Chapter V: Part IV

Now Jockey and his mither came hame together, cheek for chow cracking like twa hand guns.

Moth. I trow I have fought a battle this day, and win the field condingly, whan I hae conquer’d a’ the canker’d carles about the kirk.

Jock. Indeed mither I think ye are a better man nor the minister, and gin ye had Arithmattock and Latin, to ken the kittle figures you may preach as well as he.

Moth. I true Jock lad their black stool o’ sham repentance ne’er got sic a rattle as I hae gient the day.

Jock. Na, na, mither, a’ the whoremongers that ever set a hip on’t kens na sae muckle about the auld foundation o’t as ye do.

Moth. But Johny man, an’ thou wad start in the morning, the first o’ the daft days,[17] and that’s on Munday, ye an’ I wad go and see the daft jade, Jenny the mither o’t.

Jock. Wi’ a’ my heart mither, but wi maun giet something an’ it were an auld servet, or an auld sark to keep the hips o’t warm, young weans is ay wet about the a--se ye ken.

Moth. A well then Johny, I’se cry to thee whan the hens begin to keckle, and that’s about the break o’ day, an’ wees be ready to tak the road again Torryburn day light, whan weel ken a turd by a stane.

Up gets auld Maggy, Jocks mither in the morning, puts on the kettle, and maks her Yool sowens, the meikle pot hung on the fire a’ night wi’ the cheek of an auld cows head, skims aff the fat an’ mak’s a great cog o’ brose, then pours on a chappen o’ clean creish like oil, which made a brave sappy breakfast for Jockey and his mither, and Maggy got the cog to scart.

The brose being done and a’ thing ready, he halters the black mare, lays on the sunks and a covering, fine furniture for a country wife.[18]

Jockey mounts, and his mother behind him, trots awa, till coming down the brae abune John Davie’s well; the auld beast being unfiery o’ the feet, she fundred before, the girth and curple brake, Jockey tumbled o’er her lugs, and his mother out o’er him in the well wi’ a slung.

Jock. Ay, ay, mither, tho’ I fell ye needna faun abune me, an’ gin ye had lyne whar ye lighted first, ye wadna tumbl’d into the well; its an unco thing that a body canna get a fa’ but ye maun fa’ abune them: auld ruddoch it thou is, thou might a hauden better by the rumple, an’ ye wadna a bruised a my back wi’ your auld hard banes, nor a wat a’ yoursel say, and see how ye hae drummel’d a John Davie’s well.

Moth. Hech quo she, I wonder gin I be kill’d, thou always was wont to get the word of a good rider, baith upon hussies and horses, an’ this be thy management thou’s little worth; fel’d the auld beans it bore thee! sic a bath as I hae gotten to my Yool, thou coudna gien me a war bed nor a water hole in a cauld frosty morning: wae be to thee an’ that ill gotten gett o’ thine, O! let never better bounty be gotten wi’ bystarts getting, an’ this is so much for the fruits o’ fornication, a war stance nor the black-stool yet.

Jock. Let’s a be now wi’ your auld taunts about bystarts getting, or I’se gie you the wind o’ the mare’s tail, an’ gar you wammel hame an’ a’ your wate coats about you.

Moth. Na, na, my man Johny, haud the auld jade till I loup on, we came together, and wi’s gang together, wi sall see thy bystart and its mither or wi gae hame.

Jock. Wi’ a’ my heart mither, but yonder the house an’ the hens on’t, the lums reeking rairly, but little ken they wha’s coming.

At length they came to Jenny’s mother’s door.

In goes his mother and in goes his mare,
Himself follows after, cries how’s a’ here?

Moth. Hech, is that poor body in her bed yet?

Her mother answers,

Well a wat she’s in her bed, an’ cauld cauld, and comfourtless is her lying; bystarts getting is just like lent gear, seldom or ever weel paid back again; but my poor lassie coudna done war nor she’s done, O! gin she had yielded her body to some bit herd laddie, he wad a seen her lang or now.

