gardener to a neighbouring proprietor, but shortly verance, undebased by any of the alloys by which afterwards became factor or land-steward to Mr the former is too often accompanied. Miller of Dalswinton, Burns's landlord at Ellisland. Mr Cunningham had few advantages in his early days, unless it might be residence in a fine pastoral and romantic district, then consecrated by the presence and the genius of Burns. In his sixth year, in his father's cottage, he heard Burns read his poem of Tam o' Shanter an event never to be forgotten! An elder brother having attained some eminence as a country builder, or mason, Allan was apprenticed to him, with a view to joining or following him in his trade; but he abandoned this, and in 1810 removed to London, and connected himself with the newspaper press. In 1814 he was engaged as clerk of the works, or superintendent, to the late Sir Francis Chantrey, the eminent sculptor, in whose establishment he continued till his death, October 29, 1842. Mr Cunningham was an indefatigable writer. He early contributed poetical effusions to the periodical works of the day, and nearly all the songs and fragments of verse in Cromek's Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song (1810) are of his composition, though published by Cromek as undoubted originals. Some of these are warlike and Jacobite, some amatory and devotional-the wild lyrical breathings of Covenanting love and piety among the hills-and all of them abounding in traits of Scottish rural life and primitive manners. As songs, they are not pitched in a key to be popular; but for natural grace and tenderness, and rich Doric simplicity and fervour, these pseudo-antique strains of Mr Cunningham are inimitable. In 1822 he published Sir Marmaduke Maxwell, a dramatic poem, founded on Border story and superstition, and afterwards two volumes of Traditional Tales. Three novels of a similar description, but more diffuse and improbable—namely, Paul Jones, Sir Michael Scott, and Lord Roldan-also proceeded from his fertile pen. In 1832 he appeared again as a poet, with a rustic epic,' in twelve parts, entitled The Maid of Elvar. He edited a collection of Scottish Songs, in four volumes, and an edition of Burns in eight volumes, to which he prefixed a Life of the poet, enriched with new anecdotes and information. To Murray's Family Library he contributed a series of Lives of Eminent British Painters, Sculptors, and Architects, which extended to six volumes, and proved the most popular of all his prose works. His last work -completed just two days before his death-was a Life of Sir David Wilkie, the distinguished artist, in three volumes. All these literary labours were produced in intervals from his stated avocations in Chantrey's studio, which most men would have considered ample employment. His taste and attainments in the fine arts were as remarkable a feature in his history as his early ballad strains; and the prose style of Mr Cunningham, when engaged on a congenial subject, was justly admired for its force and freedom. There was always a freshness and energy about the man and his writings that arrested the attention and excited the imagination, though his genius was but little under the control of a correct or critical judgment. Strong nationality and inextinguishable ardour formed conspicuous traits in his character; and altogether, the life of Mr Cunningham was a fine example of successful original talent and perse The Young Maxwell. 'Where gang ye, thou silly auld carle? Ae stride or twa took the silly auld carle, And he has gane wi' the silly auld carle, He drew the reins o' his bonny gray steed, Of the comeliest scarlet was his weir coat, He has thrown aff his plaid, the silly auld carle, An' wha was it but the young Maxwell! 'Draw out yer sword, thou vile Southron ! That sword it crapped the bonniest flower 'There's ae sad stroke for my dear auld father! There's twa for my brethren three! An' there's ane to thy heart for my ae sister, Hame, Hame, Hame. Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be, tree, The lark shall sing me hame in my ain countrie. The great are now gane, a' wha ventured to save, Fragment. Gane were but the winter-cauld, And gane were but the snaw, I could sleep in the wild woods, Where primroses blaw. She's Gane to Dwall in Heaven. She's gane to dwall in heaven, my lassie, Oh, what 'll she do in heaven, my lassie? She 'Il mix her ain thoughts wi' angels' sangs, She was beloved by a', my lassie, She was beloved by a'; But an angel fell in love wi' her, Low there thou lies, my lassie, A bonnier form ne'er went to the yird, Fu' soon I'll follow thee, my lassie, Thou left me nought to covet ahin', I looked on thy death-cold face, my lassie, I looked on thy death-shut eye, my lassie, Thy lips were ruddy and calm, my lassie, There's naught but dust now mine, lassie, A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea. A wet sheet and a flowing sea, And fills the white and rustling sail, 'O for a soft and gentle wind!' I heard a fair one cry; But give to me the snoring breeze, And white waves heaving high, my boys, There's tempest in yon horned moon, 66 The wind is piping loud, my boys, The lightning flashing freeWhile the hollow oak our palace is, Our heritage the sea. My Nanie O. Red rows the Nith 'tween bank and brae, Though heaven and earth should mix in storm, I'll gang and see my Nanie O; My Nanie O, my Nanie O; My kind and winsome Nanie O, In preaching-time sae meek she stands, I cannot get ae glimpse of grace, The world's in love with Nanie O; My breast can scarce contain my heart, I guess what heaven is by her eyes, The flower o' Nithsdale's Nanie O; Tell not, thou star at gray daylight, My footsteps 'mang the morning dew, Nane ken o' me and Nanie O; The Poet's Bridal-day Song. Even while I muse, I see thee sit We stayed and wooed, and thought the moon Set on the sea an hour too soon; Or lingered 'mid the falling dew, When looks were fond and words were few. Though I see smiling at thy feet Five sons and ae fair daughter sweet; And time, and care, and birth-time woes Have dimmed thine eye, and touched thy rose ; In the Nanie O of Allan Ramsay, these four beautiful lines will be found, and there they might have remained, had their beauty not been impaired by the presence of Lais and Leda, Jove and Danaë.-Author's Note. 209 When words come down like dews unsought, Oh, when more thought we gave of old At times there come, as come there ought, A mother's heart shine in thine eye; The sons of Allan Cunningham have all distinguished themselves in literature, and furnish a remarkable instance of hereditary talent in one family. 1. Joseph DavEY CUNNINGHAM (18121851), late captain of Engineers in the Indian army, wrote a History of the Sikhs, an elaborate and able work, published in 1849, second edition in 1853. The author had lived among the Sikh people for eight years, and had been appointed to draw up Reports on the British connection generally with the Sutlej, and especially on the military resources of the Punjab. 2. ALEXANDER CUNNINGHAM (born in 1814), major-general of the Bengal Engineers, appointed Archæological Surveyor-general of India in 1870, Companion of the Star of India in 1871; author of The Bhilsa Topes or Buddhist Monuments of Central India, 1854 ; Arian Architecture, 1846; Ladak, Physical, Statistical, and Historical, 1854; The Ancient Geography of India, 1871; &c. 3. PETER CUNNINGHAM (1816-1869), many years clerk in the Audit Office; author of a Life of Nell Gwynn, 1852; Handbook of London, 1849; and editor of Walpole's Letters, Works of Drummond of Hawthornden, Goldsmith's Works, Johnson's Lives of the Poets, Campbell's Specimens of British Poets. Mr Cunningham contributed largely to literary journals. His Handbook of London is a work full of curious antiquarian and literary interest, illustrating the political and social history of the metropolis. 4. FRANCIS CUNNINGHAM (born in 1820), lieutenant-colonel in the Indian army, editor of the dramatic works of Marlowe, Massinger, and Ben Jonson, contributor to various literary periodicals, &c. Colonel Cunningham died Dec. 3, 1875. WILLIAM MOTHERWELL. WILLIAM MOTHERWELL (1797-1835) was born in Glasgow, but, after his eleventh year, was brought up under the care of an uncle in Paisley. At the age of twenty-one, he was appointed deputy to the sheriff-clerk at that town. He early evinced a love of poetry, and in 1819 became editor of a miscellany entitled the Harp of Renfrewshire. A taste for antiquarian research Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools supposedivided with the muse the empire of Motherwell's genius, and he attained an unusually familiar acquaintance with the early history of our native literature, particularly