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WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE.
1734-1788.

It is well for this victim of a piece of careless editing that his fame does not all depend upon one poetic performance. The writer of the disputed song of "The Sailor's Wife," better known as "There's nae luck about the house," was also the author, among other pieces, of the ballad of "Cumnor Hall," which afforded the suggestion for Scott's "Kenilworth," and was the translator of the great Portuguese epic, Camoens' "Lusiad." Born at Langholm, where his father was minister, Mickle began life as a brewer. He was, however, unfortunate in business, and to escape his creditors betook himself to London. There for a time he subsisted chiefly on the patronage of Lord Lyttleton; but presently he became corrector for the Clarendon Press, and acquitted himself in various fields as a man of letters and a poet. It stands to his credit that, whenever he found himself in the possession of means, he honourably paid all his former debts. A little later, determining to make a bid for fortune in a bolder way, he obtained the post of secretary to the commander of a naval expedition sailing for the coast of Portugal. The fame of his translation of the national poem had preceded him, and he was received with much honour at Lisbon. The fortune of war in a single year made him a man of substance. Enriched with prize-money, he returned home to marry and settle in the enjoyment of domestic life in the neighbourhood of Oxford.

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Mickle's various poems possess no inconsiderable merit, his feeling for scenery in particular having been remarked as true, tender, and full. But the gem of them all, if, as there is every reason to believe, it is his, remains "The Sailor's Wife." Burns gave it as his opinion that this song was one of the most beautiful in the Scots or any other language.' The piece began to be hawked about the streets in broadsheets about the year 1771 or 1772, and it was printed in Herd's collection in 1776. No one doubted Mickle's authorship of it till the year 1810, when the careless Cromek, in his Reliques of Robert Burns, gave it out as the work of one Jean Adams, who had been a schoolmistress in Cartsdyke, Greenock. Cromek's authority was Mrs. Fullarton, a pupil of Jean Adams, who, with others, stated that

she had heard the schoolmistress recite the song as her own composition. Presently, however, Cromek changed his opinion on learning from the Rev. John Sim, Mickle's biographer, that a copy of "There's nae luck," in Mickle's handwriting, bearing marks of correction as a first copy, had been found among the poet's papers after his death, and that Mrs. Mickle distinctly remembered her husband giving her the song as his own composition, and explaining to her, as she was an Englishwoman, the Scots words which it contained. The point, nevertheless, has been debated many times since. In particular it has been pointed out that none of Mickle's other poems is in the Scots dialect, that he was unfamiliar with the life of a port, and that the song contains many touches which are peculiarly feminine. It is also noted that "The Sailor's Wife" does not appear in any edition of Mickle's poems printed during his lifetime. But it was not printed, either, in Jean Adams' volume, which she published in 1734. Mickle, moreover, as we have seen, led the life of a sailor for over a year; and he was familiar enough, as a native of the Border, with the Scottish dialect. As for the feminine touches, they would only have been set down as high points to the credit of the poet's imagination had not Cromek's suggestion given them another bearing. And the outrageous way in which Cromek allowed himself, in his "Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song," to be deceived by Allan Cunningham and others, is enough for ever to discredit his literary acumen. point between Mickle and Jean Adams has been_successively discussed by Stenhouse in his "Illustrations of the Lyric Poetry and Music of Scotland" (1820), in Ross's "Book of Scottish Poems" (1884), by a writer in the Athenæum of Jan. 27, 1877, and by Mr. Cuthbert Hadden in the Scottish Review for April, 1895. All these writers sum up in favour of Mickle. opinion of Dr. Whitelaw, editor of Blackie's "Book of Scottish Songs," is that Jean Adams may have written a song with some such burden as the one in question, and that this was improved on by Mickle to such an extent as to make it his own.

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Jean Adams appears to have been a woman of enthusiasm and energy. But she was unfortunate in life, and died in the town's hospital of Glasgow in 1765. Mickle's poetical works were edited with a "life" by the Rev. J. Sim in 1806. In the song as frequently printed, a penultimate stanza beginning "The cauld blasts" is said to have been interpolated by Dr. Beattie.

THE SAILOR'S WIFE.

AND are ye sure the news is true?
And are ye sure he's weel?
Is this a time to talk o' wark?
Ye jades, lay by your wheel!
Is this a time to talk o' wark,

When Colin's at the door?

Gi'e me my cloak-I'll to the quay,

And see him come ashore.

For there's nae luck about the house,

There's nae luck ava',

There's little pleasure in the house,
When our gudeman's awa'.

Rise up and mak' a clean fireside,
Put on the meikle pat:

Gi'e little Kate her cotton gown,

And Jock his Sunday's coat.

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And mak' their shoon as black as slaes,
Their hose as white as snaw;
It's a' to please my ain gudeman,

He likes to see them braw.

There is twa hens upon the bauk',

'S been fed this month and mair; Mak' haste and thraw their necks about, That Colin weel may fare!

And spread the table neat and clean,
Gar ilka thing look braw;
It's a' for love of my gudeman,
For he's been lang awa'.

O gi'e me down my bigonets,

My bishop-satin gown;

For 'I maun tell the baillie's wife

That Colin's come to town.

My Sunday shoon they maun gae on,

My hose o' pearl blue;

It's a' to please my ain gudeman,

For he's baith leal and true.

Sae true's his word, sae smooth's his speech,

His breath like caller air;

His very fit has music in't

When he comes up the stair.

And will I see his face again!

And will I hear him speak!
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,

In troth, I'm like to greet 3!

2 linen caps.

3 weep..

Since Colin's weel, I'm weel content,
I ha'e nae mair to crave;

Could I but live to mak' him blest,
I'm blest abune the lave.
And will I see his face again!
And will I hear him speak!
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet!

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