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ground, was most rigorously looked after ; indeed, we had our harmless implements of war, we used to commence a hermetical sort of residence constructed inside the pile the action with the utmost regularity. I have not heard of firewood, where one or two of us actually bivouacked that any Bonaparte ever went out from amongst us, but through the summer nights to keep our property safe. this I know, that our attacks, skirmishes, rescues, and The decoration of the play-ground and ball-alley was an retreats, were conducted with a military truth which would other important piece of business ; the boughs were ge- have done honour even to the boyish days of the grand nerally procured (by right of custom) in some neighbour- Napoleon himself. The ice, too, was the scene of many ing wood; the baker's cart was pressed into the service, a well-remembered exploit. One winter the frost was so and after nightfall we set out, and were not long in load severe, that carts crossed on the ice at the fording place ing the cart with the finest branches we could get hold for ten or twelve days. When it began to give way, wo of, by the dim and uncertain light of a summer evening. amused ourselves by cutting large squares with hatchets, This part of the work was always performed the night and detaching them from the great body of the ice, mabefore the birth-day. One night, I remember well, while naging our frail rafts with long poles, and steering down we were all busy in the work of spoliation, some in the the water and through below the bridge. Two or three trees, some below, and others at the cart, we were rather of us had one afternoon hewn out a tolerably-sized raft; startled by the report of a musket in the very heart of it was thawing fast, and the river was running broad and our troop. We instantly made the best of our way through deep; we pushed away, got into the middle of the current, the wood, burst through the hedging, leaped the ditch, and made for the centre arch of the bridge, intending to and "cut and run before the wind,” as Byron somewhere sail through, and land at a green bank on the other side. says, as hard as we were able to scamper. We might By some mismanagement in the steerage, our flat-bottomed have saved ourselves the trouble, however, as it was only bark “missed poles," and, before we could say “ Robinson the gamekeeper of the district, an indulgent fellow, who Crusoe,” crash went the brittle raft against the pier of was merely trying whether we could stand fire or no. the bridge, and was in a twinkling smashed into a thouThe morning of the fourth of June, the birth-day of our sand pieces, leaving her crew in a most uncomfortable late" beloved sovereign,” saw us up with the sun, assem- situation. Luckily for us she went down, or rather, we bled on the play-ground, and ready for active service by went down, not at, but a few yards from, a dreaded place four o'clock. The pile was erected close by the river side, called “the deep hole,” caused by the constant eddying a few immense roots of trees, which had been washed of the water, where even a member of the Six Feet Club down by the winter spates, forming the foundation of our would have been deprived of daylight. We floundered labours, and a noble fir-tree the centre. The day was out from among the broken ice, wet to the skin, and shispent with all the madcap revelry and boisterous noise vering like leaves in the winter blast, laughed at by many, due to the occasion, and night saw us wander home as and pitied by few, got home, and did not attempt the iceblack as sweeps with dirt and gunpowder, and as ready, rafts till — next opportunity. as a long day of youthful toil and labour could make us, Dear to the memory are all these, and a thousand more, in the words of Montgomery, to
reminiscences of our early years, and endeared to us is
the scene of all these recollections,—
Dear is the school-boy spot
We ne'er forget, though there we are forgot."
There we are forgot !—a melancholy truth; yet there is a and who lives there yet for aught I know. She was a with no companion save our own thoughts, and reflecting good honest creature, but a singular one. She concocted
on the years which are passed by, which are gone--and a certain villainous compound of treacle and raw sugar, for ever!
F. which was, in common parlance, denominated clagumma vile name, it must be confessed. Many a goodly fellow's
The Editor. You will be pleased with the plaintive stomach did it disarrange, and many a dinner did it cause spirit which pervades the following lines : to stand over. Be that as it might, however, we were
ON REVISITING THE RHYMER'S GLEN, NEAR ABBOTSFORD. wont to smack our unsophisticated lips very sweetly after discussing a penny-worth of Nannie's far-famed mixture.
