Bluegrass Messengers

Ancient Ballads of the North of Scotland
The Paisley Magazine, Vol. 1, No. 13, Dec. 1, 1828
by William Motherwell
Journal of Folklore Research, Vol. 31, No. 1/3, Triple Issue: Ballad Redux (Jan. - Dec.,1994), pp. 191-213

ANCIENT BALLADS OF THE NORTH OF SCOTLAND [1]
William Motherwell, The Paisley Magazine, Vol.1, No. 13, Dec. 1, 1828

Touching ballads and ballad-makers so much has been said or sung by various worthy and ingenious spirits within this last half century, that, honestly speaking, we find little remains for us to do than briefly to report to our readers the sum of their learned labours on this interesting topic. For your modern foisonless poetical inventions, called ballads, we care not a doit; but for the old traditionary, romantic, or heroic strain, which, like the shibboleth of free masonry, has lived upon the memory without the intervention of written character, and has been transmitted from sire to son, from generation unto generation, from the remotest times to the present graceless days, we profess a sincere and perfect love. When, therefore, we meet with a goodly volume of ancient ballads, purporting to be for the first time set forth in print, we are ready to hail the choice blessing in these words which an early dramatist puts in the mouth of that wicked and unnatural jade Ragan:

As gold is welcome to the covetous eye,
As sleepe is welcome to the traveller,
As is fresh water to sea-beaten men,
Or moist'ned showres unto the parched ground,
Or any thing more welcomer than this,[2]

So, and more welcome we repeat to our literary affections, are these poetical monuments of our fathers.- So, and most welcome to us are these volumes, for in honest verity they contain many admirable and most valuable remains of the early song of our native land. Barbour, in his great Gest Historial of the Bruce and his Chivalry, has well expressed in verse, what we could but indifferently have told in homely prose when he says:

Storyss to rede ar delitabill,
Supposs that thai be nocht bot fabill:
Than suld auld storyss that suthfast wer,
And thai war said in gud maner,
Halve doubill plesance in heryng.
The first plesance is the carpyng,
And the tothir the suthfastnes,
That schawys the thing rycht as it wes:
And such thingis that are likand,
Tyll mannys herying are plesand.

Sincerely believing that most of the auld storys which are the subjects of our traditionary ballads, are based on fact and suthfastness-and knowing that they generally are said in gud maner, we enjoy in that case the "doubill plesance" which our poet imagines to be so desirable. Few indeed of them we look on as being "nocht bot fabill." But to minds of choice invention fiction is a source of deep pleasure. "Fabularumn arratioc ur delectet" is a small section of Dr. Jerome Cardan's folio "De Subtilitate," but we have not time to enter upon his arguments, which, so far as we remember, have little subtility about them on this point.

"It is opportune," says Sir Thomas Browne, "to look back on old times and contemplate our fathers." Every one according to his liking. The learned physician discoursed on incinerated bones, and funeral urns, choosing to contemplate our forefathers, rather by the modes in which they contrived to make their escape out of the world, and accommodate themselves to their graves, than by their acts and deeds upon life's stage itself. Our sympathies are more circumscribed. Death bounds them. The line of life is the tether length of our affections, and beyond it we do not wish to speculate. It is an object of merest indifference to us whether fire, earth, or water receives the untenanted fabric of flesh. The empty cellar has no interest. The drained tun serves no purposes of honest fellowship.

When the curtain falls our curiosity ceases. We care not to know whether the king, or the hero, whom we wept to see falling in the senate house or the field, gathers up his legs afterwards, and becomes a new and an ordinary man again in the green-room. We had rather have Yorick, the fellow of infinite jest, alive, and seated with us at the social board, than indulge ourselves in the melancholy humour of Hamlet, with a moralisation on his disinterred skull. Hence, and for many more reasons which we could give, were it not that their exposition would make us tarry too long in the porch, we prefer contemplating our forefathers i n that glassw hich so perfectlyr epresentst heir mind, manners, habits, customs, moral feelings, virtues, vices, superstitions, and prejudices-their traditionary song-their popular poesy. One many well be excused making this election when the chivalrous
Sidney-the erudite Selden, and the patriotic Fletcher, each according to his peculiar idiosyncrasy, has borne testimony on the same behalf. And, in our own day, a greatert han
these, Sir Walter Scott, has somewhere declared that these old ditties have been to him a
source of never-failing inspiration, and that to their influence upon his early feelings the
world may stand indebted for those wonderful and gorgeous creations, which have exalted,
enlarged, and glorified the literature of this century. Is there one who has dipped into the
pageso f the UniversalS hakespeareo, r refreshedh is mind by letting it sojournf or a tide with
Jonson, Beaumont, Fletcher, Marlow, Marston, Middleton, Webster, Ford, or any of these
early dramatists, can be blind to the fact that they all have had a lurking affection for, and a
perfect enjoyment in these primitive strains of national poesy. This love of theirs for vulgar
minstrelsy breaks out like a gleam of soft sunshine over the dewy grass. The same may be
said of all our good poets-of all those who had one smack of natural unsophisticated
feeling in their composition. Nay, even poets of the highest order, however much they
might scorn these lowly strains as efforts of art, have nevertheless shown how much they
admired them by incidentally mentioning their titles or attempting writings in the same
vein. Chaucer, if we suppose him to be the author of "The Coke's Tale of Gamelyn," has left
us a true minstrel ballad, worthy of laud and reverence-and in his "Rime of Sir Thopas" a
specimen of what he could do, had he turned his mind to the Chivalrous Romance. We
question the truth of what some commentators have said as to this latter being written in
ridicule of such compositions. It appears to us founded on no sufficient reason. But the poet, true to his description of manners, has wisely laid the interruptiong iven to the Romance of Sir Thopas, on the host of the Tabard, a coarse grained, rough-hewn, merry hearted rouge,

That hadde levere a ribaudye
Than to here of God, other of seynte Marie,
Other to drynke a coppe ful of ale
Than to hear ony god tale.

None other of the pilgrimerst o the shrine of Canterburyw ag a tongue in despite of it. But we arel ibelling the worthyh ost, for, indeed, though he loved his "coppe," h e loved good tales passing well also, and in fact suggested to his guests this rational mode of spending their time by each one telling in his turn Of aventures that whilom han befalle.

We beg his pardon then, though we cannot forgive him, for interrupting Sir Thopas, nor agree with him in calling it a "drafty ryme," or appreciate it so very vilely as he does, but which, for decency's sake, we will not mention.

Though we will not "praisea rime of Robyn Hode, for as excellent a making as Troylus of Chaucer," lest we should "straightwise be counted madde therefore," we must contend for the superior and the living interest which the one has over the other, in as far as our mere feelings are concerned. The one produces the effect on us that the touch of life and blood can only communicate, the other that which exquisite statuary excites in the moral and intellectual of our being. The same with all these old ballads. We feel they are what men say, and do in reality, while with the laboured efforts of poetical genius, we feel that these men say and do only what they may or should, or can be fancied to say or do in certain circumstance. In the one case we hear and see as it were it in our own person-in the other we seem to derive all through the rehearsal of another.

In our whole acquaintance with old ballads, w e never remember of one which contained above a verse appropriated to the mere descriptive, either as regards human action or external nature. Yet their simple touches are strikingly effective when they do occur, and positively satisfy the mind more than the finely finished pictures which art and genius have combined to elaborate. We cannot better express what we mean than by simply saying that when the sun is said to shine we feel his warmth on our cheek, and see plainly his radiance streaming over meadow, river, and tree-when the rain falls, we both hear and feel it
pattering on us-when the wind blows, the veritable sough deafens our ear, and nearly drives us off our feet-when the wood is said to be green, we find ourselves in very sooth "lustily raking under the shaw," and the same feeling of living presence and reality pervades every slight description these ditties contain. A thousand illustrative examples could be given, but it is much better for the reader to select them for himself than to trust to our taste. It is an exercise that will give health to his mind.

That some ballads are supremely beautiful in themselves, and besides possess, in the eyes of the historian, the antiquary, and even the philosopher, a value equal to their beauty, is a fact that stands in need of no demonstration. That there are others of as little value, in every point of view, as they are utterly destitute of poetic ornament, is alike true. But be they worthless or no, be they good or bad, or indifferent, still we must repeat that such is the infirmity of our nature-such our unquenchable love for this first species of intellectual food-this first blossom of the human mind, that we bear a kindly, and even reverent feeling
towards them all. We dearly venerate what our forefathers delighted in; and we are not so preposterouslyw arpedu p in the conventionalf orms and factitiousf eelings of our own day, as to despise the simpler, and we think even the grander shapes in which our common nature cast itself in elder and less polished times. The rudest ballad strains, if they possess the slightest smack o f genuine heart f eeling and nature, be their narrativen ever so barren of incident, exert an influence over us, sometimes more commanding than the highest exertion of poetic art in the most brilliant era of a nation's literature. They fall upon our heart like a genial dew, they tinkle in our ears like the music of some distant waterfall, heard in the depth of a wooded glen-they have a renovating effect upon our intellectual frame, as the fresh cool air of the morning has upon our physical structure. In short, they possess indescribable charms in our eyes. We pretend not to be so much of the philosopher as to be able satisfactorily to explain to others the principles on which our admiration is founded, or distinctly to analyset he elements of the pleasurable sensations they uniformly excite in our minds, any more than we can satisfy ourself or others, why, when the rarest floral exotics of the hot-house, and the richest perfumes o f the cultured parterre, have ceased to please, the meanest wild flower that gleams in solitary beauty by cleugh or crag, or river side, fascinates the sense, and fills the soul with delicious thought.

