again aroused him to authorship. He made the publishers the subject of a
satirical poem in the _Scots Magazine_ of 1815. On the origin of the
_Edinburgh Magazine_, in 1817, he became a contributor, and under the
title of the "Literary Legacy," wrote many curious snatches of
antiquities, sketches of modern society, and scraps of song and ballad,
which imparted a racy interest to the pages of the new periodical. A
slight difference with the editor at length induced him to relapse into
silence. Fitful and unsettled as a cultivator of literature, he was in
the business of life a model of regularity and perseverance. He was much
esteemed by his employer, and was ultimately promoted to the chief
clerkship in his establishment. He fell a victim to the Asiatic cholera
on the 28th October 1834, in the 58th year of his age. During his latter
years he was in the habit of examining at certain intervals the MSS. of
prose and poetry, which at a former period he had accumulated. On those
occasions he uniformly destroyed some which he deemed unworthy of
further preservation. During one of these purgations, he hastily
committed to the flames a poem on which he had bestowed much labour, and
which contained a humorous description of scenes and characters familiar
to him in youth. The poem was entitled "Braken Fell;" and his ingenious
brother Allan, in a memoir of the author, has referred to its
destruction in terms of regret.[105] The style of Thomas Cunningham
seems, however, to have been lyrical, and it may be presumed that his
songs afford the best evidence of his power. In private life he was much
cherished by a circle of friends, and his society was gay and animated.
He was rather above the middle height, and latterly was corpulent. He
married in 1804, and has left a family.

[105] See _Scottish Monthly Magazine_, August 1836.

ADOWN THE BURNIE'S FLOWERY BANK.[106]

Adown the burnie's flowery bank,
Or through the shady grove,
Or 'mang the bonnie scroggie braes,
Come, Peggy, let us rove.
See where the stream out ower the linn
Deep headlong foamin' pours,
There let us gang and stray amang
The bloomin' hawthorn bowers.

We 'll pu' the rose frae aff the brier,
The lily frae the brae;
We 'll hear the birdies blithely sing,
As up the glen we gae.
His yellow haughs o' wavin' grain
The farmer likes to see,
But my ain Peggy's artless smile
Is