Moth. A dear Marrion what wad ye be at? Do ye think that our John wha has a wife o’ his ain, cou’d come an’ wait on her as she were a dame o’ honour, or yet an honest man’s wife, poor silly lown it she is, an’ he had thought on what he was com’d o’ he wad ne’er a offer’d benevolence to the like o’ her.

Mar. An’ ye had been as great an instrogater against his making her double ribbet, as ye’re now against doing her justice, for the filthy jimcrack he’s gien her, ye wadna need to ca’ her silly lown the day, an him an honest man; but the ne’er an honest man wad a hoddl’d sae lang on a ae poor hussie an’ then gane awa an a married anither for love of a pickle auld clouts, and twa three pock-fou’s o’ tow: an she is but a silly lown indeed that lute him or ony rattle-scul else, shake their tail so lang upon her, without his faith, an’ his troth, an’ his fist before the minister.

Moth. A cauld be your cast kimmer, do ye think it your dadeling daughter’s a match fit for my son John; I think less may sair, her father was but a poor cotter carle, an’ our John’s father was a farmer, an’ its but a trick o’ youth, an’ the course of youdeth maun be out; but she may thank good fortune an’ tell her friends ay, an’ count it a credit that ever she bore a bystart to the like o’ him; a good fu fat farmer’s son, but ae laigher nor a laird.

Mar. A wae be to sic a credit it’s no worth the cracking o’, an’ whar was a’ his noble equals whan he bute to lay a leg on a my poor lassie, poor clarty clukny it thou is? an’ if they warna baith ae man’s mak I wad think naething o’t; for they warna a needle o’ differ between their dadies an’ what war they baith but twa sticket taylors at the best? ye had as good a gane hame an’ a counted bow-kail stocks, as to come here to count kindred wi’ me.

Jock. Hout awa daft witless wives, I kenna what you’re flyting about, I wad rather see the wean gin it be ony thing wally and like the warld.

Mar. Indeed sall ye John, you’ll see your ain picture for little siller, a muckle mouth’t haverel it is just like yoursel.

The child is presented.

Jock. Mither, mither, it has a muckle mouth just like mine, an’ sees wi’ baith ot’s een, an bit five days auld yet.

Moth. Dear Johny thou’s no wise man, wad tu hae the wean to be blin, the poor thing saw whan it was new born.

Jock. A what ken I mither, am no sae weel skill’d as the howdies, an’ them that’s ay hobbling weans: but I thought they had a been like the wee bit’s a whalpies, nine nights auld before they had seen ony.

Moth. Awa, awa, ye witless widdyfu’, comparing a beast till a woman’s ain bairnie: a dog is a brute beast, an’ a wean is a chrisen’d creature.

Jock. Na mither, its no a chrisen’d creature yet, for hit has neither gotten the words nor the water, nor as little do I ken how to ca’t yet.

Mar. I wat well it’s a very uncanny thing to keep about a house, or yet t’ meet in a morning, a body wanting a name.[19]

Moth. Hout tout ay, ye it’s auld wives is ay fu o’ frits an’ religious fashions, them that looks to frits, frits follows them, but it is six and thirty years since I was a married wife, an’ I never kend a sabbath day by a nither ane, mony a time till the bell rang.

Mar. Dear guidwife what needs ye speak so loud? ye fright the wean wi’ crying sae, see as it starts.

Moth. Ay, ay, the bystarts is a’ that way, but ken ye the reason o’ that?

Mar. Ye that kens the reason of everything may soon find out that too.

Moth. A deed than woman I’ll tell you, the merry begotten weans, its bystarts I mean, is red wood, half wittet hillocket sort o’ creatures: for an it be nae ane among twenty o’ them, they’re a’ scar’d o’ the getting, for there’s few o’ them gotten in beds like honest fouk’s bairns; but in out-houses, auld barns, backs o’ dikes, and kil-loggies; whar there’s ay somebody wandering to scar poor needfu’ persons, at their job of journay-wark: for weel ken I the gaits o’t, experience gars me speak.

