evangelical Dissenters by interesting Travels and Researches of Eminent English Missionaries (1830). In 1831 he issued The Club-Book, a collection of original tales by different authors; G. P. R. James, Galt, Moir, James Hogg, Allan Cunningham, and others contributed each a story, and the editor himself wrote two-'The Deer-stalkers' and the 'Three Kearneys'-the latter of which was dramatised. Picken planned his Traditionary Stories of Old Families as the first part of a series which was to embrace the legendary history of England, Scotland, and Ireland. He had just completed what he thought his best work, The Black Watch (on the gallant 42nd Regiment), when he succumbed to the apoplexy that carried him off. Picken was, according to one of his friends, 'the dominie of his own tales-simple, affectionate, retiring; dwelling apart from the world, and blending in all his views of it the gentle and tender feelings reflected from his own mind.'—An earlier Paisley author of the same name, Ebenezer Picken (1769–1816), wrote two volumes of poems, mostly in the vernacular, and published a pocket dictionary of the Scottish dialect (1818).

William Glen (1789-1826), born in Glasgow, was for a time in the West Indies; failed as a Glasgow merchant, and sank into poverty, dissipation, and ill-health. His poems-'The Battle Song,' 'The Maid of Oronsey,' and the restare mostly forgotten; but the Jacobite lament, 'Wae's me for Prince Charlie,' remains one of the most popular of Scottish songs.

'Wae's me for Prince Charlie.'
A wee bird cam' to our ha' door,
He warbled sweet and clearly,
An' aye the owercome o' his sang
Was, 'Wae's me for Prince Charlie !'
Oh, when I heard the bonny soun',
The tears cam' happin' rarely;

I took my bannet aff my head,

For weel I lo'ed Prince Charlie.

Quoth I: 'My bird, my bonny, bonny bird,
Is that a sang ye borrow?

Are these some words ye 've learnt by heart,
Or a lilt o' dool and sorrow?'
'Oh, no, no, no!' the wee bird sang;
'I've flown since mornin' early,

But sic a day o' wind and rain

Oh, wae 's me for Prince Charlie.

'On hills that are by right his ain,
He roves a lanely stranger;

On every side he 's pressed by want-
On every side is danger :

Yestreen I met him in a glen,

My heart maist bursted fairly,
For sadly changed indeed was he-
Oh, wae's me for Prince Charlie.

'Dark night cam' on, the tempest roared
Loud o'er the hills and valleys;

And where was 't that your Prince lay down,
Whase hame should been a palace?

He rowed him in a Hieland plaid,

Which covered him but sparely, And slept beneath a bush o' broomOh, wae's me for Prince Charlie.'

But now the bird saw some red-coats,
And he shook his wings wi' anger:
'Oh, this is no a land for me;

I'll tarry here nae langer.'
He hovered on the wing a while,
Ere he departed fairly;

But weel I mind the fareweel strain

Was, 'Wae's me for Prince Charlie.'

William Motherwell (1797-1835) was born. in Glasgow, went to school in Edinburgh, and after his eleventh year was brought up under the care of an uncle in Paisley. Having studied one session at Glasgow University, he was, at the age of twenty-one, appointed depute to the sheriff-clerk at Paisley; but he early showed a love of poetry, and in 1819 became editor of a miscellany entitled the Harp of Renfrewshire. A taste for antiquarian research, 'Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose,' divided with the muse the empire of his genius, and he attained an unusually familiar acquaintance with the early history of Scottish traditionary poetry. The results appeared in Minstrelsy Ancient and Modern (1827), a collection of Scottish ballads, prefaced by a very able historical introduction, the basis of most later investigations. In the following year he became editor of a weekly journal in Paisley, and established a magazine to which he contributed some of his happiest verses. His editorial skill and vigour advanced him in 1830 to the more important charge of the Glasgow Courier, which he retained till his death. In youth a Radical reformer, he early became a rather pronounced Tory. In 1832 he collected and published his poems in one volume. He joined with Hogg in editing the works of Burns, and was collecting materials for a Life of Tannahill, when he was suddenly cut off by a fit of apoplexy at the early age of thirty-eight. He was highly successful in versifying the Scandinavian folksongs, and in imitating those of his own land; but he is chiefly remembered by his lyrics. His best songs show imagination, warmth, and tenderness.

Jeanie Morrison.

