l his friends hold dear--
The Grand Old Man of Oakworth,
Beyond his eightieth year!

No flattery! My honest Muse,
Nor yet be thou servile;
But tinkle up that harp again,
A moment to beguile.
Altho' the bard be rude and rough,
Yet, he is ever proud
To do the mite that he can do,
And thus proclaim aloud--
The Grand Old Man of Oakworth,
Of whom we all are proud!

For base indeed were any bard
That ever sang on earth,
Did he not wish his neighbour well,
And praise his sterling worth.
Leave state affairs and office
To those of younger blood,
But I am with the patriot,
The noble, wise, and good--
The Grand Old Man of Oakworth,
The wise, the great, the good!

This worthy old philanthropist,
Whom all his neighbours greet;
Who has a smile for every one
Whom he may chance to meet--
Go to yon pleasant village,
On the margin of the moor,
And you will hear his praises sung
By all the aged poor--
The Grand Old Man of Oakworth,
A friend unto the poor!

Long may he live! and happy be,
The patriot and the sire;
And may some other harp give praise,
Whose notes will sound much higher.
His thirst for knowledge, worth, and lore--
His heart was ever there--
This worthy old philanthropist,
Beyond his eightieth year!--
The Grand Old Man of Oakworth,
Beyond his eightieth year.

THOUGHTS SUGGESTED
ON HEARING
Dr. Dobie's Lecture on Burns.

Though murky are the days and short,
And man he finds but little sport,
These gloomy days, to cheer him;
Yet, if a Dobie should, perchance,
Come out before an audience,
'Tis worth our while to hear him.

Right pleased was I, dear sir, to hear
Your lecture on that subject dear,
So grand and superhuman;
For all the world doth pay regard
To Bobbie Burns, the Scottish bard,
The patriot and the ploughman.

Your words, indeed, were passing good,
On him who kenned and understood
The kirk and all its ranting;
Who "held the mirror" up, indeed,
To show the "muckle unco-guid"
Their double-dyed canting.

You painted him sometimes in glee
While other times in poverty--
To gold without alliance;
Yet, after all he kept his pace,
And looked grim fortune in the face,
And set him at defiance.

But, alas! the picture, was it true?
Of Burns' parents, poor and low--
So furrowed and so hoary--
It makes our very hearts to burn
To think that "man wa