Jock. A deed mither that’s very true, for whan I was getting that wean at the black hole o’ the peat stack, John Gammel’s muckle Colly came in behind us wi’ a bow wow, of a great goul just abune my buttocks; an’ as I’m a sinner, he gart me loup laveruck height, an’ yet wi got a wean for a’ that.

Moth. A weel than Johnny that mak’s my words good yet.

Jenny answers out o’ the bed. A shame fa your fashions ye hae nae muckle to keep whan ye tell how it was gotten, or what was at the getting o’t.

Jock. A shame fa yoursel Jenny, for I hae gotten my part o’ the shame else, an’ gin ye hadna tell’d first there wad nane kend, for nae body saw us but John Gammel’s auld colly an’ he’s no a sufficient witness.

Mar. Now guidwife amang a’ your tales ye hae tell’d me, how is this wean to be maintain’d?

Moth. Ill chance on your auld black mouth Marrion, did I not send you my guid sprittled hen, a pund of butter and a sixpence, forby a libby o’ groats an’ a furlat o’ meal; mak her a guid cogfu’ o’ brose, an’ put a knoist o’ butter in them, to fill up the hole whar the lown came out, an’ I’ll send mair or that be done.

Mar. An it be na better nor the last ye may een keep it to your sell; your groat meal, and gray meal, sand dust and seeds, course enough to feed cocks an’ hens, besides a woman in her condition.

Moth. A foul be your gabs, ye’re a sae gash o’ your gabbies; a whine fools that stives up your gutses wi’ guid meat, to gar the worms turn wanton and wallop in your wames; feed yourselves as I do, wi’ hacket kail brose, made o’ groat meal, an’ gray meal, sand, seeds, dust an’ weak shilling, ony thing is good enough to fill the guts an’ make a t--d of.

Jock. Na, na, mither an’ the wean wad suck our Maggy, I sud take it hame in my oxter.

Moth. O ye fool, Maggy’s milk is a mould salt and sapless lang syne; but I trow she wad keb at it, as the black ew did at the white ews lamb the last year, sae speak nae mair o’ Maggy’s milk, no to compare a cat to a creature, the yeal cats is never kind to kitlens, an’ the maiden’s bairns is a’ unco weel bred.

Jock. Na, na, ye’re a’ mistane mither, Maggy has milk yet for every pap she has is like a burn pig, I’se warrand ye they’ll haud pints the piece.

Moth. My man Johny let them keep the wean, that has the wean, we’ll never miss a pockfu’ of meal now and tan, I wadna hae my bed pisht and blankets rotten for a bow o’ the best o’t.

Jock. O mither! I canna lea’t I like it say weel it has twa bonny glancing een, just like mine in a keeking glass, I wonner how I was able to get the like o’t, indeed mither I think mare o’ it, nor I do o’ my gray horse, Maggy an’ the four ky.

Moth. My man Johnny ye’re at nae strait about bairns getting, nane needs to gang to London to learn that auld trade; I ken very weel when ane gets warklums right to their hand, nature will teach them how to fa’ to.

Jock. Now fare ye weel Janet, that wean is weel worth the warkmanship, I’ll warrand ye weel a wat ist.

Jenny. Guidnight wi’ you John, but O man thou’s broken my fortune, I’ll never get mair o’ a man nor I hae gotten, an’ dear, dear, hae I suffer’d for what I hae done, an’ if thou had a bestowed thyself on a me, ye see what a bonny bairn time we had a hane.

Moth. Thou says it thou’s suffer’d sadly for what thou’s done, but though they wad take the hide o’er thy een holes it wadna tak the inclination out o’ thee; for thou’ll do’t again, but it’s no wi my bairn I’se warrand thee, an’ now Johnny come awa hame to thy hauf marrow an’ use thy freedom as formerly, thou’ll hae weans thick and three fauld; I’se make thee a decoction of cock stanes, lamb stanes, an’ chicken broe, will gar thee cock thy tail like a mevies an’ canter like a Galloway toop.

THE VTH AND LAST PART.

