lloping, galloping;
Legs and arms a' walloping, walloping;
De'il take the hindmost, quo' Duncan M'Calapin,
The Laird of Tillyben, joe.

_Old Song_.

He went a little further,
And turn'd his head aside,
And just by Goodman Whitfield's gate,
Oh there the mare he spied,
He ask'd her how she did,
She stared him in the face,
Then down she laid her head again--
She was in wretched case.

_Old Poulter's Mare_.

It happened curiously that, of all the days of the year, this should have
been the one on which the Carters'-play was held; and, by good luck, we
were just in time to see that grand sight. The whole regiment of carters
were paraded up at my Lord's door, for so they call their box-master; and
a beautiful thing it was, I can assure ye. What a sight of ribands was
on the horses! Many a crame must have been emptied ere such a number of
manes and long tails could have been busked out. The beasts themselves,
poor things, I dare say, wondered much at their bravery, and no less I am
sure did the riders. They looked for all the world like living
haberdashery shops. Great bunches of wallflower, thyme, spearmint,
batchelor buttons, gardeners' gartens, peony roses, gillyflower, and
southernwood, were stuck in their button-holes; and broad belts of
stripped silk, of every colour in the rainbow, were flung across their
shoulders. As to their hats, the man would have had a clear ee that
could have kent what was their shape or colour. They were all rowed
round with ribands, and puffed about the rim with long green or white
feathers; and cockades were stuck on the off side, to say nothing of long
strips fleeing behind them in the wind like streamers. Save us! to see
men so proud of finery; if they had been peacocks one would have thought
less; but in decent sober men, the heads of small families, and with no
great wages, the thing was crazy-like. Was it not?

At long and last we saw them all set in motion, like a regiment of
dragoons, two and two, with a drum and fife at their head, as if they had
been marching to the field of battle. By-the-bye, it was two of our own
volunteer lads that were playing that day before them, Rory Skirl the
snab, and Geordie Thump the dyer; so this, ye see, verified the old
proverb, that travel where ye like, to the world's end, ye'll aye meet
with kent faces; Tammie and me coming out to the yill-house door to see
them pass by.

Behin