Year: 1860

There is as beautiful Scotch ballad by this
title as ever saw in my life; it made very
strong impression upon me but as the ballad
is not to be found, I will endeavor to tell the
story in plain prose:


The Laird of Linn in Galway, was one of
the richest landed proprietors in Scotland
Besides the lands and dwelling, he had focks
and herds, and good stock of gold. More
over; he was man of frugal and parsimonious
disposition, so that the men of Galway avoid
ed his company, and the whole town cried
shame on him. Nevertheless, his riches grew
and increased to mighty sum, and there was
no telling what heaps of treasure he had snug
ly concealed.


The Laird of Linn did not marry till late in
life, and his wife died within a year after his
marriage. She left him one child, son, who
was the joy and plague of his existence
Though naturally of a noble and generous
temper, he was wild, reckless and extravagant.
Seeing and hearing his father ridiculed every
day for his miserly temper and habits, he re-
solved at all events not to be ike him, and
spent all he could lay his hands on among
low, dissolute companions in rloteus living
true is it that one extreme often produces an
other. It was in vain that his father remon-
strated with him; he only grew worse as he
grew older.


At last the Laird of Linn lay on his death
bed. He had ont lived all his near relations,
and he had no friends, so that he was obliged
to leave all his substance to his son, and be-
sides next to his gold he loved his prodigal
heir. Previous to his death he called the heir
of Linn to his bedside, ard thus spoke:


"AIy son, when my lips are cold in dealh
and my tongue silent in the grave, know how
it will be with you. You will spend all the
substance of your ancestors, and all the gold
1 got together, in dissipation and extravaganza.
Nevertheless, do not wish my son to live a
beggar. Therefore, give heed to my only dy-
ing command, and if you disregard it, may
fathers dying curse cling to you. The upper
chamber of my house in Kippletringan is now
locked up, and have thrown the key into the
sea. When you have lost both gold and lands,
when YOU have not a friend who will lend you
a baubee, and when you are actually suffering
for crust to appease your hunger, break the
door open and you will find a certain relief,
but if you open the door before that time,
say again may fathers curse cling to you.


With these words the old man fell back and
expired.


The heir of Linn did not grieve long for
his parent. He soon after threw open his
house to all corners. His forests fell beneath
the axe. His chimneys were always smoking,
a hundred men sat daily at his board, and he
bought horses and hounds, and lent money
without counting it to his dissolute compan-
ions; he jested and drank and gambled, as if
he could not get rid of all his substance In all
these ways; he took no care of his affairs, but
gave up the guidance of them to baillf or
steward named John of Scales, who was a
knaye and notorious usurer. John cheated
his master in a variety of ways, and put more
than half the rents into his own pocket.


At last what the heir of Linn's father had
foreseen came to pass His money was all
gone and he had no means of keeping up his
excesses except by selling his lands; but no
one was rich enough to buy them except John
of Scales, and every one kenw how he came
by his money. The young Laird was desper-
ately in want of cash to pay his gaming debts,
and was moreover heated with wine when the
unjust steward offered to buy his estate. 1t
was hard case, but after much discussion, he
agreed upon the bargain.


"Give me your gold, good John of Scales,
and my lands shall be yours forever" said the
heir of Linn.


Then John counted down the good clean
gold, and hard bargain his master had of it.
For every pound that John agreed, the land
was worth three.


The last money was like the first, and the
heir of Linn was beggar. He first went to
the house that had once been his own, but
now belonged to John of Scales, to seek some
relief. He looked into the window OF the
great banqueting hall, but there was no feast
ing going on in it. The fire was out and the
dinner table taken away and all was desolate
and dismal. Here's sorry cheer" said the
heir of Linn.


John would not give him a penny, but told
him to go to the friends he had spent SO much
money upon foolishly. He did so, but it did
no good. Some pretended not to know him,