Ballads, to be felt thoroughly, must be sung. To read them off the printed book, without allying them to the slow, simple, monotonous, and wildly melancholy airs, to which they are usually found united, robs them of half their charms. Their airs have preserved them, and these should be as diligently collected as the words themselves. We could never arrive at any thing like graceful elocution in reading an old ballad. Our mode of reading them is a recitative-a downright sing song, and this imperfectly supplies to us the absence of the genuine air. It is to be regretted that no attempt on a large scale has been made to gather all
our ballad tunes. They are unquestionably the earliest specimens o f national music we have, as the ballads may themselves be safely deemed the earliest specimens of national poetry.

This objection applies with force to the Border Minstrelsy, the collections of Herd, those of Jamieson, and the present volumes. They lack the music, they lack the salt which preserved these ballads-the very atmosphere in which they lived and breathed, and had their being. It has been the good fortune of Mr. Buchan, the most industrious compiler of these volumes, to recover a number of ancient and valuable ballads from tradition, which had wholly escaped the notice of former collectors,-and we have been informed that the tunes to which they are sung could also be recovered. This we look on as an acquisition of materials to the history of our national melody that should not be lost sight of by those who can speedily secure it, by making some slight pecuniary sacrifices for that purpose. In collecting the words we believe Mr. Buchan has already sacrificed too much time and
labour, and money, ever to be fairly remunerated by his countrymenf or what he has done. To ask of him more, therefore, would amount, on our part, to the covetousness of ingratitude. We put the case, however, to the wealthy and patriotic of Edinburgh to enterprise it-to use the means, and secure to their country a body of ancient and genuine melody, which it yet lacks, and the time for retrieving which may soon elapse. We put it to the Six Feet Clubs-to the Kilted Clubs-The crazed Phrenologists-The Toxopholites-The MonsM egAdmirers-theP arthenonm en-the Castle-cropping and b ridge-buildingdilletantithes ingingm en,t her hymingm en- theP arliaments weepingm en-the Burkea ndH are men- Review men,M agazine men,N ewspaperm en-to the talking,s talking,w restling,w rangling,
fiddling, piddling, nibbling,d rivelling,a nd whole Popery-lovingc ommunityo f the Modern
Athens, forthwith to emigrate, man, woman, child, to the north, and to spare nor pence, nor
pains, till they return with the whole treasures of sweet sound which may be gathered
betwixt the Dee and the Don, under the direction of him of Peterhead. They may take an
honest man's word for it, that it will prove a most delightful labour. It is one of which they
will never tire, and regarding which they may sing with truth as Petronius did of innocent
kissing,

Hoc juvit, juvat, et diu juvabit:
Hoc non deficit, incipitque semper.

Ere we go farther in our notice of this choice collection of early Scottish Ballads, we deem
it right to give our readers some authentic information regarding its enthusiastic and
ingenious compiler, Mr. Buchan. We can throw more perfect light over his history and
writings than any other organ of public intelligence, and we rejoice to do so, because we have
observed with pain, that the Newspaper press, when it failed to review his volumes, deemed
itself perfectly competent to write much of an apocryphal and fanciful nature touching the
author himself. Anxious to set the world right in this respect, and circumstances having
placed in our power the copy of a letter addressed by Mr Buchan to the late venerable Earl
of Buchan in answer to some enquiries made by his Lordship, who had kindly interested
himself in Mr. B.'s welfarea nd manifoldu ndertakingsw, e gladlyp resentt o our readerst he
whole of this authentic and interesting document. We are sure that in the wide range of
presento r past literature,t here neverw as a more curiousa nd characteristica utobiographic
sketch penned; or one which afforded a more felicitous and accurate reflex of the writer's
mind, and of its whole moral and intellectual bearings. With sentiments of corresponding
interest, it will be perused by every student of mind and manners. They, as we were, will be
astonished and gratified to find Mr. Buchan at one time rivalling the Marquis of Worcester
in rare, wonderful, and useful inventions; at another time using with equal dexterity the
graver of the artist, the pen of the historian, and the stick of the compositor; at one time
wooing the reluctant muses to his embrace; at another time, with no less ardour, accommodating
himself to the sterner graces of grave philosophy and psychological science; while
last, and most pre-eminently, to our simple apprehension, he stands forth the single
hearted, sincere, indefatigable, and patriotic collector and illustrator of our national antiquities
and traditionary literature. But let the authors peak for himself:-

MY LORD, --Since I had the honour of being first introduced to your Lordship, you have often requested me to give you in writing s ome a ccount of my life and history. The task to me was rather an unpleasant one, particularly at my early age, when I had nothing of interest to offer, not having b een much known to the literary or scientific world: consequently, I , always found means to ward off the impending and frightful storm, by palliating my carelessness with an honest plea-by givingy our lordship a verbal outline of my history. I now find I can keep my s ecret, nor hiding place no longer. I have been dragged before the merciless tribunal of a censorious public, by at least half a dozen of the hireling scribes and pharisees, who m ake it their trade to vomit vengeance weekly. I would readily allow a little latitude to these caterers for the public amusement, but when you give them an inch they will take a nell. As that Colossus of literature, the learned Editor of the Edinburgh Quarterly Review, once remarked when writing me on this subject", Public men are liable to these impertinences and s ome allowance must be made for the acuteness of provincial wits."

The real arcanum of my life, however, has yet escaped their Arguse yes, e ven i n spiteo f all their watchingas ndp ryings. But,t hatt hey m ight n ot seem deficient of the secret, and to give zest t o their dull t old t ale, l ike t he h eterogeneous mass in the witches' cauldron of Macbeth, they have added of their own w it, & c.& c.h ere a little a nd t here a little, t o maket hem edley"slab and good." I was not a ware that I had become so notorious, till reading t he piquant remarks of these pseudo-writers, It appears, therefore, th at t he knowledge of my history, tr ifling as it is, and always seemed t o me, is of more r eal valuet han I was aware. Having, then, this day spareu pon my hands,I shalle mployp arto f it in throwingt ogethera few desultory sentences, b yway of auto-biographyw, hich may be relied on. I admit that it is public property, and liable to be treated as such; but surely every man of honour ought to have a decent regard for truth, and the feelings of a brother labouring in the same vineyard. Calumny is a sword that wounds the soul, and a poison that corrupts the inward vitals. Detraction of every kind, particularlyo f one looked upon as a friend, is doubly severe.Y ou know, my Lord, what Shakespeare
puts into the mouth of lago to say on the robbery of a good name:-

"Who steals my purse, steals trash; 'tis something, nothing;
Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;
But he that filches from me my good name,
Robs me of that which not enriches him,
And makes me poor indeed."

And another author adds, "An insult offered to a respectable character is often less pardonable than a
precipitate murder; he who can indulge himself in that, may bear assassination on his conscience."
As my time is limited, I must be brief, and will not trouble your Lordship by recalling to mind and
exposing and confuting the follies and falsehoods of those who have made such pretences to an
acquaintancew ith my life and character;s uffice it thereforet o say, that Peterhead,i n the County of
Aberdeen, a burgh of barony, on the most eastern point of Scotland, had the honour of giving me birth.
My father and grandfathera nd his father,a s well as my mother and her fathera nd grandfathero n the
one side, are all of one stock and pedigree of a General Buchan, who had at one time large possessions,
and kept a good Castle, modishly called a house, at Rattray, parish of Crimond. He was a scion of the
Cumyns, Earls of Buchan, who had changed the name to that of their title.

My grandmother, on the mother's side, Margaret, or, (as she was complimentarily called) bonny
Peggy Irvine, was lineally descended, and nearly related to the ancient and renowned house of Drum,
Aberdeenshire. But, by the bye, my Lord, I have been sadly digressing; you did not want their history,
it was my own. Well, how shall I begin to tell it?-Yet I have it now!-I was put early to school, made
considerablea nd rapidp rogressi n my learning,w as accountedc lever,a nd-and,-O, I have forgot the
rest-what shall I say now? But I think I hear your Lordship whisper-No longer excuses, you must
proceed. Then kind angels assist me in this trying hour!

When I was about twelve years old, I had a wish to accompany my father to Ross and Sutherland
shires, where he had been wont to go in summer for the twenty years preceding, as factor or
superintendant of a concern held by a London Company in these parts. During my four months
residence in the land of field and flood, and mountain heath, among a poor but hospitable race of hardy
strangers,I picked up a few words of their ancientl anguage,a s they fell from their tongues;b ut as the
soil in which theywere sown was of a barren kind, in a few years theywithered, and the place where they
were first exposed known no more. On my return, having, young as I was, a taste for mechanics, I
occasionallyv isited a most ingeniousy oung man,w ho was not only a machinerym aker,b ut a rounda nd
square wright, brass founder, black, white, and copper smith, with, I know not how many etceteras I
might add in addition, before I did him justice; and being so much taken with his amenity of heart, and
suavity of manners, as well as his wonderful talents, I resolved to dedicate three or four years of my life
to his service gratuitously. On making known my intention, I was kindly greeted by all concerned,
particularlyb y a little fellow of my own age, who sadlyw anted a juvenilec ompanion.H ere, I continued
for twelve months with this worthy man, for I was not bound apprentice, but one at will. I would have
remained longer, but like too many honest souls, he found the cold frowns of fortune so chilling, for his
warm heart, in Peterhead, that his constitution could bear it up no longer; so, at a tangent struck off. I
followed him to the place of his retreat; continued with him other twelve months, and was happy. By
this time I had made myself Master of Arts, which I never intended to use.

Having had a wish to try my fate at sea, I got a midshipman'sc ommissioni n the navy,b ut on the eve
of my going away, my parents, who had never given their consent, would not sanction my proceedings,
nor allow me a penny to purchasen ecessaries.I was thereforeo bliged to abandonm y favourites cheme,
and for a few years afterward, as the boatmen term it, "Hung upon my oars." During this cessation, I
amused myself occasionally by making musical instruments, engraving copperplates, &c. Yes, and
falling in love too, the worst amusement of all.

