where he attended the parish school, then taught by the Rev. Thomas Reid, now minister of the parish of Airlie. Here he learned the trade of a shoemaker under his father, and here also all his early associations were formed. In company with his parents he returned to Dundee in 1840, where, with the exception of two years in Luthrie, Fifeshire, and another in Alyth, he has since resided. He was one of the founders of the Dundee Literary Institute, commemorated in the "Halls of Lamb," a parody of Byron's "Isles of Greece," by John Sime, which has been preserved by the late James Myles in his brochure 66 Foo Foozle." In August, 1865, he began and continued to carry on the movement which resulted in the adoption, on the 6th of September, 1866, of the Scotch Public Libraries' Acts by the electors of Dundee. In 1867 he drew up the Bill which became, with scarcely an alteration, the Public Libraries Act (Scotland), 1867, and which is still the principal Act. In September of the same year he was selected to catalogue the paintings and other works of art sent for exhibition on the occasion of the visit of the British Association to Dundee. The late Rev. Geo. Gilfillan called him "the father of the Free Library in Dundee;" and when he was unsuccessful in his application for the sub-librarianship of that Institution, Mr John Leng of the Dundee Advertiser appointed him to a place upon the literary staff of that paper, where he has continued during the last fifteen years.

Mr Begg's verses for the most part came under the general head of village sketches, and included character delineations, humorous and otherwise. Those of them that were printed formed detached portions of a more ambitious effort, which, however, never saw the light.

THE BONNIE WOODS OF LUTHRIE.

Ye bonnie woods of Luthrie, where often I did roam,
And found aneath your spreading trees a shelter and a home;
Where often, when the summer eve its mantle grey had spread,
I wandered in communion sweet with the illustrious dead;
Where names adorn th' historic page, as diamonds do the crown,
And shine as stars to lead mankind to honour and renown.
And, oh! how sweet at hours like these to hear the birdies sing,
To breath the fragrance of the flowers that from your bosom
spring;

Or, with the lark, the morning hymn to the Creator raise,
Till your remotest echoes join in concert to his praise.

Ye bonnie woods where I have por'd o'er many a gladsome theme,

Till nature cried through all her realms Jehovah reigns supreme; The tender plant, the stunted shrub, the dark, yet stately pine, With all the life which they protect, protection have from him. Proud Unbelief may hold its court in some polluted den,

Or from the haunts of lordly vice proclaim its victims- Men! Yet, rebels, ye have ne'er inhaled God's breath from off the flowers,

Nor felt your hearts with gladness leap beneath the summer showers.

A stern and cold philosophy o'ershadows all your view;
But all is bright around me here, though all be dark to you.
Come, let us to yon summer bower beside the crystal spring,
A garland I shall weave to you of many a beauteous thing;
"Twill teach you many a glorious truth from bounteous Nature's
store,

And waken feelings in your breasts ye never felt before;
But softly tread among the flowers, and o'er the grassy sod,
For every step you tread upon's a proof there is a God;
And silence proud philosophy, the heart must speak for you,
For he will taste the pleasure most that's most to Nature true.

The bonnie flowers that deck your paths, or blossom in your shade,

Though trod beneath the careless foot, and in the dust be laid,
Again resume their lovely forms, and all their beauties rare,
To man proclaiming as they spring, We're God's peculiar care;
So God protects the lowly plants among the sons of earth,
And throws around them every charm of goodness and of
worth;

And though the proud may tread them down, or coldly pass them by,

Triumphant they will rise again, protected from on high.

Then fare ye well, ye bonnie woods, I'll ne'er forget the hours That I hae spent wi' nature's book amang your shady bowers;

Nae mair I'll pu' the fragrant thyme frae aff your bosoms fair,
Nor rob you of the violet sweet that scents the e'enin' air,
The foxglove and the heather-bell, the brier, broom, and whin,
That busk sae braw in summer time the braes around Carphin;
And Nature's glorious feather'd choir, wi' sangs divinely sent
To wile me forth, and see how a' harmoniously are blent,
Nae mair will charm the ear or e'e o' him who lov'd to roam,
And found within your darkest nooks a shelter and a home.

Ye venerable, dark, pine woods, you'll long remember'd be,
For ye have been a source of life of joy and hope to me;
And though my hopes are blighted now, though I'm deceived by

man,

You're still the same to me as when our intercourse began.

