III.

'Gainst Stewart's race he always hust,
In words with gallish bitter stuft,
'Till death his candle out has snuff'd,
And dropt his head:

No more with spiritual pride is stuft
Since he is dead,

IV.

The ladies patches he abhorr'd,
Like gown and cassock on a Lord,
'Gainst *foot-ball pastime ne'er a word
Shall more be said:

The bagpipes too shall be restor❜d,
Now he is dead.

V.

Then, lads and lasses, ye may trip it,
And round each one another skip it;
He's gone who thought your dancing wicket,
And from us fled :

No more the pauns are laid to stick it,
Since he is dead.

VI.

Brethren, courage! tak aff your † glass,
And with it toast some bonny lass,
He's not the scarecrow that he was,
You are well rid:

Fate kindly gave the Coup de Grace,
And struck him dead.

VII.

Mr. Convener, go carouse,

And with your comrades take a bouse:
Nay, *dance at weddings with his spouse,
There's none to heed;

The merry freedom law allows,

Since he is dead.

VIII.

This spouse is of a noted fame,

Prayer Books, and Bibles in a flame,

* His coming out, with his Bible in his hands, to protest against the sinfulness of this diversion, was very like the Don's attack upon the wind mill, flock of sheep,

&c.

+ He was a great scare crow to his brethren of the bottle.

In his spirit of meekness, he named this gentleman from the rulpit the Devil's Deacon Convener. His Kirk-Session's Petition to the Sheriff against him is a piece of refined sense and eloquence.

This trip at a penny-wedding lies still a weight upon her conscience, as she says, to this very day,-about twenty years intervening.

By Vander Sypin, points her name,
True she was mad:

So was the prompter to that scene,
Who now is dead.

IX.

Stentriphon's music made him groan,
As Gilderoy had laid him on,

Now, God, says he, had cudgled† home,
And bruis'd that reed;

A reed that pleased every one

But him that's dead.

X.

He fornication did describe

Like oil which easily doth glide

And sweetly to the belly slide,
But oh, how sour;

When cuttie mare you mount and ride,
And I pray an hour.

XI.

Italian tricks no more thought on,
Which he explained in a sermon,
It was indeed a very odd one,

As e'er was made,

Wou'd forc'd a blush from a doll common,
But now he's dead.

XII.

Mourn eve's droppers, his close informers,
Of conversation held in corners;

The carted whore pickt up from scorners,
§Has lost her trade;

These were his ghostly good reformers,
Who now is dead.

XIII.

Mourn Redpath and your slandering crew,

You've lost a pulpit voucher who

Believ'd your lies like gospel true;

You may well dread,

The sheep will not believe you now,
Since Pastor's dead.

This procession of her's, when she burnt the inmeat of the Chapel at Alloa, is done nicely in a historical piece by this famous painter.

+ His own words from the pulpit; a coarse compliment to his best friend, Br. Br. This alludes to a waggish long prayer, spoken by a young gentleman from the stool of repentance, in commendation of this teacher and his discipline, composed in John Steel's by different bands.

This note of his sermon cannot be given without offending every modest ear. He made a convert of this strumpet, who brought him in all scandal, lies, and tattle of the parish, which he faithfully retailed from the pulpit.

XIV.

Of all the covenanted pack,

The best was deep-mouth'd Govan Quack,
With face to please he had the knack,
Was good at's trade;

Our Andrew ne'er was worth a plack,
Who now lies dead.

The following is an extract from a Poem, entitled The Historie of Jonah," in "ZION'S FLOWERS," by Mr. Zacharie Boyd, Minister of the Baronie of Glasgow :

What house is this, where's neither fire nor candle,
Where I no thing but guts of fishes handle?

I, and my table, are both heere within,

Where day ne'er dawn'd, where sun did never shine.
The like of this on earth man never saw,

A living man within a monster's mawe;

Buried under mountains which are high and steep,
Plung'd under water hundrethe fathomes deep.
Not so was Noah in his house of tree,

For through a window hee the light did see:
Hee sail'd above the highest waves, a wonder,
1, and my boat, are all the waters under.
Hee in his ark might goe and also come,
But I sit still in such a strait'ned roome,
As is most uncouth, head and feet together,

Among such grease as would a thousand smother;
I find no way now for my shrinking hence,
But heere to lye and die for mine offence:
Eight persons were in Noah's hulk together,
Comfortable they were each one to other,
In all the earth like unto mee is none,
Far from all living I heere lye alone,
Where I entomb'd in melancholy sink,
Choak't, suffocat, with excremental stink:

This grieves me most, that I for grievous sinne,
Incarc'rd lye within this floating In.

NOTES of the Sermons of Mr. J—

I

-n D―n, and others.

N the beginning of June 1721, Mr. J- -n D―n, commonly called SAXTY-TEN, preached in the kirk of Aberdour, in Buchan, and in his prayer, after Sermon, expressed himself thus, "O Lord, rain down raisins, and the best fruits in thy basket, upon us thy people; and as for the bishop ministers, sweep them from the face of the earth with the besom of destruction."

About the year 1729, one Alexander Moir, in the Kirk-town of Drumblait, Aberdeenshire, making exercise, as it is commonly called, on a Sunday evening, in his family, was heard to pray, "That God would make his word to them as a sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal." The direct contrary of which the poor man, captivated with a mere jingling sound of words, should have prayed for.

In Perthshire, an elder of the Kirk, more zealous than knowing, thinking fit to visit a dying neighbour, must needs pray for the sick person. One of the name of Lawson being present, who knew the shallowness of the elder, and understood well the danger of extemporising in our addresses to God, would by no means abide in the house to join in the rash and incoherent effusions to be then uttered, but stept to the door, and stood there to listen to what might be said. The elder laboured hard, and roared aloud, at the confused work, and thought fit at length to pray to God, "To send the prince of the power of the air to receive the soul of the dying person." The listening neighbour, whose patience had been sufficiently tried before this monstrous expression had been belched out, stept again into the house, and reasoned the matter with the elder, how he came to consign the soul of the dying person to the devil?—The poor elder, quite confounded with the accusation, began to rebuke, very gravely, his animadverting friend, for imputing to him such an odious act, which he never once intended. Upon this, Lawson asked him, if he had not prayed as above, repeating the very words to him. This the elder acknowledged: "Well then, said he, do not you know that the prince of the power of the air is one of the

characters by which the Devil is represented to us in scripture?" And calling for a Bible, he turned up the passage, Ephes. ii. 2. for the conviction of the extemporizing elder.

These are recent instances, and many more might be added, to convince those that are more nearly concerned to rectify abuses, of the usefulness, and even necessity of set forms of prayer, to prevent the shocking nonsense and horrid blasphemies, too frequently offered up to the great God of Heaven and earth. See the excellent letter from a blacksmith to the ministers and elders of the Kirk of Scotland, upon this affecting subject, no farther back than 1728. A performance too little regarded by those to whom it is most applicable, and who ought to lay it most seriously to heart.

A

EXCER PS

From the Writings of Mr. Robert Calder.

Learned brother at a catechising, told Yule-day was derived thus: There was a certain man hanged his dog on the 25th of December, the creature was three hours hung, at last the cord was loosed, and the dog lived; and running off, cryed, Ule, Ule, Ule; and hence, says he, came the word, Yule, Yule, Yule.

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Another in England preaching upon the word Repent, began his preface thus, "Dearly beloved, I brought you hither the day some fine biscuits baken in the oven of charity, for the chickens of the church, for the spar66 rows of the spirit, and the sweet swallows of salvation. Alas! now-adays, all houses are turned into ale-houses; our cares are turned into cards; our paradise to a pair of dice; our marriage into a merry age; our matrimony into matter of money; our wedlock into we had luck; our pedagogues into petri gouks; our chaplains into cheap lowns. It was "not so in the days of Noah; Ah no! But Repent, Sirs, is a rich word, 66 every letter exhorts us to a duty; R. readily, E. earnestly, P. presently, "E. early, N. nationally, T. thoroughly. Again, R. rarely, E. elegantly, "P. prettily, E. evenly, N. neatly, T. tightly."

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