Whole proceedings of Jockey and Maggy's courtship

THE

WHOLE PROCEEDINGS

OF

JOCKEY AND MAGGY’S

COURTSHIP;

WITH

The great diversion that ensued at their Bedding.

---

IN THREE PARTS.

PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS.

---

1823.

THE
WHOLE PROCEEDINGS
OF
Jockey & Maggy's Courtship.

PART I.

Jockey. HEY, Maggy, wiltu stay and tak kent fouks hame wi' ye the night?

Maggy. Wiltu come awa' than, Johnny, I fain wad be hame before the kye come in; our meikle Riggy is sic a rummeling royte the rins aye thro' the byre, and sticks a' the bits a couties; my mither is na able to haud her up to her ain stake.

Jock, Hute, we'll be hame in braw time woman. And how's a' your fouks at hame?

Mag. Indeed I canna well tell you, man? our guidman is a' gane wi' the gout; my mither is very frail; my father he's aye wandering about, and widdling amang the beasts.

Jock. But dear Maggy, they tell me we're gawn to get a wedding of thee and Andrew Merrymouth, the Laird's young gardener.

Mag. Na, na, he maun hae a brawer lass to be his wife than the like o' me; but auld Tammy Tailtree was seeking me; my father wad a mane me to tak him, but my mither wadna let; ⟨there⟩ was an odd debate about it, my guidame wad a sticket my mither wi' the grape, if my father had na chanced to founder her wi' the beetle.

Jock. Hegh, woman, I think your father was ⟨a⟩ fool for fashing wi' him, auld slavery dufe, he wants naething of a vow but the clutes; your guidame may tak him hersel, twa auld tottering stumps, the tane may sair the tither fu' well.

Mag. Hegh, man! I wad a tane thee or ony ⟨body⟩ to hane them greed again; my father bled my guidame's nose, and my guidame brak my mother's thumb, the neighbours came rinning ⟨in⟩ but I had the luck to had my father's hands, ⟨will⟩ yence my guidame plotted him wi' the broe that was to mak our brose.

Jock. Dear Maggy, I hae something to tell you, an ye wadna be angry at it?

Mag. O, Johnny there's my hand, I'se no be angry at it, be what it will.

Jock. Indeed; Maggy, the fouk of your town and the fouk of our town say we are gaun to be married? What sayest thou?

Mag. I wish we ne'er do waur, man. O Johnny, I dream'd o' you langsyne, and I liket ⟨you⟩ aye after that.

Jock. O Maggy! Maggy! dost thou not mind since I came to your father's bull wi' my mother's cow, ye ken she wadna stand, and yo helped ma to haud her; aye after that they scorned me, that I wad be married on you

Mag. It’s very true, man, it'll be an odd thing an it be; but it's no fa' back at my door, I ashure you.

Jock. Nor at mine.—But my mither bade me kiss ye.

Mag. Indeed sall ye. Johnny thou's no want twa kisses, ane on every sde of the mouth, man.

Jock. Ha! ha! Maggy, I'll hae a merry night c’ kissing you shortly.

Mag. Ay, but Johnny, you maun stay till that night come; it's best to keep the feast till the feast day.

Jock. Dinna be angry, Maggy, my wife to be; but I have heard my mither say in her daffin, that fouk sud aye try gin their house will haud their plenishing.

Mag. Ay, but, Johnny, a wife is ae thing and a house is anither; a man that's a mind to, marry a woman, he'll no make her a whore.

Jock. 'Tis a' true, Maggy, but fouks may do it yence or they be married, an no hae nae ill in their minds.

Mag. Aha, Johnny, mony a ane has been beguil'd wi' yence; and do it yence you may do it aye; What an we get a bystart, and hae no suffer for the foul act of fornication.

Jock. Ay, but my mither says if I dinna get thee wi' bairn, I'll no get thee, for 'tis the sure way of wooing.

Mag. Indeed, Johnny, I like you better nor ony lad I see; an I sall marry you an yence my father's muck were out; my mither downa wirk at the midden.

