James Muirhead was born in 1742, in the parish of Buittle, and stewartry of Kirkcudbright. His father was owner of the estate of Logan, and representative of the family of Muirhead, who, for several centuries, were considerable landed proprietors in Galloway. He was educated at the Grammar School of Dumfries, and in the University of Edinburgh.

Abandoning the legal profession, which he had originally chosen, he afterwards prosecuted theological study, and became, in 1769, a licentiate of the Established Church. After a probation of three years, he was ordained to the ministerial charge of Urr, a country parish in the stewartry. In 1794 he received the degree of D.D. from the University of Edinburgh. Warmly attached to his flock, he ministered at Urr till his death, which took place on the 16th of May 1806.

Dr Muirhead was a person of warm affections and remarkable humour; his scholarship was extensive and varied, and he maintained a correspondence with many of his literary contemporaries. As an author, he is not known to have written aught save the popular ballad of "Bess, the Gawkie,"--a production which has been p.r.o.nounced by Allan Cunningham "a song of original merit, lively without extravagance, and gay without grossness,--the simplicity elegant, and the navete scarcely rivalled."[61]

[61] We have frequently had occasion to remark the ignorance of modern editors regarding the authorship of the most popular songs. Every collector of Scottish song has inserted "Bess, the Gawkie;" but scarcely one of them has correctly stated the authorship. The song has been generally ascribed to an anonymous "Rev. Mr Morehead;" by some to the "Rev. Robert Morehead;" and Allan Cunningham, who states that his father was acquainted with the real author, has described him as the "Rev.

William Morehead!"

BESS, THE GAWKIE.

TUNE--_"Bess, the Gawkie."_

Blythe young Bess to Jean did say, Will ye gang to yon sunny brae, Where flocks do feed, and herds do stray, And sport a while wi' Jamie?

Ah, na, la.s.s, I 'll no gang there, Nor about Jamie tak' a care, Nor about Jamie tak' a care, For he 's ta'en up wi' Maggie.

For hark, and I will tell you, la.s.s, Did I not see young Jamie pa.s.s, Wi' mickle blytheness in his face, Out ower the muir to Maggie.

I wat he gae her mony a kiss, And Maggie took them nae amiss; 'Tween ilka smack pleased her wi' this, That Bess was but a gawkie.

For when a civil kiss I seek, She turns her head, and thraws her cheek, And for an hour she 'll hardly speak; Wha 'd no ca' her a gawkie?

But sure my Maggie has mair sense, She 'll gie a score without offence; Now gie me ane into the mense, And ye shall be my dawtie.

O Jamie, ye hae monie ta'en, But I will never stand for ane Or twa when we do meet again; So ne'er think me a gawkie.

Ah, na, la.s.s, that canna be; Sic thoughts as thae are far frae me, Or ony thy sweet face that see, E'er to think thee a gawkie.

But, whisht, nae mair o' this we 'll speak, For yonder Jamie does us meet; Instead o' Meg he kiss'd sae sweet, I trow he likes the gawkie.

O, dear Bess! I hardly knew, When I cam' by, your gown sae new; I think you 've got it wet wi' dew!

Quoth she, That 's like a gawkie!

It 's wat wi' dew, and 'twill get rain, And I 'll get gowns when it is gane; Sae ye may gang the gate ye came, And tell it to your dawtie.

The guilt appear'd in Jamie's cheek; He cried, O cruel maid, but sweet, If I should gang anither gate, I ne'er could meet my dawtie.

The la.s.ses fast frae him they flew, And left poor Jamie sair to rue That ever Maggie's face he knew, Or yet ca'd Bess a gawkie.

As they gaed ower the muir, they sang, The hills and dales wi' echoes rang, The hills and dales wi' echoes rang, Gang o'er the muir to Maggie.

MRS AGNES LYON.

