MERRY FORESTERS. 185 



a space. So it is, however, that instead of complaining 

 of inconvenience, every man is as happy as if he were sole 

 possessor of the great bed at Ware. As a proof of this 

 good feeling, and the general spirit that pervades the hill- 

 men, I transcribe a song made by Alexander, an old and 

 faithful servant of the late Duke of Atholl, who lived with 

 him eighteen years, and now lies buried in the cathedral 

 at Dunkeld. This composition was sung every night at 

 Forest Lodge when Maddy was there; and, whatever 

 may be thought of the poetry, is as good an evidence of 

 the sort of thing going on as I can possibly give. Here 

 it is in its pure doggerel state. I have not attempted 

 to spoil its character by the alteration of a single word : 



ON SEEING LORD CATHCART ARRIVE AT BLAIR 

 ONE MORNING EARLY. 



O, Campbell *, man, I muckle dread 



That we shall have a tramp ; 

 The Commander in Chief f so soon a stear, 



I fear we must flit our camp. 



But if to Felaar we do march off, 



As I muckle dread we may ; 

 Some Athole brose before we go 



Campbell and I shall hae. 



The journey's long and rugged too, 



Some waters for to cross ; 

 Some hills to climb but worst of all 



Is troughing through the moss. 



* Campbell was cook in the Atholl family upwards of sixty years ; 

 but for several years before he died acted as hill-cook only. 



f Lord Cathcart was commander of the forces in Scotland at that 

 time. 1 



