62 10 639 https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/3cc4624a2abdff7af969251002f0dea5.jpg 57c1c1b9e1252db49cfb7160d9ce9a0b Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Woodcut on title-page portraying a young man wearing a straw hat and coat standing in front of a large box of tobacco in a tropical climate https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/a986574d595e19cdb5942ea65a1caa5f.pdf 12fe3bdef0d080a129571c45504c4c95 PDF Text Text THE COMICAL STORY OF T H f t U H i l Y CAP AND THE GHAIST TO WHICH IS ADDED THE HIGHLAND STORY OF DONALD& HIS DOG. GLASGOW: PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS �0 I Y30T8- .UlDIMOO © 3 H T T 81A H O a a a a A si HDIHW OT iftIVi u /AAWVUl^ 'MVV .OOfl filli MLI./../KXI : WO03V TO 3HT JHH <MTKIJIr �THRUMMY CAP. A TALE. IN ancient times, far i' the north, A hunder miles ayont the forth, Upon a stormy winter day, Twa men forgather'd oc the way, Ane was a sturdy bardoch chiel An' frae the weather happit weel, Wi« a mill'd plaiding jockey-coat And eke he on his head had got A thrummy cap baith large and gtout, Wi< flaps ahind, as weel's a snout, Whilk button'd close aneath his chin, To keep the cauld frae getting in : Upon his legs he had gammashes, Whilk sodgers term their spatterdashes An' on his hands, instead o' gloves. Large doddy mittens, whilk he'd roo*«t Tor warm ness, an4 an aiken stick Nae verra lang, but unco thick, Intill his nieve—he drave awa', But car d tor neither frost nor suaw, The ither was just the reverse, (J- claes and courage baith was scarce, Sae in our tale, ; s we go on, 1 think we'll ca' him cowVldy John. Sae on they gade at a gnde scowe'r, 'Cause that they saw a gathering shower,- �4 Grow verra thick upon tlie wind, Whilk to their wae they soon did find 5 A mighty show'r o' snaw and drift, As ever dang down frae the lift ! Right wild and boist'rous Boreas roar'd, Preserves! quoth John, we'll baith be smor'd* Our trystic end we'll ne'er make o u t ; Chear up, says Thrummy, never d o u t . But I'm some fly'd we've tint our way, Howe'er at the neist house we'll stay, Until we see gif it grow fair, Gin no, a' night we'll tarry there. Weel, weel, says Johnny, we shall try ? Syne they a mansion house did spy, Upo' the road a piece afore, Sae up they gade unto the door, W here Thrummy chappit wi' his stick, Syne to the door came verra quick, A meikle dog, wha barked fair, But Thrummy for him didna c a r e ; H e handled weel his aikeu staff, An' spite o*s teeth he kept him aff Until the Landlord came to see, And ken fat might the matter be ; Then verra soon the dog did cease The Landlord then did spear the case Quoth Thrummy, Sir, we ha'e gane rill ; we thought we'd ne'er a house get till, W e near were smor'd amo' the drift, And sae gudeman, ye ll mak' a shift To gi'e us quarters a' this night, For now we dinnaha'e the light, Farer to gang, tho' it were fair, See gin ye hae a bed to spare. �5 Whatever ye charge we cauna grudge. But satisfy ye, ere we budge T o gang awa - - a n d fan 'tis day, We'll pack out all, and tak the way. T h e Landlord said, O 6 beds I've nane, O u r ain fowks they will scarce contain, But gin ye'll gang but twa miles foret Aside the Kirk dwalls Robbie Dorret, W h a keeps a Change-house, sells guide drink, H i s house ye may mak out I think. Quoth Thrnmmy, th t's owre far awa', T h e roads are sae blawn up wi' snaw, To mak it is na in our power; For, look ye, there's a gathering shower Just coming on— you'll let us bide, T h o ' we should sit by the fire side. The Landlord said to him, Na, na, I canna let you bide ava, Chap aff, for 'tis iia worth your while T o bide, when ye hae scrimp twa mile To g a n g - - s a e quickly aff you'll steer, F o r faith, 1 doubt ye'll na be here. T ^ a mile! quo' Thrummy, deil speed me, If frae your house this night 1 jee, A r e we to starve in Christian land ? As lang's my stick bides in my hand, A n ' siller plenty in my pouch, T o nane about your house I'll crouch, Landlord, ye needna be sae rude, For faith we'll mak our quarters good. Come, John, let's in, we'll tak a sate, F a t sorrow gars yon look so blate ? Sae in he gangs, and sets him down, -Says lie, there's nae about your town. �6 Sill put flie out till a ne>v day. Lang as I've silier for to pay, The Landlord said., Ye'r<' rather rash, To turn you out I carina fash, Since ye're so positive to hide, But troth. vese sit by the fire-side; [ tald ye else of beds I've name, Unoccupied, except bareane; In it. 1 fear, ye winna Iy ; lu>r stoutest heart has aft,been shy To venture in wjthin the room, After the night begins to gloom; For in it they can ne'er get rest, k l is haunted by a frightful ghaist; Oursels are terrified a' night, Sae ye may chance to get a sight, Like that which some o' our fowk saw, } (ilar better still ye gang awa', Or else ye'll maybe rue the day, Guide faith quo' John, I'm thinking sae ; Better into the neuk to sit, Than fla'd, Gude keep's, out o' out wit; Preserve us ever frae all evil, I widna like to seethe devel! Whisht gowk, quo1 Thrummy, baud your peace That sanna gar me quit this place ; Nor great nor sma' 1 ne'er did ill, The ghaist nor deil my rest shall spill. I will defy the meikle deil, And a' his warks I wat fu' weel; What the sorrow then maks you sae erry ? Fling by your fears, and come he cheery, Landlord gin ye'll mak up that bed, J promise I'll he verra glad, 4 �7 W i t h i n the same a' night to lie, If t h a t the room be warm and dry, T h e Lanlord says, Ye'se get a tire, And candle too gin ye desire, W i ' beuks to r e a d ; and for your bed, I'll orders gie, to g e t it made. J o h n says, as I'm a Christian man, W h o never likes to curse nor ban, N o r steal, nor lie, nor drink, nor roar, I'll never gang within its door, But sit by the fireside a' nighit, And gang awa' where'er 'tis light. Says Thrummy till him, wi' a glow'tr, Y e cowardly gowk I 11 mak ye cow r * Come up the stair alang wi' me, A n d I shall cautiou for ye be. Then J o n n y faintly gaed consent. Sine up the stairs to the room they went, W h e r e soon they gat baith fire and light, T o haud them hearty a' the n i g h t ; T h e Landlord likewise gae them m e a t ; Meikle as they baith could eat • Shew'd then their bed and bade them gang T o it, whene'er they did think l a n g : Sae wishing them a gude repose Straight syne to his ain bed he goes. O u r travelers now being left alane,. 'Cause that the frost was nipping keen, Coost aff their shoon, and warme d their feet, T h e n syne gaed to their bed to sleep. B u t cowardly J o h n wi' fear was quaking, He coudna sleep but still lay waking, Sae troubled with his panic fright, W h e n near the twalt hour o l night, �8 That Thrummy waken'd, arid thus spoke, Preserv's ! quoth he, I rn like to chock Wi' thirst, arid I maun hae a drink, I will gang down the stair, I think, And grapple for the water-pail, 0 for a waught o' caller ale I Johnny grips till him, and says, Na, 1 winna let you gang awa': W o w will you gang and leave'me here A3ane to die wi perfect fear ? Rise and gae wi me then, quoth Thrumm Ye senseless gude-for-naething bummy, I'm only gaen to seek some water, i will he back just in a clatter. Na na says J o h n I'll rather He But as I'm likewise something dry G if ye can get a jug or cap Fesh up to me a little drap. Av ay quoth Thrummy that I will Aitho ye shonldna get a gill. Sae dow n he goes to seek a drink, But then he sees a little blink O' light that shone upon the floor, Out throngh the lock-hole o' the door, Which wasna fast but stood a-gee, Whatever's there he thinks he'll see: Sae bauldly o'er the threshold ventures. Then in within the door he enteis. But reader judge of the surprise T h a t there he saw with wondering eyes A spacious vault well stored wi' casks (T reaming ale and some big flasks, And stride-legs o'er a cask o' ale He saw the likeness oi himsel'. �9 J u s t in the dress that he coost aff, A thrummy and an aiken staff, Gammashes and the jockey coat; And in its hand the Ghaist had got A big* four-legged timber bicker, Fill'd to the brim wi' nappy liquor, Our hero at the spectre stared, But neither daunted was not car'd, lint to the Ghaist stright up did step, AU' says, dear brother, Thrummy Cap, T h e warst ye surely dinna drink, So I wi' you will taste 1 t h i n k ; Syne took a jug, pou'd out the pail, A id fill d it up wi' the same ale, Frae under where the spectre sat, And then up stairs wi' it he g a t ; Took a gude drink, gae John auither, Bnt never tald him o' his brither That he inta the cellar saw, Mair t h a n he'd naething seen ava, Light brown and nappy was the beer : W h a r did you get it ? John did speir, S iys Thrummy, sure ye ncedna tare, I'll gae and try and get some mair, Sae down the stair again he goes, T o get o' drink anlther dose. Being positive to hae some mair But still he fand the Ghaist was there, Now on a butt behind the door: Says he, ye didri* ill before, Dear brother Thrummy, sae I'll try You ance again, because I'm dry. H e tills his jug stright out below, An up the stair again does go. �10 J o h n marvelled sair, but didna speir Again w here he did get the beer, F o r it was stronger then the first, Sa^ they baith drank till like to burst, Syne did compose themsels to rest, T o sleep a while they thought it best. One hour in bed they hadna been, They scarcely weel had closed their een, When j u s t into the neighbouring c h a n c e r T h e y heard a dreadfu' din and clamour. Beneath the bed-claes J o h n did cow'r, B u t T h r u m m y jump'd upon the floor, Him by the sark tail J o h n did baud ; L y e still, quoth he, fat are ye mad ? T h r u m m y then gaed hasty j u m p , Syne took J o h n on the ribs a thump, Till oti the bed he tumbled down, In little better then a swoon, W h i l e T h r u m m y fast as he could rin, Sets aff to see what made the din. T h e chamber seem'd to him as light, G i f a s t h e sun where shining bright, T h e Ghaist was stanen at the door ; In the same' dress he had afore ; And o'er a n e n t i t , at the wa', W e r e ither apparitions twa. T h r u m m y beheld them for a-wee, B u t deil a word as yet spake he T h e spirits seerne'd to kick a ba f , T h e Ghaist against the other twa ; Whilk close they drave baith back and fore, Atween the chimney and the door. H e stops a while and sees the play, Syne, riiinin up, he this did say^ �11 Ane for ane may weel compare. B u t twa for ane is rather sair ; T h e play's nae equal, say I vow, Dear brother T h r u m m y , I'll help you* T h e n wi' his fit he kicked the ba<, G a r d it play stot against the wa'; Quick then, as lightning f r a the sy, T h e spectres with a horrid cry, a' vanished in a clap oc thun'er. while T h r u m m y at the same did won'er. T h e room WT?S quiet now aud dar&, An4 T h r u m m y striping in his sark; Glauming the gate back to his bed, H e thinks he hears a parson tread, An' ere he gat without the door, T h e Ghaist again stood him before, And in his face did staring stand, Wi4 a big candle in its hand. Q u o t h T h m m m y , Friend, I want to know w h a t brings you frae the shades below, 1 in goodness 4 name command Y o u tell your story just aff hand ? F a t wad ye h a e ? — M l do my best F o r you, to let you be at rest. T h e n says the Ghaist, ' T i s thirty year Sinse I've been doorn'd to wander here ; I n all that time there has been none Behave ( d sae bold as ye have d o n e : S ae if you'll do a j o b for me, Disturbance mair I'll never gie. Sae on your tale, quoth T h r u m m y T o do ye justice sure will try. T h e n mark me weel, the Ghaist replied A n d ye shall soon be satisfied: �12 E£r<ae this aback near forty year, I of this place was overseer, When this L a n d ' s father had the land r A' thin^ was then at my command, W i ' power to do as 1 thought tic, In ilka cause I chief did s i t : T h e Laird paid great respect for me But I an ill return did ^ie, T h e Title-Deeds of his Estate (Jut of the sajue I did hitu cheat, And stale them frae whare they did lie Some days before the Laird did die His son at that time was in France, And sae I thought I'd liae a chance, (xif he sud never come agaiu, T h a t the Estate would be my ain. But scarcely three bare weeks were past, When death did come and grip me fast, Sae sudden that I hadna pow'r The charter back for to restore, Soon after that hame came the heir, And syne got up the reefu rair, W h a t sorrow was come o' the Rights? Thev sought them several days and nights But never yet hae they been seen, As 1 aneath a inuckle stane Did hide them i' this cham'er wa\ Weel sew'd up in a leather ba'; But 1 was ne'er allow'd to rest Untill that I the same confest; But this to do i hadna power, F r a e yon time to this verra hour T h a t I've revealed it a to you, And now I'll tell you what to do. �13 Till nae langsyne nae mony kenfc, That this same laird the rights did w a n t ; But now they hae him at the law, And the neist week the laird maun shaw, Before the court the rights o's land, This put him to an unco stand, For if he didna shaw them there, O a4 his lands he'll be striped bare ; Nae hopes has he to save his state, This makes him sour and unco blate: He canna think whar's rights may be^ And ne're expects them mair to see, But now my friend mark what I tell And ye'll get something to yoursel. Tak out the stane there in the wa', And there ye'll get the leather ba', Tis just ihe same that you did see, W h e n you said that you would help m e ; T h e rights are sewed up in its heart, But see you dinna wi4 them part, Until the laird shall pay you down ,I ust fifty guineas and a crown, Wliilk at my death was due to me, This for thy trouble I'll give thee ; And I'll disturb this house nae mair, 'Cause 1 11 be free frae all my care. This Thrummy promised to do, And syne the Ghaist bid him adieu And vanished with a pleasant sound Down through the laft and thro' the ground. Thrummy gaed back sine to his bed, And cowardly John was verra glad, That he his neibour sawance mair, For of his life he did despair. �14 Wow man, quo' John, whare hae you been. Come tell rne a4 fat ye hae seen. Na, bide, says Thrummy, till day-light, And syne I'll tell you hale and right. Sae baith lay still arid took a nap, Until the ninth hour it did chap. Thrummy syne raise, put on his claes, And to the chamber quick he gaes, Taks out the stane into the wa'. And soon he found the leathern h a ' ; Took out the Rights, replac'd the stane, Ere J o h n did ken vvhar he had been : Then baith came stappingdown the stair, The morning now was calm and fair. Weel, quoth the Laird, my trusty frien', Hae ye ought in our chamber seen ? Quoth Thrummy, Sir, I naething saw T h a t did me ony ill ava. Weel, qnoth the Laird, ye now may gang, Ye ken the day's verra lang ; In the meantime its calm and clear, Y e lose your time in bidiug here. Quoth Thrummy, Sir, mind what 1 tell, I've mair right here than you yoursel. Sae till I like I here shall bide, The Laird at this began to chide: Says he, my friend, you're turning rude. Quoth Thrummy, I'll my claim make good, F o r here I just before you a*, T h e Rights o' this Estate can shaw, And that is mair than ye can do. W h a t ! quo' the Laird, can that he true ? T i s true, quoth Thrummy, look and see, D'ye think that I would tell a lie. �The Parchments frae his pouch then drew, And down upon the table threw. The Laird at this up to him ran, And cried, Whar did you get them, man ? Syne Thrummy taid him a4 the tale As I've taid you, baith clear and hale. T h e Laird at this was fidgin Tain, T h a t he had gat his Rights again: And fifty guineas down did tell, Besides a present fra\» himsel. Thrummy thanked him, an' syne his gowd Intil a muckle purse he stow'd. And cramm'd it in his oxter-pouch, And syne sought out his aiken crutch : And fare-ye-weel, I maun awa, And see gin I get thro' the sna'; Weel, fare-ye-weel, replied the Laird : But how comes it ye hanna' s h a r d Or gien your neibor o( the money? Na, by my saul I, Sir, quo' Thrummy, ' When I the siller, Sir, did win, ( T o ha'e done this wad be a sin.) Before that- I the Ghaist had laid, T h e nasty beast had the bed.. And sae my tale 1 here do eud, I hope no one it will offend : My muse wil! na assist, me linger, T h e dorty jade sometimes does anger, I thought tier ance a gay sm irt lass, But now she's come to sic a pass, That a* my cudgeli lg ond weeping, Will hardly wake her out o' sleeping: To plague her 1 winna try, But dight my pen and lay it by. �DON AL AND D HIS DOG. Atween twa hills that tower'd up to the clouds, Clad o'er with heather, bent, and wuds ; 'Mang rocks, and steeps, and waters falling, W a s Highland Donald's humble dwelliug. Aroun' his hut, beneath his eye, Fed bout a score o' stirks and key, Whiik, wi- his wife and family, were His pleasure aud pecular care : A mang sic barren heights and howes, W h a r grain for food but scanty grows, His family were but sparely fed— Right coarse, and barely were they clad; l or he had wi' the laird for years Had, 4 aginst his will been in arrears For whiik he had to thole the snarl And threats o' the tyrannic carl Till Donald's independent spirit �17 Nae langer was resolved to bear it, And hardships was resolved to scorn— As the saying is, 4 to inak' a spoon or spoil a horn.' He shrewd and clever was, I t r o w ; Spak 4 Gaelic weel, and Lawlan's, too ; And, as he was an honest chiel, By a4 his neighbours liket weel. Ae day—contrivin' what to dae To keep hiinsel' aboon the brae— A plan he modell'd in his head, And thus it down before them laid :— That twa weeks hence in England, there W a d be a great black cattle fair, Wliar kye as he learnt frae men o' dealings Gied double price gi'en in the Highlands. Now if, wi' what he could himsel Spare safely frae his flock to sell, They wad mak' up a drove amang them, He pledged his word he wadna wrang them, But render, at his 0011™' back, A just account 0' ilka plack; Allowing him for recompense Some sma' commission a n d ' s expense.' On this they quickly greed to gie �Itf Out o' their flocks some twa, some three Till a handsome drove colleckit, x\nd to the south his way direckit. H e mounted was upon a pony, A dog his servant was, and crony; And by his side, like ony lord, There hung a braid sheep-headed s w o r d No as a wcaqon o' offence; But, in case o' need, for self-defeijee ; For they wlia liket, rich or poor, Might wear a sword in days b1 yore. Baith ear' and late—baith wat and dry—r The dog and Donald drave the kye : And, after muckle toil and care A* safe and sound they reached the fair. The kye were said—the price was paid— 'Twas down in yellow guineas laid; The guineas in his purse was sneckit— The price was mare than he expeckit. Whilk raised his heart—and I wat weel H e thought himsel' a clever chiel. Instead o' Donald longin' careless About the fair, to keek at fairlies, Or bonze wi limmers, or to gamble, Or spend his cash in ony ramble^ �19 He wisely mounts Highland sheltv, And took the roful on heltv skeftyv As he rode on and cracked his wimp, y gentleman came riding up, Wha bade' Good day/ wi friendly air, And spiered • if he'd been at the fair?' When Donald; without vain parade, Returned him thanks, and said 4 he had f And a his business; tap and tail o't, When at the fair, he la ni l the hale o't. Right crotise they grew wi' ane anither. And mony stories tanfd to ither, Rout kings ain' priests an' great commanders, The wars in Britain, France, and Flanders. When mony niHeVthey'd rode in league," They in a hollow reached a brig Across a burn, that ran wi' ease Down through a glen adorned wi' trees. Now 'twas a bonnie summer's day, When a' the fields were clothed and gay, They stopped, and dropped there tales and jokin', Their horses'lowing drouth to slokeri, And greed some little time to pass, To let them rest and eat some grass. �20 Now, as Donald and his comrade sat Upon the green, they resumed their c h a t : And Donald's dog before their teet Lay stretched, and panting wi' the heat — And Donald's sword, which he did carry Beneath his hodden-grey havarry, The Englishman's attention seized, He begged a sight o% if he pleased Whilk Donald drew and frankly gave him, In confidence he'd not deceive him. The billy thanked him for the sight o't, Then praised the size the mak, an weight o't. And asked at Donald, on his word, If maist he trusted to the dog or sword, Supposing the case, that any pad Should demand the money that he had ? ' The sword,' quoth Donald, * I can wield, And should sic wretch, by road or field, E'er daur demand frae me a shilling, I'd plunged with freedom in the villain ; Yet ne'ertheless, for a' my cracks o't, 1 wadna gie the dog for sax o't. W i ' this the fellow, at the word, Chapped aff the dog's head with the sword ; Syne pointed it to Donald's heart, �21 And swore he with his cash should part, Or instantly, with stabs and cuts, He'd pierce his heart and rip his guts. * 0 1 ' says Donald, * spare my life, F o r sake o' my poor weans and wife! Hae, there's the cash; but wi< what shame And grief maun I face friends at hame ! They'll no believe a word o't neither— Lord help's, we're ruined a thegitker 24 ' Stop,' says the fellow, ? cease your crying Your friends will not suppose you lying; They will believe what you say to them. By evidence which you shall give them From ever man I rob I've credit, By giving me his hand I did i t ; My comrades ami I together This token give to one another ; So one of your hands must go with me So take your choice, which shall it be, < My dog is gane and darling purge, And now my hand - s t i l l worse and worse Hae mercy on me " Donald prays, I'll be a beggar a' my days.' 'No mercy for you, ' cried the wretch ; ^pme, down wi t—I'll make quick dispatek �22 < Weel-then,' says Donald, 4 I submit, But ae repuest grant, if it's f i t ; That is, since my left hand must go, Drive't aff at ae most desperate blow • N o on the saft green, there perhaps Ye'll pine me sair by several chaps, But ye'll at ance mair siocar do t On yonder smooth tree's spreading root.* P u i r Donald's prayer was heard, he then Made bare his left hand shackle-bane, And on the tree root laid it quaking ; The robber now his aim was taking— Baith hands raised the vengfV whittle, And, as he drew with awful ettle, Sly Donald slipped his arm a-jee. W h e n firm the sword stuck in the tree. 4 Have at ye now, ye cruel wretch,' Quoth Donald, 4 I am now your match V that he caught him by the collar, G i e d h i m a jerk that garred him gollar; Donald's blood boiled in a passion, H e gied his face a horrid bashin, His cravate Donald squeesed sae tight, T h a t faith he strangled him maisfc outright. By this means Donald manned to mak �23 His hands secure ahint his back* Syne on the horse he put the billy, His feet he tied beneath his belly; T h e dog, whom Donald mourned full sore, A frightfu' sight of reeling gore, H e on ahint the fellow placed Across the hurdies of the beast. Syne, Donald's triumph to evince, H e mounts his horse proud as a prince—Brandished the sword, and dared the blade To move his hands, feet, tongue, or head; T h a t if he did, he warned him now Up to the hilt he'd run him through. Sae on t h e road they moved alang, And Donald crooned a Highland sang; They reache'd the town, folks were surpris'd T h e rober soon was recognized; The magistrates they brawly kent him, F o r mair nor arice he'd been f o m e n t them, F o r mony years his deeds of horror H a d kept baith far and near in terror, F o r whilk, whae'er wad apprehend him, And to the nearest prison send him, W a d he entitled to regard, And twenty guineas of reward, �24 Whilk Donald got in word a«d deed, With honours heaped upon his head. T h e rober, too got his reward— Stern Justice at him awfu' stared; (3 u lt and remorse his bosom stung, Hence he was tried, condemned, and hung. Bauld Donald soon arrived at ha me, Paid aff his laird and ilka claim ; Mair o' him ye'd tire to hear me tell, But he was soon a laird himsel , Yet ne'er forgot the awfu* shock, When his left hand lay on the block E N D OF DONALD AND HIS DO0 � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Woodcut 033:Title-page illustration of a young man in casual dress standing in front of a large box of tobacco in a tropical climate. Document A resource containing textual data. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The comical story of Thrummy Cap and the Ghaist. To which is added The Highland story of Donald &amp; his dog. Alternative Title An alternative name for the resource. The distinction between titles and alternative titles is application-specific. The Highland story of Donald &amp; his dog Extent The size or duration of the resource. 24 pages 15 cm Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9923288593505154">s0488b16</a> Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1840-1850 per National Library of Scotland Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario Type The nature or genre of the resource poetry Subject The topic of the resource Wit and Humor Supernatural Chapbooks - Scotland - Glasgow # of Woodcuts: 1 Architecture: hut Bib Context: title-page Chapbook Date: 1831-1840 Chapbook Date: 1841-1850 Chapbook Genre: fairytale/folk tale Chapbook Publisher - Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Fashion (Clothing): working class Gender: man/men Nature: flower(s) Nature: tree(s) Object: crate/barrel(s) Object: tobacco Outdoor Scene https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/c7939eb28486fc07bce3bda06f76d7f9.pdf 782c8e0edd617040a91f071e9ebcc640 PDF Text Text T H E CONSTANT LOVERS; JEMMY AND NANCY OF YARMOUTH. PART 1. Shewing how beautiful Nancy of Yarmouth fell in love with young Jemmy the Sailor.—2. How the Father conveyed a letter to destroy young Jeminy, his daughter's sweetheart.—3. Shewing how the Ghost of young Jemmy the Sailor appeared to beautiful Nancy of Yarmouth.—4. How the Ghosts of these two unfortunate Lovers appeared to the boatswain, and he, having his trial, wag hanged at the yard's arm. THE BLOODY GARDENER. L I K E W I S E A BRIEF HISTORY OP THE EARL OF ESSEX, A GREAT FAVOURITE OF QUEEN ELIZABETH; WITH A LAMENTABLE BALLAD 0R HIS DEATH. TO W I H IS A D D H C DE, DAFT WATTY'S RAMBLE TO CARLISLE. GLASGOW: PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS. 95 iSt gs �§ rKAT8KO0 ' f K T • HTU0MH/.7 10 e > o i . ?ri ifo'l is bzrrmoj I'^'omfflY • v' :-f to . <KA 7MM31 I t / i n i f f or' o»lt w«»i> iofi.;^ -wor! f>i!1 J nm-ol K ^ftiroT dltrr O - w o r i ^ . 8 — . J i r u H o i r w a a'l&tifyu/sij «tii , 7 m u i ) l s i m j o / x o i J a a f c o J fo-tt^I ££ IjrtlJussd o ) bstifidqqA i o i i r . 