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Her broozled flesh an' broken banes

Are weel as flesh an' banes can be.
She beats the taeds that live in stanes,
An' fatten in vacuity!
They die when they're exposed to air,
They canna thole the atmosphere;
But her ! expose her onywhere,
She lives for her annuity. . .

The Bible says the age o' man

Threescore an' ten perchance may be ; She's ninety-four; let them wha can

Explain the incongruity.

She should hae lived afore the Flood-
She's come o' patriarchal blood--
She's some auld pagan, mummified
Alive for her annuity.

She's been embalmed inside an' out-
She's sauted to the last degree-

There's pickle in her very snout
Sae caper-like an' cruety;

Lot's wife was fresh compared to her
They've Kyanised the useless knir,
She canna decompose-nae mair
Than her accursed annuity.

The water-drap wears out the rock
As this eternal jaud wears me;
I could withstand the single shock,
But no the continuity.
It's pay me here, an' pay me there,
An' pay me, pay me, evermair;
I'll gang demented wi' despair-

I'm charged for her annuity !

;

ALEXANDER MACLAGAN (born at Bridgend, Perth, in 1811) published in 1841, a volume of Poems; in 1849, Sketches from Nature, and other Poems; and in 1854, Ragged and Industrial School Rhymes. In one of the last letters written by Lord Jeffrey, he praised the homely and tender verses of Maclagan for their 'pervading joyousness and kindliness of feeling, as well as their vein of grateful devotion, which must recommend them to all good minds.'-JAMES BALLANTINE (born in Edinburgh in 1808) is known equally for his Scottish songs and his proficiency in the revived art of glass-painting ; of the latter, the Palace at Westminster and many church windows bear testimony; while his native muse is seen in The Gaberlunzie's Wallet, 1843; The Miller of Deanhaugh; and a collected edition of his lyrics, published in 1856. In 1871 Mr Ballantine published Lilias Lee, a narrative poem in the Spenserian stanza, with other poems evincing increased poetic power and taste.-ANDREW PARK (born at Renfrew in 1811) is author of several volumes of songs and poems, and of a volume of travels entitled Egypt and the East, 1857. A collected edition of his poetical works appeared in 1854.-JOHN CRAWFORD (born at Greenock in 1816) published in 1850 a volume of Doric Lays, which received the commendation of Lord Jeffrey and Miss Mitford. -HENRY SCOTT RIDDELL (born at Sorbie, Wigtownshire, in 1798, died in 1870) was author of Songs of the Ark, 1831; Poems, Songs, and Miscellaneous Pieces, 1847; &c. Mr Riddell passed many of his years as a shepherd in Ettrick, but afterwards studied for the church.-FRANCIS BENNOCH (born at Drumcrool, parish of Durisdeer, Dumfriesshire, in 1812) settled early in London, and carries on business extensively as a merchant. He has written various songs and

short poems, and otherwise evinced his attachment to literature and art by his services on behalf of Miss Mitford, Haydon the painter, and others.— WILLIAM GLEN (1789-1826), a native of Glasgow, whose Poems have been published by Dr Charles Rogers (1874), was author of some popular occasional pieces and songs.-JAMES SMITH, a printer, has published a volume of Poems, Songs, and Lyrics (1866), containing many pieces of merit, especially those of a domestic and tender nature.

From The Widow-By A. MACLAGAN.

Oh, there's naebody hears Widow Miller complain,
Oh, there's naebody hears Widow Miller complain;
Though the heart o' this warld's as hard as a stane,
Yet there's naebody hears Widow Miller complain.
Though tottering now, like her auld crazy biel,
Her step ance the lightest on hairst-rig or reel;
Though sighs tak' the place o' the heart-cheering strain,
Yet there 's naebody hears Widow Miller complain.
Though humble her biggin' and scanty her store,
The beggar ne'er yet went unserved frae her door;
Though she aft lifts the lid o' the girnel in vain,
Yet there 's naebody hears Widow Miller complain.
Though thin, thin her locks, now like hill-drifted snaw,
Ance sae glossy and black, like the wing o' the craw;
Though grief frae her mild cheek the red rose has ta'en,
Yet there's naebody hears Widow Miller complain.

The sang o' the lark finds the widow asteer,
The birr o' her wheel starts the night's dreamy ear;
The tears o'er the tow-tap will whiles fa' like rain,
Yet there 's naebody hears Widow Miller complain.
Ye may hear in her speech, ye may see in her claes,
That auld Widow Miller has seen better days,
Ere her auld Robin died, sae fond and sae fain-
Yet there 's naebody hears Widow Miller complain. . . .
Ye wealthy and wise in this fair world of ours,
When your fields wave wi' gowd, your gardens wi'
flowers,
When ye bind up the sheaves, leave out a few grains
To the heart-broken widow who never complains.

