nts of a country life; and when she
afterwards removed to London, and reappeared in brilliant and
distinguished society, she often reverted, with regret, to the bright
skies and cottage homes of Canonbie. In 1821, Mrs Richardson again
returned to Scotland, and took up her abode at Dumfries, partly from the
desire of being near her connexions, and partly for the sake of the
beautiful scenery surrounding that pretty county town. In 1828 she
published, by subscription, her first volume of miscellaneous poems,
which was well received by the public, favourably noticed by the leading
journals, and received a circulation even beyond the range of 1700
subscribers. A second edition, in a larger form, soon followed; and, in
1834, after finally settling in her native parish, she published a
second volume, dedicated to the Duchess of Buccleuch, and which was also
remarkably successful. From this time she employed her talents in the
composition of prose; she published "Adonia," a novel, in three volumes;
and various tales, essays, and fugitive pieces, forming contributions to
popular serials. Her later poems remain in manuscript. She maintained an
extensive correspondence with her literary friends, and spent much of
her time in reading and study, and in the practice of sincere and
unostentatious piety. Her faculties were vigorous and unimpared, until
the seizure of her last illness, which quickly terminated in death, on
the 9th October 1853, when she had nearly completed her seventy-sixth
year. She died at Forge, and was laid to rest in the church-yard of her
own beloved Canonbie.

[112] The memoir of Mrs G. G. Richardson has been kindly supplied by her
accomplished relative, Mrs Macarthur, Hillhead, near Glasgow.

THE FAIRY DANCE.

The fairies are dancing--how nimbly they bound!
They flit o'er the grass tops, they touch not the ground;
Their kirtles of green are with diamonds bedight,
All glittering and sparkling beneath the moonlight.

Hark, hark to their music! how silvery and clear--
'Tis surely the flower-bells that ringing I hear,--
The lazy-wing'd moth, with the grasshopper wakes,
And the field-mouse peeps out, and their revels partakes.

How featly they trip it! how happy are they
Who pass all their moments in frolic and play,
Who rove where they list, without sorrows or cares,
And laugh at the fetters mortality wears!

But where have they vanish'd?--a clo