Jan.) A wat well did they, for the maiſt o’ them is dead and rotten, and the reſt o’ them gade awa’ to Italy, where the auld Pape their father, then de’il, the witches, brownies and faries dwal; and then we got anither sort, o’ gospel fouks, it they ca’d curits, fine ſort o’ dainty honeſt fouks they war, but gay and greedy, they did not like ſculduddery- wark, but laid na’ meikle againſt it, for a hantle o’ bits a callens wad a gotten twa or three baſtards before they wad a gotten breeks; they beit to hae their tithes of every thing that grew, mony a time my father wiſt they wad tak the tithes of his hemp too, an it were to hang themſels, they were ay warſt whare a poor mail or wife died, altho’ they left weans fatherleſs and mitherleſs, a deed they wad a ſent their bellman, and wi’ his lang prelatic fingers, he wad a harl’d the upper pair o’ blankets aff o’ the poor things bed, for ſome rent that they gard fouks pay for dying, a ſae did they een, and yet they keepit a hantle o’ braw haly days, and days o’ meikle meat, Faſtern’s-een and Yule-days, when we gat our wames fou o’ fat broſe, and a ſuppet Yule-ſowens till our ſarks had been like to rive, and after that a eaten roſted cheese and white puddings well ſpiced, O braw times for the guts, well I wat every body might live then that had ony thing to live on.
Mag.) But dear Janet, ye’re bra’ an lang o’ the memory, do ye mind o’ the waefu’