Jock. Ah, Maggy, Maggy! I'm fear'd ye beguile me, and than my mither will murder me for being so silly.

Mag. My jo, Johnny, tell your mither to provide a' things for the bridal, an' I sall marry you in three ouks after this; but we maun gie in siller to the precentor, a groat and a drink to the bellman, and then the kirk wa's maun hear o't three Sundays or it come.

Jock. But Maggy, I'm no to mak a blind bargain wi' you nor naebody; I maun ken o' your things, and ye fall ken o' mine.

Mag. I ken well what I was' to get, an gin my mither like the bargain well, she'll mak it better but an my father be angry at the bargain, I darna speak o’ marrying.

Jock. I seena how he can be angry, I wat weel I'm a gay sturdy fallow, when I laid a bow and five pecks o' bear on the Laird's Bawly, and he's as bilshy a beast as in a' the barronry.

Mag. Ay, but my mither is aye angry at ony body that evens themselves to me, an it binna them she likes, indeed she bade me tak ony body, if it wasna auld tottering Tammy; for his beard is aye brown wi' sucking tobacco, and slavers a' the breast o' his fecket.

Jock. O Maggy, tak me, an I'll tell you what I hae. First, my father left me, when he died, fifty merks, twa fecks, twa pair o' funks; the hens and the gaun gear was to be divided between me an my mither; an if she died first, a' her gear was to come in amang mine, an if I died before her, a' my gear was to come back to her again, an her to marry anither man if she cou'd get him: But since 'tis happened sae, she is to gie me Brucky an the black mare, the ha'f o' the cogs, three spoons, four pair o' blankets, an a canvas; she's to big a twabey to her ain gavel, to be a dwelling hoose to' me an my wife; an am to get the wee byre at the end of the raw, to haud my cow an twa couties; the ha'f o' the barn, an a bed o' the kail yard, as lang as she lives; and when she dies, am to pay for the yerding o' her honestly, an a' the o'ercome is to be my ain; and by that time I'll be as rich as e'er my father was before me.

Mag. Truly, Johnny, I'se no say meikle to the contrar, but an ye hae a mind to tak me wi' what I hae, tell me either now or never, fur I'se be married or lang gae.

Jock. I wat well I'm courting in earnest, tell me what you hae, an we'll say nae mair but marry ither.

Mag. I'se tell you a' I ken o', whatever my guidame gies, ye's get it.

]ock. That's right, I want nae mair; 'tis an unco thing to marry a naket woman, and get naething but twa bare legs.

Mag. O Johnny ye're in the right o't, for mony a ane is beguiled and gets naething, but my father is to gie me forty pounds Scots that night I am married, a lade o' meal, a furlet o' groats; auld Crummie is mine since she was a ca'f and now she has a stirk will tak the bill ere Beltan yet: I hae twa stane o' good lint, and three pock fu's o' tow, a good ca'f-bed twa bousters and three cods, with three pair o' blankets an a covering, forby twa pair to spin, but my mither wadna gie me creesh to them, and ye ken the butter is dear now.

Jock. Then fareweel the night, Maggy; the best o' friends maun part.

Mag. I wish you well, Johnny, but say nae mair till we be married, and then, lad.

Hame gae'd Maggy and tell'd her mither.

Mag. O mither! I hae something to tell ye, but ye manna tell my father?

Mith. Dear Maggy, what is that?

Mag. Deed, mither, am gaun to be married an the muck were out.

Mith. Dear, Maggy, and wha's thou gaun to get, 'tis no auld bubly Tammie?

Mag Na, na, he's a braw young man; an I'll tell you, 'tis Johnny Bell, and his mither sent him to the market just to court me anse errand.

Mith Deed Maggy, ye'll no be ill yoked wi' him, he's a gay weel gaun fallow, right spruce, maist like an ill-far'd gentleman. Hey, guidman, do you hear that our Maggy is gawn to be married an the muck were a' ance out.

Fath. Na, na, I'll no allow that untill the peats be cutten and hurl'd.

