XXV. Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, Unseen that night. XXVI. Amang the brachens, on the brae, Between her an' the moon, But mist a fit, an' in the pool, Out-owre the lugs she plumpit, Wi' a plunge that night. XXVII. In meet,' and dip your left shirt sleeve. Go to bed in sight of a fire, and hang your wet sleeve before it to dry. Lie awake; and, some time near midnight, an apparition, having the exact figure of the grand object in question, will come and turn the sleeve, as if to dry the other side of it. XXVII. In order, on the clean hearth-stane, Because he gat the toom-dish thrice, He heav'd them on the fire In wrath that night. XXVIII. Wi' merry sangs, an' friendly cracks, I wat they did na weary; An' unco tales, an' funnie jokes, Their sports were cheap an' cheery; "Till * Take three dishes; put clean water in one, foul water in another, leave the third empty: blindfold a person and lead him to the hearth where the dishes are ranged; he (or she) dips the left hand if by chance in the clean water, the future husband or wife will come to the bar of matrimony a maid; if in the foul, a widow; if in the empty dish, it foretels, with equal certainty, no marriage at all. It is repeated three times, and every time the arrangement of the dishes is altered. 'Till butter'd so'ns,* wi' fragrant lunt, Set a' their gabs a-steerin; Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt, They parted aff careerin Fu' blythe that night. THE Sowens, with butter instead of milk to them, is always the Halloween Supper. THE AULD FARMER'S NEW YEAR MORNING SALUTATION TO HIS AULD MARE MAGGIE, On giving her the accustomed ripp of corn to hansel in the new year. A Guid New-year I wish thee, Maggie! Thou could hae gaen like onie staggie Out-owre the lay. Tho' Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, an' crazy, An' thy auld hide's as white's a daisy, I've seen thee dappl't, sleek, and glaizie, A bonny gray: He should been tight that daur't to raize thee. Ance in a day. Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, As e'er tread yird; An' could hae flown out-owre a stank, It's now some nine-an'-twenty year, Sin' thou was my guid father's meere; He gied me thee, o' tocher clear, An' fifty mark; Tho' it was sma', 'twas weel-won gear, An' thou was stark. When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, Ye then was trottin wi' your minnie : Tho' ye was trickie, slee, an' funnie, Ye ne'er was donsie; But hamely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie, An' unco sonsie. That |