I hadna been a wife weeks but only four,
When sitting sae mournfully at the door,

I saw my Jamie's wreath, for I cou’dna think it he,
Until he said, Jenny, I'm come to marry thee.

O, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say,
We took but ae kiss, and tore ourselves awa:
I wish I were dead, but I'm nae like to die,
And why do I live to say wae's me.

I gang like a ghaist, I carena to spin,

I darena think on Jamie, for that would be a sin;
But I'll do my best a gude wife to be,
For auld Robin Gray is kind unto me.

Woman first and greatest Treasure.
WOMAN, first and greatest treasure

Man on earth can ever know,

From thy charms, what bliss, what pleasure,
What bewitching transports flow.

When in sickness, griefs oppress us,
You our weary moments cheer;
You, whose soft endearments bless us,
Wipe from sorrow's eye the tear.

When in tented fields contending,
Hostile swords assail the breast,
How we conquer while defending
Her on earth we love the best.

Orange Boven!

AS I went in, to-day, to a fruiterer's shop,
To spend all the brass that I had;

On a thumping large Orange, my eyes chanc'd to рор,

Which made my mouth water like mad.

I couldn't refuse, because of the news,

To purchase a treat, so dev'lish sweet.

Aye, and more nor all that, Istuck the rind in my hat, And so swagger'd away, like a buck, up the street,

All the ladies I met had such beautiful bows
Of ribbons, same colour as me;

So I whoop'd and I halloo'd, long life to all those
Who wish life to the old Orange-tree,

All their hats, I declare, werę twirl'd in the air,

And the ladies, tho' coy, all smiling with joy. To behold such a sight fill'd my heart with delight, For they call'd me the beautiful brave Orange-boy,

The house they call Orange, I've heard people say,
By treachery fell to the ground;

But a wing of that pile flew back t'other day,
And its pillars came flocking around.

'Tis many years since they greeted their
prince,

A joy then so great could not fail to elate. For the Eagle, and Bear, and Lion, were there, When the shouts “Orange Boven!" thrice gladden'd the air.

Arthur O'Bradley.

TWAS in the sweet month of May, I walk'd out to take the air,

My father he died one day, and he left me his son and heir;

He left me a good warm house, that wanted only a

thatch,

A strong oak door to my chamber, that only wanted a latch;

He left me a rare old cow, I wish he'd have left me

a sow,

A cock that in fighting was shy, and a horse with a sharp wall eye,

A barrel to hold my beer, likewise a mustard-pot, A jack-ass with one ear, and a bow that never shot; And my name is Squire Arthur O'Bradley, O!— Rare Arthur O'Bradley, tight Arthur O' Bradley, merry Arthur O'Bradley, frolicsome Arthur O'Bradley, tipsey Arthur O'Bradley, reeling Arthur O'Bradley, wise Arthur O'Bradley, foolish Arthur O'Bradley, handsome Arthur O'Bradley, dancing Arthur O'Bradley, cap'ring Arthur O'Bradley, wonderful Arthur O'Bradley, O!— O rare Squire Arthur O'Bradley, O!

He left me a silver spoon, a barrow withouta handle, A lanthorn like a full moon, that could hold a farthing candle;

He left me an old Tom cat, with walnut-shells to his hose,

My hen in the forehead is fat, and my bellows they want a nose;

That I might have a good bed, he left me three curtain-rings

My thrush, tho' with fig-dust fed, in April seldom

sings;

He left me a bacon-rack, a pitcher with but one crack

In my chair I a bottom will put, and then I my mouth will shut;

And my name is Squire Arthur O'Bradley, O! &c.

He left me a wooden wedge, besides a milking pail, A piece of an old bee-hive, and a broken threshing flail,

A dozen of leather buttons tied to a leather string," Two left-handed gloves, and my grandmother's wedding ring,

A chamber-pot as good as ever was made of wood, Frying-pan, rake, and reel, with the rim of a spinning-wheel;

He left me a rusty-sword, a piece of a quarter-staff,
With several other things, but I have forgot one half,
As the portion of Arthur O'Bradley, O!
And I'm rare Squire Arthur O'Bradley, &c.

Mary's Dream.

THE moon had climb'd the highest hill
That rises o'er the source of Dee,

And from the eastern summit shed
Her silver light on tow'r and tree;

When Mary laid her down to sleep,
Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea:
Then soft and low a voice was heard
Say "Mary, weep no more for me !".

She from her pillow gently rais'd

Her head, to ask who there might be, And saw young Sandy shiv'ring stand, With pallid cheek and hollow eye. "O, Mary dear! cold is my clay, It lies beneath a stormy sea; Far, far from thee I sleep in death, So Mary weep no more for me!

Three stormy nights and stormy days
We toss'd upon the raging main,
And long we strove our bark to save,
But all our striving was in vain :
L'en then, when horror chill'd my blood,
My heart was fill'd with love for thee.
The storm is past and I at rest,

So, Mary, weep no more for me!

,,

O! maiden dear! thyself prepare,
We soon shall meet upon that shore
Where love is free from doubt or care,
And thou and I shall part no more.’
Loud crow'd the cock! the shadow led!
No more of Sandy could she see;
But soft the passing spirit said,

"O! Mary! weep no more for me."