I’d maist ill tricks a lad can ha’e— An’ _some I hadna neebors spak’ o’_— But naither frien’ nor foe could say I ever cared to blaw tobacco. An’ in they gaed; but I stood there Before the door, a tentless sentry, Till startled by a vision fair Gaun jookin’ ben across the entry. Blate—blate an’ backwarts aye I’ve been, An’ niver forrat-ways nor saucy. But where’s the guff at bricht nineteen ’At wadna chace a fleein’ lassie? Sae ben I slinkit—hat i’ han’— An’ there, beside the wee bit wunnock, I saw a peerless maiden stan’, Just pantin’ like a hare i’ panic. Wi’ shapely form i’ braw black silk— Lang curls as black’s the silk, an’ blacker— A changefu’ cheek—a throat like milk. An’ lown an’ pawkily I spak’ her. I pled for my companions rouch— I trow’t they couldna mean to fley her: But only heard her breath’s quick souch, For fient a word could I get frae her. I howp’t she didna think _me_ rude— Civility I weel intendit; An’, quit I naither wad nor could, But pardon—gin I _had_ offendit. I ventur’t yince to speir her name— I offen askit where she cam’ frae— (That hoosie boodna’ be her hame) An’ thochte I heard ae word like _Wamphray_. But plague licht on thae rantin’ chiel’s, ’At couldna let yin coort i’ quayet, But keepit cryin’—bletherin’ de’ils!— “Hoy! This is no the bit to stey at; Co’ way to Stidriggs!”—sae I gaed, But first the lassie low I herkit, “I’ll come again?” was what I said— An’ nae denial I remerkit. We wan to Stidriggs Bent—but haith! Our _bent_ was Stidriggs’ tea an’ toddy; An’ he that wadna roose them baith, Maun be a puir wanwauchtie body. To Whitcastles I should ha’e gaen, But weet!—I’ve seldom seen the like o’ ’t— An’ An’ro swore i’ siccan a rain He wadna turn a gangrel’s tyke out. Twae close box-beds, to five big chiel’s, Presentit scrimp accommodation; But, “heids an’ thraws, or necks an’ heels,” They’d haud by An’ro’s invitation. As they begood to think o’ bed, An opportunity I grippit, Borrow’t, no askin’, some ane’s plaid, An’ furth into the rain I slippit. An’ though the gate I hardly kent, I’ trustfu’ love’s instinct confidin’, I, darklin’, stayvelt owre the bent, An’ fan’ the cot, but ither guidin’. An’ nearin’ that wee hoose at last, O’ monie a fletherin’ wordie thinkin’, I saw, what gar’t my heart beat fast, A licht frae oot it’s window blinkin’. I keekit through, but nochte could see; A claith was there, half drawn, half drappit; But sure the licht was meen’t for me;— Upon the glass I lichtly chappit. An’ suen I heard the openin’ door; An’ through it’s chink I saftly glidit; But turnin’ on the lichted floor, I saw I’d been sair, sair misguidit—