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Refuses ae wee drap o' rain to nature parched and dry,
The genial night, wi' balmy breath, gars verdure spring
And ilka blade o' grass keps its ain drap o' dew.
Sae, lest 'mid fortune's sunshine we should feel owre
proud and hie,

And in our pride forget to wipe the
poortith's ee,

tear frae

FROM 1830

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This lady, the daughter of William Shore Nightingale, Esq., of Embley Park, Hampshire, is justly celebrated for her exertions in tending the sick and wounded at Scutari during the Crimean war in 1854-55. In directing and presiding over the band of female nurses, the services of Miss Nightingale were invaluable, and gratefully acknowledged by her sovereign and the country. She still (1876) continues her career of disinterested usefulness.

Wae's me for Prince Charlie.-By WILLIAM GLEN.
A wee bird cam' to our ha' door,
He warbled sweet and clearly,
An' aye the owercome o' his sang

Was, 'Wae's me for Prince Charlie !'
Oh, when I heard the bonny soun',
The tears cam' happin' rarely;

I took my bannet aff my head,

For weel I lo'ed Prince Charlie.

Quoth I: 'My bird, my bonny, bonny bird, Is that a sang ye borrow?

Are these some words ye 've learnt by heart, Or a lilt o' dool and sorrow?' 'Oh, no, no, no!' the wee bird sang; 'I've flown since mornin' early, But sic a day o' wind and rain

Oh, wae's me for Prince Charlie.

'On hills that are by right his ain,
He roves a lanely stranger;
On every side he's pressed by want-
On every side is danger
Yestreen I met him in a glen,

My heart maist bursted fairly,
For sadly changed indeed was he-

Oh, wae's me for Prince Charlie.

'Dark night cam' on, the tempest roared
Loud o'er the hills and valleys;
And where was 't that your Prince lay down,
Whase hame should been a palace?
He rowed him in a Hieland plaid,
Which covered him but sparely,
And slept beneath a bush o' broom-
Oh, wae's me for Prince Charlie.'

But now the bird saw some red-coats, And he shook his wings wi' anger: 'Oh, this is no a land for me;

I'll tarry here nae langer.'
He hovered on the wing a while,

Ere he departed fairly;

But weel I mind the fareweel strain Was, 'Wae's me for Prince Charlie.'

The Wee Pair o' Shoon.-By JAMES SMITH.

Oh, lay them canny doon, Jamie,
An' tak' them frae my sicht!
They mind me o' her sweet wee face,
An' sparkling ee sae bricht.
Oh, lay them saftly doon beside

The lock o' silken hair;

For the darlin' o' thy heart an' mine
Will never wear them mair!

But oh! the silvery voice, Jamie,

That fondly lisped your name, An' the wee bit hands sae aft held oot Wi' joy when ye cam' hame! An' oh, the smile the angel smile, That shone like simmer morn; An' the rosy mou' that socht a kiss When ye were weary worn!

The eastlin' wind blaws cauld, Jamie,

The snaw's on hill an' plain;

The flowers that decked my lammie's grave Are faded noo, an' gane!

Oh, dinna speak I ken she dwells

In yon fair land aboon;

But sair's the sicht that blin's my ee-
That wee, wee pair o' shoon!

DRAMATISTS.

Dramatic literature no longer occupies the prominent place it held in former periods of our history. Various causes have been assigned for this decline—as, the more fashionable attractions of the opera, the great size of the theatres, the love of spectacle or scenic display, which has usurped the place of the legitimate drama, and the late dinner-hours now prevalent among the higher and even the middle classes. The increased competition in business has also made our nation of shopkeepers' a busier and harder-working race than their forefathers; and the diffusion of cheap literature may have further tended to thin the theatres, as furnishing intellectual entertainment for the masses at home at a cheaper rate than dramatic performances. The London managers appear to have had considerable influence in this matter. They lavish enormous sums on scenic decoration and particular actors, and aim rather at filling their houses by some ephemeral and dazzling display, than by the liberal encouragement of native talent and genius. To improve, or rather re-establish the acted drama, a writer in the Edinburgh Review suggested that there should be a classification of theatres in the metropolis, as in Paris, where each theatre has its distinct species of the drama, and performs it well. 'We believe,' he says, 'that the evil is mainly occasioned by the vain endeavour of managers to succeed by commixing every species of entertainment-huddling together tragedy, comedy, farce, melodrama, and spectacle-and striving by alternate exhibitions, to draw all the dramatic public to their respective houses. Imperfect very imperfect companies for each species are engaged; and as, in consequence of the general imperfection, they are forced to rely on individual excellence, individual performers become of inordinate importance, and the most exorbitant salaries are given to procure them. These individuals are thus placed in a false position, and indulge themselves in all sorts of mannerisms and absurdities. The public is not unreasonably dissatisfied with imperfect companies and bad performances; the managers wonder at their ruin; and critics become elegiacal over the mournful decline of the drama! Not in this way can a theatre flourish; since, if one species of performance proves attractive, the others are at a discount, and their companies become useless burdens; if none of them proves attractive, then the loss ends in ruin.' Too many instances of this have occurred within the last thirty years. Whenever a play of real excellence has been brought forward, the public has shewn no insensibility to its merits; but so many circumstances are requisite to its successful representation-so expensive are the companies, and so capricious the favourite actors-that men of talent are averse to hazard a competition.

