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“Our gude man cam hame at e’en,
And hame cam he;
And there he saw a saddle horse
Where nae horse should be.
‘How cam this horse here?
How can it be?
How cam this horse here
Without the leave of me?’
‘A horse?’ quo she.
‘Ay, a horse,’ quo he.
‘Ye auld fool, ye blind fool,–
And blinder might ye be,–
‘T is naething but a milking cow
My mamma sent to me.’
‘A milch cow?’ quo he.
‘Ay, a milch cow,’ quo she.
‘Weel, far hae I ridden,
And muckle hae I seen;
But milking cows wi’ saddles on
Saw I never nane.'”(3)

(1) From the first line of *The Gaberlunzie Man,* attributed
to King James V. of Scotland,–
“The pawky auld carle came o’er the lee.”
The original like Whittier’s was a sly old fellow, as an English phrase would translate the Scottish. *The Gaberlunzie Man* is given in Percy’s *Reliques of Ancient Poetry* and in Child’s
*English and Scottish Ballads,* viii. 98.
(2) William R. Dempster, a Scottish vocalist who had
recently sung in America, and whose music to Burns’s song “A
man ‘s a man for a’ that” was very popular.
(3) The whole of this song may be found in Herd’s *Ancient
and Modern Scottish Songs,* ii. 172. That very night the rascal decamped, taking with him the doctor’s horse, and was never after heard of.

Often, in the gray of the morning, we used to see one or more “gaberlunzie men,” pack on shoulder and staff in hand, emerging from the barn or other outbuildings where they had passed the night. I was once sent to the barn to fodder the cattle late in the evening, and, climbing into the mow to pitch down hay for that purpose, I was startled by the sudden apparition of a man rising up before me, just discernible in the dim moonlight streaming through the seams of the boards. I made a rapid retreat down the ladder; and was only reassured by hearing the object of my terror calling after me, and recognizing his voice as that of a harmless old pilgrim whom I had known before. Our farmhouse was situated in a lonely valley, half surrounded with woods, with no neighbors in sight. One dark, cloudy night, when our parents chanced to be absent, we were sitting with our aged grandmother in the fading light of the kitchen fire, working ourselves into a very satisfactory state of excitement and terror by recounting to each other all the dismal stories we could remember of ghosts, witches, haunted houses, and robbers, when we were suddenly startled by a loud rap at the door. A strippling of fourteen, I was very naturally regarded as the head of the household; so, with many misgivings, I advanced to the door, which I slowly opened, holding the candle tremulously above my head and peering out into the darkness. The feeble glimmer played upon the apparition of a gigantic horseman, mounted on a steed of a size worthy of such a rider,–colossal, motionless, like images cut out of the solid night. The strange visitant gruffly saluted me; and, after making several ineffectual efforts to urge his horse in at the door, dismounted and followed me into the room, evidently enjoying the terror which his huge presence excited. Announcing himself as the great Indian doctor, he drew himself up before the fire, stretched his arms, clinched his fists, struck his broad chest, and invited our attention to what he called his “mortal frame.” He demanded in succession all kinds of intoxicating liquors; and on being assured that we had none to give him, he grew angry, threatened to swallow my younger brother alive, and, seizing me by the hair of my head as the angel did the prophet at Babylon,(1) led me about from room to room. After an ineffectual search, in the course of which he mistook a jug of oil for one of brandy, and, contrary to my explanations and remonstrances, insisted upon swallowing a portion of its contents, he released me, fell to crying and sobbing, and confessed that he was so drunk already that his horse was ashamed of him. After bemoaning and pitying himself to his satisfaction he wiped his eyes, and sat down by the side of my grandmother, giving her to understand that he was very much pleased with her appearance; adding that, if agreeable to her, he should like the privilege of paying his addresses to her. While vainly endeavoring to make the excellent old lady comprehend his very flattering proposition, he was interrupted by the return of my father, who, at once understanding the matter, turned him out of doors without ceremony.