_Being an Account of Jockeys Mother’s Death and Burial: With an
Elegant Elegy and Epitaph on that occasion--The Baptizing of his
two Children, and how he mounted the stool._

As Jockey and his mither came hobbling hame together on the out side of the auld doil’d beast his mither’s black mare; a waefu’ misfortune befel them;--Her hinderlets being wickedly wet, in John Davie’s well that morning, and it being a frosty night, her coats was a’ frozen round about her and the hard harn sark plaid clash between her legs like a wet dish clout, her teeth gaed like a rattle bag till almost haf gate hame, then she was suddenly seiz’d wi’ a rumbling in her muckle bag, what we kintry fouks ca’s a rush i’ the guts; Jockey was fash’d helping her aff and helping her on, foul, fat and dirty was the road, having like half a T----d as ever tadder length.

Jock. Deed mither, I doubt death has something to do wi’ you, for there’s a rumbling in a your wame like an auld wife kirning.

Mith. Hout tout I canna hear o’t, but they’ll be na fear o’ me now, I’m safe at my ain door, thanks to thee an’ the auld beast it brought me; heat my feet wi’ the bannock stane, an’ lay me in my bed, fling four pair o’ blankets an’ a cann’os on me, I’ll be weel enough an’ ance I were better, swieth Maggy gae mak me a cogfu’ o’ milk brose, an’ a placks worth o’ spice in them, nae fear of an auld wife as lang as she’s loose behin, an can tak meat.

Jock. I’se be’t mither, a e’en fill up the boss o’ your belly, you’ll stand to the storm the better, I’se warran ye never die as lang as you can tak your meat.

Ben comes Maggy wi’ the brose; but four soups an’ a slag filled her to the teeth, till she began to bock them back again, and ding awa the dish.

Jock. A mither, mither I dout there’s mair ado wi’ you nor a dish to lick: whan ye refuse guide milk meat, I’m doubtfu’ your mouth be gaun to the mules.

Mith. A dear Johnny am no willin to die if I could do better: but this will be a sair winter, on auld frail fouks, yet an’ I wou’d grow better I might live these twenty years yet, an’ be nae auld wife for a’ that: but alake a day there is e’en mony auld fouk dying this year.

Jock. A deed mither there is fouks dying the year that never died before.

Mith. Dear Johnny wilt thou bring me the doctor he may do me some guide, for an my heart warna sick an’ my head sae sair, I think I may grow better yet.

Jock. A weel mither, I’se bring the doctor, the minister, an’ my uncle.

Mith. Na, na, bring nae ministers to me, his dry cracks ’ll do me but little guid, I dinna want to see his powder’d pow, an’ I in sic an ill condition; get me a pint o’ drams in the muckle bottle, an’ set in the bole in the back side o’ my bed.

Jock. A deed mither ye’re in the right o’t, for ye want to be weel warm’d within; to chace the call wind an’ frosty water out at your back side.

Then awa he rins to draff Meg’s at the Kirktown, an’ brings a bottle in every hand, out wi’ the cork an’ gies her ane in o’er, she sets it to her gab an’ squattles up a mutchkin at a waught, which was like to wirry her till she fell a rifting and roaring like an auld blunder-bush.

Mith. Hech hay, co’ she, but that maks an alteration and wears awa the wind.

Wi’ that her head fell to the cod and she sughte awa, like a very saint or drunken sinner.

Jock. O! Maggy, Maggy, my mither’s lost her breath, (she’ll no live lang without it,) I doubt she be dead already, and nae body seen her but ye and I and oursels twa; an’ she had been fair o’er seen it maksna, I’ll no ha’d this a fair strae death indeed, fy Maggy, cry in a’ the neighbours to see her die, although she be dead. O an’ she wad but shake her fit, or wag her muckle tae, it wad ay be some satisfaction:[20] but in came the neighbours in a hush, dinging ither down in the door.

Jock. Come awa sirs, for my mither’s as dead as a mauk, good be thanket for’t; but I’d rather it had a been the black mare, or the muckle rigget cow, for weel a wat I’ll een miss her, for she was a bra spinner o’ tow; an’ cou’d a cardet to twa muckle wheels, she had nae faut but ane an that was her tongue, but she’ll speak nae mair, fy gets a dale or a barn door to straught her on, for ay whan she was cauld she was unco kankert an’ ill to curch, but I’se hae her yerdet on Wednesday teen.

