an' friends were few,
My heart was leal, my love was true;
I blest your e'en of heavenly blue,
That glanced sae saft on me, Mary!
But wealth has won your heart frae me;
Yet I maun ever think of thee;
May a' the bliss that gowd can gie,
For ever wait on thee, Mary!

For me, nae mair on earth I crave,
But that yon drooping willow wave
Its branches o'er my early grave,
Forgot by love, an' thee, Mary!
An' when that hallow'd spot you tread,
Where wild-flowers bloom above my head,
O look not on my grassy bed,
Lest thou shouldst sigh for me, Mary!

GEORGE MACINDOE.

George Macindoe, chiefly known as the author of "A Million o' Potatoes,"
a humorous ballad, in the Scottish language, was born at Partick, near
Glasgow, in 1771. He originally followed the occupation of a
silk-weaver, in Paisley, which he early relinquished for the less
irksome duties of a hotel-keeper in Glasgow. His hotel was a corner
tenement, at the head of King Street, near St Giles' Church, Trongate;
and here a club of young men, with which the poet Campbell was
connected, were in the habit of holding weekly meetings. Campbell made a
practice of retiring from the noisy society of the club to spend the
remainder of the evenings in conversation with the intelligent host.
After conducting the business of hotel-keeper in Glasgow, during a
period of twenty-one years, Macindoe became insolvent, and was
necessitated to abandon the concern. He returned to Paisley and resumed
the loom, at the same time adding to his finances by keeping a small
change-house, and taking part as an instrumental musician at the local
concerts. He excelled in the use of the violin. Ingenious as a mechanic,
and skilled in his original employment, he invented a machine for
figuring on muslin, for which he received premiums from the City
Corporation of Glasgow and the Board of Trustees.

Macindoe was possessed of a lively temperament, and his conversation
sparkled with wit and anecdote. His person was handsome, and his open
manly countenance was adorned with bushy locks, which in old age,
becoming snowy white, imparted to him a singularly venerable aspect. He
claimed no merit as a poet, and only professed to be the writer of
"incidental rhymes." In 1805, he published, in a thin duodecimo volume,
"Poems and Songs, chiefly in the Scottish Dialect," which he states, in
the preface, he had laid before the public