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"IMPH-M"

ANONYMOUS

When I was a laddie lang syne at the schule,
The maister aye ca'd me a dunce an' a fule;
For somehoo his words I could ne'er un'erstan',
Unless when he bawled, "Jamie, haud oot yer han'!"
Then I gloom'd, and said, "Imph-m,"

I glunch'd, and said, "Imph-m"—

I wasna owre proud, but owre dour to say-a-y-e!

Ae day a queer word, as lang-nebbits' himsel',
He vow'd he would thrash me if I wadna spell,
Quo I, "Maister Quill," wi' a kin' o' a swither,
"I'll spell ye the word if ye'll spell me anither:
Let's hear ye spell 'Imph-m,'

That common word 'Imph-m,'

That auld Scotch word 'Imph-m,' ye ken it means a-y-e!"

Had ye seen hoo he glour'd, hoo he scratched his big pate,
An' shouted, "Ye villain, get oot o' my gate!

Get aff to your seat! yer the plague o' the schule !
The de'il, o' me kens if yer maist rogue or fule!"
But I only said, "Imph-m,"

That pawkie word "Imph-m,"

He couldna spell "Imph-m," that stands for an a-y-e!

An' when a brisk wooer, I courted my Jean-
O' Avon's braw lasses the pride an' the queen—
When 'neath my gray pladie, wi' heart beatin' fain,
I speired in a whisper if she'd be my ain,

She blushed, an' said, "Imph-m,"

That charming word "Imph-m,"

A thousan' times better an' sweeter than a-y-e!

Just ae thing I wanted my bliss to complete-
Ae kiss frae her rosy mou', couthie an' sweet—
But a shake o' her head was her only reply-

Of course, that said no, but I kent she meant a-y-e,
For her twa een said "Imph-m,"

Her red lips said, "Imph-m,"

Her hale face said "Imph-m," an' "Imph-m" means a-y-e!

THE USUAL WAY

ANONYMOUS

There was once a little man, and his rod and line he took,
For he said, "I'll go a-fishing in the neighboring brook."
And it chanced a little maiden was walking out that day,
And they met in the usual way.

Then he sat down beside her, and an hour or two went by,
But still upon the grassy brink his rod and line did lie;

"I thought," she shyly whispered, "you'd be fishing all the day." And he was-in the usual way.

So he gravely took his rod in hand and threw the line about,
But the fish perceived distinctly, he was not looking out;
And he said, "Sweetheart, I love you," but she said she could not
stay,

But she did-in the usual way.

Then the stars came out above them, and she gave a little sigh, As they watched the silver ripples, like the moments, running by; "We must say good-by," she whispered, by the alders old and gray, And they did-in the usual way.

And day by day beside the stream, they wandered to and fro, And day by day the fishes swam securely down below,

Till this little story ended, as such little stories may

Very much-in the usual way.

And now that they are married, do they always bill and coo? Do they never fret or quarrel, like other couples do?

Does he cherish her and love her? Does she honor and obey? Well, they do in the usual way.

NOTHING SUITED HIM

ANONYMOUS

He sat at the dinner-table there,
With discontented frown.

The potatoes and steak were underdone
And the bread was baked too brown.
The pie too sour, the pudding too sweet,
And the mince-meat much too fat,
The soup was greasy, too, and salt-
'Twas hardly fit for a cat.

"I wish you could taste the bread and pies

I have seen my mother make;

They were something like, and 'twould do you good
Just to look at a slice of her cake."

Said the smiling wife: "I'll improve with age.

Just now, I'm a beginner.

But your mother called to see me to-day

And I got her to cook the dinner."

A LITTLE FELLER

ANONYMOUS

Say, Sunday's lonesome fur a little feller,
With pop and mom a-readin' all the while,
An' never sayin' anything to cheer ye,

An' lookin' 's if they didn't know how to smile;
With hook an' line a-hangin' in the wood-shed,
An' lots o' 'orms down by the outside cellar,
An' Brown's creek just over by the mill-dam-
Say, Sunday's lonesome fur a little feller.

Why, Sunday's lonesome fur a little feller

Right on from sun-up when the day commences
Fur little fellers don't have much to think of,
'Cept chasin' gophers 'long the corn-field fences,
Or diggin' after moles down in the wood-lot,

Or climbin' after apples what's got meller,
Or fishin' down in Brown's creek an' mill-pond-
Say, Sunday's lonesome fur a little feller.

But Sunday's never lonesome fur a little feller
When he's a-stayin down to Uncle Ora's;
He took his book onct right out in the orchard,
An' told us little chaps just lots of stories,
All truly true, that happened onct fur honest,
An' one 'bout lions in a sort o' cellar,

An' how some angels came an' shut their mouths up,
An' how they never teched that Dan'l feller.

An' Sunday's pleasant down to Aunt Marilda's;

She lets us take some books that some one gin her, An' takes us down to Sunday-school 't the schoolhouse; An' sometimes she has a nice shortcake fur dinner. An' onct she had a puddin' full o' raisins,

An' onct a frosted cake all white an' yeller. I think, when I stay down to Aunt Marilda's, That Sunday's pleasant fur a little feller.

ROBIN TAMSON'S SMIDDY

BY ALEXANDER RODGER

My mither men't my auld breeks,
An' wow! but they were duddy,
And sent me to get Mally shod
At Robin Tamson's smiddy.
The smiddy stands beside the burn
That wimples through the clachan,

I never yet gae by the door,

But aye I fa' a-laughin'.

For Robin was a walthy carle,
An' had ae bonnie dochter,
Yet ne'er wad let her tak' a man,

Tho mony lads had sought her.
And what think ye o' my exploit ?—
The time our mare was shoeing,
I slippit up beside the lass,
An' briskly fell a-wooing.

An' aye she e'ed my auld breeks,
The time that we sat crackin',

Quo' I, "My lass, ne'er mind the clouts,
I've new anes for the makin';

But gin ye'll just come hame wi' me,
An' lea' the carle, your father,
Ye'se get my breeks to keep in trim,
Mysel', an' a' thegither."

"Deed, lad," quo' she, "your offer's fair, I really think I'll tak' it,

Sae, gang awa', get out the mare,

We'll baith slip on the back o't;
For gin I wait my father's time,
I'll wait till I be fifty;
But na;-I'll marry in my prime,
An' mak' a wife most thrifty."

Wow! Robin was an angry man,
At tyning o' his dochter;
Through a' the kintra-side he ran,
An' far an' near he sought her;
But when he cam' to our fire-end,
An' fand us baith thegither,

Quo' I, "Gudeman, I've ta'en your bairn,
An' ye may tak' my mither."

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