He trail'd the foul sheets down the gate,

Thought to have washed them on ane stane;
The burn was risen great of spate,

Away frae him the sheets were ta'en.

Then up he gat on ane knowe-head,
On her to cry, on her to shout;
She heard him, as she heard him not,
But stoutly steer'd the stots about.
She drave the day unto the night,

She lows'd the pleugh, and syne cam' hame ;
She fand all wrang that should been right;
I trow the man thought right great shame.

Quoth he, "This office I forsake,

For all the dayis of my life,

For I wald put ane house to wrack,
Had I been twenty days guidwife."
Quoth she, "Weel mot ye brook your place,
For truly I will ne'er accep' it ;"
Quoth he, "Fiend fall the limmer's face,
But yet ye may be blythe to get it."

Then up she gat ane muckle rung,

And the guidman made to the door;
Quoth he, "Dame, I sall hald my tongue,
For an we fecht, I'll get the waur."
Quoth he, "When I forsook my pleugh,
I trow, I but forsook mysel';

And I will to my pleugh again,

For I and this house will ne'er do well."

The Weary Coble o' Cargill.

This fine old ballad-probably the composition of some local bard who lived contemporary with the event which it

narrates has received a considerable amount of attention from the students of ballad lore. It was first printed by William Motherwell in his " Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modern," who had it from the recitation of an old woman then residing in the neighbourhood of Cambus Michael, in Perthshire. In Motherwell's opinion it possesses the elements of good poetry, and he adds that, had it fallen into the hands of those who make no scruple of interpolating and corrupting the text of oral song, it might have been made, with little trouble, a very interesting and pathetic composition. According to tradition, the ill-fated hero of the ballad, who was a butler to Chancellor Drummond of Stobhall, had a leman, or sweetheart, in each of the two villages of Kercock and Ballathie, on the opposite side of the Tay, and it was on the occasion of his paying a visit to his Kercock love that she of Ballathie, in a frenzy of jealousy and revenge, scuttled the boat in which he was to recross the Tay to Stobhall. There are two versions of the ballad; the original, recovered by Motherwell, and a modern improved version which has not hitherto appeared in any collection. A serious defect of the older version is seen in the fact that it gives no reason why "the lass o' Balathy toun should have scuttled the boat in which her lover was to recross the river. It says "his bed was made in Kercock ha', o' gude clean sheets and o' the hay;" but that can scarcely be regarded as sufficient cause for jealousy when it is immediately followed by the assurance that "he wadna rest a'e nicht therein, but on the proud waters he wad gae." The modern version wisely provides a causus belli.

David Drummond, the hero of the ballad, was, tradition says, the son of a certain John Drummond in Kercock, and that the heroine was named Jeanie Low or Gow, and was daughter of the joiner of the then laird of Ballathie-hence her acquaintance with the fatal augur. Tradition further tells that the "lass of Ballathie toun" had no sooner "bored the coble in seven parts" than she relented the cruel deed, and hastened to fashion seven pins wherewith to plug the fatal holes; but before her return with these her fickle lover had "put his feet into the boat" and left the shore, and she reached the bank of the river just in time to hear his cries for help, and witness the coble sinking in mid waters. She went out of her reason; and the terrible cause of her mental derangement continuing to pull at the tangled ends of her ravelled memory, she persistently made

pins to the end of her days. Since her demise her patient ghost has "kept on the business; " and there are people living who aver that "when winter nights are dark and drear "the ghost of "Pinnie" may still be heard on the banks of the Tay.

(OLD VERSION.)

DAVID DRUMMOND'S destinie,

Gude man o' appearance o' Cargill,
I wat this bluid rins in the flude

Sae sair against his parents' will.

She was the lass o' Ballathy toun,
And he the butler o' Stobhall,
And mony a time she wauked late
To bore the Coble o' Cargill.

His bed was made in Kercock ha',
O' gude clean sheets and o' the hay,
He wadna rest a'e nicht therein

But on the proud waters he wad gae.

His bed was made in Ballathy toun,

O' gude clean sheets and o' the strae,
But I wat it was far better made
Into the bottom o' bonnie Tay.

She bored the Coble in seven parts,

I wat her heart micht hae been sair,
For there she got the bonnie lad lost,

Wi' the curly locks and the yellow hair.

He put his foot into the boat,
He little thocht o' ony ill;
Put before that he was mid waters,
The weary Coble began to fill.

"Wae be to the lass o' Ballathy toun,

I wat an ill death may she dee,
For she bored the Coble in seven parts,
And let the waters perish me!

"Help! oh help! I can get nane, Nae help o' man can to me come," This was about his dying words,

When he was chok'd up to the chin.

"Gae tell my father and my mother,
It was naebody did me this ill,
I was a-going my ain errands

Lost at the Coble o' bonnie Cargill."

She bored the boat in seven parts,
I wat she bored it wi' gude will,
And there they got the bonnie lad's corpse
In the kirk shot o' bonnie Cargill.

Oh, a' the keys o' bonnie Stobhall,
I wat they at his belt did hing;
But a' the keys o' bonnie Stobhall
They now lie low into the stream.

A braver page unto his age

Ne'er set a foot upon the plain; His father to his mother said,

"Oh, sae sune's we've wanted him!"

I wat they had mair love than this
When they were young and at the scule,
But for his sake she wauked late

And bored the Coble o' bonnie Cargill.

"There's ne'er a clean sark gae on my back,
Nor yet a kame gae in my hair;
There's neither coal nor candle licht
Shine in my bower for evermair.

"At kirk or market I'se ne'er be at,

Nor yet a blythe blink in my e'e; There's ne'er a ane shall say to anither, That's the lassie gar'd the young man dee."

Between the yetts o' bonnie Stobhall

And the Kirkstyle o' bonnie Cargill, There is mony a man and mother's son, That was at my luve's burial.

(MODERN VERSION.)

The course o' true love ne'er runs smooth,
So say the sages o' langsyne,

My waefu' tale upbears the truth—
This weary, waefu' tale o' mine.

A youthfu' pair wha offer'd fair

O' nuptial joy to drink their fill, But ither drink for them was brewed Within the Coble o' Cargill.

The lad was Chanc'llor Drummond's page, When gude Earl James was wi' the King, And a' the keys o' bonnie Stobha',

I wat they at his belt did hing.

She was the belle o' Ballathie toun,
O' lovers she had wile and will;
But sad her fate-she waukit late,
And bor'd the Coble o' Cargill.

She bor❜d the Coble in seven parts,

Na doot her heart was sick and sair, When there she sealed the laddie's fate,

Wi' the curly locks and the yellow hair.