e young
lady whom fortune had thus strangely thrown in his way. One glance
sufficed. The features of Sir Gideon's daughter, known to fame as
"Muckle-mou'd Meg," were not attractive. The condemned culprit felt that
even the gallows was preferable to such an objectionable matrimonial
alliance.

"Lead on to the gallows, then," Willie replied,
"I'm now in your power, and ye carry it high;
Nae daughter of yours shall e'er lie by my side;
A Scott, ye maun mind, counts it naething to die."

These were brave words, bravely spoken. Sir Gideon, however, had made up
his mind as to the course he meant to pursue, and Willie Scott was at once
led forth to make his acquaintance with the "Hanging Tree." But when he
drew near and saw the fatal rope dangling in the wind, his courage began
to fail him. The prospect was far from inviting, and he pled for a few
days respite to think on his sins, "and balance the offer of freedom so
kind." But the old laird was inexorable. He simply said to him, "There is
the hangman, and there is the priest, make your choice." Thus driven to
bay, Willie saw that further parleying would not avail, and so he thought
he had better make the best of a bad business. As he thought over the
matter, he began to discover certain traits in the young lady's person and
character of a more or less pleasing description. He concluded that,
after all, he might do worse than wed with the daughter of Elibank.--

"What matter," quo' he, "though her nose it be lang,
For noses bring luck an' it's welcome that brings.

There's something weel-faur'd in her soncy gray een,
But they're better than nane, and ane's life is sae sweet;
An' what though her mou' be the maist I hae seen,
Faith muckle-mou'd fok hae a luck for their meat."

Thus everything ended happily, and young Harden had cause to bless the day
he found himself at the mercy of Sir Gideon Murray of Elibank. Seldom,
indeed, has Border reiver been so beneficently punished!

An' muckle guid bluid frae that union has flowed,
An' mony a brave fellow, an' mony a brave feat;
I darena just say they are a' muckle mou'd,
But they rather have still a guid luck for their meat.

Such is the tradition, as Hogg has given it in his humourous poem. It goes
without saying that the poet has embellished and enlarged the story to
suit his own purposes. But the tradition has generally been regarded as
having some considerable basis of fact.