8 orf» y . n i n i 3 t 3 * 0 / 0 7 ^ ^ eititwHo'Uw offi M9dt Jfitt* 8i ' 3 ^ t o a* woH li .Oil •/' ,r':< „ )o 7 J -.diuoansl »1 it;-: » .ariu "u1. a'bifi - -oJt in Jm iitnd io! W, §8 oj, 3 IVdVWUU.V) £K 0 Y d O O J H I " TKOTBIH f • ? i -HTK-AASIJK § /Q* j*orf*> od-i r-orf , Ty j H r i() 19 1 0 M H T J H / M 3TIFL'J07AL 1 joi A SAI^RNXI. TASK?) H T A- *fH KO «A J i A a I J I M I t S l i J 8i>0 s HTi? I.i.jai/ujr i a - Y T T A w n / . a j e u H A O OT a i Se §3 £3 A o< S3 : WO 0 3 Ad D f iia r j a « H 0 0 a a m n o t B^ - a m c c f f i r r f ' ccm. n - i i A i a t i 1 �T H E CONSTANT LOVERfif; 9 .boid iiftsnr o« -f ifn- f quo rftivr bow rror K OR, TRAGICAL LOVES OF ,8iUKhoi XaOT;: ,> 'Jim V Y ! O gnuo^ i>ii», gmccnu&tfa Jutrunv^'f uo^ sodissu ^ JEMMy AND NANCY OF YARMOUTH PART I. Shewing how beautiful Nancy-of Yarmouth fell in lovo with young iemniy the Sailor. :v ' TUNE—" The Yarmouth Tragedy LOVERS, I pray, lend an ear to my story, Take an example by this constant pair ; How love a Ypung virgin did blast in her g w y , .Naaicy of Yarmouth we hear. Slie was a merchant's only daughter, Heir unto fifteen hundred a-year ; A young man who courted her call'd her Li - j vrel, Jhe son of a gentleman who lived near. j W f H'J f f : T Ik*-: 1 r Many long y'fcars the fair maid he admir'd When they were infants in love they agr; • ' : And when at age this young couple arrrv'd, Cupid an arriow between them displayed. Their tender hearts were linked together— But when her parents the same they did hear, They to their charming young beautiful daughte? Acted a "part that was hard and severe. �4 Daughter, they said, give o'er your proceeding; If that against our. consent you do wed, For evermore we resolve to disown you, If you wed with one that is so mean bred. Her mother said, you have a great fortune, Besides you are beautiful, charming and young; You are a match, dear child, that-is fitting For any Lord that is in Christendom. Then did reply the young beautiful virgin, Riches and honours I both do defy, If that I'm denied of my dearest lover, Then farewell, world! which is all vanity. Jemmy's the man that I do admire, He is the riches that I do adore ; For to be greater I never desire, My heart is fix'd, never to love more. Then, said her father, 'tis my resolution, Although I have no more daughters but theo, If that with him you resolve for to marry, Banish'd for ever from me thou shalt be. Well, cruel father, but this I desire, Grant me that Jemmy once more I may sea, Though you do us part I still will be loyal, For none in the world I admire but he. For the young man he sent in a passion, Saying, for ever, Sir, now take your leave ; I have a match more fit for my daughter, Therefore it is but a folly to grieve. Honoured father, then said the young lady, Promis'd we are by the powers above * �« Why of all comforts will you bereave me, Our love is fix'd never to be removed. Then said her father a trip to the ocean, You first shall go in a ship of my own, And 111 consent you shall have my daughter, When to Yarmouth again you return. Honoured Sir, then said the two lovers, Since 'tis your will we are bound to obey, Our constant hearts can never be parted, But our eager desires no longer can stay. Then said kind Nancy, behold, dearest Jemmy, Here take this ring, the pledge of our vows, With it my heart, keep it safe in your bosom, Carry it with you wherever you go. Then in his arms he close did enfold her, While chrystal tears like a fountain did flow ; Crying, my heart in return I do give you, And you shall be present wherever I go. When on the ocean, my dear, I am sailing, The thoughts of my jewel the compass shall steer ; These tedious long days speedily time will devour, And bring me home again safe to my dear. Therefore be constant, my dear lovely jewel, For, by the Heavens! if you are untrue, My troubled ghost shall torment you for ever, Dead or alive, I will have none but you. Her lovely arms round his neck then she twined, And saying, my dear, when you are on the seas, If the fates unto us should prove cruel. That we each other no more ever see �6 No man alive shall ever <$ijoy me— Soon as t^e, tidings of rea«h myrear* Then, like a poor unfortunate lover, Down to the grave I will go to my dear. - -. r » i. — i t' i J! Kfrs Then with a sorrowful sigh fie departed, The wind next morning blew a pleasant gale All things being-ready, the fam'd Mary Galley, Then for Birbadoes sho straightway set sail j m o Off bnnod oxa f t U i W UJOY atf aonitf How the Father conveyed a letter to destroy young Jemmy hi<? daughter's sweetheart.-,. •r ' * j t ,TIIIfQ9t J89169B .DKM'Ju DIUA J}I£3 JBU I JEMMY was floating upon t&E wide ocean* And har cruel parents were pktttskig! i$m whiles How that the heart of-tfeeir beautiful? dfaUgfym/ With cursed gold should strive to beguile. Many a Lord of fame, birth, and breeding, Came to court this young beautiful maid ; But their rich presents and proffers vshe slighted* Constant I'll be to my jewel, she said. Now for a while we will leave this fair maiden, And toll how things with, her did go ; In fair J^arba^qes the sftip fairly arrived, But now observe tliis lover's overthrow. fewoi vloyol yra liifi^noa aiotwsiIT Young Je;mny: Wci3 SWH? m Mature, , riglish She dressed herself in gallant, attire, With costly diamonds she plaited her hair, S3 V Of �And a hundred slaves well dressed to attend her, She sent for this young man to come to her. Come, noble sailaiy she cry'd, can you fancy A lady whose riches are very great, A hundred slaves you shall have to attend you, And music to charfti ypu iii your .silent sleep. In robes of gold, my dear, I will deck you, Pearls and rich jewels I'll lay at your feet, In a pharioi of gold you shall ride for your pleasure If you can fancy me, answer ine straight. Amazed with wonder, awhile he stood gazing, Forbear, noble lady, at length he replied, In flourishing England I've voAv'd to a lady, At my return for to make her my bride. She is a charming, young, beautiful creature, She has my heart, and I can love no tiiore; I bear in my eye her sweet lovely feature, No other creature in earth I'll adore. ovoI'aM oi teb'rfg ftttbort ail-I tt*SKbih Hearing of this she did rave in distraction, Crying,' unfortunate maid, thus to love One that does basely slight all my glory, And of my person he will not approve. Loifds of renown, I their favours have slightod, Nx)W I must die for a sailor so bold :' 'T' I must not blame him because he is constant, True love, I know, is far better than gold. A costly jewel she instantly gave him, Tfeen in her trembling hand took a knife, One fatal stroke, before they could save her, . Qurckly^ dift put an end to her • life. �8 Great lamentation was made for this lady— Jemmy on board the ship he did steer; And then to England he homeward came sailing, With a longing desire to meet with his dear. But when her father found he was returning, A letter he wrote to the boatswain, his friend, Saying, a handsome reward I will give you, If you the life of young Jemmy will end. Void of all grace, and for sake of the money, The cruel boatswain the same did complete, As they on the deck were lovingly walking, He suddenly tumbled him into the deep. P A R T III. Shewing how the Ghost of young Jemmy the Sailor appeared to beautiful Nancy of Yarmouth. IN dead of the night, when all were asleep, His troubled ghost to his love did appear, Crying, Arise, you beautiful Nancy, Perform the vow you made to your dear. You are my own, therefore tarry no longer, Seven long years for your sake did I stay ; Hymen does wait for to crown us with pleasure, The bride guests are ready, then come away. She cry'd, Who is there under my window ? Surely it is the voice of my dear: Lifting her head off her downy pillow, Straight to the casement she then did repair. By light of the moon, which brightly was shining, She espied her lover, who to her did say, �Your parents are sleeping, before they awaken, Stir, my dear creature, and straight come away, 0 Jemmy, slie cried, if my father should hear the We shall be ruin'd, pray therefore repair, At the sea-side I will instantly meet you, With my two maids I will conie to you there". Her night-gown, embroidered with gold anu Carelessly round her body she throws, With the two maidens who did attend her. To meet her true-love she instantly goes. Close in his arms the spirit did enfold her, Jemmy, she said, you are colder than clay ; Sure you can never be the man I admire, Paler than death you appear unto me. Yes, fairest creature, I am your true lover, Dead or alive, you know you are mine : 1 come for my vow, my dear, you must follow My body now to a cold watery tomb. I for your sake refus'd gold and silver, Beauty and riches for you I despis'd, A charming young lady for ine did expire, For thinking of you I was deaf to her cries. Your cruel parents have been my undoing, And I do sleep in a watery tomb, Now for your promise, my dear, I am suing, Dead or alive, love, you are my own. \ �1*0 7sffr • = >- j-1fj>m: ^e'fwifi^'f) PART vm IV. B«w the Ghosts of these two unfortunate Lovers appeared to llie Boatswain, and he, having his trial, was hanged at the-yard'a arm, THE trembling lady was sorely affrighted, Amazed, she stood near the brink of the sea, With eyes lift to heayeri, ,she cried, Cruel parents, Heaven requite you for j o u r cruelty. Indeed I prolnis'd, my dbarest creature, Dead or alive, I would be his -own ; Now to perform my solemn vow I am ready, And to follow him to his watery tomb. The maids they heard the sad lamentation, But the apparition indeed could not see : Thinking the lady was fallen into distraction, They strove to persuade her contented to be, , j : Q I K O'lfi iK)7 woiisf i; )V ,0'fils 10 b£9(l UC But still she cried, My dear, X am comings And in thy bosom I'll soon fall; asleep : When she had spoke, this unfortunate lady Suddenly plunged herself into, the deep. ! « .-"f hi i. VtlWjyH •• ' But when to her father the maids told maker, He wrung his hands, crying, What have i J.done ? Uli! dearest child, it was thy cruel fattier That did provide thee a watery tomb. Two or three days then being expir'cl, These two unfortunate lovers were seen, in each others arms they together were floating, By the side of a ship, on the watery main. The cruel boatswain was stricken with horror, Straight did confess the sad deed he had done— \ �11 Shewing the letter that came from her father Which was the cause of these true-lovers' doom. On hoard the ship lie was tried for the murder, At the yard's arm wfsfs^ing'd for the same, Her father he soon broke his heart for his daughter, Before the ship into the harbour then came. The cursed gold has^used destruction, Why should the rich covet after gain ? I hope this story it will be a warning, That cruel parents may ne'er do the same. True love is better .than jewels and treasure, Riches can never buy true love, I know ; But this young couple,the^ measure, Love was the occasion of their overthrow. .woiiiiiovo i-jii ovoiq i X ->voI out? *meIo m l died ^Jnaod fo a&w od& \ 9*0^ behuoo erfa biol oldon ji y d baA Jbinl ow .^nnov ooi znvr ot 070f bnol JOY ?./ fhcifn .siAazne % e o i f t c . L v- bib wo:t Jissd itejd isd v-iov biquD -n-nr .-hill ajnewi ,n>H &i3( .iWtem on u ivAz , vM <bi.es ^oifT /JTAif ^iri^old I O b'nov >] U > 4©brri o w icdw tu-J ?.u J r u n : * Hah ow modw ot :.:J onuri.fcsv gnunifiiio & 3«orio sv'I tno?. yen <tfoy IOI ; obiasd Mitoasd Luis ,ffoh bus ^nnoy , <cml bnn bnri v>qmo*10\ . ~~~ooiii iol opcode I ii:>xj3ai airfT �THE )iii w, »«rrl 'ioi jj, or! tiiUdmd n- ; ed 'i , !.>f?t iof BLOODY GARDENER'S TRAGEDY. You constant lovers all, pray lend an ear To this relation which I bring you here ? 'Tis of a maiden fair, A Shepherd's daughter dear, True loye did prove her overthrow. She was of beauty bright, both fair and clear, And by a noble lord she courted were; She was too young, we find, As yet fond love to mind, But little Cupid her heart did ensnare. His parents were very high now in degree, They said, My son, she is no mattfi for thee: If you'd our blessing have, Grant us but what we crave, Pray wed.none but to whom we shall agree. For you, my son, IVe chose a charming bride, She's young, and rich, and beautiful beside; Of temper kind and free, This match I choose for thee— A shepherd's daughter of so menu degree! �13 If that by us you 11 not be rul'd or led, From our presence you shall be banished 5 No more we will you own, For to be our son ; O! let our will be done, or we'll end the strife. Madam, if I a begging witli you should go, Contented should I be in doing so, So that I could but have The girl that I crave— No cursed gold should part my dear and me. Was she as poor as Job, and I of royal line, And lord of all the globe, she should be mine ; His mother said, in scorn, My son is noble born, And with a beggar's brat shall ne'er be join'd. He hearing of his mother saying so Tears from his eyes in fountains did flow ; A promise I have made, Her heart I have betray'd, No other for my bride you e'er shall see. A snare then for her precious life she laid, And for to act the thing which she then did With her gardener she agreed, To do this bloody deed, Her butcher for to be and dig her grave. To the bloody gardner, she gave eighty pound, To murder her, and lay her under ground ; All in a grave so deep, In everlasting sleep, That her fair body never might be found. He wrote a letter, and sent it with speed, Saying, My dearest love, with h?ste proceed, �14 b'hn^d ioa il ooy su iv dear Meet me to niglit, my .dea Something I will declare: Poor soul! she little thinking of tho deed. She threw the fetter down and run with speed, Thinking to mqet her own trpe love iiadeet}; She search^ the garden round, But no true lovc; she found : At length the bloocjy gardener did appear. What business have you here, madam, I pray ? 0, are you come to rob ; p y garden gay ? She said, 110 thief I am, 1 wait for a young man, Who did appoint this night to meet mp here. He iiotliiiig more did say, but took a knife, And bade her straight prepare to lose her ljJfec She on iier knees did fall, Ancl to heaven did call, 0 ! welcome, welcomo cloatli, my fatal stroke ! Was this done, my dear, by your cresign ? it by y<j)ur jmr^jitsy most uj^nd, My .life is thus betray d? Farewell! fQiicUove, she, said, I hope in lie&ven I a p^ace shallfimd\ The bloody gardener found her life was gone, Dead in the ground hq laid her body down ; T^ith flowers fine and gay, The grave did overlay, Thinking her fair boay never might be found. This youthful lord, indeed, did little know, Next day jjo sero ^is own true love did go ; No shepherdess was there, M l rourici the vallies fair, The pretty lambs were wand'ring to and fro, �15 Lamenting for £he*r tender shepherdess, Then he laid him down upon the grass, T™ Heavens lie did implore, That he might see her once moye,; 0 ! then ye gods, sa^s he, t.sliiall be biessU. . dlftfoob of) I ovoi» £ :i0ri Where shall I go to find that jangeL ,hnght ? She is the pleasure of my heart's delight ; Oh ! i f alive she be, Once. moi^e lot me her .. • ^ j, 0n t [: Or else my soul shall quickly take its flight. i:[{[ ^ • ' '»' i n VjioiVujnt^ ni orfB The woods and groves with him did seemio mourn, The small birds they did sing a mournful tune Saying! Your true love is gone, And-y(pu are left alone : . . ,, Then on a mossy bank lie laid him down. II 1 1 I ' l T ' lie had no sooner clos d lus to resit, / But a milk-white dove did hover on his breast^ r j The fiuttring wings did bear Which wak'jcl him. .fejn his sJcej^,, • T And then the dove took flight, and lie was left. Now wailing for his love,, in sad despair,, To his mother's garden li^j^en (li^kep^ii^ "Whe#etfi'6"dove again he 3id see Sitting on a myrtle tree, With drooping wings it did sorrowful appear. Thou Dove so innocent, Why did you come, 0 have you lost your mate, as I have done ? No shepherdess was there, All round the vallies fair, The pretty lamb3 were wand'ring to and fro. And on the virgin did seem to go, Out of her milk-white breast the blood did flow; �16 To the place it did repair, But no true-love was there ; Then frightened to his mother he did g o : And told what unto him there did appear, Saying, I fear you have kill'd my dear ; For a dove I do declare, Did all in blood appear, And if she is dead, I'll have my share. His mother hearing of what he did say, Did turn as pale as death, and swoon'd away She in distraction run, And told him what she'd done, And where the virgin's body it was laid. He nothing more did say, but took a knife, Farewell the joy and pleasure of my life: He unto the garden flew, And pierc'd his body through ; It was cursed gold that caus'd the strife! These lovers in one silent tomb were laid, And many a briny tear for them was paid: The gardener, as we hear, Was apprehended there, And now all three are in their silent grave. �17 A B R I E F H I S T O R Y Of R O B E R T D E V E R A U I , E A R L OF ESSEX. A GREAT FAVOURITE OF QUEEN ELIZABETH ; With a Lamentable Ballad on his Death. ROBERT DEVEREAUX, Earl of Essex, was in every respect qualified for a soldier, but the most unfit man in the world for a courtier. He was very young when his father died; and was not taken notice of till the year 1589, a twelvemonth after the destruction of the Armada, at which time he hired some ships, and bore Drake company in an expedition he was going upon.—In 1591 he began to grow into favour, and was that year sent to the assistance of the king of France, with some forces under his command, and acquired much fame, so that in 1597 he was sent admiral of an expedition into America. On his return he grew high in the queen's favour, and grew so insolent upon it as often to contradict her ; but this never so arrogantly as in the year 1598, when the queen consulted with three or four counsellors about sending a superintendant of the affairs of Ireland into that kingdom. The queen had thoughts of Sir William �18 Knowles, uncle to Essex; but he as strenuously stood up for Sir George Carew; but with this the queen would not comply, when he, in a^contemptuous manner, turned Ins back upon her, which she immediately msente^'Hy'hiitMg'hW^a box on the ear. The earl now laid his hand upon his sword, but the others interposing, he was obliged to retreat. Essex afterwards made submission, and W^-again rMeij^LiHto foyour. At ihifs timp ihe ^Mficm in IrefaM wa^grown to a 'greaii height, and the lord-deputy being dead, several were proposed .to be sent thither? when Essex hinted he should be glad of that command, to which the queen consented. lie accordingly went with a large army, and an unlimited generahcommisAion, and soon appointed the Earl of Southampton as acting general. The intention of the government was, that Tir-Owen, the most formidable of the rebels, should be immediately attacked ; but the whole summer was spent in the pursuit of some robels of little note.—This conduct obliged the queen to send him some very sharp' lettefe, which lie highly Resented. At' lerigtfft lid ordered the army to march against Tir-OweA ; but ihsteM1 of eom*ng; to' a battle, lie held" a' private parlby• with that tfebel, and' concluded a ttarce wfthMn M six Weokfe,' -renewable dt the end of tliat'time for six we&ks mbr£; and*so oil. But finding his cortdtifct disliked1 in Etiglaivd, he h&stened thither, lfeayirigf Ireland witltout orders ; upon which he was put jftto etasfcody- at tile Itfrd keeper's house. Aftei4J moiitfte':confinement he was suffered to go to his The- qtieeh now ffcoceed^d agaiftst feftn}k>WW)uWhm' sUfteF Kim itnpeaclied in tite sta^chft*liHer,fest thoy'r should accuse him of high treason, or fine him "considerably. She apjloii<t§4:a s^lefetreMVnnteibii!try him at tfie'lordkeepers, where, after a long hearing, they determim AMpW lo tlffoffoifjfiirfimtfp9AT . .mob �19 edhe should lose his places, and remain in confinement dining the queen's pleasure. Had iria behaviour, : during his confinement, answer^- the mildness with which ha was treated, no (foivbt would soon have been restored to- fawu'iirl^tt I © n wa§ too hot-headed, and those about kiin piNt Him wrong counsel; they told him the lmi^i^ti'i^ his enemies, and since he could noi/byfeir imam; he ought to endeavour to remove tdiem biyfrfoimEssex and his colleagues, ,now formed a (teign of seizing upon the palace, and in ift tke queen and her • counsel, and also* upon the Towner ami the city of' London ; but being suspeoted,»he^ wa* summon*' od. before the council, and refused /to appear un<tep a pretence of indisposition. Finding- Iris measure* entirely broken, 011 the 8th of February,: l#0fli W> ing Sunday, , and early in the mdfn^igi h r hadnsofc some noblemen and about 300 wifb liiuj, Thp news- of this beingj brought t£)--thie. queen, sent the lord keeper, with three more of thcf < O W JH : cilj'to learn the meaning of so> tumultuous .fa > > > wnv,ention; but instead of Answering them, iwjfc Uiean into custody, till lie' could-.-'gtft nito ilio tviaq^ expecting to find every body there would jonfci)i#f:fc but in this he was entirely deceived, as not one per son would take up arms. He was now proclaimed a traitor, and a party of- tW-queen's meeting him near St Paul's, there was a skirmish, in which some few were killed, and Essex was obliged to* retreat by watfcri lie /w*iit IW fills own Jious(\ which he fortified in some measure, but in vain. The great ordnance. was -brought against hirm/,and, after a > short defence; iu which some livds were < lost, he surrendered and was brb light to trial, with Southampton, before his peers, impeached <of high treason, convicted, and condemned. Southairripton was saved; but Essex, on the 2&th> .(being AshWednesday) was. priyajbely• ORAEGLITBIK in- the- Tower. .*rf2'ff f'^t? t>r.f *?{{ >(ooi ^Ft �20 ' .-'J Some writers have asserted, that of all the queen's paramours, Essex was her greatest favourite ; that on a certain occasion she presented him with a diamond ring, as a token of her love and esteem, and told him, that if at any time he should be placed in difficult circumstances, on sending her this ring, she would do her utmost to relieve him. But unfortunately for him, in the time of his greatest need, he possessed not this token of her affection—a beautiful lady of quality, whom he loved more than the queen, having previously got it from him. Some time after the death of Essex, the queen was informed of the lady who had the ring, when she hastened to her house, where she found her in bed, in a dying state, and dragged her from thence on to the floor by the hair of the head, uttering bitter reflections and imprecations on her for her conduct.—The queen never recovered her wonted cheerfulness after this affair, but was more retired, and less attentive to public business. Her spirits became more and more depressed, till the spring of 1603, when death put a period to her sufferings. THE BALLAD. ALL you that cry 0 llone! 0 Hone! Come now and.sing 0 Hone with me, For why, our Jewel is from us gone, The valiant Knight of Chivalry : Of rich and poor belov'd was he, In time an honourable Knight, When by our laws condemn'd to die, He lately took his last good night. �si Count him not like to Champion, Those traiterous men of Babington, Nor like the Earl of Westmoreland, By whom a number were undone: He never yet hurt mother's son— His quarrel still maintain'd the right, The salt, salt tears my face run down, When I think on his last good night. The Portugals can witness be, His dagger at Lisbon-gate he flung, And, like a Knight of Chivalry, His chain upon the gates he hung: I would to God that he would come, To fetch them back in order right, Which thing was by his honour done, Yet lately took his last good night. The Frenchmen they can testify, The town of Gournay he took in, And march'd to Rome immediately, Not caring for his foes a pin: With bullets then he pierc'd their skin, And made them fly before his sight; He then that time did credit win, And now hath ta'en his last good night Would God he ne'er had Ireland kti'otav. Nor set one foot on Flanders grounJ, Then might we well enjoy our own, But oh, our jewel can not be found— Which makes our trickling tears abound, • Washing our cheeks—a mournful sight; 7 Still, still his name in our ears doth sound, But now he's ta'en his last good night! •>RIT r jva * ,?LF> * "FR �or 0"Iff ion HU'l HittoO >o nem osoiIT .bnsbiom^o/A lo h*EE ortt oiil to>! DAFT W A T T Y ' S RAMBLE TO i n o d i !7 <frf-jni«rrrlM?TT( m c r t p S f H • .. vol; mrr ' rl . h " l ^ r r h r r r rn:?; ^ i.h I o.<(T IF J U ax me where I come frae, I say the fell syde, O Where ladder and mudcler, aiid honest fVok;beyde, And my sweetheart, 0 bless her! she thoji^ht nyen like me, » H _ For when slid shiilk lipids, the tears tiish^d frae her e'e, U Says I * I itiun e'en get a spot if 1 can, But whafflkH betMe mo, I'll thii& o ' t M , Nan!" Nan was a perfect |)eauty, wi' twee cheeks like codlin blossoms-; tip yerra s^t. on her j£$de my mouth a# water, " Fares-te-weel, Watty!" says she ; " tou's a wag amang lasses, and 111 snje thee nae mair!''—Nay, dun net growl, Nan, says I— ,nrw jiboio bib oixiii todi norft eH " For, mappen, er lang, I'se be jnais&n* mysel';' Sae we buss'd, and I tuik a last luik at the fell; On I whussl'd and wander*d ; my bundle I flung O'er my shoulder* wheai Cow\ey he efter me sprung, And howl'd, silly, follow! aad fawri'd at myrfit, As if to say, Watty, we mu»net part yet !? At Carol I staid wi' a &trae i' my mouthy And they tuik me, nae doubt, for a promis1' .bum j r fen ! Mgfrr bcog t >'.f Aifi :vj s ' r on tuE The weyves com round me in clusters—" What weage dus te ax, canny lad ?" says yen. " Wey, i , �?3, three pun and a crown : wunnet beate & hair 0* mi b M 9 * « f # h » m r. « Dui—wey I cufi ploughs sow, "mow, shear;ffinish, dlkfy ftiilk, ktirh, W c k i M , fcife ar'^Mfffleiid cargear, dance a whompype, nick a n?tg\s tail, hunt a brock, or feight iror a yen o' mv wefeht in 10 aw Croglin parish.'"/'' * * An a u m i b e a ^ ^ ^ y ^ ^ c d f ^ W ^ e ^ taw&T* But that day, I may say't, aw my sorrow began. ol]>k>t ivy '3 i n <o?>mqqirt bite rfiwg oowi iw .wo/ Furst, Cowley, peur fellow! they h&rtgM i' the -r(f.G->nstreet,,Y jj^//' elnfw a 6f W m J w Awi sMnn'dj eod' fdrgie them! 'for ehooil W tlrefr isii*tffT»ftt voIwoO tooq mtblhi I flriW 1 cry'd, and they caw'd me poor half witted clown, And' banter'd and follow'd me all up and dowri i Neist my deam she e'en starv'd me tliattWter liv'd j-fweei^ifv/ >[iii'>;'il an oi b'irrirtoi n i l 00?. o f Her. ha*d words; and luiks wad hae frecten'd tfie : oudetfiLnisbrt eoimra o^IH moostau^IGW She had a lang beard, for aw t'warl' like a billygoat, wV a kiln-dried frosty face, and then the smawest leg 0' mutton in aw Carel market sarvcd the cat, me and her for a week. The bairnS meade sec gam 011 us,' and thundered at the tapper, as if to waken a corp ; when I opened the duir, they threw stour i' my caw'd me daft Watty; Sae I pack'dri4pmy duds S^lien niv quarter was out, A i i ^ w f ^ w e a ^ r riiy ^clM', Suin my reet hand breek pocket they pick'd in a fray* , Aim ART And wi' fifteen white shillings they slipp d clean away, Forby my twee letters frae mudder and Nan, Where they said Carel lasses wad Watty trapan ; �24 *o m i l ft Jonnnw B bflfl nirq oojffa Ay, there were some forgery chaps had me just sign my neame. " Nay," says I, " you've getten a wrang pig by the lug, for I cannot write!" Then a fellow like a lobster, aw leac'd and feathered, ax't me, " Watty, wull te list ? thou s either be a general or gomeral." Nay, I winnet, that's plain ; I's content wi' a cwot a' mudder's spinnin laxg&S wonoa y rrr vrn J r M %Am I terfi JpH Now, wi' twee groats and tuppence, I'll e'en toddle heame, But ne'er be a swodger, while Watty's my neame, Now my mudder '11 gowel, and my fadder 11 stare, When I tell them poor Cowley they'll never see mair; Then they'll bring me a stuil; as for Nan she'll be fain, To see I'm returned to my friends yence again ;— The barn and the byer, and the auld hollow tree, Will just seem like cronies yen's fidgin to see ; The sheep aw ken Watty's voice now. The peat-stack we used to lake round 'ill be burnt ere this! As fo* Nan, she'll be owther married or broken-hearted ere now. An' aw be weel, we'll hae sic fun, sic fiddlin, dancin, drinkin, singin, and smeukin, till aw's blue with us— Amang aw our neybors sec wonders I'll tell, And never mair leave my auld friends or the fell. • U - OT^m M l THE END. Y ' i j t d eavrt T i n ^d'lO i isQ b ru '/'nit ©loriW � https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/a71f3d72321459fdfc223b410cbf56de.jpg c33f6ad688c5c2ee9b26537231df9057 Document A resource containing textual data. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Constant Lovers; or Jemmy and Nancy of Yarmouth. Also, The Bloody Gardner. Likewise a brief history of The Earl of Essex, a great favourite of Queen Elizabeth; with a lamentable ballad on his death. To which is added, Daft Watty's Ramble to Carlisle. Alternative Title An alternative name for the resource. The distinction between titles and alternative titles is application-specific. The Bloody Gardner Brief History of The Earl of Essex, a great favourite of Queen Elizabeth; with a lamentable ballad on his death Daft Watty's Ramble to Carlisle Extent The size or duration of the resource. 