In its auld lerroch yet the deas remains,
Whare the gudeman aft streeks him at his

ease;

A warm and canny lean for weary banes

O' lab'rers doil'd upon the wintry leas. Round him will baudrins and the collie come,

To wag their tail, and cast a thankfu' ee To him wha kindly flings them mony a crum O'kebbuck whang'd, and dainty fadge to prie; This a' the boon they crave, and a' the fee.

Frae him the lads their mornin counsel tak; What stacks he wants to thrash; what rigs to till ;

How big a birn maun lie on Bassie's back,

For meal and mu'ter to the thirlin mill.

Neist, the gudewife her hirelin damsels bids Glowr thro' the byre, and see the hawkies bound;

Tak tent, 'case Crummy tak her wonted tids,

And ca' the laiglen's treasure on the ground, Whilk spills a kebbuck nice, or yellow pound.

Then a' the house for sleep begin to grien,
Their joints to slack frae industry a-while;
The leaden god fa's heavy on their een,
And hafflins steeks them frae their daily toil;
O o

The cruizie too can only blink and bleer ; The restit ingle's done the maist it dow; Tacksman and cotter eke to bed maun steer, Upo' the cod to clear their drumly pow, Till wauken'd by the dawnin's ruddy glow.

Peace to the husbandman and a' his tribe,

Whase care fells a' our wants frae year to year! Lang may his sock and cou'ter turn the glybe,

And bauks o' corn bend down wi' laded ear!

May Scotia's simmers ay look gay and green; Her yellow har'sts frae scowry blasts decreed! May a' her tenants sit fu' snug and bien,

Frae the hard grip o' ails, and poortith freed ; And a lang lasting train o' peacefu' hours succeed!

THE ELECTION.

Nunc est bibendum, et bendere BICKERUM magnum ; Cavete TOWN-GUARDUM, DL G-DD-M atque

C—PB-M.

REJOICE, ye Burghers! ane and a';
Lang look't-for's come at last:
Sair were your backs held to the wa',
Wi' poortith and wi' fast.

Now

ye may clap your wings and craw, And gayly busk ilk feather,

For deacon cocks hae pass'd a law,

To rax and weet your leather

Wi' drink thir days.

Haste, Epps! quo' John, and bring my giz ;
Tak tent ye dinna't spulzie :
Last night the barber gae't a friz,
And straikit it wi' ulzie.

Hae done your parritch, lassie Liz!
Gie me my sark and gravat;

I'se be as braw's the deacon is,

Whan he taks affidavit

O' faith the day.

"Whare's Johnny gaun (cries neebour Bess), "That he's sae gayly bodin,

"Wi' new-kam'd wig, weel syndet face, "Silk hose, for hamely hodin?"

Our Johnny's nae sma drink, you'll guess; 'He's trig as ony muircock,

And forth to mak a deacon, lass;
'He downa speak to poor fouk
'Like us the day.'

The coat, ben-by i' the kist-nook,
That's been this towmonth swarmin,
Is brought aince mair thereout to look,
To fleg awa the vermin.

Menzies o' moths and flaes are shook,

And i' the floor they howder,

Till, in a birn, beneath the crook,
They're singit wi' a scowder

To death that day.

The canty cobler quats his sta',

His roset and his lingans;

His buik has dree'd a sair, sair fa',
Frae meals o' bread and ingans.
Now he's a pow o' wit and law,
And taunts at soals and heels;
To Walker's he can rin awa,
There whang his creams and jeels
Wi' life that day.

The lads, in order tak their seat;
(The deil may claw the clungest!)
They stech and connach sae the meat,
Their teeth mak mair than tongue haste.
Their claes sae cleanly tight and feat,
And eke their craw-black beavers,
Like masters mows hae fund the gate
To tassels teugh wi' slavers

Fu' lang that day.

The dinner done,-for brandy strang
They cry, to weet their thrapple;
To gar the stamack bide the bang,
Nor wi' its ladin graple.

The grace is said ;--it's nae owre lang:-
The claret reams in bells ;-

Quo' Deacon, "Let the toast round gang:

66

Come, Here's our Noble Sels

"Weel met the day!"