"And 'tis written," he added, "that proofs were beheld Of Heaven's dread vengeance and ire;

That it rained mighty showers, and blew mighty winds, And the sun and the moon were like fire!

"That Finella's fine castle was razed to the ground,

And left, as is yet to be seen,

A mass of extensive, but unshapely ruins,

On the top of a hillock so green.

*

"But this tragic story thou surely had'st known,

And of our Apostle heard tell;

For many more tales, unsung and unwrote,
Could be told of PALLADIUS' WELL!"

The Wife o' Auchtermuchty.

This is one of the very best of our old Scottish humorous ballads, and comes down to us in an uncorrupted state in consequence of its preservation in the manuscript collection made by Mr. George Bannatyne in 1568. It is supposed to be the composition of a Sir John Moffat, a priest (one of the Pope's knights), who flourished in the early part of the sixteenth century, and was the author of a fine serious poem beginning "Brother, be wise, I rede you now," which has been printed in Lord Hailes's collection. "The Wife o' Auchtermuchty was first printed by Allan Ramsay in his Evergreen, with some alterations and additions_by_the editor; and this version has been often reprinted. The present copy is from the Bannatyne manuscript, modernised

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* Ruins of Greencairn Castle, the reputed residence of Lady Finella, are still to be seen upon a knoll, about a mile to the west of the village of Fettercairn. The hill of Strathfinla, or Finella, between Fordoun and Fettercairn, is said to have its name from Lady Finella.

only as respects spelling, and supplemented by twenty-four lines which do not occur in Mr. Bannatyne's version.

The story is so humorous, and the troubles the unfortunate gudeman gets into on turning housewife are described with such graphic detail, that one could have wished to believe that it chronicled an actual experience in an Auchtermuchty household over three hundred years ago, but, as Mr. David Laing pointed out, the story is not original; a tale strongly resembling it in incident and turn of humour occurring in Silva Sermonum Jucundissimorum," published at Basle in 1568, and into which, in all probability, it was copied from some earlier collection of kindred native matter.

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It is scarcely necessary to add that the popular song of "John Grumlie" is based on "The Wife o' Auchtermuchty."

IN Auchtermuchty there dwelt ane man,

Ane husband, as I heard it tauld,
Wha weel could tipple out a can,

And neither loved hunger nor cauld.
While ance it fell upon a day,

He yokit his pleugh upon the plain,
Gif it be true as I heard say;

The day was foul for wind and rain.

He lows't the pleugh at the land's end,
And drave his oxen hame at e'en ;
When he cam' in he lookit ben,

And saw his wife baith trig and clean,
Sitting at the fire, full biek and bauld,
With ane fat soup, as I heard say;
The man being very weet and cauld,
Between thae twa it was nae play.

Quoth he "Where is my horses' corn?
My ox has neither hay nor strae ;
Dame, ye maun to the pleugh the morn,
I sall be housewife, gif I may.

The seed time it proves cauld and bad,
And ye sit warm, nae troubles see;
The morn ye sall gae wi' the lad,

And syne ye'll ken what husbands dree."

"Husband," quoth she, "content am I
To tak' the pleugh my day about,
Sae ye will rule baith calves and kye,
And all the house baith in and out.

And now sin' ye hae made the law,
Then guide a' richt, and dinna break ;
They siccar ride that never fa',

We'll see gif naething ye neglect.

"But sin' that ye will hoose-life ken, First ye sall sift, and syne sall kneed; And aye as ye gang but and ben,

Look that the bairns fyle not the bed. Ye'se lay ane saft wisp to the kiln,

(We have ane dear farm on our head), And aye as ye gang furth and till,

Keep weel the goslings frae the gled."

The wife was up right late at e'en,
(I pray God give her ill to fare !)
She kirn'd the kirn, and skimm'd it clean,
Left the gudeman but bleddoch bare.
Then in the morning up she gat,

And on her heart laid her disjune;

Syne put as muckle in her lap,

As micht hae served them baith at noon.

Says, "Jock, be thou the maister of wark,
And thou sall haud and I sall ca',

I'se promise thee ane gude new sark
Either of round claith or of sma'."

K

She lows't the oxen aucht or nine,
And took ane gad-staff in her hand;
Up the gudeman raise after-syne,

And saw the wife had done command;

He ca'd the goslings forth to feed,

There was but sevensome o' them a'; And by there comes the greedy gled, And lickt up five, left him but twa, Then oot he ran in all his mane,

How soon he heard the goslings cry; But than, or he cam' in again,

The calves brak lowse and sookit the kye.

The calves and kye met in the loan,

The man ran with ane rung to redd, When by there comes an ill-willy cow,

And brodit his buttock so that it bled. Then hame he ran to ane rock of tow, And he sat down to try the spinning; I trow he loutit ower near the lowe,

Quoth he "This wark has ane ill beginning.”

Hynd to the kirn then did he stour,
And jummilt at it while he swat;
When he had jummilt a full lang hour,
The sorrow a scrap of butter he gat.
Albeit nae butter he could get,

Yet he was cummerit with the kirn,
And syne he het the milk ower het,

And sorrow a spark of it would yirn.

Then ben there cam' ane greedy sow,
I trow he cunn'd her little thank,
For in she shot her greedy mou',

And aye she winkit and aye she drank.

He cleikit up ane crookit club,

And thought to hit the sow ane rout, The twa goslings the gled had left,

That straik dang baith their harns out.

He gat his foot upon the spyre,

To get the bawcon for the pat; He backwards fell into the fire,

And brak' his head on the kaiming stock On the fire he set the meikle pat,

And gat twa cans and ran to the spout, Ere he cam' in, what think ye o' that? The fire had burnt the bottom oot.

The leam up through the lum did flow,
The soot took fire, and fyled him than ;
Ane lump fell down and burnt his pow,
I wat he was a sorra man.
Swith he gat water in a pan,

Wi' whilk he slocken'd out the fire;
To sweep the house he syne began,
To haud a' richt was his desire.

Then he bore kindling to the kiln,
But it stert up all in ane lowe;
Whatever he heard, whatever he saw,
That day he had nae will to mou'.
Then he gaed to tak' up the bairns,

;

Thought to have found them fair and clean,

The first that he gat in his arms,

Was all bedirten to the een.

The first that he gat in his arms,
It was all dirt up to the een;

"The deil cut off her hands," quoth he,

'That filled ye a' sae fou' yestreen!"