Perthshire in bygone days

320 PERTHSHIRE IN BYGONE DAYS.
stances of tlie lady to whom it was first sent ; indeed, the
authoress states in after life, " I wrote it merely because I
liked the air so much, and I put these words to it, never
fearing questions as to the authorship." It had been taken
from the repositories of the authoress, and sent to Mrs.
Colquhoun as a hymn of condolence, with strict injunctions
of secrecy respecting its origin.
Thus slipped into the world one of the most pathetic
and popular lyrics of modern times, and within four years
it had found its way into every corner of Scotland. It
would not hide, and the changing of the name from John
to Jean naturally arose from its merely oral circulation,
and the want of authorities respecting it. Unauthorised
copies were printed about the year 1800, when it was gene-
rally attributed to Robert Burns.
In the summer of 1805, Miss Oliphant, while riding from
Gask to Inchbrakie, unwittingly trotted into the midst of
Craigmuir market. Tents, sweetie-stands, lads and lasses,
mothers and bairns, cattle and horses, all were there. Meg
Bruce, who drove a large trade as a confectioner and book-
seller, curtsied very low to "my lady's " footman, and sued for
a transaction. Meg's stock consisted of a basket of sweeties,
gingerbread, and blacksugar, temptingly arranged ; and
another of current literature, in the bottom of which were
nicely laid out " Loudon Tarn," "John Cheap, the Chap-
man," " Paddy from Cork," " The Merry and Diverting-
Exploits of George Buchanan, commonly called the King's
Fool " ; while over the sides were hung the ballad of " The
Duke of Gordon's Three Daughters," "Chevy Chase,"
" Edom O'Gordon," and other less innocent broadsides, all
printed on whitey-brown paper by Peter Johnston, of
Falkirk. Miss Oliphant made a small investment in Meg's
literature ; and we are told, on high authority, that this
suggested to her susceptible mind the refining of our home
minstrelsy — a process which became one of the leading
occupations of her after life.
So matchless was the self-denial of this generous lady,
that she passed through villages and entered cottages in
her own immediate neighbourhood, where the homely in-
mates were singing with enthusiasm " The Land o' the
Leal " with the terminal "Jean," without in one known
case attempting to put them right. They, not unreason-
ably, concluded that from Robert Burns only could so much
•divine pathos come, little conceiving that they could at any