It was then, my Lord, that the mania of writing poetry, or rather of making words to jingle, first
seized me in earnest. I got married, and was a father about the time other young men think of leaving
the nest. The first fruits of our connubial happiness has already attended three sessions at Marischal
College, Aberdeen, and was only half-past eleven when he commenced his studies as a bursar and
public student. He too, seems to have an itch for rhyming, as some of his verses have appeared in a
printed form three years ago. In 1814, I published a small volume of songs and verses, being part of my
earlyr ecreationsT. hey were well receivedb y some, and, I believe, as indifferentlyb y others;b ut cannot
positively say, as my friends only shewed me the sunny side of public opinion. I must not, however,
forget to add, that this publication, young as I was, and innocent as I thought it, brought upon me, in
my townsmen, a myriad of foes, "In various shapes of parsons, critics, beaux." I was sadly taken to
pieces, not one particle of soul nor body that could be anatomized but what was laid under the scalpel,
or dissecting knife, of these enemies to innovation, for daring to disturb the still gloom of pensive
contentment that reigned over all. I rose like the phoenix from among the ashes of departed parents,-
when looking around me, the place seemed full of creatures of a different species, who regarded me as
a non-descript, not belonging to their community, but fanned into existence more to vex than to please.
Having made a copper plate press from some engravings I had seen, and shown it to, and asked the
opinion of one of my earliest friends, who is now in the silent bed of the grave,-"Light be the earth
upon his breast,"J ames Arbuthnot, Esq. one of his Majesty'sJ ustices of the Peace for the county of
Aberdeen, &c. a gentleman of great natural talents, and a friend to genius, rich and poor. I was strongly
urged by him to prosecute with vigour the plan I had proposed of establishing something like a printing
concern in Peterhead.P overty, however, is often an unconquerableb ar in the way of improvements:
and, although my father possessed some landed property, and was well able to assist me, I having
married more to please myself than to please him, he determined not to give me a single sous, and to
this day has kept his word as sacredly as any of the drab-coated generation; so for sometime I had to
struggle against wind and tide, to accomplish, as some thought, a visionary project. Yet, although no
one put their hand to the plough, I would not go back, but mastered the malady, went to Edinburgh,
the city of friends,w ith a pocket full of flatteringi ntroductoryl etters, and an almost empty purse.Y ou,
my good Lord, when I recall your kind heartedness and affability, as my first and best friend besouth
Kinghorn, my heart still leaps light with gratitude and respect. You were pleased to take me under the
shadow of your noble wings, in many cases making me an equal, and treating me with that becoming
familiaritys o very characteristico f yourv enerateda nd noble name. When I had the pleasureo f visiting
you last season, at your beautiful and romantic seat on the classic banks of the Tweed, Dryburgh Abbey,
I was grieved to see the havock and inroads that age had made on a disposition once so cheerful and gay.
Age does not come single handed. I need not bring to your Lordship's recollection the very many letters
which you were pleased to write in my behalf to your noble and literary friends, all of whom proved of
service to me. The marked attention I met with in Stirling, where I went for ten days to learn the
mysterieso f printing, particularlyf rom the amiable and highly respectedf amily of Daniel Wingate,
Esq. M.D. was very great. This worthy gentleman was the first means of making me acquainted with
another of your Lordship's friends, and my most valued friend, the learned and much prized author of
the life ofJohnson, &c. &c. As your Lordship was pleased to make me a present of Dr. Wingate's letter,
and may by this time have forgot its purport, permit me to give you an extract.

"My Lord,-Please to accept of my thanks for the opportunity you have afforded of making me acquainted with Mr. Buchan, who certainly is a most meritorious young man. The few opportunities I have had of seeing him, have affordedm e much satisfaction,a nd I hope the astonishing progressh e has made here, will materially p romote his futurep rojects,w hich must everyd ay expand more and more from the greatd iligencea nd modestyh e inherits." Stirling, 19th J uly 1816."

After having completed my ten days' service, I composed and printed a song, as a specimen of my work, then returned to Edinburgh, and received, by way of fee from one of your Lordship's friends, about fifty pounds sterling. This money was laid out in the purchase of types, &c. with which I commenced business in my native town, on the 24th of March of the same year. For sometime I had to struggle with the opposition of prejudice and use and wont, being the first attempt of the kind ever made
in Peterhead.

However,t he generalu tility of the establishmentw as so apparentt o all, that the unsophisticatedp art
of the community soon acknowledged, and recommended it to those who were not capable of thinking
for themselves, as many are, so that the tedious method of advertisements&, c. soon gave way to the
more speedy and agreeable plan of printing them. In 1819, I made a new printing press, wood, iron, and
brass,a ndw ith this pressI printedt he "Annalso f Peterhead,"w hich were chieflyc omposedw hile I was
standing at the cases, and never was in manuscript. The book was accomplished with half a dozen of
copperplate engravings, all of which I engraved without ever having received a single lesson in the art.
The work, by the curious, was soon bought up as a rare piece of ingenuity. My next literary production
was, "An Historical Account of the Ancient and Noble Family of Keith, Earls Marischal of Scotland,
with the attainted Noblemen, &c." Since that time, a week has scarcely passed over my head without
being employed in some literary pursuit or another, whiles of my own, and whiles assisting some illfated
wight like myself, who has had the misfortune to be born under an unlucky planet, and madly
turned author; left the substance and followed the shadow of the skirt of fortune's draggled garment.
Young and inexperienced as I am, not yet being much above thirty, I have given eight or ten different
volumest o the public,b esidesh avingo ccasionallyc ast my mite into the treasuryo f periodicall iterature,
and dragged on a never ceasing toil of manual labour for the support of those I was the means of
bringing into the world, as I was always fortunate enough to be a day or two's journey behind, when
posts and pensions were dividing.

My last publication was the "Ancient unpublished Ballads and Songs of the North of Scotland, with Explanatory N otes," 2 vols. 8 vo. The Balladsa nd Songs were all takend own from the recitationo f very
old people, duringa ten or twelve yearss iege that I stormedt heir straw-coveredc itadels,a nd by many
good judges they have been considered the most original and best collection hitherto published, having
been given in their primitive truth and order. The task was really laborious and expensive, as I kept a
wight of Homer's craft, an old Senachial veteran, constantly in pay, looking out for these fine fragments
of our early ancestors, besides making considerable tours myself, through various parts of the country,
catching wherever they lingered, the falling and fast dying echoes of antiquated song. Although the
work has met with the most marked attention of all ranks, that is to say, the sensible part, being
patronised by the principal noblemen and literary gentlemen of Scotland, still it has come short of
rewarding me for the time, trouble, and expense I have been at in creating it out of a chaos of rude
materials. Yet the day, I hope, is not far distant, when I shall reap a plentiful harvest of shining
sovereigns, as I have already done of honours: the first edition having been nearly all sold in a few
months. It has been most graciously reviewed by all the admirers of the Scottish muse in England, as
well as in Scotland.A nd some very flatteringc omplimentsp aid it by the first literaryc haracterso f the
age, among whom may be mentioned yourself, and Sir Walter Scott, whose verbal opinion, as well as
his written testimony, while I had the honour of sitting with him in his study at Abbotsford, are very
gratifying. The sting of the most envenomed critic has lost its power on this occasion, and he that sat
down to rail and ridicule, saw unexpected beauties, knew how to appreciate their value, and rose with
such a sapidf eeling that nought was heardb ut praises-such haveb een its charmsa nd attractions.I am
at intervals preparing a second series, or additional volume of the same magic lore; but when it will be
ready I cannot to a certainty say; having at present two irons in the fire. The one is on a subject, which,
to the best of my knowledge and belief, no mere man ever published; but if he did, it never reached the
east nook of Scotland, so I may say it will be purely original. As I am but half through it, and know not
how I may be able to give it the finishing blow, pardon me, my Lord, should I decline giving any
particularfso r the present.S hould it evera ppearb eforet he baro f a publict ribunalt o undergot he ordeal
of criticism, it will appear, if health permit, very soon.

For many years I have been honoured with the confidence and correspondence of several noblemen and gentlemen of the highest literary acquirements i n England and Scotland,w hom to name would be presumption in me. Even the worthy and much lamented Prince, his Royal Highness the late Duke of York, did not consider writing me any degradation to his persons and honours. He wrote in the most polite and gentlemanly manner. That learned and highly respected body of noblemen and gentlemen, the Society of Scottish Antiquaries; and that most useful establishment, the Northern Institution for the promotion o f Science and Literature, both haved one me the honour of electing me a corresponding member, &c. This is an outline of my public, I shall next say something of my private history, for I have two.-I have waged with fortune an eternal war; have felt all her favours and found them decay, and I may say with the Poet,-

Good heavens! why gave you me
A monarch's soul-
And crusted it with base plebeian clay?
Why gave you me desires of such extent
And such a span to grasp them; sure my lot
By some o'er hasty angel was misplac'd
In fate's eternal volume.

Although cradled in the lap of plenty, I began the world under very unpropitious circumstances. I was set a drift in the middle of a tempestuous ocean, in a small skiff, with but one oar to guide it, and have ever since been tossed on its relentless billows without finding a haven of rest. I hinted before that although my father had considerable property from the day I left his domicile to the present, I never had a shilling from him directly nor indirectly, in any manner of way. Though poverty, in many cases, have made my proud spirit to bend beneath its galling chain, it never could be brought to that state of humility as to ask his assistance. Still I have contrived to support, in an honourable and respectable manner, my first bosom friend, and half a dozen of the images of old father Adam, king of the universe. Their education has been such as would not disgrace the sons of any of the wealthy cits of the good town of Edinburgh: they have got the best of every kind that the place can afford: and four of them are preparing to follow the example of their eldest brother, by wearing a scarlet gown, the badge of Mareschal's Alma mater.

