The Laddie Finds His Whittle.

Otago Witness, Issue 2310, 9 June 1898, Page 52

The Laddie Finds His Whittle.

" The Laddie's Exultation o'er the Finding o' His Whittle" was written by Jame? Nicholson, author of " Kilwuddie," " Idylls o' Hatne," &c, and appears in the Jatter collection of his poems. It was suggested by Robert Leighton's quaint and beautiful poem, "The Laddie's Lamentation on the Loss o' His Whittle," which was a great favourite of Nicholson's, who repeatedly read ifc at social gatherings. James Nicholson is a. native of Edinburgh, a tailor by trade, and has been «* mployed as such for well nigh 40 years in the Govan Combination Poorhonse, though recent ly, through failing health, he has been engaged in assisting the education of the children iv the poorhouse. He i* one of our besfc-kno wn Scottish minor poets, and I cannot do better than quote the criticism which appeared in the Scotsman on the publication of " KiWuddie " : — -'Its the lowliness of his birth, in tbe straggles asd disadvantages of his youth, in the persevering and independent spirit with which he overcame all adverse circumstances, and in the excellent use he baa made of his opportunities and talents, James Nicholson is entitled to be henceforth honourably named with the Nicols, the Bsthunes, and other humble sons of genius of whom Scotland has such just reason to be proud." MAim Grieve, 306 Crown Street, Glasgow. My whittle's facd, buna! hurra 1 My whittlp, lort for mony a day ; Sac blytbe my heart I maist could sing, This day I'm happier than a king. Losh 1 what a dv ut my bosom gi'ed When, first upon the yird I spied, Half-covered wi' the ridngcorn, Your gaucie heft o' quid deer-horn : I coul'tna been a bit mair prood

If I had fand a purse o' gowd. Guess hoo I glower'd. sac Wytbe'to see't. I tc»rce kent whilk to laugh or greet. Come, show your blade, my trusty biilie, My king o' knives, my gtiid auld gully 1 Ye didna used to be sac dour, But ye' re a' rustit, ttif be sure ; A nee ye wad open wi" a click. But noo ye' re grown as gourd's a stick, An' when I closed ye wi' a bicker Your spring play'd snap like ony tricker. But, oh ! to think that ye hae lain Hale mouths ootbye amone; the raiu ; Alane, uncar'd for, cauld, unboos'd, Your bonny blade sac red wi' roost ; But for the heft I wadna keat ye, But no"> wi' lovin' carts I'll tent thee — Thy blade I'll scour, thy edge I'll cuttle, Ance inair thou'it ba my gu.d auld whittle. B awly I ken noo hoo I lost thee, But never tbocht on't when I miss't thee ! The t.iilor chiel that madn my breaks Hal left a hole between the steek3 O' my richt pouch, whilk bigger grew, Until at l»st ye slipoet through. Sic pranks on me he'd bast no' play. I'll let him fcin — vile "jag the flea" — That I'm no' made o' common mettle, The loon, to gar me tine my whittle. Puir whittle ! hoo I've mourned for thee; I wonner if ye thocbt on me ? Say, did ye miss my pouch sac cosy ? Or were ye vexed that I should lose thee ? But never heei, I hae ya noo, An' to ilk ither we'll be true ; Wjiile'to prevent your gaun adrift, I'll hore a hole out through your heft, An' through ifc I will put a siring, Whi'k to my buttonhole I'll hing ; An', l'-sb ye should stra vague fraebame, Upon your heft I'll carve my name Wi' your sharp blade— eh ! let me see— I'm no just sure hoo that could be. Ha ! ha ! was ever heard sic blether, Daft gowk ! I'll hae to get some ither ; ATbiins Oir Jock's l - at least, we'll see. Meanwhile, auld cranie, come wi' me, Whaur crummie stick.-* weYi cut galore, An' bourtree whislle3 by the score ; And when the schuli comes 00 - . at noon, Six wbaukeu carrots we'3l cut doon ; Big ueeps we'll howk for Hallowe'en ; An' when the frosty winds blaw keen, Shinties to fung the fleeing bonl, An' aiblins gar me plunk the schule. But, hark 1 Oo'quhoun an' a' the core, Wi' them this day i'll hae a splore ; But fiist to schule awa' I'll scuttle — Hurra ! hurra ! I've fand my whittle.