Introductory Epistle

'Tis said he was a soldier bred,And ane wad rather fa'en than fled;But now he's quit the spurtie blade,And dog-skin wallet,And ta'en the—antiquarian trade,I think they call it.

Pluck from our memories a rooted 'legend',Raze out the written records of our brain,Or cleanse our bosoms of that perilous stuff—

Made gude kaleOn Fridays when they fasted.'

'Saint Francis be my speed! how oft to-nightHave my old feet stumbled at graves!'

Betide, betide, whate'er betide,Haig shall be Haig of Bemerside.