Besides, I further maun allow, Wi’ Ireland, three times I trow,―― But L――――, my hands are always fu’, When I come near her, Or else thou kens thy servant true Wad safely steer her. Maybe thou lets this Irish thorn―― Murder and outrage, night and morn―― Beset thy servant in their turn, Cause he’s sae gifted; Obstruction’s han’ maun e’en be borne Until thou lift it. L――――, bless my followers in this place, Puir goavan coofs――a haverel race Led by the nose――but curse the face And blast the name O’ Northcote’s crew; bring them disgrace An’ public shame. L――――, mind Rab Salisbury’s deserts, He flouts and jeers, by fits and stairts, Yet has sae mony takin’ airts Wi’ grit an’ sma’, I fear least he the people’s hairts Should steal awa.’ And whan we chasten him therefore, Thou kens how he breeds sic a splore, As sets the country in a roar O’ boist’rous laughin’; Curse thou his ermine and his fur, His sneers an’ chaffin’. L――――, hear my earnest supplication Against that cause o’ my vexation, The House o’ Lords――bane o’ the nation―― Curse on their heeds; L――――, visit them wi’ swift damnation For their misdeeds. O! L―――― my G――――, that glib-tongued Cowen, Wi’ gall and bitterness o’erflowin’, And a’ the ruck sae forward growin’ Still mair an’ mair; Wha keep thy servants’ choler glowin’, An’ fill wi’ fear. L――――, since I am sae plaguit by ’em, Confound the loons wha’ do employ ’em, And in the day o’ vengeance try ’em, Heed not their prayer, But for thy servant’s sake destroy ’em For evermair. But, L――――, remember me and mine, Wi’ mercies temp’ral and divine, For aye let me and H――b――t shine, Excell’d by nane, And a’ that glory shall be thine, Amen, amen, J. B. C., Northumberland, _The Newcastle Weekly Chronicle_, July 5, 1884. ―――― THE FISHER’S WELCOME. We twa ha’ fished the Kale sae clear, And streams o’ mossy Reed; We’ve tried the Wansbeck and the Wear, The Teviot and the Tweed; An’ we will try them ance again, When summer suns are fine; An’ we’ll throw the flies thegither yet, For the days o’ lang syne.