By this time, your Lordship will be well tired as well as I, of such sickening stuff; or, I would have entered more minutely and circumstantiallyin to the narrativeI. have but slightly touched upon some things, and upon others not at all-Egotism I hate, or I would have told your Lordship how I studied Greek and French, &c. while rocking the cradle; got a situation of L.150 a year in London, but the confinement of this mighty Babylon broke my health, and I was obliged to return. I invented a new printing press which was wrought with the feet instead of the hands, and was not confined to the printing with types alone, but took impressions from stone, copper, wood, and types, in the most distinct, and easy manner, all of which specimens I have past me, printed in the presence of several of the most respectable gentlemen in Peterhead, and have no doubt but it would answer equally well all the purposes of one for printing o n doth, on a small and cheap scale. Many advantages c ould b e pointed out
in this press superior to those in common use. The first, being much easier and quicker wrought by the feet. The second, that it answers all the purposes of a lithographie, a copperplate, and letter press, at about the one-half of what one of the others would cost. The third is, that a person doing business on a small scale in a country place or little town, could combine all the three branches at little expense. The fourth is, that a saving of three fourths of rent could be made by using this press in preference to all the others, as it would only occupy one fourth of the space. Other advantages could be pointed out, but I
hope, the preceding will satisfy your Lordship for the time. I invented another most useful machine connected with printing. It was an index for keeping an account of the number of sheets printed in any given time. I have kept one of them going on one of my preses for these several years past, and never knew it, in any one instance, to give a false report: in fact it is impossible, owing to its nature and construction. A patent press maker in Edinburgh once wrote me to send him one, and held out a great reward. He acknowledged its receipt and utility, then went to America, and with him my machine and golden hopes. I began another press, different from the former, but woe is me! I never was able to finish it. Your Lordship may guess, but need not tell the cause, as I do not wish it told in Gath, nor published in the streets of Askelon, for I hope to live to see better days yet, and end my auld days in renown: for as the Rev. Mr. Forbes says in his favourite song,

"Iff I be spared I'll be a laird,
And she'll be Madam ca'd lassie."

I am heir to my ungenerous father, and he cannot live for ever; (although, God knows, I wish him to
live long and happy) still I must admit that, a bird in hand is worth two in the bush; for often while the
grass is growing green the hungry steed pines and dies.

A few other things, such as the patronage, the "Ballads and Songs of the North of Scotland," has met with among the sons and daughters of their native hills and glens; and what interest and trouble the editors of the Aberdeen newspapers (for there are now a kind of three) took in introducing and recommending the same to their readers as the first collection of the kind ever made in the north, or at least since Forbes printed the "Aberdeen Cantas." Not one of them ever wrote a line on the subject,
while many of the London, Edinburgh, Glasgow, Paisley, Perth, Elgin, &c. &c. presses were teeming with praises of the work. So much, my Lord, for the good taste and encouragement of the Aberdeen literati, for all the pretensions they make, and the hope that one may expect to flourish in the North. No wonder, indeed, that the North has been considered unproductive of genius: or that, when one arises, he should immediately, like the heliopetrium, turn his head where the sun shines, and bend his way to
the south, a clime, more congenialt o the feelings of one who makesl iteratureh is gain. O Edinburgh, Edinburgh! h ow happy m ayt hy sons and daughtersb e who dwell in thy sanctuaryw, herem aybe hourly obtained the enlivening light and heat of the learned converse and friendly patronage of noble and
generous minds; compared to those frigid mortals who are lone dwellers on the icy and barren rock of
cold disdain, and where nought but the chilling frown of envy and detraction reigns. I am proud,
however, to say, that there has lately sprung up in Elgin, (I need not tell you that it is the Courier
newspaper,) a work of great merit, which does honour to the site of the once beautiful cathedral of that
name, conducted by a young man of liberal principles and great natural acquirements. I must also do
Mr. Chalmers, the proprietor and editor of the Abderdeen Journal, the justice to say, that he most
readily gave insertion to an excellent written article on the merit of the ballads, by a gentleman of
fortune, and one who would, as an artist, rank with the first in Scotland, were he to make his
amusement his profession. Mr. C. gave the work his support in another more substantial form; he was
a purchaser, and several of his friends. I could mention several gentlemen of the highest respectability
in Aberdeenshirew, ho took an activep arti n promotingt he sale of the ballads,a mongw hom I beg leave
to notice William Gordon, Esq. of Fyvic Castle, a gentleman, not better known for his princely fortune,
than for his amiable and fascinating manners, his knowledge in every thing connected with Scottish
History, and his patronage to the man of genius: Hugh Irvine, Esq. Drum, whose talents and good taste
need only be known to be duly appreciatedT: he learned,t he kind and good heartedP rofessorM elvin,
of Marischal College: The generous and obliging Forbes Frost, Esq. and the esteemed antiquarian,
William Kennedy, Esq. late Sheriff Substitute, and author of that truly laborious and useful work, the
Annals ofAberdeeen, &c.; and I must not forget many of my own worthy townsmen of the higher class.
In short, there was not a gentleman of any opulence or respectability, but what became a purchasero f
the ballads. I must not, however, my Lord, forget to say, that in Peterhead, as in every other place, there
are a few dwarf minds, who pique themselves upon being gentlemen, merely because they go finely
dressed, and have more impudence than their neighbours, both in public and in private; but I must add, their gentility does not consist in the dignity of their birth and parentage, their own honourable actions, nor their fluency of speech, but wholly in the fineness of their coat, and white neckcloths-strip them of these, and you will have meanness in perfection; those whose words are no more to be regarded nor relied on, than the braying of an ass's colt. The kind patronage and attention I have met with from several noblemen and gentlemen of the south, as well as in some parts of the north, viz. Banff and Elgin, would be too tedious to mention.

My Lord, as it is just now only twenty minutes from three A.M. on my cronometer, and my eyelids
nearly closed, I shall wish your Lordship a sound sleep on your downy pillow, and such a dream as may
be rememberewdi thp leasurwe hen waking, while I have t he satisfaction of goingt o bedm yselfa, nd
concludintgh is hurrieda ndi mperfecstk etchf, ort he honouro f beinga s usual,m y Lord,y ourL ordship's
most obliged and obedient Servant, PETERB UCHAN.

So doses the account of his life and literary labours, which our author has written propria
manu to an illustrious friend and patron, now gathered to ancestral dust. Cold-blooded
must the pitiful rascal be, who can read w ithout emotion, this narrative o f the struggles o f an
ingenious and towering spirit against an unrelenting and untoward destiny. The acerbity of
temper into which the writer is occasionally betrayed, may well be excused, when we take
into view the one thousanda nd one provokingc ircumstancesw hich must attendt he path of
one devoted to the elucidation of neglected literature. The patience of a saint might be
outworn by them. He sees his labours contemned-his industry sneered at-his abilities
called into question by every saucy boy who can quote common-places from the dead
languages-and last and worst, he beholds a public, whose effeminate and vitiated taste
cannot appreciater esearchesw, hich referringt o earliera nd more masculinet imes, minister
nothing to the fleeting vanities and idle puerilities of the present day. For our own share,
had he written less teethily, we ought rather to say less honestly, we would not have liked
him half so well. Your miraces of sufferingp atience, and imperturbable quanimity,u nder
all the "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune," are mere lumps of snow-creatures
without one drop of man's blood in their shrunken veins-their hearts are but indigest
masses of dull phlegm, and duller cay-mere boulder stones, not living and louping things,
trembling with feeling and swelling high with vigorous and healthful life and action. Such
poor dumb creatures, have not had a solitary spark of sterling genius in their whole
microcosm. They are of the earth earthy-soil bound slaves-knaves born for no other
purpose than to hew wood and draw water-Gibeonites, pluckless Gibeonites.-On the
other hand, we find that true genius has ever a gallant insolence about it, that will kick
against the pricks to the last, give blow for blow, till it either tramples under foot all
opposition to its impetuous career, or is slain outright like a true knight under shield.
Stiffly as Mr Buchan has stood the stour, and dearly as we love to see him fighting his way
to glory through hosts of senseless critics, yet, for his own sake, and for the sake of our
national literature, we fervently hope, that his evil days have departed, and that brighter
destinies now await him. His volumes, we observe, are dedicated to his Grace the Duke of
Buccleugh, a nobleman who cannot be ignorant of the proud distinction which arises from
being deemed the friend and patron of learned men, nor so utterly destitute of national
feeling, as not to cherish and uphold the spirit of him who has laboured so assiduously and
successfully in preserving and illustrating the fast-fading monuments of Scotland's traditionary
song-the lays of her chivalrous and romantic ages. Having ranged himself under
the banner of the "Bauld Bucceugh," we should feel grieved and disappointed indeed, did
its star not shine forth the harbinger of good fortune-did it not lead him on to honourable
advancement, and well merited reward.

From the author we shall now turn to his work, and devote a few pages to a candid
examination of its daims on the notice of the public. And here, as honest critics, having a good
conscience before our eyes, we are bound to say that these daims are neither few nor
unimportant-a fact of which we daresaya llw ill be convinced, ere w e have laid down our pen.
We need scarcely remind our readers, that for the transmission of the greater bulk of our
ancient ballads to the present times, we are solely indebted to oral tradition. We are not
aware of any early MS. or printed collection of these being extant; and though it is not
improbable that some such may exist, and may yet, in some remote nook of the country be
brought to light, certain it is that no precious collection of this description has hitherto
crowned t he labours of any one of our most zealous and industrious antiquaries. S hould w e
prove the discover of any such valuable volume, we are certain our piety and gratitude would
equal that of honest Thomas Hearne.[3]

One reason for the rare occurrence of these ballads, in our old poetical MSS. may be that
they did not fall exactly within the province of those professional scribes and copyists, who,
ere the introduction of printing, ministered to the literary appetites of our ancestors. Their
labourss eem to have been chiefly confined to the transcriptiono f ghostly legends, tedious
romances, and metrical chronicles, of length too formidable to be committed to memory.
The slighter effusions of the minstrel muse, they either deemed beneath the dignity of their
weighty pens, or, what is perhaps more consonant with fact, they believed that to transcribe
ditties which were in every one's mouth, and chaunted around every hearth, and at every
sport and pastime of the people, would be a work of absolute supererogation, Moreover, b y
such labours they would interfere with the vocation of those numerous bands of singers and
tale-tellers who strolled through the country, and by singing or reciting short metrical
narratives, commemorative of ancient deeds of arms, domestic incidents, and popular
superstitions, contrived to gain a livelihood, while they amused the humbler classes of
Society. Our earliest typographers s eem also to have contemned the ballads o f the people.
We have no old printed collections of these, and yet from the numerous allusions made to
popular songs and ballads, and romances, by our early writers, we cannot persuade ourselves
that such collectionsw ere entirely u nknown. A contemporary o f the Reformer K nox, w hile giving his reasons for endyting "A memorial of the Life of Two Worthie Christians" s ays:

So we find deeds of vassalage
Set forth by Poets in all age,
Even of Grey-steill wha list to luke
There is set forth a meikle buke
Of that rank Rover Robene Hude.
Of Robene Hude and LittleJohne,
With sik like outlawes many one:
As Clim of the cleugh and Cliddlisie,
Because of their fine archerie.

