ak his Crowdy,
Till t'watter it goes home.
I canna tak him watter,
And that I ken full weel,
And so I'm sure to catch it,--
For he'll play the varry de'il."

"Ah maiden, lovely maiden,
I pray be ruled by me;
Smile with thine eyes and ruby lips,
And give me kisses three.
And we'll suppose my helmet is
A pitcher made o' steel,
And we'll carry home some watter
To thy uncle Jock McNeil."

She silently consented, for
She blink'd her bonny ee,
I threw mi arms around her,
And gave her kisses three.
To wrong the bonny Lassie
I sware 'twould be a sin;
So knelt dahn by the watter
To dip mi helmet in.

Out spake this bonny Lassie,
"My soldier lad, forbear,
I wadna spoil thi bonny plume
That decks thi raven hair;
Come buckle up thy sword again,
Put on thi cap o' steel,
I carena for my pitcher, nor
My uncle Jock McNeil."

I often think, my comrades,
About this Northern queen,
And fancy that I see her smile,
Though mountains lay between.
But should you meet her Uncle Jock,
I hope you'll never tell
How I squared the broken pitcher,
With the Lassie at the well.

Ode to Sir Titus Salt.

Go, string once more old Ebor's harp,
And bring it here to me,
For I must sing another song,
The theme of which shall be,--
A worthy old philanthropist,
Whose soul in goodness soars,
And one whose name will stand as firm
As rocks that gird our shores;
The fine old Bradford gentleman,
The good Sir Titus Salt.

Heedless of others; some there are,
Who all their days employ
To raise themselves, no matter how,
And better men destroy:
How different is the mind of him,
Whose deeds themselves are told,
Who values worth more nobly far
Than all the heaps of gold.

His feast and revels are not such,
As those we hear and see,
No princely show does he indulge,
Nor feats of revelry;
But in the orphan schools they are,
Or in the cot with her,
The widow and the orphan of
The shipwrecked mariner,

When stricken down with age and care,
His good old neighbours grieved,
Or loss of family or mate,
Or all on earth bereaved;
Go see them in their houses,
Where peace their days may end,
And learn from them the name of him
Who is their aged friend.

With good and great his worth shall live,
With high or lowly born;
His name is on the scroll of fame,
Sweet as the songs of morn;
While tyranny and villany
Is sur