Tho’ frae some bonny smilin’ face we steal a wee bit kiss,
Her heart to move, an’ tell our love in vows that never will be broken,
Till in some biggin’ o’ our ain we hae a hearty country rockin’.”
AUNTIE MATTIE ON SONGS.
In the enthusiastic chorus every voice joined, and over and over again after the last verse did the chorus ring through the room; and, “Anither, Mr. Martin, anither like that!” was rained on the canny man. During the pause, Auntie Mattie, a sister of Mrs. Stewart’s, said, “Sing the ‘Farmer’s Ingle,’ Mr. Martin, for auld langsyne. I like it better than the ‘Rockin’.”
“Sae dae I,” said my uncle, “but it’s threadbare noo.”
“Threadbare!” said Auntie Mattie; “threadbare, did ye say, Mr. Martin? A sang that’s worth ca’in’ a sang at a’ will never get threadbare, ony mair than the sun’ll get auld-fashioned altho’ we see’t every day o’ our lives; and ye’ll surely sing’t to obleege me?”
Auntie Mattie was a sonsy, kindly, cheery woman—a’body’s body; but she hardly expected that my uncle would bring her in for a song by the paction he made.
“Mattie,” said he,—“oh, I beg yer pardon, I should hae ca’d ye Mrs. Dickson, but ye lookit sae like what ye did langsyne that Mattie cam’ oot afore I kent,—I’ll sing the ‘Farmer’s Ingle’ if ye’ll sing the ‘Lawland lads think they are fine.’ Ye sang’t at our waddin’, an’ it’s ringin’ in my heid yet. Thae auld sangs are worth a bushel o’ the new trash the folk ca’ sangs noo-a-days. Come awa’, my bonnie leddy, let’s hear the ‘Lawland Lads,’ and ye’ll hae the ‘Farmer’s Ingle’ as weel as I can gie’t; that ye will.”
Auntie Mattie said, “Hoots!” and “Nonsense!” and that “her voice was clean gane;” but her singing of the “Lawland Lads” contradicted all these statements, and was so sweet, and so true, and so natural, as to command strict silence at the second note, which deepened as she proceeded. The verse—