escribes her as "a pretty girl, and of good
capacity." "Her hair," he adds, "was of a lightish brown, approaching to
fair; her eyes were dark, and had a sweet and gentle expression; her
temper was mild, and her manners unassuming." In 1823, Miss Morrison
became the wife of Mr John Murdoch, commission-agent in Glasgow, who
died in 1829. She has since resided in different places, but has now
(Whitsunday 1856) fixed her abode in the vicinity of Stirling. She never
met the poet in after-life, and has only an imperfect recollection of
his appearance as a boy. The ballad of "Jeanie Morrison" had been
published for several years before she became aware that she was the
heroine. It remains to be added, somewhat in justification of the poet's
juvenile passion, that Mrs Murdoch is a person of the most gentle and
amiable manners, and retains, in a very remarkable degree, that personal
beauty for which she was celebrated in youth.

WEARIE'S WELL.

In a saft simmer gloamin',
In yon dowie dell,
It was there we twa first met,
By Wearie's cauld well.
We sat on the broom bank,
And look'd in the burn,
But sidelang we look'd on
Ilk ither in turn.

The corncraik was chirming
His sad eerie cry,
And the wee stars were dreaming
Their path through the sky;
The burn babbled freely
Its love to ilk flower,
But we heard and we saw nought
In that blessed hour.

We heard and we saw nought,
Above or around;
We felt that our luve lived,
And loathed idle sound.
I gazed on your sweet face
Till tears fill'd my e'e,
And they drapt on your wee loof--
A warld's wealth to me.

Now the winter snaw 's fa'ing
On bare holm and lea,
And the cauld wind is strippin'
Ilk leaf aff the tree.
But the snaw fa's not faster,
Nor leaf disna part
Sae sune frae the bough, as
Faith fades in your heart.

You 've waled out anither
Your bridegroom to be;
But can his heart luve sae
As mine luvit thee?
Ye 'll get biggings and mailins,
And mony braw claes;
But they a' winna buy back
The peace o' past days.

Fareweel, and for ever,
My first luve and last;
May thy joys be to come--
Mine live in the past.
In sorrow and sadness
This hour fa's on me;
But light, as thy luve, may
It fleet over thee!

WAE B