uage any lyrical composition more delicately plaintive. It is
lamentable to think that one who could write so tenderly should, by a
dissolute life, have been the author of many of his own misfortunes, and
a constant barrier to every attempt for his permanent elevation in the
social circle. In person, he was rather below the middle stature; his
countenance was thoughtful, but marked with the effects of bodily
suffering. Owing to a club-foot, his gait was singularly awkward. He
excelled in conversation, and his manner was pleasing and conciliatory.

JEANIE'S GRAVE.

I saw my true-love first on the banks of queenly Tay,
Nor did I deem it yielding my trembling heart away;
I feasted on her deep, dark eye, and loved it more and more,
For, oh! I thought I ne'er had seen a look so kind before!

I heard my true-love sing, and she taught me many a strain,
But a voice so sweet, oh! never shall my cold ear hear again.
In all our friendless wanderings--in homeless penury--
Her gentle song and jetty eye were all unchanged to me.

I saw my true-love fade--I heard her latest sigh;
I wept no friv'lous weeping when I closed her lightless eye:
Far from her native Tay she sleeps, and other waters lave
The markless spot where Ury creeps around my Jeanie's grave.

Move noiseless, gentle Ury! around my Jeanie's bed,
And I 'll love thee, gentle Ury! where'er my footsteps tread;
For sooner shall thy fairy wave return from yonder sea,
Than I forget yon lowly grave, and all it hides from me.

THEY SPEAK O' WILES.

AIR--_"Gin a bodie meet a bodie."_

They speak o' wiles in woman's smiles,
An' ruin in her e'e;
I ken they bring a pang at whiles
That 's unco sair to dree;
But mind ye this, the half-ta'en kiss,
The first fond fa'in' tear,
Is, heaven kens, fu' sweet amends,
An' tints o' heaven here.

When two leal hearts in fondness meet,
Life's tempests howl in vain;
The very tears o' love are sweet
When paid with tears again.
Shall hapless prudence shake its pow,
Shall cauldrife caution fear,
Oh, dinna, dinna droun the lowe,
That lichts a heaven here!

What though we 're ca'd a wee before
The stale "three score an' ten,"
When Joy keeks kindly at your door,
Aye bid her welcome ben.
About yon blissfu' bowers above
Let doubtfu' mortals speir;