Maggy Howe's, a newspaper is procured, and poor Will, the hero of the tale, becomes a pot-house politician, and soon goes to ruin. His wife also takes to drinking. Wha was ance like Willie Gairlace? When he first saw Jeanie Miller, Wha wi' Jeanie could compare? Thousands had mair braws and siller, But war only half sae fair? See them now-how changed wi' drinking! A' their youthfu' beauty gane! Davered, doited, daized, and blinkingWorn to perfect skin and bane! In the cauld month o' November- Bond and bill and debts a' stoppit, No anither night to lodge here- The little domestic drama is happily wound up: Jeanie obtains a cottage and protection from the Duchess of Buccleuch; and Will, after losing a leg in battle, returns, and finds his wife and family. Sometimes briskly, sometimes flaggiu', Hirpling aye towards the north. Willie, heedless, tint his gate. Saft the southland breeze was blawing, Sweetly sughed the green aik wood; Loud the din o' streams fast fa'ing, Strack the ear wi' thundering thud: Ewes and lambs on braes ran bleating; Roslin's towers and bracs sae bonny! Craigs and water, woods and glen! Roslin's banks, unpeered by ony, Save the Muses' ilawthornden! Ilka scund and charm delighting, Will-though hardly fit to gangWandered on through scenes inviting, Listening to the mavis' sang. Faint at length. the day fast closing, On a fragrant strawberry steep, Esk's sweet stream to rest composing, Wearied nature drupt asleep. placed on Chelsea's bounty,' 'Soldier, rise!--the dews o' e'ening Silent stept he on, poor fellow! Listening to his guide before, Laigh it was, yet sweet and humble; Melville's towers, sae white and stately, Skies sac red, and lift sac blue. Entering now, in transport mingle 'Soldier, welcome! come, be cheery- 'Changed I am,' sighed Willie till her; Changed, nae doubt, as changed can be! Yet, alas! does Jennie Miller Nought o' Willie Gairlace see? Hae ye marked the dews o' morning Hae ye seen the bird, fast fleeing, Then see Jean, wi' colour deeing, After three lang years' affliction- Drap, when pierced by death mair fleet? The simple truth and pathos of descriptions like these appealed to the heart, and soon rendered Macneill's poem universally popular in Scotland. Its moral tendency was also a strong recommendation, and the same causes still operate in procuring readers for the tale, especially in that class best fitted to appreciate its rural beauties and homely pictures, and to receive benefit from the lessons it inculcates. Macneill wrote several Scottish_lyrics, and published a descriptive poem, entitled 'The Links of Forth, or a parting Peep at the Carse of Stirling;' and some prose tales, in which he laments the effect of modern change and improvement. The latter years of the poet were spent in comparative comfort in Edinburgh. Mary of Castle-Cary. 'Saw ye my wee thing, saw ye my ain thing, Red, red are her ripe lips, and sweeter than roses- 'I saw nae your wee thing, I saw nae your ain thing, Red were her ripe lips, and sweeter than roses- 'It was nae my wee thing, it was nae my ain thing, 'It was then your Mary; she's frae Castle-Cary; Jair gloomed his dark brow, blood-red his cheek grew, Yo'se rue sair this morning your boasts and your scorning; L Away wi' beguiling,' cried the youth, smiling- The belted plaid fa'ing, her white bosom shawing, Is it my true love here that I see?' "O Jamie, forgie me; your heart's constant to me; JOHN MAYNE. JOHN MAYNE, author of the Siller Gun, Glasgow,' and other poems, was a native of Dumfries-born in the year 1761-and died in London in 1836. He was brought up to the printing business, and whilst apprentice in the Dumfries Journal' office in 1777, in his sixteenth year, he published the germ of his Siller Gun' in a quarto page of twelve stanzas. The subject of the poem is an ancient custom in Dumfries, called Shooting for the Siller Gun,' the gun being a small silver tube presented by James VI. to the incorporated trades as a prize to the best marksman. This poem Mr. Mayne continued to enlarge and improve up to the time of his death. The twelve stanzas expanded in two years to two cantos; in another year (1780) the poem was published-enlarged to three cantos-in Ruddiman's Magazine;' and in 1808 it was published in London in four cantos. This edition was seen by