'MID Autumn Leaves, now thickly shed, We wander where our paths o'erspread, With yellow russet, red and sere: The country's looking dull and drear, The sky is gloomy overhead.
The equinoctial gales we dread, The summer's gone, the sunshine's fled; We've rambled far enough this year-- 'Mid Autumn Leaves!
Though fast our travel-time has sped, On London's flags we long to tread; The latest laugh and chaff to hear, To find the Club grown doubly dear; Its gas burns bright, its fire glows red-- 'Mid Autumn Leaves!
HAGGIS broo is bla' and braw, Kittle kail is a' awa'; Gin a lassie kens fu' weel, Ilka pawkie rattlin reel. Hey the laddie! Ho the plaidie! Hey the sonsie Finnie haddie! Hoot awa'!
Gang awa' wi philibegs, Maut's nae missed frae tappit kegs; Sound the spleuchan o' the stanes, Post the pibroch i' the lanes! Hey the swankie, scrievin' shaver! Ho the canny clishmaclaver! Hoot awa'!
Parritch glowry i' the ee, Mutchkin for a wee drappee; Feckfu' is the barley-bree-- Unco' gude! Ah! wae is me! Hey the tousie Tullochgorum! Ho the mixtie-maxtie jorum! Hoot awa'!
'TIS merry 'neath the mistletoe, When holly-berries glisten bright; When Christmas fires gleam and glow When wintry winds so wildly blow, And all the meadows round are white-- 'Tis merry 'neath the mistletoe!
How happy then are Fan and Flo, With eyes a-sparkle with delight! When Christmas fires gleam and glow, When dainty dimples come and go, And maidens shrink with feignëd fright-- 'Tis merry 'neath the mistletoe!
A privilege 'tis then, you know, To exercise time-honoured rite; When Christmas fires gleam and glow When loving lips may pout, although With other lips they oft unite-- 'Tis merry 'neath the mistletoe!
If Florry then should whisper "No!" Such whispers should be stifled quite, When Christmas fires gleam and glow; If Fanny's coy objecting "O!" Be strangled by a rare foresight-- 'Tis merry 'neath the mistletoe!
When rosy lips, like Cupid's bow, Assault provokingly invite, When Christmas fires gleam and glow, When slowly falls the sullen snow, And dull is drear December night-- 'Tis merry 'neath the mistletoe!
(_A Certain Person, staying at Sniggerton-on-Sea, was asked by the Vicar to give a recitation at one of the Penny Readings. But when the evening came he found, as usual, he had been too lazy to learn anything. Nothing daunted, he stepped on the platform, with a profound bow and a defiant air, and said, "Ladies and Gentlemen, I am about to attempt a recitation of the celebrated poem, so widely known as 'The Capstan Bar.'" Great applause. Awkward people, regardless of grammar, whisper, "Who by?" Officious people, regardless of truth, say, "Byron, Longfellow, Tennyson, Wendell Holmes, Browning, Bret Harte, &c., &c." Mild people say, "O, yes, of course, how stupid; recollect the piece very well now you mention it." Impatient people say, "S-s-s-sh!" and the C. P., fixing a nervous old Lady in the front row with his eye, thus begins_)--