A cheery and comforting lilt, indeed, with its promise of plenty. Much superior to the next, which bears in its bosom the hollow and unwelcome ring of a "toom girnal"—a sound no child should ever know. It is yet a lilt familiar to the nursery:—

CROWDIE.

Oh, that I had ne'er been married, I wad never had nae care; Now I've gotten wife and bairns, They cry Crowdie! ever mair. Crowdie ance, crowdie twice, Three times crowdie in a day; Gin ye crowdie ony mair, Ye'll crowdie a' my meal away.

Quoting the stanzas as an old ballad in a letter to his friend, Mrs. Dunlop, in December, 1795, the poet Burns wrote:—"There had much need to be many pleasures annexed to the states of husband and father, for, God knows, they have many peculiar cares. I cannot describe to you the anxious, sleepless hours these ties frequently give me. I see a train of helpless little folks; me and my exertions all their stay; and on what a brittle thread does the life of man hang! If I am nipt off at the command of Fate, even in all the vigour of manhood, as I am—such things happen every day—Gracious God! what would become of my little flock? 'Tis here that I envy your people of fortune. A father on his death-bed, taking an ever-lasting leave of his children, has indeed woe enough; but the man of competent fortune leaves his sons and daughters independency and friends; while I—but I shall run distracted if I think any longer on the subject!" So might we all. Then, away with it, and let us have a more lightsome spring.

WHISTLE, WHISTLE, AULD WIFE.

"Whistle, whistle, auld wife. An' ye'se get a hen." "I wadna whistle," quo' the wife, "Though ye wad gi'e me ten." "Whistle, whistle, auld wife, An' ye'se get a cock." "I wadna whistle," quo' the wife, "Though ye'd gi'e me a flock." "Whistle, whistle, auld wife, And ye'se get a goun." "I wadna whistle," quo' the wife, "For the best ane i' the toun." "Whistle, whistle, auld wife, An' ye'se get a coo." "I wadna whistle," quo' the wife, "Though ye wad gi'e me two." "Whistle, whistle, auld wife, An' ye'se get a man." "Wheeple-whauple" quo' the wife, "I'll whistle as I can."

Sung with vocal mimicry, the above makes a strikingly effective entertainment.

The song of "The Three Little Pigs" embraces a palpable moral, which not children alone would be the better for taking to heart. I wish I could sing it for you, my reader, as I have heard Mr. Tom Hunt, the well-known animal painter, sing it in social circles in Glasgow:—

THE THREE LITTLE PIGS.

A jolly old sow once lived in a sty, And three little piggies had she; And she waddled about saying, "grumph! grumph! grumph!" While the little ones said "wee! wee!" And she waddled about saying, "grumph! grumph! grumph!" While the little ones said "wee! wee!" "My dear little piggies," said one of the brats, "My dear little brothers," said he, "Let us all for the future say, 'grumph! grumph! grumph!' 'Tis so childish to say, 'wee! wee!'" Let us all, etc. These three little piggies grew skinny and lean, And lean they might very well be, For somehow they couldn't say "grumph! grumph! grumph!" And they wouldn't say "wee! wee!" For somehow, etc. So after a time these little pigs died, They all died of fe-lo-de-see, From trying too hard to say "grumph! grumph! grumph!" When they only could say "wee! wee!" From trying, etc. A moral there is to this little song, A moral that's easy to see: Don't try when you're young to say "grumph! grumph! grumph!" When you only can say "wee! wee!" Don't try when you're young to say "grumph! grumph! grumph!" When you only can say "wee! wee!"