He roar’d a horrid murder-shout, In dreadfu’ desperation! An’ young an’ auld come rinnin out, An’ hear the sad narration: He swoor ’twas hilchin Jean M’Craw, Or crouchie Merran Humphie— Till stop! she trotted thro’ them a’; And wha was it but grumphie Asteer that night! Meg fain wad to the barn gaen, To winn three wechts o’ naething;^12 But for to meet the deil her lane, She pat but little faith in: [Footnote 12: This charm must likewise be performed unperceived and alone. You go to the barn, and open both doors, taking them off the hinges, if possible; for there is danger that the being about to appear may shut the doors, and do you some mischief. Then take that instrument used in winnowing the corn, which in our country dialect we call a “wecht,” and go through all the attitudes of letting down corn against the wind. Repeat it three times, and the third time an apparition will pass through the barn, in at the windy door and out at the other, having both the figure in question, and the appearance or retinue, marking the employment or station in life.—R.B.] She gies the herd a pickle nits, An’ twa red cheekit apples, To watch, while for the barn she sets, In hopes to see Tam Kipples That vera night. She turns the key wi’ cannie thraw, An’owre the threshold ventures; But first on Sawnie gies a ca’, Syne baudly in she enters: A ratton rattl’d up the wa’, An’ she cry’d Lord preserve her! An’ ran thro’ midden-hole an’ a’, An’ pray’d wi’ zeal and fervour, Fu’ fast that night. They hoy’t out Will, wi’ sair advice; They hecht him some fine braw ane; It chanc’d the stack he faddom’t thrice^13 Was timmer-propt for thrawin: He taks a swirlie auld moss-oak For some black, grousome carlin; An’ loot a winze, an’ drew a stroke, Till skin in blypes cam haurlin Aff’s nieves that night. [Footnote 13: Take an opportunity of going unnoticed to a “bear-stack,” and fathom it three times round. The last fathom of the last time you will catch in your arms the appearance of your future conjugal yoke-fellow.—R.B.] A wanton widow Leezie was, As cantie as a kittlen; But och! that night, amang the shaws, She gat a fearfu’ settlin! She thro’ the whins, an’ by the cairn, An’ owre the hill gaed scrievin; Whare three lairds’ lan’s met at a burn,^14 To dip her left sark-sleeve in, Was bent that night.