THE CLAY DAUBIN. [AIR: "Andrew Carr."-In the eastern and northern parts of Cumberland, the walls of houses are in general composed of clay, and in their erection take seldom more than the space of a day. When a young rustic marries, the highest ambition of his heart is to be the master of an humble claybuilt cottage, that might afford shelter to him and his family. As soon as he has selected a proper site, he signifies his intentions to his neighbours, who punctually muster on the spot where the intended building is to be raised, each individual bringing a spade and one day's provisions along with him. SANDERSON.] We went owre to Deavie's Clay Daubin, Wi' eatin, and drinkin, and dancin, Was ne'er seen in castle or ha'. We'll laugh at King Gworge and his court. The walls were aw finish'd er darknin; Now, greypes, shouls, and barrows thrown by, Auld Deavie spak up wid a hursle— See, deame, if we've got a swope whusky- Come, Adams, rasp up a lal tune!" When Bill kittl'd up "Chips and Shavins," Cries Wull, "Od dy! fadder's i' fettle! Reet sair did we miss Jemmy Coupland- I' th' kurk-garth, the clerk caw'd his seale.* Wi' scons, leather-hungry, and whusky, The "kurk-garth" or church-yard on a Sunday morning used to be to the country people of Cumberland what the Exchange is to the merchants of London. It answered all the purposes of business or amusement, from whence general information was sent round the parish. + This is a ludicrous name given to a poor sort of cheese made of skimmed milk. It is also called Whillymer, and sometimes Rosley Cheshire. The whillymer ate teugh and teasty, Aw cramm'd fou o' grey pez and seeds; They row'd it up teane agean tudder— Nae dainties the hungry man needs. Now in com the women fwok bouncing— For Jock, the young laird, was new wedded, Rob Lowson tuik part wi' peer Jenny, And aw rwoar'd out, that was queyte wrang; Cried Deavie, "Shek hans, and nae mair on't— I's sing ye a bit of a sang." He lilted "The King and the Tinker," And bottom'd the greybeard complete; THE FELLOWS ROUND TORKIN. [AIR: "The Yorkshire Concert."-Torkin is a woodcovered hill, near Crofton-hall, the seat of Sir Robert Brisco, Bart. For obvious reasons we are only able to print the burden of this song.] We'er aw feyne fellows round Torkin Let's drink to the lasses about us, We're aw 'cute fellows round Torkin; Let's drink to the lang, leame, and lazy, KING ROGER. AIR: "Hallow Fair.' 'Twas but tudder neet after darknin, We sat owre a bleezin turf fire; Our deame she was stirrin' a cow-drink, Our Betty milk'd kye in the byre : "Ay, fadder!" cried out our lal Roger, "I wish I were nobbet a king!" "Wey, what wad te dui?" says I, "Roger, Suppose tou cou'd tek thy full swing?" "Furst, you sud be lword judge and bishop; And wear her stamp'd gown ev'ry day; Sec dancin we'd have in the cock-loft, Bill Adams the fiddle sud play. "A posset I'd have to my breakfast, |