Lectures by William Harvey, J.P. F.S.A. Scot.

Initiated in Stirling Royal Arch No. 76 in 1899.
Founder Member of Lodge 967 in 1904.
R.W.M. of Lodge 967 in 1914 to 1916.
Founder Member of lodge 1149 in 1915.
P.Z. of Royal Arch Chapter No. 421.
Provincial Grand Bard of Forfarshire 1915.
Founder Member of Lodge 1192 in 1919.
Sub Provincial Grand Master of Forfarshire.
Provincial Grand Master Depute of Forfarshire.
Right Worshipful Provincial Grand Master of Forfarshire 1935.

The Wages of an Entered Apprentice
 (pdf of original document)

The North East Corner (pdf of original document)

The Doorway of Freemasonry (pdf of original document)

The Lodge and its Furniture

The Masons Apron (pdf of original document)

The Mason’s Mallet

Landmarks (pdf of original document)

The Altar of Freemasonry (1st degree) (pdf of original document)

The Pillars of Freemasonry (2nd degree) (pdf of original document)

The Third Degree, its ornaments and emblems (pdf of original document)

The Story of Hiram Abiff (pdf of original document)

Robert Burns as a Freemason (pdf of original document)

Robert Burns in Stirlingshire (pdf of original document) – Also written by Harvey but not masonic.

Freemasonry at War (pdf of original document)

THE COMPLETE MANUAL OF FREEMASONRY (Craft Ritual) – Buy on Grand Lodge of Scotland website.

The Emblems of Freemasonry – Buy on Grand Lodge of Scotland website.

The Masonic Catechisms, E.A., F.C. and M.M.

Our Lady Luge of Dundee

The Mark Mason’s Register

The Story of the Royal Arch (pdf of original document)

Humour for the Craft:


How Tamson got the Third Degree – see below.

The Secrets of Freemasonry as contained in the Gospel of St Andrew (pdf of original document)

Tam o’ Shanter and the Merry Masons (pdf of original document)

For Harmony Nights:

How to Make a Speech.

Masonic Readings and Recitations

ElectricScotland.com – Significant Scots: William Harvey




by William Harvey J.P.

In Scotland there’s a strong belief,

That Masons wi’ the deil are chief,

An’ that their Points an’ Circles spell

Some awfu’ mystery o’ Hell ;

Douce ministers of a’ the kirks

Regard the Craft as fou o’ quirks

An’ say the Mallet, Square an’ Level

Are tradesmarks of a wily Devil.


Why sic-like thochts sud be, I doubt

Wad beat man’s wisdom to find out.

Aiblins they rase in times land past

When witches wove their spells, an’ cast

The evil-e’e owre sheep an’ kye,

An’ garred them a’ gang yeld or dry ;

Or rade on broomcowes through the air,

Or threw themselves in shape o’ hare,

An met at midnight hour to pree

The deepest drauchts o’ devilry,

An’ sneck young bairns across the wizen,

Or droun puir sailors by the dizzen. 


Through nane could tell how Auld Mahoun

Begood the Craft, the news gaed roun’

That he was Maister, an’ the Ludge –

As far as ministers could judge –

Was whaur, wi’ mystic sign an’ word,

He banned the Kirk and cursed the Lord.

Sometimes some chield o’ generous mood

Wad praise the ancient Brotherhood,

Maintain they placed their faith in prayer,

An’ strave to act upon the Square,

But Cowans swore the thing was haivers,

That God’s Guid Beuk was torn to taivers,

An’ that when Clootie g’ied the nod,

Nae Mason cared for man or God.

Now, droll as it may seem, the Craft,

Though whyles abused an’ often chaffed,

Held oon its road, no carin’ ocht

What livin’ moral threiped or thocht.

Its mind was free, its conscience clear,

An’ what was dune a’ men micht hear

When, wi’ the portal closely tyled,

The Brethren frae their records wyled

Rules for the guidin’ o’ the race –

That peace to war sud ne’er gie place –

Thus workin’ out the Mason’s plan –

A noble brotherhood of man,

Wi’ little care an’ less o’ evil,

An’ nae hobnobbin’ wi’ the Deevil.

Indeed, how slender is the shaft

Connecting’ Nickie wi’ the Craft

A’ men may learn by this narration

O’ what cam’ owre a merry Mason –

The Tyler o’ Ludge Royal Bracken,

Kent far an’ near as Jeems M’Cracken. 