Mag. O father! 'tis dangerous to delay the like o' that, I like him and he likes me; 'tis best to strike the iron when 'tis het.

Fath. An wha's she gaun to get, guidwife;

Mith. An wha think ye guidman?

Fath. A what wat I herie, an she please hersel, am pleas'd already.

Mith. Indeed she's gaun to get Johnny Bell, as clever a little fellow as in a' the barronry, where he bides.

Fath. A-weel, a-weel herie, she's your's as well as mine, gie her to wha ye please.

Mith: A-weel, Maggy, I'se hae a' things ready, an I'll hae thee married or this month be done.

Mag. Thanks to thee mither, mony a guid turn ye done me, and this will be the best.

Hame gaed Jockey to his mither, crying,

Jock. Mither! Mither! I made it out; her mouth is sweeter nor milk; my heart plays a' whilkie, whaltie, whan I kiss her.

Mith Fair fa' thee, my son, Johnny, thou's gotten the geat o't at last. And whan is thou gaun to be married?

Jock. Whan I like, mither; but get the masons the morn to big me my house, for I'll hae a' my things in right good order.

Mith Thou's want for naething, my bairn, to get thee ready for marriage.

The wooing being over and the day being set, Jockey's mither killed the black boul horned yeal Ewe, that lost her lamb the last year, three hens an a gull-fitted cock, to prevent the ripples, five pecks o' maut masket in the muckle kirn, a pint o' treacle, to mak it thicker and sweeter, and maumier for the mouth; five pints o' whisky, wherein was garlic and spice, for raising o' the wind, an the clearing o' the water. The friends and good neighbours went a' wi' John to the Kirk, where Maggy chanc'd to meet him, and was married by the minister. The twa companies joined thegither, an came hame in a crowd; and at every change hoase they chanced to pass by, Providence stopt their proceedings with full stoups bottles, and glasses, drinking their healths, wishing them joy, ten girls and a boy.—Jockey seeing so many wishing well to his health, coupt up what he gat for to augment his health, and gar him live long, which afterwards coup'd him up, and proved detrimental to the same.

So home they came to the dinner, where his mither presented to them a piping het haggies, made of the creesh of the black boul horned Ewe, boiled in the meikle pot, mixt with bear meal, onions, spice, and mint. This haggies being supt warm, the foaming swats and spice in the liquor, let John's belly a-bizzing like a working vat; and he playing het-fit to the fiddler, was suddenly seized, with a bocking and rebounding, which gave his dinner such a backward ca' that he lost a' but the girt bits, which he scythed thro' his teeth. His mither cried to spence him, and bed him with the bride. His breeks being fil'd, they washed both his hips, and laid him in bed: Pale and ghostly was his face, and closed were baith his een. Ah! cries his mither, a dismal day indeed; his bridal and his burial may be on ae day. Some cuist water on his face, and jag'd' him wi' a needle, till he began to rouse himself, and then lisp out some broken word: Mither, mither cries Jockey whar am I now? Whar are ye now, my bairn, says his mither, ye're bedes, and I'll bring the bride to you. Bedet, says Jockey, and is my bridal done else? Ay is't, said his mither, and here's the bride came to ly down beside you, my man. Na, na mither, says Jockey, I'll no ly wi' an unco woman indeed, an it binna heads and thraws, the way that I lay wi' you mither. O fy, John, says his mither, dinna affront yoursel' and me baith, tak her in o'er the bed beyont ye, an kiss her, and clap her, and daut her till ye fa' asleep. The bride fa's a crying out O mither! mither! was this the way my father guided you the first night? Na, na, thy father was a man o' manners and better metal; poor thing Meg, thou's ca'd thy hogs to a bonny market. A bonny market! says Jockey's mither, a-shame fa' you and her baith, he's wordy o' her tho' she were better than what she is, or e'er will be.—His friends and her friends being a mixt multitude, some took his part, some took her's, there did a battle begin in the clap o' a hand, being a very fierce tumult which ended in blood, they struck so hard with sticks, stones, beetles, and barrow-trams; pigs, pots, stoups, trenchers, were flying like bombs and granadoes, the crook bouls, and tangs were all employed as weapons of war, till down came the beds with a great mou of peats! So this disturbit a' the diversion at Jockey's bedding, and the sky was beginning to break in the ⟨east⟩ before the hurly-burly was over.

