I added (as a trifling jest),
"There'll be the devil to pay."

He took the paper, and I watch'd,
And saw him peep within:

At the first line he read, his face
Was all upon the grin.

VI

He read the next; the grin grew broad, And shot from ear to ear;

He read the third; a chuckling noise I now began to hear.

VII

The fourth; he broke into a roar;
The fifth, his waistband split;
The sixth, he burst five buttons off,

And tumbled in a fit.

VIII

Ten days and nights, with sleepless eye, I watch'd that wretched man,

And since, I never dare to write

As funny as I can.

FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT

By Robert Burns, Poet. B. 1759, Scotland; d. 1796, Scotland.

It is said that Bobby Burns one evening was invited to entertain the guests of a wealthy lord, with his poems and songs. When he came to the Mansion he was requested to go to the kitchen for something to eat, as he was not considered worthy to feast with the lord and his distinguished guests. While in the kitchen nursing his indignation at his treatment, he wrote this famous poem. When he was finally called upon to entertain the guests he sang the song he had just written.

In January, 1795, Burns in a letter to Mr. George Thomson of Edinburgh, wrote him as follows: "I do not give you this song for your book, but merely by way of vive la bagatelle; for the piece is really not poetry, but will be allowed to be two or three pretty good prose thoughts inverted into rhyme."

Throughout the selection there is an under current of resentment, of indignation, of scorn. Bring out clearly and forcefully the contrasted passages which express the scorn for the rich and the admiration for the poor.

In reading, retain the Scotch accent as much as possible. Be sure to understand the meaning of each sentence. The following glossary of Scotch words and their English equivalents may assist: Wha for who, a' for all, gond for gold, hamely for homely, hodden gray for homespun, undyed woolen cloth, gie for give, sae for so, birkie for clever fellow, ca'd. for called, coof for blockhead, mak for make, aboon for above, guid for good, maunna for must not, warld for world, fa' for afford, bear the gree for be the victors.

I

Is there, for honest poverty,

That hangs his head, and a' that?
The coward slave, we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a' that!

For a' that, and a' that,

Our toils obscure, and a' that; The rank is but the guinea-stamp, The man's the gowd for a' that.

II

What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hodden gray and a' that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A man's a man, for a' that!

For a' that, and a' that,

Their tinsel show, and a' that;

The honest man, though e'er sae poor,
Is king o' men for a' that!

III

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that; Though hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that: For a' that, and a' that,

His riband, star, and a' that; The man of independent mind, He looks and laughs at a' that!

IV

A king can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might,
Guid faith he maunna fa' that!

For a' that, and a' that,

Their dignities, and a' that,

The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth,
Are higher rank than a' that.

V

Then let us pray that come it may—
As come it will for a' that—

That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth
May bear the gree, and a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,

It's coming yet for a' that.

That man to man, the warld o'er,
Shall brothers be for a' that.

JIM BLUDSO

By Hon. John Hay, Statesman, Author, and Poet. B. 1838, Indiana; d. 1905, New Hampshire.

This poem was first published May 13, 1871, in Every Saturday of Boston. The same year it was reprinted with a number of other poems by Mr. Hay in a pamphlet called "Pike County Ballads."

Imagine an old river pilot seated in a chair surrounded by a few interested companions. Retain the local-color and the colloquial dialect, a sort of swaggering, boastful "drawl," of the boatman. The movement is slow-though at times the old pilot becomes very animated, carried away by his own enthusiasm, especially in the fifth and sixth stanzas.

I

Wall, no! I can't tell whar he lives,
Because he don't live, you see;
Leastways, he's got out of the habit

Of livin' like you and me.

Whar have you been for the last three year
That you haven't heard folks tell
How Jimmy Bludso passed in his checks.
The night of the Prairie Belle?

II

He weren't no saint,-them engineers
Is all pretty much alike,—

One wife in Natchez-under-the-Hill
And another one here, in Pike;
A keerless man in his talk was Jim,
And an awkward hand in a row,

But he never flunked, and he never lied,—
I reckon he never knowed how.