I've wandered east, I've wandered west, Through mony a weary way;

But never, never can forget

The love o' life's young day!

The fire that's blawn on Beltane e'en

May weel be black gin Yule;
But blacker fa' awaits the heart
Where first fond love grows cule.

O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison,
The thochts o' bygane years

Still fling their shadows ower my path,
And blind my een wi' tears!

In a love more abiding than that the heart knows
For maiden more lovely than summer's first rose,
My heart's knit to thine, and lives but for thee;
In dreamings of gladness thou 'rt dancing with me,
Brave measures of madness, in some battlefield,
Where armour is ringing,

And noble blood springing,

And cloven, yawn helmet, stout hauberk, and shield.
Death-giver! I kiss thee.

See the Life by M'Conechy prefixed to the edition of 1846, reedited in 1848 and reprinted in 1881.

James Hyslop (1798–1827), a shepherd poet, was born in the Dumfriesshire parish of Kirkconnel. Mainly self-taught, he began amidst farmwork to contribute prose and verse to the provincial newspapers; and while serving as shepherd near Airdsmoss, Ayrshire, the scene of Richard Cameron's death, he wrote 'The Cameronian's Dream.' He taught a school at Greenock for a year or two, through the influence of Lord Jeffrey was appointed tutor on a man-of-war, and died cruising off the Cape Verd Islands. His poems, nearly a hundred in number, were collected by the Rev. P. Mearns in 1887; but only one is really well known. It was made the foundation of a cantata in the last year of the century by Mr Hamish MacCunn, and so became known out of Scotland. Cameron, the field-preacher, published an extravagant 'Declaration' in 1680 against the Government of Charles II., and a month afterwards fell, with many of his sixty armed followers, in a skirmish with the royal dragoons.

The Cameronian's Dream.
In a dream of the night I was wafted away
To the muirland of mist where the martyrs lay;
Where Cameron's sword and his Bible are seen
Engraved on the stone where the heather grows green.

'Twas a dream of those ages of darkness and blood,
When the minister's home was the mountain and wood;
When in Wellwood's dark valley the standard of Zion,
All bloody and torn, 'mong the heather was lying.

'Twas morning; and summer's young sun from the east Lay in loving repose on the green mountain's breast; On Wardlaw and Cairntable the clear shining dew Glistened there 'mong the heath-bells and mountain flowers blue.

And far up in heaven, near the white sunny cloud,
The song of the lark was melodious and loud,
And in Glenmuir's wild solitude, lengthened and deep,
Were the whistling of plovers and bleating of sheep.

And Wellwood's sweet valleys breathed music and gladness,

The fresh meadow blooms hung in beauty and redness;
Its daughters were happy to hail the returning,
And drink the delights of July's sweet morning.

But, ah! there were hearts cherished far other feelings
Illumed by the light of prophetic revealings,
Who drank from the scenery of beauty but sorrow,
For they knew that their blood would bedew it to-morrow.

'Twas the few faithful ones who with Cameron were lying, Concealed 'mong the mist where the heath-fowl were crying, For the horsemen of Earlshall around them were hovering, And their bridle reins rang through the thin misty covering.

Their faces grew pale, and their swords were unsheathed, But the vengeance that darkened their brow was un

breathed;

With eyes turned to heaven in calm resignation,
They sang their last song to the God of Salvation.

The hills with the deep mournful music were ringing,
The curlew and plover in concert were singing;
But the melody died 'mid derision and laughter,
As the host of ungodly rushed on to the slaughter.
Though in mist and in darkness and fire they were
shrouded,

Yet the souls of the righteous were calm and unclouded.
Their dark eyes flashed lightning as, proud and unbending,
They stood like the rock which the thunder is rending.
The muskets were flashing, the blue swords were gleaming,
The helmets were cleft, and the red blood was streaming,
The heavens grew black, and the thunder was rolling,
When in Wellwood's dark muirlands the mighty were
falling.

When the righteous had fallen, and the combat was ended,
A chariot of fire through the dark cloud descended;
Its drivers were angels on horses of whiteness,
And its burning wheels turned on axles of brightness.
A seraph unfolded its door bright and shining,
All dazzling like gold of the seventh refining,
And the souls that came forth out of great tribulation,
Have mounted the chariot and steeds of salvation.
On the arch of the rainbow the chariot is gliding,
Through the path of the thunder the horsemen are riding;
Glide swiftly, bright spirits! the prize is before ye,
A crown never fading, a kingdom of glory!

