Dear Mr North,
—Understanding that your next No. is to contain the
Luctus Variorum” on the late champion of Ireland, I take the liberty of add-
ing my small contribution in the shape of the following song, which has had
the honour of being sung at the HODGE-PODGE, the JUMBLE, and the MILLE-
, with great applause. It is adapted to your own favourite tune, The Sned-
don March
, or, “ The Paisley Weavers,” one of the finest manufacturing airs
in our Scottish music. The Radicals are quiet, for the present, in this quar-
ter ; but, as I opine, rather cowed than squabashed. At the review on the
King’s birth-day, I had the satisfaction to understand, that general Reynel ex-
pressed his most enthusiastic admiration of our two Volunteer corps. The
Light-Horse squadron are a parcel of most genteel young men, mounted on
beautiful nags ; and they need not fear to shew themselves alongside of either
the 7th or 10th. The Sharpshooters are an incomparable corps. Nothing can
surpass the elegance, ease, and spirit, evinced in every one of their movements.
Look at the Sharpshooters,” cried out a certain officer of regulars t’other
day to his men, who were forming somewhat after the manner of a flock of
sheep, when a colley comes barking over a knowe. The reproof was felt
keenly, I assure you. It is confidently asserted in the first circles here, that
you and the Contributors are to be all West in a few weeks. Take the Tug to
Grangemouth—track it thence in the Canal-boat—enjoy a week’s cold punch
here—and then steam it to Fort-William or Belfast. But my pen, as usual, is
running away with—Your faithful friend and coadjutor,
Glasgow, 7, Millar Street, May 1st.
James Scott,

Sorrow is Dry,

When to Peggy Bauldie’s daughter, first I told Sir Daniel’s death,1
Like a glass of soda-water it took away her breath ;2
It took away your breath, my dear, and it sorely dimm’d your sight,3
And aye ye let the salt, salt tear, down fall for Erin’s knight ;4
For he was a knight of glory bright, the spur ne’er deck’d a bolder,5
Great George’s blade itself was laid upon Sir Daniel’s shoulder.6
Sing, Hey ho, the Sneddon, &c.7
I took a turn along the street, to breathe the Trongate air,8
Carnegie’s lass I chanced to meet, with a bag of lemons fair ;9
Says I, “ Gude Meg, ohon ! chon ! you’ve heard of Dan’s disaster10
If I’m alive, I’ll come at five, and feed upon your master11
A glass or two no harm will do to either saint or sinner,12
And a bowl with friends will make amends for a so so sort of dinner.”13
Sing, Hey ho, the Sneddon, &c.14
I found Carnegie in his nook, upon the old settee,15
And dark and dismal was his look, as black as black might be,16
Then suddenly the blood did fly, and leave his face so pale,17
That scarce I knew, in alter’d hue, the bard of Largo’s vale ;18
But Meg was winding up the jack, so off flew all my pains,19
For, large as cocks, two fat earocks I knew were hung in chains.20
Sing, Hey ho, the Sneddon, &c.21
Nevertheless, he did express his joy to see me there22
Meg laid the cloth, and, nothing loath, I soon pull’d in my chair ;23
The mutton broth and bouilli both came up in season due24
The grace is said—when Provan’s head at the door appears in view25
The bard at work like any Turk, first nods an invitation ;26
For who so free as all the three from priggish botheration ?27
Sing, Hey ho, the Sneddon, &c.28
Ere long the Towddies deck the board with a cod’s head and shoulders,29
And the oyster-sauce it surely was great joy to all beholders.30
To George our king a jolly cann of royal port is poured31
Our gracious king, who knighted Dan with his own shining sword32
The next we sip with trembling lip—’tis of the claret clear33
To the hero dead that cup we shed, and mix it with a tear.34
Sing, Hey ho, the Sneddon, &c.35
’Tis now your servant’s turn to mix the nectar of the bowl :36
Still on the Ring our thoughts we fix, while round the goblets roll,37
Great Jackson, Belcher, Scroggins, Gas, we celebrate in turns,38
Each Christian, Jew, and Pagan, with the Fancy’s flame that burns ;39
Carnegie’s finger on the board a mimic circle draws,40
And, Egan-like, h’ expounds the rounds, and pugilistic laws.41
Sing, Hey ho, the Sneddon, &c.42
’Tis thus that worth heroic is suitably lamented.—43
Great. Daniel’s shade, I know it, dry grief had much resented44
What signify your tear and sigh ?— A bumper is the thing45
Will gladden most the generous ghost of a champion of the King.46
The tear and sigh from voice and eye must quickly pass away,47
But the bumper good may be renewed until our dying day !48
Sing, Hey ho, the Sneddon, &c.49