V » >* I *H», » i v .* > K- TEB TWA FBIEN'S ; OR, THE GHOST O' COFFER-HA' A POEM; AND, FRANCISCO ; OR, THE MAN OF BRASS. Also, Holy Tammie's Prater. ji just anft fear not EDINBURGH : PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS, 1838. Pbice 3d. l °AN STACK THE TWA FPJEN'S; OR, THE GHOST 0' COFFER-HA': A TALE O' THE TIMES. Twas on a night in February, When win's were blawn wi' unco fury ; Nae star was glentin' i' the lift ; The North sent forth a blendin' drift ; Athort the air it swirlin' sweepit ;— At ilka nook snaw wreaths lay heapit. Twa trusty frien's, secure frae storm, In Coffer-Ha' sat snug and warm, Ilk wi' a " cheerer " o' the best, To help the crack, and raise the jest, Or ease their bosoms rackit sair, Wi' disappointment ill to bear. The auldest was a gutty blade, A thriving Grocer to his trade, A worthy Burgess o' the Borough, Wi' rowth o' wealth to banish sorrow : Indeed there's scarcely sic a laird — He's mony a bonnie house an' yard, Aye heaps o' ready cash at hand, (Nane half sae muckle can command,) He keeps his pony and his kye : It's strange how some folks get so high. Let ithers do the best they may, They'll still be puir for ance an' aye ; He cam' to H k without a groat, In Denholm-blue short, buntie coat, Wi' elbows out — his waistcoat bare — His breeks were cloutit here and there — Worn to the leather were his clogs — And on his legs a pair o' loags — 257 His towsie head had something on it, That ance had been a Highlan' bonnet, But now it like a wig was grown, Weel darned wi' yarn, white, black, an' brown; Yet, spite o' needle, yarn, an' clout, His waukit hair was keekin' out — A bubbly nose an' dirty face, This youth o' Liddesdale did grace. He cam' to be the 'prentice callant, (He'd got some schoolin' an' had talent,) Wi' banker Cash, a daintie carl, Wha was owre guid for sic a warl' ; Guid-natuted soul ! his doings tell, He thought a' ithers like himsel' ; Trust-worthy, honest, just, an' good, Disinterested, naeways proud, Had mony frien's an' ne'er a foe, Nane could him hate that did him know ; For ne'er a neighbour wad he wrang, He'd sooner in a halter hang ; Sae ilka bodie's pickel gear Was lodg'd wi' him without a fear. Our birkie answered weel the end, An' gain'd his master for a friend An' soon gat riggit tight an' clean : A trigger lad was nae where seen ; Was unco clever, dealt sae fair, An' ilka day was trustit mair ; Sae or twa towmonts by bad creepit, The gear and Cash accounts he keepit, Was verra steady, never drank, An waited duly on the Bank, Ae single faut was ne'er deteckit, By Cash esteem'd, by a* respeckit, He flourish'd brawlie every day, Was makin' money just like hay. Time passed away, still a' was just, An' nane had reason for mistrust ; At length a doubt wi' some prevail'd, The ordinar' ready payment fail'd ; Bills were put off frae day to day, Whilk never used to be the way ; They spak' o't — Cash believ'd it not, Quo' he, ' Hae I not richer got ? I've houses, lan's, baith large and lang, Proof positive that naething's wrang.' Soon after he's o' life bereft, Convinced he'd mony thousan's left, An' conscience own'd them fairly gained, Yet died he bankrupt an' ne'er ken'd ! 'Twas even sae, the books were clear'd, The fearfu', dreaded truth appear'd, That his imagin'd wealth was debt, Mair than his property could meet, Tho' doubl'd owre and owre again ; But how it was, nane could explain, Folk never thought he was to blame — Wha could dispute his honest name ? Consistent, upright, to the end, 'Twas plain the rogue was some unkend. Suspicion lights upon the Clerk ; Our birkie's blamed for a' the work ; He's ta'en — examined, and gets clear ; Proof positive does not appear : Still folk believed that he was wrang'd, (The blackguard ! to get off unhang'd ! ) He wadna prosper, they were sure, An' mony curses on him pour ; Something '11 hapen, little doubt, To make the truth come spunkin' out. Now wi' the gear he strave to hain, He gets a sma' shop o' his ain : — But tho' his goods were o' the best, An' something cheaper than the rest, Yet custom he could ne'er secure, Nae honest bodie dits his door : Yet what was strang*e to a' that ken'd, He made a shift to live, an' mend ; An' when that Coffer-Ha' was roupit, The devil's in't ! our birkie bought it ! ! ! \ The " Image Garden " wi' some parks, Were soon our decent, honest Clerk's, Wha clear'd them a' wi' ready cash, Whilk made baith town an' country clash, An' rais'd