Ye laugh and glory in the fun—
But look, my stoup is nearly run,
And, 'las! my cash is mair than done,
With me.
Good morrow to thee, lovesome lass,
Sing brown barley bree,
Good morrow to thee, lovesome lass,
Sing bree;
Who wooes thee on the gowany grass,
Ere he has cooled him with the tass,
Should through a threefold penance pass,
For me.
Oh, fair's the falcon in his flight,
Sing brown barley bree;
And sweet's a maiden at midnight,
Sing bree:
And welcome is the sweet sunlight,
But here's a sweeter, blither sight,
The blood of barley pouring bright,
"Such was a part of the song, and the better part of it. As soon as he had ended his unmelodious chant, he silently raised the quaigh of liquor to his lips, and, laying his head back, the liquid descended into the crevice, as water drops into the chink of a rock. In a moment he started up, with curses murmuring on his lips, and hurling the quaigh, half full of liquor, at the head of the son of Janet Mason, exclaimed: 'Sinner that thou art, thou hast filled my cup out of the barrel of reduced spirit prepared for Andrew Erngrey, the Cameronian. It is as cauld and fizzenless as snow-water, though good enough to cheer the saints at a mountain preaching. I tell ye, my man, if you indulge yourself in such unsonsie pranks, I shall bait Mungo Macubin's fox-trap with your left lug.'
"The drunkard's missile was hurled by a hand which it had helped to render unsteady; it flew over the prostrate descendant of Janet Mason, and, striking against the furnace, poured its contents into the fire. Such was the strength of the liquid, that, subdued as it was for a devout person's use, the moment it touched the fire a sudden and bright flame gushed up to the roof of the shealing, and, kindling the dried grassy turf, flashed along it like gunpowder. I started up, and, seizing the raw sheepskin, fairly smothered and struck out the flame, which would soon have consumed the whole