Sir Walter Scott, who said (in one of his notes to the Lady of the Lake') that it surpassed the efforts of Fergusson, and came near to those of Burns.' Mr. Mayne was author of a short poem on Hallowe'en,' printed in 'Ruddiman's Magazine' in 1780; and in 1781; he published at Glasgow his fine ballad of 'Logan Braes,' which Burns had seen, and two lines of which he copied into his 'Logan Water.' The Siller Gun' is humorous and descriptive, and is happy in both. The author is a shrewd and lively observer, full of glee, and also of gentle and affec tionate recollections of his native town and all its people and pas times. The ballad of Logan Eraes' is a simple and beautiful lyric, superior to the more elaborate version of Burns. Though long resi dent in London (as proprietor of the 'Star' newspaper), Mr. Mayne retained his Scottish enthusiasm to the last; and to those who, like ourselves, recollect him in advanced life, stopping in the midst of his duties as a public journalist, to trace some remembrance of his native Dumfries and the banks of the Nith, or to hum over some rural or pastoral song which he had heard forty or fifty years before his name, as well as his poetry, recalls the strength and tenacity of early feelings and local associations. Logan Braec. By Logan's streams, that rin sac deep, While my dear lad maun face his faes, Nae mair at Logan kirk will he Convoy me hame frae Logan kirk. I danner out and sit alane, At e'en, when hope amaist is gane, Helen Irving, a young lady of exquisite beauty and accomplishments, daughter of the Laird of Kirkconnel, in Annadale, was betrothed to Adam Fleming de Kirkpatrick, a young gentleman of rank and fortune in that neighbourhood. Walking with her lover on the sweet banks of the Kirtle, she was murdered by a disappointed and sanguinary rival. This catastrophe took place during the reign of Mary, Queen of Scots, and is the subject of three different ballads: the first two are old, the third is the composition of the author of the Siller Gun.' It was first inserted in the 'Edinburgh Annual Register' (1815) by Sir Walter Scott. I wish I were where Helen lies, Still seems to beckon me! Where Kirtle waters gently wind, Took deadly aim at me; On fair Kirkconnel-Lee! Though heaven forbids my wrath to swell, For if, where all the graces shine- Ah, what avails it that, amain, I clove the assassin's head in twain; I see her spirit in the air- Oh! when I'm sleeping in my grave, Unite my love and me! [sighs, Mustering of the Trades to Shoot for the Siller Gun. The lift was clear, the morn serene, Frae far and near the country lads Their pawky mithers and their dads And mony a bean and belle were there, For, lest they 'd, sleeping, spoil their Or miss the sight, The gowks, like bairns before a fair, Wi' hats as black as ony raven, shaven, And a' their Sunday's cleeding having The concluding verse of the old ballad is finer: Also an earlier stanza: Curst be the heart that thought the thought, And I am weary of the skies For her sake that died for me. When in my arms burd Helen dropt, Forth cam our Trades, some orra saving Wigs, queues, and clubs, and curly hair; To wair that day. Broiled kipper, cheese, and bread and Swords that, unsheathed since Preston ham, Laid the foundation for a dram Whilk after, a' was fish that cam Oh! weel ken they wha lo'e their chappin, Drink maks the auldest swack and strappin'; Gars Care forget the ills that happenThe blate look spruceeven the thowless cock their tappin, And craw fu' croose! e muster ower, the different bands File aff in parties to the sands, Where, 'mid loud laughs and clapping hands. Glee'd Geordy Smith But ne'er, for uniform or air, pans. Neglected lay. Were furbished up. to grace the hands Ohon!' says George, and ga'e a grane, Their route, and a' things else, made He snuffed, and said: [plain, Now. gentlemen! now, mind the motion, And dinna, this time, mak a botion: Shouther your arms! Oh! haud them tosh on, And not athraw! Wheel wi' your left hands to the ocean, ! And march awa'!' BARONESS NAIRNE. CAROLINA OLIPHANT (1766-1845), of the family of Oliphant of Gask, and justly celebrated for her beauty, talents, and worth, wrote several lyrical pieces, which enjoy great popularity. These are, The Land o' the Leal, The Laird o' Cockpen, Caller Herrin', The |