A lawyer neist, wi' bletherin' gab, Accounts he had through a' the town, And tradesmen's tongues nae mair could drown; A norland laird neist trotted up, Cried "There's my beast, lad, haud the grup, "What's gowd to me?-I've walth o' lan'; A' spruce frae ban'boxes and tubs, A' clatty, squintin' through a glass, She bade the laird gang comb his wig, The fool cried "Tehee, I kent that I could never fail!"- And kept her bawbee. Richard Gall. Born 1776. Died 1801. A PRINTER in Edinburgh, who wrote some very beautiful Scottish songs. MY ONLY JO AND DEARIE O. THY cheek is o' the rose's hue, My only jo and dearie O; O sweet's the twinkle o' thine e'e! The birdie sings upon the thorn, When we were bairnies on yon brae, Our joys fu' sweet and mony 0; I hae a wish I canna tine, 'Mang a' the cares that grieve me 0; Thomas Campbell. CAMPBELL was born in Glasgow, on 27th July 1777. Born 1777. Died 1844. He was of an old Highland family, the Campbells of Kirnan; his father was a Virginia merchant in Glasgow, and gave his family, of whom Thomas was the tenth child, a good education. Thomas was distinguished at the University of Glasgow for his Greek translations; and in his fourteenth year he appears to have written English poetry, especially lyrical, with much taste and beauty. When still young, he removed to Edinburgh, where he took lodgings in Alison's Square. Here, in his twentysecond year, he composed "The Pleasures of Hope," which were published in April 1799; this work met with great success, and went through four editions in a year. He was enabled by the proceeds to take a tour on the Continent, where he wrote "Hohenlinden," "Ye Mariners," "The Exile of Erin," &c. On his return to Leith he was thought to be a spy, and a box containing papers was especially examined for proofs of his treason. The first paper they found contained "Ye Mariners of England," which, when published, spread his name like wildfire over the country. In 1803, the poet repaired to London, and devoted himself to literature as a profession, and for many years he was engaged in most severe literary labours; amid which, however, he found time to write, besides smaller pieces, "Theodric," published in 1824, and the "Pilgrim of Glencoe," published in 1842. The Government had, in 1806, given him a pension of L.200 a-year, and this, combined with the large sums derived from his poems and literary work, and a legacy left him in 1815, placed him in quite comfortable circumstances. In 1826, he received what he considered his crowning honour, in having been chosen Lord Rector of Glasgow University. In 1843, to restore his failing health, he settled in Boulogne, but his strength never rallied, and he died there on 15th June 1844. His remains were brought to London and interred in Westminster Abbey. The Polish Colonel Szyrma cast some earth from Kosciusko's grave upon the bier, as a tribute of his countrymen to the friend of Poland. FROM "THE PLEASURES OF HOPE." More pleasing seems than all the past hath been, Primeval HOPE, the Aonian muses say, When Man and Nature mourn'd their first decay; When Peace and Mercy banish'd from the plain, Thus, while Elijah's burning wheels prepare Auspicious HOPE! in thy sweet garden grow Wreaths for each toil, a charm for every woe; Won by their sweets, in Nature's languid hour, The way-worn pilgrim seeks thy summer bower; There, as the wild bee murmurs on the wing, What peaceful dreams thy handmaid spirits bring! What viewless forms the Eolian organ play, And sweep the furrow'd lines of anxious thought away. Lo! at the couch, where infant beauty sleeps, Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps; She, while the lovely babe unconscious lies, Smiles on her slumbering child with pensive eyes, And weaves a song of melancholy joy"Sleep, image of thy father, sleep, my boy; No lingering hour of sorrow shall be thine, No sigh that rends thy father's heart and mine; Bright as his manly sire the son shall be In form and soul; but, ah! more blest than he! Thy fame, thy worth, thy filial love at last, Shall soothe his aching heart for all the pastWith many a smile my solitude repay, And chase the world's ungenerous scorn away. Warsaw's last champion from her height survey'd, He said, and on the rampart-heights array'd : In vain, alas! in vain, ye gallant few! Dropt from her nerveless grasp the shatter'd spear, FROM "LOCHIEL'S WARNING." Lochiel. False Wizard, avaunt! I have marshall'd my clan, |