That ilka body talking,
But her, by thee is slighted;
And if thou art delighted;
O that's, &c.

If thou hast met this fair one,
When frae her thou hast parted;
If every other fair one

But her thou hast deserted,
And thou art broken-hearted;
Oh that's the lassie o' my heart,
My lassie ever dearer;

Oh that's the queen of womankind,
And ne'er a ane to peer her.

wwwwww

THE OLD MAN'S SONG.*

THE REV. JOHN SKINNER.

TUNE-Dumbarton's Drums.

O! WHY should old age so much wound us, O ?
There is nothing in't all to confound us, O ;
For how happy now am I,

With my old wife sitting by,

And our bairns and our oyes all around us, O.

The author of this excellent song, of whose mild and well-regulated mind it is a most faithful reflection, was a clergyman of the Scottish Episcopal Church at Longside, a village in Aberdeenshire, about six miles west from Peterhead. For the last fifty or sixty years of a life protracted beyond the usual span, this venerable man lived in a style of almost apostolic simplicity, in a lowly cottage, or farm-house of the old fashion, called Linshart, half a mile from the village where his little straw-clad chapel reared its modest form. The editor of this collection visited the place in 1826, when he had the satisfaction of finding the whole domicile in precisely the same order as when the poet lived in it. The primitive simplicity of the whole details furnished a most admirable commentary on the humble circumstances of the Episcopal clergy during the period of their depression, which succeeded the insurrection of 1745. The walls were, as the song relates, "not of stone and lime"-the floor was of earth-the chairs, tables, and beds, were composed of plain fir, or oak-the chimneys, according to a fashion still universal in the cottages of Buchan, were unprovided with grate". Around the walls of the principal room hung portraits, in water

We began in the world wi' naething, O,
And we've jogged on and toiled for the ae thing, O;
We made use of what we had,

And our thankfu' hearts were glad,

When we got the bit meat and the claithing, O.

We have lived all our lifetime contented, O,
Since the day we became first acquainted, O;
It's true we've been but poor,

And we are so to this hour,

Yet we never pined nor lamented, O.

We ne'er thought o' schemes to be wealthy, O,
By ways that were cunning or stealthie, O;
But we always had the bliss-

And what farther could we wiss ?

To be pleased wi' ourselves and be healthy, O.

What though we canna boast of our guineas, O,
We have plenty of Jockies and Jeanies, O;
And these, I'm certain, are

More desirable by far,

Than a pock full of poor yellow steenies, O.

We have seen many a wonder and ferlie, O,
Of changes that almost are yearly, O,
Among rich folks up and down,

Both in country and in town,

Who now live but scrimply and barely, O.

colours, of the poet, his wife, and children,-taken seventy years ago by a wandering artist, and now almost smoked out of countenance. In that humble place, during the period when it was unlawful for an Episcopalian clergyman to perform divine service to above four persons, Skinner had often read prayers and preached, with his own family around him, and his little congregation arranged on the outside of an open window-an expedient to elude the terms of the penal act.

It is told of this venerable man, that when he died, in 1808, he had the satisfaction of seeing not only his "oyes around him," but the children of these oyes. Some time before his death, he paid a visit with some of his family, when it was found that there were four John Skinners in company, all in direct descent; namely, the poet himself-his son, the late Bishop of Aberdeen-the present bishop-and an infant son of the latter right reve rend gentleman.

Then why should people brag of prosperity, O?
A straitened life, we see, is no rarity, O;
Indeed, we've been in want,

And our living been but scant,

Yet we never were reduced to need charity, O.

In this house we first came together, O,
Where we've long been a father and mother, O;
And though not of stone and lime,

It will last us a' our time;

And I hope we shall never need anither, O.

And when we leave this habitation, O,
We'll depart with a good commendation, O;
We'll go hand in hand, I wiss,

To a better house than this,

To make room for the next generation, O.

Then why should old age so much wound us, O?
There is nothing in't all to confound us, O ;
For how happy now am I,

With my auld wife sitting by,

And our bairns and our oyes all around us! O.

"TWAS WITHIN A MILE OF EDINBURGH TOWN.

TUNE-Within a mile of Edinburgh.

'TWAS within a mile of Edinburgh town, In the rosy time of the year;

Sweet flowers bloom'd, and the grass was down,

And each shepherd woo'd his dear.

Bonny Jockey, blythe and gay,
Kiss'd sweet Jenny, making hay,

The lassie blush'd, and frowning, cried "No, no, it will not do ;

I cannot, cannot, wonnot, wonnot, mannot buckle too."

Jockey was a wag that never would wed,
Though long he had followed the lass;
Contented she earned and eat her brown bread,
And merrily turn'd up the grass.
Bonny Jockey, blythe and free,

Won her heart right merrily:

Yet still she blush'd, and frowning cried, "No, no, it will not do ;

I cannot, cannot, wonnot, wonnot, mannot buckle too."

But when he vow'd he would make her his bride,
Though his flocks and herds were not few,
him her hand, and a kiss beside,

She gave

And vow'd she'd for ever be true.
Bonny Jockey, blythe and free,
Won her heart right merrily:

At church she no more frowning cried, "No, no, it will not do;

I cannot, cannot, wonnot, wonnot, mannot buckle too."*

O! JEANIE, THERE'S NAETHING TO FEAR YE.

HOGG.

TUNE-Blue Bonnets over the Border.

O! MY lassie, our joy to complete again,
Meet me again in the gloamin, my dearie :
Low down in the dell let us meet again;
O! Jeanie, there's naething to fear ye :

*From Johnson's Scots Musical Museum, Part I, 1787.

Come when the wee bat flits silent an' eerie ;
Come when the pale face o' nature looks weary.
Love be thy sure defence,
Beauty and innocence

:

O! Jeanie, there's naething to fear ye.

Sweetly blows the haw and the rowan-tree,
Wild roses speck our thicket so brierie;
Still, still will our bed in the greenwood be;
O! Jeanie there's naething to fear ye:
Note when the blackbird o' singing grows weary,
List when the beetle bee's bugle comes near ye;
Then come with fairy haste,
Light foot and beating breast:

O! Jeanie, there's naething to fear ye.

Far, far will the bogle and brownie be;
Beauty and truth they darena come near it.
Kind love is the tie of our unity;

A' maun love it and a' maun revere it.

Love maks the song o' the woodland sae cheerie, Love gars a' Nature look bonnie that's near ye; Love maks the rose sae sweet,

Cowslip and violet: 1

O! Jeanie, there's naething to fear ye.

WHA'LL BE KING BUT CHARLIE?

TUNE-Wha'll be King but Charlie ?

THE news frae Moidart cam' yestreen,

Will soon gar mony

ferlie ;

That ships o' war hae just come in,

And landed royal Charlie!

Come through the heather, around him gather;
Ye're a' the welcomer early:

Around him cling, wi' a' your kin;

For wha'll be king but Charlie?