pious St. Andrew,” the army, the navy, and the “Governor and the land we live in” — all drunk with “enthusiasm and delight.”" Whether the “enthusiasm and delight” was the consequence of the guests’ sincerity, or the relish with which the toasts were honoured, one can only speculate. In any event, the lyrics of the song written especially for this memorable occasion serve to indicate further the love felt by them for

Scotland.

Albin Mo Ruun In the evening AIR — “Scottish Blue Bonnets”

FAR from the land of the mountain and plaid,

The glens with the bagpipe and torrent resounding, Far from the hills where the dauntless have bled,

And the Ring o’er their blue misty summit is bounding; The sons of old Caledon met here in Charlotte-Town,

Brothers be country heart and hand too, Welcome this holiday, growing with loyalty

To pledge the goblet to gude St. Andrew!

Chorus.

Then here’s to the land of the kilt and the plume!

A bumper her nymphs and her heroes demand you, Fill for auld Scotia! — and this when we toom,

We’ll brew a strong cog for the sons of St. Andrew!

Dear — dear are the haunts that we trod

In infancy wild when our bosoms were burning Green be the turf — and hallow’d the sod

That shelters the relics of all worth mourning. Fancy still blazing, delighted retracing

Each pastime of youth o’er the boundless ocean, Roams night and noon to “Albin Mo Ruun”

And blesses the land that reared her a Scotian!

Fair —- fair are the nymphs on her plains, For beauty and virtue unrivall’d in story. Sweet are her Bards — and melting their strains That warble to win them — or rouse up to glory! Her heroes — who doubt them, may fry for to rout them, Her haughty invaders had better in hell been, For value and worth there’s none on this earth To wrest the palm from our native Albin!

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