‘Twas ae fine munelicht Hallowe’en –

That time when witches tak the green,

An’ warlocks work their cantraips dire

An’ faires flee on feet o’ fire,

An’ water kelpies prowl at large,

An’ Nickie gies his angels chairge

Of a’ that chance to be abroad

When midnight mak’s an eerie road

An’ ilka shadow shields a ghaist,

An’ fouk imagine they are chased

An’ pass the kirkyard gate wi’ speed

For fear some fiend sud gar the deid

RISE frae their graves an’ shak their shroud

That Jeems M’Cracken, flegged an’ cowed,

Crap trummlin’ hame an tauld Tam Paton

What passed atween him an’ Auld Satan. 

This nicht his Mother Ludge had gathered

To see a dorbie duly “brithered,”

And owre a foundin’ pint explain

How best to lay the Corner Stane.

Wi’ baps and beer, an’ toast an’ sang,

The time sped cantily alang;

The knok gaed birlin’ round to twa

Ere ony thoucht to slip awa’,

An’ the wee hand was close on three

When the last rites o’ Masonry

Saw Jamie start to stoiter hame

Wi’ bizzin’ heid an’ riftin’ wame. 


As ower the road, athort the muir,

Free frae a’ wardly thocht an’ care,

Jeems stappit out, the setting’ mune

That lichted up the lift abune,

An’ a’ the starns frae east to west

Seemed in a blinkin’ to owrecast,

The sky grew dull an’ dark as death

An’ Jamie (haudin’ in his breath

When something gae an awfu’ sneeze)

Drappit in fear upon his knees,

Prayed a’ the prayers that he could mind,

Then keekit nervously behind,

Syne looked afore, an’ gie a squeel,

For there (God help him) stude the Deil! – 


The Deil wi’ een like coal o’ fire!

Wi’ horns that well micht dreid inspire!

Wi’ chafts that girned, an’ beard that shook

An’ smelt a’ owre o’ aizle smook!

Wi’ tail twa ells lang, at the least,

Outrangin that of ony beast,

An’ cled in black frae tap to tae!

Wi’ fear puir Jeems grew cauld an’ blae.”

Guid mornin’, Brither,” quo’ the deil,”

I houp, guid Sir, I see you weel?” 


The speech brocht Jamie’s courage back.

“Godsake,” thinks he, “I’ll hae a crack

Wi’ this black billie, an’ mak sure

Just what he kens aboot the Square.

I’ll probe the haill thing to the boddam

An’ of it’s sae that I can snod ‘im

I’ll maybe end that daft-like plaister

Which says the rascal is our Maister.”

“Guid mornin’, friend,” then Jamie said

Cockin’ some cannily his head,

“Sin’ you mak free to ca’ me Brither,

Juist tell me now, how auld’s your Mither?” 


“My Mither!” leuch the Deil, “I’ faith,

As sure as breeks are made o’ claith,

Or apples grew on trees in Eden,

An’ you on baps an’ beer were feedin’,

I wad hae sworn that you had raither

Been seeking news about your faither.”

“A, sir,” quo’ Jeems, “thats prief I’ll swear,

That you were never on the Square,

Or my fair question you’d hae kent

An’ seen at aince juist what I meant,

An’ gien yours Mither’s age aff-reel,

I’m doubtin’ you’re nae Mason, Deil.” 


“Ca canny there, ca’ canny noo,

You’re no sae donnert though you’re fou,

An’ weel you ken that I can shaw

That I’m the Faither o’ you a’!

I’ll wad a guinea to a groat

The Scottish Kirk has banned the lot

O’ you as sinfu’ sons o’ mine

What learned the ga’ o’ Rule an’ Line

An’ a’ your secret pairts frae me

Wha first invented Masonry.” 


“A’ lees,” cried Jeems; ” A’ lees an’ waur,

We take nae notice o’ the glaur

That ministers and elders baith

Have splairged on us. I’ll tak my aith

That what they sae is but a fable.

Guid guide us! frae God’s beuk I’m able

To prove to a’ wi’ een to see

You hadn’a haen the First Degree,

Or, by the Mallet an’ the Level,

You’d never hae taen your job as Devil!” 


