no intention of wading through much more of Sheldon's
lucubrations--nor is it necessary, as, after a close examination, we
cannot discover one single ancient ballad which is new to us in the
whole collection. One or two, as we have already shown, are old friends
in filthy garments, whose acquaintance we accordingly repudiate. Two or
three, such as "Sir John le Sprynge," are mere reprints, and the
remainder may be shortly characterised as unmitigated trash. It is
rather too much that ditties still redolent of ardent spirits, and
distinctly traceable in their authorship to a drunken horse-couper in
Hawick, should be presented to the public as genuine Border ballads. For
example, we are favoured with an effusion called "Loudon Jock's
Courtship," which Mr Sheldon avers to be "a very old ballad, now for the
first time published," and states that he took it down "from the recital
of an old drover, called A. Pringle, who attended Kelso market." We do
not for a moment doubt that this valuable lay was actually pronounced by
the baked lips of Sandy, over half-a-mutchkin of aqua-vitae in a
toll-house; but we decline to register it as ancient upon the authority
of such a Pisistratus. On the contrary, the beast who composed it was
manifestly free of the Vennel, acquainted with every nauseous close in
the old town of Edinburgh, and frequently found at full length upon the
Bridge, in a state of brutal intoxication. The localities are quite
unequivocal, and mark the date of its composition. The "brig,"
unfortunately for Mr Sheldon, is by no means an ancient structure. No
doubt the ditty is graphic in its way, and full-flavoured enough to turn
the stomach of a Gilmerton carter, as the following specimen will
testify:

"Jock lifted and fought, gat in mony a scrape,
But it was all the same thing to that rattling chiel,
He wad aye spoil the horn, or else mak' a spoon,
The crown o' the causey, a kirk or a mill.

He rade into Embro' wi' gowd in his pouch,
To look at the ferlies and houses sae grand;
The Castle and Holyrood, the lang walk o' Leith,
Great joy for his coming soon Loudon Jock fand.

'Twas first hae this gill, and then aye anither,
Syne bottles o' sma' yill, and baups for his kite;
And then cam' the feyther o't, sister and brither,
And Jock stoited awa' at the heel o' the night.

Jock met wi' a hizzy upon the high brig,
That looks o'er the yard as he stoite