The secret 's out, the secret 's out,
A doctor has been found, and the secret 's out!
For she finds at e'ening's hour,
In a rosy woodland bower,
Charms worth a prince's dower
To a love-sick maid.

ALEXANDER JAMIESON.

Alexander Jamieson was born in the village of Dalmellington, Ayrshire,
on the 29th January 1789. After a course of study at the University of
Edinburgh, he obtained licence as a medical practitioner. In 1819, he
settled as a surgeon and apothecary in the town of Alloa. A skilful
mechanician, he constructed a small printing-press for his own use; he
was likewise ardently devoted to the study of botany. He composed verses
with remarkable facility, many of which he contributed to the _Stirling
Journal_ newspaper. His death was peculiarly melancholy: he had formed
one of a pic-nic party, on a fine summer day, to the summit of
Bencleugh, one of the Ochils, and descending by a shorter route to visit
a patient at Tillicoultry, he missed his footing, and was precipitated
about two hundred feet into one of the ravines. He was early next
morning discovered by a shepherd, but only survived a few hours
afterwards. His death took place on the 26th July 1826. Possessed of
varied talents, and excellent dispositions, Jamieson was deeply
regretted by his friends. He left a widow, who died lately in
Dunfermline. His songs, of which two specimens are adduced, afford
evidence of power.

THE MAID WHO WOVE.[11]

_"Russian Air."_

The maid who wove the rosy wreath
With every flower--hath wrought a spell,
And though her chaplets fragrance breathe
And balmy sweets--I know full well,
'Neath every bud, or blossom gay,
There lurks a chain--Love's tyranny.

Though round her ruby lips, enshrin'd,
Sits stillness, soft as evening skies--
Though crimson'd cheek you seldom find,
Or glances from her downcast eyes--
There lurks, unseen, a world of charms,
Which ne'er betray young Love's alarms.

O trust not to her silent tongue;
Her settled calm, or absent smile;
Nor dream that nymph, so fair and young,
May not enchain in Love's soft guile;
For where Love is--or what's Love's spell--
No mortal knows--no tongue can tell.

FOOTNOTES:

[11] This song was addressed by Mr Jamieson to Miss Jane Morrison of
Alloa, the heroine of Motherwell's popular ballad of "Jeanie Morrison,"
and who had thus the singular go