stuff for suffocatin' bugs,
He'd stuff for feshin' up your denners,
Against your wull an' a' gude menners,
A' kin' o' queer cahoochy goods
To suit the system's varyin' moods,
Wi' navvies' operatin' peels,
Sookers for bairns an' fishin' reels,
In fac'-but losh! I'd better stop,
The mannie kep' a druggist's shop!
An' in his bauchles an' his breeches
Cam' grum'lin' doon to get the leeches
While, nearly scunnert wi' their squirmin',
Aff hirples Girsie wi' the vermin.

VII.
An' noo, my billies, draw a veil,
Till mornin's licht, owre Tam Macphail,
Till aince again the doctor cam'
To see what cheenge was wrocht in Tam.
'Twas nine o'clock he stapt in-bye,
Relieved to hear nae waesome cry.
"Well, well, Macphail!" the doctor says,
"My treatment's worthy of all praise!
I left you-why 'twas like a riot!
I see you now, contented, quiet.
Far, very far, our knowledge reaches!
How did you get on with the leeches?"
Tam ne'er replied, but turn'd his back,
Wi' tearful een 'twas Jean wha spak,
"Eh, Doctor! -Sic an awfu' cure
I ne'er saw gi'en to rich or puir,
For when we saw the ugsome beasts
It gart the herts rise in our breists!
But Tam, wha tak's your word for law,
Juist swalla'd doon the first pair raw!
Yet try's he micht, an' sair he tried,
He had to hae the last four fried!"
The doctor turn'd him on his heel,
An' though puir Tam looked rale no-weel,
He couldna trust himsel' to speak,
The tears were rinnin' doon his cheek,
An' a' that day was sair forfaughen
Wi' tryin' to haud himsel' frae lauchin'!

VIII.
Whate'er wi' Tam ye chance to crack on,
There's ae thing ye maun ne'er gang back on.
Freely he'll talk on politics,
The weather an' its dirty tricks,
On wages an' the price o' coal
Or things conneckit wi' the soul,
On hoo the meenister's a leear
An' medical advice owre dear,
But if the crack warks roond to leeches,
Puir Tam pits doon his pipe an' retches!

THE HOWDIE.

'Twas in a wee bit but-an'-ben
She bade when first I kent her,
Doon the side roadie by the kirk
Whaur Andra was precentor.

An' a' the week he keepit thrang
At's wark as village thatcher,
Whiles sairly fashed by women folk,
Wi' "Hurry up an' catch her!"

Nae books e'er ravel't Tibbie's harns,
Nae college lear had reached her,
An' a' she kent aboot her job
Her ain experience teached her.

To this cauld warld in fifty year
She'd fosh near auchteen hunner.
Losh keep's! When a' thing's said an' dune,
The cratur' was a won'er!

A'