“Ne’er taen my job!” an’ Clootie hotched,

“Man, sin’ you’ve that sair subject broached,

As sure as three times twa mak sax

I’m up in a’ your Mason knacks –

Fand the haill dollop up in heaven,

Ken a’ about Three, Five an’ Seven :

The Three that rule a Ludge; the Five

That haud a Ludge, an’ mak it thrive,

The Seven that guide in on the plane

Whaur Wisdom, Strength, an’ Beauty reign ;

The Ark, the Anchor, an’ the Bell,

I ken them a’! The Parallel

That Moses made wi’ Solomon

Is now, I think, made wi’ Saint John.

Sirs me! What mystical appears

I’ve kent aff-loof, five thousand years!” 


“Ay, ay” said Jeems, “it sets you weel –

God knows, you are a clever Deil –

Thus glibly to say twa-three phrases,

(An a’ the time sing your ain praises!)

Nae doubt, afore your wild rampage

You used the Gavel an’ the Gauge,

But, still an’ on, your Mason lore

You maun hae left ahent the door

That day you got the unco shove

That dang you frae Grand Ludge above.

Now Sawtan, sin’ that time o’ terror,

I wonder if you’ve seen your erro,

An’ if sometime you green to enter

A Lodge that opened on the Centre?” 


“Weel, Jeems, atween oursels, I’ll granr

That whyles I feel a kind o’ want,

But, heth, I’m dour as you may guess –

An’ thrawn as you’d be – to confess

The sin that drave me doun to dwell

Amon’ the fallen saunt o’ Hell,

But noos an’ thans I tak a thoucht

Of a’ the tirr-wirr I have wrocht,

An’ muse on Mallet, Square, an’ Plumb

Wi’ Jubela an’ Jubelum.” 


“Thae balgyairds! They’re weel het in Hell.

Ise was, you’ve Jubelo as well?

A trinity o’ mansworn knaves

Owre bad to rest within their graves,

Nae fire ablow will purge their crime,

They’re dammed ayont the end o’ time;

I houp they’re ladlin’ lowin’ coals

Upon ilk other’s luckless souls.” 


“Deed then, they’re no’,” quo Nickie Ben,

“We’ve punishments unknawn to men.

They’re biggin’ temples ilka day

Wi’ meltin’ lave – saft as clay,

Frae plans that seem to them absurd

Because they lack the Masons’ Word!

They’re thirled to an uneven Skirrit –

Fit emblem o’ their want o’ merit;

Their Chisel, Compasses, an’ Mell

Are red-het as the fires o’ hell;

Their Plumb’s a’ squint, an’s so’s their Level

They’re free wi’ aiths as ony Devil.

But though wi’ cursin’ they grew hoarse,

It’s ne’er abune a single course

Their wark wad heichten for the found

Is laid on ever-shiftin’ ground;

Year in, year out, in endless pain,

They cry, ‘Wae’s me! The Maister’s slain.’ 


” At Satan’s word Jeems stude aghast.

He thocht on a’ his sins bypast,

An’ what micht happen to himself’

If, sae be, he gaed doun to Hell.

He looked in silence for a wee,

“Then, Clootie, since you’ve nabbed that three,

“He wispered, “Tell me this, I pray,

O’ Masons, have you mony mae?

Or dae they get, as they expect,

A fair wind frae the Architect

Wha dwells within the Heavenly Ludge

An’ hauds the balance as the Judge

Of a’ thats dune at kirk or market

By mortals frae the time they’re sarket?” 


“Weel, Jamie,” said auld Satan quick-like,

“I’ve Kaiser Bill, an’ twa-three sic-like,

Ill loons that dung the warld ajee

By cursin’ God an’ servin’ me,

But as for ordinar brither chiels,

They’re no’ the stuff that mak gude deils;

They’re faur too constant on the Square

An’ place their faith owre much in prayer.

They guide their ways by Rule an’ Plummet,

An’ thus gey aften reach the summit

Whaur Virtue sits enthroned as Queen,

An’ Peace an’ Honour crown the scene.

But Jamie, though to say’t I’m laith

An’ whisper it below my breath,

You’ll come straucht doun, baith soul’ an body;

If you keep on wi beer an toddy.” 


That angered Jeems “God damn your cheek,”

He cried, “It sets you ill to speak!

