Sam Slick more than once, in full feather,
To grab it tried hard-the foul thief!
For his pains we well riddled his leather,

And our own kept the Green Maple Leaf;
And our own-ours alone-it shall be, boys,
Despite all who'd work it mischief,

'Till first in the van of the free, boys,
Shall flaunt our beloved Maple Leaf,

CHIEFTAIN MACLEAN.

AIR-" Come o'er the Stream, Charlie."

WHEN Noah turn'd seaman, most people agree, man,
MacLean of that day had "a boat o' his ain;"
A clansman less famous, though ev'ry inch game, is
Our own gallant Chieftain-the other Maclean.*

CHORUS

UP, bonnet and feather! Up thistle and heather!
St. Andrew's good advent is on us again;
What Scotsman, revering in its mem'ries endearing,

Would not make a night o't with Chieftain Maclean!

The "Chieftain " here referred to-Professor Donald MacLean, of Ann Arbor College, Michigan, is of the Lochbuy branch of the Clan MacLean. He was at the time these verses were penned, President of the St. Andrew's Society, and as such, presided at the Festival for which they were composed.

Away with your grumblers whom nothing but tumblers

Of punch and a haggis can tempt to fall in!
The fair happy faces that here fill their places
More proud of by far must be Chieftain Maclean.
Up, bonnet and feather! &c.

Old Scotland's proud story, so pregnant of glory,
The ballads that cheered her in days that have been,
Her songs so heart-touching, all hearers bewitching,
O, who would not feast on with Chieftain Maclean!
Up, bonnet and feather! &c.

From Ossian and Selma to Lucknow and Alma,

What triumphs are linked to the war-pipes proud strain! That wretch who would hear it, its music to sneer at, Had best shun the sight of our Chieftain Maclean. Up, bonnet and feather! &c.

Let pinks of perfection, themselves vainly vexing,
A good Scottish reel call a pastime profane;
The worst I wish for them would be " Tullochgorum
To dance till they sweated with Chieftain Maclean.
Up, bonnet and feather! &c.

O, Scotland, dear Scotland! alas that there's not land
Enough in thy bounds all thy sons to contain !
Else not this far west one, but thy own dear breast on,
Our joys would be perfect with Chieftain Maclean.
Up, bonnet and feather, &c.

ETHEL.

AIR-"The Lass o' Gowrie."

"TIS said that angels in disguise

Are sometimes found beneath the skies,
And, looking into thy dear eyes,

I cannot doubt it, Ethel.

The one thing sure is, that thy face
So full is of angelic grace

That all I once could love give place
To thee, delightful Ethel.

That swain thrice happy must be owned
Who with thy virgin love is crowned;
If I that chosen one were found,

How would I bless thee, Ethel !
Though living in a desert waste,
I'd feel as if in Eden placed,

Could I but there to my fond breast
Enfold thee, lovely Ethel.

May thine, dear girl, thy whole life through, Be earth's best gifts, and with them too

The loving care that seems thy due

From all good angels, Ethel.
Soon must I cease thy face to see,
Vain-thinking of what cannot be,
Yet ever shall fond thoughts of thee
Dwell with me, darling Ethel ↓

MINE OWN DEAR ROMANTIC COUNTRIE!

THOUGH its climate be cold, and its sands hide no gold, Yet the land of the heather for me!

Since, despite its bleak air, Freedom's footsteps are there ; Her loved home, bonnie Scotland, is thee!

CHORUS-Then ho! for the Old land! that stern, sturdy, bold land,

Whose sons 'tis our glory to be!

O, who would not love thee, and proudly sing

of thee,

Mine own dear, romantic countrie!

Not without tug and toil, Albyn dear, on thy soil

Our bold sires planted Liberty's tree;

And we swear that no foe shall e'er touch stem or bough While we have hands to defend it and thee.

Then ho for the Old Land! &c.

From the homes of their birth, to the ends of the earth,
Let thy sons wander ever so free,

As to magnet the steel, so, in woe or in weal,
Turn their hearts ever fondly to thee.

Then ho for the Old Land! &c.

Land of heroes high-famed-land by foe never tamed,
Sorely tried though thou sometimes might be,
Bards are aye most inspired-hearts heroic best fired.
When they think, bonnie Scotland, of thee.

Then ho for the Old land! &c,

EXTRACTS FROM A SERIES OF CARRIER BOYS' NEW YEARS' DAY ADDRESSES.

In some Canadian cities it is customary for most newspapers of any standing, to have, each in its New-Year's-Day issue, a "Carrier Boy's Address "—a medley of rhymes, sometimes original and sometimes not-but all less or more characteristic of the season. Copies of these, ornamentally done up, are, on that day, handed by the Carrier Boys to all city subscribers accustomed to have their papers brought to their homes by these little lads-a Christmas box reminder that seldom misses its object. The author, as the writer of not a few of these ephemera, made them often the transcript of thoughts, which he hopes his readers may not deem unworthy of reproduction. He would not have his labours to oblige his editorial friends, and "the boys" thus employed by them, be

"Like the snowflake on the river,

A moment seen, then lost forever."

Hence the following extracts :

FROM ADDRESS FOR 1860.

YES!-an eventful year has been the past:-
The soil of Italy, long overcast

With clouds portentous, saw at last descend
The storm, and lo, the Frank and Hun contend,—
The Hun to hold Italia as his prey,

The Frank to give it freedom-Well-a-day!
The genuine friends of freedom, looking on,
Oft at the devil wish'd both Frank and Hun,