Let toilers not, like snarling tykes,
In wrangling be divided,
Till foreign Trade, which marks our Strikes,
Steps in, and we're derided.
Be Scotland still to Scotland true,
Amang oursels united;
'Tis not by firebrands, JOHN, like you
Our wrangs shall best be righted.
Fal de ral, &c.

The knave who'd crush the toilers doun,
And him, his true-born brither,
Who'd set the mob aboon the Crown,
Should be kicked out together.
Go, JOHN! Learn temperance, banish spleen!
Scots cherish throne and steeple,
But while we sing "_God save the Queen_,"
_We_ won't forget the People.
Fal de ral, &c.

* * * * *

A LENGTHY NOVEL.--_A Thousand Lines of Her Own_, in 3000 vols., by the
Authoress of _A Line of Her Own_, in 3 vols. N.B.--What a long line
this must be to occupy three vols.! A work of and for a lifetime.

* * * * *

[Illustration: THINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE LEFT UNSAID.