122 NETHER LOCHABER. 



the storm-driven rollers as they broke in sullen thunder along the 

 shore. We had occasion to be across Corran Ferry on the wettest 

 of these days, bad as it was, and, in spite of waterproofs and haps 

 of most approved texture and form, we returned in the evening 

 so soaked and drenched and droulcit, to use an expressive 

 Scotticism, that we might as well have been for half an hour up 

 to our chin, over head and ears for that matter of it, in the 

 deepest pool of the Ehi. When changing our clothes in our own 

 room after getting home, we managed to raise a quiet laugh with 

 ourselves over it all, by the recollection of the music and words of 

 a favourite Scotch reel not altogether inapplicable to our then 

 condition. The reel in question is a well-known one, though we 

 forget at present its proper distinctive name. It is, we think, one 

 of Neil Gow's. A gudewife, presumably of Amazonian heart, and 

 also of Amazonian proportions, makes her husband wince and 

 quail, and conduct himself with becoming amiability and decorum, 

 as she sings — 



" Mur 'bi'dh agam ach trudair bodaich, 

 Bbogain anns an allt e ; 

 Mur 'bi'dh agam ach trudair bodaich, 

 Bhogain anns an allt e ; 

 Bhogain agus bhogain agus bhogain th'ar a cheann e, 

 'S mur 'bi'dh a glan 'nuair bhidh e tioram, 

 Bhogain 'rithisd ann e ! " 



Not very easily turned into English, but this is something like 

 it— 



" If my gudeman were cross and dour, 

 I'd dip him in the burn, ! 

 If my gudeman were cross and sour, 

 I'd dip him in the burn, O ; 

 I 'd dip the dear o'er head and ears until he'd grane and girn, 0, 

 And till he promised better things, he'd get the tother turn, O." 



While stripping, it struck us that we were quite as wet on the 

 occasion in question, as if for our sins we had undergone all the 



