[THIS is a version of the _Baillie of Berwick_, which will be found in the _Local Historian’s Table-Book_. It was originally obtained from Morpeth, and communicated by W. H. Longstaffe, Esq., of Darlington, who says, ‘in many respects the _Baillie of Berwick_ is the better edition—still mine may furnish an extra stanza or two, and the ha! ha! ha! is better than heigho, though the notes suit either version.’] THERE was an old man came over the Lea, Ha-ha-ha-ha! but I won’t have him. {237} He came over the Lea, A-courting to me, With his grey beard newly-shaven. My mother she bid me open the door: I opened the door, And he fell on the floor. My mother she bid me set him a stool: I set him a stool, And he looked like a fool. My mother she bid me give him some beer: I gave him some beer, And he thought it good cheer. My mother she bid me cut him some bread: I cut him some bread, And I threw’t at his head. My mother she bid me light him to bed: I lit him to bed, And wished he were dead. My mother she bid me tell him to rise: I told him to rise, And he opened his eyes. My mother she bid me take him to church: I took him to church, And left him in the lurch; With his grey beard newly-shaven. WHY SHOULD WE QUARREL FOR RICHES. [A VERSION of this very favourite song may be found in Ramsay’s _Tea-Table Miscellany_. Though a sailor’s song, we question whether it is not a greater favourite with landsmen. The chorus is become proverbial, and its philosophy has often been invoked to mitigate the evils and misfortunes of life.] HOW pleasant a sailor’s life passes, Who roams o’er the watery main! No treasure he ever amasses, But cheerfully spends all his gain. We’re strangers to party and faction, To honour and honesty true; And would not commit a bad action For power or profit in view. Then why should we quarrel for riches, Or any such glittering toys; A light heart, and a thin pair of breeches, Will go through the world, my brave boys! The world is a beautiful garden, Enriched with the blessings of life, The toiler with plenty rewarding, Which plenty too often breeds strife. When terrible tempests assail us, And mountainous billows affright, No grandeur or wealth can avail us, But skilful industry steers right. Then why, &c. The courtier’s more subject to dangers, Who rules at the helm of the state, Than we that, to politics strangers, Escape the snares laid for the great. The various blessings of nature, In various nations we try; No mortals than us can be greater, Who merrily live till we die. Then why should, &c. THE MERRY FELLOWS;