in the department of traditionary poetry. The results of this erudition appeared in Minstrelsy Ancient and Modern (1827), a collection of Scottish ballads, prefaced by a historical introduction, which must be the basis of all future investigations into the subject. In the following year he became editor of a weekly journal in Paisley, and established a magazine there, to which he contributed some of his happiest poetical effusions. The talent and spirit which he evinced in his editorial duties, were the means of advancing him to the more important office of conducting the Glasgow Courier, in which situation he continued till his death. In 1832 he collected and published his Poems in one volume. He also joined with Hogg in editing the works of Burns; and he was collecting materials for a Life of Tannahill, when he was suddenly cut off by a fit of apoplexy at the early age of thirty-eight. The taste, enthusiasm, and social qualities of Motherwell, rendered him very popular among his townsmen and friends. and truthful. As a poet, he was happiest in As an antiquary, he was shrewd, indefatigable, pathetic or sentimental lyrics, though his own inclinations led him to prefer the chivalrous and martial style of the old minstrels. From 'Jeanie Morrison. I've wandered east, I've wandered west, The love of life's young day! O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, The thoughts o' bygane years Still fling their shadows ower my path, And blind my een wi' tears! They blind my een wi' saut, saut tears, And sair and sick I pine, As memory idly summons up The blithe blinks o' langsyne. . . Oh, mind ye, love, how aft we left The throssil whistled in the wood, Aye, aye, dear Jeanie Morrison, Tears trinkled doun your cheek, Like dew-beads on a rose, yet nane When hearts were fresh and young, I marvel, Jeanie Morrison, Gin I hae been to thee As closely twined wi' earliest thochts Oh, tell me gin their music fills Thine ear as it does mine; Oh, say gin e'er your heart grows great Wi' dreamings o' langsyne? I've wandered east, I've wandered west, But in my wanderings, far or near, The fount that first burst frae this heart, O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, Since we were sindered young, I've never seen your face, nor heard But I could hug all wretchedness, Did I but ken your heart still dreamed The Midnight Wind. Mournfully, oh, mournfully This midnight wind doth sigh, Like some sweet plaintive melody Of ages long gone by: It speaks a tale of other yearsOf hopes that bloomed to dieOf sunny smiles that set in tears, And loves that mouldering lie! Mournfully, oh, mournfully This midnight wind doth moan; The voices of the much-loved dead Mournfully, oh, mournfully This midnight wind doth swell, To the dreamy joys of early years, On the heart's bloom-ay, well may tears Sword Chant of Thorstein Raudi. 'Tis not the gray hawk's flight o'er mountain and mere; 'Tis not the fleet hound's course, tracking the deer; 'Tis not the light hoof-print of black steed or gray, Though sweltering it gallop a long summer's day, Which mete forth the lordships I challenge as mine: Ha ha! 'tis the good brand Far isles of the ocean thy lightning hath known, And won him the glory of undying song. In a love more abiding than that the heart knows And noble blood springing, The smile of a maiden's eye soon may depart; My kindred have perished by war or by wave; ROBERT NICOLL. ROBERT NICOLL (1814-1837) was a young man of high promise and amiable dispositions, who cultivated literature amidst many discouragements, and died early of consumption. He was a native of Auchtergaven, in Perthshire. After passing through a series of humble employments, during which he steadily cultivated his mind by reading and writing, he assumed the editorship of the Leeds Times, a weekly paper representing the Gaping, ask me what lordships I owned at my birth; extreme of the liberal class of opinions. He wrote I clutch in my strong hand, That can their broad marches and numbers define. LAND GIVER! I kiss thee. Dull builders of houses, base tillers of earth, as one of the three hundred might be supposed to have fought at Thermopylæ, animated by the pure love of his species, and zeal for what he thought the people's interests! The poet died deeply regretted by the numerous friends whom his talents and virtues had drawn around him. Nicoll's poems are short