three-legged stool. You see, the other afternoon I was ax'd out to take a comfortable dish of four shilling shouchong tea, 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)
Why don't you leave the girls alone,
And let them quiet be?

Judy she loves whiskey, O! (repeat)
She goes to uncle's shop at night,
And spends an hour or two;
Then, Barney, what must Barney do,
But take a drop of whiskey too,

And toast the girl that's kind and true ;
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 pleasantest. 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 carrot, 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, to the tune of

Mr. Barney leave the girls alone! (repeat)
Why don't you leave the girls alone,
And let them quiet be?

JESSIE, THE FLOW'R OF DUMBLANE.

BY ROBERT TANNAHILL.

THE Sun has gane down o'er the lofty Benlomond, And left the red clouds to preside o'er the scene,

While lanely I stray in the calm summer gloaming,
To muse on sweet Jessie, the flow'r o' Dunblane.
How sweet is the brier, wi' its soft faulding blossom,
And sweet is the birk wi' its mantle o' 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 far be the villain, divested of feeling,

Wha'd blight in its bloom, the sweet flow'r o'
Dumblane.

Sing on, thou sweet mavis, thy hymn to the E'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 seem'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 Grandeur,

Amidst its profusion I'd languish in pain :

And reckon as naething 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 he had kept for my sake; O, Jessie, he whisper'd, thy prayers did 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

Donald,

For art thou not Donald the pride of Dumblane.

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.

THE WATER-MELON.

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 way'd over head;
Lucinda, the queen of our rustical treat,

With smiles, like the season, auspicious,
Had rendered the scene and the banquet more

sweet

But 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 nectarous juices I quaff'd,
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;

For human enjoyments are thus sprinkled o'er
With specks of an ebony hue,

But if we are wise to discard from the mind,
Ev'ry thought and affection that's vicious,
Like the seed-speckled core of the melon, we'll find
Each innocent pleasure delicious.'

ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY.

BY ROBERT BURNS.

SCOTS wha hae wi' Wallace bled;
Scots, wham Bruce has often led;
Welcome to your gory bed,

Or to glorious victory.

Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lour;

See approach proud Edward's power-
Edward! chains and slavery!

Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha will fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave ?

Traitor! coward! turn and flee !

Wha for Scotland's king and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Freeman stand, or freeman fa',
Caledonian! on wi' me!

By oppression's woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be, shall be free!

Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow !

Forward! let us do or die!

ALL'S WELL.

DESERTED by the waning moon,
When skies proclaim night's cheerless noon,
On tower, fort, or tented ground,
The sentry walks his nightly round;
And should a footstep haply stray,

Where caution marks the guarded way,
'Who goes there? Stranger quickly tell!
'A friend,' the word- good night, all's well.'

Or sailing on the midnight deep,
While weary messmates soundly sleep;
The careful watch patroles the deck,
To guard the ship from foes or wreck;
And while his thoughts of homeward veer,
Some well known voice salutes his ear,
'What cheer, ho! brother, quickly tell?'
'Above, below-good night, all's well.'

t

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;