for his kindly disposition and
unobtrusive manners--for his enlightened love of country, and diligence
in professional labours, uniting, in a singularly happy manner, the man
of refined literary taste with the man of business and the useful
citizen.

YOUNG RANDAL.

TUNE--_'There grows a bonnie brier bush.'_

Young Randal was a bonnie lad when he gaed awa',
Young Randal was a bonnie lad when he gaed awa',
'Twas in the sixteen hundred year o' grace and thritty-twa,
That Randal, the laird's youngest son, gaed awa'.

It was to seek his fortune in the High Germanie,
To fecht the foreign loons in the High Germanie,
That he left his father's tower o' sweet Willanslee,
And monie mae friends in the North Countrie.

He left his mother in her bower, his father in the ha',
His brother at the outer yett, but and his sisters twa',
And his bonnie cousin Jean, that look'd owre the castle wa',
And, mair than a' the lave, loot the tears down fa'.

"Oh, whan will ye be back," sae kindly did she speir,
"Oh, whan will ye be back, my hinny and my dear?"
"Whenever I can win eneuch o' Spanish gear,
To dress ye out in pearlins and silks, my dear."

Oh, Randal's hair was coal-black when he gaed awa'--
Oh, Randal's cheeks were roses red when he gaed awa',
And in his bonnie e'e, a spark glintit high,
Like the merrie, merrie look in the morning sky.

Oh, Randal was an altert man whan he came hame--
A sair altert man was he when he came hame;
Wi' a ribbon at his breast, and a Sir at his name--
And gray, gray cheeks did Randal come hame.

He lichtit at the outer yett, and rispit with the ring,
And down came a ladye to see him come in,
And after the ladye came bairns feifteen:
"Can this muckle wife be my true love Jean?"

"Whatna stoure carl is this," quo' the dame,
"Sae gruff and sae grand, and sae feckless and sae lame?"
"Oh, tell me, fair madam, are ye bonnie Jeanie Graham?"
"In troth," quo' the ladye, "sweet sir, the very same."

He turned him about wi' a waefu' e'e,
And a heart as sair as sair could be;
He lap on his horse, and awa' did wildly flee,
And never mair came back to sweet Willanslee.

Oh, dule on the poortith o' this countrie,
And dule on the wars o' the High Germanie,
And dule on the love that forgetfu' can be,
For they 've wreck'd the bravest heart