occasional pieces and songs-the latter much inferior to his serious poems, yet sometimes displaying happy rural imagery and fancy. We are Brethren a'. A happy bit hame this auld world would be, If men, when they're here, could make shift to agree, I ken na why ane wi' anither should fight, My coat is a coarse ane, an' yours may be fine, The knave ye would scorn, the unfaithfu' deride; Ye would scorn to do fausely by woman or man; We love the same simmer day, sunny an' fair; Frail shakin' auld Age will soon come o'er us baith, WILLIAM TENNANT. In 1812 appeared a singular mock-heroic poem, Anster Fair, written in the ottava rima stanza, since made so popular by Byron in his Beppo and Don Juan. The subject was the marriage of Maggie Lauder, the famous heroine of Scottish song; but the author wrote not for the multitude familiar with Maggie's rustic glory; he aimed at pleasing the admirers of that refined conventional poetry, half serious and sentimental, and half ludicrous and satirical, which was cultivated by Berni, Ariosto, and the lighter poets of Italy. There was classic imagery on familiar subjectssupernatural machinery (as in the Rape of the Lock) blended with the ordinary details of domestic life, and with lively and fanciful description. An exuberance of animal spirits seemed to carry the author over the most perilous ascents, and his wit and fancy were rarely at fault. Such a pleasant sparkling volume, in a style then unhackneyed, was sure of success. Anster Fair sold rapidly, and has since been often republished. The author, 212 WILLIAM TENNANT, was a native of Anstruther, or Anster, born in 1785, who, whilst filling the situation of clerk in a mercantile house, studied ancient and modern literature, and taught himself Hebrew. His attainments were rewarded in 1813 with an appointment as parish schoolmaster, to which was attached a salary of £40 per annum-a reward not unlike that conferred on Mr Abraham Adams in Joseph Andrews, who, being a scholar and man of virtue, was 'provided with a handsome income of £23 a year, which, however, he could not make a great figure with, because he lived in a dear country, and was a little encumbered with a wife and six children.' The author of Anster Fair was afterwards appointed to a more eligible and becoming situation-teacher of classical and oriental languages in Dollar Institution, and finally professor of oriental languages in St Mary's College, St Andrews. He died in 1848. Mr Tennant published some other poetical works -a tragedy on the story of Cardinal Beaton, and two poems, the Thane of Fife, and the Dinging Down of the Cathedral. It was said of Sir David Wilkie that he took most of the figures in his pictures from living characters in the county of Fife, familiar to him in his youth: it is more certain that Mr Tennant's poems are all on native subjects in the same district. Indeed, their strict locality has been against their popularity; but Anster Fair is the most diversified and richly humorous of them all, and besides being an animated, witty, and agreeable poem, it has the merit of being the first work of the kind in our language. The Monks and Giants of Frere, from which Byron avowedly drew his Beppo, did not appear till some time after Mr Tennant's poem. Of the higher and more poetical parts of Anster Fair, we subjoin a specimen : Summer Morning. I wish I had a cottage snug and neat The bright-gowned Morning tripping up her side: And when the low Sun's glory-buskined feet Walk on the blue wave of the Ægean tide, Oh, I would kneel me down, and worship there The God who garnished out a world so bright and fair! The saffron-elbowed Morning up the slope Of heaven canaries in her jewelled shoes, And throws o'er Kelly-law's sheep-nibbled top Her golden apron dripping kindly dews; And never, since she first began to hop Up heaven's blue causeway, of her beams profuse, Shone there a dawn so glorious and so gay, As shines the merry dawn of Anster market-day. Round through the vast circumference of sky One speck of small cloud cannot eye behold, Save in the east some fleeces bright of dye, That stripe the hem of heaven with woolly gold, Whereon are happy angels wont to lie Lolling, in amaranthine flowers enrolled, That they may spy the precious light of God, Flung from the blessed east o'er the fair Earth abroad. The fair Earth laughs through all her boundless range, |