folk's just an' honest anger, That he should want a halter langer. Thus did he live, thus did he thrive, An' turned a wealthy laird belyve, Sae he maun hae a larger shop, An' Coffer-Ha' was fitted up In order grand, in style right fine,' An' he's aye keepit it sin' syne, — Retailing spirits, teas, an' wine. An' every day he waits himsel', He keeps nae 'prentice, gleg and fell ; He kens the're some o' them uncanny, And haud themsel's i' pocket money, An 5 something mair, as facts can tell,— Folk judges ithers by themsel'. He's been away this month an' mair, At Lon'on Town, a witness there, Wi' *T y,*P n, and K y, An scores of ithers that are ready, To make a lie, and swear it's true, To 'file the honest, unstained blue, Through fear, or favour, or a park, Or, maybe, for a daintie kirk, As did his Reverend Frien' o' Shiels.f— — (Thae Tory priests are very diels For mischief,, roguery and cunnin', Their cloven cloots they've shown at Lon'on, They're ne'er content, but hunt for mair — And they will hae't by foul or fair — They're nae ways nice about the means Gi f they but gain their selfish en's.) Despite o' ilka Tory trick, That might do credit to Auld Nick ; * Tully, Paterson. + Revd. Chas. Thomson. In spite o' dark and deep designs, Scott's foiled, and disappointed pines ; The silly cuif, it se'rs well ; He brew'd — e'en let him drink the yill. Him Parliam enter ! save us a' ! Frae blockhead, half-wit-men o' law, He's fitter far to rair an' rowte, Among his father's Highland nowte. An' then that mighty man. his Grace, Waes me, he canna mend the case ; He lang has lorded owre us sd, Wi' Tory power and Tory law ; But times are chang'd — we've been at school, An' now we ken the way to rule ; Sure, time about is but fair play, His Highness syne maun now obey, An' gin he does our bidding weel, We'll gie'm cheap whisky, an' ait meal. Nae doubt, he's hae a hearty fill, An " H k shall be H k still ! " Thae base, unworthy, blackguard tools, Hae shown themselves but arrant fools, An's heartily laugh'd at for their pains, Instead of their expected gains. The Rev. Priest maun e'en content him, A daintie kirk they winna grant him ; He sees that sae will be the case, An' wi' a lang-drawn ruefu' face, He sat that night aside his friend. An' waefully his case bemained : — [fail'd, Priest — Well, friend, our last resource has Now since John Elliot has prevailed, Our services for Francis Scott, Undoubtedly will go for nought ; Our crafty schemes have been in vain, No handsome living I'll obtain. Grocer — Guid faith ! I fear 'twill e'en be sae; But dinna look sae verra wae ! — We've done our best, baith foul an' fair, — Nae stane's unturned, what ca n we mair : s Ye ken I tried that Strang Whig Elliot ; But he wad neither gie't nor sell it — That Kirk owre by, but let it pass, An' fill yoursel' another glass. Pri. — But had you either kept your vote, Or given it to Francis Scott, His Grace had been the more inclin'd, Our many services to mind ; But since John Elliot you prefer did, We canna hope to be rewarded ; For he may think you're Whig in part, Though you're Tory, soul and heart. Gro. — I'd fain to Harden gie'n my vote, But for my life I durstna do't ; Had I done sae, I'd wad a shilling, You'd seen me get a proper 4f milling j" Not as I swore for being Tory, But just for Cash's devilish story. Na, no for a' the Duke's braid lands, Wad I gang through the Miller's hands : A kirk I'd like to see ye get, But canna buy't at sic a rate. What ! risk my life ? the deil be there, Ye'se want a kirk for evermair. Faith they may get the Elliots in, We lied eneugh that Scott should win, Had yon bald fellow* held his tongue — He speir'd till I was donnert dung. Pri. — Yes, we hae sinn'd, man's prone to err, I made things worse than what they were, Yet all has been of no avail, The best-laid schemes will sometimes fail— My towering hopes must prostrate lie — A most unfortunate wretch am I, An' disappointed I must pine, No goodly portion shall be mine, No pleasant heritage my lot : — My soul is troubled with tbe thought, [clatter, Gro, — Losh man ! hae done wi' senseless Will siccan whingeing mend the matter ? Merewcther. Tak' aff your glass, and laugh at care. I've still a thousand pounds to spare, This verra hour I'll gie't in hand — Anither still ye may command ; Sae try to make yoursel' content, Though kirkless aye, ye'se never want. Wi' that he raise, (the clock struck twelve,) An' rax'd a box frae