and most lively fancy, she had early
improved a taste for versifying, and acquired the habit of readily
clothing her thoughts in the language of poetry. She became the mother
of ten children; and she relieved the toils of their upbringing, as well
as administered to the improvement of their youthful minds, by her
occasional exercises in verse. Her four volumes of MS. poetry contain
lyrics dated as having been written from the early period of her
marriage to nearly the time of her decease. The topics are generally
domestic, and her strain is lively and humorous; in pathetic pieces she
is tender and singularly touching. Possessed of a correct musical ear,
she readily parodied the more popular songs, or adapted words to their
airs, with the view of interesting her friends, or producing good humour
and happiness in the family circle. She had formed the acquaintance of
Neil Gow, the celebrated violinist, and composed, at his particular
request, the words to his popular tune "Farewell to Whisky,"--the only
lyric from her pen which has hitherto been published. In all the
collections of Scottish song, it appears as anonymous. In the present
work, it is printed from a copy in one of her MS. volumes.

Mrs Lyon died on the 14th September 1840, having survived her husband
about two years, and seen the greater number of her children carried to
the grave. Entirely free of literary ambition, she bequeathed her MSS.
to the widow of one of her sons, to whom she was devotedly attached,
accompanied by a request, inscribed in rhyme at the beginning of the
first volume, that the compositions might not be printed, unless in the
event of a deficiency in the family funds. Their origin is thus
described:--

"Written off-hand, as one may say,
Perhaps upon a rainy day,
Perhaps while at the cradle rocking.
Instead of knitting at a stocking,
She 'd catch a paper, pen, and ink,
And easily the verses clink.
Perhaps a headache at a time
Would make her on her bed recline,
And rather than be merely idle,
She 'd give her fancy rein and bridle.
She neither wanted lamp nor oil,
Nor found composing any toil;
As for correction's iron wand,
She never took it in her hand;
And can, with conscience clear, declare,
She ne'er neglected house affair,
Nor put her little babes aside,
To take on Pegasus a ride.
Rather let pens and paper flame,
Than any mother have the shame