,
'Neath adverse blasts are forced to cower,
And jouk to let the jaw gae by.

But mark this truth--the ills that blight
Are aft the fruits that folly brings;
Then shun the wrong, pursue the right--
Frae this the truest pleasure springs;
And fret not though dark clouds should spread
At times across life's troubled sky;
Sweet sunshine will the gloom succeed--
Sae jouk and let the jaw gae by.

VICTORIOUS BE AGAIN, BOYS.

Hurrah! hurrah! we 've glory won,
And brighter blazes freedom's sun;
But daring deeds must yet be done
To curb Oppression's reign, boys.
Like wintry clouds in masses roll'd,
Our foes are thick'ning on the wold;
Then up! then up! be firm--be bold--
Victorious be again, boys.

The hearts--the blessings of the brave--
Of those who scorn the name of slave,
Are with you on the ocean's wave,
And on the battle-plain, boys:
Then rouse ye, rouse ye, every one,
And gird your brightest armour on;
Complete the work so well begun--
Victorious be again, boys!

Though red with gore your path may be,
It leads to glorious liberty;
Remember, God is with the free,
The brave He will sustain, boys:
The tyrant fears the coming fight,
He fears the power of Truth and Right;
Then up! then up! in all your might--
Victorious be again, boys.

WILLIAM AIR FOSTER.

The author of some spirited effusions in Scottish verse, William Air
Foster, was born at Coldstream on the 16th June 1801. He has followed
the occupation of a bootmaker, first in his native town, and latterly in
Glasgow. Devoted to the Border sports, in which he was formerly an
active performer, he has celebrated them in animated verse. To "Whistle
Binkie" he has contributed a number of sporting and angling songs, and
he has composed some volumes of poetry which are still in manuscript.

FAREWEEL TO SCOTIA.

Fareweel to ilk hill whar the red heather grows,
To ilk bonnie green glen whar the mountain stream rows,
To the rock that re-echoes the torrent's wild din,
To the graves o' my sires, and the hearths o' my kin.

Fareweel to ilk strath an' the lav'rock's sweet sang--
For trifles grow dear whan we 've kenn'd them sae lang;
Round the wanderer's heart a bright halo they shed,
A dream o' the past, when a' other's hae fled.

The young he