24 pages 16 cm Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9923291353505154">s0488b29</a> Description An account of the resource 95 printed at foot of title page Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1840-1850 per National Library of Scotland Subject The topic of the resource Chapbooks - Scotland - Glasgow Essex, Robert Devereux, Earl of, 1565-160 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario Type The nature or genre of the resource ballads & songs https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/83903cea1fd110f68fc5a3be57875b08.jpg 29ed4ddf89eedde47df0e246bb6f0581 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Woodcut on title-page portraying a soldier wearing a helmet with feathers and cloak with ace turned to left https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/d109ba6b9a91e7ec5795ade1514de657.pdf 7378d3154a122f449a1a9c53dea237f4 PDF Text Text CAPTAIN W E D D E R B U UN'S COURTSHIP. TO WHICH IS ADDED, H E Y JOHNNIE COUP. GLASGOW: PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSEI.LEKS, 21 �• M I A H A D CAPTAIN WEDDERBURN'S COURTSHIP, ' - " • i ^ ^ v %»* ; *< f t The Lo*4 of Roslrn^ daughter, ^ Walk'd thro* the WooSs lier lane,' And bye came Captain Wedderburn, A servant to the lting : He said unto his servant man, Were it not against the law, ^ £ j * I would take her to my own beef, And lay her next the wa\ I'm walking here albn^she says, Amang my father's tfees ; And you may let, m*0 :wklk«alone, Kind Sir, now if you please ; The supper-bell it will be furig, And I'll be miss'd, you.know ; So I will not lie in you-r bed,. Neither at stock: nomwaf: He says, My pretty lady, I pray lend me jopr'h^nd ; And you'll have drums and trumpets, Always at your* command ; And fifty men to guard you, Who weirtTieir swords can "draw : And we'll both lie in ae bed, And thou'll be next- the wa\ 0 hold away from me, kind Sir, I pray let go my tend ; ' �The supper-bell it will be rung, No longer must I stand ; My father he'll no supper take, If I be miss'd j o u know : So I'll not lie in your bed, Neither at stock nor wa\ Then says the pretty lady, I pray tell me your name ; My name is Captain Wedderburn, A servant to the king: Tho' thy father and his men were here, Of them Pd have no awe* But would take thee into my bed, And lay thee next the wa\ He lighted off his milk-white steed, And set this lady ori, . And held her by the milk-white hand, Even as they rode along ; He held her by the middle jimp, For fear that she should fa', And said, 111 take thee to my bed, And lay thee next the wa\ He took her to his lodging-house, His landlady looked ben, Says, Many ladies in Edinburgh I've seen, But never such a one. For such a pretty face as this, In it I never saw; �i Go make lier up a down bed, And lay her next the wa\ 0 hold away from me, kind Sir, 1 pray you let me be ; For I will not go to your bed, Till you dress me dishes three ; Dishes three you must dress to me, And I must have them a', Before that I lie in your bed, Either at stock or wa\ O I must have to my supper A cherry without a stone, And I must have to my supper A chicken without a bone ; And I must have to my supper A bird without a ga\ Before I lie into your bed Either at stock or wa\ When the cherry is in the bloom, I'm sure it hath no stone, And when the chicken is in its shell, I'm sure it hath no bone ; The dove it is a gentle bird, It flies without a ga\ And we shall both lie in ae bed, And thou's lie next the wa\. Hold away from me, kind Sir, I pray you give me o'er, �$ For I will not go to your bed, Till you answer me questions four ; Questions four you must tell me, And that is twa and twa ; Or I will not lie in your bed, Neither at stock nor wa'. • v Oil r •> • •;' ' ;i j I«7 You must get me some winter fruit, That in December grew ; And I must have a silken mantle, That waft was ne'er ca'd through ; What bird sings first ? what wood budsfirst? What dew does 011 them fa' ? And then I'll lie in your bed, Either at stock or wa\ My father has winter fruit, That in December grew ; My mother has a silken mantle, That waft was ne'er ca'd through ; The cock crows, ciders buds first, The dew does on them fa' : 80 we shall both lie in ae bed, And thou's lie next the wa\ Hold away from me, kind sir, And do not me perplex ; For I'll not lie in your bed, Till you answer questions six ; Questions six you must answer me, And that is four and twa, �6 Before I lie in your Either at stock or wa'. Iktf tanm noy Tjjot sfroitein^ What is greener than the grass ? What is higher than the-trees! And what is worse than woman's voice ? What's deeper than the seas ? A sparrow's horn, a priest unborn, This night to join us twa • Before I lie in yoitr bed, Either at stock or Wa'., Death is greener, than the gras.if; Skies higher than the trees.; The devil's worse than woman's voice, Hell's deeper than the seas ; A sparrow's horn you may well get, There's one on every pa, And two upon the:gab of it, And you shall have them a'. ;<i8uondiVaono'en AmterfT' The priest he's standing1 at the gate, Just ready to come in, No man can say that he'was bofcn No man without a sin. A hole cut in his mother's side, He from the same did fa'; So we shall lie in ae bed, And thou's lie next the wa'. 0 little did this ladj^ .think,t That morning when she ...... �&J That it was to be the very last, Of all her maiden days. But there's not in the kiiig's realVn,To be found blyther twa l And now they lie into ae bed, ™ i m o{> And she lies next the wa\ , >3lI{J>Ji9#l III 6r10U n 0*8(1 ol .^nitriorn aito x \ WS jih ol BJ ,-)•>/ » nnnoL ^oH OrmnaZWArdK \ .y/iiirioifi .*ii'h.!J»«j J !hI iliw-j* Coup sent a challenge frae Duiaknv Charlie meet me an ye dare, And I'll learn you.Ghe art of war, If you '11 .meet wi' me in >h 2 morning, i i< ,HJ}\ I nil! ridrt bflootiioo Iiofo ortT Hey Johnnie Coup1 are ye* waktng Vet', Or are your drums a-Weatirig yet, If you were waking I would wait, To gang to thb hills V the morning. 5 tWSiSb tun too? o sw9M efli tw ecaoo of • ')]•' ai iV K 'HJ07 /M ' bt./ When Charlie look'd the letter upon, . c: He drew his sword the scabbed, fecte Come follow me my merry, merry men, And we'll mee$ Johnnie Ck>jup i' ttemorniiig. Hey Artenr^ab liecft xfoiW \ (xi ^'.-.riil liob ,au3£is msiiJ eosl X W Now Johnnie be z V g m ^ f i & ^ M , 1 0 8 Come let us try baitfi > m i & �3 And diima rin away like a frighted bird, That's chas'd frae its nest in the morning. Hey Johnnie Coup, (fee. When Johnnie Coup lie heard of this, He thought it wadna be amiss, To bae a horse in readiness, To flio awa' i' the morning. Hey Johnnie Coup, &e. Fy now Johnnie get up and rin, The Highland bagpipes makes a din, It's best to sleep in a hale skin, For 'twill be a bluddie morning, Hey Johnnie Coup, &c. .•'/;,;[> ;>in; a: o When Johnnie Coup to Dunbar came, They speir'd at him where's a' your men ; The deil confound me gin I ken, For I left them a' in the morning. Hey Johnnie Coup, &t\ Now Johnnie, troth, ye wasna blate, To come wi' the news o' your ain defeat, And leave your men in sic a strait, So early in the morn itig. Hey Johnnie Coup, &c, • • > •; • > r / /* ; u •'v ... Ah, faith, quo* Johnnie, I got a fleg, With their claymores and philabegs, If I face them again, deil break my legs, 80 I wish you a good morning. Hey Johnnie Coup, &c. � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Woodcut 032: Title-page illustration of a soldier with his face turned to the left in an outdoor scene. He is wearing a feathered helmet and cloak. Document A resource containing textual data. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Captain Wedderburn's courtship. To which is added, Hey Johnnie coup. Alternative Title An alternative name for the resource. The distinction between titles and alternative titles is application-specific. Hey Johnnie coup Extent The size or duration of the resource. 8 pages 16 cm Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9923281033505154">s0514b40</a> Description An account of the resource 21 printed at foot of title page Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1840-1850 per National Library of Scotland Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario Type The nature or genre of the resource ballads & songs Subject The topic of the resource Courtship and Marriage Chapbooks - Scotland - Glasgow # of Woodcuts: 1 Bib Context: title-page Chapbook Date: 1841-1850 Chapbook Genre: ballads & songs Chapbook Publisher - Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Fashion (Clothing): military Gender: man/men Weapons: sword(s) https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/2cce36cfd7aea44a9cc109fad6ff099c.pdf c36fd6941a0cfe1c9edc36abc95cef17 PDF Text Text THE STORY OF THE LITTLE WHITE MOUSE: OR THE OVERTHROW OF THE TYRANT KING. GLASGOW: PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS. 30 �LITTLE WHITE MOUSE. ANCIENT history furnishes an example of a k i n g and queen so tenderly attached to each other, that nothing was wanting to make their felicity complete. Their wishes and their sentiments corresponded exactly on all subjects; they went frequently to hunt, killing various sorts of game, and the stag often became the object of their amusement, or the victim of their exertions ; they visited the rivers for the diversion of fishing; and, in short, whatever gratified the one, became a source of real delight to the other. Their subjects followed so amiable an example, and thus the happiness of all the nation consisted happy. in mu T h e k i n g of an adjoining state, whose manners and dispositions were directlycontrar k i n g of the L a n d o f Pleasure; for so the country was called, on account of the tranquillity and j o y there. He was a declared enemy to pleasure; �3 he sought for nothing but wounds and bruises; his air was stern and forbiding, with a l o n g beard and hollow eyes. H e was lean and withered always dressed in black ; his bristly locks were dirty and uncombed; there was no way so secure to obtain his favour, but by committing the most atrocious murders or assassinations: he took upon himself the office of public executioner,becausehed suffered. T h i s kingdom was therefore called the L a n d of Tears, T h i s wicked wretch, unworthy to possess a throne, raised an immense army, and determined with it to spread through the territory o f this happy neighbour that desolation which was his greate W h e n all was ready he began his m a r c h ; but the news of his intention reached the K i n g of the L a n d of Pleasure l o n g before the invading best possible state of defence, and waited the attack with firmness and resolution. But the timid disposition of the queen suggested a thousand f e a r s : " Sire' said she, " l e t usfly;let us take the, wealth we possess, and seek that safety in another quarter or the world which we cannot now find here." " I t is m y duty, madam," said the k i n g , to remain and protect m y subjects. I am determined, therefore, to share their army, who put �4 H e then assembled his forces, took a tender leave of the queen, and marched out to meet the enemy. A s soon as he was departed, the queen g a v e way to the excess of her sorrow, and clasping her hands together, " A l a s !" exclaimed should fall in battle, I shall be left a widow, in the power of a cruel monster, and my unborn idea redoubled her affliction. T h e k i n g wrote to her every d a y ; but one morning, when she was watching for the usual messenger, with fear pictured in his countenance, he dismounted immediately, and entering her presence, " O h ! madam," said he, " a l l is lost; the k i n g , is slain, the army defeated, and the ferocious conquerer almost at our backs." she, chil T h e poor queen fell senseless; her attendants carried her to stood weeping round; they tore their hair in the bitterness of their affliction, and no scene in the world could have been more affecting. B u t their sobs and lamentations were soon drowned by the cries that every where spread through the palace of the cruel manner in which the victorious army was desolating the city. T h e wicked k i n g , at the head of his savage troops, was incessantly employed in e x c i t i n g them to acts of cruelty �5 and plunder; and, thus directed, they slew, without discrimination, every person they met. H e entered the palace, and penetrated without ceremony into the most , retiredapartments,whe distresses unmoved, and b y his ferocious manner and brutal threats, added terror to the pangs she felt before. T h u s , too much intimidated to answer a word, this monster of a k i n g , supposed her silence to proceed from sullenness and ill humour; he seized her rudely by the hair, which the negligence of g r i e f had suffered to fall loosely on her shoulders, and then d r a g g i n g her from the bed on which she lay, he through her across his shoulders, and carried her a w a y without remorse; he then mounted with her on his steed, and rode off. She besought him, with tears and supplications, to have pity on her sufferings; but he mocked her cries, and said to her, u Weep on ; your complaints are a source of pleasure and deversion to me." He carried her towards his own capital, and, during the time that he was on the road, he took the most dreadful oaths that he would h a n g her as soon as he readied i t ; but he was soon informed, on his arrival, that the queen was pregnant. W h e n the wicked k i n g knew this, a �6 thought struck him; daughter he could marry her to his son, and to ascertain whether it was a daughter that she should have, he sent for a fairy who lived on the frontiers of his dominions. W h e n she arrived, he entertained her with much more hospitality than he showed to his most intimate friends, and then led her to a tower, in the highest room of which the poor queen was confined. N o t h i n g Could Equal the misery of the poor queen, and the unpleasantness of her apartment. T h e broken casements admitted both the wind and the rain, the flooring was broken in several places, and the damps that ran down the walls were dangerous, especially to a person of so weak a constitution as the queen ; the bed was composed of nothing but an old matress, worse than is found in the habitations o f the poorest class of people, in this miserable condition, the queen passed both day night, weeping bitterly at the thoughts of her own situation, and for the death of the king her husband. T h e fairy's heart was touched so deplorable a s i g h t ; she embraced the queen, and, at the same time, she whispered her ear the following Words: " T a k e courage,madam,your misfortunes will soon be at an end ; I hope soon, to contribute to your happiness." T h e queen was a little �consoled by these words, and earnestlyentreated princess, who had once enjoyed the greatest favours of f o r t u n e ; instead of which, she could now boast of nothing but suffering the greatest misery. T h e y were thus talking together, when the wicked king, g r o w i n g ; impatient, Come, come' said he, " let us not have so many compliments ; I brought you here to inform me whether the queen will have a daughter or s o n ' " She is pregnant of a daughter," replied the fairy, " w h o will be the most beautiful and, most accomplished princess that has ever been seen, and the queen will wish to see her placed in the highest possible situation of rank and honour." " I f she is not very beautiful and accomplished," said the k i n g , " I will h a n g her mother to a tree, with the child at her neck, and nothing shall prevent it." H a v i n g said this, he left the place with the fairy, and took no notice, of the unfortunate queen, who wept bitterly, what shall I do ? I f I have a beautiful little girl, he will give her to his reptile of a son; and if she is u g l y , he will h a n g us both. T o what an extremity am I reduced ! he can never see it ?" T h e time approached when trie little princess thus lamen Cannot I �8 cess was to come into the world, and the gaoler who guarded her g a v e her nothing but three boiled peas and a small bit of black bread for her food during the d a y ; by which she was reduced so thin as to become little else than skin and bone. distress O n e evening while she was employed in spinning, (for the wicked k i n g was so avaricious as him) she saw, entering at a small hole, a pretty little mouse as white as snow. " A h ! pretty creature," exclaimed the queen,, " w h a t do you come here to seek ? I have but three peas to last me all d a y ; begone, i f you wis' not to fast." T h e little mouse ran about here and there, and danced and skipped like a little m o n k e y : the queen was so pleased with it, that she g a v e it the only pea that remained for her supper. " H e r e * said she, " h e r e , poor little t h i n g , eat this: I have got no more; but I g i v e it thee w i l l i n g l y . " T h e instant she had done this, to her great surprise there appeared upon the table two partridges, cooked most wonderfully well, and two pots of preserves, " R e a l l y , "exclaime She ate a little; but, with fasting so l o n g , her appetite was almost gone. She threw down some to the mouse, which, having �9 nibbled them a w a y , began to leap about with more glee than before. T h e next morning very early the gaoler brought the queen three peas, which he had put as usual in a large dish, to mock her sufferings; the little white mouse came softly and ate them all three, as well as the bread. W h e n the queen wished to dine, she found nothing there; at which she was very a n g r y with the mouse. " W h a t a wicked little beast," cried the queen; " i f it continues thus, I shall die with h u n g e r . " A s she was g o i n g to cover the plate which the mouse had left empty, she found it full of all sorts of things good for to e a t : she was very g l a d and ate of them ; but while she was eating, a thought came into her head, that in a few days the k i n g would perhaps kill her child, and she quitted the table to weep. " A h !" ejaculated the disconsolate queen, " i s there no w a y of s a v i n g it ?" A t the same time that she pronounced these words she perceived the mouse p l a y i n g with some straws; she took some of them and began to work, saying, make a covered basket to put m y little daughter in, and g i v e it out of the window to the first charitable person who will take care of it." She then began to work very d i l i g e n t l y ; and she never wanted straw, for the mouse " I f I ha �10 always brought some into the chamber; and as at usual meal-time the queen always gave it the three peas, she found in exchange a number of dishes of the most delicate meats. One day the queen was looking out of the window, to see how long she should make the cord to tie the basket to, when she should let it down, and she perceived an old woman below, leaning upon a stick, who spoke to her thus i know your trouble, and if you wish it, I will serve you." " Alas! my dear friend," replied the queen, " y o u will very much oblige me, if you will come every evening to the bottom of the tower, to receive my child, w h o m 1 will let down to y o u : you must feed and nurse it, and if ever I am rich I will repay you well." " I care for no pecuniary reward," answered the old woman; ' ; but I am very nice in m y eating, and wish for nothing so much as a fat plump mouse. I f you find such a one in your prison, kill i t and throw it to me; your infant will the better for it. When the queen heard this, she began to weep without answering, and the old woman, after having waited a little, asked her why she cried : " Because,' replied the queen, " there only comes into my chamber one little mouse, so pretty and so engaging, find in my heart to kill it," " H o w " replied the old woman, with great anger, " d o �11 you like a little rogue of a mouse, which teats and eats e v e r y t h i n g , better than your own c h i l d ? V e r y well, madam, you are not much to be pitied; remain in the good company you have chosen; I can have plenty of mice without y o u ; so I care but little about i t ; " and, scolding in this manner, she hobbled away. A l t h o u g h the queen had a good repast before her, the mouse played about as u s u a l ; she never raised her eyes from the ground where she had fixed them, and tears ran down her cheeks. O n this same n i g h t the little princess came into the world, and her beauty surpassed all the queen had ever beheld: instead of crying at h smiled on her affectionate parent, and extended her little h a good understanding. T h e queen caressed and kissed her fondly, at the same timesorrowfully i f you fell into the hands of the wicked k i n g , it will cost you your l i f e ; " she shut it up in the basket, with a paper attached to the clothes, on which was written 0 you, whose steps the fav'ring pow'rs direct T o these lone scenes, your generous aid I claim ; M y hapless child, in infant years, protect From sorrow's grasp—and Juliet be her name. A n d h a v i n g turned away for a moment, she �12 looked again, and found the infant dressed in the finest linens and laces: she then kissed it, and shed a torrent of tears, not k n o w i n g how to part with her treasure. A t this moment in came the little mouse, and jumped into the basket. " A h ! little creature," said the queen, cc how much it costs me to save your life ! I shall perhaps lose my dear Juliet. A n y other than me would have killed you for the dainty old woman ; but I could not consent to it. " " Y o u will not repent not so unworthy of your friendship as you suppose." T h e queen was like onethunderstruck,w change to that of a woman, and the paws become hands and feet. A t length the queen, hardly daring to look up, discovered the figure to be the fairy that had visited her before, an her misfortunes and sufferings. " I wished to try the goodness of your heart," said the f a i r y ; " 1 know now that you are virtuous and worthy of m y friendship. Fairies like me, who possess treasures and riches more than I can relate, do not seek so much for the luxuries of life as for friendship, and we seldom find it." " Is it possible, great fairy, exclaimed the queen, " that y o u , who are so powerful and wealthy, find it such a great trouble to g a i n a friend ?" " Yes*" replied �13 she, " b e c a u s e persons seldom love us but for interest; but when you loved me as a little mouse, it seemed from a disinterested motive, and I wished to put you to a still greater trial: I took the figure of an old woman, and it was I who spoke to you at the bottom of the tower; you have always answerd my best expectation." A t these words she embraced the queen, vermilion mouth of the infant princess, and said, " M y pretty little girl, you shall henceforth be your mother's be richer than your father; you shall live an hundred years without illness, wrinkles, or old a g e . " T h e enraptured queen returned thanks, and begged that the fairy would take Juliet away, and be careful of her, adding at the same time, " I g i v e her to be your daughter." T h e fairy accepted the offer, and thanked h e r : she then put the little one into the basket, tower, and h a v i n g again taken the form of a mouse, she descended by the cord; but when she got down, she could not find the child a n y where, and remounting in a fright, " A l l is lost," cried she to the queen, " my enemy Cancaline has j u s t carried away the princess. Y o u must know that she is a cruel fairy, who hates me, and, unhappily, she is older than I am, and has more power. I which she let d �14 know not by what means to get the child out of her wicked hands. " W h e n the queen heard this melancholy account, she almost died with g r i e f ; she wept bitterly, and beseeched her good friend to save her child, at whatever price it m i g h t be done. W h e n the gaoler entered the chamber of the queen, he perceived that she had been delivered, and he went and told the k i n g of it, who came in a great passion to ask for the c h i l d ; but she told him that a fairy, whose name she knew not, had entered the prison, and carried it away by force. A t this the wicked k i n g stamped and bit his lips, with every expression of the most violent rage, " I promised to h a n g thee," said he to the unfortunate queen, " a n d now I will keep m y word. H e then d r a g g e d her by the hair from the place of her confinement to a neighbouring wood, mo just g o i n g to h a n g her, when the fairy, having rendered herself rudely down, and four of his teeth were struck out b y the fall. Before he had time to recover himse victim to a secure retreat i n her magnificent palace. She was there treated with every attention and kindness, and if it had not been for the thoughts of her little daughter, she had once more been h a p p y ; but she was �15 unable to procure a n y intelligence of the infant, though the little white mouse made every exertion in her power for that purpose. A t length, by the progress of time, the queens grief abated, and fifteen years passed away without any change in her situation. A t this period there was great talk all over the kingdom, that the son o f the wicked monarch had fallen in love with the keeper of the poultry, and that the y o u n g woman refused to accept of him for a husband. T h i s extraordinary refusal surprised every one; however, the nuptial dresses were prepared, and the marriage ceremony was soon expected to take place. T h e little white mouse determined to see this extraord had resolution enough to refuse the son of a k i n g , and immediately transported herself to the capital. She entered into the poultry yard, and found he woollen g o w n , with her feet bare, and a cap of goat's skin on her head; l y i n g by her side were magnificent dresses, embroidered with gold and silver, and ornamented with a number of precious stones ; the turkeys and other fowls that surrounded her trampled on and spoiled them. T h u s habited, and thus careless of the splendour that awaited her, the keeper of the poultry sat on a large stone in the middle of �16 the yard, when the k i n g ' s son arrived: he was crooked and humph-backed, and marked with every kind of deformity. " I f you you to be put to death instantly." She answered him4 with disdain, " I will never marry y o u ; you are too u g l y and too pullets, to all the honours you have power to bestow." persist wicked. T h e little white mouse observed her with wonder and admiration; for, though in so a humble dress, she appeared to possess an incomparable beauty. A s soon therefore as the prince retired, the fairy assumed the figure of an old shepherdess. " Good day, fair damsel," said she, " the fowls do credit to your care of them." T h e y o u n g woman raised her eyes, and looked at her with a countenance full of sweetness : " they w i s h ' answered she, " to persuade me to quit m y present employment for a crown which I do not want, and for a husband whom I should despise; pray, good mother, what is your advice ? " " M y child," returned the fairy, " a crown is a dazzling object; but you cannot who wear it." " B u t suppose I do know all this," quickly answered the keeper of the k i n g ' s poultry, " still I would refuse to imagine th accept �17 lation, and know not even the name of those who gave me b i r t h ' " Y o u have their beauty and virtue, m ychild"returnedthe -wise and benevolent fairy, " w h i c h are worth more than a thousand k i n g d o m s ; tell m then who placed you here, since you are without' parents a;nd withou named Cancaline, is the cause that I have been placed here," replied the y o u n g woman she beat me till she almost killed me, without the least p sufferings, one day I ran away from her, and, not k n o w i n g where to g o , I stopped to rest myself in a wood, where the son of the wicked k i n g came by chance to w a l k : he asked if I Would enter his service. I consented, and was poultry; where he came constantly to see them, and always took great notice of them. A l a s ! he soon conceived a violent love for me, and has ever since so teased me with expressions of it, that I in the world." T h i s recital made the fairy suspect she had a t last met with the princess Juliet, and she therefore asked to know her name. " I am called Juliet," added she, modestly; " but who g a v e me that name I never knew." T h e doubts of the fairy were thus instantly removed; she threw herself on the neck of the princess, exclaiming, " J u l i e t , 1 have known �you, l o n g ; I am., delighted to find you so sensible and so lovely ; but I wish you were better dressed ; take the clothes that are obeyed immediately, and t a k i n g from, her head the cap of goat's skin, her beautiful golden hair fell in curls upon her shoulders; then, ; t a k i n g some water from a fountain that ran through the yard., she washed her hands and face, and discovered a complexion more bright and transparent than the choicest pearls of I n d i a ; roses seemed to bloom fresh on her cheeks; coral seemed to form her beautiful m o u t h ; and her eyes shone like the most brilliant diamonds, W h e n she had finished dressing herself, the gracefulness of her