Gin ane be loutin' ower a rung,
He's no for me to marry.
Gae hame and ance bethink yoursel'
How ye wad come to woo me-
And mind me i' your latter-will,

Bodie, gin ye lo'e me !"

ALEX. LAING.

TA PRAISE O' OUSKIE.

AIR-" Neil Gow's farewell to whisky."

TA praise o' ouskie, she will kive,
An' wish ta klass aye in her neive;
She tisna thought that she could live
Without a wee trap ouskie, O.

For ouskie is ta thing, my lad,

Will cheer ta heart whene'er she's sad ;

To trive bad thoughts awa' like mad,

Hoogh! there's naething like kood ouskie, O.

Oh! ouskie's koot, an' ouskie's cran,
Ta pestest physick efer fan;

She wishes she had in her han',
A kreat pig shar o' ouskie, O.

Ta Lallan loon will trank at rum,
An' shin tat frae ta Tutchman come ;
An' pranty-Fieugh! tey're a' put scum,
No worth a sneesh like ouskie, O.

Ta shentles they will trank at wine,
Till faces like ta moon will shine;
Put what's ta thing can prighten mine?—
Poogh! shust a wee trap ouskie, O.

Ta ladies they will klour and plink,
Whene'er tey'll saw't a man in trink;

Put py temsel tey'll never wink,

At four pig tram o' ouskie, O.

An' some will trank a trashy yill,
Wi' porter some their pellies fill ;
For Loch Ard fu', a sinkle shill

She wadna gie o' ouskie, O.

Some lads wi' temprant rules akree,
An' trench their kite wi' slooshy tea;
She's try't tat too, but nought for me-
Is like a wee trap ouskie, O.

What kars her roar, and tance, and sing?
What kars her loup ta highlan' fling?
What kars her leuk as pault's ta king?
Put shust a wee trap ouskie, O.

Whene'er she's towie, fex, and wae,
Whane'er ta cauld her nose maks plae,
What cheers her heart py night an' tay?
Hoogh! shust a wee trap ouskie, O.
ALEX. FISHER.

SINCE FATE HAS DECREED IT.

AIR-" A' body's like to get married but me."

SINCE Fate has decreed it-then e'en let her gang,
I'll comfort mysel' wi' a canty bit sang:

Yes; I'll sing like a lintie and laugh at it a',
Though the auld donnart dotard has wiled her awa'.
O wae worth that siller! what mischief it breeds,
Dame Fortune's pet weans, how it pampers and feeds;
It has made them baith ane whom auld Nature meant twa,
And has torn frae my arms, my dear lassie awa'.

The neighbours will clatter about the affair,

But e'en let them talk-that's the least o' my care,
For the sugh will blaw by in a fortnight or twa,

But ne'er can restore to me her that's awa'.

Come cheer up my heart!—yet, what need'st thou be wae?

There are thousands behint her, sae e'en let her gae ; Yes; thousands, as bonnie, as good, and as brawThen why should'st thou grieve for her, now she's awa'?

But ah! hapless lassie, my heart's wae for thee,
To think what a comfortless life thou maun dree;
How cheerless to sit in a rich splendid ha'

'Midst desolate grandeur, when love is awa'.

And thou, her auld mither, ah! what wilt thou say, When thou seest thy poor lassie, heart-broken and wae ; Ah! what will avail then, her cledding sae braw,

When it covers a bosom that's riven in twa?

ALEX. RODGER.

DOWN THE WATER.

AIR-" The forum."

Quo' Jean to me the tither morn, while munching at our toast, sir,

"Dear me, gudeman, ye're unco worn-ye're looking like a ghost, sir

Ye're thin and wan-yer colour's gane-I trow ye are nae

fatter

In troth ye'll needs subtract a day, and journey down the water.

I'm sure 'twill do us meikle gude-a waucht o' cauler air,

sir,

A cauler douk-a cauler breeze-and cauler fish and fare,

sir;

Besides, ye ken, I'm far frae weel-and sae is Jane our daughter,

Sae trouth, gudeman, ye'll needs consent to journey down the water.

There's Will, and Bob, and George, and Ned, are hardly cured the measles ;

And Jess, and May, and Jean, and I—our skins are din as weazles ;

Besides, ye ken, its just the thing-and see there's Mrs. Clatter,

And ilka creature ought genteel-for weeks been down the water."

"Weel, weel, gudewife, sin' e'en 'tis sae, and naething less will please ye,

We'll see and set about it straucht-but losh it's no that

easy;

For things are looking slack, and cash—is no a plenty

matter

Ye'll needs douk twa-three times a-day-and fuddle lots o' water."

I true the packing soon began-odds and ends galore, sirs

Wi' Mackintoshes-pots and pans—and cordials a store,

sirs;

Syne bundling a' aboard-the boat maist aff ere we wan at her

Her tether-tow maist stapp'd my breath and journey down the water.

Hardly frae the Broomielaw, wife and weans a' sea-sick, Ane bocking here, anither there-their stomachs under physic;

And then the landing-rumbling-tumbling—swearin' like a hatter,

And then to crown the job-mysel' maist drowned into the water.

Rescued frae fear o' sudden death-we gather consolation, And, joyous hope, our trouble's o'er, within our new location;

An' now to see us pack'd and cramm'd like ony Yankee squatter,

Nae less than five in ilka bed-that's high life down the

water.

A grumbling night o'erpast—the morn, we grumbling don our jackets,

In haste to seize our promised jaunt-the rain pours down in buckets;

Neist day's the same-the neist-the neist-we hear its ceaseless patter,

And sulky through the window glow'r-that's pleasure down the water.

At last ae sunny day is sent to cheer each drooping spirit,

In madden'd joy we hail the morn-for a' are downricht

weari't;

But mark ye how sic pleasure ends—our auldest, favourite

daughter,

Ran aff galanting, nane kent whaur-wi' some chiel down the water.

Wi' her restored-we journey back-in direfu' wrath and shame, sirs,

And vowing that we ne'er again shall jaunt sae far frae hame, sirs;

Or if we do, by sooth and troth-I'se no be sic a fauter, As move like Patriarchs of old-in families down the

water.

PATRICK BUCHAN.