A female contemporary of the Baroness Nairn, of kindred tastes, and of equal indifference to a poetical reputation, was Mrs Agnes Lyon of Glammis. She was the eldest daughter of John Ramsay L'Amy, of Dunkenny, in Forfarshire, and was born at Dundee about the commencement of the year 1762. She was reputed for her beauty, and had numerous suitors for her hand; but she gave the preference to the Rev. Dr James Lyon, minister of Glammis, to whom she was married on the 25th of January 1786. Of a highly cultivated mind and most lively fancy, she had early improved a taste for versifying, and acquired the habit of readily clothing her thoughts in the language of poetry. She became the mother of ten children; and she relieved the toils of their upbringing, as well as administered to the improvement of their youthful minds, by her occasional exercises in verse. Her four volumes of MS. poetry contain lyrics dated as having been written from the early period of her marriage to nearly the time of her decease. The topics are generally domestic, and her strain is lively and humorous; in pathetic pieces she is tender and singularly touching. Possessed of a correct musical ear, she readily parodied the more popular songs, or adapted words to their airs, with the view of interesting her friends, or producing good humour and happiness in the family circle. She had formed the acquaintance of Neil Gow, the celebrated violinist, and composed, at his particular request, the words to his popular tune "Farewell to Whisky,"--the only lyric from her pen which has. .h.i.therto been published. In all the collections of Scottish song, it appears as anonymous. In the present work, it is printed from a copy in one of her MS. volumes.

Mrs Lyon died on the 14th September 1840, having survived her husband about two years, and seen the greater number of her children carried to the grave. Entirely free of literary ambition, she bequeathed her MSS.

to the widow of one of her sons, to whom she was devotedly attached, accompanied by a request, inscribed in rhyme at the beginning of the first volume, that the compositions might not be printed, unless in the event of a deficiency in the family funds. Their origin is thus described:--

"Written off-hand, as one may say, Perhaps upon a rainy day, Perhaps while at the cradle rocking.

Instead of knitting at a stocking, She 'd catch a paper, pen, and ink, And easily the verses clink.

Perhaps a headache at a time Would make her on her bed recline, And rather than be merely idle, She 'd give her fancy rein and bridle.

She neither wanted lamp nor oil, Nor found composing any toil; As for correction's iron wand, She never took it in her hand; And can, with conscience clear, declare, She ne'er neglected house affair, Nor put her little babes aside, To take on Pegasus a ride.

Rather let pens and paper flame, Than any mother have the shame (Except at any _orra time_) To spend her hours in making rhyme."

In person, Mrs Lyon was of the middle height, and of a slender form. She had a fair complexion, her eyes were of light blue, and her countenance wore the expression of intelligence. She excelled in conversation; and a retentive memory enabled her to render available the fruits of extensive reading. In old age, she retained much of the buoyant vivacity of youth, and her whole life was adorned by the most exemplary piety.

NEIL GOW'S FAREWELL TO WHISKY.[62]

TUNE--_"Farewell to Whisky."_

You 've surely heard of famous Neil, The man who play'd the fiddle weel; He was a heartsome merry chiel', And weel he lo'ed the whisky, O!

For e'er since he wore the tartan hose He dearly liket _Athole brose_![63]

And grieved he was, you may suppose, To bid "farewell to whisky," O!

Alas! says Neil, I'm frail and auld, And whiles my hame is unco cauld; I think it makes me blythe and bauld, A wee drap Highland whisky, O!

But a' the doctors do agree That whisky 's no the drink for me; I 'm fley'd they'll gar me tyne my glee, By parting me and whisky, O!

But I should mind on "auld lang syne,"

How Paradise our friends did tyne, Because something ran in their mind-- Forbid--like Highland whisky, O!

Whilst I can get good wine and ale, And find my heart, and fingers hale, I 'll be content, though legs should fail, And though forbidden whisky, O!

I 'll tak' my fiddle in my hand, And screw its strings whilst they can stand, And mak' a lamentation grand For guid auld Highland whisky, O!

Oh! all ye powers of music, come, For deed I think I 'm mighty glum, My fiddle-strings will hardly b.u.m, To say, "farewell to whisky," O!

[62] In the Author's MS., the following sentences occur prefatory to this song:--"Everybody knows Neil Gow. When he was poorly, the physicians forbade him to drink his favourite liquor. The words following were composed, at his particular desire, to a lamentation he had just made." Mrs Lyon became acquainted with Gow when she was a young lady, attending the concerts in Dundee, at which the services of the great violinist were regularly required. The song is very inaccurately printed in some of the collections.

[63] A beverage composed of honey dissolved in whisky.

SEE THE WINTER CLOUDS AROUND.[64]

See the winter clouds around; See the leaves lie on the ground; Pretty little Robin comes, Seeking for his daily crumbs!

In the window near the tree, Little Robin you may see; There his slender board is fix'd, There his crumbs are bruised and mix'd.

View his taper limbs, how neat!

And his eyes like beads of jet; See his pretty feathers shine!

Little Robin haste and dine.