An' the haill apotheck lay in spails,
As the grey mear warsled free;
An' when auld Jock Smairt saw the fashion o' his cairt:
"Wha's seekin' ony spunks?" says he.

THE NICHT THAT THE BAIRNIE CAM' HAME.

I was gaun to my supper richt hungert an' tired,
A' day I'd been hard at the pleugh;
The snaw wi' the dark'nin' was fast dingin' on,
An' the win' had a coorse kin' o' sough.
'Twas a cheery like sicht as the bonny fire-licht
Gar't the winnock play flicker wi' flame;
But my supper was "Aff for the doctor at aince!"
That nicht that the bairnie cam' hame.

Noo, I kent there was somethin' o' that sort to be,
An' I'd had my ain thochts, tae, aboot it;
Sae when my gude-mither had tel't me to flee,
Fegs, it wisna my pairt for to doot it.
Wi' a new pair o' buits that was pinchin' like sin,
In a mile I was hirplin' deid lame;
'Twas the warst nicht o' a' that I ever pit in,
That nicht that the bairnie cam' hame.

I'd a gude seeven mile o' a fecht wi' the snaw,
An the road was near smoort oot wi' drift;
While the maister at market had got on the ba',
Sae I'd tint my ae chance o' a lift.
When I passed the auld inn as I cam' owre the hill,
Although I was mebbe to blame,
I bude to gang in-bye an' swallow a gill,
That nicht that the bairnie cam' hame.

"Gude be thankit!" says I, at the doctor's front door,
As I pu'd like mischeef at the bell;
But my he'rt gae a dunt at the story that runt
O' a hoose-keeper body'd to tell.
The man wasna in? He was at the big hoose?
A sick dwam cam' richt owre my wame.
Hoo the deevil was I to get haud o' him noo,
That nicht that the bairnie cam' hame?

The doctor was spendin' the nicht at the laird's,
For the leddy, ye see, was expeckin';
A feckless bit cratur, weel-meanin' an' a',
Though she ne'er got ayont the doo's cleckin'.
It's them that should hae them that hinna eneugh,
Fegs, lads, it's a damnable shame!
Here's me wi' a dizzen, and aye at the pleugh
Sin' that nicht that the bairnie cam' hame!

What was I to dae? I was at my wits' en',
For Tibbie the howdie was fou,
An' e'en had I got her to traivel the road
What use was she mair than the soo?
I was switin' wi' fear though my fingers was cauld,
An' my taes they were muckle the same;
Man, my feet was that sair I was creepin' twa-fauld
That nicht that the bairnie cam' hame.

Three hoors an' a hauf sin' I startit awa',
An Deil faurer forrit was I!
Govy-ding! It's nae mows for the heid o' the hoose
When the mistress has yoki