THE SKIPPER'S ACCOUNT OF THE MECHANICS' PROCESSION.

Cried Mally, Come, Jacky, get ready— The morning is looking se fine, man; The bells i' the town are a' ringing, And the sun it se bonny does shine, man; The lads and the lasses are runnin', To se the Mechanics so gay, man,— To meet the Procession, wi' Mally, Aw suen cut my stick, and away, man. Rom ti iddity, &c. We reach'd the Tyne Brig in a crack, 'Mang croods, like worsels, out o' breeth, man— The splendor aw cannot describe, Nor forget till the day o' my deeth, man: A fine silken banner appear'd, As big as wor Geordy's keel-sails, man, A' cover'd wi' doves, ark, and croons, An' greet hairy men without tails, man. Rom ti iddity, &c. A chep like a Duke follow'd next, Surrounded wi' Nobles se fine, man, Weel dress'd up in silk robes an' tassels, An' goold that did glitter and shine, man— Says aw, that's Prince Albert, aw'll sweer— An' was just gawn to give him three chears, man, When Mally cried—De'il stop yor din!— Becrike! it's the Dey of Algiers, man. Rom ti iddity, &c. The members were toss'd off in stile, In colours of pink, white, and blue, man,— A tight little chep frae the ranks, Cried, Jack, hinny, how d'ye do, man?— What, Newton! says aw, now, what cheer! Aw thowt ye some 'Squire makin' fun, man,— There's Armstrang, as trig as a Peer, But how's my awd friend, Bobby Nunn, man? Rom ti iddity, &c. The Hawk, the Northumberland Star, An' the Magdalen's banners wav'd sweet, man; But the Chieftain astonish'd them all, With his braw Highland lads dress'd sae neat, man; The Nelson appear'd in true blue, (There canny host Simpson belangs, man,) An' Petrie walk'd close alangside O' the chep that writes Newcassel Sangs, man. Rom ti iddity, &c. To describe the Flags, Music, an' Stars, Wad take me to doomsday for sartin; Let Foresters brag as they like, But it's all in my eye, Betty Martin. Wor lads were se pleas'd wi' the seet, Mechanics they'll be before lang, man,— So aw's gannin to Simpson's to-neet, To sing them this canny bit sang, man. Whit-Monday, 1841.