blacke as jet.
Tweedle, &c.

"When he came to the merry mill pin,
Humble-dum, &c.
Lady Mouse, beene you within?
Tweedle, &c.

"Then came out the dusty Mouse,
Humble-dum, &c.
I am Lady of this house,
Tweedle, &c.

"Hast thou any minde of me?
Humble-dum, &c.
I have e'ne great minde of thee,
Tweedle, &c.

"Who shall this marriage make?
Humble-dum, &c.
Our Lord, which is the Rat,
Tweedle, &c.

"What shall we have to our supper?
Humble-dum, &c.
Three beanes in a pound of butter,
Tweedle, &c.

"When supper they were at,
Humble-dum, &c.
The frogge, the Mouse, and even the Rat,
Tweedle, &c.

"Then came in Gib our Cat,
Humble-dum, &c.
And catcht the Mouse even by the backe,
Tweedle, &c.

"Then did they separate,
Humble-dum, &c.
And the Frogge leapt on the floore so flat,
Tweedle, &c.

"Then came in Dicke our Drake,
Humble-dum, &c.
And drew the Frogge even to the lake,
Tweedle, &c.

"The Rat ran up the wall,
Humble-dum, &c
A goodly company, the Divell goe with all,
Tweedle, &c."

From what I have shown, the reader will agree with me, that a collector of
ballads from oral tradition should possess some acquaintance with the
labours of his predecessors. This knowledge is surely the smallest part of
the duties of an editor.

I remember reading, some years ago, in the writings of old Zarlino (an
Italian author of the sixteenth century), an amusing chapter on the
necessary qualifications for a "complete musician." The recollection of
this forcibly returns to me after perusing the following extract from the
preface to a _Collection of Ballads_ (2 vols. 8vo. Edinburgh, 1828), by our
"simple" but well-meaning friend, "Mr. Peter Buchan of Peterhead."

"No one has yet conceived, nor has it entered the mind of man, what
patience, perseverance, and general knowledge are necessary for an
editor of a Collection of Ancient Ballads; nor what mountains of
difficulties he has to overcome; what hosts of enemies he has to
encounter; and what myriads of little-minded quibblers he has to
silence. The writing of explanatory notes is like no other species of
literature. History throws {52} little light upon their origin [the
ballads, I suppose?], or the cause which gave rise to their
composition. He has to grope his way in the dark: like Bunyan's
pilgrim,