PART II.

Now, tho' all the ceremonies of Jockey and Maggy's wedding were ended, when they were fairly beddet before a wheen rattling unruly witnesses who dang down the bed aboon them, the battle still increased, an John's wark turned out to be very wonderful, for he made Janet, that was His mither's servant lass the last year, grow like an elshin hast, and got his ain Maggy wi' bairn forbye. The hamshaughs were very great untill auld uncle Rabby came in to redd them; and a sturdy auld fellow he was, stood lively with a stiff rumple, and by strengh of his arms rave them aye sundry, flingen the tane east and the tither west, till they stood a'round about like as many forsoughen cocks, and no ane durst steer anither for him; Jockey's mither was cad o'er a kist, an brogit a' her hips on a roun' heckle! up she gat, and running to fell Maggy's mither wi' the laddle, swearing she was the mither of a' the mischief that happenned; Uncle Rabby ran in between them; he having a muckle lang nose like a trumpet, she recklessly came o'er his lobster neb a drive wi' the laddle, till the blood came, an ran down his auld grey beard, an hung like snuffy bubbles at it! O then he gaed wud an looked as waefu' like as he had been a todlowrie cam frae worrying the lambs, wi' his bloody mouth. With that he gets an auld flail, and rives awa' the supple, then drives them a' to the back o' the door, but yet nane wan out; then wi' chirten and chappen, down comes the clay hallen and the hen bawk, wi' Rab Reid the fiddler, who had crept up beside the hens for the preservation of his fiddle.

Ben comes the bride when she got on her coat, clappet Rabby's shoulder, and bade him spare their lives, for their was blood enough shed in ae night, quoth she; and that my beard can witness quoth he,—So they all came in obedience to uncle Rabby, for his souple made their pows baith saft and fair that night; but daft Maggy Simpson sat by the fire and picket banes a' the time o' the battle: Indeed, quoth she, I think you're a' fools but mysel, for I came here to get a good supper, and ither fouk has gotten their skins well paid.

By this time up, got John, the bridegroom, that was Jockey before he was married, but coudna get his breeks; yet wi' a horse nail he tacket his fark tail between his legs, that nane might foe what every body should hide; and rampingly he cries, Settle ye, or I'll gar my uncle settle ye, and fasten your heads wi' my auld suppple.

Poor Rab Reid the fiddler, took a sudden blast; for said he was maw turned wi' the fa', for he bocked up a' the barley, and then gar'd the ale gae like a rainbow frae him, as brown as wortbrose.

The hurly-burly being ended, and xaething but fair words and shaking o' hands, which was a sure sign of an agreement, they began to cow their cutted lugs, an wash their sairs, a' but Jockey's mither, who cried out, A black end on you an your wedding baith, for I hae gotten a hundred holes dung in my arse wi' the round heckle teeth.

Jockey answers, A e'en hand you wi' them then, mither, ye will e'en be the better fair'd.

Up gets auld Rabby, an auld Sandy, the suter o' Seggyhole to put every thing in order; they prapet up the bed wi' a rake an a rippling-kame; the stups being broken, they made a solid foundation o' peats, laid on the caff bed and bousters, and Jockey and Maggy were bedet the second time.

Jockey not being used to ly wi' a naket woman, except heads and thraws wi' his mither, gets his twa hands about the bride's neck, and his hough out o er her hurdies, saying, I ne'er kist wife nor lass naket before, and for fainness I'll bite you, &c.

Naething mair remarkable happened till about ha'f a year and four ouks thereafter, when in comes Marion Musher, rinning bare fiut and bare leggit, wi' bleart cheeks an a watery nose, curling an banning, greeting an flyting.