Henry Scott Riddell (1797-1870), born in Eskdale, was bred a shepherd, but contriving to make out a course at Edinburgh University, served for a few years a chapel in the Roxburghshire parish of Cavers. He wrote on sheepfarming, Lays of the Ark, and many songs, some of which are still sung in Scotland-Scotland Yet' (beginning 'Gae bring my guid auld harp ance mair'), a version of 'The Crook and Plaid,' and one or two others. Christopher North warmly praised 'When the Glen is all still;' a pithier lyric | begins, 'Ours is the land of gallant hearts.'

Robert Gilfillan (1798–1850), the son of a Dunfermline weaver, was clerk to a wine-merchant in Leith, and afterwards collector of poor-rates there. His Songs passed through three editions in his lifetime; and an edition of his Works, with a Life by Anderson, appeared in 1851. The songs are marked by kindly feeling and smooth versification, and several of them have been well set to music.

The Exile's Song.

Oh, why left I my hame?

Why did I cross the deep?

Oh, why left I the land

Where my forefathers sleep?

I sigh for Scotia's shore,
And I gaze across the sea,
But I canna get a blink
O' my ain countrie!
The palm-tree waveth high,
And fair the myrtle springs;
And, to the Indian maid,

The bulbul sweetly sings;
But I dinna see the broom
Wi' its tassels on the lea,
Nor hear the lintie's sang

O' my ain countrie!
Oh, here no Sabbath bell

Awakes the Sabbath morn, Nor song of reapers heard

Amang the yellow corn: For the tyrant's voice is here,

And the wail of slaverie; But the sun of freedom shines In my ain countrie! There's a hope for every woe,

And a balm for every pain, But the first joys o' our heart Come never back again. There's a track upon the deep, And a path across the sea; But the weary ne'er return To their ain countrie!

David Macbeth Moir (1798-1851) was, above the signature of 'Delta' (rather the actual A), a frequent poetical contributor to Blackwood's Magazine, while he practised as a surgeon in his native town of Musselburgh, beloved by all who knew him. His best pieces are grave and tender ; but he also wrote some lively jeux d'esprit and a humorous Scottish tale of the kailyard, The Autobiography of Mansie Wauch, which was reprinted from Blackwood in 1828, and is still constantly reissued and read in Scotland. Besides the Outlines of the Ancient History of Medicine (1831), a pamphlet on cholera, and memoirs of his friend Galt and some other notables, his other works are The Legend of Genevieve, with other Tales and Poems (1824), Domestic Verses (1843), and Sketches of the Poetical Literature of the Past Half-century (1851). He edited Mrs Hemans, and contributed some four hundred articles to Blackwood. His Poetical Works, edited with a Memoir by Thomas Aird, were published in two volumes in 1852. Even his friend Aird admitted that in much of Delta's work fancy, feeling, and musical rhythm are more conspicuous than power or new thought.

When thou at Eve art Roaming.
When thou at eve art roaming

Along the elm-o'ershadowed walk,
Where fast the eddying stream is foaming

And falling down—a cataract,

'Twas there with thee I wont to talk ; Think thou upon the days gone by,

And heave a sigh.

When sails the moon above the mountains,
And cloudless skies are purely blue,
And sparkle in her light the fountains,
And darker frowns the lonely yew,
Then be thou melancholy too,
While pausing on the hours I proved
With thee, beloved.

When wakes the dawn upon thy dwelling,
And lingering shadows disappear,
As soft the woodland songs are swelling
A choral anthem on thine ear,

Muse, for that hour to thought is dear, And then its flight remembrance wings To bypast things.

To me, through every season, dearest ;
In every scene, by day, by night,
Thou, present to my mind appearest

A quenchless star, for ever bright;
My solitary, sole delight;
Where'er I am, by shore-at sea-

I think of thee!

