HERRING, MACKEREL, AND OYSTER. 167

The tap loops wi' his fingers he grippit wi' ease ; Then he marched through the house, he marched

but, he marched ben, Like ower mony mair o' our great little men, That I laugh clean outright, for I couldna contain, He was sic a conceit—sic an ancient-like wean !

But mid a' his daffin sic kindness he shows,
That he's dear to my heart as the dew to the rose ;
And the unclouded hinny-beam aye in his e'e,
Mak's him every day dearer and dearer to me.
Though fortune be saucy, and dorty, and dour,
And gloom through her fingers, like hills through a

shower, When bodies ha'e got ae bit bairn o' their ain, How he cheers up their hearts-he's the wonderfu’

wean!

THE HERRING, THE MACKEREL, AND

THE OYSTER.
THE herring loves the merry moonlight,
The mackerel loves the wind;
But the oyster loves the dredging song,
For he comes of a gentle kind,

PEESE-WEEP, peese-weep,
Harry my nest and gar me greet.*

* Weep.

The laverock and the lark,
The baukie and the bat,
The heather bleet, the mire snipe,
How many birds be that?

KATHARINE NIPSY.

A PLAY TO BE PERFORMED WITH THE FINGERS.

SCENE: A house-door, represented by the first and

third fingers of the right hand, brought as close together as possible (the hand being turned so as to have the back down). THE ROBBER (represented by the second finger) outside the door; within are THE LADY (represented by the thumb), and KATHARINE NIPSY, her servant (represented by the little finger).

ROBBER knocks at the door. LADY : Who's that knocking at my door, Katharine

Nipsy? KATH. NIPSY : Wha's that chapping at my leddie's

door ? ROBBER: A poor friar, a poor friar.

a KATH. NIPSY : It's a puir friar, my leddie. LADY : Bid him come in ; bid him come in.

The door parts in two, and the robber

advances, bowing: ROBBER: Your servant, madam! your servant,

madam!

The play here suddenly terminates, the

speaker of the dialogue adding, in

Willie WINKIE.

171

WILLIE WINKIE.

BY PERMISSION OF MR. D. ROBERTSON, GLASGOW.

WEE Willie Winkie rins through the town,
Up-stairs and down-stairs in his nicht gown;
Tirling at the window, crying at the lock,
“Are the weans in their bed, for it's now ten

o'clock ?"
Hey, Willie Winkie, are ye coming ben?
The cat's singing grey thrums to the sleeping hen;
The dog's spelder'd on the floor, and disna gi'e a

cheep, And here's a waukrife laddie! that winna fa' asleep. Onything but sleep, you rogue! glow'ring like the

moon, Rattling in an airn jug wi' an airn spoon; Rumbling, tumbling, round about, crawing like a

cock, Skirling like a kenna-what, wauk’ning sleeping folk. Hey, Willie Winkie-the wean's in a creel ! Wambling aff a body's knee like a very eel; Rugging at the cat's lug, and raveling a' her

thrumsHey, Willie Winkie—see, there he comes !

a