For tuppence I was rive your beard

An’ see your horns as siccar ser’ed;

Rug aff your tail an gar’ you squeel

You auld an ugsome unhung Deil!”

An’ with the words Jeems made a breenge.

Lord keep me! What a michty cheenge!

In less than naetime Nick was aff,

While up there rase an eldritch laugh,

And a’ the hills and valleys round,

Rocked wi’ a maist uncanny sound.” 

An earthquake;” Jeems cried out in fear,

“God keeps us a’ when Sawtan’s near.” 


The Three Great Lichts Jeems whuppitt out

Then, slyly keekin’ round about,

Drapped on his knees, an’ breathed this prayer

Owre Bible, Compases an’ Square:

“Though I may be the warst o’ men,

Lord! save me frae auld Nickie Ben!

It’s true afore him I was brave

But I’ll be moderate wi’ the lave,

Take nae mair liquor to excess

But steively tyle the little press,

An’ be mair eident wi’ the tools,

Which mind us o’ the Golden Rules

That Temperance, Fortitude, an’ Truth

Improve the mind, subdue the drouth,

An’ daily thank You for each blessin’

As lang’s I’m spared to be a Mason.”




How Tamson got the Third Degree

By Bro. William Harvey

First published 1919

Whan Tammas Tamson joined the Craft,
Wise freends declared that he was daft.
To tak a hand in sic a ploy,
An’ swore ‘twad bring mair grief than joy.
But Tam, ne’er mindin’ what they said
Held on the road quite undismayed;
He took his First, an’ proud was he
To learn it was but ae degree,
An’ that the Second telled him mair
About the Compasses an’ Square.
He took that stap yae winter nicht,
Syne, gropin’ still for further licht,
Begoud to think about his Third,
An’ that in spite of a’ he heard!
And oh! that Third! Ae niclit whan Tam,
Was crouse wi cronies owre a dram,
The cronies thocht he’d draw a wee,
An’ plied him weel. wi’ barley bree;
But Tam was deaf as adamant
Till a’ had gane save Snecky Grant,
Syne, whan the coast was sae far clear
He made that billie cock his ear:
“By faith!” he cried, “yon was a splore!
The like o’t I’d ne’er seen before!
Beats onything you ever saw.
Guid guide us! I was near in twa’
Ere a’ was dune! I reeked, an’ swat,
An’ focht until my sark was wat;
‘As lang as life is left to me,
I’ll ne’er forget the Third Degree!”
Twas clear that Tam was, fidgin’ fain
To live the haill thing owre again.
“Just tell’s the tale,” quo Snecky Grant,
“To hear what’s dune is a’ I want,
An’ if you tell’s I’ll save my siller,
Yet be as wise as Brother Miller.”
Now, for a skinflint, Sneck was kenned,
Twa broun bawbees he wadna spend,
‘Twixt Handsel-Monday and Yules-een
Though he at every ploy was seen
A measly miser, kirk-gaun. Saunt
You fand at aince in Snecky Grant.
A’ Snecky’s fauts were plain to Tammas –
As plain as floods that come at Lamrnas
Sweep a’ before them. “By my aith,”
Thocht Tam, “I’ll gie him haud his breath.”
“Weel, Snecky, since you seem sae keen,’,
An’ since you’re sic a trusted freen’
I’ll tell you, but you first maun swear
You’ll never drap a word you hear,
For, if you did, then, by my whittle!
My life wad no’, be worth a spittle!
Haud up your hand, an’ promise true,
You’ll no’ turn owre what’s tauld to you.”
At that, Grant held up baith his hands;
“By freendship’s name, at your commands
I wad my word nae mortal ear
Shall ever hark what I may hear.”
They sattled doun, an’ owre the tale
Sneck grued at times, and whiles turned pale;
Its fearsomeness now made him glower,
And then, in terror, keek atower
The room to” whaur the aumrie stude,
Hauf-thinkin’ that some empty shroud.
Wad flaff its faulds, or gie a squeal!
I fair believe he thocht the Deil
Was at his elbow a’ the time
As Tammas tauld how the sublime
Degree was wrocht that winter nicht
Whan he perceived the Master’s Licht.
