These lines were written in answer to a mandate sent by the surveyor of the windows, carriages, &c. to each farmer, ordering him to send a signed list of his horses, servants, wheel-carriages, &c., and whether he was a married man or a bachelor, likewise the number of his children. The poem is chiefly remarkable for the information which it gives concerning the farm, the household, and the habits of Burns. Mossgiel lies a short mile distant from Mauchline; nor has cultivation prevailed against the cold clay-bottom which, with untimely rains, brought ruin to the poet's labours: it is, I have been informed, more suitable for grazing than cropping, and at this period produces excellent cheese. Mauchline," says the correct and lively Chambers, "is a parish town of above a thousand inhabitants, in ancient times the seat of a Priory belonging to Melrose, but now differing in no respect from a common agricultural village. It is situated upon a slope ascending from the margin of the Ayr, from which it is about two miles distant. One might at first suppose that a rustic population like that of Mauchline would form but a poor field for the descriptive and satirical genius of Burns. It is wondrous, however, how variously original many of the inhabitants of the most ordinary Scotch village will contrive to be. In a small town the character of every man is well known, so that every thing he says or does appears to his fellows as characteristic." Fife has supplied Wilkie-and long may it continue to supply my friend-with original characters: Ayrshire afforded Burns all his most natural portraits; the more sequestered places of Scotland abound with originality. In one pastoral vale, if you find eighty people, you may say you have found sixty original characters.

THE HOLY FAIR..

A robe of seeming truth and trust
Hid crafty observation;

And secret hung, with poison'd crust,
The dirk of Defamation :

A mask that like the gorget show'd,
Dye-varying on the pigeon;
And for a mantle large and broad,
He wrapt him in Religion.

HYPOCRISY A-LA-MODE.

UPON a simmer Sunday morn,
When Nature's face is fair,

I walked forth to view the corn,
An snuff the caller air.

The rising sun owre Galston muirs,
Wi' glorious light was glintin';
The hares were hirplin down the furs,
The lav'rocks they were chantin'
Fu' sweet that day.

As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad,

To see a scene sae gay,
Three hizzies, early at the road,

Cam skelpin up the way;

Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black,

But ane wi' lyart lining;

The third, that gaed a-wee a-back,

Was in the fashion shining,

Fu' gay that day.

The twa appear'd like sisters twin,
In feature, form, an' claes;
Their visage wither'd, lang, an' thin,
slaes :

An' sour as any

The third cam up, hap-step-an'-lowp,
As light as ony lambie,

An' wi' a curchie low did stoop,

As soon as e'er she saw me,

Fu' kind that day.

Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, "Sweet lass,
I think ye seem to ken me ;
I'm sure I've seen that bonnie face,
But yet I canna name ye."
Quo' she, an' laughin' as she spak,

An' taks me by the hands,

"Ye, for my sake, hae gi'en the feck,

Of a' the ten commands

A screed some day.

My name is Fun-your cronie dear,

The nearest friend ye hae ;

An' this is Superstition here,

An' that's Hypocrisy.

I'm gaun to Mauchline holy fair,

To spend an hour in daffin:

Gin ye'll go there, yon runkl'd pair,

We will get famous laughin'

At them this day."

Quoth I, "With a' my heart, I'll do't;

I'll get my Sunday's sark on, An' meet you on the holy spot; Faith we'se hae fine remarkin'!" Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time An' soon I made me ready;

For roads were clad, frae side to side,

Wi monie a wearie body,

In droves that day.

Here farmers gash, in ridin' graith

Gaed hoddin by their cottars;

There, swankies young, in braw braid-claith,
Are springin' o'er the gutters.
The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang,

In silks an' scarlets glitter;

Wi' sweet-milk cheese, in monie a whang,

An' farls bak'd wi' butter,

Fu' crump that day.

When by the plate we set our nose,
Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence,

A greedy glowr black bonnet throws,
An' we maun draw our tippence.
Then in we go to see the show,

On ev'ry side they'r gath'rin',

Some carrying dails, some chairs an' stools,

An' some are busy blethrin'

Right loud that day.

Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs,
An' screen our countra gentry,
There, racer Jess, and twa-three wh-res,
Are blinkin' at the entry.

Here sits a raw of tittlin' jades,

Wi' heaving breast and bare neck,
An' there a batch o' wabster lads,
Blackguarding frae Kilmarnock
For fun this day.

Here some are thinkin' on their sins,
An' some upo' their claes;

Ane curses feet that fyl'd his shins,
Anither sighs an' prays:

On this hand sits a chosen swatch,

Wi' screw'd up grace-proud faces; On that a set o' chaps at watch, Thrang winkin' on the lasses

To chairs that day.

O happy is that man an' blest!
Nae wonder that it pride him!
Whae's ain dear lass that he likes best,
Comes clinkin' down beside him!
Wi' arm repos'd on the chair back,
He sweetly does compose him;
Which, by degrees, slips round her neck,

An's loof upon her bosom,

Unkenn'd that day.