rins
War wared o' sattens green,
They mightn't be as handsome then
As t' Lass o' Newsholme Dean.

When yellow autumn's lustre shines,
An' hangs her golden ear,
An' nature's voice fra every bush
Is singing sweet and clear,
'Neath some white thorn to song unknown,
To mortal never seen,
'Tis there with thee I fain wad be,
Mi Lass o' Newsholme Dean.

Od drat, who cares fur kings or queens,
Mix'd in a nation's broil,
They nivver benefit the poor--
The poor mun ollas toil.
An' thou gilded spectre, royalty,
That dazzles folks's een,
Is nowt to me when I'm wi thee,
Sweet Lass o' Newsholme Dean.

High fra the summit o' yon' crag,
I view yon' smooky town,
Where forten she has deigned to smile
On monny a simple clown:
Though free fra want, they're free fra brains;
An' yet no happier I ween,
Than this old farmer's wife an' hens,
Aw saw i' Newsholme Dean.

The Broken Pitcher.

[The happiest moments of a soldier in times of peace are when sat round
the hearth of his neat little barrack room, along with his comrades,
spinning yarns and telling tales; sometimes giving the history of some
famous battle or engagement in which he took a prominent part; other
times he will relate his own love adventures; then the favourite of the
room will oblige them with his song of "Nelson" or "Napoleon" (generally
being the favourites with them);--then there is the fancy tale teller,
who amuses all. But in all cases the teller of a tale, yarn, or story,
makes himself the hero of it, and especially when he speaks of the lass
he left behind him; hence this adventure with the "Lassie by the Well."]

There was a bonny Lassie once
Sitting by a well--
But what this bonny Lassie thought
I cannot, cannot tell--
When by there went a cavalier
Well known as Willie Wright,
Just in full marching order,
His armour shining bright.

"Ah maiden, lovely maiden, why
Sits thou by the spring?
Dost thou seek a lover, with
A golden wedding ring?
Or wherefore dost thou gaze on me,
With eyes so bright and wide?
Or wherefore does that pitcher lay
Broken by thy side?"

"My pitcher it is broken, sir,
And this the reason is,
A villian came behind me,
An' he tried to steal a kiss.
I could na take his nonsense,
So ne'er a word I spoke,
But hit him with my pitcher,
And thus you see 'tis broke."

"My uncle Jock McNeil, ye ken
Now waits for me to come;
He canna m