# Thrummy cap, a tale (1839)/The brownie o' Fearnden, a ballad

THE BROWNIE O' FEARNDEN.
"ONCE MORE THE BROWNIE SHEWS HIS HONEST FACE."
The Brownie is supposed to have been a descendant of the Lar (illegible text)iliaris of Greece, as he generally attached himself to some ⟨secular⟩ family, whom he faithfully served every night by performing any laborious task which he thought would be acceptable. ⟨In the⟩ day time he always retired to some ruinous castle, unfrequented church, or solitary den or valley in the neighbourhood; and ⟨so disinterested⟩ was his attachment, that any offer of reward, particularly of food or clothing, he invariably reckoned a hint from the ⟨family⟩ that they wished to dispense with his services, which he immediately transferred to another. He has likewise been known to ⟨abandon⟩ a beloved haunt, when often surprised in his places of daily (illegible text)ement, or when any particular observations were made on his ⟨appearance⟩, which was "meagre, shaggy, and wild." It is ⟨therefore⟩ very probable, as we have no later tradition concerning the ⟨brownie⟩ of the following ballad, that the questions put to him by (illegible text)age femme at the door of the farm house, occasioned his ⟨departure⟩ from his favourite Fearnden for ever.
There liv'd a man on Noranside, When Jamie held his ain; He had a mailen fair an' wide, An' servants nine or ten. ​He had a servant dwellin' near, Worth a' his maids and men- This was the Brownie ye maun trow, Wha won'd in Fearnden.
When there was ony corn to thrash, Or ony byres to clean, He never mindit mickle fash, Or toilin' on his lane. An' tho' the snaw was ne'er sae deep He skippit thro' the glen, An' ran an errand in a wheep, The Brownie o' Fearnden.
Ae night the guidwife o' the house Fell sick, an' like to dee; An' for a cannie mammie-wife, She wantit them to gae. The night was dark and ne'er a spark Wad venture through the glen, For fear he should wi' Brownie meet. In drearie Fearnden.
But Brownie stood behind the door, An' heard of a' the strife; He saw tho' there was fouth o' men, They sune wad tine the wife. ​He aff an' mounts the fleetest mare' An' thro' the wind and rain; And soon he wan the mammie-wife's, Wha won'd ayont the den.
He chappit loudlie at the door, Crying, "Mak ye haste an' rise, Put on your claise, an' come wi' me, An' tak ye nae surprise. Put on your ridin' hude o' grey, To hap you frae the rain;" "O whaur am I gaun," quo' the wife; "O whar but thro' the den."
Whan baith were mountit on the mare, An passin' thro' the glen- "O wat ye laddie," said the wife, "Gin he be near the den! Are we come near the den," she said; "Tush, wisht you feul!" quo' he, For waur na ye hae i' your arms This night ye winna see."
They sune waur landit at the door, The wife he handit down- "I've left the house but ae hauf hour, I am a clever loun"- ​"What makes your feet sae braid?" quo' she "What makes your een sae wan?" "I've wander'd monie a wearie foot, An' drearie sights I've seen!"
"But mind the wife an' mind the wean, An' see that a' gae right; An' I wil take you hame agen, Afore the mornin' light. An' gin they spier wha brought you here, 'Cause they were scant o' men, E'en tell them that ye rade ahint The Brownie o' Fearnden!"
FINIS.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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