ses of the farmers at the annual Falkirk _trysts_, put him in
possession of all the printed ballad literature which that town could
supply. In his eleventh year he entered, in a humble capacity, the
Carron Iron Works; where he had some opportunity of improving himself in
scholarship, and gratifying his taste for books. He travelled from
Carron to Glasgow, a distance of twenty-three miles, to procure a copy
of Ossian. Improving his musical predilections, he was found qualified,
while still a young man, to officiate as precentor, or leader of the
psalmody, in the church of his native parish. Resigning this
appointment, and his situation in the Carron Works, he for some time
taught church music in the neighbouring towns. On an invitation from the
Kirk-session and congregation, he became precentor in the Old Kirk,
Edinburgh; and in this office gained the active friendship of the
respected clergyman, Dr Macknight.

Having attained a scientific acquaintance with the theory and practice
of his art, Mr Finlayson resigned his appointment in the capital, and
proceeded to the provinces as an instructor in vocal music. He visited
the principal towns in the east and southern districts of Scotland, and
was generally successful. During his professional visit to Dumfries in
1820, he became one of the founders of the Burns' Club in that town.
After a short absence in Canada, he settled in Kircudbright as a wine
and spirit merchant. In 1832 he was appointed to the office of
postmaster. Having retired from business a few years since, he enjoys
the fruits of a well-earned competency. He has contributed songs to
Blackie's "Book of Scottish Song," and other collections. His song
beginning "Oh, my love 's bonnie!" has been translated into German, and
published with music at Leipsic.

THE BARD STRIKES HIS HARP.

The bard strikes his harp, the wild woods among,
And echo repeats to the breezes his strain;
Enraptured, the small birds around his seat throng,
And the lambkins, delighted, stand mute on the plain.
He sings of the pleasures his young bosom knew,
When beauty inspired him, and love was the theme;
While his harp, ever faithful, awakes them anew,
And a tear dims his eye as he breathes the loved name.

The hearths that bade welcome, the tongues that gave praise,
Are now cold to his sorrows, and mute to his wail!
E'en the oak, his sole shelter, rude winter decays,
And