r'd out, wi' our ain folk,
Out-owre the simmer braes.

Wae's me, for my heart is breaking!
I think on my brithers sma',
And on my sister greeting,
When I came frae hame awa;
And oh! how my mither sobbit,
As she shook me by the hand;
When I left the door o' our auld house,
To come to this stranger land;

There's nae place like our ain hame;
Oh, I wish that I was there!--
There's nae hame like our ain hame
To be met wi' ony where!--
And oh! that I were back again
To our farm and fields so green;
And heard the tongues o' my ain folk,
And was what I hae been!

That's poor Mungo's poem; which I and James Batter, and the rest, think
excellent, and not far short of Robert Burns himself, had he been spared.
Some may judge otherwise, out of bad taste or ill nature; but I would
just thank them to write a better at their leisure.

CHAPTER XXII.--THE JUNE JAUNT.

The lapwing lilteth o'er the lea,
With nimble wing she sporteth;
By vows she'll flee from tree to tree
Where Philomel resorteth:
By break of day, the lark can say,
I'll bid you a good-morrow,
I'll streik my wing, and mounting sing,
O'er Leader hauchs and Yarrow.

NICOL BURN, _the Minstrel_.

After Tammie Bodkin had been working with me on the board for more than
four years in the capacity of foresman, superintending the workshop
department, together with the conduct and conversation of Joe Breeky,
Walter Cuff, and Jack Thorl, my three bounden apprentices, I thought I
might lippen him awee to try his hand in the shaping line, especially
with the clothes of such of our customers as I knew were not very nice,
provided they got enough of cutting from the Manchester manufacture, and
room to shake themselves in. The upshot, however, proved to a moral
certainty, that such a length of tether is not chancey for youth, and
that a master cannot be too much on the head of his own business.

It was in the pleasant month of June, sometime, maybe six or eight days,
after the birth-day of our good old King George the Third--for I
recollect the withering branches of lily-oak and flowers still sticking
up behind the signs, and over the lampposts,--that my respected
acquaintance and customer, Peter Farrel the baker, to whom I have made
many a good suit of pepper-and-salt clothes--which he preferred from
their not dirtying so easily with the bakehous