O, heard you the tale o' our auld Dame Scott,
O, heard you the tale o' our auld Dame Scott;
For drinkin' you ne'er saw her marrow I wot,
I'd challenge the warld wi' auld Dame Scott.
Last nicht to the wars gaed auld Dame Scott,
Last nicht to the wars gaed auld Dame Scott;
But the wag o' a neive was the finishin' o't,
Sic a faint-hearted randy was auld Dame Scott.
She's a pest to the toon drucken auld Dame Scott,
She's a pest to the toon drucken auld Dame Scott;
An' ilka ane says that auld Nicky will trot
Fu' blythe awa hame wi' his ain-Dame Scott.

O, wad ye tak tent o' yer ways Dame Scott,
O, wad ye tak tent o' yer ways Dame Scott;
Then there wad be pleasure within yer ain cot,
An' the neebours wad welcome ye auld Dame Scott.
Syne there wad be peace wi' us a' Dame Scott,
Syne there wad be peace wi' us a' Dame Scott:
For aince ye hae scentit yer enemy's plot,
He'll scamper toom-handit awa-Dame Scott.

JOHN MACLEAY PEACOCK,

OPULARLY known as

“the Birkenhead Poet,”

was born at Kincardine, Perthshire, in 1817,

and died, of heart disease, in Glasgow in 1877. The

poet was left an orphan at an early age-his father, who was a mariner, having perished at sea. He was sent, when nine years of age, to a tobacco factory, where he earned 1s 2d per week, and a year or two afterwards, we are told, he worked as a "rivet laddie" in one of the shipbuilding yards on the Clyde. From this he in course of time emerged as a boiler maker, at which employment he continued a steady worker, except during times of trade depression.

In his early manhood he travelled a good deal in search of employment, and was at times engaged in shipbuilding yards throughout England, Ireland, and Scotland. He worked for several years in Spain, and he spent some of his happiest days in that romantic land, to which his Muse has paid a fervent tribute. After being married he settled in Birkenhead, where for some years he was engaged in a large shipbuilding yard, from which he was ultimately discharged on account of his prominent attitude in defence of the labour rights of his fellow men in their repeated struggles to attain higher wages and some mitigation in the hours of labour. Thrown out of employment when trade was in a stagnant state throughout the country, and in a delicate state of health, never very robust in his best years, he remained for a long time idle. During this gloomy period of inaction he published, with the aid of a few friends, a volume of poems entitled "Hours of Reverie, or Happy Reminiscences," which was well received, but brought "no grist to the mill," nor any amelioration of condition, beyond securing the admiration and sympathy of a few friends, who afterwards assisted the poet to open a small shop in Birkenhead for the sale of newspapers and periodicals. This venture succeeded remarkably well for a couple of years, when, strange fatuity of poetic unrest, he resolved to sell the business and

accept a situation as gate-keeper in a foundry in Glasgow, where he thought to end his days among a few remaining friends of his youth. His dream of pacific leisure did not last long when he was again thrown out of employment, which so depressed his mind that he gradually sank in debility and despair till death released his weary spirit.

In disposition Peacock was warm and confiding, and simple as a child in his character. Not a few of his misfortunes resulted from his outspoken eagerness to grapple error and confute sophistry. In 1880 Mr Walter Lewin, of Birkenhead, with whom the poet had consigned his MSS. before his death, commemorated the poet's career in a book brought out for the benefit of Mrs Peacock, who also received the kind attention of Mrs Robert Leighton, the respected widow of the well-known poet of that name. As a poet Peacock is entitled to rank with the minor bards of his country, being distinguished for shrewdness, deep earnestness, and an honest hatred of all shams. In many of his pieces there is a tenderness and pathos that speak to the heart.

In a lengthened review of his book in the Cheshire Observer, Mr Wm. Reid, one of our first series poets, wrote as follows:-" We learn from an extract which the author quotes from the preface of his first edition, that his lot in life has been a sadly chequered one, and most inauspicious to the cultivation of belles lettres and bardic lore. Indeed, we fail to recall any instance of similar disadvantages recorded in the life of any preceding poet of note that we are aware of, whose genius has been associated with such unfavourable obstacles to a successful flight in the region of poesy. While we venture so far in asserting this, we do not forget comparative assimilations in the lives of three poets of unequal fame-poor Bloomfield toiling in his garret for his daily bread in the humble capacity of a shoemaker; the high