Now by my royal word, I swear,
Rewarded thou shalt be.

"This bonny holm fu' fertile is,
Yon hill is fair and green,
A goodly heritage 'twould make
For kindly Scot, I ween.

Of all round which thy feet can rin,
While I thy brose do pree,

Thou, by my kingly word, I vow
Shalt be the fair ladie.

"The bowl is deep, the brose is het, As het as weel may be ;

King's hunger 'gainst a woman's speed!
Now kilt thy coats and flee!"

O, she has kilted up her coats,
An' bound her flying hair,
An' sic a race as she maun rin,
I trow ran woman ne'er.

She stinted not for briar-bush,
For stane, nor yet for thorn;
But aye she wan, and aye she ran,
Wi' limbs and garments torn.
An' first she saw a wily fox
Was running roun' the hill,
Wi' fatted goose frae her ain store-
She liked the sight but ill.

"May huntsman find ye, wily beast,
That comes at sic a time;

But better 'twere fat goose to want
Than rood o' land to tyne."

An' syne she saw a miller man,
Slept on the Sheeling Hill,

An' round him played the fiery flames
On rafter, roof, and kiln.

"Now soundly sleep, thou miller man, An' fire burn merrilie,

For an' I stop to wake an' quench,

Urr's dame I ne'er shall be."

And when she gained the house again

She gave but ae peep in,

But that ae peep showed sight wad cheer
The heart o' living thing.

For side by side the twa knights sat,

An' smiling merrilie,

Wi' but ae spoon between them twa,
They supped right heartilie.

Four words she spak, she spak but four,
"Fair play, my liege, fair play;"
Ere wi' ae bound, by bank and stream,
Ance mair she was away.

Then spak the Southron to the king,
"I like thy fare not ill,

And for the dame that made the food,

I like her better still.

Were hearts like hers within the breasts
Of half your Scottish men,

We Southrons might from this fair land
Turn bridles home again."

An' aye the sturdy dame ran on,
An' ere the brose was done,
Fu' many a mile o' bonny land
For heritage she won.

An' thus she said, "O' a' this land

I shall be called ladie,

An' Sprott of Urr in time to come
An honoured name shall be."

An' by this deed it shall be held
When passes Scottish king,
The laird of Urr gude butter brose
In lordly dish shall bring.

The king has heard her musing speech,
And ta'en her at her word;

That race has made her Urr's ladie,

An' Mark its gallant lord.

Ed. Oh, that is fun!

Alice. Is it a real old ballad, Aunt?

M. E. NEIL.

Aunt C. No, it is by a young lady, still alive, who wrote it for the magazine of a little essay society.

Alice. But of course it is a real tradition.

Aunt C. Yes, like that of the Hay of Luncarty, who, with his two sons and their ploughshares, kept the pass against the English army, and were rewarded with as much land as a falcon could fly over.

I

Grace. I don't know what brose means.

Aunt C. Oatmeal with boiling water poured on it. suppose this was made rich with butter.

It is not easy to say what can come after so capital a poem.

Alice. I marked one in the Little Folks for January, 1879, page 20, which is full of loyalty, though of a different kind-loyalty to one's word. It is supposed to happen soon after one of the Jacobite risings, and is called

HIDE AND SEEK IN A MANOR-HOUSE.

It happened many a year ago,

When the earth was waiting for the snow,

That a joyous company looked out

From a window wainscoted and low.
"The garden is dim and cold," they said,
"And the yew-tree nods its aged head,

As the snow-flake slowly strays about,

And the moonless sky looks stern and gray;

But our hearts are blithe, and a game we'll play— Such a game as we never have played beforeThrough chamber and hall and corridor.

Then off they ran in frolic and glee,
In truth 'twas a dainty sight to see;
Four little maidens in high-heeled shoes,
And ribbons and kerchiefs of many hues;
Three tall brothers, all bragging and bold,
And gentle Sir Christopher seven years old.

How they made the oaken floors to creak
With the hurry and skurry of hide and seek;
How they shouted and bounded away
Through gallery long and dusty room,
Where rose leaves hid amongst the gloom,
Where mice danced up to their tripping feet,
And armour clashed at their passage fleet;
Rattle of dagger and coat of mail,
Till the moon threw off her cloudy veil
To watch them at their play.

At first 'twas laughter and sport and fun,
But fancies strange came one by one;

For thrice they thought, where the shadows spread,
That they saw the form of a tiny head,

And once where the moonlight broader shone,

They caught the gleam of a face unknown.