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-
And fareweel ay to thee.

The lily blooms in Logie bowers,
The rose in Logie shaw;

But 1 maun broken-hearted lea'

The fairest flower o' a', Mary Morrison-
The fairest flower o' a'.

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-
And made thee a' my ain.

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-
That wil'd awa' my dear.

I'll trust nae mair to woman's faith,
I'll woo nae mair her smile,

I'll lean nae mair on woman's love;
'Tis a' a cheating wile, Mary Morrison-
'Tis a' a cheating wile.

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-
I'll bear thy image leal.

THE MENDICANT.

There's a puir auld mendicant at the door,
Oh, gi'e him a handfu' o' meal;

For his cheeks are wan and his locks are hoar,
And his body is bent wi' eil'.

Aye Elspa, my woman! gae bid him come ben,
And birsle his hands at the low:

"Tis hard to gang a' day through cauld sleet and rain,
Wi' the snaw o' auld age on ane's pow.

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,
And a drap o' your best highland cheer.

Come wanderer sit doun !-lat your bonnet bide on,
The puir man's a lord in my ha';

There, cut doun the kebbuck and gie him a scone,
He maunna gae hungry awa'.

Here, carle, tak' ye aff this quegh o' maut bree !-
It will cheer your auld heart for a while;

How far hae ye come? "From the town of Dundee,"
Hech man! that is twenty lang mile.

Ye're gaun to Dunkeld say ye? vow man its late,
And snell blaws the drift ower the lea;

E'en bide till the morn, and syne tak' the gate,
Ye'se get the best fare we can gi'e.

The saut tear o' gratitude dimm d his howe e'e,
And birr'd ower his time-furrow'd cheek:
He drew doun his bonnet out ower his e'e bree;
His heart was ower thankfu' to speak.

"Ye're cripple puir body," said Elspa, and sich't,
"I'se warrant ye've been at the wars;

Ye're din visage swears till't, and gin I see richt,
Its hackit wi' awsome-like scars."

"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,
So tight and unleaky before,

Which faced every danger and brav'd every clime,
Must plough the deep billows no more.

And the land that I loved and bled to defend,
When foes and invaders were rife,

Hath left my old war-worn bark at the end
To drift 'mid the storms of life.

And yet, till the throb of my heart die away,
And time hath run out its last sand,

My prayers by night and my prayers by day
Shall be for the dear loved land."

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 a right weird witch was she;

And she lived in a wee, wee hut that stood
Beneath a beechen tree,

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 the blackbird's powerful sang :

And merrily sang that little brook

The leafy summer lang.

And when chill winter hushed the stream,
And snaw lay on the ground,

The timid natives of the woods

Her hut cam' trooping round,

And at the hand o' this kindly witch
Their sustentation found.

And yet this witch's lonely hut

Was a place of fear and dread;

Not one of the neighbouring hamlet all
But from its precincts fled;

For there they knew that deeds were done
Enough to raise the dead.

And to that hut was known to come
The Enemy of mankind,

And aft with him that terrible witch
Rode out on the midnight wind,

B

He guiding the head o' the hellish steed,
While she held on behind.

When decent folk for e'ening prayers
Around the fire would come,
Wi' the holy psalm a bass would start
Of more than mortal hum,
And whiles a hurl o' blinding soot
Cam' tumbling doon the lum.

A'e nicht Tam Broon his lantern took
To supper the horse i' the gloamin',

And wha did he see but the witch and her mate,
About the stackyard roamin'.

Tam's hair maist liftit his bannet wi' fricht,
And his dog to the house ran moanin'.

A country waddin' cam' doon the loan,
To the manse o' the minister here;

O, the lads they were braw, and the lassies were gay,
And loud was their daffin' and cheer;

But little they kent that Auld Nick and the witch Were marching up in the rear.

So roond aboot Mess John they stood
As he married the youthfu' pair,-
Till, in conclusion, he raised his hand
In the holy act of prayer-

When quick the fiend and his partner witch
Flew aff on the murky air.

But a' the pranks this witchie played
Would be ower lang to tell;

How mony a thrifty country wife

She bothered in mony a spell;

How she bent the spin'le o' Rab's mill-wheel,
And coupit the auld kirk bell.

At last this restless witch resolved
That she would set up a stane,
That should to future ages show
Her strength o' muscle and bane,
And tell to future times how much
A witch could lift her lane.

So the beldame buckled her apron on,
And doon to the sea she went,

And frae aff the side o' a whinstane rock
A ponderous block she rent,

And, seizing her load, across the fields
Her daring steps she bent.