Which he scarce could credit, having heard

The con but not the pro.

Oh! we ne'er shall hear the like of Captain Paton no mo!

Or when the candles were brought forth,

And the night was fairly setting in,

He would tell some fine old stories
About Minden-field or Dettingen-
How he fought with a French major,
And despatched him at a blow,
While his blood ran out like water
On the soft grass below.

Oh! we ne'er shall hear the like of Captain Paton no mo!

But at last the Captain sickened,

And grew worse from day to day, And all missed him in the coffee-room, From which now he stayed away; On Sabbaths, too, the Wee Kirk 1 Made a melancholy show,

All for wanting of the presence

Of our venerable beau.

Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo!

And in spite of all that Cleghorn
And Corkindale could do,2

It was plain, from twenty symptoms,
That death was in his view;

So the Captain made his test'ment,

And submitted to his foe,

And we laid him by the Rams-horn-kirk 3—

'Tis the way we all must go.

Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo!

Join all in chorus, jolly boys,

And let punch and tears be shed,

I Now the Tron Church.

2 Eminent Physicians.

3 Now St. David's Church.

For this prince of good old fellows,
That, alack a day! is dead;
For this prince of worth fellows,
And a pretty man also,
That has left the Saltmarket

In sorrow, grief, and wo!

For it ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo!

Istewhere

THE FA' O' THE YEAR.

AFORE the Lammas' tide

Had dun'd the birken-tree,

In a' our water-side

Nae wife was blest like me ;

A kind gudeman, and twa

Sweet bairns were round me here;

But they're a' ta'en awa'

Sin' the fa' o' the year.

That my a' dwined awa'
In the fa' o' the year.

Be kind, O Heav'n abune!
To ane sae wae and lane,
And tak' her hamewards sune,
In pity o' her mane,

Lang ere the March winds blaw,

May she, far far frae here,
Meet them a' that's awa'

Sin' the fa' o' the year

Thom as Smibert

SHE COMES IN A DREAM OF THE NIGHT.

ORIGINAL AIR.

SHE comes in a dream of the night,
When the cumberless spirit is free,

A vision of beauty and light,

And sweetly she smiles upon me.
And with the dear maid as of yore,

Through scenes long remembered I stray;
But soon the illusion is o'er-

It flits with the dawning of day.

Though low be the bed of her rest,

And sound is her sleep in the tomb,

Her image enshrined in my breast,

Still lives in its brightness and bloom :
And link'd with the memories of old,
That image to me is more dear

Than all that the eyes can behold-
Than all that is sweet to the ear.

And like the soft voice of a song,
That trembles and dies in the air,
While memory the strain will prolong,
And fix it unchangeable there;
So deep in remembrance will lie,
That form, ever lovely and young;

The lustre that lived in her eye,

The music that flow'd from her tongue.

ALEX. SMART.

JOHN FROST.

AIR" The young May moon is beaming, love."

YOU'VE come early to see us this year, John Frost,
Wi' your crispin' an' poutherin' gear, John Frost ;
For hedge, tower, an' tree, as far as I see,

Are as white as the bloom o' the pear, John Frost.

You've been very preceese wi' your wark, John Frost, Altho' ye hae wrought in the dark, John Frost,

For ilka fit-stap frae the door to the slap,

Is braw as a new linen sark, John Frost.

There are some things about ye I like, John Frost,
An' ithers that aft gar me fyke, John Frost;

For the weans wi' cauld taes, crying "shoon, stockings, claes,"

Keep us busy as bees in the byke, John Frost.

An' to tell you I winna be blate, John Frost,
Our gudeman stops out whiles rather late, John Frost,
An' the blame's put on you, if he gets a thocht fu',
He's sae fleyed for the slippery lang gate, John Frost.