Contributor.

Southern Cross, Volume 2, Issue 21, 18 August 1894, Page 5

Contributor.

A SCREED FROM TAMMIE CHALMERS.

Whistlebinkie,

Aug. 14

Ye see, Linda, X hae had an -dose o’ this influenza that s gangin ahoot ; deil’s in it, hut I thocht it wis gangin’ tae finish me. Butatween guid nursing frae the han s o Jenny, and plenty o’ guid whuskey frae the Ban’s o’ the Lord (or frae the ban’s o’ the deil, as the prohibition craturs wad say). I’m still tae the fore, but as Jenny’ll no let me oot ahoot yet, I thocht I wad write twa three lines tae you tae keep ye frae wearyin’. I wis doon at the toonship seeing a game at the footba’ twa weeks syne, an’ it wis there I maun hae gotten the cauld ; hut, ’od wuman, yon wis rough wark amang the duels at the match. They rugged an’ they tugged, an’ they push’d an’ shoved, an’ cowpit o’er -ane anither like a wheen daft folk, hit it was rale excitin’. There wis ae wee black chiel there wha seem’d aye tae hae the ha’. He stood ahint the anes that were pushin’, an’ when the ha’ cam oot he picked it up as glib as ye like ; an’ he jouktt past this ane an’ jikit past anither ane, jist like a jumpin’ jake ; od, hit he wis a divert ; ance he wis runnin’ up near the sticks wi’ the ha in his oxter, an’ a‘ the rest aifter him. I got that way excited that I ran in aifter him wavin’ my stick, an’ cry in’ “ Rin, ye wee deevil, rin hit jist wi’ that a big chiel cams up an’ plays glaum at him ; od hit X thocht he wis nailed ; bit na; he jist pappit doon on his knees ; an’ owre the big ane whumelled owre|the tap o’ him ; an up the wee ane got, an’ awa agin’, hit iosh me it wis that nately done ; I had a guid hearty lauch owre it. They talk ahoot Fox and a’ his volunteers, and they craik ahoot they twa big guns I saw doon at Dunedin at the exhibition time; and I hear them cracking ahoot some Colonel Fraser that has been putten on tae chuck oot ony extra daft cratur frae the Bedlam up at Wellington. But, Linda, if ever the Roosians come here (which heaven forbid) dinna pit yer trust in ony o’ them, hit jist get ahint a team o’ footba’ players, and ye’re safe, They’d tramp owre the tap o’ a regiment o’ Roosians in nae time. Jenny’s been looking 1 owre what I ve written, and she says I’m an auld fule tae he writing tae a lassie like that; and, wuman-like, she’s been wondering what ye’re like. I telt her I’d nae doot ye wis a guid bonny lass like what she wis when she wis young*. She telt me I wis an auld haveril; bit I kent fine by the lauch that wis in her e’e that she wis pleased. They talk ahoot folk turning auld and dune, bit although the body gets fu’ o’ pain and the auld legs canna rin as supple as forty year syne, still the speerit aye remains young, for onything that is eternal canna grow auld. Wuman, if my auld legs would gang the way I want them, I could play footba’ as hearty as ony laddie; hit na, they’ll no gang, and whiles I’m that fu’ o’ grips and pains, I hardly keen what tae dae wi’ mysel’, hit there’s nothing for it bit thole awa tae the end o’ the chapter. Young folk sud try and be kind and patient wi’ the auld anes. Fve nae doot we’re gay thrawn and ramstairie sometimes, hut still young folk never knew the pains and harassment the auld anes thole ; and they sud aye mind that auld folk hae focht all their day tae mak things a wee better for the anes coming aifter; sae let the young anes aye try tae lichten the auld anes’ burden, and at the same time they’d lichten their ain; and auld folk sud aye mind that when the young anes appear heertless, it aften is just the want o’ thocht mair than onything else. I’ll write ye oot twa three verses I wrote ahoot hame mony a Jang year syne. My clay’s wark is clone, and homeward I wander Tae the wee hoose that, stands at the foot o’ the mountain.

Tkere the bush is sae green, and the birds sing sae gaily, „ An’ the wee mountain stream sparkles fresh frae its fountain. And there lives my Jenny, the wife of my bosom, And there’s my wee bairnies, life’s joys tae croon; Though the stars they peep forth, and the nicht gathers o’er me, ; Love’s daylieht but breaks when the sun has gane doon. I reach my wee hoose: —the smile o’ my Jenny Is the sunrise at morn, sae welcome and beaming; The merry wee voices, are the birds sweetly singing, ' The dancing wee e’en are the brieht dewdrops gleaming. My kitchen sae clean is the valley sae pleasant, The pictures sae sweet are the hills that surroond, While the wee pattering feet is the mountain stream singing— Love’s daylieht but breaks when the sun has gane doon. The evening flies past, in peace and contentment Wi’ stories and visions o’ what life may bring ; We’re blest in the present, and heed not the future — Wha does richt the day in the morrow will sing. Ilk hame is a wee warl that hangs in the heavens, And luve is the mither they a’ twine aroon; Tae the ear o’ the heart hive's mom star keeps, singing— The daylieht but breaks when the sun has gane doon. Tam vie Cn \mehs.