Wi' joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters meet,
An' each for other's welfare kindly spiers:
The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnoticed fleet;
Each tells the uncosf that he sees or hears.
The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years;
Anticipation forward points the view.

The mother, wi' her needle an' her shears,
Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new!
The father mixes a' wi' admonition due.

Their master's an' their mistress's command,
The younkers a' are warned to obey;
An' mind their labours wi' an eydenth hand,
An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play :
"An', O! be sure to fear the Lord alway!
An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night!

Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray,
Implore His counsel and assisting might :
They never sought in vain that sought the Lord
aright!"

But hark! a rap comes gently to the door :
Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same,
Tells how a neebor lad came o'er the moor,
To do some errands, an' convoy her hame.
The wily mother sees the conscious flame
Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek;

Wi' heart-struck, anxious care, inquires his name, While Jenny hafflins' is afraid to speak;

Weel pleased the mother hears, it's nae wild, worthless

rake.

fNews.

8 Makes.

k Diligent.

Half.

Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben;
A strappan youth; he takes the mother's eye;
Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en;

The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, But, blatek and laithfu',' scarce can weel behave; The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy

What makes the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave; Weel pleased to think her bairn's respected like the lave.m

O happy love! where love like this is found!
O heart-felt raptures! bliss beyond compare!
I've paced much this weary mortal round,

And sage experience bids me this declare :

"If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, One cordial in this melancholy vale,

'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair

In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale."

Is there, in human form, that bears a heart-
A wretch! a villain! lost to love and truth!

That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art,
Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth?
Curse on his perjured arts! dissembling smooth!
Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exiled?

Is there no pity, no relenting ruth,

Points to the parents fondling o'er their child? Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their distraction

wild?

JTalks.

k Bashful.

1Sheepish.

m The rest.

But now the supper crowns their simple board,
The halesome parritch, chief o' Scotia's food;
The soupe their only hawkie" does afford,
That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood:
The dame brings forth, in complimental mood,
To grace
the lad, her weel-hain'dr kebbuck, fell,
An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid;
The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell

How 'twas a 'towmond' auld sin' lint was i' the bell.s

The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face,
They, round the ingle, form a circle wide ;
The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace,
The big ha'-Bible, ance his father's pride:
His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside,
His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare;

Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, He wales" a portion with judicious care;

And, "Let us worship God!" he says, with solemn air.

They chant their artless notes in simple guise;

They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim: Perhaps "Dundee's" wild warbling measures rise, Or plaintive "Martyrs," worthy of the name; Or noble "Elgin" beets the heavenward flame, The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays :

Compared with these, Italian trills are tame; The tickled ears no heartfelt raptures raise ; Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise.

a Cheese.

r A * Grey

n Cow. Partition-wall. P Well-saved. twelvemonth. $Since the flax was in flower. locks. "Chooses.

The priestlike father reads the sacred page,
How Abr'am was the friend of God on high;
Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage

With Amalek's ungracious progeny ;
Or how the royal Bard did groaning lie
Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire ;
Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry;
Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire;
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre.

Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme,—

How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed; How He who, bore in heaven the second name Had not on earth whereon to lay His head; How His first followers and servants sped; The precepts sage they wrote to many a land: How he who, lone in Patmos banished,

Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand,

And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounced by Heaven's command.

Then kneeling down, to heaven's Eternal King,
The saint, the father, and the husband prays :
Hope "springs exulting on triumphant wing,"
That thus they all shall meet in future days:
There ever bask in uncreated rays,

No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear,
Together hymning their Creator's praise,

In such society, yet still more dear;

While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere.

Compared with this, how poor Religion's pride,
In all the pomp of method, and of art,
When men display to congregations wide
Devotion's every grace, except the heart!

The Power, incensed, the pageant will desert,
The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole ;
But haply, in some cottage far apart,

May hear, well-pleased, the language of the soul,
And in His book of life the inmates poor enrol.

Then homeward all take off their several way;
The youngling cottagers retire to rest:
The parent-pair their secret homage pay,

And proffer up to Heaven the warm request,
That He who stills the raven's clam'rous nest,
And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride;

Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best, For them and for their little-ones provide ; But chiefly in their hearts with grace divine preside.

From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs,
That makes her loved at home, revered abroad :
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings;
"An honest man's the noblest work of God:"
And, certes, in fair virtue's heavenly road,
The cottage leaves the palace far behind.

What is a lordling's pomp? A cumbrous load,
Disguising oft the wretch of human kind,
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined!

O Scotia! my dear, my native soil!

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent! Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil

Be bless'd with health, and peace, and sweet content!

And, O, may Heaven their simple lives prevent From Luxury's contagion, weak and vile!

Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent,