[61] We have frequently had occasion to remark the ignorance of modern editors regarding the authorship of the most popular songs. Every collector of Scottish song has inserted "Bess, the Gawkie;" but scarcely one of them has correctly stated the authorship. The song has been generally ascribed to an anonymous "Rev. Mr Morehead;" by some to the "Rev. Robert Morehead;" and Allan Cunningham, who states that his father was acquainted with the real author, has described him as the "Rev. William Morehead!" BESS, THE GAWKIE. TUNE--_"Bess, the Gawkie."_ Blythe young Bess to Jean did say, Will ye gang to yon sunny brae, Where flocks do feed, and herds do stray, And sport a while wi' Jamie? Ah, na, lass, I 'll no gang there, Nor about Jamie tak' a care, Nor about Jamie tak' a care, For he 's ta'en up wi' Maggie. For hark, and I will tell you, lass, Did I not see young Jamie pass, Wi' mickle blytheness in his face, Out ower the muir to Maggie. I wat he gae her mony a kiss, And Maggie took them nae amiss; 'Tween ilka smack pleased her wi' this, That Bess was but a gawkie. For when a civil kiss I seek, She turns her head, and thraws her cheek, And for an hour she 'll hardly speak; Wha 'd no ca' her a gawkie? But sure my Maggie has mair sense, She 'll gie a score without offence; Now gie me ane into the mense, And ye shall be my dawtie. O Jamie, ye hae monie ta'en, But I will never stand for ane Or twa when we do meet again; So ne'er think me a gawkie. Ah, na, lass, that canna be; Sic thoughts as thae are far frae me, Or ony thy sweet face that see, E'er to think thee a gawkie. But, whisht, nae mair o' this we 'll speak, For yonder Jamie does us meet; Instead o' Meg he kiss'd sae sweet, I trow he likes the gawkie. O, dear Bess! I hardly knew, When I cam' by, your gown sae new; I think you 've got it wet wi' dew! Quoth she, That 's like a gawkie! It 's wat wi' dew, and 'twill get rain, And I 'll get gowns when it is gane; Sae ye may gang the gate ye came, And tell it to your dawtie. The guilt appear'd in Jamie's cheek; He cried, O cruel maid, but sweet, If I should gang anither gate, I ne'er could meet my dawtie. The lasses fast frae him they flew, And left poor Jamie sair to rue That ever Maggie's face he knew, Or yet ca'd Bess a gawkie. As they gaed ower the muir, they sang, The hills and dales wi' echoes rang, The hills and dales wi' echoes rang, Gang o'er the muir to Maggie. MRS AGNES LYON.