Her thoughts on Andrew Bell;

She lea’es them gashing at their cracks,

An slips out by hersel:

She thro the yard the nearest taks,

An to the kiln she goes then,

An darklins grapit for the bauks,

And in the blue-clue throws then,

Right fear’t that night.

An ay she win’t, an ay she swat,

I wat she made nae jaukin;

Till something held within the pat.

Guid Lord! but she was quakin!

But whether twas the Deil himsel,

Or whether twas a bauk-en’,

Or whether it was Andrew Bell,

She did na wait on talkin

To spier that night.

Wee Jenny to her graunie says,

‘Will ye go wi me, graunie?

I’ll eat the apple at the glass,

I gat frae uncle Johnie’:

She fuff ’t her pipe wi sic a lunt,

In wrath she was sae vap’rin,

She notic’t na an aizle brunt

Her braw, new, worset apron

Out thro that night.

‘Ye little skelpie-limmer’s-face!

I daur you try sic sportin,

As seek the Foul Thief onie place,

For him to spae your fortune:

Nae doubt but ye may get a sight!

Great cause ye hae to fear it;

For monie a ane has gotten a fright,

An liv’d an died deleeret,

On sic a night.

‘Ae hairst afore the Sherra-moor,

I mind’t as weel’s yestreen,

I was a gilpey then, I’m sure

I was na past fyfteen:

The simmer had been cauld an wat,

An stuff was unco green;

An ay a rantin kirn we gat,

An just on Halloween

It fell that night.

‘Our stibble-rig was Rab MGraen,

A clever, sturdy fallow

His sin gat Eppie Sim wi wean,

That liv’d in Achmacalla:

He gat hemp-seed, I mind it weel,

An he made unco light o’t;

But monie a day was by himsel,

He was sae sairly frighted

That vera night.’

Then up gat fechtin Jamie Fleck,

An he swoor by his conscience,

That he could saw hemp-seed a peck;

For it was a’ but nonsense:

The auld guidman raught down the pock,

An out a handfu gled him;

Syne bad him slip frae ’mang the folk,

Sometime when nae ane see’d him,

An try’t that night.

He marches thro amang the stacks,

Tho he was something sturtin;

The graip he for a harrow taks,

An haurls at his curpin:

And ev’ry now and then, he says,

‘Hemp-seed I saw thee,

An her that is to be my lass

Come after me, an draw thee

As fast this night.’

He whistl’d up Lord Lenox’ march

To keep his courage cheery:

Altho his hair began to arch,

He was sae fley’d an eerie;

Till presently he hears a squeak,

An then a grane an gruntle;

He by his shouther gae a keek,

An tumbled wi a wintle

Out-owre that night.

He roar’d a horrid murder-shout,

In dreadfu desperation!

An young an auld come rinnin out,

An hear the sad narration:

He swoor twas hilchin Jean M’Craw,

Or crouchle Merran Humphie,

Till stop! she trotted thro them a’;