A LOWDEN SABBATH MORN

The twa-three last to find it, vext
But kind o' proud;

An' than the peppermints are raxed,
An' southernwood.

For noo's the time whan pows are seen
Nid-noddin' like a mandareen;

When tenty mithers stap a preen
In sleepin' weans;

An' nearly half the parochine
Forget their pains.

There's just a waukrif' twa or three:
Thrawn commentautors sweer to 'gree,
Weans glowrin' at the bumlin' bee
On windie-glasses,

Or lads that tak a keek a-glee
At sonsie lasses.

Himsel', meanwhile, frae whaur he cocks
An' bobs belaw the soundin'-box,
The treesures of his words unlocks
Wi' prodigality,

An' deals some unco dingin' knocks
To infidality.

Wi' sappy unction, hoo he burkes
The hopes o' men that trust in works,
Expounds the fau'ts o' ither kirks,

An' shaws the best o' them
No muckle better than mere Turks,
When a's confessed o' them.

Bethankit! what a bonny creed!

What mair would ony Christian need?—
The braw words rumm'le ower his heid,
Nor steer the sleeper;

And in their restin' graves, the deid

Sleep aye the deeper.

NOTE. It may be guessed by some that I had a certain parish in my eye, and this makes it proper I should add a word of disclamation. In my time there have been two ministers in that parish. Of the first I have a special reason to speak well, even had there been any to think ill. The second I have often met in private and long (in the due phrase) "sat under" in his church, and neither here nor there have I heard an unkind or ugly word upon his lips. The preacher of the text had thus no original in that particular parish; but when I was a boy, he might have been observed in many others; he was then (like the schoolmaster) abroad; and by recent advices, it would seem he has not yet entirely disappeared.

THE SPAEWIFE

I wad like to ken-to the beggar-wife says I-
Why chops are guid to brander and nane sae guid

to fry.

An' siller, that's sae braw to keep, is brawer still to gi'e. -It's gey an' easy spierin', says the beggar-wife to me.

O, I wad like to ken-to the beggar-wife says I-
Hoo a' things come to be whaur we find them when we
try,

The lasses in their claes an' the fishes in the sea.
-It's gey an' easy spierin', says the beggar-wife to me.

O, I wad like to ken-to the beggar-wife says I-
Why lads are a' to sell an' lasses a' to buy;

An' naebody for dacency but barely twa or three.

It's gey an' easy spierin', says the beggar-wife to me.

O, I wad like to ken-to the beggar-wife says I-
Gin death's as shüre to men as killin' is to kye,
Why God has filled the yearth sae fu' o' tasty things to

pree.

-It's gey an' easy spierin', says the beggar-wife to me.

O, I wad like to ken-to the beggar-wife says I-
The reason o' the cause an' the wherefore o' the why,
Wi' mony anither riddle brings the tear into my e'e.
- It's gey an' easy spierin', says the beggar-wife to me.

THE BLAST 1875

T'S rainin'. Weet's the gairden sod, Weet the lang roads whaur gangrels plod — A maist unceevil thing o' God

If ye'll just curse the sneckdraw, dod!
An' sae wull I!

He's a braw place in Heev'n, ye ken,
An' lea's us puir, forjaskit men
Clamjamfried in the but and ben

He ca's the earth

A wee bit inconvenient den
No muckle worth;

An' whiles, at orra times, keeks out,
Sees what puir mankind are about;
An' if He can, I've little doubt,

Upsets their plans;

He hates a' mankind, brainch and root,
And a' that's man's.

An' whiles, whan they tak heart again,
An' life i' the sun looks braw an' plain,