He’d clamber a mountain and squat on the ground, And the neighbouring maidens would gather around To list to the pipes and to gaze in his een, Especially ELLEN M‘JONES ABERDEEN. All loved their M‘CLAN, save a Sassenach brute, Who came to the Highlands to fish and to shoot; He dressed himself up in a Highlander way, Tho’ his name it was PATTISON CORBY TORBAY. TORBAY had incurred a good deal of expense To make him a Scotchman in every sense; But this is a matter, you’ll readily own, That isn’t a question of tailors alone. A Sassenach chief may be bonily built, He may purchase a sporran, a bonnet, and kilt; Stick a skeän in his hose—wear an acre of stripes— But he cannot assume an affection for pipes. CLONGLOCKETY’S pipings all night and all day Quite frenzied poor PATTISON CORBY TORBAY; The girls were amused at his singular spleen, Especially ELLEN M‘JONES ABERDEEN, “MACPHAIRSON CLONGLOCKETTY ANGUS, my lad, With pibrochs and reels you are driving me mad. If you really must play on that cursed affair, My goodness! play something resembling an air.” Boiled over the blood of MACPHAIRSON M‘CLAN— The Clan of Clonglocketty rose as one man; For all were enraged at the insult, I ween— Especially ELLEN M‘JONES ABERDEEN. “Let’s show,” said M‘CLAN, “to this Sassenach loon That the bagpipes _can_ play him a regular tune. Let’s see,” said M‘CLAN, as he thoughtfully sat, “‘_In my Cottage_’ is easy—I’ll practise at that.” He blew at his “Cottage,” and blew with a will, For a year, seven months, and a fortnight, until (You’ll hardly believe it) M‘CLAN, I declare, Elicited something resembling an air. It was wild—it was fitful—as wild as the breeze— It wandered about into several keys; It was jerky, spasmodic, and harsh, I’m aware; But still it distinctly suggested an air. The Sassenach screamed, and the Sassenach danced; He shrieked in his agony—bellowed and pranced; And the maidens who gathered rejoiced at the scene— Especially ELLEN M‘JONES ABERDEEN. “Hech gather, hech gather, hech gather around; And fill a’ ye lugs wi’ the exquisite sound. An air fra’ the bagpipes—beat that if ye can! Hurrah for CLONGLOCKETTY ANGUS M‘CLAN!” The fame of his piping spread over the land: Respectable widows proposed for his hand, And maidens came flocking to sit on the green— Especially ELLEN M‘JONES ABERDEEN. One morning the fidgety Sassenach swore He’d stand it no longer—he drew his claymore, And (this was, I think, in extremely bad taste) Divided CLONGLOCKETTY close to the waist. Oh! loud were the wailings for ANGUS M‘CLAN, Oh! deep was the grief for that excellent man; The maids stood aghast at the horrible scene— Especially ELLEN M‘JONES ABERDEEN.