form appeared equal to the beauty, of her countenance, and the fairy gazed on her with wonder and delight. before y " P r a y , who d be now, m y dear c h i l d ? " asked the fairy. " R e a l l y , " answered she, " I could fancy myself to be the daughter of some great k i n g . " u Should you be g l a d of it ? " demanded the good mother," replied the princess, " f o r it would g i v e me the power of assisting many that are in distress." "Be happy then," Exclaimed the fairy parents : to-morrow you shall know more." The fairy returned immediately to her �19 palace, where she had left the queen. I bring you, madam," cried she, " ' t h ehappies " what tidings of j o y can come to meT, who •have lost both m y husband and my child ?? " I t is always right to hope," replied the little white mouse, for the fairy had again taken that figure; " I have seen the princess your daughter, and she is more beautiful than the blushes of the d a w n i n g d a y . " She then related the whole of her discovery, at which the queen wept with j o y . " W h o would have thought," said she, " i n the days of m y prosperity, that I should ever bear a daughter to become the keeper ofhensand 'turkeys !" " It is the cruel Cancaline," said the fairy, ^ who, k n o w i n g how I love you, has brought this misery on your child, purposely to v e x m e ; b I am determined," said the q u e e n . " that she shall not marry the prince; pray g o and seek her immediately, and bring her to me." T h e son of the wicked k i n g left Juliet in a great r a g e at her obstinate refusal, arid went into the gardens of the palace to consider what he sh groaned so loud, that his father overheard him, and, leaning through thewindow,inquiredthe cause of his �20 I be otherwise than afflicted' answered he, " to be thus, set at defiance by a keeper of poultry ?"" W h a t , will not she love you ?" said the k i n g ; " I am determined she shall love you, or be put to death." H e then her here immediately ; I will punish her so severely, that she shall soon repent of her obstinacy." called h T h e y went to the poultry-yard, and found Juliet there, magnificently dressed, as the fairy left h e r ; they had never seen so lovely a figure, and, t a k i n g her for some princess, were afraid to speak to her. She said to them, in a sweet and condescending voice, " P r a y whom do you seek h e r e ? " " M a d a m , " said they, " we seek anunfortunat person you seek," replied she; " w h a t do you w a n t ? " H e a r i n g this, they seized her, and h a v i n g tied her hands and feet with cords, lest she should escape, they carried her into the presence of the k i n g . " Well, insolent wretch," said he, " a n d so you are determined not to love my son? He is a thousand times handsomer than y o u ; love him therefore immediately, or I'll have you flayed alive." T h e princess, trembling l i k e an affrighted dove, kneeled before him, and tried to inspire pity in a heart that never felt a n y ; but she pleaded in vain, as the �21 prince insisted upon it, that his father should order her for immediate execution.However,they ment more severe than death, to shut her up for life in a tower, where she would never more see the light of the sun. A t this moment the fairy and the good queen arrived in a flying chariot, and the affectionate mother began to weep bitterly, on hearing the sad fate to which her longlost daughter was just condemned. " Be good comfort," said the fairy, " you shall in the end be made happy, and your enemies be amply punished." T h e princess was bed; the fairy then resumed the form of the little white mouse, and got upon his pillow. Whenever he attempted to sleep she bit his e a r ; at which, being much disturbed, he turned the other side, and she bit at that also, without mercy : he cried out for assistance, and when his attendants came, they found his ears bleeding so fast, that they were seeking about the apartment to find the mouse, she was gone into the prince's room to inflict the same vengeance upon him ; he likewise called his attendants, and h a v i n g shown his wounded ears, made them put a plaster on each. T h e little white mouse, in the mean time, returned to the k i n g , and conveyed to the tow unable to stop h �22 she bit his nose and gnawed his face i n several places: he put up his hands to delend his face, and she bit his fingers; he cried out, " M e r c y ! m e r c y ! I am l o s t ; , , and, while his mouth was thus open, the little white mouse entered it, and bit a piece off his t o n g u e : his attendants came in once more ; but he was now unable to speak to them, his tongue was so severely wounded; so he made signs that it was a mouse that had thus wounded him, and every corner of the room was immediately examined to find the offender, but in vain, she was gone to to pay a visit to the prince, and to treat him much worse than she had treated his father. She ate out one of his eyes, which left him in total darkness; for he was blind of the other before. H e leaped out of bed instantly, apartment of his father, who also had taken his sword, storming and swearing that he Would kill every one who came in his way till the mouse was found. W h e n he saw his son in such a passion, he scolded him, and the prince, whose ears were burning with pain, not k n o w i n g the voice of his father, attacked him furiously. T h e k i n g exceedingly irritated, made a violent cut at him with his sword, and same moment; so that they both fell to the seized his received a �ground bleeding profusely. A l l their subjects, only served and submitted to therm through fear, now dreading them no longer, tied cords to their feet, and d r a g g e d them into the river, s a y i n g they were happy thus to g e t rid of their tyrants. who hated them T h u s ended the days of the wicked k i n g and his son. T h e good fairy, who had seen all that passed, went immediately to seek the queen, and they went together to the black tower, where the princess Juliet was confined under more than forty locks. T h e fairy struck three times with a little r i n g on the great door, which opened instantly, as did all the rest; they found the poor princess very thoughtful, and with scarcely spirits to speak a word. T h e queen ran to embrace h e r ; " M y dear child, I am thy mother, the queen of the L a n d of P l e a s u r e ! "exclaimed of her birth. W h e n Juliet heard these happy tidings, she was as near d y i n g with j o y as she had been near d y i n g with g r i e f : she threw herself at the feet of the queen, embraced her knees, and we the tears she shed upon them. She likewise carressed the good fairy, who had conferred so many obligations on them both. The fairy said to them, " It is not time now to think of amusing ourselves; let us g o to �24 the great hall of the castle and harangue the people." She walked first, with a g r a v e and majestic next came the queen in robes suitable to her r a n k ; the princess followed, decorated in a splendid habit, which the fairy had brought her for the occasion ; but distinguished much more by her native modesty and the lustre of her beauty, which had never before been equalled. They bowed gracefully to every one they met by the w a y , whether rich or poor, and by this condescension attracted the notice of every one. W h e n the great hall was full, the good fairy said to the subjects of the deceased tyrant, that she would recommend them to choose for their sovereign the daughter of a neighbouring k i n g , whom she then presented to them. " Under so amiable a queen," said she, " you cannot fail to live in a state of continual happiness and tranquillity." A t these words the people cried out with one voice, " Y e s ! y e s ! we choose her for our queen, and we trust she will make us amends for the miseries we have so l o n g endured A s soon as the intelligence was generally known, joy spread throughout the city, and every sort of business was laid aside, to give place to feasting and merriment. FINIS. air, a � https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/e4c36e4d3ccd22af0c4ee0c14397fd1f.jpg d54c2818f099f2e8744c2309451178cb Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Woodcut on title-page portraying exterior of a castle Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Woodcut 030: Title-page Illustration of the exterior of a castle. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The story of the Little White Mouse: or the overthrow of the tyrant king. Alternative Title An alternative name for the resource. The distinction between titles and alternative titles is application-specific. The overthrow of the tyrant king. Extent The size or duration of the resource. 24 pages 16 cm Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9934198783505154">s0585b15</a> Description An account of the resource 30 printed at the foot of title page Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1840-1850 per National Library of Scotland Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario Type The nature or genre of the resource fairytale/folk lore Subject The topic of the resource Chapbooks - Scotland - Glasgow # of Woodcuts: 1 Architecture: castle Bib Context: title-page Chapbook Date: 1831-1840 Chapbook Date: 1841-1850 Chapbook Genre: fairytale/folk tale Chapbook Publisher - Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Nature: flower(s) Nature: rock(s) Nature: tree(s) Outdoor Scene https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/37612a07cf6f7236810b0f4742f97443.jpg fa8a33e42102afe71bd8251c4cbf12f9 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Woodcut on title-page portraying a bull charging a man on rocky terrain https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/675f04f5a6d5dadd02d401394f2dd5c0.pdf 2c78690376c26d798f2bbefa6419abae PDF Text Text STORYS OF THE THREE BEGGARS SOLDIER'S WIFE, AND JACK EASY, GLASGOW PRINTED FOR TIIE BOOKSELLERS, ��THE THREE BEGGARS. THREE blind beggars were on their way from Cornpiegne, to seek alms in the neighbourhood. They kept the high road to Seal is, and walked at a great pace, each holding a cup and stick in his hand. A young ecclesiastic, well mounted, who was riding towards Compiegne, and attended by a valet on horseback, was struck at a distance with their steady and rappid strides. " Those fellows," said he, " for men who appear blind, make very firm steps; PJ1 endeavour to find them out, and see if they are not impostors." Accordingly, as he came near them, and as the beggars, hearing the trampling of the horses' feet, had ranged themselves in a line to ask for charity, he called to them, and pretending to give them some money, but in reality giving them nothing, said :— 66 There is a besant; it is intended for you all three; and you will divide it between you." " Yes, your reverence; and may God bless you in return for it!" Although no one of them received the �4 money? yet each was confident his comrade had got it. Thus, after many thanks and good wishes to the horseman, they resumed their march, full of spirits; but at the same dme slackening their pace. The churchman feigned also to proceed on his journey: but at some distance he alighted, and delivering his horse to the care of his valet, directed him to wait his arrival at the gates of Compiegne : he then gently approached the beggars, and followed them, 10 watch the issue of the adventure. When they 110 longer heard the noise of horses, the leader of this little band halted. " Comrades," said he, " we have made a good day's work ; and I think we had best return to Compiegne, and spend the money this good christian hath given us. It is a long time since we have had a carousal: and now we have enough to enjoy ourselves completely, let us think of nothing but pleasure. On their arrival in town, they heard aery of u Good wine!—wine of Soisons!—wine of Auxerre !—lish and good fare! Walkin gentlemen ; pray walk in." They would not go any farther, but enter' d the first house; and after having cautioned the people not tojudge of their means by their outward appearance, (in the tone of men who derive confidence from the weight of their �5 purse) they desired that they might be served quickly and well. Nicholas (for that was the name of the landlord) being used sometimes to see persons of their vocation spend more than such as appear to be much more in affluent circumstances, received them respectfully. He showed them into his best dining-room; begged they would be seated, and order what they liked best; assuring them that there was nothing in Compiegne but what he could set before them, and in a style that would give them perfect satisfaction. They desired that plenty of good tilings mi^ht be got ready; and, instantly, master, waiter, maid, all in the house set about it. A neighbour was even sent for to assist. At length, by virtue of several hands and good speed, they contrived to serve up a good dinner of live dishes; and immediately the beggars sat down to it, laughing, singing, drinking to each other, and diverting themselves with clumsy jokes on the simple traveller who was at the expence of the feast. He had followed them with his valet to the inn, and was within hearing of the merriment.— He even resolved, that he might not lose any part of it, to dine and sup in a snug manner with the landlord. The beggars all this while occupied the best room, �,:nd were waited on like noblemen. Their mirth was thus prolonged till the night was pretty far advanced, when, to make a suitable close to so jovial a day, they each called ft/r a bed, and went to rest. The next morning the landlord, who wanted to get rid of them, sent his servant to call them up. When they were come down stairs, he made out their bill, which amounted to ten pence. That was the moment the mischievous churchman so impatiently expected. To enjoy the transaction more at his ease, he came and posted himself in a corner of the room, but without showing himself, least his presence might be a restraint on the guests. u Master," says the blind men to the landlord, ' ' we have a besant; take your account, and give us our change." He holds out his hand to receive it; and, ns no one offers it him, he asks them again, when each says, " It is not I." The landlord then gets into a passion.— u So, gentlemen vagrants, you think I am to serve here as a butt for your diversion. Be so good as to end all this mockery, and pay me immediately my ten-pence, otherwise I'll give you all three a drubbing." 1 hey then began to enquire of each other for the piece of money—to suspect each other's honesty—to call names—to quarrel; �7 ti!l at length such an uproar and confusion ensued, that the landlord, after giving each of them a box on the ear, called his servant to come down with two good sticks. The ecclesiastic all this while kept laughing in his hiding-place till he was ready to fall into convulsions. But when lie found the affair was becoming serious, and heard them talk of sticks, he came forward, and, with an air of surprise, asked the cause of the quarrel. " Sir, here are three knaves who came yesterday to consume my provisions ; and now I ask them for my due, they have the insolence to mock me. But, by all that's sacred, they shall not get off :n that manner, and before they go out ." " Softly, softly, master Nicholas," said the churchman, "these poor men have not wherewithal to pay you; and, in that case, they deserve rather your pity than your resentment. How much does their bill amount to?" " Ten-pence." " W h a t ! is it for so paltry a sum that you raise all this disturbance? Come, make yourselves easy; I will take it upon myself. And, for my part, what am I to pay you ?" "Five-pence, Sir." " That's enough. I shall pay you fifteenpence ; now let these unfortunate men go; �8 and know that to harass the poor is a sin of the first magnitude." The blind men, who were terrified at the apprehension of the bastinado, made their escape with all possible haste; while Nicholas, who had reckoned 011 losing his ten-pence^ (being delighted to find a person to pay it) launched out into the most flattering encomiums 011 the churchman. " What a good man !" cried he; " that is the kind of priests we should have, and then they would be respected. But, unfortunately, there are lew such ! Be assured, Sir, so handsome an action will not go unrewarded. You will prosper in the world, take my word for it; and will find the good effects of your generosity." All that the crafty traveller had been saying to his host, was but a fresh piece of roguery on his part; for, in luring the inn- . keeper with such ostentation of generosity, he only meant to trick him as he had already done the beggars. Just at that moment the parish-bell was ringing to prayers. He asked who was to perform the service: they told him it wa3 their parson. " As he is your pastor, master Nicholas," he further said, " you are mopt probably acquainted with him ? " Y e s , Sir." �9 " And if lie would engage to pay the fifteen-pence that I owe you, would you not acknowledge us quit ?" " Undoubtedly, Sir, if it were thirty, and you desired it." " Well then, come along with me to the church, and we will speak to him." They went out together; but first the ecclesiastic directed his valet to saddle the horses, and to keep them in readiness. The priest, as they entered the church, had just put on his sacerdotal habit, and was going- to read prayers. u This will keep us very long," said the traveller to his host; 6 6 1 have not time to wait, but must proceed immediately upon my journey. It will satisfy you, I should imagine, to have the parson's word for the money ?" Nicholas having nodded assent, the other went up to the parson, and dexterously slipping into his hand twelve deniers, said :— u Sir, you will pardon my coming so near the pulpit to speak to you; but much ceremony need not be observed between persons of the same condition. I am travelling through your town, and lodged last night at one of your parishioners', whom in all probability you know, and whom you may see hard by. He is a well-meaning man, honest, and entirely exempt f n m vice; but, unfor- �10 tunately, his head is not so sound as his heart; his brain is somewhat cracked: last night one of his fits of madness prevented us all from sleeping. He is a good deal better, thank God, this morning; nevertheless, as his head is still aliected, and full ol religion, he begged we would conduct him to church, and that he might hear you say a prayer, that the Lord may, in his good3iess, restore him to perfect health." " Most cheerfully," answered the parson. He then turned to his parishioner, and said to him, u Friend, wait till I have done the service, when I'll take care that you shall have what you desire." Nicholas, who thought this an ample assurance of what he went for, said 110 more : but attended the traveller back to his inn, wished him a good journey, and then returned to the church to receive his payment from the parson. The latter, as soon as he had performed the service, came with his stole and book towards the innkeeper. " Friend," said he, " go down upon your knees." The other, surprised at this preamble, observed that there was 110 occassion for such ceremony in receiving fifteen-pence. 66 Truly they are not mistaken," said the parson to himself; u this man cannot be in �11 his right senses." Then asuining a tone of soft insinuation, u Come, my good friend," said he, " place your trust in God; he will havre pity on your condition." At the same time he puts the Bible on thp other's head, and begins his prayer.— Nicholas, in anger, pushes away the book; declares he cannot stay to be trifled with, guests being waiting for him at his house; that he wants his fifteen-pence, and has no occasion for prayers. The priest, irritated at this, calls to Lie congregation, as they were going out KA church, and desires thern to seize the ma who was raving. " No, 110! 1 am not mad; and, by Si. Corneille, you shall not trick me in this manner. You engaged to pay me, and 1 will not leave this place till I get my money." " Seize him ! seize him!" cried the priest They accordingly lastened upon the poor devil; one taking hold of his arms, another of his legs, a third clasping him round the middle, while a fourth exhorted him to be composed. He makes violent efforts to gel out of their clutches, swears and foams with rage, like one possessed,—but all in vain ; for the parson puts the stole round his neck, and reads quickly his prayer from beginning to endj without excusing him a single word. - — tJ �After which he sprinkles him copiously with holy water, bestows on him a few benedictions, and lets him loose. The unlucky wight saw clearly that he had been made a dupe—He went home, overwhelmed with shame and vexation at the loss of his fifteen-pence ; but then he had in lieu of them, got a prayer and benediction. �13 THE SOLDIERS WIFE. WALDEN was playing on his flute in a slow and pensive strain, when the mournful cries of a child, and the complaining voice of a woman, struck his ears. 66 Oh ! merciful God ?" exclaimed the poor creature, u hear with compassion the moans of my unhappy babe !" Walden ceased to play, and looking over the hedge, he surveyed the child with compassion, as the woman lay on the grass to rest herself: he asked her, in a soft voice, why the poor infant cried. u He is hungry," replied the wroman, weeping bitterly, u we have not had anything to eat since yesterday morning." u Gracious God! since yesterday morning ! wait here a few minutes, and I will v eturn." He flew away with incredible swiftness, and re-appeared in a short time, with a bowl of milk and a small loaf, towards which the child stretched out his little arms, and the woman to whom he delivered them began to feed it. u Sit down my good woman, and eat of it �* 4 yourself," said Walden, u I will take jarcof your infant." Placing himself on the gTaS3 beside it, he dipped a bit of the loaf in tlie milk, and patiently assisted his little famished charge. The child looked up in his face and smiled: Walden, pleased and affected at this intuitive mark of gratitude, kissed its little forehead. u What is your occupation?" he asked the woman, who was eating with avidity; "you are, I suppose, the mother of this little creature : where do you live ?" u No, it is not my own," replied she, < -and I did not know its parents. I am the wife of a poor soldier, my worthy sir, and I have travelled from beyond Berlin a great way; my husband had been away from me three years, and I wanted to see him again—for I loved him dearly. My own two little children I left with their grandmother, and I sold every thing I did not absolutely want at home, that I might carry him a little trifle of money. Accordingly I set out, and got to the end of my journey just as my husband had marched with his corps to drive a party of Austrians from some little village; so when it was all over, and they had done what they had been ordered, 1 ran to the place to meet him." Here the poor woman burst into tears. �15 u And when I got there lie was dying of his wounds; yet he knew me, and stretched out his hand, saying, < Oh, Annete! our child r e n T h e s e were his last words; I thought I should have died too, but God willed, for the sake of our little ones and this babe, that I shoidd live. In the same house where my poor husband expired, was the wife of an Austrian soldier, who died two days afterwrards, and left this babe, which nobody on earth seemed to take care about. Almost all the village had been burned down, and all the inhabitants had run away; so that when our soldiers marched, I begged them to take the poor child with them ; but then they said to me, 6 What could wre do with it ?' and that was very true; but to let the child stay, and die with hunger, was impossible; so 1 resolved to take it, let what would happen : and I set out to return to my own home, with the babe in mine arms. In my way I was weary enough; but I never met with any body that took compassion on me or my burden, so I walked on; but I fell sick, as you may see by my looks, and spent the little money I had left, and then I sold my clothes and every thing I could spare. All wrent except these poor rags; vet still I thought if I could but get home I should do very well. I am used to hard work, and I could even do for this little creature, who has �16 nobody in the world but me to put a morsel of bread into its poor mouth; so I can't bear to let it starve !" As she said this, she pressed the child to her bosom, and her tears dropped upon it, whilst she repeated, " i f I was but able to work, or I couM but get enough to keep it till I reach my home!" " Poor babe!" said Walden, " poor, yet happy creature, who, in losing her who gave thee birth, found a second mother! eyes that dropt tears of pity on thy lot, and a heart that loves thee! no, thou slialt not from hard necessity be deserted!" Walden then wrote upon a leaf of his pocket-book the name of the woman, and that of the village where she informed him she lived with her family; and giving her a small sum of money, promised that he would remit the same to her every year. The woman, on holding the gold in her hand, which had never contained so much before, exclaimed, " O h ! this is to much, worthy sir:" and being desired to keep it, die added, " w e shall now be rich indeed! my own little ones, and this one, and their grandmother, we shall all be rich !" "Goodcreature!" exclaimed Walden with emotion, " y o u are rich indeed, in a heart to which all other riches are dross! your humanity to this orphan will be better re- �warded ; but if this were my last crown you should have it. Hasten away, or I may be tempted to take the child, to have the pleasure of bringing it up, that it may love me as it will you." On hearing this, the woman hastily pressed the infant to her bosom, and giving Walden a farewell benediction, pursued her journey with alacrity. ) �18 BARON TRENCK. • • BARON TRENCK, at the time of the first war between the king of Prussia and the house of Austria, being young and enterprising, offered himself, with a small band of determined men, to carry off the king of Prussia, when he went out from his camp to reconnoitre the position of the Austrians. In fact, he did attempt the enterprise; but succeeded so ill that he was taken prisoner himself, and condemned to perpetual confinement in the castle of Magdeburgh. The treatment he received was equally singular and cruel. He was chained, standing against the wall; F that, for several years, he coidd neither O sit nor lie down. His gaurds had orders not to let him sleep more than a certain time; very short, but long enough to prevent his strength from being entirely exhausted. He remained four or five years in this dreadfid situation; after which, there being reason to fear he could not live long in that « < state, he was chained in such a manner that he might sit down, which appeared to him to be a great alleviation of his sufferings. He told me himself, that after having suffered �19 severe illness during the first year of his imprisonment, his constitution, which was strong and robust, was so unbroken, that he recovered his health; and though he received no other sustenance than bread and water, yet he was remarkably well, and resumed his former gaiety. In this state of mind he found means to soothe the tedium of so long an imprisonment by making verses; which he set to music as well as he could, and sung for half the day. As he had nothing worse to dread, the king of Prussia was frequently the subject of his songs, and was not spared in them. He also had recourse to the power of imagination, to soothe the horrors of his situation; and the whole time that he did not spend in singing, was passed in turning his ideas to all the agreeable conditions whicli it was possible for him to conceive. He was almost brought to consider these wanderings of his imagination as realities, and to regard his misfortunes as mere dreams. At last the Empress Queen, who for a long time had believed that lie was dead, being informed of his miserable existence, solicited his liberty from the king of Prussia with so much earnestness, that she obtained his release. I saw him at Aix-la-Chapelle, enjoying very good health; having married a handsome woman, the daughter of one of the principal inhabitants of that imperial city, to which �20 lie had retired, that he might not be exposed to the power of an arbitrary goverment. He published several German works, some of which are the fruits of the reflections he made during the time of his imprisonment; some poetry against the king of Prussia, and some details relative to the manner in which he passed his time at MagdeburgL He gave them to me himself; and though his works had no great merit in the style, yet the singularity of his thoughts, and the extraordinary fate of the author, rendered them interesting. What astonished me most in him was, the force of mind, the courage, and the constancy which had supported him in a situation in which there was no hope of his seeing better days. He appeared now to have forgotten the whole, or to recall the remembrance of his past sufferings, only that he might the better enjoy the happiness of his present condition. He was very gay; and there were moments when one might have supposed, without doing him great injustice, that his reason had been in some degree affected by his long confinement; but it was only surprising that this did not appear in a more eminent degree.