ledges his obligations to Dr
Jamieson, author of the "History of the Culdees," Dr Robert Anderson,
editor of the "British Poets," Dr John Leyden, and some others. On the
recommendation of Sir Walter Scott he was received into the General
Register House, as assistant to the Deputy-Clerk-Register, in the
publication of the public records. He held this office till 1836, during
a period of thirty years. Subsequently he resided at Newhaven, near
Edinburgh, and ultimately in London, where he died on the 24th of
September 1844. Familiar with the northern languages, he edited,
conjointly with Sir Walter Scott and Henry Weber, a learned work,
entitled "Illustrations of Northern Antiquities from the Earlier
Teutonic and Scandinavian Romances." Edinburgh, 1814, quarto. In 1818 he
published, with some contributions from Scott, a new edition of Burt's
"Letters from the North of Scotland."

Mr Jamieson was of the middle size, of muscular form, and of
strongly-marked features. As a literary antiquary, he was held in high
estimation by the men of learning in the capital. As a poet he composed
several songs in early life, which are worthy of a place among the
modern minstrelsy of his country.

MY WIFE 'S A WINSOME WEE THING.

TUNE--_"My Wife 's a wanton wee Thing."_

My wife 's a winsome wee thing,
A bonnie, blythesome wee thing,
My dear, my constant wee thing,
And evermair sall be;
It warms my heart to view her,
I canna choose but lo'e her,
And oh! weel may I trow her
How dearly she lo'es me!

For though her face sae fair be,
As nane could ever mair be;
And though her wit sae rare be,
As seenil do we see;
Her beauty ne'er had gain'd me,
Her wit had ne'er enchain'd me,
Nor baith sae lang retain'd me,
But for her love to me.

When wealth and pride disown'd me,
A' views were dark around me,
And sad and laigh she found me,
As friendless worth could be;
When ither hope gaed frae me,
Her pity kind did stay me,
And love for love she ga'e me;
And that 's the love for me.

And, till this heart is cald, I
That charm of life will hald by;
And, though my wife grow auld, my
Leal love aye young will be;
For she 's my winsome wee thing,
My canty, blythesome wee thing,
My tender, constant wee thing,
And evermair sall be.

GO TO HIM, THEN, IF THOU CAN'ST GO.

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