Marion enters, crying,
An whar's John?

Mith: Indeed he’s out in the yard pu'ing kail-runts.

Mar. A black end on him an his runts baith for he's ruin'd me and my bairn.

Mith. Ruined you! it canna be; he never did you ill, nor said you ill, by night nor by day, what gars you say that?

Mar. O woman! our Jenny is a rowing like a pack o' woo'; indeed she's wi' quick bairn, and your John is the father o't.

Mith. Our John the father o't! haud, there's enough said, lieing lown; I trow our John was ne'er guilty o' sic a sinfu' action: Daft woman, I trow but it'll be wind, that hoves up the lassie's wame; she'll hae drucken some sour drink, raw sowens, or rotten milk, makes her sae ill.

Mar. A wae be to him and his actions baith, he's the father o't, fornicator dog it he is, he's ruin'd me and my bairn; I bore her and brought her up honestly, till she came to you: Her father died, and left me wi' four o' them; there wasna ane o' them cou'd pit on anither's claes, or tak a louse aff ither.

Mith. I bid you had your tongue, an no even your bystarts to my bairn, for he'll ne'er tak wi't: He, poor silly lad, he wad ne'er look to a lass, he's to lay her down. Fy, Maggy, cry in our John, and let’s ratify't wi the auld ruddoch; ay, ye're no blate, to say sae.

Mar. Be angry or be well pleased, I'll say't: in a' your faces, an I'd ca' you before your betters about it or lang gae.

John Enters, A what want you now! Is our brose ready yet?

Mith. Ay brose! black brose indeed for thee my bairn; here's Marion Mushet saying ye hae gotten her dochter wi' bairn.

Jock. Me, mither! I ne'er lay in a bed wi' her dochter a' my days; It'll be the young Laird's, for I saw him kiss her at the Lammas fair, an lat glam at her nonsense.

Mith. Ay, ay, my man Johnny, that's the way she has gotten her belly full o' bairns; 'tis no you, nor the like o' you, poor innocent lad, that gets bystart weans; 'tis a wheen ramblng o'erfull lowns, ilk-ane o' them loups on anither, an gies the like o' you the wyte o't.

Mar. Ye may say what ye like about if, 'tis easy to ca' a court whar there's nae body to say again; but I'll let you a' ken about it, an that is what she tell't me, an you guidwife tell't me some o't yoursel; an gin ye hadna brought in Maggy wi' her muckle tocher atween the twa, your Jockey and my Jenny had a been man an wife the day

Jock. I wat well that's true.

Mith. Ye filthy dog that ye are, are ye gaun to confess wi' a bystart an it no yours? Dinna I ken as well as you wha's aught it, an wha gat the wean.

Jock. Ay, but mither, we may deny as we like about it, but I doubt It'll come to my door at the last.

Mith. Ye silly sumph and senseless fallow, had ye been knuckle deep wi' the nasty drab, ye might a said sae, but ye tell't me langsyne that ye cou'dna lo'e her she was sae lazy an loun like, besides her crooket fit and bow'd legs.

Jock. Ay, but mither, do ye mind since ye sent me out to gie her the parting kiss, at the black hole o' the peet stack, she rave the button frae my breeks, and wad gar me do't; and bade me do't: an cou'd flesh and blood refuse to do't? I'm sure, mither I ne'er cou’d get her wi' bairn wi' my breeks on.

Mith. Na, na, poor simple silly lad, the wean's no your's, ilka ane loups on anither, an, ye'll get the wyte o' a' the bystarts that are round about the country.

Up gets Maggy wi' a roar and rives her hair, and cries, O her back! her belly! and baith her sides! the weed an gut gaes thro my flesh like lang needles, nails or elshin irons! Wae be to the day that e'er I saw his face, I had better married a tinkler, or followed the sodgers as' mony a honest man's dochter has done, an liv'd a better life than I do.