* * Poor Treiiek, wishing to take a part in the French Revolution, went to Paris in the year 1 7 9 3 , and was guillotined on the 25th of July, 1 7 9 4 , two days before the execution of Robespierre �21 J A C K EASY. 4 But Hmlibras, who scorn'd to stoop To Fortune, or be said to droop, Cheer'd up liiinself with ends of verse, And sayings of philosophers." AMONG the happy people in the world, art those, in whose minds nature or philosophy has placed a kind of acid, with which care or disappointment will not easily mix. This acid differs very much from ill-nature; it is rather a kind of salt, expressed from frequent observations on the folly, the vanity, and the uncertainty of human events; from that best of all philosophy, which teaches us to take men as we find them, and circumstances as they occur, good or bad, for better or lor worse; that dwells not on future prospects, reflects not on past troubles, and cares not a lig for present difficulties, but dexterously turns them to ridicule or advantage; snatching, at every opportunity, accidental pleasures, and nobly bearing up against the rubs of ill-fortune. When reflections upon the troubles of life are mixed up in a disposition naturally illtempered, they compose what is called �22 melancholy; but as they have no chemical affinity with good humour, they will not easily combine; and the small particles that are miscible, produce only the sweet and acid salt of true philosophy. Such a traveller, in his journey through the world, was my honest friend Jack Easy. Jack came to a good fortune at the death of his father, and mounted his hobby without its ever having been properly broken in ; he galloped over the plains of Fancy, went off in a full canter to the road of Dissipation, and leaped over all the five-barred gates of Advice and Discretion. It may naturally be supposed, that before long his filly gave him a fall: poor Jack came down sure enough ; but he only shook himself, brushed off the dirt of the road, and mounted again in as high spirits as ever; excepting, that he nowT began to sit firmer in the saddle, and to look about him : this, however, did not hinder him from getting into a swamp, called a law-suit, where he remained a considerable time before he could get out: his fortune was now reduced from some thousands to a few hundreds; and by this time, no man better knew the way of life than my friend Jack Easy. He had been through all the dirty cross-roads of business, money-borrowing, bankruptcy, and law; and at last arrived at a goal. �23 My friend Jack did not despond; he consoled himself with the reflection that he was a single man; some of his misfortunes were the consequences of his own imprudence, others of unforseen accidents, and most of them originated from his good nature and generosity. He, however, never excused; lie lumped them all together, took them in good part, and blamed nobody but himself; he whistled away his troubles, and often repeated. " I am out of Fortune's power : " H e who is down can sink no lower." The goddess, however, at last put on her best smiles, and paid Jack a visit in the King's-Bench, in the shape of a handsome legacy. Jack smiled at the thing, being, as he called it, so extremely a-propos! and once more mounted his nag. He now rode more cautiously, and turned into the road of Economy, which led to a comfortable inn with the sign of Competency over the door; lie had borrowed a martingale from an old hostler called experience; and for the first time in his life used a curb. He began already to find, that though he did not gallop away as formerly, yet he went on in his journey pleasantly enough. Some dashing riders passed him, laughing at his jog-trot pace; but he had no occassion to envy them long; for presently some of them got into nits, others �24 wore stuck fast in bogs and quagmires, and the rest were thrown from their saddles to the great danger of their necks. Jack Easy, meanwhile, jogged on merrily; hot or cold, wet or dry, he never complained; he now preferred getting off, and opening a gate, to leaping over it; and smiled at an obstacle as at a turnpike, where lie must necessarily pay toll. The man who is contented either to walk, trot, or canter through life, has by much the advantage of his fellow travellers. He suits himself to all paces, and seldom quarrels with the tricks which the jade Fortune is sometimes disposed to play him. You might now see Jack Easy walking his hobby along the road, enjoying the scene around him, with contentment sparkling in his eyes. If the way happened to be crowded with horsemen and carriages, you might observe him very readily taking his own side of the road, and letting them pass. * If it began to rain or blow, Jack only pulled up the collar of his great-coat, flapped his hat, and retreated to the best shelter he could find till the storm was over. Thus my frienu Jack Easy came in with a jog-trot to the end of his journey, leaving his example behind him as a kind of fingerpost for the good of other travellers, FINIS. � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Woodcut 029_a: Title-page illustration of a bull charging a man on rocky terrain. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Storys of the Three Beggars, Soldier's Wife, Baron Trenk, and Jack Easy. Alternative Title An alternative name for the resource. The distinction between titles and alternative titles is application-specific. Soldier's Wife Baron Trenk Jack Easy Extent The size or duration of the resource. 24 pages 16 cm Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9934228083505154">s0585b29</a> Description An account of the resource 31 printed at the foot of the title page Woodcut #29a: Illustration on title-page of a bull charging a man on rocky terrain Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1840-1850 per National Library of Scotland Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Language A language of the resource English Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario Type The nature or genre of the resource fairytale/folk lore # of Woodcuts: 1 Activity: running Animal: bull(s) Bib Context: title-page Chapbook Date: 1841-1850 Chapbook Genre: fairytale/folk tale Chapbook Publisher - Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Gender: man/men Nature: flower(s) Nature: rock(s) Nature: tree(s) Outdoor Scene https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/ee45fbaacfead75f4b81d207502b80b6.pdf 0c002c4d456d9f40f1c4c93bb839d685 PDF Text Text THE GHOST OF MY UNCLE. TO WHICH IS ADDED, THE OUTWITTED TAX-GATHERER. GLASGOW: PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS. 25 ��GHOST OF M Y U N C L E . I AROSE early in the morning, and after taking a good breakfast, set out from home. A quantity of rain had fallen in the night It was, however, fair when I commenced my expedition, and I wished it so to remain. The morning was still and beautiful; it was the early hour of four; I could not yet distinguish the sun, though I was sensible he had left his ocean bed from the beautiful streaks of colouring in the eastern sky. To express the softness, mildness, and calmness of the scenery, at that hour, I cannot find adequate words; those only can conceive it who have witnessed the scene. I had not proceeded more than two miles, before a few drops alarmed me with apprehension of a soaking shower, from a heavy black cloud that was slowly sailing over my head, and my fears were soon realized by a very thick descent that followed, on which I betook �4 myself with all speed to a thatched cottage, that I saw at some distance, for shelter. Many years had elapsed since I had wandered about in this spot in careless infancy, and the pretty secluded cot to which I was advancing, had once been my home. I looked around on the hills and dales, and could easily recognise them as my old acquaintances. ' Ha,' said I, ' ye change not your appearance, ye grow not old in the course of time, the feebleness of age cometh not upon you ;---ye still smile in the brightness of summer, and frown in the lowering winter. For ages ye have reared your towering crests and given food to the flocks and the herds that have chequered your dark surface; ye have given a direction to the murmuring brook that proceeds from you, till it seeks, far distant, the mighty ocean; and while generation after generation hath passed away, ye have preserved unvaried the features ye possessed in ages gone--- Even now, as in years past, my eyes behold the still sunshine sleeping upon your gentle s'oping declivities, interrupted only when the light cloud of spring, for a moment, casts over them its passing shadow ! My cogitations were suddenly interrupted by the gate at the end of the pasture, whichIopened. In another moment I was in the porch of the cottage; I lifted the latch, and went �5 in. The house appeared just the same as I had left it ten years before. The furniture was the same, and each piece occupied the same position. The old clock stood ticking in the corner, as it had done for four-score years, the oaken settle remained behind the door, and my uncle's antique two armed chair by the fire-side; but I saw no living creature in the house besides the cat on the hearthstone. I listened awhile, but could hear nothing. At this I rather wondered, as of yore the house was seldom, scarcely ever, totally deserted. I then went forward into the spence, or country parlour, where I found several neighbour cousins, and the servants, all standing in deep silence around the bed of my dying uncle. On entering, all eyes turned upon me; I was a stranger to most of them; there were, however, one or two who remembered me. I advanced to the bed-side, and the countenance of my uncle for a moment brightened up at my approach, but soon subsided again into a cold tranquil indifference. It was plain that death was rapidly approaching. He had been speechless several hours; consequently we could hold no conversation. He, however, put out his hand, which I grasped with an affection redoubled by the prospect of soon losing him for ever. In my younger days I had lived �with him, and he having no children of his own, was then remarkably fond of me; subsequently that affection was strengthened between us, and although circumstances had cast my lot in another country, yet we had kept up a friendly and affectionate intercourse. Some time previous to his indisposition, I had again removed to within thirty miles of his residence, which was the place from whence I set out on this sorrowful visit. My uncle was a man of sound judgment, keen observation, and cheerful social disposition, joined to a thorough knowledge of mankind; he possessed a good portion of eccentricity and humour. He loved a cheerful glass; he was kind to his servants, and dependants, and though rather of a frugal and saving disposition, yet he was charitable to his poor neighbours. In his freindships he was rather capricious, but firm in his attachment to the kirk and goverment of his country. He was apt to be a little passionate and hasty in his temper; but his resentment was seldom of long duration. He was well beloved by those among whom he dwelt, and might be pronounced a good neighbour, and an excellent subject. By a long course of industry in his profession, he had amassed a pretty good property, the knowledge of which had drawn around him a host of needy �7 relations, who besieged him with flattery and professions, but those attentions were chiefly drawn forth by their hopes of inheriting the old man's property. How he had willed it was not known. He was a man of prudence, and seldom blabbed out his private affairs. On my arrival, I found all the friends about him remarkably attentive and duteous in their behaviour, though it was evident that a good deal of the affection was assumed. Shortly after, he fell into a kind of a dose, and all left the room save an attendant or two. Peggy, the servant who had lived With my uncle fourteen years, now insisted on my taking some refreshment. But I was too much agitated to feel any thing like pleasure in my repast, and what I ate was more to please the faithful old domestic, than from any inclination of my own. When my slight meal was over, I got up and went to the window in a serious and reflecting mood. The afternoon was far advanced, and the scenery without was wrapped in tranquillity. I was soon summoned from my station to the parlour. My uncle had somewhat revived, and his speech had returned. He told us death was making rapid advances, and that we might soon expect the moment of his dissolution. He informed us where we should find his will, and gave us some excellent advice on our future conduct. �8 Some things he requested us to perform, which I thought were a little odd. He wished us to read his will in the room where he was, immediately after he had expired. He desired that he might not he laid out, as it is commonly called, until at least twelve hours after his departure; that his large two armed oaken chair might be placed in all order and solemnity at the head of the table every meal, and that it should remain unoccupied till after his funeral. He also wished to be interred in a very deep grave. All these requests, we promised faithfully to observe, when, after taking an affectinate farewell of each, he quietly resigned himself to his pillow; his breathing became more and more faint, till at last we could perceive it no more. During these transactions my mind was in a state I cannot well describe : my thoughts were all confusion, while at the same time I struggled to be calm and composed. Poignant as were my feelings, I gazed on my dying relative with a sort of apathy and grief, and at the moment when nature was yielding up the contest I could not shed a tear. In a short time all quitted the appartment, and I was left alone. The branches of the huge elm trees, with their thickening foliage, partially screening the window, made it, under such circumstances, �9 awfully gloomy and tranquil. I took several turns about the room, and with a soft step I approached the bed, gazed a moment, turned away, and then going up to the window, strove to divert my thoughts by looking at the surrounding landscape. Twilight was descending, and the sober hues of evening gradually enveloped the lofty hills. No sound struck my ear, except the faint and low murmers of the brook, which brawled down the valley at the bottom of the Flinty Knowe—the shout, softened by distance, of the peasant committing his herds to the pasture—and now and then the solitary barking of a shepherd's dog among the echoing dales, attendant on his master looking out his charge for the night. I had not stood at the casement many minutes when my cousins, all talking in a rude, noisy, and indecorous manner, came into the room with the will, which it seems they had departed in search of the moment the testator had expired. I was a good deal shocked at the frivolity they manifested, and could not help reproving them, though in a mild and gentle manner, for the little respect they paid to the deceased. ' Why ye ken,' said one, 'he tauld us to read the will amaist as soon as he died.''Ay,'cried another, ' and sae in conformity wi' his command, we went straight up the stairs and �10 rummaged o'er his auld kist, till we found it.' ' Mind your ain concerns, gudeman, and we'll mind ours,' rejoined a third, rather gruffly; so that my well meant admonitions had no better effect than to cause me to be more disliked by the party; for I could perceive before this that they looked on me in the light of an unwelcome intruder. The will was now read, to which all paid the greatest attention. A mute anxiety and deep interest sat on every countenance : their aspects was, however, instantly changed into those of intense disappointment and vexation, on hearing that my uncle had made a stranger, whom none of us knew, the heir of all his property, real and personal. For my part, this circumstance did not affect me in the least. I had not had any expectation of inheriting the smallest portion; therefore could not feel disappointed. But with the others it was different; they had clung to him like so many leeches, or like the ivy to the old ruin, and with about as much affection as the two before-mentioned things have for the objects to which they so closely adhere. A most appalling and disgusting scene now took place among the disappointed legacy hunters. They abused the old man in the most shocking terms: they taxed him with injustice and villany, and even proceeded to call down imprecations upon his �11 lifeless corse. I shuddered at the conduct of the unprincipled villains; I trembled at the impiety of men who could, at a time the most solemn and impressive to a human being, act in a manner sufficient to call down upon them immediate and divine vengeance. I was chilled with horror. I almost expected every moment to see the lifeless corse of my uncle start from the bed, on which it lay, to take vengeance on the audacious wretches. Once, indeed, I actually thought I saw his lips quiver with rage—his eyebrows knit together—and all the muscles of his countenance contract into a dreadful frown. I shuddered at the sight, and withdrew my gaze. At length they went into the kitchen, and I was once more left, alone in the chamber of death. I went to the bed-side, and the scene I had just witnessed operated so forcibly tin my feelings, that I burst into tears, and uttered aloud my lamentations overmylifeless relative. When this ebullition had somewhatsubsided,I began to reflect a little where I was, and a sort of timidity came creeping over me. There is an undefinable apprehension which we feel while we are in company with the dead. We imagine, in spite of the efforts of reason, that the departed spirit is hovering near its former tenement, It being now quite dark, and having these �feelings in a strong degree, it is no wonder that I rather preferred the company of the wretches in the kitchen, than to remain long where I was. I accordingly proceeded thither, where I found them all carousing round a large table, on which were placed the fragments of the dinner, and plenty of liquor. I reminded them of our promise to place my uncle's old two armed chair at the head of the table, as he had requested, which they had neglected to do, and which they now strenuously opposed my doing. I was, however, resolutely determined to have it done, and at length succeeded. I then retired to the fireside, where I sat, without taking any part in the conversation, or in any thing that passed during the whole evening. I shall pass over the several succeeding hours, the whole of which they sat drinking, till they were all in a greater or less degree intoxicated, and generally brawling, wrangling, and swearing in a loud and boisterous manner. The night became stormy as it advanced. The wind arose, and at intervals moaned, sighed, and whistled shrilly without, roared in the wide chimney, and as it furiously bent the trees in which the house was embosomed, made a sound similar to the dashing of the waves on the shore of the ocean. The rain fell in torrents, and the �13 large drops pattered against the window with a ceaseless and melancholy cadence. It was now getting nigh the 'witching time of night,' and I saw no signs of the revellers quitting the table. On the contrary, they grew more loud and boisterous. In obedience to their imperious commands, yet evidently with the greatest reluctance, Peggy had kept replenishing the exhausted vessels with more liquor, and their demands increased in proportion to the reluctance with which they were satisfied. At length, however, on receiving an intimation from me that I would interpose, she absolutely refused to draw any more liquor for them, telling them they had plenty, and that it was time to retire to bed. The scene that now ensued was such as is impossible for me to describe; maddened and inflamed with rage at being thus refused, the wretches began to throw the furniture up and down the house, break the glasses and jugs, and to abuse the servant, from whom they attempted to wrest the key of the cellar, yelling out at the same time the most horrid oaths and imprecations. The table was shortly overset, and the lights put out in the scuffle, and in a few moments we should, in all probability, have had blood shed, as I felt myself roused to a pitch of fury, and was advancing with the �14 large heavy headed fire-poker to the assistance of the servant, who was loudly shrieking for help: just then the old clock struck twelve rapid strokes, and the bell had not ceased to vibrate, when we heard three heavy knocks, as if given by a mallet upon the wall, which seperated the kitchen from the parlour where my uncle lay. There appeared to be something supernatural in this. The whole house seemed to shake to its very foundation. A deep silence ensued. I stood still. The wretches instantly became sober. We all gazed earnestly and wildly at the place from whence the noise proceeded. Scarce had we recovered from the shock, when we were again thunderstruck with a noise in the parlour; it was unlike any sound that I had ever heard before. It seemed as if all the furniture in the room was violently crashed together, mingled with the noise of fire-arms. Shrieks and exclamations burst from all. The windows shook and every door of the habitation gave a momentary jar. I trembled with awe. I felt every hair of my head bristling upwards—my knees smote against each other—a deathly paleness sat on every countenance, and all eyes were fixed in an intense gaze on the door, at the upper part of the kitchen, which led to the staircase, buttery, and parlour. When, to complete the horror of the scene, the door burst wide �15 open—dashed against the wall, and in, gliding at a slow pace, came a dreadful apparition. Its countenance was that of death. It seemed to have been long the inhabitant of that dark and narrow house— the grave; the worms had revelled upon its eyes, and left nothing but the orbless sockets. The rest of the skeleton was enveloped in a long and white sheet. The horrid spectre advanced into the middle of the room. I involuntarily shrunk back—the heavy weapon dropped from my hand and rang loudly on the stone floor; overcome with terror, I sank into a chair. A cold sweat broke from my forehead, and I had well nigh fainted on its first appearance; the others had tumbled one over the other, in the greatest horror and confusion, and now lay as if dead in all directions. The spectre gazed wildly round for a moment—at the clock—at the fire—and then turned its eyeless sockets upon each individual, motioning at the same time with its long arm, and pointing to the outer door, seemingly directing to an outlet for an escape, and wishing for their exit. They were not long in obeying this intimation, out severally crawled away on their hands and knees, with all the speed they could possibly make; none of them daring to stand upright. The spectre all the while was �16 standing in the middle of the floor, eyeing, or rather appearing to eye them, through the void sockets, where eyes had once glistened, as they retreated one by one in the greatest fear and trepidation. When Peggy and I offered to decamp along with the rest, the spectre motioned us to remain where we were, and we durst not for our lives disobey. When the last of the crew was making his exit, and had crawled nearly to the door, the spectre, which had hitherto stood motionless, except waving its arm and slowly turning its eyeless countenance on the wretches as they crept successively out of the door, bounded with the rapidity of lightning after the terrified wretch. But swift as the flight of spirits are, in this case that of the mortal was swifter : the fellow gave a thrilling scream—made a convulsive spring—his heels struck violently against the lintel of the door in his course, and he vanished from my sight and the spectre after him. ' Gude defend us,' said Peggy. For my part, ill as I was frightened, I could scarce forbear laughing outright at the last incident so comic and farcical. Half a minute had not elapsed, when I heard a step, and in another instant (I still kept my eyes on the door) in came the very form of my uncle, muttering, ' Villains! Rascals! Hypocrites !' He fastened the door �17 after him, shut out his nephews and the spectre, and then came towards the fire. A t this I was more amazed than ever. He, however, gave me to understand that he was alive and well, and that all I had seen transacted in the afternoon and evening, was nothing but a stratagem he had made use of to try the sincerity of his relations, and if he found them, as he conjectured, false in their professions, to get rid of them. The scheme answered nobly, and, it must be confessed, the stratagem was well planned and exceedingly well executed. My uncle concluded his relation with assuring me, that, excepting a good legacy for his faithful servant Peggy, I should inherit all that he possessed, as some little acknowledgement for the fright he had caused me; and as for the wretches he had expelled from his house, in so singular a manner, they should never more cross the threshold of his door. W e all three now sat down to a little supper, of which my uncle stood in great need, and after taking a cheerful glass retired to bed. Notwithstanding the fatigue of my journey, and sitting up so late, my sleep was far from being sound and refreshing. I was disturbed with fearful dreams the whole night. At length the cocks began to crow —the clouds of the eastern sky to break �18 assunder, and the morning to dawn. When it was tolerably light I started up, resolved on a stroll over the meadows. Before going out, however, I went into the parlour, where I found every thing in the utmost confusion. Chairs, tables, walking-sticks, and logs of wood, lay all over the floor, and every thing upset or in a wrong position. I then proceeded to the outer door, which I opened, but started back in horror, on perceiving a human skull lying on a sheet at my right hand, just without the door. Recovering from my fright, I gathered it up, and could not restrain my laughter, when I discovered it to be nothing more than a mask, representing a death's head. It seems while we were all wrangling the night before, my uncle had stepped out of bed—dressed himself —piled all the furniture, logs of wood and timber, he could in the apartment, in a heap, crowning the pyramid with a dozen or more walking-sticks, which had lain time out of mind on the top of an old cupboard —then gone up stairs and put on the horrid mask—brought down a pistol, and enveloped himself from his feet to his chin, in a clean white sheet; after alarming us, just as the clock struck the awful hour of twelve, by striking three heavy blows against the wall with a huge log of wood, he contrived to tumble down the whole mass of furniture �19 at once—fired his pistol at the same moment, and then burst in upon us in the manner described. I now went out. As I was crossing the yard, I discovered several drops of blood on a stone, which I could no way account for, but by supposing some of my good cousins had received, in their retreat, a