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three-legged stool. You see, the other afternoon T was ax'd out to take a comfortable dish of four shilling shouchong fea, and I sat along-side of Miss Polly Spriggins ; I saw she got quite smitten with my countenance-says she to me, Mr. Barney, will you have a game of hunt the slipper? With all my heart, says I ; then my wife bawled out, from the other end of the parlour,
Mr Barney leave the girls alone! (repeat)
And let them quiet be?
And spends an hour or two;
For that's the way with me. (Spoken)--Yes, that is the way we go, to be sure, and to say the truth on it, it is none of the pleasant. est. You see I loves a good dinner, but somehow or other we don't get much in the week days, a pig's foot and a carrct, no great choice ; but on Sunday we always have a showlder of mutton, stuck round with turnips. I like a piece of the brown, but my wife, she always tucks me off with the knuckle bone or the showlder-blade, or a piece of the dry flap, te the tune of
Mr. Barney leave the girls alone! (repeat)
And let them quiet be?
JESSIE, THE FLOW'R OF DUMBLANE.
BY ROBERT TANNAHILL. The sun has gare duwn o'er the lofty Benlomond,
And left the red clouds to preside o'er the scene,
While fanely I stray in the calm summer gloaming,
To muse on sweet Jessie, the flow'r o' Dunwiane. How sweet is the brier, wi’ its soft taulding blossom,
And sweet is the birk wi’ its mantle о'green; Yet sweeter and fairer, and dear to this bosom,
Is lovely young Jessie, the flow'r o' Dumblane. She's modest as ony, and blythe as she's bonny;
For guileless Simplicity marks her its ain ; And tar be the villain, divested of feeling, Wha'd blight in its bloom, the sweet flow'r o'
Damblane. Sing on, thou sweet mavis, thy hymn to the F'ening,
Thou’rt dear to the echoes of Calderwood glen; Sae dear to this bosom, sae artless and winning,
Is charming young Jessie, the flow'r o' Dumblane.
How lost were my days 'till I met wi' my Jessie,
The sports o'the city setm'd foolish and vain, I ne'er saw a nymph I would ca' my dear lassie, "Till charm'd with sweet Jessie, the flow'r o'
Dumblane. Though mine were the station o' loftiest Gran
deur, Amidst its profusion I'd languish in pain : And reckon as paething the height o'its splendour,
If wanting sweet Jessie, the flow'r o'Dumblane.
DONALD THE PRIDE OF DUMBLANE. O, fair rose the morning, the sun in mild splendour,
Bade nature's rich beauties delighted awake, When Donald returning so true and so tender,
Wav'd proudly the scarf lie had kept for ny sike; O, Jessie, he whisper'd, thy prayers
protect me, And taithful as ever behold me again,
Most welcome I answer'd, I ne'er could suspect
thee, For art thou not Donaid, the pride of Dumblane. For art thou not Donald, for art thou not
If since his departure I've often lamented,
The cause that entic'd him from Scotland to roam, O, how could a feeling like that be prevented,
While Donald was absent unblest was my home, A gentler, a braver, a kinder, sure never
Attempted the heart of a maiden to gain, O, guard him, kind heaven, for Jessie must ever, Delight in her Donald the pride of Dumblane.
BY S. WOODWORTH.
'Twas noon, and the reapers repos'd on the bank
Where our rural repast had been spread, Beside us meander'd the rill where we drank,
And the green willows wav'd over head; Lucinda, the queen of our rustical treat,
With smiles, like the season, auspicious, Had rendered the scene and the banquet more
sweetBut oh! the dessert was delicious !
A melon, the sweetest that loaded the vine,
The kind-hearted damsel had brought ; Its crimson core teem'd with the richest of wine,
· How much like her kisses !'-I thought.
And I said, as its nectaroús juices I quaflid,
• How vain are the joys of the vicious! No tropical fruit ever furnish'd a draught
So innocent, pure and delicious. * In the seeds which embellish this red juicy core,
An emblem of life we may view ;
With specks of an ebony hue,
Ev'ry thought and affection that's vicious,
Each innocent pleasure delicious.'
ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY.
BY ROBERT BURNS.
Or to glorious victory.
Edward ! chains and slavery!
Wha will be a traitor knave?
Traitor! coward ! turn and flee !
Wha for Scotland's king and law
By oppression's woes and pains !
But they shall be, shall be free!
goes there? Stranger quickly tell!'
YO HEAVE HO. My name d’ye see's Tom Tough, I've seen a little
service, Where mighty billows roll and loud tempests blow;