for several months. On his return to England, he entered into
an engagement with the Messrs Lane of Cork, then the most eminent
brewers in the south of Ireland. To this work he devoted himself with
great energy, and was duly rewarded for his labour by almost immediate
success. The article he sold became exceedingly popular in the
metropolis; nor was he disappointed in the hope of realising
considerable pecuniary advantages.

For several years he had written very little. The necessity to make
provision for a rapidly increasing family, and the ambition to take a
high position in the business he had chosen, occupied his every hour,
and became with him a passion as strong as had ever moved him in works
of the imagination.

In 1847 there were slight indications of a return of the complaint from
which he had suffered in 1840, and he again crossed the Atlantic.
Although he returned considerably improved in health, he was by no means
well. Fortunately he had secured the services of a Mr Macdonald as an
assistant in his business, whose exertions in his interest were
unremitting. Mr Hume's health gradually declined, and ultimately
incapacitated him for the performance of any commercial duty. In May
1851 he died at Northampton, leaving a widow and six children.

As a song writer, Hume is entitled to an honourable place among those
authors whose writings have been technically called "the Untutored Muse
of Scotland." His style is eminently graceful, and a deep and genuine
pathos pervades his compositions. We confidently predict that some of
his lyrics are destined to obtain a lasting popularity. In 1845, a
complete edition of his "Songs and Poems" was published at London in a
thin octavo volume.

MY WEE, WEE WIFE.

AIR--_"The Boatie Rows."_

My wee wife dwells in yonder cot,
My bonnie bairnies three;
Oh! happy is the husband's lot,
Wi' bairnies on his knee.
My wee, wee wife, my wee, wee wife,
My bonnie bairnies three;
How bright is day how sweet is life!
When love lights up the e'e.

The king o'er me may wear a crown,
Have millions bow the knee,
But lacks he love to share his throne,
How poor a king is he!
My wee, wee wife, my wee, wee wife,
My bonnie bairnies three,
Let kings ha'e thrones, 'mang warld's strife,
Your hearts are thrones to me.

I 've felt oppression's galling chain,
I 've shed the tear o' care,
But feeling aye lost a