Page:Blackwood's Magazine volume 001.djvu/238

And here our song ends—we have no more. Perhaps an acute observer might infer from this, that in some northern country, no body knows where, there lived in some age or generation a good-natured extremely stupid fellow, called Simon Brodie, and this is all; still the shrewd idea of pretending to define a character from two such bald and weather-beaten incidents has something in it extremely droll. I may mention another of the same cast—"A mile aboon Dundee."

No poet now alive would ever think of writing a ditty on such an old miserable jade as this that died above Dundee, far less of holding it out as so wonderful that she should have died, while, in the mean time, every line shows that it was impossible the beast could live. Haply these songs may exist in some collection, but as I never saw them in any, and write them down from recollection, as I heard them sung, I cannot assert that they are given in full.

The confusion of characters and dishes that are all blent together in "Fy let us a' to the Bridal," is a masterpiece of drollery. It is a pity that there should be one or two expressions in it that are rather too course to be sung in every company; for wherever it is sung with any degree of spirit, it never misses the effect of affording high amusement. The first man whom I heard sing this song, accompanied it always with an anecdote of the author (who was a Scotch laird, whose name I have forgot) singing it once in a large private assembly at London. There were three Scotch noblemen present, who were quite convulsed with laughter, and the rest perceiving that there was something extremely droll in it which they could but very imperfectly comprehend, requested the author to sing it again. This he positively declined. Some persons of very high rank were present, who appearing much disappointed by this refusal, a few noblemen, valuing themselves on their knowledge of Scotsmen's propensities, went up to this northern laird, and offered him a piece of plate of an hundred guineas value, if he would sing the song over again; but he, sensible that his song would not bear the most minute investigation by the company in which he then was persisted in his refusal, putting them off with an old proverb, which cannot be inserted here. He seems to have been precisely of the same opinion with an author of our own day, between whom and his friend the following dialogue took place in a bookseller's shop in this town, to the no small amusement of the bystanders:—

"Let me entreat you, for God's sake, to make the language of this ballad so as that we can understand it."

"I carena whether ye understand it or no, min; I dinna aye understand it very weel mysel'."

"It is not for what you or I, or any Scotsmen may understand; but remember this must be a sealed book to the English."

"O it's a' the better for that—thae English folk like aye best what they dinna understand.'

I know that many old songs of much genuine humour still survive in the country, which have never been collected into any reputable work, merely because they contain some expressions that were inadmissible. A difficult question arises here. Whether is it better to lose these brilliant effusions altogether, or to soften down and modify such expressions so as to suit the taste of an age so notorious for its scrupulous and superficial delicacy? I certainly would give my vote for the latter. It is delicate ground; for it would scarcely be possible to do always just enough and not too much. But though I would not recommend the garbling of original songs as Allan Ramsay did, so as quite to change their character, nor the forging a new volume of old songs off at the ground