“Jock Anderson and Jamie Cherry”
Grant kent them baith for masons merry
“Cam’ out to me an’ said,” quo Tam,
“You’d be, the better o’ a’ dram
To gie you strength. Tak’ this the noo;
Ay, drink it up. You’ll no’ be fou.’
Syne. Grant, as sure s you’re sittin’ there,
Tey baith begond to say a prayer!
They prayed that God micht guide me richt,
In a’ I had to dae that nicht,
How, if I chanced to meet wi’ Death,
I’d sneck tae loon below the breath,
An’ triximph as the rest had dune
Wha houped to reach the Lodge abune.
To tell the truth, that scared me some.
I thocht o’ dreidfu’ things to come
An’ saw mysel’ in mony a plicht
Ere I achieved Masonic Licht.
Whan they had prayed, Jock took a kilt,
Try’t on,’ quo’ he; ‘I houp you fill’t.’
I held it up. ‘A kilt?’ quo’ I,
He leuch his fill, an’ wi’ a sly
Wink exclaimed wi’ puffed-out cheeks,
‘Wha heard o’ Solomon wi’ breeks!’
Syne; whisperin’ cannily, he said,
‘Auld Hiram wore a kilt and plaid;
We only don the kilt thae days;
Sae now, mak’ haste! Tak aff your claes!’
They cled me in the kilt an’ sark
An’ said, ‘You’re ready for the wark.’
Then, blinders owre my een they clapped
An’ at the inner door they chapped.
‘He comes!’ I heard a voice declare,
‘Auld Hiram comes to offer prayer!’
Wi’ that a bell begoud to toll,
I thocht on my immortal soul.
I couldna see a stime, an’ stude
My veins a’ fou o’ frozen blude.
Then, a’ at aince, I fand my strength,
Thinks I, wha comes goes down at length.
I set my teeth, and clenched my neives,
Though, Grant, you’ll maybe no believe’s,
An’ said into mysel’, said I,
‘Come on! Somebody’s got to die.’,
The tollin’ stopped. A moment’s silence,
An,’ syne some chield begoud wi’ violence;
I made a lunge just richt fornenst
Whaur a’ the stushic had commenced.
I felt my fist, strike some ane’s heid,
Says I, ‘By God! that’s ane that’s deid.’
‘Come on!’ I cried; ‘come ony seven;
You’ll a’ be deid as sure’s I’m livin’!’
‘I heard some slippin’ round about;
Thinks I, ‘That’s some that’s wantin’out.’
Wi’ that, I heard an eerie laugh
As some. ane tore my blinders aff.
‘God keep us, Grant! The awfu’ scene
That met my mair than startled een,
I’ll no’, in fifty years, forget;
It mak’s me grue to think, o’t yet.
Crossbanes an! skulls were all around,
Alang the wa’s, and on the ground;
Coffins I saw on baith my hands,
An’ corpses stood in little bands,
An’ girned at me, as though to say,
‘Tammy, my man, you’ve had your day,
An’ now are here amang the deid,,’.
Frae earth an’ Mistress Tamson freed’.
I looked bambazed. I couldna speak.
Then lo! The place a’ filled wi reek,,
An’ through, the reek the corpses crawled
The while some brethren sat and drawled
A sang or hymn – I kentna which –
About the puir and eke the rich,
How, though they lived as saunt or devil,
Cam’ a’ at last to ae same level
Whan they were deid. I clutched at Jock.
Says I, ‘What’s this? Wha’s a’ th. folk?’
Says he, ‘If I the truth may tell,
My guid freend, Tam, you’re now in hell.
But hark! His Nab’s ’ll tell in Laitin,
What you mann dae to conquer Satan.’
An’ just at that the master said:
Send Tamson forrit here!’ I gaed
Quo he, ‘Now, Tamson, ere this nicht,
You see the Master Mason’s Licht,
You’ve got to fecht three heidstrong deils
That want to lay you, by the heels;
Three, wily blades that lie in wait
To catch a’ mortals sune or late.
Now if you’re staunch you’ll sune owrecome
Baith Jubelo an’ Jubelum,
But watch the third he’s Jubela;
An’ dour as balth the ither twa.’
‘Fecht three at aince?” quo I. He leuch.
‘Fegs, no,’ quo’ he; ‘you may be teuch
Yet, still, I doubt if you could gie
The knock out blow to a’ the three;
But if you manage them in turn
Your Mason’s Licht will brightly burn.