But though we have no printed collections extant, this does not take away the probability
that such were at one time common. Passing into the hands of the lower orders, an edition
would soon be worn out, without leavinga vestige to guide the steps of the bibliographerI. n
our times we see this occurring every day, and what occurs now, must have chanced before.
From supposition, however, we proceed to fact, and here a recent inspection of Mr. Laing's
valuable and curious fac simile reprint of the first labours of the Edinburgh Press, in part
confirms the opinion we have hazarded.-Chepman and Myllar's volume has obviously
been got up to suit the taste of all descriptions of poetical readers in their day. For the lovers

of chivalrouas ad venture, we havet hek nightlyta leo f SirG awena ndS irG ollogras&, c.-for
thosew ho delightedin taleso f Foeryew, e havet he romanceo f Orpheoa ndE uridice-for
clerklyw its, whoset astem ayb e consideredm orec hastea nd classicalw, e find Chaucer,
DunbarH, enryson&, c. haveb eenl aidu nderc ontributionw, hilef or the "lewdev ulgare,"
we havei mprinteda notableg esteo f RobynH ode.H encei t is no improbablseu rmiseth at
they,a sw ella s thosew ho succeededth emi n the typographiacr t,d id not entirelyo verlook
the populars ongsa ndt raditionarbya lladso f the countryW. erem oreo f the worksw hich
issuedf romt heirp ressb y anyl uckyc hanced iscoveredw, e daresayit wouldb e foundt hat
theyi ndulgeds tillm orel argelyin the ballads train.

Perhapsth e mostv aluablen oticew e haveo f the popularli teraturoef Scotlanda ndh er
ancient S ong, i s to be foundi n the" Complaynotf Scotland". Th e description th ere g iven o f
the Shepherdas ndt heirw ivesd ancingt o certains ongs,a greesp erfectlyw ith the curious
accountw e havei n Debes'F eroeI slandso f the amusementosf the inhabitantos f these
remote regions:

"Theya re not, sayst he venerablea uthor,i nclinedt o any unprofitablpea stimesb, ut
delightt hemselvems osti n singingo f Psalmso n holydayse,x cepti n theirw eddingsa nda t
Christmast,h at theyr ecreateth emselvews ith a plaind ance,h oldingo ne anotherb y the
hand, and singing some Old Champion'Bs allad."

To the loveo f theseb alladsa, ndt he carew ithw hicht heyp reservetdh eirm emoryo, ur
authorin anotherp artt husa lludes:
"ThisI mustb lamei n ourp eopleo f Feroet,h ata lmosta llo f themk nowt he mostp arto f
the old Gyantsb alladsn; ot onlyt hoset hata rep rintedin the DanishB ooko f Balladsb, ut
alsom anym oreo f the Championosf Norwayt,h atm ay-bea ref orgottene lsewhereh, erei n
freshm emoryb, eingu suallysu ngi n theird ancesB. utt heyh aves o absolutelfyo rgottenth at
graciousa nd usefuls ong of the true championo f IsraelJ esusC hrist,t hat I could not
amongsmt anyo f themf indo nep ersont hatk newi t whollyI. f ourc ountrymeonf Feroeh ad
as carefullpy reserveidt as theyh avek eptt heirG yantsb alladst:h eyh adn ot beenm ucht o
blamef ort hel ast;f ort hep raiseo f oura ncestorosu ghtn eithert o be puti n obliviont,h ough
it mayb e the numbero f New Psalmsh athb roughtth isi n contempta, ndd rivenit into the
lando f forgetfulnessp,". 3 38.

In Scotlandw, e believeP, salms ingingt endedg reatlyto eradicatteh e memoryo f ouro ld
Championsb' allads,a s well as our songs of humoura nd sentimentI. ndeed,f rom the
resemblancwe hiche xistsb etweenp artso f our ChurchP salmodya, nd some of our old
ballada irs,w e arei nclinedt o hazardth eo piniont hatt he onew asb orrowedfr omt heo ther.
It was an ingeniousd evice,f or it reconciledth e peoplet o the new channelg ivent o their
vocalp owers.T he airso f the lighterl yricsw erem orei ntractablaen dl ittle suitedt o the
gravityo f churchm usic;h encet he indifferenstu ccessw hichs eemst o havea ttendedt he
piousl abouros f Wedderburno,r w hoeverw ast he authoro f a Bokeo f GodlieB alladsa, nd
SpirituaSl onges.
The publicationof Dr. Percy'sR eliquesh ad,i ndependentloyf its wholesomein fluence
on the characteorf Englishl iteratureth, e happye ffecto f directingth e attentiono f learned
meni n thisp arto f the countryto the stateo f its traditionarpyo etrya, nds timulatintgh em
to compassit s preservationP.r iort o this,A llanR amsayh add onea littlei n the samef ield,
andc oevalw ith Dr. Percy,L ordH ailesh adr ecovereda few balladsw hichw ereg enerally
printeds inglyi n quartob y the Foulis'so f Glasgow,a nd subsequentliyn the volumeso f
PercyT. he spiritw hichc alledu p couldn ot be againl aid.L ordW oodhouslieP, inkerton,
DavidH erd,R itsonB, urnsD, r. LeydenS, irW alterS cottJ, amiesonF, inlayS, harpeB, urns,

Cunninghame,K inloch,M otherwell,& c. followed hard,h audpassibuase quist,h e beckoning
finger, as it gleamedt hrought he mists of antiquity.P oets, antiquariess, cholars,a nd men of
tastej oined heartilyi n the patriotict asko f collectinga nd illustratingo ur earlyn ationals ong.
Glancing over their manifold labours, it was scarcely to be hoped that farther acquisitions
could be made. The largest contributor out of sight to this species of literature, as he has
subsequently been in other departments of letters, was Sir Walter Scott.

Deriving the bulk of his collection from the border counties, Sir Walter Scott claims for
that district the merit of being the cradle of Scottish Song-of being the place where the
strainso f the heroic muse were first and latest heard;b ut subsequentr esearchesh ave shewn,
and none more than those which are now before us, that this claim rests on very narrow
grounds.T he finest ancientb allads,e xcludinga lwayst hose of a strictlyl ocal character,a nd
referring to historical incident, the scene of which is laid on the marches, are to be found in
every part of the island where our Scoto-Saxon dialogue is spoken. And in those districts
most remote from large towns, and not cumbered with huge cotton-mills, steam engines,
and rumbling machinery, they are ever preserved in their greatest purity, and completest
form. The collections of Jamieson, Kinloch, and our author, gleaned principally along the
north east coast, supply us with a strong infusion of Scandinavian song, exceedingly
valuable, as their counterparts still to be found in the languages of Norway, Sweden, and
Denmark, help us to trace with something like philosophic accuracy, the history of
traditionaryp oetry.O ne quartert hat we should like to exploref or traditionaryp oetryi s the
province of Ulster, in Ireland. Being an early Scottish colony, it is not improbable that
several of our finest old ballads are preserved there in greater purity than in the mother
country.

According to the shewing of a recent writer, who seems to have bestowed considerable
labour on the subject, we have now extant in our various printed collections, some 200 old
ballads. His work fixes the amount of positive contributions made to our ancient song by
each successive collector, and following out his plan, it will be seen that in point of number,
and we may add, value of its articles, the present work must, to the student of traditional and
national poesy, be ranked next to the Border Minstrelsy. In simply mentioning the titles of
the Old BalladsM r Buchan has recoveredw, e do him morej ustice than if we were to waste
a ream of foolscap in writing vague panegyrics on his labours. The following Table shews
their amount as nearly as our knowledge of the subject enables us to judge, and it may prove
a useful guide to others less conversant in these matters than ourselves.

VOL. I.
Ballads for the first time recovered Other, or more perfect Versions of from tradition. Ballads already printed.

