Should wine fed loons invade us,
Their force we need not fear,
If we but form, to meet the storm,
Brigades well armed with beer.

Our forts would need no Armstrong guns,
Our Riflemen no ball;

For the thirsty foe, without a blow,

Into our hands would fall:

If he saw a brown bottle of beer,
Held aloft by each Volunteer,
Lord, how he would run

To throw down his gun
For a swig of old English beer.

Let Britons then, their home-brew'd,
Defend with heart and hand;
Though pump and vine in force combine
To drive him from the land.
If bright Burdeaux and Burgundy
Our ancient foes inspired,

'Twas draughts of good October brew'd

Our conquering fathers fired.

Then let us our English beer,

Like dutiful sons hold dear,

For we none of us know

How much we may owe
To jolly old English beer.

Carlisle, October, 1861.

W. C.

I SAW AN EAGER SMILING BOY.

W. H. HOODLESS.

I saw an eager smiling boy

Gaze upward at the star-gemmed sky; His tiny grasping hand stretched forth In daring hope to draw it nigh.

Each wand'ring butterfly to win,

To cull each flower that bloomed apart, To seize the rainbow's gorgeous arch, He sought with longing, childish heart.

I saw an earnest, serious man;

His eye was filled with thoughtful light; On fame his yearning heart was set,

On love, on all that makes life bright. Pure thoughts and aims sublimely high Would dwell with him, his bosom fire; To all the beautiful and good

His soul did lovingly aspire.

I saw an old man, calm and bright,

Whose face as lake at eve was still, He sought no future earth could yield, His yearnings heaven alone could fill.

That eager, child-like, grasping hand,
Each fancied treasure to obtain ;
That earnest aim of manhood's age
Some high ideal end and gain.

What are they but the strongest proofs
Of the immortal soul we own,
Aspiring on, through Faith and Hope,
Till love in perfect trust is shown?

Oh, child! at thy unconscious sport,
Longing for every winged toy;
And man with thy sublime desire,
Yearning for good and all its joy :
When holy age brings peaceful trust
Thou'lt feel thy ardent hopes were given
By Him whose love eternal seeks
To guide the wand'ring heart to heaven.

THE BRIDAL E'EN.

GEORGE DUDSON.

My head is rinnin' roun' about

I'm doylt and like to fa',
An' pent up feeling seeks a vent
'Twixt ilka breath I draw.
Tho' threescore years this day o' grace
It looks just like yestreen—
It looks just like a drowsy dream
Sin' our sweet bridal e'en.

Although my staff maun me support

To hirple owre the floor,

An' sicht is dim wi' ilka help

An' weel kent things obscure;

This happy date aye seems to sink

The years that intervene,

And the soul looks thro' the bars o' eild
Back to our bridal e'en.

The biggin rang wi' gleesome din ;

Here sat-I'll no say wha-
His hand was lockit i' my ain,
He stately was an' braw.

An' sidelins aft was speert that nicht;
Was meeter pair e'er seen?
He's i' the mools, an' but mysel'
Can min' our bridal e'en.

Life's sun is i' the west I ken,
I'm fast gaun down the brae;
There's something tells me unco plain

I hae na far to gae :

But the thoughts o' auld langsyne will steal
Across my min' yet green;

It looms in retrospective licht,

The memory o' that e'en.

Carlisle, December, 1863.

To those who find this Glossary too limited for their research, we recommend, as the best and most extensive published, A Glossary of the Words and Phrases of Cumberland, by William Dickinson, F.L.S.-(Callander and Dixon, Whitehaven.)