O Philly, happy be the day.[271]

Tell me honestly how you like it, and point out whatever you think
faulty.

I am much pleased with your idea of singing our songs in alternate
stanzas, and regret that you did not hint it to me sooner. In those
that remain, I shall have it in my eye. I remember your objections to
the name Philly, but it is the common abbreviation of Phillis. Sally,
the only other name that suits, has to my ear a vulgarity about it,
which unfits it, for anything except burlesque. The legion of Scottish
poetasters of the day, whom your brother editor, Mr. Ritson, ranks
with me as my coevals, have always mistaken vulgarity for simplicity;
whereas, simplicity is as much _eloignee_ from vulgarity on the one
hand, as from affected point and puerile conceit on the other.

I agree with you as to the air, "Craigieburn-wood," that a chorus
would, in some degree, spoil the effect, and shall certainly have
none in my projected song to it. It is not, however, a case in point
with "Rothemurche;" there, as in "Roy's Wife of Aldivalloch," a chorus
goes, to my taste, well enough. As to the chorus going first, that is
the case with "Roy's Wife," as well as "Rothemurche." In fact, in the
first part of both tunes, the rhythm is so peculiar and irregular, and
on that irregularity depends so much of their beauty, that we must
e'en take them with all their wildness, and humour the verse
accordingly. Leaving out the starting note in both tunes, has, I
think, an effect that no regularity could counterbalance the want of.

Try, {Oh Roy's wife of Aldivalloch.
{O lassie wi' the lint-white locks.

and

compare with {Roy's wife of Aldivalloch.
{Lassie wi the lint-white locks.

Does not the lameness of the prefixed syllable strike you? In the last
case, with the true furor of genius, you strike at once into the wild
originality of the air; whereas, in the first insipid method, it is
like the grating screw of the pins before the fiddle is brought into
tune. This is my taste; if I am wrong, I beg pardon of the
_cognoscenti._

"The Caledonian Hunt" is so charming, that it would make any subject
in a song go down; but pathos is certainly its native tongue. Scottish
bacchanalians we certainly want, though the few we have are excellent.
For instance, "Todlin hame," is, for wit and humour, an unparalleled
composition; And "Andrew and his cutty gun" is the work of a master.
By