Up gets Jockey, and rins o'er the riggs for John Roger's wife, auld Ketty the howdy, but or he wan back she parted wi' Patrick thro' perfect spite, and then lay twa-fauld o'er a stool in a swoon.

Jock. A-well, a-well firs, tho' my first-born is e'en dead without seeing the light of the warld, ye's a' get bread and cheese to the blythemeat, the thing we should a war'd on the blanket will fair the burial, and that will aye be some advantage; and Maggy should die, I maun e'en tak Jenny the tane is as far a length as the tither; I'se be furnished wi' a wife between the twa.

But Maggy grew better the next day, and was able to muck the byre; yet there gaed sic a tittle-tatlin thro' the town, every auld wife tell'd anither o't awa' the light-hippet hissies that rins between towns at e'en, tugging at their towrocks, spread it round the kintry, and every body's mouth was filled wi' Jockey and Jenny, an how Maggy had parted wi bairn

At last Mess John Hill hears of the foul fact, and sends the Elder of that quarter, and Clinkum Bell, the grave maker, to summon Jockey and Jenny, to the Session, and to see how the stool of repentance wad set them. No sooner had they entered the door, but Maggy fa's a gretting and wringing her hands! Jockey’s mither fell a flyting, and he a-rubbing his lugs, and riving his hair, crying out, O gin I were but a half ell higher, I sud be a sodger or it be long; an gie me a good flail or a corn fork, I sud kill Frenchmen anew before I gaed to face yon flyting Ministers, and be set up like a warld's wonder, on their cock-stool or black-stool; and wha can bide the shame when every body looks to them, wi' their sacken gowns or sarks on them like the piece of an old can'as prickt about a body, for naething but what every body does amaist or they be married as well as me.

Mith. My man, Johnny, ye're no the first that has done it, an ye'll no be last; e'en mony o' the ministers has done it themselves, hout ay e'en your father and I did it mony a time

Mag. Ay, ay, that gars your son be so good, o't as he is; the thing thats bred in the flesh, is ill to pit ont o' the bane.

Mith. Daft woman what way wad the warld stand if fouk wadna mak use o' ither? 'Tis the thing that's natural, bairns-getting; therefore it's no to be scunner'd at.

Mag. Ay, ay, but an they be for the like o' that they should marry.

Mith. But I think there’s little ill tho' they try it ance or twice or they be married, its an unco thing for a body to be bound till a business or they ken whether they be able for it or no.

Mag. Ay, ay, that's your way of doing and his, but it's no the way of ither honest-fouk; see what the minister will say to it.

Mith. The minister is but a mortal man, & there's defections in his members as well as in mine.

Mag. Ay; but fouk should aye strive to mortify their members.

Mith Ay, ay, mortify their members! that's your Whiggery indeed: But will you or ony body else, wi' your mortifying o' your members, prevent what's to come to pass? I wish I saw the Minister an Iris Eldens, I'se gie them Scripture for a' he's done yet: Tell na me about the mortifying o' members, gin he has gotten a bystart, let her and him feed it between them, an they sud gie't soup about but she maun keep it the first quarter, and by that time muckle black Lady will be wi' cauf; we sall sell the cauf, an foster the wean on the cow's milk; that's better mense for a faut than a' your mortifying o' members an a your repenting stools; a wheen Papist rites an rotten ceremonies, fashing fouks wi' sack gowns, an buttocks mails, an I dinna ken what. But bide ye till I sae the Minister.

Now Jockey and his mither went into the little byre and held a private meeting, nane present but auld Bruckie and the twa brutes, the bits a couties, that she might give him counsel how to behave when he appeared before Mess John, to answer for his bystart; which concludes the third and last part.

PART III.

Now, Jockey having been three times sumnmon'd to the Session but did not appear, the Session insisted for a warrant from the Justices of the Peace, which was readily granted, more for diversion than justice. The Warrant was given to John King the Constable, who went away with Clinkum Bell on Saturday's morning, and catch'd John just at his brose: They haul'd him awa, ane at ilka oxter, like twa butcher dogs hinging at a bill's beard; his mither followed, driving him up with good counsel, an kindly words of encouragement, saying, "My braw man, Johnny, haud up your head, an dint think shame, for a' your fauts are but perfect honestly you're neither a thief, whore, nor horse-stealer, a' your crime is common."

