on has been acknowledged as the most successful effort of his
muse. It is scarcely inferior to the more celebrated composition of the
English poet.

In 1827, on the application of Mr Hume, M.P., a treasury donation of one
hundred pounds was conferred on Mr Balfour by the premier, Mr Canning,
in consideration of his genius. His last novel, "Highland Mary," in four
volumes, was published shortly before his death. To the last, he
contributed to the periodical publications. He died, after an illness of
about two weeks' duration, on the 12th September 1829, in the
sixty-third year of his age.

Though confined to his wheel-chair for a period of ten years, and
otherwise debarred many of the comforts to which, in more prosperous
circumstances, he had been accustomed, Alexander Balfour retained to the
close of life his native placidity and gentleness. His countenance wore
a perpetual smile. He joined in the amusements of the young, and took
delight in the recital of the merry tale and humorous anecdote. His
speech, somewhat affected by his complaint, became pleasant from the
heartiness of his observations. He was an affectionate husband, and a
devoted parent; his habits were strictly temperate, and he was
influenced by a devout reverence for religion. A posthumous volume of
his writings, under the title of "Weeds and Wild-flowers," was published
under the editorial care of Mr D. M. Moir, who has prefixed an
interesting memoir. As a lyrical poet, he is not entitled to a first
place; his songs are, however, to be remarked for deep and genuine
pathos.

THE BONNY LASS O' LEVEN WATER.

Though siller Tweed rin o'er the lea,
An' dark the Dee 'mang Highland heather,
Yet siller Tweed an' drumly Dee
Are not sae dear as Leven Water:
When Nature form'd our favourite isle,
An' a' her sweets began to scatter,
She look'd with fond approving smile,
Alang the banks o' Leven Water.

On flowery braes, at gloamin' gray,
'Tis sweet to scent the primrose springin';
Or through the woodlands green to stray,
In ilka buss the mavis singin':
But sweeter than the woodlands green,
Or primrose painted fair by Nature,
Is she wha smiles, a rural queen,
The bonny lass o' Leven Water!

The sunbeam in the siller dew,
That hangs upon the hawthorn's blossom,
Shines faint beside her e'en sae blue;
An' purer is her spotless bosom.
Her smile w