have sich a child.
Then why should we envy his wealth an his lands,
Tho' sarvents attend to obey his commands?
For we have the treasures noa riches can buy,
An aw think we can keep 'em,--at leeast we can try;
An if it should pleeas Him who orders all things,
To call yo away to rest under His wings,--
Tho' to part wod be hard, yet this comfort is giv'n,
We shall know 'at awr treasures are safe up i' Heaven,
Whear no moth an noa rust can corrupt or destroy,
Nor thieves can braik in, nor troubles annoy.
Blessins on thi! wee thing,--an whativver thi lot,
Tha'rt promised a mansion, tho' born in a cot,
What fate is befoor thi noa mortal can see,
But Christ coom to call just sich childer as thee.
An this thowt oft cheers me, tho' fortun may fraan,
Tha may yet be a jewel to shine in His craan.

Bonny Mary Ann.

When but a little toddlin thing,
I'th' heather sweet shoo'd play,
An like a fay on truant wing,
Shoo'd rammel far away;
An even butterflees wod come
Her lovely face to scan,
An th' burds wod sing ther sweetest song,
For bonny Mary Ann.

Shoo didn't fade as years flew by,
But added day bi day,
Some little touch ov witchery,--
Some little winnin way.
Her lovely limbs an angel face,
To paint noa mortal can;
Shoo seemed possessed ov ivvery grace,
Did bonny Mary Ann.

To win her wod be heaven indeed,
Soa off aw went to woo;
Mi tale o' love shoo didn't heed,
Altho' mi heart spake too.
Aw axt, "what wants ta, onnyway?"
Shoo sed, "aw want a man,"
Then laffin gay, shoo tript away,--
Mi bonny Mary Ann.

Thinks aw, well, aw'll be man enough
To leeav thi to thisen,
Some day tha'll net be quite as chuff,
Aw'll wait an try thi then.
'Twor hard,--it ommost braik mi heart
To carry aght mi plan;
But honestly aw played mi part,
An lost mi Mary Ann.

For nah shoo's wed an lost yo see,
But oh! revenge is sweet;
Her husband's less bi th' hawf nor me,
His face is like a freet;
An what enticed her aw must own,
To guess noa mortal can;
For what it is, is nobbut known,--
To him an Mary Ann.

That Christmas Puddin.

Ha weel aw remember that big Christmas puddin,
That puddin mooast famous ov all in a year;
When each lad at th' table mud stuff all he could in,
An ne'er have a word ov refusal to fear.
Ha its raand speckled face, craand wi' sprigs o' green holly
Seem'd sweeatin wi' juices ov currans an plums;
An its fat