Come, come, says Maggy, wi maun hae her drest.

Jock. What does the fool mean? wad ye dress a dead woman, she’ll never gang to kirk nor market a’ her days again.

Mag. A dear John be at ease, ye ken she mauna be buried as she is, a sark and winding sheet is the least she can get.

Jock. Ah ha Maggy is that what you mean, she has a guid new windin sheet, it was never about her shoulders yet,[21] say Maggy do’t a’ yoursell, and I’se gar clinkem Bell misure the grave and mak it.

Now when they brought out the corps John told the people they were welcome, to haud in a cheek o’ his auld mither wast the gate; and being laid right on the spakes,[22] ha! ha! quoth he, this is a braw honestly indeed, its mair boukie nor my bridal was, but when they came to the grave, it was o’er short and strait about the mouth, which set John in a great passion, saying a foul fa your naughty fashions master bell man, did not I packshon wi’ you for the bried o’ my mither’s back and the length o’ her carkage? an’ this hole winna haud her thou’s get nae mair o’ my change if I sude die the morn.

Uncle Rabbie. Whisht, whisht, stir, this sude be a day o’ mourning for your mither, dinna flyte here.

Jock. What the vengeance uncle, sudna fouks die when they’re auld? an’ am to pay for a hole and get but haf a hole; that’s the thing that vexes me, but I’se keep twopence out o’ his trencher for’t, an’ se will I een; but gang ye hame uncle to get cog and cap for the dradgey, and I’ll see her get fair play or I gae.

Hame they came in a croud and fell to the cheese and cheeks of leaves tuth and nail, the ale was handed about in cogs and caps, lashing it down o’er like bletchers watering their webs; John blutter’d in the cog like a cow in warm water, till the barm and bubbles came belling out at his nose, saying, a guide health to you a round about, an shoon and shortly may wi a gang the gate may mither’s gane, an’ I wish them a burying amang the dogs that speaks against it.[23]

About eight and twenty weeks thereafter Maggy had a wally weame fu of weans to bear, an’ ay whan she cryed, John cryed, which made a’ the kimmers and auld Katty the howdie laugh heartily to hear them.

Katty. Here now John, your wife’s brought to bed wi’ a bra lad bairn, gie him your blessing.

Jock. Well I wat he’s no want that, but an’ there had a been samuckle din at the getting o’ him, as at the bearing o’ him, it sude ne’er a been gotten for me: Come, come, gets in uncle Rabbie, the com riddle fu’ of the three nucket scons, whang down the cheese like peats, eat and drink[24] as at my mither’s dradgey, till wi forget our sorrow, and then weel see Mess John about a name till him; since wi see its the way o’t, that the young comes into the warld and chases out the auld, wi maun chrisen them, and they maun bury us.

Now John and his uncle goes to the minister, he enters, saying, guideen to you Mr. Minister ye dinna ken my mither’s dead?

Minister. Yes John I heard so: but how is your wife?

Jock. My wife stir a wae worth her, for the wives o’ our town an’ I hae gotten a waking night wi’ her; but wi hae gotten her turn’d and still’d again, she’s born a bra wally thumping stirra, he’ll herd the kye belyve to me an’ he had huggers on him, an’ am come to you to get a bit name to him.

Minister. A bit name to him John, if ye want no more but a name, ye may gie him that yourself.

Jock. Na but stir, I want baith the words and the water, what ye say to ither fouks say to me.

Minister. A but John you must give security or satisfaction, you’re a man under scandal.

Jock. What the muckle mischief stir, though under scandal or abune scandal, will ye refuse to chrisen my wean that’s honestly gotten in my ain wife’s bed beneath the blankets; caus I had a bystart, canna ye chrisen the weel com’d ane, let the bystart stand for its ain skaith without a name.

Minister. No John you have been too slackly dealt with, I’ll bring you to obedience by law, since you reject counsel.