Then Maggy ran for uncle Rabby; an uncle Rabby sent for Saundy, the Souter of Seggy-hole; the Souter saddled his mare, an Uncle Rabby get aff at the gallop on his grey powney, west the hag, an o'er by Whitehill-sheugh the nearest, and was at Sir James, the Justice, lang or John was brought into Judgement.

John enters before the Justice with a red, red face, like a well paid arse, fa's down on his knee's, saying Guide'en Mr Justice, Sir James, an't please your honour, ye mauna put me in prison, for I'm no a malefactor, but a poor honest kintryman, that was born under an ill planet, my mither says; I had the ill luck o' a misfortune to fa' foul wi' fornication, an got, my mither's lass wi' bairn the last year, an they are gaun to father't on me the year.

The Justice smiling, answer'd, indeed John, I think it is very just and reasonable, that ye be accountable this year for your last years labour.

Jock Ay, ay, Sir, I hae labour'd very fair since my father died, but our plough canna get gaun for frost this four days.

Just. Ay, but John that's no what I mean, 'tis the child you got last year ye must be answerable for this.

Jock A-deed, Sir, there was twa o' them, but there is ane o' them dead.

Just. A-well then John, you'll have the more to give the one that's alive.

Jock O but, Sir, it's my ain wean that's dead, the ane I got wi' my wife; I dinna ken whether the tither be mine or no.

Just. Your's or no Sir, when ye told me ye got it: if ye should get it wi' a beggar wife at the back o' a dyke, what's that to the purpose? When it is of your getting you must maintain it.

Jock O yes, Sir, I'm no refusing to gie meat an meal to maintain it; but my mither winna let me gae to the black stool.

Just. O John, you must go to black stool, when you have been guilty of such a sinful action as deserves it: If you have any reasons why you should not go, argument it with the Session, and clear yourself if you can. To which Jockey was obedient.

Off he goes to the Minister, and owns a' his fau't to him; and Mess John desir'd him to appear before the congregation the next Sabbath, to be rebuked for his fault.

Jock A-deed, Sir, I wad think naething to stan' a time or twa at the black stool, to please you if there were naebody in the Kirk, on a uke day, but you an the elders to flyte a wee on me; but 'tis war on a Sunday to hae a'body looking an laughing at me, as I had been coding the peas, sippin the kirn, or something that's no bonny, like pissing the bed.

Minist. A-weel John, never mind you these things, but come ye to the stool, it's nothing when 'tis over, we cannot say o'er muckle to you about it.

Upon Sunday thereafter, John comes with Uncle Rabby's auld wide coat, a muckle grey lang-tail'd wig, and a big bonnet which covered his face, so that he seemed more like an old Pilgrim than a young fornicator! mounts the creedy wi' a stiff, stiff back, as he had been a man of sixty! Every one looked at him, thinking he was some old stranger, who knew not the stool of repentance by another seat, so that he passed the first day unknown but to vary few; yet, on the second, it came to be so well known, that the whole parish, and many more, came to see him; which caused such a confusion, that he was absolved, and got his children baptized the next day.—But there happened a tulzie between the twa mothers, who would have both their names to be John A-weel, says auld John, their father, to the Minister, A deed, Sir, ye maun ca' the tane John, and the tither Jock, an' that will please baith these enemies of mankind.

Minist. Now, John, you must never kiss any other woman but your own wife; live justly, like anither honest man, and you'll come to die well.

Jock. A black end on me Sir, an ever I lay an unlawfu' leg upon a hissie again, an they sude lie down to me, as lang as our Maggy lasts? and for dying there's nae fear o' that, for I'll no get fair play, ye an a' the aulder fouk in the parish be not dead before me. So I hae done wi' ye, now, Fareweel, Sir.

FINIS.