast. Symon however had already begun to make preparations for a banquet, to which he invited Glaude and all the old and young people of the neighborhood:

"It's Symon's house, please to step in,

And vissy'tý round and round,
There's nought superfluous to gie pain,
Or costly to be found.

* Belabored.

+ Powerless.

† Place or socket.

§ Examine it.

Yet a' is clean-a clear peat ingle*
Glances amidst the floort;

The green horn spoons, beech luggiest mingle
On skelfs foregainst the door.

While the young brood sport on the green,

The auld anes think it best,

Wi' the brown cow|| to clear their een
Snuff, crack and tak their rest.”

While they are engaged Sir William appears among the young people on the green, in the garb of a fortune teller. Jenny runs into the house and tells her father, who, particularly good-natured and hospitable at such an hour, replies :

[Exit Jenny.

"Gae bring him in; we'll hear what he can say,
Nane shall gae hungry by my house the day.
But for his telling fortunes, troth I fear
He kens nae mair o' that than my grey mare.
Glaud.-Spae men!¶ the truth o' a' their saws I doubt,
For greater lears never ran thereout.

[Jenny returns bringing in Sir William;-with them Patie.
Symon.-Ye're welcome honest carle, here take a seat.
Sir W.-I gie ye thanks, gudeman, I'se be no blate.**
Glaud.-Come, t'yeff frien. How far came ye the day?
Sir W.-I pledge ye, neibour, e'en but little way.

Symon.-Ye're welcome here to stay a' night wi' me.

And tak sic bed and board as we can gie.

Sir W-That's kind unsought.-Weel gin‡‡ ye hae a bairn,

That ye like weel, an wad his fortune learn,

I shall employ the farthest o' my skill,

To spae it faithfully, be 't good or ill.

Symon (pointing to Patie).-Only that lad: alake! I hae nae mae Either to mak me joyfu' now or wae.

Shelves op

* A fire of peats. In Scotland the old peasant houses have the fire in their centre. ‡ Cups of beech wood. posite the door. Brown ale. ¶ Fortune-tellers. ff Your health. ‡‡ If.

**Bashful.

Sir W.-Young man, let's see your hand; what gars* ye sneer? Patie.-Because your skill's but little worth, I fear.

Sir W-Ye cut before the point: but, Billy, bide,

I'll wager there's a mouse-mark on your side.

This being the case, all are astonished at the old man's knowledge, who goes on to predict that Patie, one of these days, will be a rich laird.

Elspa.—Hear, ye gudeman, what think ye now?

Symon. I dinna ken! Strange auld man, what art thou?
Fair fat your heart, it 's guid to bode o' wealth
Come, turn the timmer to laird Patie's health.

(Patie's health goes round.)

Old Symon, by the request of the spaeman, goes out to meet him, and they have much conversation together. At length—

"Sir William drops his masking beard,

Symon transported sees

The welcome knight, wi' fond regard,
An' grasps him round the knees."

They converse concerning Patie, who is actually Sir William's son and heir, and agree to make known his true position. This is accordingly done, and produces great excitement among the parties. Patie is glad and sorrowful at the same time, and Peggy sees nothing in it but disappointment and grief. A gulf has intervened between her and Patie, and she feels that she must give him up for ever. But Patie assures her of his constant affection, and the "puir thing" absolutely "greets for joy to hear his words sae kind."

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Next morning

"While Peggy laces up her bosom fair

Wi' a blue snood, Jenny binds up her hair;
Glaud by his morning ingle, taks a beek,*
The rising sun shines motty† thro' the reek,‡
A pipe his mouth, the lasses please his een,
An' now and then his joke must intervene."

But all parties are sent for to Symon's house—

"To hear and help to redd § some odd debate

'Tween Mause and Bauldy, 'bout some witchcraft spell,
At Symon's house: the knight sits judge himsell."

All then are assembled

"Sir William fills the twa armed chair,

While Symon, Roger, Glaud, and Mause,
Attend, and wi' loud laughter hear

Daft Bauldy bluntly plead his cause:
For now it's tell'd him that the taz ||

Was handled by revengeful Madge,
Because he brak guid breeding's laws,

And wi' his nonsense raised their rage.

Bauldy, however, confesses his wrong, and adds—

"But I had best

Haud in my tongue, for yonder comes the ghaist T

An' the young bonny witch, whose rosy cheek

Sent me, without my wit, the de'il to seek."

Sir William (looking at Peggy).—Whose daughter's she that wears the aurora gown,

With face so fair, and locks o' lovely brown?

How sparkling are her eyes? What's this I find,

The girl brings all my sister to my mind.

Such were the features once adorned a face,

Which death so soon deprived of sweetest grace.

Is this your daughter Glaud?

* A glass of beer.
Clear up, unravel.

† Mottled.

Birch or strap.

+ Smoke. TGhost.

Glaud-Sir, she's my niece,

An' yet she's not, but I shoud haud my peace.

Sir Wil.-This is a contradiction. What d' ye mean? She is, and is not! pray thee, Glaud, explain.

Glaud.-Because I doubt, if I shou'd mak' appear,

What I hae kept a secret thirteen year

Mause. You may reveal what I can fully clear.
Sir Wil.-Speak soon; I'm all impatience.
Sae am I !

Patie.

For much I hope, an' hardly yet ken why.

Glaud.-Then, since my master orders, I obey.
This bonny foundling, ae' clear morn o' May,
Close by the lea-side o' my door I found,
A' sweet an' clean an' carefully hapt* 'round,
In infant weeds, o' rich and gentle make.
What could they be, thought I, did thee forsake?
Wha, worse than brutes, cou'd leave exposed to air
Sae much o' innocence sae sweetly fair,
Sae helpless young? for she appeared to me
Only about twa towmandst auld to be.
I took her in my arms; the bairnie smiled,
Wi' sic a look, wad mak a savage mild.
I hid the story: she has pass'd sinsynet
As a poor orphan, an' a niece o' mine:
Nor do I rue my care about the wean,
For she's weel worth the pains that I hae tane.
Ye see she's bonny; I can swear she's guid,
An' am right sure she's come o' gentle bluid,
O' wham I kenna. Naething I ken mair,
Than what I to your honor now declare.
Sir Wil.-This tale seems strange!

Patie

The tale delights my ear!

Sir Wil.-Command your joys, young man, till truth appear Mause. That be my task. Now sir, bid a' be hush;

Peggy may smile; thou hast nae cause to blush.

Lang hae I wish'd to see this happy day,

That I may safely to the truth gi'e way;

* Covered. † Two years. + Since then. § Know not.

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