The twa Magicians.
Sir Patrick Spens.
Child Owlet.
Young Aken.
The Bent sae Brown.
Young Waters.
Leesome Brand.
Death of Lord Warriston.
Clerk Tamas.
Rose the Red and White Lillie.
The Queen of Scotland.
The Courteous Knight.
Earl o' Mar's Daughter.
Sweet Willie and Fair Maisry.
Earl Crawfurd.
Young Prince James.
Burd Isbel and Sir Patrick.
The Three Brothers.
Charles Graeme.
Darlington.
The Holy Nunnerie.
White Fisher.
Yonderdale.
The Knight's Ghost.
The Maid and Fairy.
Brown Robin's Confession.
Blaneheflour.
Lady Isbel.
Earl Richard's Daughter.
Willie and Fair Burd Ann.
Proud Maidand.
Blue Flowers.
New Slain Knight.
Castleha'
Willie's drowned in Gamery.
The Clerks of Oxenford,

VOL. II.
King Malcolm and Sir Colvin
Young Allan.
Lord Livingston.
The Millar's Son.
Jock the Leg, and the merry Merchant.
Earl Douglas and Dame Oliphant.
Water of Wearies Well.
Chil Ether.
May-a-roe.
Auld Matrons.
Willies Fatal Visit.
The twa Knights.
Young Ronald.
Hynd Hasting.
Brown Robin and Mally.
Young Hunting.
The Drowned Lovers.
Gight's Lady.
Willie and Lady Maisry.
Clerk Sandy.
The enchanted Ring.
Broom o' the Cowdenknowes.
Jean o' Bethelnie.
Lord Dingwall.
James Herries.
Lord Ingram and Childe Vyet.
Lang Johnnie More.
The Birth of Robin Hood.
Lord John's Murder.
The Duke of Athol's Nourice.
Burd Helen.
Lord Lundy.
Earl Lithgo.
Warreston and the Duke of York's Daughter.
The Minister's Daughter of New York.
Cruel Mother.
Hynd Horn.
Willie's Lykewake.
Auchanachie.
The Scottish Squire.
Jock o' Haselgreen.
The Broomfield Hills.

Besides these there are many more, which, though Mr. Buchan appears to consider have for the first time been committed to print, we can assure him have been long so conserved. We may mention May Colvin-The Lass of Englessie- Lizie Lindsay-Argyle's Courtship- Portmore- Captain Johnston's Farewell-The Blue F lowers a nd the Yellow-The Trooper and the Fair Maid-Lizie Bailie-Lord Winsberrie&, c. &c. While we are noticing some few mistakes of our author, we may express our astonishment at his admitting into his ancient pieces so silly and so modern a thing as Sir Niel and M'Van. Its very first offgo might have
satisfied the critical ear, that it had neither "The curious perfume, nor most melodious
twang," which distinguish the vanishing apparitions of Ancient Song, as well as Spirits of
another sort.

Far in yon Isle beyond Argyle,
Where flocks and herds were plenty,
Liv'd a rich heir, whose sister fair
Was flower ower a' that country,

This nap in which Mr. B has indulged, we might have overlooked, had he not inflicted a
note upon us, in which we are informed that Sir Niel of the ballad may have been Sir Niel
Campbell, a follower of Sir William Wallace! The trumpery thing in question was sung
about the streets some five years ago, and may be had in any number of reams from the
classic presses of Stirling or Falkirk any day. It is out and out modern, whatever Mr. Buchan
may think, and it was in print years before he had it in MS.

The whole duty of a collector of traditionary b allads is to print them exactly as they were said or sung to him; to mention the district of the country where he recovers the version, and to abstain from all conjecturael mendation on the text, till, as we have said, he has first given it faithfully as he found it. Now, we have scanned the present volumes with no little care,
and we honestly believe that Mr. Buchan has rigidly acted up to the specified conditions, and he has, if he deem them worthy any thing, our unfeigned thanks for the manner in which he has discharged his duty. Of the difficulties and labour attendant on his favourite pursuits, our author appears to entertain a due sense, and knowing some of these from our own personal experience, we can safely aver, that he presents us with no exaggerated picture of their number and magnitude. On this subject he thus writes:-

"No one has yet conceived, nor has it entered the mind of man, what patience, perseverance, and general knowledge are necessary for an editor of a Collection of Ancient Ballads; nor what hosts of enemies he has to encounter; and what myriads of little-minded quibblers he has to silence. The writing of explanatory notes is like no other species of literature. History throws little light upon their origin, or the cause which gave rise to their composition. He has to grope his way in the dark; like Bunyan's pilgrim, on crossing the valley of the shadow of death, he hears sounds and noises, but cannot, to a certainty, tell from whence they come, nor to what place they proceed. The one time, he has to treat of fabulous ballads in the most romantic shape; the next legendary, with all its exploded, obsolete, and forgotten superstitions; also history, tragedy, comedy, love, war, and so on; all, perhaps within the narrow compass of a few hours,-so varied must his genius and talents be."

Our own notion is, that if in the days of chivalry and romance, there ever did exist that self-constituted body of mounted police, cleped Knights Errant, who generously devoted themselves, without fee or reward, to right the wronged, and punish the oppressor- who, scorning toil, hunger, thirst, lack of comfortable raiment and lodging, and all the numerous ills to which flesh is heir, wandered with enduring activity over the face of this terraqueous globe, redressing grievances, sharply chastising powerful villany-defending disconsolate widows and mourning orphans-rescuing delicate damsels from the cruel cutches of ogrefaced and carnivorous mawed ravishers-spitting and splitting up huge giants with lance and sword, and ridding society of all such evil-disposed monsters, and wicked land loupers storming castles, in whose dungeons fair ladies pined in unsunned loveliness, and wept themselves to mere skeletons, and where divers unfortunate knights who had undertaken their delivery, failed in the emprize, and were themselves immured in loathsome pits, full of noisome damps, and fetid smells, where every kind of ugly reptile, as well

"As the bauld rotten
Crawled through their yellow hair."

and made life a burden to their haughty hearts.- Who swimming through lakes of fire, and dashing a side raging floods, held in utter abeyance very species of guile, force, or magic spell-who confronting peril and wan chance, terrible and unearthly, shrunk not from their high resolves. but went on in their career of heroism, through every shift and change of circumstance-througgho od and bad report,l ike destinyi tself,s hapingt heirc ourse o f
glory,t ill perfecte xecutionc rownedth eirl aboursa, ndt he purposeo f theirb eingw asf ully
accomplishedIf. suchm ene verw ere,a ndf ort heh onouro f ourr acew e trusts uchm end id
oncee xist,w e sayt hati n ourh onestb elieft heirl egitimated escendanttsh, eirt ruep rinta nd
portraituraer et o be foundi n thep ains-takinagn df aithfucl ollectoro f ouro ld traditionary
songsa ndb alladsT. he collectoro f these,l ike his worshipfual rchetypeh, atht o wander,
heaven wots, through mazes of doubt-forests of confusion-regions of sterility-and
manys trangela ndsb elikei n remoteI nd, whosev erya tmospheries druggedw ith potent
enchantmentHs. e hast o resistt heb landishmenotsf fancya, ndt hep ruriencieosf imagination,
andt o seeko nlyf ort he poorn akeda natomyo f Truth.-Alas, too, it is not alwaysin
a cear chrystaflo untaint hatt hat shy maidenc hoosest o hide herselfb, ut in somes ullen
pool,o r miryh ole,o ut of whichw hoevers ousesi n, mustr ise,i f riseh e can,a droukiat nda
draiglibt ody,a tw homt he noseo f refinemenwt illb e upcurleda,n dt he fingero f ridiculeb e
directedH. e hast o abidet his,a ndm uchm ore.H e hast oil aftert oil to overcomep, rivation
afterp rivationto endureS. lumberm ustn ot sheathh is eyes,n ors ealh is ears.H e daren ot
trustt o anothert he dutyo f watchingt he BrazenH ead,o n whoseo racularre sponsetsh e
wholef ateo f his beingh inges.W heni ts massiveli pss yllablefo rth" Timeis ,"t henm usth e
be all alert,a nd questioni t tightly:a nd as it rollsf ortht he voiceo f the past,e ache cho,
howeverfa int,m ustb e registerewd ithf idelitya ndc areT. his momento f solemnc ommuning
omitted, and

All the voyage of his life,
Is boundi n shallowsa ndm isfortunes.

He falls from the elevation a nd beauty o f a poetical existence, and shrinks into a degenerate and common place man.

But sayt hath e hasa ccomplisheadl l thath is heartw ass et upona ndt hata ftert oilsa nd
troublesp ast, he returnsh ome, as it were,t o enjoyw ithint he silentc hapelo f his own
virtuoutsh oughtst,h ep leasingr eflectionth ath e hasd oneh is dutyw ell,a ndn otp erfunctorily;
t hew orthyk night-errancto llectorh aths orrowsst illi n store,a ndo there nemiest o deal
with.N o sooneri s he wells eatedb y his ownh eartha, ndh asb egunt o uncaseh imselfo f his
rustya nds word-dintehda bergeont,h ana roundh im springu p somet housando r moreo f
mischievouyse llow-cheekepdu cker-skinneedlv es,w ithf ierye yesa ndw rinkledfr ontsw, ho
settlew ith fiendisha vidityo n everyb it of rawf lesht hatt he gridinga rmouhr asp roduced
uponh is body.T heret heys tinga ndb edevilh im worset hana shirto f hair,t ill his whole
bodyi s oneb listero f pain,o nem asso fbepoisonedh umoursT. hesee lvesb e criticsa, malign
andi ll conditionedra ceo f dwarfsm, osti nimicalt o generousa ndk nightlyd eeds.H appy,
thrice happy are they who have thick skins, when they happen to sit down upon a nest of
hornetso, r to fall asleepo n an ant hillock.F romt hesea nda ll suchv irulenitm ps,w e say
heavens hieldt hev olumeso f ourf riendM r.B uchano f Peterheada,n dl ongp reservhe imt o
collecta ndi llustratteh e traditionarliyt eraturoef his nativel and.
Our similitudems ayl ook somewhafta r fetched,b ut they aren ot the less correcta nd
forcibleI. t is the fashiono f the day,f orb ook-makinmg ent o decryt hel abouros f the mere
balladg athera, ndt o treata s lighta ndi nsignificanht,i s pursuiat ftero rals ong.T heyp rize
the pearlb, utt heyh aven ot a wordo f praisef ort he poorf elloww hor iskedli fe andl imbt o
fishu p the oysterf romi ts oceanb ed.A ftert he thingi s got, howevert,h eyw illp rovet hati t
is a gem of the purest water, and lavish learning, and what they style research and sentiment,
and twaddle upon it without end-they will make it a nail on which to hang all the
sweepingso f their studies,a ll the tag-raggeryo f their miscellaneousr eading,a nd everys crap
and shred of history or anecdote that lies uppermost in their mind, as well as all the idle
gossip of scholarship, that form the stock in trade of a thorough paced maker of books.
These are our balladc ommentators,a nd their laboursm ay be characterizeda s Ascham has
done those of a French writer:

"I mustn eedsr emembers,a yst he authoro f Toxophiluas ,c ertainF renchmacna lledT extor,t hat
writetha bookw hichh e namethO fficinaw, hereinh e weavethu p manyb rokene ndedm attersa, nds et
outm uchr ifraffpelfertyr,u mperyb,a ggagea, ndb eggarwy arec, lampereudp o f onet hatw oulds eemt o
be fitterf ora shopi ndeed,t hant o writea nyb ook."