The tragedies of Miss Mitford and Lord Lytton were highly successful in representation, but the fame of their authors must ever rest on those prose fictions by which they are chiefly known. The Lady of Lyons is, however, one of our most popular acting plays; it is picturesque and romantic, with passages of fine poetry and genuine feeling.

Some of the dramatic productions of Mr Tom
Taylor have also had marked success.

THOMAS NOON TALFOURD.

Two classic and two romantic dramas were produced by THOMAS NOON TALFOURD, an eloquent English barrister and upright judge, whose sudden death was deeply lamented by a most attached circle of literary and accomplished friends, as well as by the public at large. Mr Talfourd was born at Doxey, a suburb of Stafford, January 26, 1795. His father was a brewer in Reading. Having studied the law, Talfourd was called to the bar in 1821, and in 1833 got his silk gown. As Sergeant Talfourd, he was conspicuous for his popular eloquence and liberal principles, and was returned to parliament for the borough of Reading. In 1835, he published his tragedy of Ion, which was next year produced at Covent Garden Theatre with success. His next tragedy, The Athenian Captive, was also successful. His subsequent dramatic works were The Massacre of Glencoe, and The Castilian, a tragedy. Besides these offerings to the dramatic muse, Talfourd published Vacation Rambles, 1851, comprising the recollections of three continental tours; a Life of Charles Lamb; and an Essay on the Greek Drama. In 1849, he was elevated to the bench; and in 1854 he died of apoplexy, while delivering his charge to the grand jury at Stafford. Ion, the highest literary effort of its author, seems an embodiment of the simplicity and grandeur of the Greek drama, and its plot is founded on the old Grecian notion of destiny, apart from all moral agencies. The oracle of Delphi had announced that the vengeance which the misrule of the race of Argos had brought on the people, in the form of a pestilence, could only be disarmed by the extirpation of the guilty race; and Ion, the hero of the play, at length offers himself a sacrifice. The character of Ion-the discovery of his birth as son of the king-his love and patriotism, are the chief features in the play, and are drawn with considerable power and effect. Take, for example, the delineation of the character of Ion:

Ion, our sometime darling, whom we prized
As a stray gift, by bounteous Heaven dismissed
From some bright sphere which sorrow may not cloud,
To make the happy happier! Is he sent
To grapple with the miseries of this time,
Whose nature such ethereal aspect wears
As it would perish at the touch of wrong!
By no internal contest is he trained
For such hard duty; no emotions rude
Hath his clear spirit vanquished-Love, the germ
Of his mild nature, hath spread graces forth,
Expanding with its progress, as the store
Of rainbow colour which the seed conceals
Sheds out its tints from its dim treasury,
To flush and circle in the flower. No tear
Hath filled his eye save that of thoughtful joy
When, in the evening stillness, lovely things
Pressed on his soul too busily; his voice,
If, in the earnestness of childish sports,
Raised to the tone of anger, checked its force,
As if it feared to break its being's law,
And faltered into music; when the forms
Of guilty passion have been made to live
In pictured speech, and others have waxed loud
In righteous indignation, he hath heard
With sceptic smile, or from some slender vein

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Agenor. Pardon me

Ion. Nay, I will promise 'tis my last request; Grant me thy help till this distracted state

Rise tranquil from her griefs-'twill not be long, If the great gods smile on us now. Remember,

Meanwhile, thou hast all power my word can give, Whether I live or die.

