The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 6.
John Greenleaf Whittier, Ed.

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[259] evidently ‘birds oa ane feather,’ is still in existence. The minister, in acknowledging the epistle of his old friend, commences his reply as follows:—

Did e'er a cuif taka up a quill,
     Wha ne'er did aught that he did well,
To gar the muses rant and reel,
     Ana flaunt and swagger,
Nae doubt ye'll say 't is that daft chiel
     Old Dite McGregore!

The reply is in the same strain, and may serve to give the reader some idea of the old gentleman as a religious controversialist:—

My reverend friend and kind McGregore,
     Although thou ne'er was ca'd a bragger,
Thy muse I'm sure nane e'er was glegger—
     Thy Scottish lays
Might gar Socinians faa or stagger,
     E'en in their ways.

When Unitarian champions dare thee,
     Goliah like, and think to scare thee,
Dear Davie, fear not, they'll ne'er waur thee;
     But draw thy sling,
Weel loaded frae the Gospel quarry,
     Ana gie 't a fling.

The last time I saw him, he was chaffering in the market-place of my native village, swapping potatoes and onions and pumpkins for tea, coffee, molasses, and, if the truth be told, New England rum. Threescore years and ten, to use his own words,

Hung o'er his back,
     And bent him like a muckle pack,

yet he still stood stoutly and sturdily in his thick shoes of cowhide, like one accustomed to tread independently the soil of his own acres,—his broad, honest face seamed by care and darkened by exposure