When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord, An' float the jinglin icy-boord, Then water-kelpies haunt the foord, By your direction; An' nighted trav'llers are allur'd To their destruction. An' aft your moss-traversing spunkies Till in some miry slough he sunk is, When masons' mystic word an' grip The youngest brother ye wad whip Lang syne, in Eden's bonie yard, When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd, An' all the soul of love they shar'd, The raptur'd hour, Sweet on the fragrant, flow'ry sward, Then you, ye auld, snic-drawing dog! Ye came to Paradise incog. An' play'd on man a cursed brogue, (Black be your fa!) An' gied the infant warld a shog, 'Maist ruin'd a'. D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz, Ye did present your smoutie phiz 'Mang better folk, An' sklented on the man of Uzz Your spitefu' joke? An' how ye gat him i' your thrall, Wi' bitter claw, An' lows'd his ill tongu'd, wicked scawl, Was warst ava? But a' your doings to rehearse, Your wily snares an' fechtin fierce, Sin' that day Michael did you pierce, Down to this time, Wad ding a Lallan tongue, or Erse, In prose or rhyme. An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin, Some luckless hour will send him linkin But, faith! he'll turn a corner jinkin, But, fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben! Still hae a stake I'm wae to think upo' yon den, Ev'n for your sake! The Prince and Power of the air is a favourite topic of rustic speculation. The peasantry complain that Milton has made Satan too acceptable to the fancy, and seem to prefer him, with his monkish attributes-horns, cloven-foot, and tail. An old shepherd told me he had, when a boy, as good as seen him." I was," said he, returning from school, and stopped till the twilight, groping trouts in a burn, when a thunder-storm came on. I looked up, and just before me a cloud came down as dark as night-the queerest-shaped cloud I ever saw; and there was something terrible about it, for when it was close to me, I saw, as plain as I see you, a dark form within it, thrice the size of any earthly man. It was the Evil One himself—there's nae doubt o' that."-Samuel," I said, "did you hear his cloven-foot on the ground?""No," replied he, "but I saw ane o' his horns-and, O what waves o' fire were rowing after him!"—“ The Address to the Deil," says Currie, "is one of the happiest of the Poet's productions. Humour and tenderness are so happily intermixed, that it is impossible to say which preponderates." Jeffrey, too, felt the beautiful and relenting spirit in which the poem concludes. The Devil frequently makes his appearance in our old mysteries, but he comes to work unmitigated mischief, and we part with him gladly. The “ Hornie, Satan, Nick, and Clootie," who lives in the imaginations of the peasantry, is not quite such a reprobate, though his shape is any thing but prepossessing. Nor is he an object of much alarm; a knowledge of the scriptures and a belief in heaven are considered sure protectors; and a peasant will brave a suspicious road at midnight if he can repeat a psalm. The Poet touches on the leading topics of our superstitious beliefs; the solitary wanderings of the fiend, by lonely ruins, or among the haunts of man; his coalition with warlocks and witches, when spells are formed in kirk-yards, owre howkit dead," which rob cows of their milk, cream of its butter, and matrimony of its joys. -“ It was, I think," says Gilbert Burns, "in the winter of 1784, as we were going with carts for coals to the family fire (and I could yet point out the particular spot), that Robert first repeated to me the Address to the Diel.' The curious idea of such an address was suggested to him by running over in his mind the many ludicrous accounts and representations we have from various quarters of this august personage.” THE AULD FARMER'S NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION TO HIS AULD MARE MAGGIE, ON GIVING HER THE ACCUSTOMED RIPP OF CORN TO HANSEL IN THE NEW YEAR. A GUID New-year I wish thee, Maggie! Thou could hae gaen like onie staggie Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, an crazy, He should been tight that daur't to raize thee Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, As e'er tread yird; An' could hae flown out-owre a stank, |