HALLOW E'EN. BY THE SAME. The Morn is our gude Hallow-E'en, And our Court a' will ride; Gin ony Maiden wins her man, Then he may be his bride.. OLD BALLAD OF THE FAIRY COURT OF a' the feftivals we hear, Frae Handfel-Munday till New-year, 'There's few in Scotland held mair dear For mirth, I ween, Or yet can boaft o' better cheer, Than Hallow-e'en. *Hallow-E'en, or Holy-Eve, is the evening previous to the celebration of all Saints. That it is propitious to the rites of divination, is an opinion ftill common in many parts of Scotland. Langfyne, indeed, (as now in climes Where priests, for filler, pardon crimes,) The kintry 'round in Popish rhimes Did pray and graen; But customs vary wi' the times, At Hallowe'en. Rang'd 'round a bleezing ingle fide,. Where nowther cauld nor hunger bide, The farmer's house, wi' fecret pride, Will a' conveen ; For that day's wark is thrawn afide At Hallow-c'en, Plac'd at their head the gude-wife fits, And deals 'round apples, pears, and nits; Synes tells her guests, how, at fic bits Where he has been,. Bogles ha'e gart fowk tyne their wits. At Hallowe'en.. Griev'd, fhe recounts, how, bi mifchance, Puir Poofy's force'd a' night to prance Wi' Fairies, wha, in thoufands, dance. Upon the green, Or fail wi' Witches owr to France, At Hallowe'en. Syne, iffu'd frae the gardy-chair, (For that's the feat of empire there,} 1 To kuir the table wi' what's rare, Commands are gi'en; That a' fu' daintily may fare At Hallow-e'en. And when they've tuim'd ilk heaped plate, And a' things are laid out o' gate, To ken their matrimonial mate, The youngsters, keen, Search a' the dark decrees o' Fate At Hallow-c'én. A' things prepar'd in order due, At whilk, bedeen, Their fweet-hearts bi the far-end pu' At Hallowe'en.. Ithers, wi' fome uncanny gift, Where thrice pretending corn to fift, Wi' charms between, Their joe appears, as white as drift, At Hallow-e'en. But, 'twere a langfome tale to tell Puir Jock M'Lean, Plunip in a filthy peat-pot fell, At Hallowe'en ; Haff-fell'd wi' fear, and drooked weel, He frae the mire dught hardly fpeel; But, frae that time, the filly chiel' Did never grien To caft his cantrips wi' the De'il, At Hallowe'en. -O Scotland! fam'd for fcenes like this, That thy fons wauk where wifdom is, Till death in everlasting bliss Shall fteek their ein, Will ever be the conftant with Of JOCKIE MEIN. EPISTLE TO MR. WALTER RUDDIMAN.* HERE, honeft WATTIE, may be seen, My hearty thanks to JOCKIE MEIN; But envy or malicious fpleen, I do affure ye, He needna care for critics keen, Wi' a' their fury. The Silver Gun, Hallow-e'en, &c. were feverally inferted in the Edinburgh Weekly Amufement; to the Publifner of which, this Epiftle, which is a fhort encomium on thefe pieces, is addreffed, vol. xliv, |