And they have always been a happy lot who could enjoy themselves to the utmost with pipe and music and song and dance, and also perhaps with some of the national beverage of Scotland, which is still rather unfairly coupled with the tartan and the pipes. When the Princess of Thule came back to the Lewis, John the Piper was told—“Put down your pipes, and tek off your bonnet, and we will have a good dram together this night! And it is Sheila herself will pour out the whisky for you, John, and she is a good Highland girl, and she knows the piper was neffer born that could be hurt by whisky. And the whisky was never made that could hurt a piper.” This, too, passed into a proverb—“As fou as a piper”—but however true it may have been in one generation it has nowadays no more than a figurative meaning. Pipers now are as much in the public eye as ever they were, but they are matter-of-fact people, who have their livings to make and their characters to uphold. They are therefore neither over proud, over jealous, nor over jolly. They have fitted themselves into nineteenth century circumstances, and do not care how much the public eye is upon them. The piper as a man of peace has been and still is closely concerned with every side of the social life of the Highland people, but his name is not writ nearly so large on history’s page as is that of the piper as a man of war. In _Whistlebinkie_ we have verses by Alex. A. Ritchie, which illustrate the attachment of the Irish piper to his pipes, and which, for lack of a better opening, may be inserted here. They are too good to leave out altogether:— “Ould Murphy the Piper lay on his deathbed, To his only son Tim, the last words he said, ‘My eyes they grow dim, and my bosom grows could, But ye’ll get all I have, Tim, when I slip my hould, Ye’ll get all I have, boy, when I slip my hould. “‘There’s three cows and three pigs, and three acres of land, And this house shall be yours, Tim, as long as ’twill stand; All my fortune is threescore bright guineas of gould, An ye’ll get all I have, Tim, when I slip my hould, Ye’ll get all I have, Tim, when I slip my hould. “‘Go fetch me my pipes, Tim, till I play my last tune, For death is coming, he’ll be here very soon; Those pipes I have played on, ne’er let them be sould, If you sell all I have, Tim, when I slip my hould, If you sell all I have, Tim, when I slip my hould.’ “Then ould Murphy the Piper, wid the last breath he drew, He played on his pipes like an Irishman true, He played up the anthem of Green Erin so bould— Then calmly he lay down and so slipt his hould! Then gently he lay down and slipt his last hould.” [Illustration] CHAPTER XII. THE BURGH PIPERS OF SCOTLAND.