ever be peace till Jamie comes hame," the second or
high part of the tune being a repetition of the first part an octave
higher, is only for instrumental music, and would be much better
omitted in singing.

"Cowden-knowes." Remember in your index that the song in pure English
to this tune, beginning,

"When summer comes, the swains on Tweed,"

is the production of Crawfurd. Robert was his Christian name.[241]

"Laddie, lie near me," must lie by me for some time. I do not know the
air; and until I am complete master of a tune, in my own singing (such
as it is), I can never compose for it. My way is: I consider the
poetic sentiment correspondent to my idea of the musical expression;
then choose my theme; begin one stanza: when that is composed, which
is generally the most difficult part of the business, I walk out, sit
down now and then, look out for objects of nature around me that are
in unison and harmony with the cogitations of my fancy, and workings
of my bosom; humming every now and then the air with the verses I have
framed. When I feel my muse beginning to jade, I retire to the
solitary fire-side of my study, and there commit my effusions to
paper; swinging at intervals on the hind-legs of my elbow-chair, by
way of calling forth my own critical strictures as my pen goes on.
Seriously, this, at home, is almost invariably my way.

What cursed egotism!

"Gil Morice" I am for leaving out. It is a plaguy length; the air
itself is never sung; and its place can well be supplied by one or two
songs for fine airs that are not in your list--for instance
"Craigieburn-wood" and "Roy's wife." The first, beside its intrinsic
merit, has novelty, and the last has high merit as well as great
celebrity. I have the original words of a song for the last air, in
the handwriting of the lady who composed it; and they are superior to
any edition of the song which the public has yet seen.

"Highland laddie." The old set will please a mere Scotch ear best; and
the new an Italianised one. There is a third, and what Oswald calls
the old "Highland laddie," which pleases me more than either of them.
It is sometimes called "Ginglin Johnnie;" it being the air of an old
humorous tawdry song of that name. You will find it in the Museum, "I
hae been at Crookieden," &c. I would advise you, in the musical
quandary, to offer up your prayers to the muses for inspiring
direction; and in the meantime, waiting for this direction, bestow a
lib