in at the view;
She whisper'd Rob to leuk for't:
Rob, stownlins, prie'd her bonie mou',
Fu' cozie in the neuk for't,
Unseen that night.

But Merran sat behint their backs,
Her thoughts on Andrew Bell:
She lea'es them gashin at their cracks,
An' slips out--by hersel';
She thro' the yard the nearest taks,
An' for the kiln she goes then,
An' darklins grapit for the bauks,
And in the blue-clue^9 throws then,
Right fear't that night.

[Footnote 9: Whoever would, with success, try this spell,
must strictly observe these directions: Steal out, all
alone, to the kiln, and darkling, throw into the "pot" a
clue of blue yarn; wind it in a new clue off the old one;
and, toward the latter end, something will hold the thread:
demand, "Wha hauds?" i.e., who holds? and answer will be
returned from the kiln-pot, by naming the Christian and
surname of your future spouse.--R.B.]

An' ay she win't, an' ay she swat--
I wat she made nae jaukin;
Till something held within the pat,
Good Lord! but she was quaukin!
But whether 'twas the deil himsel,
Or whether 'twas a bauk-en',
Or whether it was Andrew Bell,
She did na wait on talkin
To spier that night.

Wee Jenny to her graunie says,
"Will ye go wi' me, graunie?
I'll eat the apple at the glass,^10
I gat frae uncle Johnie:"
She fuff't her pipe wi' sic a lunt,
In wrath she was sae vap'rin,
She notic't na an aizle brunt
Her braw, new, worset apron
Out thro' that night.

[Footnote 10: Take a candle and go alone to a looking-glass;
eat an apple before it, and some traditions say you should
comb your hair all the time; the face of your conjungal
companion, to be, will be seen in the glass, as if peeping
over your shoulder.--R.B.]

"Ye little skelpie-limmer's face!
I daur you try sic sportin,
As seek the foul thief ony place,
For him to spae your fortune:
Nae doubt but ye may get a sight!
Great cause ye hae to fear it;
For mony a ane has gotten a fright,
An' liv'd an' died deleerit,
On sic a night.

"Ae hairst afore the Sherra-moor,
I mind't as weel's yestreen--
I was a gilpey then, I'm sure
I was na past fyfteen:
The simmer had been cauld an' wat,
An' stuff was unco green;
An