A Leap-Year Ball At Lingwick

The night before last Hallowe'en Tho' wet as any ever seen, Must henceforth mark a date supreme In Lingwick's social lore. As on that eve the ladies all Came forth to give their leap-year ball-- And long ere ten the dancing hall Was crowded to the door.

Since Scottish heroes sang duans Upon the field of Prestonpans, So fine a gathering of the clans Was surely never seen. And brilliant Byron's "ladies fair" Who danced in Belgium's balmy air Could never with our girls compare In beauty's realm, I ween.

Were I a Burns I'd sing their praise In grateful sympathetic lays, And tell them how a bard repays The smiles on him bestowed. O! for a pure poetic drift, Or bard McRitchie's splendid gift, To give those charming girls a lift On chummy Hymen's road.

Since first the red man trod those lands, In happy, reckless, roving bands, Where now the town of Lingwick stands, Until the present time. No festal scene deserved such note, Of such a scene no poet wrote, Tho' painted with a double coat Of stirring prose or rhyme.

The lively Galson girls were there, With dancing eyes and wavy hair, And roses stamped by caller air On every blooming cheek. And other ladies, fair and bright, Who live near by, were there that night, Contributing the keen delight Of beauty, so to speak.

Oh bachelors, how sweet to glide With such bright charmers by one's side! And ev'ry heart a surging tide Of leap-year sentiment! You might perambulate around Until you'd hear the trumpet sound-- No better quarters could be found To pitch your earthly tent.

At 12 o'clock the ladies came And took each blushing(?) humbled swain Across the road, where Eddie's dame Had placed a royal feast. Each charmer paid (alas how rare!) Her own and hungry fellow's fare, And splendid food was furnished there For o'er an hour at least.

We must congratulate each belle From mountain, vale and Fisher Hill, Who paid her leap-year tax so well Last Friday night at Gould. Had we our wish we'd gladly call Twice yearly for a leap-year ball, For surely we were happy all The while the women ruled.

And we beseech you throw your charms Around the lonely mountain farms, Where bachelors are up in arms Against your luring spell. Fan to a flame the sluggish smoke, Place Gibourd in a double yoke, And give friend Finlay Ian a poke To keep him hale and well.

Dear girls, keep up your enterprise And dazzle all those "bache's" eyes, Before the present leap-year dies And robs you of your rights. Take pity on the lonely men From "Midnight" to big corner "Ken," Or later on "it might have been" Will rob your sleep o' nights.

The 'legibles we'll briefly scan: There's Merchant Donald B. Buchan, Who is a dear, good-natured man, And not too old to mend; And Layfield, too, by George! you bet, A closer friend it's hard to get-- Besiege their hearts, they're both to let, And bliss will rule the end.

And finally O'Norman "Hoe", Can Cupid's dart e'er conquer you, And penetrate your bosom through To kindle there a flame? Shall living mortal ever see A bouncing baby on your knee Whose lisping tones will add with glee "Papa" unto your name.

HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER Or THE HOLLERIN' HOHENZOLLERIN

Dear Gott! der weight of "right divine" Iss on my shoulters heavy yet; Und worries grow for me und mine For fear our thrones should be upset.

Democracy disturbs my dreams Und leaves Thy Villiam veak und vorn; Der worldt iss upsite down, it seems, Since Chermany was made to mourn.

Ve deemed der throne of "Nick" secure From Gottless hordes who scheme and scoff; But foes of mineund Thine, impure, Rebelled und bowled der Romanoff!

Und also Greece went on der skids, For Constantine, my Constantine! Und other kinks may lose their lids Till all are gone safe mine und Thine!

If von by von ve lose our crown My schemes on earth vill be upset; Und Gott! if Ireland turns us down Ve're in der soup alretty yet!

Der Yankees, too, are now in France, To aid der hateful Philistine, Und swear they'll make der Kaiser dance Der Turkey trot across der Rhine!

(Aside) Yes, I vill dance und I vill trot, Der Shottiss und der minuet, But, by der power of "Me und Gott" U. Sam vill pay der piper yet!

Gott, I've been faithful to my trust Since Thou dids't place me on der throne; My sword wass neffer known to rust Vile it coult yet extract a groan.

Wheneffer yet I drew dot sword To make der helpless victim bleed, I alvays called upon der Lort To guide my arm und bless der deed!

I sink der ships on all der seas, My submarines are on der chob! Despairing cries invade der breeze Und music's in der dying sob!

I rain der pombs from oudt der sky, On schools and hospitals below; Der vimmen und der chiltren die-- For thus do ve reduce der foe!

Lort help me mit my war to prove To all der swine as they shoult know, Thou are der ruler up above Und I am ruler down below!

I am der Moses as of oldt, I smite der heathen hip and thigh-- Lort send me Aaron yet to holdt Thy fainting servant's handts on high!

On Gideon still holdt der sun-- Thou dids't for "Josh" in years agone; Und let der melancholy moon Still flood der vale of Ajalon!

(Aside) O Chermany! dear Chermany! Der Lort of Hosts vill see you through! Ve are der chosen people ve, Und not der Scotch or cunning Jew!

Vonce, Lort, Thou knowest ve vere chums, Und everything did come my vay; But now Thou'rt turning down der thumbs, No matter how so loudt I bray!

Remember, Chermany's Thy friendt; Upholdt it, Lort, for our dear sake; Der line of Hintenburg is bent-- O help us, Gott, before it break!

I'm trusting in Thine aid divine, Und bray und fight mit shot and shell, But Himmel fails to hold der line Against Canucks dot fight like hell!

I bray at morning, bray at night, Und bray at noon ven it is hot; But Gott is keeping oudt of sight-- He answers not, He answers not!

O! can it be, as scoffers say, Der race iss for der von who runs? Und dot no matter how ve bray Der Lort is mit der biggest guns?

If so it be, then all iss lost; Farewell, farewell, dear Chermany! Lloyd Chorge can figure up der cost And charge it all to Gott und me!