He's daft, he's daft, ye'll say it's clear,
I'm easy what ye say, but hear,
It cost me three good hours, my dear,

To write to you;

They might been better spent, I fear,

Nae help for't now.

So to the parlour "toddle ben,"
Wun down the ink,-tak' up yere pen,
And tell's your cracks, an' how ye fen?

In prose or jingle

I am your brither, Meg, ye ken,

Ca'd J. A. PRINGLE.

Inclosed in this letter he sent the annexed sketch, in which the epitaph is a little altered.

From the date of these beautiful lines, his muse seems to have fallen asleep; for of the next eight years not a line has been preserved. This year only produces two pieces; the following Paraphrase on John vi. 15-22, and what he is

pleased to call a translation of a Wouh-wo-wo-wo-wo-woh! or little Doggy's Dirgee*.

ST. JOHN'S GOSPEL, CHAP. VI., VER. 15-22.

THE sun has gone down, but all lurid and red,
The last of his rays on the water was shed;
Night closes around, and the sea rises fast,
How dismal the moan of the gathering blast!
Pale, pale is the moon, and her watery beams
Are lost in the flash when the lightning gleams.
The mariners watchful have furled their sail,
And anxiously wait for the rush of the gale.
More swift o'er the moon scud the gray storm clouds,
More hoarsely the wind rustles now on the shrouds ;
They lash down the helm and the storm-sail spread,
And the deep rolling ship meets the wave with her head.
She bounds o'er the billow-but hark! what a crash!
How swiftly that thunder-clap follow'd the flash!
The wind shifts about, and the hurricane's sweep

Roars awfully over the face of the deep.

Now waves against waves in confusion are hurl'd,

And white foaming breakers high o'er them are curl'd ;

*The description given by a lady of the death of Bustle, a mutual friend's favourite lap-dog, so amused Mr. Pringle, by the grave way in which she told him how "he seemed to feel he was dying, and never wandered, but laid himself down on the rug, and prepared himself."

And tempest meets tempest, and frequent and far
Red lightnings illumine the elements' war.

Among the dark billows the vessel sinks down ;

Now she rides through the spray as a crest on their crown ; And mountain-like seas on the tempest-toss'd wreck

Dash rudely, and roll o'er her quivering deck.

Oh! who, while the storm and the hurricanes rave,
Walks over the foam upon Galilee's wave?
'Tis a spirit the terror-struck mariners cry;
Be cheerful, and fear not, he said, "It is I."
The tempest is hush'd at his mighty command,
And gently the vessel is wafted to land;

With wonder they witness the power of his word,
And they worship the Saviour Christ Jesus our Lord.
Omnipotent Father, wherever we be,

May the eye of our Faith be directed to Thee;

When we wander in doubt, may thy word be our guide,
May we know that our Saviour still walks by our side;
When dangers surround us on sea or on land,
May we feel that thy Providence still is at hand;

In joy or in sorrow, in life or in death,

May we look to our Maker who gave us our breath;

When thy voice through the tempest proclaims in our ear,

That our souls are requir'd, and thy coming is near,
May we welcome the Saviour who beckons us home,

And exclaim, Even so holy Jesus, O come!

AS LAMENTABLY SUNG BY OLD JESSY, AT POOR OLD BUSTLE'S WAKE.

BUSTLE'S dead and Bustle's buried,

Bustle's dead and Bustle's gone!

To his grave is Bustle hurried,

Poor old Jessy's left alone!

Fancy little Jessy's sorrow,

Fancy, fancy how she cried!

Oh could she but die to-morrow,

And lie by pretty Bustle's side.

Curly was his coat all over,

Curly, curly were his lugs,

Never fault could man discover

In this best of little dogs.