as a poet was exceeded by his skill as a
prose writer; he composed in prose with elegance and power. In 1815, he
published a memoir of Tannahill--an eloquent and affectionate tribute to
the memory of his departed friend--to which is appended an _eloge_ on
Robert Burns, delivered at an anniversary of that poet's birthday. In
1818, he published, with a memoir, the posthumous poetical works of his
relative, the poet Scadlock. His other prose writings consist of
pamphlets on a diversity of subjects.

At one period, M'Laren established himself as a manufacturer in Ireland;
but, rendering himself obnoxious by the bold expression of his political
opinions, he found it necessary to make a hasty departure for Scotland.
He latterly opened a change-house in Paisley, and his circumstances
became considerably prosperous. He died in 1832, leaving a family. He is
remembered as a person of somewhat singular manners, and of undaunted
enterprise and decision of character. He was shrewd and well-informed,
without much reading; he purchased no books, but was ingenious and
successful in recommending his own.[71]

[71] Mr James Bowie, of Paisley, to whom we are under obligations for
supplying curious and interesting information regarding several of the
bards of the west, kindly furnished the particulars of the above memoir.

NOW SUMMER SHINES WITH GAUDY PRIDE.

Now summer shines with gaudy pride,
By flowery vale and mountain side,
And shepherds waste the sunny hours
By cooling streams, and bushy bowers;
While I, a victim to despair,
Avoid the sun's offensive glare,
And in sequester'd wilds deplore
The perjured vows of Ella More.

Would Fate my injured heart provide
Some cave beyond the mountain tide,
Some spot where scornful Beauty's eye
Ne'er waked the ardent lover's sigh;
I 'd there to woods and rocks complain,
To rocks that skirt the angry main;
For angry main, and rocky shore,
Are kinder far than Ella More.

AND DOST THOU SPEAK SINCERE, MY LOVE?

TUNE--_"Lord Gregory."_

And dost thou speak sincere, my love?
And must we ever part?
And dost thou unrelenting see
The anguish of my heart?
Have e'er these doating eyes of mine,
One wandering wish express'd?
No; thou alone hast ever been
Companion of my breast.

I saw thy face, angelic fair,
I thought thy form divine,
I sought thy love--I g