Agenor. Die! Ere that hour,

May even the old man's epitaph be moss-grown!
Ion. Death is not jealous of the mild decay
That gently wins thee his; exulting youth
Provokes the ghastly monarch's sudden stride,
And makes his horrid fingers quick to clasp
His prey benumbed at noontide.-Let me see
The captain of the guard.

Crythes. I kneel to crave

Humbly the favour which thy sire bestowed
On one who loved him well.

Ion. I cannot mark thee,

That wak'st the memory of my father's weakness,
But I will not forget that thou hast shared
The light enjoyments of a noble spirit,
And learned the need of luxury. I grant
For thee and thy brave comrades ample share
Of such rich treasure as my stores contain,
To grace thy passage to some distant land,
Where, if an honest cause engage thy sword,
May glorious issues wait it. In our realm
We shall not need it longer.

Crythes. Dost intend

To banish the firm troops before whose valour Barbarian millions shrink appalled, and leave Our city naked to the first assault

Of reckless foes?

Ion. No, Crythes; in ourselves,

In our own honest hearts and chainless hands
Will be our safeguard; while we do not use
Our power towards others, so that we should blush
To teach our children; while the simple love
Of justice and their country shall be born
With dawning reason; while their sinews grow

Hard 'midst the gladness of heroic sports,
We shall not need, to guard our walls in peace,
One selfish passion, or one venal sword.

I would not grieve thee; but thy valiant troop-
For I esteem them valiant-must no more
With luxury which suits a desperate camp
Infect us.
See that they embark, Agenor,

Ere night.

Crythes. My lord——

Ion. No more-my word hath passed.—
Medon, there is no office I can add

To those thou hast grown old in; thou wilt guard
The shrine of Phoebus, and within thy home-
Thy too delightful home-befriend the stranger
As thou didst me; there sometimes waste a thought
On thy spoiled inmate.

Medon. Think of thee, my lord?

Long shall we triumph in thy glorious reign.

Ion. Prithee, no more.-Argives! I have a boon To crave of you. Whene'er I shall rejoin In death the father from whose heart in life Stern fate divided me, think gently of him! Think that beneath his panoply of pride Were fair affections crushed by bitter wrongs Which fretted him to madness; what he did, Alas! ye know; could you know what he suffered, Ye would not curse his name. Yet never more Let the great interests of the state depend Upon the thousand chances that may sway A piece of human frailty; swear to me That ye will seek hereafter in yourselves The means of sovereignty: our country's space, So happy in its smallness, so compact, Needs not the magic of a single name Which wider regions may require to draw Their interest into one; but, circled thus, Like a blest family, by simple laws May tenderly be governed-all degrees, Not placed in dexterous balance, not combined By bonds of parchment, or by iron clasps, But blended into one-a single form Of nymph-like loveliness, which finest chords Of sympathy pervading, shall endow With vital beauty; tint with roseate bloom In times of happy peace, and bid to flash With one brave impulse, if ambitious bands Of foreign power should threaten. Swear to me That ye will do this!

Medon. Wherefore ask this now?

Thou shalt live long; the paleness of thy face,
Which late seemed death-like, is grown radiant now,
And thine eyes kindle with the prophecy
Of glorious years.

Ion. The gods approve me then!
Yet I will use the function of a king,
And claim obedience. Swear, that if I die,
And leave no issue, ye will seek the power
To govern in the free-born people's choice,
And in the prudence of the wise.

Medon and others. We swear it!

Ion. Hear and record the oath, immortal powers! Now give me leave a moment to approach That altar unattended.

[He goes to the altar. Gracious gods!

In whose mild service my glad youth was spent,
Look on me now; and if there is a power,

As at this solemn time I feel there is,

Beyond ye, that hath breathed through all your shapes
The spirit of the beautiful that lives

In earth and heaven; to ye I offer up
This conscious being, full of life and love,
For my dear country's welfare. Let this blow
End all her sorrows!

CLEMANTHE rushes forward.
Clemanthe. Hold!

[Stabs himself.

Let me support him-stand away-indeed

I have best right, although ye know it not, To cleave to him in death.

Ion. This is a joy

I did not hope for-this is sweet indeed.
Bend thine eyes on me!

Clem. And for this it was

Thou wouldst have weaned me from thee!
Couldst thou think

I would be so divorced?

Ion. Thou art right, Clemanthe

It was a shallow and an idle thought;

'Tis past; no show of coldness frets us now; No vain disguise, my girl. Yet thou wilt think On that which, when I feigned, I truly spokeWilt thou not, sweet one?

Clem. I will treasure all.

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SIR HENRY TAYLOR.

[Dies.