aff the shelve ; Wi' twa three locks made firm and fast, He gets the lid o't lowsed at last. Lo ! what a glorious sight was there — Large bundles o' the paper ware, Like family bibles lay within, The Priest wi' joy was fidging fain, | An' wished the boxfu' a' his ain, He'd taen the bundle in his neive, The hungry Priest was to receive, When instantly they heard a noise, As when the thuaders rend the skies : Wi' horrid yells, unyearthly scraughs, Commixt with most infernal laughs, The Ha' frae top to bottom shook, Though firmly founded on a rock ; The lights brunt blue — up banged the door, The chairs did dance athort the floor, A slow and measured step was heard, A ghastly spectre syne appeared, .(Clad i' the last claes o' the dead,) That show'd a fearfu' fleshless head, The greedy worms were crawling there, An' ilka hole they howkit sair ; Twa lang bare jaws— the teeth were gane — The neck was naething but a bane. The twa' dumfoundert, stood appall'd, An' trembling, swat — their blood ran cauld, Their knees did ane another smite — Their bristled hair stood clean upright — They glowred and gapit • pale as death, Nor could they speak for want o' breath ; But wi' a deep and hollow grane, 10 Streek't out a lang, sma' arm o' bane, The horrid ghost did utter words, That pierced their souls like two edged swords: " Desist, base villain ! most accurst, That milk o' mother ever nurst ; How darest thou thus dispose of wealth, Yours only by dishonest stealth ! How darest thou keep, infamous knave ! What ithers righteously should have ; For well thou knowest, that all thou hast, Was mine, and others should possess't, Detestit wretch ! I say, restore, Else I shall haunt thee evermore, An' mark me, though unpunished here, Your dismal doom is drawing near ; When justice runs her course unmarr'd, You there shall have your due reward : Go then redress the wrong you've done, Your houses, lands, restore, each one Without reserve, give up each shilling, An' thus declare thyself a villain." This said he vanished with a sound, Again the Ha' shook to the ground : Again was heard a fiendish yell, An' to the floor the twasome fell, Owrepower'd an' quite insensible. It matters nae how lang they lay, They baith revived ere break o' day, An' truth to tell, this worthy pair Were soundly glift, but deil ma' care ; In spite o' a' they saw and heard The Grocer's still the wealthy laird, Resolved to clutch his ill-got store Though he should roast for't evermore ; But ever since that fearfu' night He daurna sleep without a light, — Speaks to himsel' — does start and grane, Rise up an' fight wi' some unseen, Or, roaring, rin, athort the hoose, As if hell's furies were let loose ; II Whiles found half-dead, just in his sark, Baith black an' blue wi' siccan wark, Guid haud us honest ane an' a', An' frae the Ghost o' Coffer Ha 7 . FRANCISCO; OR, THE MAN OF BRASS. Arise my muse and sing these days of yore, When Grocers' Shopmen rolled in yellow ore, Those days when first emerged from Liddell's bank A youth of stately mien both free and Frank. .Fraud in his heart and famine in his eye, He left his father's house without a sigh ; To Hawick he steered his way in doleful plight, And bade the boys of Liddesdale good-night ! Nature for this sweet youth had done her part, But poverty had wrung his noble heart : — Saving the brogues which did his feet embrace, His other vestments were in piteous case. In Ophir Castle see our hero placed, A worthy owner then this mansion graced, A man whose very action honour steered, And, just himself, no other mortal feared, Trusted by all, as justly was his due, The riches of the land unto him flew : Each country man who could a sum command Ne'er thought it safe till placed within his hand. With eager transport did Francisco view The heaps of Cash — a sight to him quite new. The thirst of Gold possess'd his youthful breast, And golden dreams disturbed his mid-night rest. By little nibblings first the Boy began, But conscience stretched as he approach'd to Man : Half-crowns and crowns no more? could satisfy, His hand on wholesale sums he then did try. As undetected he pursued this play, Our hero daringly urged on his way— From five-pound Notes to larger sums he rose, And thought a hundred but a moderate dose. Time onward moved— our hero roll'd in wealth, Whilst his good master fast declined in health, Suspicious Creditors surround his gate, And now his eyes are opened when too late. The wealth he thought to leave to worthy friends Had passed into the hands of hellish fiends, Death ,^ his last friend, now closed his eyes in night, And his soul urged its way to realms of light. pur hero, now a perfect man of brass, Joined in connubial league a buxom lass, The Ophir Castle bought, and now its lord, Where once he occupied the humblest board. Say, Muse ! was great Francisco happv now ? An !