It may, gin ye be at the close,

Gar me forget my bluidie nose.

BEARDIE.

Weel, Brownie, my auld neighbor Rat,

Ye ken our fae the big grey cat,

That us'd to watch us ay sae keen,
Whan we gaed out for prey at e'en.
Frien' Catchum tald me't for a truth,
As I gaed now by his hole-mouth,
That o'er a branch, tied in a string,
He saw, wi joy, auld Badrans hing.

I than made up my mind at ance,
Hame gaed I straught, an' tell'd the weans.
Wi joy they a' set up a rair,

For they wi' want war nither'd sair.
Crappie, the other night, poor hash!
Wi' hunger, took sae sair a brash;
He cheep'd an' gran'd thro' a' the night,
I thought he wad hae dee'd outright.
I lick'd him o'er baith e'e an' bree,
An' laid his head upo' my knee ;
For, tho' he aft had vex'd his mother,
A parent's feelin's ill to smother;
Ye ken yoursel', without direction,
Rats wantna natural affection.

It mak'sna; or the morn, I trow,
He was as stark as me or you.

Poor brute! as soon's I saw him wake,
I fushe a dainty bit o' cake,

An' set some haggis down afore him,
I trow the smell o't didna shore him;
He gat upo' his bits o' shanks,

An' play'd a warld o' funny pranks.

Weel, tho' he was so sadly throu❜ther,

Since than he ne'er luik'd or his shouther

But, I forget--as soon as he

Heard what auld Catchum tell'd to me,

Naithing wad stap him an' the rest,

But out they'd sally frae the nest,
An' hae a row- -Quo' I, haud still,'

An' hear, first, what's your Faither's will:
Just, as the gloamin' hour sets in
Be up, an' ready ilka skin.

Ye, CRAPPIE, maun attack the cheese,

An' eat as meikle as ye please;

Than, whan ye weel hae cramm'd your wame,

Bring what ye're fit to carry hame.

HAIRIE, if it's no doon, I guess

Intill the wainscot Kitchen press,

Ye'll find some lamb, an' something else

Steal-I command-they staw't themsels.

TAWTIE, ye'll creep into the bole That's in the neuk, ye ken the hole, The maid ay in't sets by her leavins, There ye may satisfy your cravins; For, to the House's sair mishap, She's a rank theef, as ever lap. CURLIE, wee, sairie thing, ye'll neist Attack a roastit chuckie's breast; Ye'll find it on a plate i' the entry, Weel hidden i' the wife's nain pantry. She's a sad Jad'-I weel can tell

She gat it frae a Friend to sell,

Yet she poor chuckie's neck could draw, An' means to say she ran awa'.

As she has sic example set 'er,

The wife's ae daughter's little better:
What do think the selfish rogue,

ye

Has hid aneath a whomilt cog?

BROWNIE.

I kenna-may be some bit fry She means to hide frae you or I.

BEARDIE.

Na, man, ye're wide o't-it's a crown She frae her Faither's pouch has stown;

She's

gaun to Embro' the neist oukIt's no to buy a prayer buik:

She wadna gie ae kiss o' Steven
For a' the prayers under Heaven:
He's her nain Jo, she means to wair
Her crown on ribband for his hair,

An' ither wallies; sae the fear is
It a
gang aff for whigmaleeries—
But, let her be for ance a waister,

Her Faither steal'd it frae his maister.
Weel, whan my young things a' cam' hame,
Ilk had, I trow, a weel stegh'd wame,
An' we'se the hour o' e'en beguile
Wi' mony a happy lunch this while.

BROWNIE.

Weel, Beardie, I'm sae fain to hear
O' Badran's death, an' sic guid cheer,
That I've a mind, on some cauld mutton,
For ance a wee to play the glutton;
Sae, if ye'll pledge me, gin ye please,
I hae, forby, a dool o' cheese;
For joy we'se hae a blyth repast,
Gin a' the mice alive soud fast,
An' let this day ay bear the date,
That first we heard o' badran's fate.

BEARDIE.

I carena, Frien', sin I'm in kee,

To rest me in your hole a wee,

An' hae a social crack or twa,
As our destroyer's now awa'.
But yet we've hardly room to jest,
Tho' we be quit o' ae great pest;
There's something maist as ill behin';
For instance, recollect your chin:
The cat, tho' ane fell in wi' it,
They hae a chance by speed o' fit
To hie them quickly frae her paw;
But hardly ane survives a fa'.

BROWNIE.

Ay, ay, that's true, I hae been taen, But I'se tak' better care again,

And, as I'm wearin' yont my prime,
I'll e'en tak' care. o' traps in time.
It's strange we're fash'd wi' sicken strife,
In seekin' meat, the stauf o' Life,
That men maun set the guilefu' fa'
To tak' our bits o' lives awa'.

BEARDIE.

Dear help ye, Brownie, soudna wee Tak' better tent o' what we see: Man sets the stamp; but we can tell. He's aften taury haun'd himsel'. For me I ne'er gaed near❜t but twice, And ance was wi' some neighour mice