I vow, I have not seen or heard a worse halfpenny ballad; I don't believe you could match it in any pedlar's pack in the country.

I should be ashamed to think that the honour of the Highlands could be affected by such doggrel.

"-- And, tossing up his head, he snuffed the air indignantly.
Apparently the old woman heard the sound of their voices; for, ceasing her song, she called out, "Come in, sirs, come in--good-will never halted at the door-stane." They entered, and found to their surprise Elspeth alone, sitting "ghastly on the hearth," like the personification of Old Age in the Hunter's song of the Owl,* "wrinkled, tattered, vile, dim-eyed, discoloured, torpid." * See Mrs.Grant on the Highland Superstitions, vol.ii.p.

260, for this fine translation from the Gaelic.
"They're a' out," she said, as they entered; "but an ye will sit a blink, somebody will be in.

If ye hae business wi' my gude-daughter, or my son, they'll be in belyve,--I never speak on business mysell.