There are many features peculiar to the genuine old ballads of the land that we might
enumerate, and the due value of which are well understood by the critic and the antiquarian.
These however we need not allude to, farther than by merely directing the readers attention
to the identity of expression, where identity of action occurs in these ancient compositions-
their perpetual use of the same imagery-betraying, as one might suppose, a poverty
of invention, but which we believe was a device, ingenious as it was judicious, to fix them in
the memory of the people, as well as to assist the professed minstrel on those occasions,
when circumstancesm ight call on him to producee xtemporen arrativeo f passinge vent.T he
frugalityo f Scotlandi s proverbial,a frugalityb elike the result of stern necessity.I t was no
uncommon thing in our father's day, perhaps it is not so even now, in some secluded
districts, to see such of the higher order of the peasantry as are emphatically termed "bein
bodies," arrayed at kirk or market in the antiquated habiliments of some great grandfather
or great grandame-in garments that have been handed down for a generation or two with
the greatest care, and may yet clothe a third, were simplicity of manners and old customs to
suffer no change. The same spirit of frugality seems to have ruled the inspirations of the
Harper of the "North Countrie," for we find them with the happiest indifference, making
one ballad to suit many persons, and many occasions by slight change of name and locality.
This, it is to be confessed, creates some confusion, and renders our path indistinct, when we
seek to connect the events detailedi n traditionarys ong, with historicalp ersonagesa nd real
incidents. We find innumerable ballads referring to the same story, and one is left in doubt
whether they should be considered as separate compositions, referring to similar events,
happening in different places and times, or only as variations of narrative, produced by
transmission to other lands-the corruptions of time, and the carelessness of reciters.
Supposing that they are distinct ballads, it may be urged, that in human events, we mean
those which most nearly affect our sympathies, and imprint themselves on our memory, the
range is more limited than could well be imagined. Indeed, in all mundane affairs, there is
a perpetualr ecurrenceo f parallell ines-a singulari dentityo f circumstancesc reatedb y each
revolution of the great master wheel of fate. The events detailed in the domestic tragedy of
Gil Morrice, may have happened as well in the 6th century, as in the 16th, and in centuries
yet to be, as in either. In certain ages too of the history of Society, there must always happen
a degree of uniformity in the character of its outward accidents-the principles of human
action are the same and undeviating throughout, but their manifestation is modified by the
conventional forms of society. Granting then, that at an early period in our history, there
existed a series of poems detailing sundry chances that had befallen the heroes of older days,
or visited with sorrow their noble dames and fair daughters, each of these would stand out
as the archetypeo f particularc lasses of events, and would in after times be adopted as the
ground plot for rearing another narrative, which embraced a similar range of subject,
ingrafting in it perhaps some individuality of circumstance, such as a name or a locality, so
as to fit the day, and the men of that day. Hence we have a theory perhaps not far removed
from truth,w hich accountss atisfactorilyf or the numbero f balladsw hose narrativesa re not
dissimilar, and whose mode of expressing them presents few varieties.

The more ancient class of our ballads, such as are supposed to have been current among our forefathers from the remotest times, critics a nd antiquarians have agreed to distinguish by the epithet Minstrel Ballads. To one versant in traditionary poetry, it is next to impossible that he could confound the truly old narrativew ith one that is the creation of modern fancy. Be the learning or discriminative powers of a modern writer ever so extraordinary, we believe it is a mere impossibilityt hat he could producea ballad,w hich to a person skilled in such matters, would be received as the oral ballad of elder days. When a
taste for these indigenous growths of national genius took root, a plentiful crop of imitations
arose, in which we find either the pride of the poet so fairly overdid the skill of the antiquary,
or the knowledge of the latter was so very inadequate, that with none but the ignorant and
careless can the counterfeits pass current. In Scotland the imitation of the heroic ballad was
recently superseded by ballads, embodying religious feeling peculiar to the sect of covenanters,
as if evera grain of profanef ancyc ould find harbouragein the relentlessa nd iron bosom
of a stiff anti-prelatist and anti-monarchist. Happily this kind of ingenious trifling has
passeda way,a nd our ballada ntiquariesa ren ot necessitatedn ow to sweep down, with a rude
hand, the cobweb fabrications o f contemporary genius.
 
These traditionaryb allads,a largep ortion of which we arei nclined to regarda s veritable
history,a re, and have been the peculiarl iterature,a nd mentali nheritanceo f the peasantryo f
our native land. We remember when round the blazing hearth, the long nights of winter,
were beguiled with these ancient ditties. Maidens while carding wool, or turning their
spinning wheels, made the blackened kebers of the roof to ring with plaintive elegy, or
warlike note-and well we remember the anxiety which youngsters had to learn the true way
that some favourite ballad should be raned from the auld wife ayont the fire, whose fresh
memory could still supply the genuine edition, as it was chaunted by her elders in her
younger days. Her authority in these matters was supreme and indisputable, and from her
words there was no appeal.

For some of our romantic and historic ballads, a high antiquity is claimed, a claim,
however, which the sticklers for the authentic are unfond to admit. Shew us them in MS. of
a given age, and we will believe that the ballads are of that time. But to all matters of human
knowledge, except merely the subjects of demonstrative science, the same objection would
apply-all is traditionary-the very medium of thought-language, depends for its existence
solely on tradition. To push the argument to extremes, would place the laudators of
documentary evidence as superior to every other species in difficulties, from which no
dialectic skill, or sound reasoning could deliver them. For our own part, we like to have faith
as our fathers had in the song-records of our native land, and are in most cases incined to
rest as much weight on traditionarya, s on written testimony. Of balladsa nd the facts they
communicate, we may say as it is said in Cockelbie's Sow,

I reid not this in story autentyfe,
I did it leir at ane full auld wyfe
My grit grandame, men callit her Gurgunald,
Sche knew the lyfe of mony faderis ald,
Notable gestis of peas and weiris in storye
Fresche in hir mynd and recent of memorye.

It is remarkable enough, however, that none of the old ballads commit themselves by
blending the mannerso f past times with the present.T heir representationso f the frame of
Society differ toto calo from any thing like what it is now a-days. We never find them
referringt o the ritualo f the reformedc hurch;b ut uniformlyt o that of the Roman Catholic,
and in some cases we are not sure but their allusions refer to heathen worship, and the
mythic fableso f the Scandinaviant ribes.I n a peculiard egreet his collection illustratesw hat
we are now stating. We do not think we are asking too much, when we deisre our readers to
believe that the curious ballad of the "Twa Magicians," which certain reasons prevent us
from giving, has evidently connection with Northern Fable. To our apprehension it is
nothing else than the story of the seduction of Nidung's daughter by Volandr or Velent, the
celebrated smith. Again, in the ballad of the "Bent sae brown," we find the hero has with
him materialsw hich fit him out with a boat, as useful as the ship Freyr, c alled Skidbladnira
ship which easily transported a whole tribe of people, and yet when need required, could
be folded up and carried in the pocket. Willie, when he visits his love Annie says:

Of my coat I'll make a boat,
And o' my sark a sail,
And o' my cane a gude topmast,
Dry land till I come till.

Again, in the ballad of Young Allan, which is altogether a singular production, and resembles in some degree Sir Patric Spens, we find his ship like the bard Ellide, mentioned in Icelandic Song, understood human speech. During the storm Young Allan thus addresses his "comely cog,"

If ye will sail my bonny ship
Till we come to dry land,
For ilka iron nail in you
Of gowd there shall be ten.
The ship she listen'd all the while,
And hearing of her hire,
She flew as swift through the saut sea,
As sparks do frae the fire.

This faculty was also enjoyed by the fleet of Alcinous, for which fact Homer is our authority.
As corroborativeo f what we have said regardingt he internale videncet hese balladsh ave
of their antiquity, so far as religion is concerned, we select

BROWN ROBYNS CONFESSION
It fell upon a Wednesday,
Brown Robyn went to sea;
But they saw neither moon nor sun,
Nor star-light wi' their e'e.
We'll cast kevels us amang
See wha the unhappy man may be;
The kevel fell on Brown Robyn
The master man was hee.
Its nae wonder, said Brown Robyn
Altho' I dinna thrive;
For wi' my mither I had twa bairns,
And wi' my sister five.
But tie me to a plank o' wud,
And throw me in the sea;
And if I sink, ye may bid me sink,
But if I sink just let me bee.
They've tyed him to a plank o' wud,
And thrown him in the sea;
He didna sink, tho' they bade him sink,
He swimm'd and they bade lat him be.
He hadna been into the sea
An hour but barely three;
Till by it came our blessed Lady,
Her dear young son her wi'

Will ye gang to your men again? But I would gang to the high heavens
Or will ye gang wi' me? Wi' thy dear son and thee.
Will ye gang to the high heavens, Its for nae honour you did to me Brown Robyn,
Wi' my dear son and me? Its for nae guid ye did to me;
I winna gang to my men again, But a' is for your fair confession
For they wud be fear'd at me; You've made upon the sea.