The first is Greed, an ugly chield
He guards the entrance to the field.,
The second, Avarice, midway
You’ll. likely meet. Tak’ tent, an’ pray;
The third’ll try to sneck your breath,
An ugsome earl – we ca’ him Death.’
‘Lord help me, Grant! I fairly shook
As, thick and thicker, grew the smook,
An’ in a. silence almost seen,
They drew the blinders owre my een.
Then in, a crack a waesome voice
Sent up a maist unchancy noise,
An’ some ane gied my airm a grup
Says I, ‘ Now, Greed, your number; s up!’
He held me hard, syne strak me sair,
But, fegs, I stretched him on the fluir,
Deid as a mawk! ‘Good lad!’ they cried,
It’s lang since Greed so quickly died.’
I thocht I’d get a breath or twa,
But that appeared against the law.
The next cam’ on; his name I kent.
Says I, ‘ My man, your days.are spent,
For Avarice maun gang wi’ Greed,
In less than naetime you’ll be deid, ,
If my name’s Tamson.’ ‘Haud a wee,’
Says he, ‘If Snecky Grant you see
Whan you go out, just tell him this,
Since I am deid, he’s Avarice!’
Grant girned at Tamson’s weel-aimed. shaft.
Quo he, “I think your auncient Craft
Micht leave a lad like me alone.”
But Tamson leuch, an’ thus gaed on:
“I’ve telled you, Grant, just what he said –
An’ in an instant he was dead!
But mind his words his dyin’ breath
Was meant for you, I’ll tak’ my aith.
Think less o’. siller, mair o’ men,
Or you may come to sic’ an’ en’,
An’ whan this coil You shuffle aff,
Get ‘Avarice’ for epitaph?”
“Go on,” says Grant, no owre weel pleased,
“Just tell us how the neist you seized.
Ise warrant you he wasna deid
As quick as Avarice an’ Greed.”
“Heth no!” said’Tamson, wi’ a smile,
“I wrasded wi’ the loon a while,
But ne’er could get a richt stroke in,
He feinted aye, an’ I grew dune,
Until at last he cloured my heid,
An’ I gaed doun. Says I, ‘I’m deid.’
I fand mysel.’ grow stiff an’ cauld,
My teeth fa’ out, my heid grow bald.
Thinks I, ‘I doubt it’s death for me,’
Whan some ane whispered, ‘Let, him. see.’
They taen the blinders, frae my een.
Lord, Grant, I saw a fearsome scene!
There Death, himsel’, wi’ ugly grin,
Stude blinkin’ at the settin’ mune,
His scythe a’ reid wi’ human gore
O’ them he’d snecked in days before.
He took ae step. I cried, ‘Get out!’
At that there rase a hellish shout;
I clutched him by the beard, an’ sair
I shook him as’ he chittered there;
His banes, a’ dirlin’ in their places,
Made a’ the corpses twist their faces!
Wi’ abject fear I staggered back
Whan coffin lids began to crack!
‘For God Almighty’s sake,’ says I,
‘Gie me some licht, or else I’ll. die.’
An’ whan the licht gaed up I saw
‘That Death had vanished clean awa’!”
So’Perish all our foes!’ I heard,
An’ syne I got the master’s Word.
“And afterthat? Weel a’ I’ll say,
I’ll never see anither day
Like yon though I should live to see
A thousand nichts o’ harmony.
Lord! ilka man was three times fou,
Lang ere the festival was through!
How I got hame I canna tell,
But weel I wat, I aften fell
Across the road, an’ fine I ken,
Had Death but tackled me again,
It’s no’ wi’ you I’d be this nicht,
But far beyond Masonic Licht.
“Now, mind your promise! No a word
How Tammas Tamson got his Third?’
They pairted; and as Tam. gaed hame,
He felt he wasna much to blame
If Grant believed the idle tale,
An’ dreamt a’ nicht o’ Deathan’ ale
Puir Grant! believin’ a’ he heard
Was keen to ken the Mason’s Word;
He even thocht he micht gang through
The thing himsel’. That three times fou
Appealed to Snecky’s commonsense,
As mair than ample recompense.
An’ as for Tam, weel, Tam’ll see
The beauties o’ the High Degree,
An’ learn its secrets, signs, an’ words,
An’ a.’ the blessin’s it affords
Whan, aided by Masonic Licht,
He gets his Third on Friday nicht!.