Jock. A deed stir, I wad think naething to stan a time or twa on’t to please you, if there were nae body in the kirk on a uke day, but you an’ the elders to flyte a wee on me; but its war on a Sunday, to hae a’ body looking and laughing at me, as I had been coding the piese, suppen the kirn, or something that’s no bonny like pissing the bed.

Minister. A well John never mind you these things, come ye to the stool, its nothing when its over we cannot sae o’er much to you about it.

Upon Sunday thereafter John comes in with uncle Rabbies auld wide coat, a muckle great gray lang tail’d wig and a big bonnet, which cover’d his face, so that he seem’d more like an old Pilgrim than a young fornicator; mounts the creepy[25] with a stiff stiff back as he had been a man of sixty, every one looked at him, thinking he was some old stranger who knew not the stool of repentance by another seat, so that he passed the first day unknown but to very few, yet or the second it came to be known, that the whole parish and many more came to see him; which caused such a confusion that he was absolved, and got his children baptized the next day.

But there happened a tullie between the twa mother’s who would have both their names to be Johns, a weel, a weel says old John their father to the minister, deed stir ye maun ca’ the tean John an’ the tither Jock, and that will please baith these enemies o’ mankind.

Minister. A well John suppose ye do, it is still twa Johns nevertheless.

Jock. A deed stir, ye maun gie the wicked a’ their will, wi’s ca’ the bystart Jockie, an’ my son Johnny Bell; On wi’t some way and let her ca’t as she likes.

Minister. A dear John but ye speak indifferently about this matter, ye know not the nature of it.

Jock. A mony thanks to you Mess John, now caus ye hae chrisend baith my bairn and my bystart I hope you’ll forgive me the buttock mail.

Minister. John I desire you to be silent and to speak none here: You must keep a straight walk in time coming, free of scandal or offence.

Jock. Ay stir an’ how think ye the like o’ me can wak straight wi’ sic auld shevelin heel’d shune as mine, amang such rugh rigs, highs an’ hows as I hae to harl through.

Minister. I need not speak to you, you are but a poor mean ignorant person.

Jock. Na stir welawat am neither poor nor yet mean, my mither’s fairly yerdet now guide be thanket, and left a’ she had to Maggy and me.

Minister. But hear ye this John, ye must not kiss any other woman nor[26] your own wife, live justly like another honest christian, and you’ll come to die well.

Jock. A black end on a me stir, in ever I lay an unlawfu leg upon hissie again an they sude lie down to me while our Maggy lests; and for dying there’s nae fear o’ that, but I’ll no get fair play if ye an’ a’ the aulder fouk in the parish be not dead before me, so I hae done wi’ ye now.

* * * * *

An EPITAPH.

Here lies the dust of John Bell’s Mither,
Against her will, death’s brought her hither;
Clapt in this hole, hard by his dady,
Death snatch’t her up, or she was ready;
Lang might she liv’d wer’t not her wame,
But wha can live beyond their time?
There’s none laments her but the Suter,
So here she lyes looking about her;
Looking about her! how can that be?
Yes, she sees her state, better than we.

* * * * *

An ELEGY on the Death of JOCKEY’S MOTHER

Now a’ body ken’s my Mither’s dead,
For weel a wat I bore her head,
And in the grave I saw her laid,
It was e’en right drole,
For her to change a warm fire side:
For a cauld kirk-hole.

But every ane tell’st just like a sang,
That yon’s the gate we have to gang,
For me to do it, I think nae lang,
If I can do better.
For I trow my Mither thinks it nae sang,
What needs we clatter.

But thanks to death ay for the futer,
That did not let her get the Suter,
For about her gear wad been a splutter,
And sae had been,
For he came ay snoaking about her,
Late at een.

For our Maggy watch’t and saw,
My Mither’s back was at the wa’,
But what was mair hach ha’ hach ha’
I winna tell,
She to do yon stood little aw’,
Just like mysell.

But to get gear was a’ her drift,
And used many a pinging shift:
About her spinning and her thrift,
Was a’ her care,
She’s gotten but little o’t abune the lift,
Wi’ her ti wear.