Thomas Aird (1802–76) produced some poems showing a weird and powerful imagination, and some descriptive sketches of Scottish rural scenery and character. Born at Bowden in Roxburgh, he was educated at the University of Edinburgh, and in 1826 produced a tragedy, Martzoufle, with some other poems. He formed the acquaintance of Professor Wilson, 'Delta' Moir, and other contributors to Blackwood's Magazine; and in that periodical he published many of the poetical pieces collected into one volume in 1848. The Captive of Fez (1830) was a long narrative poem. Two volumes of prose sketches were called Religious Characteristics (1827) and The Old Bachelor in the Old Scottish Village (1848). The editing of a Conservative weekly newspaper, The Dumfries Herald, for over a quarter of a century (1835-63), carried on with zeal and vigour, left time for the writing of not a few poems, usually published in the Herald. He edited D. M. Moir's works, and prefixed a biography. And till ill-health came on him after 1852, his life glided on in a simple and happy tranquillity rare among poets. George Gilfillan's first Gallery of Literary Portraits took shape at his suggestion, and appeared for the most part in his paper; Christopher North, writing on Spenser, was largely guided by his judgment as a critic, often adopting Aird's very phrases. After a reading of the MS. of the Life of Sterling, submitted to him by his friend Carlyle, Aird said: 'It is very able and interesting; but it might have been as well to let the poor forlorn sheet-lightning die away in its cloud.' He retained Carlyle's friendship till his death, and Carlyle said that in Aird's poetry he found everywhere a healthy breath as of mountain breezes: a native manliness, geniality, and veracity.' The longer poems are admittedly defective in construction. Aird's memory was revived in 1902 by centenary celebrations and memorials at Bowden and at Dumfries.

From The Devil's Dream on Mount Aksbeck,'

Beyond the north where Ural hills from polar tempests run, A glow went forth at midnight hour as of unwonted sun; Upon the north at midnight hour a mighty noise was heard,

As if with all his trampling waves the Ocean were unbarred;

And high a grizzly Terror hung, upstarting from below, Like fiery arrow shot aloft from some unmeasured bow.

'Twas not the obedient seraph's form that burns before the Throne,

Whose feathers are the pointed flames that tremble to be gone:

With twists of faded glory mixed, grim shadows wove his wing;

An aspect like the hurrying storm proclaimed the Infernal King.

And up he went, from native might, or holy sufferance

given,

As if to strike the starry boss of the high and vaulted heaven.

Aloft he turned in middle air, like falcon for his prey, And bowed to all the winds of heaven as if to flee away; Till broke a cloud—a phantom host, like glimpses of a dream,

Sowing the Syrian wilderness with many a restless gleam : He knew the flowing chivalry, the swart and turbaned train,

That far had pushed the Moslem faith, and peopled well his reign:

With stooping pinion that outflew the Prophet's winged steed,

In pride throughout the desert bounds he led the phantom speed;

But prouder yet he turned alone, and stood on Tabor hill, With scorn as if the Arab swords had little helped his will:

With scorn he looked to west away, and left their train to die,

Like a thing that had awaked to life from the gleaming of his eye.

What hill is like to Tabor hill in beauty and in fame? There, in the sad days of his flesh, o'er Christ a glory

came;

And light outflowed him like a sea, and raised his shining brow;

And the voice went forth that bade all worlds to God's Beloved bow.

One thought of this came o'er the fiend, and raised his startled form,

And up he drew his swelling skirts, as if to meet the

storm.

With wing that stripped the dews and birds from off the boughs of Night,

Down over Tabor's trees he whirled his fierce distempered flight;

And westward o'er the shadowy earth he tracked his earnest way,

Till o'er him shone the utmost stars that hem the skirts of day;

Then higher 'neath the sun he flew above all mortal ken, Yet looked what he might see on earth to raise his pride

again.

He saw a form of Africa low sitting in the dust; The feet were chained, and sorrow thrilled throughout the sable bust.

The idol and the idol's priest he hailed upon the earth, And every slavery that brings wild passions to the birth. All forms of human wickedness were pillars of his fame, All sounds of human misery his kingdom's loud acclaim.

Exulting o'er the rounded earth again he rode with night, Till, sailing o'er the untrodden top of Aksbeck high and white,

Reform Bill; in 1834 was made, as Lord Cockburn, a judge of the Court of Session, and in 1837 a lord of justiciary. He died at Bonally Tower, his beautiful home at the base of the Pentlands since his marriage in 1811, and was buried near Jeffrey in the Dean Cemetery, Edinburgh. He contributed articles-on legal subjects mainly to the Edinburgh Review, and was author of the admirable Life of Jeffrey (1852), and of four posthumous works—Memorials of his Time (-856);

For less his flight was easy strength than proud unconquered will:

For sin had dulled his native strength, and spoilt the holy law

Of impulse whence the archangel forms their earnest being draw.