fall; and, a little further, I discovered a pair of shoes. A receptacle for the filth of the byre, in another part of the yard, bore evident marks of some one having had therein a severe struggle. Indeed the adventures of the flying heroes had been various and woful; one of them, he at whom the spectre had made such a sudden bound, as I afterwards ascertained, actually ran seven miles without stopping, and with his shrieks, supposing the grim monster close at his heels, almost raised the whole country. I now proceeded onwards over the fields, listening to the warbling lark ' springing blithely up to greet the purpling east.' The air was fresh and pure, and, in the beauties of nature, I awhile forgot the events of the preceding evening. With hasty steps I roved over the faintly recollected scenes, where I had in childhood spent some of my happiest hours, until weary with my rambles I returned to breakfast. �20 OUTWITTING A TAX-GATHERER. SOME writers have stated the number of islands in Strangford Lough to be upwards of two hundred, but it has been ascertained that there are not more than fifty-four. Some are inhabited ; on others cattle of various kinds are kept by the proprietors of the grounds on the opposite shore. Upon one of them there is a very extensive rabbitwarren. The individual who resides on this island had for many years derived a very considerable income from the sale of the rabbit skins, and although he had erected a very good house, he never once dreamed of paying any thing in the shape of excise or taxes. At length, however, a tax-gatherer, who had paid a visit to the houses on the neighbouring shore, beheld with anxious gaze the goodly edifice which presented itself upon the island, and determined upon visiting it in the name of his Majesty. The proprietor of the place, having been in the habit of receiving visits from persons who came to purchase his skins, and supposing the taxman to be one of them, sent off a boat to fetch him to the island. On reaching the place, the man of taxes began to make various enquires as to the time the house had �21 been erected, the number of windows, hearths, &c., it contained: and, having gained the desired information, he immediately demanded, on behalf of his Majesty, a considerable sum, as the amount of taxes and arrears due upon the place. In vain the poor man protested against the proceeding, as an imposition, in vain he contended, that the demand, never having been made before, he had no right to pay it then. The stranger was inexorable, and nothing would satisfy him but the payment of the money down, or, in default thereof, he threatened to return direct, with a party of the army, and lead, drive, and carry away all that he couldfinduponthe island. Atlength,fearing such a catastrophe, and finding every effort to soften the hard heart of the exciseman completely fruitless, the poor man paid down the amount demanded, and got a regular acknowledgement for the same; and the officer, having put the money in his pocket, haughtily desired that he might be put ashore. ' No, no,' said the old man ; 'althoughhis Majesty may compel me to pay taxes, he cannot compel me to keep a boat to row you, and the likes ofyou,back and forward.' After many threats and entreaties, the, islanderatlastconsented,as he had brought his visitorover,togivehim ' a bit of arow'backagain;andboth �getting into the boat, along with a young lad, son to the proprietor, they pulled for some time in the direction of shore. When about midway, however, the islander, quietly laying down his oar, informed the officer, that although he had promised to give him ' a bit of a row,'he had never any intention of taking him the entire way, and that he must now do the best he could, as he was himself obliged to return to the island, or that they would land him on Phaddy Lhug, (a large rock, which was visible at low water, but was many feet beneath the surface at full tide,) from which, if he shouted loud enough, perhaps some of his friends on the shore might hear him, and send a boat to convey him the remainder of the distance. On the other protesting against such conduct, and insisting that they should continue their labour, and take him ashore—the old man, pulling his oar into the boat, and desiring his son to do the same, very drily observed, that if the gentleman did not wish to quit the boat, they would not insist upon his doing so, as they ' could swim like two water dogs, and thus easily regain the island; but that if he chose to pay him for it, he would willingly land him at any place he wished. Finding himself outwitted by the islanders, the officer deemed it the more advisable way to accede to the terms proposed—when, to his �23 astonishment, he found that the demand was nothing less than the entire amount he had received for the taxes, together with a receipt for those of the following year, and a special engagement, that he would never again return to that island to demand taxes on excise. Hard as the terms were, he was at length compelled to accede to them, rather than take on a tide which, at the time, was running at the rate of nine mites an hour, the alternative of being left to drift out to sea in an open boat, with scarcely a hope of relief from any quarter. It is scarcely necessary to observe, that having paid back the money, and giving the required receipt, the crestfallentaxmanwas put safely ashore, and never again visited the island, or trusted himself in company with so tricky a customer as the old dealer in rabbit skins. SCARLET DISCOVERED. A Highlander entered a haberdasher's shop in Perth, and asked for a piece of scarlet cloth to make him a waistcoat. The rustic manner of the Gael set some young women who were at the counter a-giggling; and the shopman, willing to afford them sport, began to play off his small wit upon the �24 stranger. " So, goodman, ye want a piece of scarlet ? Would you know scarlet if you saw it?" " I tink I would," replied the mountaineer. The shopman threw down a piece of blue cloth: " Is that scarlet ?" " Hout no, no! that no be it." A piece of green cloth was produced; the same question was repeated, and received a similar answer to the great amusement of the querist and his female friends, who were at no pains to conceal their mirth. The Highlander took revenge in his own way ; He put his nose to the cloth, and affected to judge of the colour by the smell. The shopman, at request, did the same; but the instant he bent his nose towards the counter, the Highlander seized him by the ears, and made his nasal protuberance come, in such violent contact with the boards, that the blood sprung from it " Tat," said the Highlander, " i s ta colour o', scarlet tae ye noo, lad;" and he walked away. � https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/5f93b7a2701fc16b147fb28c25a60766.jpg 16b01e124a931a6ad032976f2674b360 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Woodcut portraying outdoor scene with man in boat in foreground and village in background; a basket and anchor on path leading to village Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Woodcut 027: Title-page illustration of a man in a small boat. A village can be seen in the background. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Ghost of My Uncle. To which is added, the Outwitted Tax-Gatherer. Alternative Title An alternative name for the resource. The distinction between titles and alternative titles is application-specific. The Outwitted Tax-Gatherer Extent The size or duration of the resource. 24 pages 15 cm Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9934228043505154">s0585b34</a> Description An account of the resource 25 printed at the foot of the title page Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource ca.1840-1850? Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario Subject The topic of the resource Chapbooks - Scotland - Glasgow Type The nature or genre of the resource supernatural & ghost stories Architecture: city view Bib Context: title-page Chapbook Date: 1841-1850 Chapbook Genre: supernatural Chapbook Publisher - Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Gender: man/men Object: anchor(s) Object: basket(s) Outdoor Scene Transportation: ship/boat(s) https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/8d9380d55c332591430ba8e53d9a17d0.jpg e32c68b335c29afde46fa6beaa5f9e16 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Woodcut on title-page portraying a man wearing a hat, kilt, and plaid socks holding an upright rifle. To his left is a door marked with the letter V https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/04173de2230ee97b8691b56ec3e8ff6b.pdf b6f5cabe7a639a6fe3a2274f08150103 PDF Text Text THE BATTLE OP PHILIPHAUQH; TOGETHER WITH THE BATTLE OF LOUBONHILL, AND AUCHINDOWN, GLASGOW: PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS. 80. �THE BATTLE OF PHILIPHAUGH. On Pliiliphaugh a fray began, At Hairhead wood it ended ; The Scots out o'er the Graemes they ran, Sae merrily they bended. Sir David frae the border came, W i ' heart an' hand came he ; Wi' him three thousand bonnie Scots, To bear him company. W i ' him three thousand valiant men, A noble sight to see! A cloud o' mist them weel concealed, As close as e'er might be. When they came to the Shaw burn, Said he, " Sae weel we frame, I think it is convenient, That we should sing a psalm." When they came to the Lingly burn, As day-light did appear, They spy'd an aged father, And he did draw t. em near. �" Come hither, aged father!" Sir David he did cry, " And tell me where Montrose lies, With all his great army. " But, first, you must come tell to me. If friends or foes you be ; I fear you are Montrose's men, Come frae the north country." " No, we are nane o' Montrose's men, Nor e'er intend to be ; I am Sir David Lesly, That's speaking unto thee." " If you're Sir David Lesly, As I think weel ye be, < I'm sorry ye ha'e brought so few Into your company. There's fifteen thousand armed men, Encamped on yon lee ; Ye'll never be a bite to them, For aught that I can see. 44 " But, halve your men in equal parts, Your purpose to fulfil; Let ae half keep the water side, The rest gae round the hill. " Your nether party fire must, Then beat a flying drum; And then they'll think the day's their ain, And frae the trench they 11 come. �4 " Then, those that are behind them maun Gi'e shot, baith grit and sma'; And so, between your armies twa, Ye may make them to fa'." " 0 were ye ever a soldier ? " Sir David Lesly said; " 0 yes; I was at Solway flow, Where we were all betray'd. " Again I was curst at Dunbar, And was a pris'ner ta'en : And many a weary night and day, In prison I lia'e lien." " If ye will lead these men aright, Rewarded shall ye be ; But, if that ye a traitor prove, I'll hang thee on a tree." " Sir, I will not a traitor prove ; Montrose has plundered me ; I'll do my best to banish him Away frae this country." He halv'd his men in equal parts, His purpose to fulfil; The one part kept the water side, The other gaed round the hill. The nether party fired brisk, Then turn'd and seem'd to rin; And then they a' came frae the trench, And cry'd, " The day's our ain!" �5 The rest then ran into the trench, And loos'd their cannons a ' ; And thus, betweeen his armies twa, He made them fast to fa'. Now, let us a' for Lesly pray, And his brave company! For they ha'e vanquish'd great Montrose, Our cruel enemy. T H E B A T T L E OF LOUDON-HILL. marvel when I tell ye o* Our noble Burly, and his train ; When last he march'd up thro' the land, Wi' sax-and-twenty westland men. YOU'L Than they I ne'er o' braver heard, For they had a* baith wit and skill; They proved right well, as I heard tell. As they cam* up o'er Loudon-hill. Weel prosper a' the gospel lads, That are into the west countrie ; Ay wicked Claver'se to demean, And ay an ill dead may he die! For he's drawn up i' battle rank, An' that baith soon and hastilie ; But they wha live till simmer come, Some bludie days for this will see. s �6 But up spak' cruel Claver'se then, W i ' hastie wit, an' wicked skill; " G i ' e fire on yon westlan' men ; I think it is my sov'reign's will." But up bespake his cornet, then, " It's be wi' nae consent o' me! I ken I'll ne'er come back again, An* mony mae as weel as me. '* There is not ane of a' yon men, But wha is worthy other three ; There is na ane amang them a', That in his cause will stap to die. " An' as for Burly, him I knaw ; He's a man of honour, birth, an' fame Gi'e him a sword into his hand, He'll fight thysel' an' other ten." But up spake wicked Claver'se then, I wat his heart it raise fu' hie! And he has cry'd that a' might hear, " Man, ye ha'e sair deceived me. " I never ken'd the like afore, Na, never since I came frae hame, That you sae cowardly here .suld prove, An' yet come of a noble Graeme." But up bespake his cornet, then, 44 Since that it is your honour's will, Mysel' shall be the foremost man, That shall gi'e fire on Loudon-liill. �r» 4 " At your command 1*11 lead them on, But yet wi' nae consent o' me ; F o r Weel I ken I'll ne'er return, A n d mony mae as weel as me." Then up he drew in battle rank; I wat he had a bonnie train! But the first time that bullets flew, Ay he lost twenty o' his men. Then back he came the way he gaed, I wat right soon and suddenly! He gave command amang his men, And sent them back, and bade them flee. Then up came Burly, bauld an' stout, W i s little train o' Westland men ; Wha inair than either aince or twice In Edinburgh confined had been. They ha'e been up to London sent, An' yet they're a' come safely flown ; Sax troop o' horsemefc they ha'e beat, And chased them into Glasgow town. AUCHINDOWN. AT Auchindown, the tenth of June, Sae merry blythe, and gay. Sir, Each lad and lass did fill a glass. And drink a health that day, Sir �8 We drank a health, and nae by stealth, 'Mang kimmers bright and lordly: " King James the Eighth! for him we'll'fight, And down wi' cuckold Geordie!" We took a spring, and danc'd a fling, And wow but we were vogie! We didna fear, though we lay near The Campbells, in Stra'bogie ; Nor yet the loons, the black dragoons, At Fochabers a-raising: If they durst come, we'd pack them home, And send them to their grazing. We fear'd no harm, and no alarm, No word was spoke of dangers; We join'd the dance, and kiss'd the lance, And swore us foes to strangers, To ilka name that dar'd disclaim Our Jamie and his Charlie. " King James the Eighth! for him we'll fight, And down the cuckold carlie!" � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Woodcut 026: Title-page illustration of a Highland soldier in a kilt and plaid socks holding an upright rifle in a outdoor scene. A door in background is imprinted with the letter "V". Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Battle of Philiphaugh; together with the Battle of Loudon-Hill, and Auchindown. Alternative Title An alternative name for the resource. The distinction between titles and alternative titles is application-specific. Battle of Loudon-Hill Auchindown Extent The size or duration of the resource. 8 pages 15 cm Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9934228133505154">s0585b36</a> Description An account of the resource 80 printed at the foot of the title page Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1840-1850 per National Library of Scotland Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario Type The nature or genre of the resource ballads & songs Subject The topic of the resource War Covenanters Philiphaugh, Battle of, Scotland, 1645 Chapbooks - Scotland - Glasgow # of Woodcuts: 1 Bib Context: title-page Chapbook Date: 1841-1850 Chapbook Genre: ballads & songs Chapbook Publisher - Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Fashion (Clothing): feather bonnet Fashion (Clothing): Highland attire Fashion (Clothing): kilt Fashion (Clothing): military Fashion (Clothing): sporran Gender: man/men Indoor Scene Occupation: soldier Weapons: gun(s) https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/1a8190ca1f72735aa2352c427ddd32fe.jpg ecda922a33784dfa17879c656e23a9c0 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Illustration on title-page of a woman praying before an altar on top of which is an open book https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/b27b59778afb179513e79310cc45164a.pdf e7f0df7c8cbbbcc3735327527f6bf980 PDF Text Text Fair Margaret's Misfortunes T o which arc added, A Cogie of Ale. The weary pund o' Tow. Song in Rosina. EDINBURGH— rRINTXD FOR TH6 BOOKSELLERS. �fair Margarets misfortunes. As it fell out upon a day, two lovers they sat upon a hill: They sat together a long summed day, and could not take their fill. 1 see no harm hy you Marjaret, and you sec none by me; Before to morrow at eight clock, a rich we J ding you shall sot* Fair Margaret sat in her bower window a combing of her hair ; There 6he ip>M sweet William and bri If, as they were a riding near. ©own the laid her iv.ry comb, and up she bound her hair, She went away forth from the bower, and never more e&jse there. Whc-n day was gone, and night was iiosae, and all m:n frst asleep, There came the spirit of Pair Margaret, and stood at WillismVbed-feet. �God give you joy, you true lovers, in bride-bed fast asleep, Lo 1 I a« going to my green-gTais grove, an] I am is my winding sheet When Jay was come aad ni^ht was gone, and all men wak'd from sleep. Sweet Wilium to his lady said, my dear, I've cause to weep. I dream'd a dream my dear Lidy such dreams are never good s I dream'd thy bow'r was full of red swfne, and thy bride-bed ful of blood* Such dreams such dreams, my honoured Sir, they never do prjve good ; To dretaa my bower was full of red swin?, and my bri'le-bed full of blood. He called up his merry men ail, by one by two and by three, Saying, I'll away to fair Margaret's bower, by the have of ray fair lady. And when he came to fair Margaret's bo*er, he knocked at t'.e ring: �4 So ready were the seven bn tbren to let 8wetf William in, Then he turned up the winding s^eet, pray let me set the dead Methinks she looks both pale anl wan, she ba4 lost her cherry reJ. I will do more for the«, Margtiet, th»n any of thy kio, For \ will kisa thy psle wan lips, though a w$iie I cannot win. With that Uspokt the seven brethren, making most piteous moan, You may go kiss your jolly brow* dame, and let our sister alone. If I do kiss my jolly brown dame, I da but what is right, For I made DO VOW to your sister dear, by day nor yet by eight. Fray tel/ me then how much you'll deal oi white bread and of wine, So mnc i as is dealt at he,; funeral to-iay, t;-mcrrcw shall be desit ss mine. l �5 Fair Margaret dy'd to-day to-day, •weet William hp dy d the morrow; Fair Margaret dy d for pure true love, •weet William ha dy d for aorro*. Margaret wai buried in the totrtr chancel, and Williaai in the higher Out of her breast there «pr**g, and out of hie a briar. N % They greJ* a« high a« the church top, 'till they could grow no Hghsr ; A*d there grew in a True-lover'a knot, that mado all people admire. Then came the clerk of the pariah, as you this truth ahall hear, And by misfortunes cut them dowa, or they had BOW b2en there. A COGIE OF ALE. A C O G I E of ale, and a pickle alt meal, And a dainty wee drappie o' whisky, Was our forefather'* dose to swell down'thiir brcie Aod make them blytje cheery, and frisky. �6 Then hey for the cogie and bey for the ale, Acd hey for the whisky and bey for the mt*l, When m:Vd a' thtgitler they do unco weel; TG> &&k a cbicld cheery and brisk ay, As I view our Scots lads in their kilts cod cotkad*6, A' blofimiig tnii fresh as a rose, man; I ifeink wi znysel 0* the meal and the ale, Aod the frui's o* our Scottish kail brose maa; Ttien hey for the co^ie. &J. x Whoa our brave Htghlaad blades, wf tkeir clay* mores and plaids, In the field, drive like #be*p a1 our fres, fttaa, "Fheir courage andpow'r, spring frae thif, to besurt, They're the noblt effrcU of the bro*e, wan, T£en hey fop the cogie, &c. t Tut your spindle-shack'd sparks, wha but ill »et their sarks, And ycur pale-vbaged milksops, and beaua, t&aa. I think when I see them 'twei^e kindneal to gi'e them, & A cogie of *le aa3 pf brose man. Then h*y for the co^ie, �t h e w e a r y PUND 0 ' TOIV. The weary pun& the weary punl> The weary pnnd o' tow; I think my wife will and her life Before she spin her tow, I bought m? wife a staae o' lint, as good as e'er did grow, And a that she has made o' tint Is ae puir puud o tow. The-e sat a bottle in a nook Ayont the ingle low, And ay she took the ither souk to drouk the stourie tow. Quoth I, for shame, ye dirty dame, Gae 6pin your tap o* tow: She took the rock, and w: knock, She brak it o'er my pow. At last her feet, (I fang to tee't) Gaed foremost o'er a knowe; And ere I wed another j&de, I'll wallop in a tow. 9 x �? SONG IN R3S1M When William at eve meets me dowa at the »til<% UQW gwtet is the nightingale^ song, Of the day I forget all the labour and toil whilst the mo< n plays yon branches ameeg. By her beams without blushing I hear hitt complain and believe every word of his seng: You know tot bow sweet Hi* to love the dear swab), whilst the moon plays yon branches among. FINIS. � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Woodcut 025: Title-page illustration in a single ruled border of a woman praying before an altar on top of which is a book. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Fair Margaret's Misfortunes; to which are added, A Cogie of Ale. The weary pund o' Tow. Song in Rosina. Alternative Title An alternative name for the resource. The distinction between titles and alternative titles is application-specific. A Cogie of Ale The weary pund o' Tow Song in Rosina Extent The size or duration of the resource. 8 pages 16 cm Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9934220883505154">s0585b51</a> Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner. Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1815-1825? Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Edinburgh: Printed for the Bookseller Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario Subject The topic of the resource Chapbooks - Scotland - Edinburgh Courtship and Marriage Alcohol Type The nature or genre of the resource ballads & songs Description An account of the resource Woodcut #25: Illustration on title-page of a woman praying before an altar on top of which is an open book. Activity: praying Architecture: window(s) Bib Context: title-page Chapbook Date: 1811-1820 Chapbook Date: 1821-1830 Fashion (Clothing): upper class Furniture: altar Gender: woman/women Indoor Scene Object: book(s) https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/42dbb0dede9ae3a3a5d2ee3f6babf05d.pdf 6fae4ad94569c572c30f022e0d63dbdd PDF Text Text STORYS YOUNG OF ROBBER, AD N PUSS IN BOOTS. 1 GLASGOW: 29 ��STORY OF THE YOUNG ROBBER. I WAS born at the little town of Frosinone, which lies at the skirts of the Abruzzi. M y father had made a little property in trade, and gave me some education, as he intended me for the church; but I had kept gay company too much to relish the cowl, so I grew up a loiterer about the place. I was a heedless fellow, a little quarrelsome on occasion, but goodhumoured in the main; so I made my way very well for a time, until I fell in love. There lived in our town a surveyor or land-bailiff of the prince's, who had a young daughter, a beautiful girl of sixteen: she was looked upon as something better than the common run of our townsfolk, I saw her occasionally, and became madly in love with her she looked so fresh and tender, and so different from the sun-burned females to whom I had been accustomed. A s my father kept me in money, I of showing myself off to advantage in the eyes of the little beauty. I used to see her always and was kept al dressed we �4 at church ; and as 1 could play a little upon the guitar, I gave a tune sometimes under her window of an evening; and I tried to have interviews with her in her father's vineyard, not far from the town, where she sometimes walked. She was evidently pleased with me, but she was young and s h y ; and her father kept a strict eye upon her, and took alarm at my attentions, for he had a bad opinion of me, and looked for a better match for his daughter. I became furious at the difficulties thrown in my way, having been accustomed always to easy success among the women, being considered one of the smartest young fellows of the place. Her father brought home a suitor for her, a rich farmer from a neighbouring town. T h e wedding-day was appointed, and preparations were making at her window, and 1 thought she looked sadly at me. I determined the match should not take place, cost what it might. I met her intended bridegroom in the market place, and could not restrain the expression of when I drew my stiletto and stabbed him to the heart. 