FINIS.

_THE COALMAN’S COURTSHIP._

[The edition reprinted from here is ‘the tenth edition,’ as the
title page bears. The full title is:--‘The Young Coal-Man’s
Courtship to a Creel-Wife’s Daughter, or, a Dialogue between an
Old Woman and her Son: wherein she instructs him in the Real
Art of Courtship. Very beneficial for blate Wooers or young
Beginners. The Tenth Edition. Containing all its Three Parts.
Glasgow: Printed and sold by J. & J. Robertson, MDCCLXXXII.’ It
is a 16 pp. 12mo.]

THE YOUNG COALMAN’S COURTSHIP TO A CREEL-WIFE’S DAUGHTER.

All you that’s curious of Courtship, give attention to this History of Mary and her son Sawny, a young Coalman, who lived in the country a few miles from Edinburgh.

Mary, his mither, was a gay hearty wife, had mair wantonness nor wealth; was twelve years a married wife, nine years a widow, and was very chaste in her behaviour, wi’ her ain tale (for want of charging:) for a’ this time of her widowhood, there was never a man got a kiss o’ her lips, or laid a foul hand on her hind quarters.

Sawny her son was a stout young raw lown, full faced, wi’ flabby cheeks, duddy breeks, and a ragged doublet, gade always wi’ his bosom bare, sometimes had ae gartan, a lingle or rash-rape was good enough for Sawny: his very belly was a’ sun burnt and brown like a piper’s bag, or the head of an auld drum; and yet his beard began to sprout out like herring banes: he took thick brose to his breakfast, and baps and ale through the day, and when the coals sell’d dear, when the wind was cauld, bought an oven farl and twa Dunbar weathers,[27] or a Glasgow magistrate,[28] which fish-wives ca’s a waslen herrin.

His mither, auld Mary plagued him ay in the morning, got up when the hens keckled, reinged the ribs, blew her snotter-box, primed her nose, kindled her tobacco pipe, and at every puff breathed out fretting against her hard fortune, and lanely single life. O but a widow be a poor name, but I live in a wilderness in this lang-lonen; mony a man gaes by my door, but few looks in to poor auld Mary: Hoch hey, will I never win out o’ this weery’d life.--Wa’ Sawny man, wa’ Sawny man; wilt thou na rise the day; the sun’s up, an a’ the nibours round about; Willie and Charlie is to the hill an hour syne, an’ haf-gate hame again. Wilt thou rise and gi’ the beasts a bite; thou minds na’ them, I wat man.

Grump, grump, quo’ Sawny, they got their supper an hour after I got mine. Shute to dead come on them, an’ they get a bit frae me till they work for’t.

_Sawny._ But O Mither, I been dreaming that I was married, an’ i’ the bed aboon the bride, I wonder gin it be true: Od! I never got sic fun; what wilt be, think ye? How auld am I mither; do you think I could man a hissy yet? Fegs am a mind to try, but the sour saucy hissies ’ill no hae me, I ken well enough.

_Mither._ Hae you lad, ay mony a hungry heart wad be blyth o’ you; but there was never a sca’d Jocky but there was a scabbit Jenny till him yet:[29] dinny be fear’d lad.

_Sawny._ A hech, mither, I’se no be lordly, an I sud tak a beggar wife aff the hi’ gate: but I’ll tell you something it’m ay thinking on, but ye manna tell the nibours, for the chields wad aye jamf[30] me wi’t.

_Mither._ Wad I tell o’ thee, I wad tell o’ mysel as soon.

_Sawny._ Do ye mind, mither, that day I gaed to the Pans[31] I came in by Auld Mattie’s, your countrymans, the Fife wife, it came out o’ the town ye came frae, the wife it says, _Be-go laddie_, I gaed there, and she wisna in, and her doughter kend me; she was unco kind, and made me fat, fat brose out o’ the lee side o’ her kail pat, there was baith beef and paunches in’t: od they smell’d like ony haggies, an’ shin’d a’ like a gou’d lac’d waiscoat, figs I suppit till I was like to rive o’ them, and had a rift o’ them the morn a’ day; when I came out, I had a kite like a cow wi’ ca’f. She spier’d for you mither, and I said ye was gaily: and she looked to me, and leuch ay, and grippet my shakle bane, and said I wad be a sturdy fallow yet.--I looked ay to her, and thought I liked her, and thinks on’t ay sin-syne, she leugh, and bad me seek out a coal-driver for her, for she did na’ like to carry a fish creel.