Although long engaged in public business-in the Colonial Office-MR (now SIR) HENRY TAYLOR is distinguished both as a poet and prose essayist. He is a native of the county of Durham, born in 1800, only son of George Taylor, of Wilton Hall. In 1827 appeared his play of Isaac Comnenus, which met with few readers,' says Southey, 'and was hardly heard of.' In 1834 was published Philip van Artevelde, a play in two parts, characterised by its author as an 'historical romance cast in a dramatic and rhythmical form. The subject was suggested by Southey, and is the history of the two Van Arteveldes, father and son, 'citizens of revolted Ghent, each of whom swayed for a season almost the whole power of Flanders against their legitimate prince, and each of whom paid the penalty of ambition by an untimely and violent death.'

There is no game so desperate which wise men
Will not take freely up for love of power,
Or love of fame, or merely love of play.
These men are wise, and then reputed wise,
And so their great repute of wisdom grows,
Till for great wisdom a great price is bid,
And then their wisdom they do part withal.
Such men must still be tempted with high stakes:
Philip van Artevelde is such a man.

As the portrait of a revolutionary champion, Philip is powerfully delineated by the dramatist, and there are also striking and effective scenes in the play. The style and diction resemble those of Joanna Baillie's dramas-pure, elevated, and well sustained, but wanting the brief electric touches and rapid movement necessary to insure complete success in this difficult department of literature. Two years after the historical romance had established Henry Taylor's reputation as a poet, he produced a prose treatise, The Statesman, a small volume treating of 'such topics as experience rather than inventive meditation suggested to him.'

The counsels and remarks of the author are distinguished by their practical worldly character; he appears as a sort of political Chesterfield, and the work was said by Maginn to be 'the art of official humbug systematically digested and familiarly explained.' It abounds, however, in acute and sensible observations, shewing that the poet was no mere visionary or romantic dreamer. The other works of Sir Henry are-Edwin the Fair, an historical drama, 1842; The Eve of the Conquest, and other Poems, 1847; Notes from Life, 1847; Notes from Books, 1849; The Virgin Widow, a play, 1850; St Clement's Eve, a play, 1862; A Sicilian Summer, and Minor Poems, 1868. The poetical works of Sir Henry Taylor enjoy a steady popularity with the more intellectual class of readers. Philip van Artevelde has gone through eight editions, Isaac Comnenus and Edwin through five, and the others have all been reprinted.

The Death of Launoy, one of the Captains of Ghent. From Philip van Artevelde, Part I.

Second Dean. Beside Nivelle the Earl and Launoy

met.

Six thousand voices shouted with the last :
'Ghent, the good town! Ghent and the Chaperons
Blancs !'

But from that force thrice-told there came the cry
Of Flanders, with the Lion of the Bastard!'
So then the battle joined, and they of Ghent
Gave back and opened after three hours' fight;
And hardly flying had they gained Nivelle,
When the earl's vanguard came upon their rear
Ere they could close the gate, and entered with them.
Then all were slain save Launoy and his guard,
Who, barricaded in the minster tower,
Made desperate resistance; whereupon

The earl waxed wrothful, and bade fire the church.
First Burgher. Say'st thou? Oh, sacrilege accursed!
Was 't done?

Second Dean. 'Twas done-and presently was heard a yell,

And after that the rushing of the flames!
Then Launoy from the steeple cried aloud
'A ransom!' and held up his coat to sight
With florins filled, but they without but laughed
And mocked him, saying: 'Come amongst us, John,
And we will give thee welcome; make a leap-
Come out at window, John.' With that the flames
Rose up and reached him, and he drew his sword,
Cast his rich coat behind him in the fire,
And shouting: 'Ghent, ye slaves!' leapt freely forth,
When they below received him on their spears.
And so died John of Launoy.

First Burgher. A brave end.

'Tis certain we must now make peace by times; The city will be starved else.-Will be, said I? Starvation is upon us.

...

Van Artevelde. I never looked that he should live so long.

He was a man of that unsleeping spirit,
He seemed to live by miracle: his food
Was glory, which was poison to his mind,

*In Crabb Robinson's Diary, vol. iii, is the following notice of Henry Taylor, then under Sir James Stephen in the Colonial Office: Taylor is known as literary executor of Southey, and author of several esteemed dramas, especially Philip van Artevelde. He married Lord Monteagle's daughter. He is now one of my most respected acquaintance. His manners are shy, and he is more a man of letters than of the world. He published a book called The Statesman, which some thought presumptuous in a junior clerk in a government office.' Southey said Henry Taylor was the only one of a generation younger than his own whom he had taken into his heart of hearts.

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