1 fled to a neighbouring church for refuge, and with a little money I obtained absolution, but I did not dare to venture from my asylum. At that time our captain was forming his �5 troop. He had known me from boyhood ; and hearing' of my situation, came to me in secret, and made such offers, that I agreed to enrol myself among his followers. Indeed, I had more than once thought of taking to this mode of life, having known several brave fellows of the mountains, who used to spend their money freely among us youngsters asylum late one night, repaired to the appointed were for some time in a distant part of the mountains, and our wild adventurous kind of life hit my fancy wonderfully, and diverted my thoughts. A t length they returned with all their violence to the recollection of Rosetta : the solitude in which I often found myself gave me time to brood over her image; and, as I have kept watch at night over our sleeping camp in the mountains, my feelings have been roused almost to a fever. A t length we shifted our ground, and determined to make a descent upon the road between Terracina and Naples. In the course of our expedition we passed a day or two in the woody mountains which rise above Frosinone. I cannot tell you how I felt when I looked down upon the place, and distinguished the residence of Rosetta. I of the town place of meeti �V determined to have an interview with h e r ; but to what purpose ? I could not expect that she would quit her home, and accompany me in mv hazardous life among the mountains. She had bee for that; and when I looked upon the women who were associated with some of our troop, I could not have borne the thoughts of her being their companion. A l l return to my former life was likewise hopeless, for a price was set upon my head. Still I determined fruitlessness of the thing made me furious to accomplish it. It is about three weeks since I persuaded our captain to draw down to the vicinity of Frosinone, in hopes of entrapping some of its principal inhabitants, and compelling them to a ransom. W e were l y i n g in ambush towards evening, not far from the vineyard of Rosetta's father. I stole quietly from my companions, and drew near to reconnoitre the place of her frequent walks. How my heart beat when among the vines I beheld the gloaming of a white dress ! I knew it must be Rossetta's; it being rare for any female of the place to dress in white. I advanced secretly and without noise, until, putting aside the vines, and stood suddenly before her. She uttered a piercing shriek, but I seized her in my arms, put my hand �7 upon her mouth, and conjured her to be silent. I poured out all the frenzy of m y passion; offered to renounce my mode of life; to put my fate in her hands; to fly with her where we might live in safety together. A l l that I could say or do would not pacify her. Instead of love, horror and affright seemed to have taken possession of her breast. She struggled partly from my grasp, and filled the air with her cries. In an instant the captain and the rest of my companions were around us. I would have given any thing at that moment had she been safe out of our hands, and in her father's house. It was too late. The captain pronounced her a prize, and ordered that she should be borne to the mountains. I represented had a previous claim to her; and I mentioned bitterly in reply; observed that brigands had no business with village intrigues, and that, according to the laws of the troop, all spoils of the kind were determined by lot. Love and jealously were r a g i n g in my heart, but I had to choose between obedience and death. I surrendered her to the captain, and we made for the mountains. She was overcome by affright, and her steps were so feeble and faltering that it was necessary to support her. I could not en- to him my form �dure the idea that my comrades should touch her, and assuming a forced tranquility, begged that she might be confided to me, as one to whom she was more accustomed. The captain regarded me, for a moment, with a searching look, but I bore it without flinching, and he consented. I took her in my arms; she was almost senseless. Her head rested on my shoulder; I felt her breath on my face, and it seemed to fan the flame which devoured me. Oh G o d ! to have this glowing treasure in my arms, and yet to think it was not mine! W e arrived at the foot of the mountain. I ascended it with difficulty, particularly where the woods were thick, but I would not relinquish my delicious burden. I reflected do so. T h e thoughts that so delicate a creature must be abandoned to my rude companions, maddened me. I felt tempted, the stiletto in my hand, to cut my way through them all, and bear her off in triumph. I scarcely conceived the idea before I saw its rashness; but my brain was fevered with the thought that any but myself should enjoy her ch my companions by the quickness of my movements,' and to get a little distance ahead in case any favourable opportunity of escape should present. Vain effort! �9 T h e voice of the captain suddenly ordered a halt. I trembled, but had to obey. The poor girl partly opened a languid eye, but was without strength or motion. I laid her upon the grass. T h e captain darted on me a terrible look of suspicion, and ordered me to scour the woods with my companions in search of some shepherd, who might be sent to her father's to demand a ransom. I saw at once the peril. T o resist with violence was certain death, but to leave her alone, in the power of the captain ! I spoke out then with a fervour, inspired by my passion and my despair. I reminded the captain that I was the first to seize her; that she was my prize; and that myprevious sacred among my companions. I insisted, therefore, that he should pledge me his word to respect her, otherwise I should refuse obedience to his orders. His only reply was to cock his carbine, and at the signal my comrades did the same. They laughed with cruelty at my impotent rage. What could I do? I felt the madness of resistance. I was menaced on all hands, and my companions obliged me to follow them. She remained alone with the chief yes, alone and almost lifeless ! Here the robber paused in his recital, overpowered by his emotions, Great drops of �10 sweat stood on his forehead; he panted rather than breathed; his brawny bosom rose and fell like the waves of a troubled sea. i When he had become a little calm, he continued I was not long in finding a shepherd, said he. I ran with the rapidity of a deer, eager, if possible, to get back before what I dreaded might take place. I had left my companions far behind, and I rejoined them before they had reached onehalf the distance I had made. I hurried them back to the place where we had left the captain. As we approached, I beheld him seated by the side of Rosetta. His triumphant look, and the dessolate condition of the unfortunate girl, left me no doubt of her fate. I know not how I restrained my fury. It was with extreme difficulty, and by guiding her hand, that she was made to trace a few characters, requesting her father to send three hundred dollars as her ransom. The letter was dispatched by the shepherd. When he was gone, the chief turned sternly t o m e : " Y o u have set an example," said he, " o f mutiny and self-will, which, if indulged, would be ruinous to the troop. Had I treated you as our laws require, this bullet would have been driven through your brain. But you are an old friend; I have borne patiently with your fury and your hi �11 folly. 1 have even protected you from a foolish passion that would have unmanned you. A s to this girl, the laws of our association he gave his commands: lots were drawn, an I the helpless girl was abandoned to the troop. must have their c Here the robber paused again, panting with fury, and it was some moments before he could resume his story. Hell, said he, was r a g i n g in my heart. 1 beheld the impossibility of avenging myself; and I felt that, according to the articles in which we stood bound to one another, the captain was in the right. I rushed with frenzy from the place; I threw myself upon the earth ; tore up the grass with my hands, and beat my head and gnashed my teeth in agony and rage. When at length I returned, I beheld the wretched victim, pale, dishevelled, her dress torn and disordered. A n emotion of pity, for a moment, subdued my fierce feelings. I bore her to the foot of a tree, and leaned her gently against it. I took my gourd, which was filled with wine, and applying it to her lips, endeavoured to make her swallow a little. T o what a condition was she once seen the pride of Frosinone! whom but a short time before I had beheld sporting in her father's vineyard, so fresh, and beautiful, and happy! �12 her eyes fixed on the ground; her form without motion, and in a state of absolute insensibility, I hung over her in an agony of recollection at all that she had been, and of anguish at what I now beheld her. I darted round a look of horror at my companions, who seemed exulting in the downfall of an angel! and I felt a horror at myself for being their accomplice. T h e captain, always suspicious, saw, with his usual penetration, what was passing within me, and ordered me to go upon the ridge of the woods, to keep a look-out over the neighbourhood, and await the return of the shepherd. I obeyed, of course, stifling the fury that raged within me, though I felt for the moment that he was my most deadly foe. On my way, however, a ray of reflection came across my mind. I perceived that the captain was but following, with strictness, the terrible laws to which we had sworn fidelity. T h a t the passion by which I had been blinded might, with justice, have been fatal to me, but for his forbearance ; that lie had penetrated my soul, and had taken precautions, by sending me out of the way, to prevent my committing any excess in my anger. From that instant I felt that I was capable of pardoning him. �13 Occupied with these thoughts, I arrived at the foot of the mountain. T h e country was solitary and secure, and in a short time I beheld the shepherd at a distance crossing the plain. I hastened to meet him. He had obtained nothing. He had found the father plunged in the deepest distress. He had read the letter with violent emotion, and then calming himself with a sudden exertion, he had replied coldly, " M y daughter has been dishonoured by those wretches : let her be returned without ransom, or let her die I" I shuddered at this reply. I knew, according was inevitable. O u r oaths required it. I felt, nevertheless, that not having been able to have her to myself, I could become her executioner! T h e robber again paused with agitation. 1 sat musing upon his last frightful words, which proves to what excess the passions may be carried when escaped from all moral restraint. There was a horrible verity in this story that reminded me of some of the tragic fictions of Dante. W e now come to a fatal moment, resumed the bandit. A f t e r the report of the shepherd, I returned with him, and the chieftain received from his lips the refusal of the father. A t a signal, which we all understood, to the laws of �14 we followed him to some distance from the victim. He there pronounced her sentence of death. Every one stood ready to execute his order; but I interfered. I observed that there was something due to pity as well as to justice. That I was as ready as any one to approve the implacable law, which was to serve as a warning to all those who hesitated to pay the ransoms demanded for our prisoners ; but that though the sacrifice was proper, it ought to be made without cruelty. The night is approaching,continue let her then be dispatched. A l l I now claim on the score of former fondness for her is, let me strike the blow. I will do it as surely, but more tenderly than another. Several raised their voices against my proposition, but the c them. He told me I might conduct her into a thicket at some distance, and he relied upon my promise. I hastened to seize upon my prey. There was a forlorn kind of triumph at having at length become her exclusive possessor. I bore her off into the thickness of the forest She remained in the same state of insensibility did not recollect me; for had she once murmured and stupo my name �15 him who was to poniard her. Many were the conflicts I underwent before I could bring myself to strike the blow. But my heart had become sore by the recent conflicts it had undergone, and I dreaded lest, by procrastination, some other should become her executioner. When her repose had continued for some time, I separated myself gently from her, that I might not disturb her sleep, and seizing suddenly my poinard, plunged it into her bosom. A painful and concentrated murmur, but without anyconvulsive sigh. So perished this unfortunate! �16 PUSS IN BOOTS. THERE was a miller who had three sons, and when he died he divided what he possessed He gave his mill to the eldest, his ass to the second, and his cat to the youngest. Each of the brothers accordingly took what belonged to him without the help of an attorney, who would soon have brought their little fortune to nothing in law-expenses. The poor young fellow who had nothing but the cat complained that he was hardly used: " M y brothers," said he, " by joining in the world; but for me, when I have eaten my cat, and made a fur-cap of his skin, I may soon die of h u n g e r ! " The cat, which all this time sat listening just inside the door of a cupboard, now ventured to come out, and addressed him as follows: " Do not thus afflict yourself, my good master; you have only to give me a bag, and get a pair of boots made for me, so that I may scamper through the dirt and the brambles, and you shall see that you are not so ill provided for as you imagine." Though the cat's master did not much among- the their �17 depend upon these promises yet as he had often observed the cunning tricks Puss used to catch rats and mice, such as hanging by the hindlegs, and hiding in the meal to make them believe that he was dead, he did not entirely despair of his being of some use to him in his unhappy condition. When the cat had obtained what he asked for, he gaily began to equip himself; he drew on the boots and putting the bag about his neck, he took hold of strings with his forepaws, and, bidding his master take courage, immediately sallied forth. The first attempt Puss made was to go into a warren, in which there was a great number of rabbits. He put some bran and some parsley into his b a g ; and then, stretching himself out at full length as if he was dead, he waited for some young rabbits, (which as yet knew nothing of the cunning tricks of the world) to come and get into the bag, the better to feast upon the dainties he had put into it. Scarcely had he lain down before he succeeded young rabbit crept into the bag, and the cat immediately drew the strings, and killed him without mercy. Puss, proud of his prey, hastened directly to the palace, where he asked to speak to the king. On being shown into the apart as well as �18 meat of his majesty, he made a low bow, and s a i d , " I have brought you, sire, this rabbit from the warren of my lord the marquis o present it to your majesty with the assurance of his respect." This was the title the cat thought proper to bestow upon his master. " Tell my lord marquis of Carabas," replied the king, " th with pleasure, and that I am greatly obliged to him." Soon after the cat laid himself down in the same manner in a field of corn, and had as much good fortune as before; for two fine partridges got into his bag, which he immediately killed and carried to the palace. The k i n g received them as he had done the rabbit, and ordered his servants to give the messenger something to drink. In this manner he continued to carry presents of game to the k i n g from my lord marquis of Carabas, once at least every week. One day, the cat having heard that the king intended to take a ride that morning by the river side with his daughter, who was the most beautiful princess in the world, he said to his m a s t e r , " I f you will but off your clothes, and bathe yourself in the river, just in the place I shall show you, and leave the rest to me." follow m �The marquis of Carabas did exactly as he was desired, without being able to guess at what the cat intended. While he was bathing the k i n g passed by, and Puss directly called out as loud as he could bawl, " Help! help! my lord marquis of Carabas is in danger of being drowned!" The k i n g hearing the cries, put his head out at the window of his carriage to see what was the matter; when, perceiving the very cat which had brought him so many presents, he ordered his attendants to go directly to the assistance of my lord marquis of Carabas. While they were employed in taking the marquis out of the river, the cat ran to the king's carriage and told his majesty, that while his master was bathing, some thieves had run off with his clothes as they lay by the river side, the cunning cat all the time having hid them under a large stone. The k i n g hearing this, commanded the officers of his wardrobe to fetch one of the handsomest suits it contained, and present it to my lord marquis of Carabas, at the same time loading him with a thousand attentions. A s the fine clothes they brought him made him look like a gentleman, and set off his person, which was very comely, to the greatest advantage, the king's daughter was mightily taken with his appearance, �20 and the marquis of Carabas had no sooner cast upon her two or three respectful glances, than she became violently in love with him. The k i n g insisted on his getting into the carriage, and taking a ride with them. The cat, enchanted to see how well his scheme was likely to succeed, ran before to a meadow that was reaping, and said to the reapers, " Good people, If you do not tell the king, who will soon pass this way, that the meadow you are reaping belongs to my lord marquis of Carabas, you shall be chopped The k i n g did not fail to ask the reapers to whom the meadow belonged. " T o my lord marquis of Carabas," said they all at once; for the threats of the cat had terribly frightened them. " Y o u have hear a very fine piece of land, my lord marquis," said the king. " T r u l y , sire," replied he, " i t does not fail to bring me every year a plentiful The cat, which still went on before, now came to a field where some other labourers were making sheaves of the corn they had reaped, to whom he said as before, "Good people, if you do not tell the k i n g , who will presently pass this way, that the corn you have reaped in this field belongs to my lord marquis of Carabas, you shall be chopped as small as minced meat." harvest." �J 21 The king accordingly passed a moment after, and inquired to whom the corn he saw belonged. " T o my lord marquis of Carabas," answered they very which the k i n g again complimented the marquis on his noble possessions. g The cat still continued to go before, and gave the same charge to all the people he met with; so that the k i n g was greatly astonished at the splendid fortune of my lord marquis of Carabas. Puss at length arrived at a stately castle, which belonged to an Ogre, the richest ever known; for all the lands the k i n g had passed through and admired were his. The cat took care to learn every particular about the Ogre, and what he could do, and then asked to speak with him, saying, as he entered the room in which he was, that he could not pass so near his castle without doing himself the honour to inquire for his health. The Ogre received him as civilly as an Ogre could do, and desired him to be seated. " I have been informed," said the cat, " that you have the gift of changingyourself or an elephant, for example." It is very true," replied the Ogre somewhat sternly; " a n d to convince you, I will directly take the form of a lion." T h e cat was so much terrified at finding himself so near a lion, �22 that he sprang from him, and climbed to the roof of the house; but not without much difficulty, as his boots were not very fit to walk upon the tiles. Some minutes after, the cat perceiving that the O g r e had quitted the form of a lion, ventured to come down from the tiles, and owned that he had been a good dealfrightened.'1have continued the cat, " but I know not how to believe it, that you have the power of taking the form of the smallest animals also; for example, of changing yourself to a rat or a mouse; I confess I should think this must be impossible." Impossible! you sha see;" and at the same instant he chancer himself into a mouse, and began to frisk about the room. T h e cat no sooner cast his eyes upon the O g r e in this form, than he sprang upon him, and devoured him in an instant. In the mean time the k i n g , admiring, as he came near it, the magnificent castle of the Ogre, ordered his attendants to drive up to the gates, as he wished to take a nearer view of it. The cat, hearing the noise of the Carriage on the drawbridge, immediately came out, saying " Your majesty is Carabas." A n d is this splendid castle your's my lord marquis of Carabas ? welcome �23 I never saw any thing more stately than the Building, or more beautiful than the park and pleasure-grounds around i t ; no doubt the castle is no less magnificent within than without; pray, my lord marquis, indulge me with a sight of it." T h e marquis gave his hand to the young princess as she alighted, and followed the king, who went before; they entered a spacious hall, where they found a splendid collation which the Ogre had prepared for some friends he had that day expected to visit him; but who, hearing that the k i n g with the princess and a great gentleman of the court were within had not dared to enter. T h e k i n g was so much charmed with the amiable qualities and noble fortune of the marquis of Carabas, and the young princess too had fallen so violently in love with him, that when the k i n g had partaken of the collation, and drank a few glasses of wine, he said to the m a r q u i s , " It will be your own fault, my lord marquis of Carabas, if you do not soon become my son-in-law." T h e marquis received the intelligence with a thousand respectful acknowledgments, accepted the honour confered upon him, and married the princess that very day. The cat became a great lord, and never after ran after rats and mice but for his amusement. �24 ANCEDOTE. THE LAWYER AND THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPER. A ROGUISH old lawyer was planning new sin, A s he lay on his bed in a fit of the g o u t ; T h e mails and the daylight were just coming in, The milkmaids and rush-lights were just going out; W h e n a chimney-sweep's boy, who had made a mistake, Came flop down the flue with a clattering rush, A n d bawl'd, as he gave his black muzzle a shake, " M y master's a-coming to give you a brush." " If that be the case," said the cunning old elf, " There's no time to lose it is high time to flee. Ere he gives me a brush, I will brush off myself So he limp'd to the door without saying his prayers; B u t Old Nick was too deep to be nick'd of his prey; For the knave broke his neck by a tumble down stairs, And thus ran to the devil by running away. FINIS. � https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/1d050a9f2bd9f8822e086f0958874df9.jpg ac707a280ab736d630f26d8e6cae983b Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Illustration on title-page of a sitting man holding a rifle in an outdoor scene with ruins in the background. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Woodcut 024: Title-page illustration of a man sitting with a rifle with ruins in the background. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Storys of the young robber, and Puss in boots Alternative Title An alternative name for the resource. The distinction between titles and alternative titles is application-specific. Puss in boots Extent The size or duration of the resource. 24 pages 16 cm Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9935682553505154">s0587b41</a> Description An account of the resource 29 printed at the foot of the title page Woodcut #24: Illustration on title-page of a sitting man holding a rifle in an outdoor scene with ruins in the background. Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner. Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1840-1850? Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario Subject The topic of the resource Chapbooks - Scotland - Glasgow Type The nature or genre of the resource fairytale/folk lore Architecture: ruins Bib Context: title-page Chapbook Date: 1841-1850 Chapbook Genre: fairytale/folk tale Gender: man/men Nature: tree(s) Outdoor Scene Weapons: gun(s) https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/f03c8f85af1d428dbdcc630fea973c56.jpg 36b07ff95627f178164cf64f5de3d588 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Illustration on title-page of a young man wearing wig and long coat and pointing to 3 urns on a table. Interior scene with window, stool, and curtain https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/d7f2c9595233b4ff2f41503f8783f0bd.pdf 3f714b2a1d0096368485444e3219417a PDF Text Text HISTORY THE FOOTMAN. S H E W I N G H O W HE RAISED HIMSELF FROM T H E HUMBLE STATION OF A FOOT B O Y , TO A PLACE OF GREAT E M I N E N C E A N D TRUST, HONESTY A N D BY HIS INTEGRITY. ALSO, ON PRIDE, & T H E COUNTRY CLERGYMAN pllBliliiiJa SiM PAISLEY: PRINTED BY CALDWELL AND SON, 2, N E W STREET. �n i s i d R T OF C H A B E E i JOi\ T £§. M y father, George Jones commonly called Black George, on account of his swarthy complexion, was one of the most industrious men in the whole vilage. His cottage, which was his own, and partly built by his own hands, stands on the common, about a stone's throw from the road, near the preat Oak tree, in the parish of King's Charleton in Somersetshire.—The Lord of the Manor having granted him leave to inclose a bit of the common for a garden, my father had got a thriving young orchard and a long strip of potatoes, besides his cottage, all the produce of his own industry. It used to be a favourable saying with him, that no man to whom God had given two hands, had ever need to want. i For my part says he, I never knew what want was— When I am sick, the club supports me, and when 1 am well, I warrant I'll support myself. My mother, besides being equally industrious, was ratteh more religious, ani l therefore much happier; She was as good and sweet-tempered a �I wOiTMfen jto Mjf in $ * work^ For cor*S!tocf Her duty, Friendship, civility to her neighbour** cleanliness in her own person, her house and her children, she had not her fellow. But the most remarkable thing in her(I am afraid a very uncommon thing) was her steady and uninterrupted practice of family prayer. It must have been a hard days work indeed, that hindered her from her prayers. At six in the morning and eight in the evening, as regularly as ever the hour came, she always knelt down with her children round her, four of us, and read with great solemnity and devotion a short form given her by the clergyman, which concluded with the Lord's prayer, in which we all joined. And she used to say after she had finished, ' N o w I can go to bed or to work, in peace; for now we may hope God will protect us44 I am sorry to say my Father seldom joined with us. He used to pretend he was busy or tired; and yet it would not have detained him long nether, for we were never more than six minutesaboutit, and surely twelve minutes a day (six in ihe morning and six in the evening) is no great time to give to God. One thing has often struck me, that if any thing went wrong and ruffled my dear mother's temper, or made her uneasy, the prayer seemed to set all to rights. When she had been to prayers, all her grief seemed to be fled away. And indeed I observed the same thing with respect to my father; if he ever did join with us, it always seemed somehow to compose and sweeten his mind, and make him a great deal kinder to my mother and vis. �4 A* myfeiJheraod mother wer# very tetJmtiiotas themselves, they were very desirous to make theit children so ; every child was employd as soon as he was able, in something or other. At about thirteen years of age my employment had been for some time to weed in the parson's garden, and run errands for him. At fourteen he took me into his house, and not a little proud was I at obtaining the title of his 'little footman.1 The morning I left my father's cottage, my dear mother, who was kind as she was good, appeared to be verj much affected; she said she could not commit me to the wide world, without first committing me to God who governed it; and then she knelt down with me by her side, and prayed, * Gracious Lord, be pleased to have mercy on my dear boy, T o thy care I commend him. Guard him, I beseech thee in the many temptations which he is now beginning to encounter. May he with solid piety and honest diligence, do his duty in that state of life in which it hath pleased thee to place him,'—She then gave me her blessing, put a Testament into my pocket, bid me fear God, and always act for my master as I would do for myself. In my new situation there were to be sure some few things disagreable. My mistress was peevish and fretful; the co©k violent and passionate. But what service is there, or indeed, what situation in life, howsoever much above servitude, which there is not something unpfeasant ? Every state has its trials; servants have theirs: but if they cannot learn to put up with some little itt- i �conveniences, they may change their places every year of their lives, and never be satisfied after all. This is a lesson I have learnt by long experience. Though by God's blessing I had received a more raligious education than most children, it yet soon appeared that I had many faults, which it was necssary for me to be corrected of before I could become a good servant. At first, when I was sent npon an errand, I was much given to loitering. I was then too young to consider that by loitering in errands I was wasting what was not my own, but my master's time. Besides this fault, as every thing which I saw and heard in my master's house was such as I had never se^i* or heard before, I was too apt to talk of it to my old play fellows, or at the village shop, Bat as soon as ever I became a little older, I began to reflect that this was very wrong. One Sunday evening, when I had leave to go home to see my parents, I was beginning to tell my mother how there had been a great uproar at the parsonage the day before, about Here she put her hand upon my lips, and said, 'Charles, not a word more of what has passed at the parsonage. Whatsoever happens in your masters house is never to be spoken of out of your master's doors. A tale bearing servant is alway an unfaithful servant; he betrays the trust which his master puts in him." My mother's vehemence surprised me a little, but it made so much impression upon me, that I was pretty well broken of the feult from that v©ry �6 time. Into how many scrapes has thk talkative tempei brought many servants of my acquaintance ! There was poor Nic Jarret, the squire's under footman, that lost his place, a new suit of black broad cloth, and a legacy of five pounds, which he would soon have had by reason of his mistress's death, only for saying at a neighbour's house, that his mistress sometimes fell asleep while the squire was reading to the family on a Sunday night. Nic and I were at one time rather too intimate; I remember one day, when I was about sixteen, having attended my master to the squire's house, Nic prevailed on me after dinner to play with him at pitch and toss. I was worth at that time five shillings and two pence, more money than I had ever possessed before in my life. In about two hours Nic reduced me to my last shilling But though it was a heavy stroke at the time, yet it proved in the end a happy event, for by my mother's persuasions, I resolved thence forward never to game again as long as I lived, which resolution, by God's grace, I have hitherto happily kept. I wish from my heart that all other servants would resolve the same. The practice of card playing, so common among servants in large families, is the worst custom they can possibly fall into. My poor brother Tom suffered enough for it one day having received in the morning a quarter's wages, he lost the whole of it before night at All Fours; and what was the consequence W h y , from that very time, took to tbo|p practices of Ml 'afattrter wfeki k&tedl & �7 his ruin. How much better would it be for all Servants, if instead of wasting their leisure in card-playing, they would amuse themselves in reading some Godly book, or improve themselves in writing, or cyphering. It was by this means, for I was never taught to write, that I qualified myself for the place of Bailiff, which I now fill. I remember Nic used to say, 6 Whilst my master plays cards in the parlour, why shoudst thou be so sqeamish as not to play in the kitchen? But Nic did not consider that his master being rich, and playing for small sums, his loses laid under no temptation of dishonesty in order to pay them; besides the Squire could read and write at any time, whereas this was our only leisure time, and if we did not improve ourselves then, we never could; what might be comparatively innocent in him, might be ruinous to us. And even if my master be a professed gambler, that is no reason I should be so too. A servant is to do what is right, let his master do what he will. If a master swears and gets drunk, and talks at table with decency, or against God and religion, to God he must account for it, and a sorry account it will be, I doubt; but his example will not excuse our crimes, though it will aggravate his. We must take care of our own souls, whether our masters take care of theirs or not. But to return to my history; I am ashamed to say that I was guilty more than once in the earlier part of my servitude, of the shocking and detestable crime of lying, in order to excuse or screen my f a u l t s ^ £(appily l w^s cured of it in �8 th<3 following manner; Having been one day ordered to carry a bottle of wine to a sick man, one of my master's parishioners, 1 accidentally broke the bottle, and of course lost the wine, What was to be done? Should 1 confess my misfortune, and acknowledge my carelessness, or conceal it by a lie? After some deliberation, 1 resolved upon the lie.