many specimens of which we find in his writings. An edition of his " Poems" was published about 1870, and a third edition, considerably enlarged, was issued in 1881. MARY MORRISON. Fareweel for ay to bonny Tay, Fareweel to Craigie Lea, Fareweel to native Highland hame, And fareweel ay to thee, Mary Morrison- The lily blooms in Logie bowers, But 1 maun broken-hearted lea' The fairest flower o' a', Mary Morrison- Oh, hadst thou been a cottage maid, And I a cottar swain, I might hae ta'en thee to the kirk And made thee a' my ain, Mary Morris on- But wae on fickle woman's love, And wae on warld's gear, And wae be on the fause, fause loon That wil'd awa' my dear Mary Morrison- I'll trust nae mair to woman's faith, I'll lean nae mair on woman's love; Adieu to bonny, blithe Dundee, And, Mary, fare thee weel; Fause as thou art, yet near my heart I'll bear thy image leal, Mary Morrison- THE MENDICANT. There's a puir auld mendicant at the door, For his cheeks are wan and his locks are hoar, Aye Elspa, my woman! gae bid him come ben, "Tis hard to gang a' day through cauld sleet and rain, Whist Collie! lie doun sir! come friend tak' a seat, 'Tis Yule Day, and a's welcome here; Rin Tibbie and bring the auld stranger some meat, Come wanderer sit doun !-lat your bonnet bide on, There, cut doun the kebbuck and gie him a scone, Here, carle, tak' ye aff this quegh o' maut bree !- How far hae ye come? "From the town of Dundee," Ye're gaun to Dunkeld say ye? vow man its late, E'en bide till the morn, and syne tak' the gate, The saut tear o' gratitude dimm d his howe e'e, "Ye're cripple puir body," said Elspa, and sich't, Ye're din visage swears till't, and gin I see richt, "Well guess'd my good matron," the mendicant said, "I've fought for my king on the main : In fourteen hard battle for him I have bled, And for him I'd fight yet again. But this old crazy hull rock'd and torn by time, Which faced every danger and brav'd every clime, And the land that I loved and bled to defend, Hath left my old war-worn bark at the end And yet, till the throb of my heart die away, My prayers by night and my prayers by day A POET keenly susceptible of the influences of natural scenery, and whose writings gives evidence of the possession of quiet homely humour, was born at Dunfermline, in 1819. His ancestors had been settled there for several generations, and were engaged in the weaving of damask in the days before steam power had taken the place of hand power in that trade. He received an excellent education, both classical and mathematical, at the Grammar school of his native town, and having some aptitude for drawing he became a pattern painter. He worked at this for some time in Dunfermline, and also in Glasgow and Paisley, but trade becoming dull, he was forced to abandon it. He subsequently was engaged in several vocations, and, among others, was schoolmaster for some time in one of the villages in the western part of Fife. For about twelve years he was settled at Charleston as clerk in the estate office of the Earl of Elgin. In 1865 he removed to Dalkeith, where he was engaged as auditor of accounts in connection with the estates of his Grace the Duke of Buccleuch. He was a man of considerable culture, had strong antiquarian tastes, and had made some parts of Scottish history a special study. His "Rhymes" as he called them, were written, often with long intervals between them, when some idea or whim would strike him, and which would haunt his thoughts until he had given it expression in verse. They were never published, but appeared either in the Scotsman, or in the newspapers of the locality where they were written. Mr Houston was held in high esteem by all who knew him. He was simple in his mode of life and tastes; shrewd, thoughtful, and the impressions of the woods and hillsides were to him some thing akin to religion. His life and character were alike placid and harmonious. In politics, religion, and ideas generally, his opinions were liberal, and always modified and toned down by the strongly retrospective bias of his mind. His poems are felicitious in subject and treatment. Many of them are humorous, and his character sketches are seasoned with quiet pawky wit. He died very suddenly of heart disease at Dalkeith, on the 8th September, 1879, and lies among his kinsmen and "forbears" in the old historical churchyard of Dunfermline,- -a place that was ever dear to him. THE WITCH'S STANE. In the west o' Fife there dwelt a witch, And she lived in a wee, wee hut that stood In a lonely spot where a little brook Ran wimplin' to the sea. The woods around this witch's hut Wi' native music rang The cuckoo's note, and the cushat's wail, And merrily sang that little brook The leafy summer lang. And when chill winter hushed the stream, The timid natives of the woods Her hut cam' trooping round, And at the hand o' this kindly witch And yet this witch's lonely hut Was a place of fear and dread; Not one of the neighbouring hamlet all For there they knew that deeds were done And to that hut was known to come And aft with him that terrible witch B He guiding the head o' the hellish steed, When decent folk for e'ening prayers A'e nicht Tam Broon his lantern took And wha did he see but the witch and her mate, Tam's hair maist liftit his bannet wi' fricht, A country waddin' cam' doon the loan, O, the lads they were braw, and the lassies were gay, But little they kent that Auld Nick and the witch Were marching up in the rear. So roond aboot Mess John they stood When quick the fiend and his partner witch But a' the pranks this witchie played How mony a thrifty country wife She bothered in mony a spell; How she bent the spin'le o' Rab's mill-wheel, At last this restless witch resolved So the beldame buckled her apron on, And frae aff the side o' a whinstane rock And, seizing her load, across the fields |