pleasant--that was a',
An' drivin' canny)
Fegs! he cam' hurlin' owre the front
An' struck the road wi' sic a dunt,
Ye'd thocht the causey got the brunt
And no the mannie!

Aweel, it was his hin'most drive,
Aifter yon clour he couldna thrive,
For twa pairts deid, an' ane alive,
His billies foond him:
And, bedded then, puir Jeemsie lay,
And a' the nicht and a' the day
Relations cam' to greet an' pray
An' gaither roond him.

Said Jeemsie, "Cousins, gie's a pen,
Awa' an' bring the writer ben,
What I hae spent wi' sinfu' men
I weel regret it;
In daith I'm sweir to be disgrac't,
I've plenty left forby my waste,
An them that I've negleckit maist
It's them'll get it."

It was a sicht to see them rin
To save him frae the sense o' sin,
Fu' sune they got the writer in
His mind to settle;
And O their loss! sae sair they felt it
To a' the toon wi' tears they tell't it,
Their dule for Jeemsie wad hae meltit
A he'rt o' metal!

Puir Jeemsie dee'd. In a' their braws
The faim'ly cam' as black as craws,
Men, wifes, an' weans wi' their mamas
That scarce could toddle!
They grat--an' they had cause to greet;
The wull was read that garred them meet--
The U. P. Kirk, just up the street,
Got ilka bodle!

THE GEAN-TREES

I mind, when I dream at nicht,
Whaur the bonnie Sidlaws stand
Wi' their feet on the dark'nin' land
An their heids i' the licht;
An the thochts o' youth roll back
Like wreaths frae the hillside track
In the Vale o' Strathmore;
And the autumn leaves are turnin'
And the flame o' the gean-trees burnin'
Roond the white hoose door.

Aye me, when spring cam' green
And May-month decked the shaws
There was scarce a blink o' the wa's
For the flower o' the gean;
But when the hills were blue
Ye could see them glintin' through
An the sun i' the lift;
An the flower o' the gean-trees fa'in'
Was like pairls frae the branches snawin'
In a lang white drift.

Thae trees are fair and gay
When May-month's in her prime,
But I'm thrawn wi' the blasts o' time
An my heid's white as they;
But an auld man aye thinks lang
O' the hauchs he played amang
In his braw youth-tide;
An there's ane that aye keeps yearnin'
For a hoose whaur the leaves are turnin'
An the flame o' the gean-tree burnin'
By the Sidlaws' side.

THE TOD

There's a tod aye blinkin' when the nicht comes doon,
Blinkin' wi' his lang een an' keekin' roond an' roon',
Creepin' by the fairmyaird when gloamin' is to