chin broos,
An silken robes may hide
Bosoms all fair to look upon,
Whear braikin hearts abide.

Gie me enuff for daily needs,
An just a bit to spend;
Enuff to pay mi honest way,
An help a strugglin friend.
Aw'll be contented it aw keep
The wolf from off mi door;
Aw'll envy nubdy o' ther brass,
An nivver dream awm poor.

Dewdrops 'at shine i'th' early morn
Are diamons for me.
An jewels glint i' ivvery tint,
On th' hill or daan i'th' lea.
My sweet musicianers are burds
At tune their joyous lay,
Araand mi cottage winder,
An nivver strike for pay.

Aw lang for noa fine carriages
To drag me raand about!
Shanks galloway my purpose fits
Far better, beyond daat.
An when at times aw weary grow,
An fain wod have a rest;
Aw toddle hooam an goa to bed,--
That allus answers best.

"Insomnia;" ne'er bothers me,--
It's tother way abaght;
Aw sleep throo tummelin into bed,
Wol th' time to tummel aght.
Aw nivver want a "pick-me-up,"
To tempt mi appetite;
Aw ait what's set anent me,
An aw relish ivvery bite.

What pleasure has a millionaire
'At aw've net one to match?
Awd show 'em awm best off o'th' two,
If they'd come up to th' scratch.
Ov one thing aw feel sartin sewer,
They've mooar nor me to bear;
Yo bet! its net all "Lavender,"
To be a millionaire.

Mi Fayther's Pipe.

AW'VE a treasure yo'd laff if yo saw,
But its mem'ries are dear to mi heart;
For aw've oft seen it stuck in a jaw,
Whear it seem'd to form ommost a part.
Its net worth a hawpny, aw know,
But its given mooar pleasure maybe,
Nor some things at mak far mooar show,
An yo can't guess its vally to me.

Mi fayther wor fond ov his pipe,
An this wor his favorite clay;
An if mi ideas wor ripe,
Awd enshrine it ith' folds ov a lay;
But words allus fail to express
What aw think when aw see its old face;
For aw know th' world holds one friend the less,
An mi hearth has one mooar vacant place.

Ov trubbles his life had its share,
But he kept all his griefs to hissen;
Tho aw've oft seen his brow knit wi care,
Wol he tried to crack jooaks nah an then.
But one comfort he'd ivver i' stooar,
An he'd creep to his favorite nook,
An seizin his old pipe once mooar,
All his trubbles would vanish i' smook.

If his fare should be roughish or scant,
He nivver repined at his lot;
He seem'd to have all he could want,
If he knew he'd some bac