— 1 therefore had made up my story, 'how the poor man sent his duty to my master, and thanked him t a thousand times, and that he was a little better, and that his wife said she thought this wine would save his life.4 Being thus prepared, as 1 was returning home, 1 met a pedlar, of whom 1 bought for a penny a little book containing a story of a woman at Dervizes, who was struck dead on the spot for telling a lie. To be sure it was Heaven seat the pedlar to me, to save me from the sin 1 was going to commit. 'If this woman was struck dead for a lie, (said I to myself) why may not 1 ? " 1 therefore went directly home, and made a confession of my neg* ligenee and misfortune. And it was well for me 1 did; for the sick man, whose duty and thanks 1 had wickedly intended to carry to my master, was dead, as 1 understood afterwards* three hours before the bottle was broken. From this time, therefore, 1 began to see, what 1 am now fully convinced of, that besides the sinfulness of lieing, it is always more for the interest and lasting comforts of servants to confess the tiuth at once, than to conceal a fault by falsehood, When a servant has told a lie, he is always in danger of its being found out, and sooner or later it gene^v "'"HCT- �9 ally h found out, and then hw eharaeter irniucd. Whereas, if ke confesses the truth at once, ha probably escapes without any anger at all, or mt Worst it is soon over, and the fault itself is forgotten. Having now lived seven years at the parsonage, and being twenty one years of age, my master called me one day into his study, where he spent ft good deal of his time, and said to nie, 'Charles you have lived with me a considerable time, and it has been always with much pleasure that 1 have remarked the decency, sobriety and diligence of your conduct. These few faults which yot have, further experience and more years will, 1 doubt not, cure* You are now qualified for a better place than mine, and are entitled to higher wages than it is in my power to gi*e. 1 have therefore recommended you to a friend of mine in London, for which place you are to set out, if you approve of it, in a month. But 1 should think it a crime to dismiss you to a situation so full of teaiptatio®*, without giving you some little advice. Listen, therefore, my dear Charles, to what 1 shall say as 1 mean it only for your good. 1 n the first place fear G o d ; and then you will never have an occasion to be afraid of man. Act always in his presenee. Never enter or quit your bed without prtyer. Do always for your master, as you would your master, if you were to change places, should do for you. Endeavour to get a pious friend, but avoid, as you would the plague, all wickcd company. Be cautious of too great familiarity with your ftmale fellow §ervaut«£ aa utilaw&U �10 i«t:er#ewr:e *f l i ^ k i n d will rum you, body »oul. Flee from an alehouse as you would from the devil; if you once get into it, you #ill never be out of it. Keep your money, and your irtoney *ill keep you. Here Charles, is a Bible for y o « ; the more you read it, the more you will love it, the better you will be, and the happier. 1 have written some directions for you in the first page of it. God bless you; and when my race, which is now drawing to its end, shall finish, may we Caeet in heaven. My master's kindness so affected me, that 1 could not answer him for tears. 1 was indeed very glad of going to see so fine a place ac r London, though at the same time i eould not leave a house where 1 had been treated more lika a child than a servant*, without great regret. 1 shall not attempt to describe my parting with Hy mother. No description, 1 am sure, could de justice to the solemn and affectionate manner in which she exorted me to be pious and just, and recommended me to God ih prayer. Her last words 1 shall never forget—'1 know my dear son (said she) that you love me tenderly, ^nd that you would not give me unnecessary pain on any account. Remember then, that whenever yo» 4o any wrong thing, you are planting a dagger in your mother's heart." With these words, he* eyes brim full of tears, and her hands lifted up in silent prayer to God, she turned away from nee, and went into the cottage. And now, Reader, you find me in the great emd dangerous city of London, in the service of a vfcy weastlthjf waster, who kept twelve m v m i * �11 myself. If country people knew London as well as 1 do, how cautious would they be for exchanging their safe and peaceful situations in the country for the perils and temptations of a great city. How many young fellows have 1 known, who lived honestly aud happily in their native place, come up to London in the hope of higher wages, and there forfeit their integrity, their peace of mind, their health ; their character and souls. Workmen in particular are yery fond of getting into large cities, because they think their labour will turn to better account there than in their own villages. They do not consider that in a city, they must give as much for a filthy roo«a, in a filthy house, inhabited by half a dozen families, situated in a close, smokey, dirty street, a« in the country would pay the rent of a cottage and a garden. They do not consider the dearness of provisions in a city, the temptations they are under from bad women, wicked company and the great number of alehouses. In short I am fully persuaded that a labourer in the country, on a shilling a day, is better off than one in a city on two shillings. When I came to my place, I found every thing for the first three or four days very smooth and very pleasant, plenty of provisions, plenty of drink little work, and a very merry servants hall. But soon the face of things, with respect to me, changed very much, and I underwent a severer temptation than I ever experienced before or since Xn the whole course of my life. I had always hitherto been taught feo consider that sobriety and �12 diligent, and piety, were virtues I therefore never swore, I never got drunk, I never gamec^ 1 went to church as often as 1 could, 1 said my prayers night arid morning, and on Sunday at least, if not on other days 1 read a little in my good old master's Bible, But here 1 soon found that all this was the worst vice 1 could be guilty of. As soon as they found me out, it seemed to be a trial of skill amosgst them who should plague me most. One called me a Parson; awother, a Methodist; a third, a conceited Prig; a fourth, a canting Hypocrite. If I went into any other gentleman's kitchen it was all the same; my character flew before me, and many were the jests and laughs rarised both at home and abroad at my expense* In short, during three months, my life wa« a constant amxiety and torment; so that at l^st I i^as almost tempted, God forgive me for the thought, to do as they did, and forfeit my everlasting soul in order to a^oid the present uneasiness. But while things were in this state, I felt myself greatly and unexpectedly relieved. One Sunday morning by a sermon which I happened to hear from our Parish Minister, on the following text, 6 Blessed are ye when men shall revile you and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil of you falsely for my sake, for great is your reward in heaven.6 The excellent discourse which this pious man delivered on these words was so exactly suited to my circumstances and feelings, that it seemed as if it had been addressed solely to me; and it pleased God so to apply what had been said to my heart and under- �It afcandiisg, thai I sot only determined ,*o bear in future the sneers and scoffs of my fellow sefvants with patience and fortitude, but even those very sneers which I formerly considered as my heaviest calamity, were now no longer grievous. From this time, therefore, my uneasiness was pretty well at an end. And I earnestly recommend it to all other servants, who have been so happy as to acquire sober and virtuous habits, not to suffer themselves to be laughed out of their sobriety and virtue by the jests and ridicule of their fellowservants. They may depend upon it that their cause is a good one, and though they suffer for it at first, they will finally triumph. In a short time all my persecution was at an end. 8 T o be sure (said the coachman one day to the cook) Charles is a little too religious, but upon my word I don't think he is the worse of it. Mayhap it might be better for us we were more like him. 1 don't see but that he is as humble, friendly, and worthy a fellow as any amongst us. For my part I shall laugh at him no longer.4 This speech, which I happened accidentally to overhear, gave me great pleasure, and I soon found by the agreeable change in my fellow-servants conduct towards me, that the coachman had expressed the opinion of the whole hall. It is true I did every thing to obtain their good will that lay in my power* I was civil and obliging to every one among them as I possibly could. Was any thing to be done ? if nobody else would do it, I never stopped to consider whether it belonged to my place or not, but did it out of hand. If a,py body toek ii in®* �M Wa he«fl3 to fell out wMh n e, I gei:er&% disarmed feim of his wrath by saying nothing. If any little quarrels, or misfortunes or misconduct, happened in the hall, I always endeavoured to hush it up, and never carried any talcs to the master, unless when I saw any body wronging him, and then I thought it my duty, or unless the thing was very bad indeed. In short, by pursuing always this line of conduct, I found my situation very comfortable and agreeable. My master treated me with great confidence and kindness; my fellow•ervants with great friendliness and respect. In about two years time, the footman that used to go to market being turned away for drunkenness, which vice soon proved his ruin, my master old me, that as he believed I was aa honest and careful young man, and perceiving that I could write and keep aa account, he should ia future employ me'm marketting. T# market, therefore, I went every day, and as I had now a good deal of my master's money always in my haad. 1 prayed heartily to God that he would be pleased to preserve me under the temptation to which this exposed me. My first exploit in this way was the purchase of ten shillings worth of fruit at a fruiterer's. When 1 had finished my bargain, and was coming out of the shop, the fruiterer slipt a shilling into my hand. As 1 had never, to the best of my recollection, seen him before, 1 was somewhat surprized at his generosity; but fortunately had the presence of mind to ask him whether he had charged bis fruit the ~ higher qp ac^punt of thi? present to me. 4 W h y �li yoing man (said lie) tiifa is an and 1 will give you an honest answer. The fact is, that as we know that gentlemen of your cloth expect some compliment from the tradesmen that they deal with we are obliged in our own defence to charge our articles the higher on that account to their masters.' 'And so, (said I) the money you give us, comes finally from the pockets of our masters? *To be sure it does.' ' W h y then, (said I) I will take your shilling, but shall charge my master only nine? shillings. And this method I constantly pursued in the like case ever after;, for I think the above mentioned practice of footmen, which, however, I hope is not very common with them, is just the same in conscienee as if they should rob their master's bureau. One Monday morniug, having settled my account for the last week with my master, 1 found that he had made a mistake against himself of twenty shillings. As soon as 1 discovered it, 1 said to myself, her* B W is an opportunity for O getting twenty shillings without any risk #f detection; but God forbid that 1 should d© it, m it wouli ruin my peace of mind, and destroy my soul. 1 therefore pointed out the error to my master the first opportunity.—'Charles, (said he) you are right the mistake is obvioas* 1 acknowledge 1 made it purposely to try your honesty You will find that this affair will tura out, before long, to your advantage.' Now, though 1 do not think it quite fair ol masters to lay this kind of trap for their servant's integrity, yet a» 1 know h y t h e y sometimes do it, we must be �16 doubly on i>ur guswd* Indeed, dishonesty i« Bever a^fe. It always? will out somehow or other. 1 have seen surprizing instances of the discovery of it, when it seemed to have been committed with such cunning as to be impossible to be detected. One day a» 1 was going to market, 1 met Sir Robert S 'a butler, who told me, that having long observed my sobriety and diligence, he was happy to have it now in his power to offer me a place in his master's family, where my wages would be raised two guineas a yoar. 1 thanKed kiai, and told him he skould have his answer next evening. 1* the mean time 1 called upon a pious and worthy friend, whom 1 consulted in ail difficulties* and asked hit opinion. After mature deliberation, he said, 'Charles, don't go. When you are once got into a good place, stick to it like « leech. The rolling stone gets no *ioss Tke more years you coatinue in one service, the more you are respected by your master and all the world. A good family considers an old servant as one of themselves, and can no more see him want thaa a near relation. Whereas servants that are continually roving from place to place, have no friend in distress, and seldom get a prevision for old age.' Happy it was for me that 1 followed this good advice. If 1 had not, 1 should probably have been nothing more than a poor footman all my life. But before 1 bring my own story to an end, 1 must beg my reader's patience, to listen to the sad hte of my poor brother Tom. ! po©r �17 Tom, he was a great favourite in our kitchen, because he sung the best song, and told the merriest tale, and paid his card money the most freely of any gentleman footman about town. And then he swore so much like a gentleman, and was so complaisant to the ladies, and pushed about the strong beer so merrily, that he was, said our servants, the most agreeable company in the world. And yet all these entertaining qualities did not preserve my poor brother from the most dreadful state of distress and ruin. One morning he came to me about ten o'clock with a very woeful face, which was a thing very unusual for him, and told me, that he had just been turned away from his place without a character, that he had no money, many debts, and no real friends* and what was worse than all, that he was labouring under disease. Tom grew worse every day, and was at length given over. In the morning of that day, while 1 was sitting at his bedside, who should come in but my dear mother. She had walked 130 miles, except now and then a lift in the waggon, to attend upon her undeserving son. When she saw him, pale and emaciated, and his face half consumed by disease, it so shocked her, that she fainted away. As soon as she recovered, and wafc a little relieved by a plentiful flood of tears, she said, • My dear Tom, I am come to take care of thee, and make thee better, if I can, Alas I mother (answered he, putting his clay cold hand into hers) it is all too late. I have but a few hour* to live. It is by neglecting your adti �18 that I am brought to this. Gaming and drink, and bad company, and bad women have been my ruin ! O what will become of my soul! if I could but live my life over again. — Here he was seized with a sudden fit, and though he lived some hours, he never spoke after; and died that evening in my mother's arms. After recounting the sorrowful history of my unhappy brother, I must now hasten to conclude my own. About a twelvemonth after the offer of a place in Sir Robert S 's family, my master, in consideration as he said, of my faithful services, made me his butler. He was indeed so kind and friendly to me on all occasions, that I found it necessary to be extreuiely cautious lest I should grow proud, so saucy, or familiar, which some servants, when they have lived long in a place, and find themselves in favour, are apt to do. After enjoying this post about six years, our family being now removed into the country, I made aquaintance with a farmer's daughter living near the great house, whom on account of her religious and industrious principles, and her amiable and cheerfo] temper, I wished to make my wife. She was no flaunter in fine clothes, none of your dancing, flirting, forward lasses, that run about to christenings, and revels, and hopes, that will ruing a man before he knows where he is; but a pious, sober, stay-at-home, industrious young woman ; else I am sure any body might have had her for me. As I had never been guilty of any unnecessary expense, for nobody will call that ^nneee^ary which I sent �19 yearly to my parents, my savings, the- interest being added yearly to the principal in the hands of my master, amounted to two hundred pounds. And as Fanny's father promised to give her another hundred,! thought we might with this take a small farm, and maintain ourselves comfortably and decently.—I therefore communicated the affair to my master. 'Charles, (said he) though I am loth to part with so good a servant, yet I think it an act of gratitude due to you for your long and faithful services, to consent readily to any thing which may be for your welfare. But I do not think it necessary for us to part at all. I am at present in want of a bailiff. You may, if you approve it, undertake that office, and still retain your present wages. Your father-in-law, who is an experienced farmer, will instruct and assist you in the duties of it. I will, besides, let you a small farm on an advantageous lease, which you may makp the most of for yourself.' T o this kind and generous offer I freely assented. And Fanny and myself have now lived together six years in the farm-house near the park-gate, happy and prosperous. My father being dead, and my brother and sister settled, my mother, who is now very old, lives with me; and by her example and exhortation I find afeenseof religion sink deeper into my soul every day, and indeed I am very well convinced by long experience, that there is nothing in this world can make us truly happy but tharfe. �a® I uddraw thk Utile book, which I wrote by little and little in the long evenings of the last hard winter, to all footmea. I hope they will not be angry with my well meant endeavours, but take kindly what is intended only for their good. �IHfelDfi. # king of Lydia, having expressed an extraordinary inclination to see Solon, that philosopher repaired to Sard is to pay him a visit. The first time he was presented, the king received him seated on his throne, and dressed on purpose in his most sumptuous robes; but Solon appeared not the least astonished at the sight of such a glare of magnificence. " M y friend, said Croesus to him, Fame has every where reported thy wisdom. 1 know you have seen many conntries; but have you ever seen a person dressed so magnificently as 1 am "Yes, replied Solon, the pheasants and peacocks are dressed more magnificently, because their brilliant apparel is the gift of nature, without their taking any thought or paini to adorn themselves." Such an unexpected answer very much surprized Croesus, who ordered his officers to open all his treasures, and shew them to Solon, as also his rich furniture, and whatever was magnificent in his palace. He then sent for him a second time, and asked him if he had ever seen a man, more happy than he was. "Yes, replied Solon, and that man was Tellus, a citizen of Athens, who lived with an unblemished character in a well regulated republic. He left two children much respected, with a moderate fortune for their sub^ sLstence, & at last had the happiness to die sword in hand, after having obtained a victory for his country. The Athenians have erected a monument to his memory on the spot where he fell, and have otherwise paid him great hoonrs." Croesur, �32 Oroesfcg was no hm asteufelved at tfek tlran at the first answer, and began to think Solon was not perfectly right in his senses. " Well, continued Croesus, who is the next happy man to Tellus?"—"There were formerly, replied Solon, two brothers, the one named Cleobis, and the other Biton. They were so robust, that thejf alwaj/s obtained the prize in every sort of combat, and perfectly loved each other. One feast dej/, when the priestess of Juno, their mother, for whom the^ had the most tender affection, was to go to the temple to sacrifice, the oxen that were to draw her thither did not come in time, Cleobis and Biton hereupon fastened themselves to her carriage, and in that manner drew her to the temple. All the matrons in raptures congratulated their mother on having brought two such sons into the world. Their mother, penetrated with emotions of the strongest joy and gratitude, ferventh/ prayed the goddess, that she would bestow on her sons the best gift she had to confer on mortals. Her prayers were heard; for, after the sacrifice, the two sons fell asleep in the temple, and never afterwards awoke. Thus they finished their lives by a tranquil and peaceful death." Croesus could no longer conceal his rage, " W h a t then, said he, do yon not even place me among the number of happy people ? " — " O king of the Lydians, replied Solon, yoM possess great riches, and are master of a great multitude of people; but life is liable to so many changes, that we cannot presume to decide on the felicity of an;y man, until he has finished his mortal career." �Tfie C o u n t r y C l e r g y m a n Near yonder copse, where once the garden smil'd and still where many a garden flower grown wild; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose, A man he was, to all the country dear, And passing rich with fort?/ pounds a year; Remote from towns, he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had chang'd nor wish'd to change hii place, Unpractis'd he to fawn, or seek for power, By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour; For other aims his heart had learn'd to prize, More skill'd to raise the wretched than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid their wand'rings, but relieved their pain ; The long remembered beggar was his guest, Whose beard descending, swept his aged breast; The ruin'd spendthrift now no longer proud, Claim'd kindred there, and had his claim allowed The broken soldier, kindlj/ bid to staj/, Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away; Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done, Shoulder'd his crutch, and shewed how fields were won, Pleas d with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow, And quit forgot their vices in their woe; Careless their merits, or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began. �24 Thug to relieve the wretched was his prrde, And even his failings lean'd to Virtue's free; But in his duty prompt at even/ call, H e watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt for all A n d , as a bird each fond endearment tries, T o tempt its new fledg'ed offspring to the skies; H e tried each art, reprov'd each dull delaj/, Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the waj/. Beside the bed where parting life was laid, And sorrow, guilt and pain, by turns disrnay'd, T h e reverend champion stood. At his control, Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul; Comfort came down, the trembling wretch to raise And his last faultering accents whispered praise. At church, with meek and unaffected grace, His looks adorn*d the venerable place ; Truth from his lips prevails! with double swaj/, And fools, who came to scoffi remained to pray. T h e service past, around the pious man, W i t h ready zeal each honest rustic ran ; Even children followed with endearing wile, And pluck'd his gown to share the good mans, smile. His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest, Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distrest T o them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in Heaven. As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midwaj/ leaves the storm, T h o ' round its breast the rolling clouds are spread Eternal sunshine settles on its head. � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Woodcut 022: Title-page illustration in double ruled border of a young man in a wig and long coat pointing to 3 urns on a table. Interior scene. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The History of Charles Jones, the Footman. Shewing how he raised himself from the humble station of a foot-boy, to a place of great eminence and trust, by his strict honesty and integrity. Alternative Title An alternative name for the resource. The distinction between titles and alternative titles is application-specific. On Pride, &amp; the Country Clergyman Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1839 Extent The size or duration of the resource. 24 pages 16 cm Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context <a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9935661133505154">s0587b44</a> Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner. Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Paisley: G. Caldwell and Son Description An account of the resource Woodcut #22: Illustration on title-page of a young man wearing wig and long coat and pointing to 3 urns on a table. Interior scene with window, stool, and curtain. Type The nature or genre of the resource moral tales Subject The topic of the resource Chapbooks - Scotland - Paisley Religion and Morals # of Woodcuts: 1 Architecture: house Architecture: window(s) Bib Context: title-page Chapbook Date: 1831-1840 Chapbook Genre: moral tales Chapbook Publisher - Paisley: G. Caldwell and Son Fashion (Clothing): upper class Furniture: stool(s) Furniture: table(s) Indoor Scene Object: urn(s)