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THE KING'S BIRTH DAY AT AVON PRINTFIELD, 1792.

For the Bee.
Like ither bards right fain I'd sing
The great birth day o' Britain's king;
But that it will me right sair ding

I've cause to tear ;
For book-leard chaps wi high flown wing

Sings’t ilka year.
When Musie kend othe affair,
She grew as mad as a March hare;
Quo' the ye are haff daft an' mair,

Ye senseless coof;
That subject's worn, just as thread bare

'S a body's loof.
Gie o'er your sang, continued she,
An dinna ye affront me sae;
Gleg Burns, an twa three bardies mae,

The theme wad hit;
But you, ye hardly ken a B

Bi a bull's fit!
It to my heart gade wi' a dunt,
To think the cuttie had the strunt;
Says I, ye crabbit mislear'd runt,

Gif I draw breath,
This day ye sall Pegasus'munt,

As shure as death.
When that she heard me crack sae crouse,
She grew as caum as ony mouse;
Syne look'd sae pleasant and sae douse,

An' nae mair snarl'd;
"That now I dinna care a louse

For a' the warld.
Come then, my winsome, dautit lamb!
An' I'se gie you a gude Scots drain
O’aquavitæ; just the sam

I tak mysell;
Whether it mend your milk or dam,

Ye need na tell.
Sing on this morn, before the sun
To spoel the lift has yet begun,
Wi hearts sae overjoy'd wi' tun,

We canna sleep;
But up an' to the fields we run,

By day lighi peep.

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Lang. may.we bruik sic happy_hours,
To stray 'mang braes, an' bogs, an' bow'rs,
On king's birth day to gather flow'rs

To busk, our winnocks ; Content an' this be still our dow'rs,

Wi' claise an' bannocks. Here rowth o' fow'rs by nature grow, Nae art's requir'd to gar them dow; Ye gods! what blessings ye bestow

On thankless man ;
O keep us frae the auld boo-kow,

As lang's ye can.
Now glorious Samuel, Avon's brag,
On sic occasions never lag,
By day break rear your painted Aag,

An' flag staff baith;
I wat it is nae tatter'd rag,

But good hale claith,
O Avon field! thrice happy place !
This day there's nane o' Adam's race
Within thee wears a dowie face,

For a' are happy;
God grant it lang may be your case,

Ay hale an' cracky.
At height o' day the blood-red wine,
In cristal glasses sparklin' shine ;
Upon my word it's really fine,

Only to see't ;
But by my saul it's nine times ninę

Better to prie't.
Syne first of a' we toast the king,
The niest in order is the queen,
The prince o' Wales the heir I. ween-

O'Britain's crown,
The royal family bedeen,

Their healths gae roun. An' patriotic chiels beside, That lo'e auld Britain's yird and tide, Our breast fill'd fou o' loyal pride,

Their fealty shaws,
Till hill an'dale at distance wide,

Ring wi' huzzas.
Gin our gude king was here himsell,
To see our chops an' hear our bell,
An' how ilk tongue sae snack an' snell,

Loud touts his fame;
I'll wad a plack, here he wad dwell,

An'ca't his hame.

You Lunin town an’Embrugh baith,
Aft bloodie scenes o' dirt an death,
On days like this, had in your wrath,

An social be;
At Avon feint a ane wad kaith

A very flee.
To beet the joys o' this day's sport,
Our masters, Lord reward them fort!
Gie us a fouth o' the best sort

O'barley broe,
That maks the time seem wondrous short

An' cheary too. As soon's' we get our mid.day meal, O'bread an' butter, milk or kail, Then Thanks that ken na how to fail,

On king's birth day, Upon a floor weel laid wi' dail,

Hard reels away. Keen Frazer rúbs his fiddle strings, His elback fees as it ħad wings; Rae at the bass wi' vigour clings,

An' weel he plays, While voices at the punch bowl sings

King George's praise. The damsels clean, an' trig, an' fair, Frisk thro' the reels wi' rural air, Nae wanton look, nor bosom bare,

To temp the younkers, Here flesh and blude may safely stare,

As if at Blunker's Then young, an' auld, an' middle age, Far frae their cares quite thrang engige, Whilst harmless mirth an' pleasure rago,

How great the blits! Hech! life wad be a funny stage

Were't ay like this. Sic pleasures maun through time gie way, Nane need expeck they'll last for ay i The Lass that opes the yetts o' day,

Wi' faithfu' heart, Keeks in wi’ halesome smiling ray,

An' bids us part. Frae her sweet face nae mair we crave, But just ae dance that dings the lave, Bab-at-the-bouster, then we have,

Withouten fail, Where'a" partakes, baith gay and gravey

syne we skailo An ugly old fellow of the place.

An'

Now Musie ye hae done fu' weel,
Some ither time us twa may speel
Up to Parnassus wi' a wheel,

An' view its tap;
But first and foremost or we speel,

We'll tak a nap.
I. K. PRINTER AVON FIELD.

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Come in auld carle, I'll stir my fire,

l'll mak it bleeze a bonny flame;
Your blude is thin, ye’ve tint the gite,
Ye Mou'd nae stray sae far frae hame.

VII.
Nae hame have I, the minstrel said,

Sad party särife o'erturu'd my ha',
And weeping at the eve of life,
I wander through a wreathe o'shaw.

Cetera desunt. * Or gorcocks. An explanation of this word will be very oblicing.

ANECDOTES OF ARTEDI, THE FAMOUS SWEDISH NATURALIST,

WITH SOME ACCOUNT OF A NEW EDITION OF HIS WORKS BY M. WALBAUM.

T.

KE public are indebted to Linnæus for the following interesting memoirs of his friend and fellow disciple Artedi, a name well known to the lovers of natural history. These extracts are made from a Latin edition of Artedi's works, just published by Dr Walbaum of Lubeck, in three volumes quarto, with plates. These anecdotes are written with that warmth which was natural to Linnæus, and adds one more to the numerous list of examples that are before the public, of the hard fate that too often marks the private life of philosophers.

John Artedi was born in the year 1705, in the province of Angermania in Sweden. He inherited from nature an ardent passion for all branches of natural history, but he excelled particularly in what respects fishes.-In 1724, he came to study at the university of Upsal.“ In 1928,” says Linnæus,“ I came from Lund to Upsal. I wished to devote myself to medicine. I inquired who, at that university, excelled most for his knowledge; every one named Artedi. I was impatient to see him. I found him pale, and in great distress for the loss of his father, with his thin hair neglected. He resembled the portrait of Ray, the naturalist. His judgement was ripe, his thoughts profound, his manners simple, his virtues antique. The conversation turned upon stones, plants, animals ; I was enchanted with his observations, equally ingenious and new; for

very first, he was not afraid to communicate them to me with the utmost frankness. I desired his friendship, he aked mine. From that moment we formed a friendship,

at the

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