There is a Life of Aird by Jardine Wallace prefixed to the fifth edition of his works (1878). Many of Aird's letters to George Gilfillan have been printed in Watson's Memoir of Gilfillan (1892). The centenary of his birth was observed at Bowden and at Dumfries, where a portrait bust was erected.

Charles Neaves (1800-76), as Lord Neaves, maintained on the Scottish Bench the old alliance between law and literature. The son of a Forfar lawyer, he studied at Edinburgh, and rose through various professional appointments to be Lord Cockburn's successor as one of the judges of the Court of Session. He was a constant contributor to Blackwood in prose and verse; and some of his wittiest and most satirical poems, republished in Songs and Verses, Social and Scientific (1868), make good-humoured fun of Darwinism, Teetotalism, 'Stuart Mill on Mind and Matter,' and innumerable other questions of larger or smaller He also contributed articles on philoimport. logical science, and published a volume on the Greek anthology, illustrated with verse translations.

Henry Cockburn (1779-1854), as a Scottish judge called Lord Cockburn, was born perhaps at Cockpen, but more probably in the Parliament Close of old Edinburgh. He entered the High School in 1787, and the University of Edinburgh in 1793. 'We were kept,' he says, 'about nine years at two dead languages, which we did not learn.' But Dugald Stewart's lectures 'were like the opening of the heavens ;' and a debating club brought him in contact with Jeffrey, Horner, and Brougham, from whom he imbibed Whig opinions. He was called to the Scottish Bar in 1800; and in 1807 his uncle, the all-powerful Lord Melville, appointed him an advocate deputea nonpolitical post, from which, on political grounds, he 'had the honour of being dismissed' in 1810. He rose, however, to share with Jeffrey the leadership of the Bar, and with Jeffrey was counsel for three prisoners charged with sedition (1817-19). A zealous supporter, by pen as well as by tongue, of parliamentary reform, he became SolicitorGeneral for Scotland under the Grey Ministry in 1830; had the chief hand in drafting the Scottish

(1888); and Trials for Sedition in Scotland (2 vols. 1888). The Memorials has from the first been accepted as the most authentic, vivid, genial, and entertaining account of Edinburgh life, manners, and personages in the early nineteenth century.

Edinburgh Society.

There was far more coarseness in the formal age than in the free one. Two vices especially, which have been long banished from respectable society, were very prevalent, if not universal, among the whole upper ranks swearing and drunkenness. Nothing was more common than for gentlemen who had dined with ladies, and meant to rejoin them, to get drunk. To get drunk in a tavern seemed to be considered as a natural, if not an intended, consequence of going to one. Swearing was thought the right, and the mark, of a gentleman. And, tried by this test, nobody who had not seen them could now be made to believe how many gentlemen there were. Not that people were worse-tempered then than now. They were only coarser in their manners, and had got into a bad style of admonition and dissent. The naval chaplain justified his cursing the sailors because it made them listen to him; and Braxfield [the Scottish judge] apologised to a lady whom he damned at whist for bad play by declaring that he had mistaken her for his wife. This odious practice was applied with particular offensiveness by those in, authority towards their inferiors. In the army it was universal by officers towards soldiers, and far more frequent than is now credible by masters towards servants.

The prevailing dinner was about three o'clock. Two o'clock was quite common, if there was no company. Hence it was no great deviation from their usual custom for a family to dine on Sundays between sermons'that is, between one and two. The hour in time, but not without groans and predictions, became four, at which it stuck for several years. Then it got to five, which, however, was thought positively revolutionary; and four was long and gallantly adhered to by the haters of change as 'the good old hour.' At last even they were obliged to give in, but they only yielded inch by inch, and made a desperate stand at half-past four. Even five, however, triumphed, and continued the average polite hour from (I think) about 1806 or 1807 till about 1820. Six has at last prevailed, and half-an-hour later is not unusual. As yet this is the furthest stretch of London imitation, except in country houses devoted to grouse or deer.

The procession from the drawing-room to the diningroom was formerly arranged on a different principle from what it is now. There was no such alarming proceeding as that of each gentleman approaching a lady, and the two hooking together. This would have excited