The collection before us is also valuable, inasmuch as it contains many romantic ballads
referable to eastern fiction, or which can be traced as existing in a more enlarged form, in
some of the romances of the chivalrous ages. The story of the Earl of Mar's Daughter, has
its prototype in Arabian Fable. The Queen of Scotland is probably part of an old romanceit
occurs to us that a similar story is related in the Gesta Romanorum, or some such similar
collection. Troy Muir, however, should obviously be changed to Triamoure. Blancheflour
andJellyfloricei, s just a parto f the metricalr omanceo f that name;a nd "YoungR onald,"w e
think, is a balladised form of the lost romance, to which allusion is made in Roswall and
Lillian in the lines:

For blither was not Meledas,
When as she married Claudias:
Nor Belsant that most pleasant flower,
When she got Ronald to paramour,
As was this Lady Lilian.

Under the class of balladsr eferringt o a Northerno rigin,w e are inclinedt o think that the
following should be reckoned:-Young Akin, The Twa Magicians, the Bent sae Brown, Lang
Johnny Moir, Young Allan, Young Hastings, Bearwell, Kemp Owen, Hynd Hasting, &c.
One ballad we consider as peculiarly valuable, viz. King Malcolm and Sir Colvin, as it
helps to shew us what ballads lose by transmission from one age to another. In Percy's
Reliques we find the same ballad under the title of Sir Cauline. A writer, who comments on
the ballad as it appears in the Reliques says: "How much it owes to the taste and genius of its
Editor,w e have not the meanso f ascertainingb; ut that his additionsa nd interpolationsh ave
been considerable, any one acquainted with ancient minstrelsy will have little room to
doubt. We suspect too, that the original ballad had a less melancholy catastrophe, and that
the brave Sir Cauline, after his combat with the "hend Soldan," derived as much benefit
from the leechcraft of the fair Christabell, as he did after winning the eldridge sword." The
sagacityo f the critici s amplyc onfirmedb y the set of the ballad,a s traditionallyp reservedi n
Scotland.T he ballada greesw ith the remarkablen arrativew, hich Hollingshed quotes from
Gervase of Tilbury De Otio Imperiali, of one Osbert of Barnewell, who vanquished the
Eldridge Knight of Wandleburie Hills.-Hollingshed, Vol. I., p. 216, new edition.
But it would be no surprising thing to us, though this ballad referred to the rise of the
family of Comyn in Scotland, and was founded on this incident. "Malcolm causid one of his
brothers to be beheded, and put out the yes of another of his bretheren, and kept hym in
Gedworth Castel yn pryson, fering lest they should put hym from his kingdom. He that was
blynd got a mayd childe of a launder that wold never leve on tyl he had married her. This
daughterw as afterg iven with landesi n marriageb y Malcolme, on to a sunne of the Countie
Comyn of Fraunce, the which young Comyn at that tyme dwelled with King Malcolme."
NotableT hingst ranslatedin toE nglishb yJ ohnL eylande,o uteo f a Bookec alledS calaC hronica.
Collectanea, Vol. I. p. 529.

Among other good versions of ballads which Mr Buchan has recovered, we find an
excellent one of Sir Patrick Spens, which dearly establishes that the unfortunate voyage it
records, was on the occasion of the daughter of Alexander III. marrying Eric of Norway. As
we wish this perfect version to supersede all made up, or somewhat imperfect ones that have
hitherto appeared, we now present it to our readers.

SIR PATRICK SPENS

The King sits in Dunfermline town,
A' drinking at the wine;
Says, Where will I get a good skipper
Will sail the saut seas fine?
Out it speaks an eldern knight
Amang the companie-
Young Patrick Spens is the best skipper
That ever sail'd the sea.
The King he wrote a braid letter,
And seal'd wi' his ring;
Says, Ye'll gi'e that to Patrick Spens,
See if ye can him find.
He sent this, not wi' an auld man,
Nor yet a simple boy,
But the best o' nobles in his train
This letter did convoy.
When Patrtick look'd the letter upon
A light laugh then gae'd he:
But ere he read it till an end,
The tear blinded his e'e.
Ye'll eat and drink, my merry men a',
But see ye be weell thorn;
For blaw it weet, or blaw it wind,
My guid ship sails the morn.
Then out it speaks a guid auld man,
A guid death mat he dee,-
Whatever ye do, my guid master,
Tak' God your guide to bee.
For late yestreen I saw the new moon,
The auld moon in her arm.
Ohon, alas! says Patrick Spens,
That bodes a deadly storm.
But I maun sail the seas the morn,
And likewise sae maun you;
To Norway, wi' our king's daughter,-
A chosen queen she's now.
But I wonder who has been sae base,
As tauld the king o' mee;
Even tho' he ware my ae brither,
An ill death mat he dee.
Now Patrick he rigg'd out his ship,
And sailed ower the faem;
But mony a dreary thought had hee,
While hee was on the main.
They hadna sail'd upon the sea
A day but barely three;
Till they came in sight o' Noroway,
It's there where they must bee.
They hadna stayed into that place
A month but and a day,
Till he caus'd the flip in mugs gae roun',
And wine in cans sae gay,
The pipe and harp sae sweetly play'd,
The trumpets loudly soun':
In every hall wherein they stay'd,
Wi' their mirth did reboun'.
Then out it speaks an auld skipper,
An inbearing dog was hee-
Ye've stay'd ower lang in Noroway,
Spending your king's monie.
Then out it speaks Sir Patrick Spens,-
O how can a' this be?
I ha'e a bow o' guid red gowd
Into my ship wi' mee.
But betide me will betide me wae,
This day I'se leave the shore;
And never spend my king's monie
'Mong Noroway dogs no more.
Young Patrick hee is on the sea,
And even on the faem;
Wi' five-an-fifty Scots lords' sons,
That lang'd to bee at hame.
They hadna sail'd upon the sea
A day but barely three;
Till loud and boistrous grew the wind,
And stormy grew the sea.
O where will I get a little wee boy
Will tak' my helm in hand,
Till I gae up to my tapmast,
And see for some dry land?
He hadna gane to his tapmast,
A step but barely three;
Ere thro' and thro' the bonny ship's side,
He saw the green haw-sea.

Therea ref ivea n-fiftyf eatherb eds
Well packedin ae room;
And ye'llg et as muckleg uidc anvas
As warp the ship a' roun
Ye'l picth erw ell,a nds pareh ern ot,
And mak' her hale and soun'.
But ere he had the word well spoke
The bonny ship went down,
O laith,l aithw ereo urg uidl ords's ons
To weett heirm ilk-whiteh ands;
But lang ere a' the play was ower
They wat their gowden bands.
O laith,l aithw ereo urS cotsl ords's ons
to weett heirc oal-blacksh oon;
But lang ere a' the play was ower
They wat their hat aboon.
It's even ower by Aberdour
It'sf iftyf athomsd eep,
And yonderli es SirP atrickS pens,
And a's his men at his feet.
It's even ower by Aberdour,
There'sm onya craiga ndf in,
And yonderli es SirP atrickS pens,
Wi' monya guidl ords's on.
Lang,l angw ill the ladyesl ook
Intot heirm orningw eed,
Beforet heys ee youngP atrickS pens
Comes ailingo wert he fleed.
Lang,l angw ill the ladyesl ook
Wi' their fans in their hand,
Beforet heys ee him, PatrickS pens,
Comes ailingt o dryl and.

It were easy to multiply examples of the skill and industry with which our author has
gathered these old pieces. The field he has made accessible to us is exceedingly rich and
varied. The spirit which has animated him throughout, is entitled to our warmest admiration,
for we do well know how little substantial remuneration can ever be hoped for by the
man, who devotes himself, soul and body, to patriotic labours, such as he has so well
executed. It has long been our wish to see a knowledge in these matters widely diffused
among our countrymen, and a taste for them created more general and decided than there is
in the present day. To minds vitiated by the blandishments of art, it is long before they can
be brought to relish the simple beauties of these early strains; and it requires some study ere
their value, either as illustrativeo f history,o r nationalc haracterc, an be duly appreciatedb y
the man of letters, the moralist, or metaphysician. But their beauties and value will be
discovered in time, and the quickening effect this perception will communicate to the mind
of the people, must provea s salutaryt o their moral,a s to theirl iteraryc haracterI. n glancing
over what we have written, we observe many things have escaped us, which in justice we
should say of these volumes. What we have said, however, may suffice to satisfy all of the
esteem in which we hold them. The notes we may dismiss with stating, that they principally
tend to connect the balladsw ith matterso f history,o r areo f an explanatoryn aturer egarding
their subjects. We are not sure that in his positions Mr. Buchan is always correct, or that in
his comments he is uniformly happy. This much, however, we can safely vouch for, that they
are abundantly curious, and that to many, the volumes without them would be deprived of
a great portion of their interest. To conclude, no one bearing an honest affection towards
the Song of his father-land, should lack for a moment the "Ancient Ballads and Songs of the
North of Scotland."

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Footnotes:
1. ANCIENT BA LLADS AN D S ONGS O F T HE N ORTH O F SCOTLAND hitherto unpublished, with explanatory notes b y P eter B uchan, c orresponding Member o fthe Society o fAntiquaries of Scotland. W. & D. Laing, and John S tevenson, Edin. 1828. 2 vols. 8 vo.
2. The True C hronicle H istorie o f King L eira nd h is three daughters.
3. The followingp rayerw, rittenb y ThomasH earne,a fters ome such windfall,i s curiousa nd
characteristic:-"Om ostg raciouas ndm ercifuLl ordG od,w onderfuiln thy providenceI, returna ll
possibleth ankst o theef ort he caret houh asta lwaytsa keno f me. I continuallmy eetw ithm osts ignal
instanceos f thist hyp rovidencea,n do nea cty esterdayw, henI unexpectedmlye tw itht hreeo ldM SS.f or
which,i n a particulamr annerI, returnm yt hanksb, eseechintgh eet o continueth e samep rotectionto
me, a poorh elplesss innera, ndt hatf orJ esusC hristh is sake."
4. * Lib. xii, p. 291, Nuremb. 1550.