_Mither._ Forsooth, Sawny, I’ll gie my twa lugs for a lav’rocks egg if she binna in love wi’ thee, and that will be a bargain.

_Sawny._ An’ upon my word mither she’s a sturdy gimmer, well worth the snoaking after; she has a dimple in every cheek, and ane on her chin, twa legs like twa posts, an haunches like a sodger’s lady’s hoop, they hobble when she shakes, and her paps plays nidity nod when she gangs, I ken by her keeking[32] she has a conceit o’ me.

_Mither._ But Sawny man, an tou see her mither Matty in the town, auld _Be-go-laddie_, as ye ca’ her, gi’ her a dram, she lik’st well; spout ye a mutchkin o’ molash in her cheek, ye’ll get her mind an’ speed the better.

_Sawny._ But mither how sud I do when I gang to court her; will I kiss her and tan kittle her, an’ fling her o’er as the chiels does the hissies amang the hay. I seen them gang our ither, and o’er ither; an’ when they grip them by the wame, they’d cry like a maukin when the dogs is worrying them.

_Mither._ Hut awa’, daft dog it thou is, that’s no the gate, thou maun gang in wi’ bra’ good manners an’ something manfu’; put on a Sunday’s face and sigh as ye were a saint; sit down beside her as ye were a Mess John; keek ay till her now and then wi’ a sto’en look, and had your mouth as mim, and grave as a May-puddock, or a whore at a christening; crack well o’ our wealth, and hide our poverty.

_Sawny._ Ay but mither, there’s some other way in courting nor that, or the lasses would never couple so close to them.

_Mither._ Ay but Sawny man, there is a time for everything and that too; when ye sit where nae body sees you, you may tak her head in your oxter, like a creesh pig, dab nebs wi’ her now an’ than, but be sure ye keep a close mouth when ye kiss her; clap her cheeks and straik her paps, but for your drowning gang nae farther down; but fouk’s that’s married can put their hand to ony part they like.

_Sawny._ Aha, but mither, I didna ken the first word o’ courting, the lassie ’ill no ken what am com’d about.

_Mither._ Ay will she lad, wink and keek well to her, she’ll hae a guess; seek a quiet word o’ her at the door; an’ gin it be dark, gie her a wee bit kiss when ye’ve tell’d her your errand; an’ gin they gi’e you cheese and bread, or ony meat, ca’t good, whether it be sae or no; and for my blessing, be mensfu’ wi’ your mouth, and dinna eat o’er muckle, for I seen you sip as mony milk brose as wad a sar’t twa men to carry on a barrow.

_Sawny._ A but mither, ye’re lying now, or it was na’ a’ at ance than, but an they set meat before me, and I be hungry, a de’il claw the clungest[33] an’ I be nae upsides wi’t, for that same. A faith mither, fouks maun hae meat, an’ they should ne’er get wives, there’s some o’ them no worth the cursing, an’ a body were na letting an oath whether or no: a hear ye that now, when ye pit me till’t, and gar me speak; ay by my sooth, I wad rather hae a bit good powny[34] an’ a pound o’ cheese, or I were bound to bab after ony hizzies buttocks I see yet.

_Mither._ Wa Sawny man thou’s a fool an’ that’s a fau’t: gin every ane were as easy about women as thou is, the warld wad be a wilderness in a wee time; there wad be nae body to inhabit the earth but brute beasts, cats and dogs wad be worrying ither, and every thing gae to confusion. Gae to the courting ye dog it ye are, and either do something or naething at a’.

End of the FIRST PART.

_The other two Parts give an account of his behaviour when in
courtship with the bride, the wedding, speuing of the blankets,
&c._