"Od dang thee!". "To jail I cud sen' thee, "Peer scraffles!"-"Thy lan' grows nae gurse!""Ne'er ak, it's my awn, and it's paid for! "But whee was't stuil auld Tim Jwohn' purse ?''

Ned Bulman wad feght wi' Gworge Goffet,
Peer Gwordy he nobbet stripp'd thin,
And luik'd leyke a cock out o' fedder,
But suin gat a weel-bleaken'd skin;
Neist, Sanderson fratch'd wid a hay-stack;
And Deavison fught wi' the whins;
Smith Leytle fell out wi' the cobbles,
And peel'd aw the bark off his shins.

The hay-bay was now somewhat seyded,
And young fwok the music men miss'd,
They'd drucken leyke fiddlers in common,
And fawn owre ayont an aul kist ;
Same mair fwok that neet were a-missin'
Than Wully and Jonathan Strang,
But decency whispers" What matter,
T'ou munnet put them in the sang."

Auld Dalton thought he was at Carel,
Says he, "Jacob, see what's to pay !
Come, wosler, heaste, get out the horses,
We'll e'en teake the rwoad and away!"
He cowp'd off his stuil leyke a san'-bag;
Tom Ridley beel'd out, "De'il may care!"
For a whart o' het yell and a stick in't,

Dick Simson 'll tell ye far mair.

Come, bumper the Cummerlan' lasses,
Their marrows can seldom be seen,
And he that wont feght to defend them,
I wish he may ne'er want black een!
May our murry-neets, clay-daubin's, races,
And weddin's, ay finish wi' glee:
And when ought's amang us worth nwotish,
Lang may I be present to see.

THE LASSES OF CAREL.

THE
HE lasses o' Carel are weel-shep'd and bonny,
But he that wad win yen mun brag of his gear,
You may follow, and follow, till heart-sick and

To get them needs siller and feyne claes to wear : They'll catchat a reed-cwoat leyke as monie mack'rel, And jump at a fop, or e'en lissen a fuil : Just brag of an uncle that's got heaps of money, And de'il a bit odds if you've ne'er been at schuil.

I yence follow'd Marget, the toast amang aw maks,And Peg hed a red cheek and bonny dark e'e,But suin as she fan I depended on labour,

She snurl'd up her neb and nae mair luik'd at

me.

This meks my words gud; nobbet brag o' yer uncle, And get a peer hawf-wit to trumpet yer praise, You may catch whee you will, they'll caress ye and bless ye

It's money, nit merit, they seek now-a-days.

I neist follow'd Nelly, and thowt her an angel,
And she thowt me aw that a mortal sud be,
A rich whupper-snapper just stept in atween us—

Nae words efter that pass'd atween Nell and me. This meks my words gud; nobbet brag o' yer uncle, They'll feght, ay leyke mad cats, to win yer sly smeyle,

And watch ye to catch ye, now gazin' and praisin':They're angels to luik at wi' hearts full o' geyle.

LANG SEYNE.

Tune," Jockey's grey breeks."

HE last new shun our Betty gat

TH

They pinch her feet-the de'il may care!

What she mud ha'e them leady-like

Tho' she hes cworns for evermair;

Nae black gairn stockin's will she wear,

They mun be wheyte and cotton feyne!

This meks me think of other teymes,

The happy days o' auld lang seyne.

Our dowter, tui, a palace* bought,
A guid reed clwoak she cannot wear;
And stays, she says, spoil leady's sheps―
Oh, it wad mek a parson swear!
Nit ae han's turn o' wark she'll dui,

She'll nowther milk or sarrat sweyne :
The country's puzzen'd roun' wi' preyde,
For lasses work'd reet hard lang seyne.

We've three guid rooms in our clay-house,
Just big eneugh for sec as we,
They'd hev a parlour built wi' bricks-

I mud submit:—what cud I dee?

The sattle neist was thrown aside,

It meeght ha'e sarra'd me and meyne;
My mudder thought it mens'd a house,
But we think shem o' auld lang seyne.

We us'd to ga to bed at dark,
And ruse agean at four or five-
The mworn's the only teyme for wark

If fwok are hilthy and wou'd thrive;
Now we git up-nay, God kens when !

And nuin's owre suin for us to deyne,

I's hungry 'or the pot's hawf-boiled,

And wish for teymes leyke auld lang seyne.

Deuce tek the fuil-invented tea;

For tweyce a day we that mun hev ;

Then taxes git sae monstrous hee,

The de'il a plack yen now can seave.

* Pelisse.

There's been nae luck throughout the lan'
Sin' fwok mud leyke their betters sheyne;
French fashions mek us parfe❜t fuils;
We're c'aff and san' to auld lang seyne.

MY

CAREL FAIR.

Tune,-"Woo'd an' married an' a'."

Y neame's Jurry Jurden, frae Threlket;
Just swat down and lissen my sang,

I'll mappen affword some divarsion,
An' tell ye how monie things gang.

[Spoken.] Crops of aw maks are gud; tateys lang as lapstens an' dry as meal. Teymes are sae-sae, for the thin-chopp'd, hawf-neak'd, trimlin' beggars, flock to our house leyke bees to t' hive, an' our Cwoley bit sae monie, I just tuck'd him up i' th' worchet. Mudder boils t'em a tnop o' Lunnun Duns ivery day, an' fadder gi'es t'em t' barn to lig in; if onie be yable to work wey he pays t'em reet weel. Fwok sud aw dui as they'd be duin tui: an' it's naturable to beg rader nor starve or steal;efter aw the rattle.

Some threep et the teymes 'll git better,

An' laugh to see onie repeyne: I's nae pollytishin, that's sarten, But Englan' seems in a decleyne.

I ruse afwore three tudder mwornin',
An' went owre to see Carel Fair;
I'd heard monie teales o' thur dandies-

Odswinge! how they mek the fwok stare!