^ not the curse of Heaven did cloud his brow, in visions of the night, his master's ghost Harassed him, while on bed of down he toss'd. He even at festive board the vision saw, Nor from the sight could he his eyes withdraw ; With upraised hands in frantic mood he ran To combat with the visionary man. His guests, affrighted, from the board withdrew, While dame Francisco to their rescue flew. She laid the fierce turmoil- the guests depart, Francisco sought his couch with heavy heart. Years rolled on years, Francisco vainer grows • And fresh desires in his heart arose. He purchased lands which once his master held And still goes on in adding field to field. Did heaven in judgement not this reptile crush ? For heaven's sake, my worthy friend be hush— A black robed son of light— yclep'd a priest, Removed a load of guilt from off his breast, He wed his daughter and then shared the spoil Which half-way went to save Francisco's soul. (Writer Unknown.) HOLY TAMMIE'S PRAYER | AND THANKSGIVING FOR HIS MARVELLOUS ESCAPE FROM "TULLY's MILL" AT THB LATE ELECTION. O thou, all powerful wise and guid, Wha rul'st the storm an' tempest rude, And calm'st the raging, roaring fluid, When dashing wild, And still'st the furious multitude, Even as a child. What am I, or what were my kin' But filthy vessels fu' o' sin ? — Hell's every torture, wae, and pain, Richly deserving That thou hast ever mindfu' been, O' thy puir servan'. When walking far frae thee astray, When running in the wicked's way, When drinking, whoring, night an' day, Without a fear, Thy free-gi'en grace, alane did stay My mad career. Thou snatch'd me as a brand frae burning, When thinking little o' returning, An' sent me to my hunkers mourning, For past transgression ; Now I'm a shining light, adorning Baith kirk an' session. But how shall language e'er express, My gratitude an' thankfulness For timely aid, when in distress, Aid never failing, When I expected naething less, Than a rough "milling." When faes did compass me about, 14 Like raging railing Bashan nowte, Thy mighty hand was stretched out, An' saved my skin ; Forgie the fear an trembling doubt, That raise within. An' oh ! forgie what I've done wrang, That sae enraged the hellish thrang ; For weel thou knowest 6 that self is Strang, An' money tempting, Oh goodness ! let it ne'er o'ergang, Ayont repenting. Thy holy day I did profane, My greed o' gear do thou restrain, An' let me never do't again, Though I be starving ; And let the tempter tempt in vain, Thy humble servan'. An' do thou curse that wicked town, It's like another Sodom grown : Oh raze it ! raze it ! every stone, To the foundation. An pour thy hottest vengeance down, In indignation ! Remember thou its many sins, The broken heads, and broken shins, The riven claes, an' droukit skins, That mony gat : They find their bruises an' their pains, Right sair e'en yet An' humble thou the pride an' might, O' him that muckle-thought-on wight :* Ye ken, he humbled us that night, An' sae disgraced us :— Oh drive him frae the dizzy height, On whilk he placed is. An' Oh do thou to Scott draw nigh, * Lord Minto. *5 An him wi f strengthening grace supply ; Now that his foe's exalted high, Support his soul : In wrath remember not the kye His fathers stole, An' bless the worthy guid Buccleu', Wi' rowth o' graae — he's lands enew ; Bless every hunter — every grewe In his possession, An' gif he turn a cursed blue, Withdraw thy blessin'. There's honest Home, a man o' zeal, He'd even face the verra diel, Mak's mushrooms spring in ilka bier, To help the cause : Be his protection, guard, an' shiel', Frae Whiggi6h claws, An' O star*' by your upright servan',* Sae pious, holy, guid an' ferven', O' twa fat livings he's deservin', There's nae ane better ; He gie's them't het in prayer an' sermon, Nae mortal's fitter. An' O mak' me your constant care, My foes in number many are ; Oh guide my feet frae every snare, ' That they lay for me ; An' grant your servan' grace an' gear, An' he'll adore thee ! Amen ! Amen I * The Rev. J. A. W ce. 9 •* '- \