The nabob surrounded with splendour may pine; For friends are but scanty where sycophants shine;— Here the juice of the malt is as sweet as the vine; And there's nought like the circle of friendship To brighten life's path with a smile.

Let statesmen delight in the court's vain parade,
Where each plays for SELF in the great masquerade.—
Our pleasures, tho' humble, with trust are repaid;
For there's nought like the circle of friendship
To brighten life's path with a smile.

While the coxcomb is lost in the butterfly throng,
Where the dance to the music is floating along;
We enjoy our bit crack, wi' a canty Scots song;
For there's nought like the circle of friendship
To brighten life's path with a smile.

Then blest be the faces that welcom'd me here,
Wherever I wander they'll ever be dear,—

While our glasses, at parting, will brim with a tear;
For there's nought like the circle of friendship
To brighten life's path with a smile.

CII.

THE NEW YEAR'S GIFT.

All white hung the bushes o'er Elaw's sweet stream,
And pale from its banks the long icicles gleam;
The first peep of morning just peers thro' the sky,
And here, at thy door, gentle Mary, am I.

With the dawn of the year, and the dawn of the light,
The one that best loves thee stands first in thy sight;
Then welcom'd, dear maid, with my gift let me be,
A ribbon, a kiss, and a blessing for thee!

Last year, of earth's treasures I gave thee my part,
The new year before it I gave thee my heart;
And now, gentle Mary, I greet thee again,
When only this hand and a blessing remain !

Tho' time should run on with his sack full of care,
And wrinkle thy cheek, maid, and whiten thy hair,
Yet still on this morn shall my offering be,
A ribbon, a kiss, and a blessing for thee!

I

CIII.

WHEN LIFE FROM THIS BOSOM.

When life from this bosom for ever is fled,

Is there one for poor Jack that will mourn ? Is there one that will say, "'neath this sod there is laid A good fellow as ever was born?"

No-the friends of his youth, for a short fleeting year, May remember, when over the bowl,

That oft there has join'd them in folly's career, "Poor Jack, on the whole a good soul."

But, oh! it was not to companions like these
That his heart and his feelings were known,
Tho' oft, to drown care, and ambitious to please,
O'er the most of the club has he shone.

Nor is it from these that a tear he would ask,
Should his mem'ry in theirs ever live;

No, to them far too hard and too grating the task,
Enough that a bumper they give.

But, oh! when he's laid in his last peaceful sleep,
When his heart is for ever at rest,

Sweet Lela, shouldst thou o'er his ashes e'er weep,
Or his mem❜ry e'er heave thy fair breast,

Then, if spirits of aught that is mortal can taste,
Lov'd Lela, what joys will be mine,

When hovering above on light pinions I haste
To breathe a soft murmur with thine.

CIV.

BONNIE LADIE ANN.

There's kames o' hinney 'tween my luve's lips,

And gowd amang her hair,

Her breasts are lapt in a holie veil,

Nae mortal een keek there.

*This truly excellent ballad was recovered, according to Cromek, from the recitation of Miss Catherine Macartney, of Hacket Leaths, Galloway, and is to be found in his Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway song, a work which does infinite honour to the taste of the Editor.-" There is a noble sublimi ty, a heart-melting tenderness," says the immortal Burns, "in some of our ancient ballads, which shew them to be the work of a masterly hand: and it

What lips dare kiss, or what hand dare touch,

Or what arm of luve dare span

The hinney lips, the creamy loof,

Or the waist o' Lady Ann!

She kisses the lips o' her bonnie red rose,

Wat wi' the blobs o' dew;

But nae gentle lip, nor semple lip

Maun touch her Ladie mou.

But a broider'd belt wi' a' buckle o' gowd,

Her jimpy waist maun span;

O she's an armfu' fit for heaven,

My bonnie Ladie Ann!

has often given me many a heart-ache to reflect, that such glorious old bards -bards, who very probably owed all their talents to native genius, yet have described the exploits of heroes, the pangs of disappointment, and the meltings of love, with such fine strokes of nature,-that their very names (O how mortifying to a bard's vanity!) are now "buried among the wreck of things which were."

song,

"A fairer specimen of romantic Scottish love than is contained in this is rarely to be met with. It was first introduced to Nithsdale and Galloway about thirty years ago, by a lady whose mind was deranged. She wandered from place to place, followed by some tamed sheep. The old people describe her as an amiable and mild creature. She would lie all night under the shade of some particular tree, with her sheep around her. They were as the ewe-lamb in the scripture parable;-they lay in her bosom, ate of her bread, drank of her cup, and were unto her as daughters- Thus she wandered through part of England, and the low part of Scotland; esteemed, respected, pitied, and wept for by all! She was wont to sing this song unmoved, until she came to the last verse, and then she burst into tears. The old tree, under which she sat with her sheep, is now cut down. The school boys always paid a kind of religious respect to it-there, on fine sabbath evenings, the old women sat down and read their Bibles; there the young men and maidens learned their Psalms, and then went home full of the meek and holy composure of religion."-Cromek.