The Cumberland tradition affirms that those persons who on Fasting's-Even, as Shrove Tuesday is vulgarly called in the North of England, do not eat heartily, are crammed with barley chaff by Hob-Thross: and so careful are the villagers to set the goblin at defiance, that scarcely a single hind retires to rest without previously partaking of a hot supper. Sir Walter Scott tells us that the last Brownie known in Ettrick Forest, resided in Bodsbeck, a wild and solitary spot, near the head of Moffat Water, where he exercised his functions undisturbed, till the scrupulous devotion of an old lady induced her _to hire him away_, as it was termed, by placing in his haunt a porringer of milk and a piece of money. After receiving this hint to depart, he was heard the whole night to howl and cry, "Farewell to bonnie Bodsbeck!" which he was compelled to abandon for ever. FOOTNOTE: [6] Qu. Had a grant of? THE ABBOT OF CALDER. The Abbot of Calder rode out from his gate To the town, saying, "Sorrow lies, early and late, In this wretched wide world upon every degree; And each child of the Church must have comfort from me! So on palfrey I wend to Lord Lucy's strong hold: For this life must press hard on these barons so bold." The Abbot was welcome to Lucy's proud hall. And he sat down with knights, and with ladies, and all, High at feast, joyous-hearted, light, gallant, and fair: Where to speak upon woe were but jesting with care. So his palfrey re-mounting at evening, he troll'd, "The world goes not ill with these barons so bold." Ambling on by the forge, he drew up by the flame, "Well, my son! how is all with the children and dame? Toiling on!"--"Yes! but, father, not badly we speed; We have health; and for wealth, we lack nought that we need." Then at least, thought the Monk, here no text I need urge, For the world passes well with my friend at the forge! Turning off by the stream at the foot of the hill, All were busy, as bees in a hive, at the mill. "Benedicite!" cried he to women and wives, Where they sang at their labour as if for their lives, All so fat, fair, and fruitful. The Abbot jogg'd on, Humming, "Sweet, too, is rest when the labour is done." As he pass'd by the lane that leads up to the stile, Pretty Lillie came down with her curtsey and smile,-- "Well, my daughter!" the Abbot said, chucking her chin; "How is Robin?--or Reuben? which--which is to win?" "--Thank you!--Robin," she said, as she blushed in her sleeve; While the Monk, spurring on, laughed a joyous "good eve!" On the verge of the chase rode the falconer by: With a song on his lip and a laugh in his eye, All the day o'er the moors he had gallop'd, and now He was off to the quintain-match over the brow; Then to crown with good cheer all the sports of the day. And the Abbot sighed, "Springtime, and beautiful May!"