Returning from another clime,
I seek the haunts of olden time; This old woman kept a calender, and the fact was inti
Once more, at close of evening grey, mated to the natives by a sign above her door, which ran
Down Eildon's side I fondly stray, thus :—"A mangle kept here." One night, some of the
Once more with willing steps I turn wags about school took the liberty to erase one letter and
To thee, romantic Huntlyburn. transpose two others, so that, next morning, to the asto
Scene of my first poetic dreams, nishment of the beholders, the horror of Nannie, and the
Where all with fond remembrance teems; infinite delight of the perpetrators of the mischief, it read,
Here, as thy waters onward haste, " An angel kept here.” The old woman was exceedingly
I mark, in rapture, all the past, wroth at this doubtful sort of compliment. Nannie was
And muse on those delightful hours not a beauty, and she well knew she had little claim to such a title. This trick was not forgotten by her for
When first I sate among thy bowers. many a day; she laid the blame on the whole community, Thrice ten long tedious years have pass'd and insisted that the master should flog the whole school, Since with the dawn I left thee last; in order that the real offender might not escape; but No The glow of youth was on my brow, body, who certainly “ did the deed,” was as scarce in those
My step was firm and light,—but now days as he is now.
An alter'd man thy vale I seekThe winter season was another fruitful source of joy
Benumb'd my limbs, and wan my cheek. and amusement, and, while snow and ice lasted, we made good use of them. First, as to snow, the suburbans and Each year the world new changes knows, we were wont to contest the possession of the old bridge Thy stream the same for ever flows, with the most eager violence. The appearance of hun Soft gliding through the leafy brake, dreds of snowballs, flying like lightning from both sides, From Cauldsheil's dark unfathom'd lake, had a most picturesque effect : the balls often met mid And still remains as pure and free way, and split with a report which told with what birr As it of old was wont to be ; they were thrown. With caps drawn down, and jackets And groves of birch and hazels green buttoned up, and the arms of our advanced guard full of Still soften all thy fairy scene!
What changes hast thou mark'd of men,
And when the dawn flush'd o'er the earth, I laid me down Since first thou wast the Rhymer's Glen!
to rest, Since nightly in the moonlight clear
The frowning heavens my canopy, my bed the cheerless The fairies held their revels here,
waste. Till the gay skylark from the lawn
And, lo! within my dreaming sleep, the winds and storms Uprose to meet the silver dawn;
were gone, Since first the clanging bugle-horn
Like a child's sweet face was the smiling sky, so cheer. To envied toils awoke the morn,
fully it shone ; Callid of our land the pride and grace
And perfumes faint came o'er the sense, as from sweet To seek for glory in the chase,
gardens nigh, And brought the deer o'er hill and dale,
Upon the breeze swift odours pass'd, as love-thoughts on For safety to thy lonely vale.
a sigh. Thy sod has oft with blood been dyed,
At length, oh heavenly thing! I saw, afar unto the west, But now no more the warriors ride ;
A glorious sight, which yet doth dwell like music in my The dauntless Thistle and the Rose
breast; No longer meet as deadly foes.
It was the first green lovely thing that yet had struck my Long since the mighty spell is broke,
sight, That bound us to St Peter's yoke ;
And I felt as a loosen'd captive feels, when he looks on The monks, thy lords in days of yore,
heaven's loved light; Will tread this green recess no more,
I ran as runs the wild deer proud, when he hears the No more will chant the mystic strain,
clarion ring, Nor worship at St Mary's fane.
Or the Arab's thirsty war-horse, when he snorts the de The deer has left his woodland lair,
sert spring. Thy furze but screens the timid hare.
'Twas a lone and beauteous flower, which shed its perThe eagle from his cliff has flown,
fume on the air ; Succeeded by the hawk alone.
Like a stately herb which angels love, it stood in grandeur But in thy minstrel's lofty rhymes
there : Our souls revert to ancient times,
I thought on the rose and the violet, and I thought on And still in fancy hover o'er
the hairbell blue, The scenes that can return no more.
And the sensitive plant, and anemone, with its cup of silW. B.
ver dew; THE EDITOR. This little song is also by the same au
And I thought on the tulip and hyacinth, and the flowers
beneath the wave, thor. There is a pretty wildness in it, and it might be successfully set to music:
And the poison-staying asphodel, which was sown on the
dead man's grave; And I thought on all earth's fragrant flowers—and many
and sweet are theyO bury me deep in the trackless sea,
Of Aowers of passion, and scent, and love, which breathe Let the freshening breeze around me hover ;
in the poet's lay ;Let the soft bed of coral my pillow be,
But dearer, lovelier, sweeter far, was that odour-breathing And the circling waters lap me over.
flower, With their robes of green, and their eyes of pearl,
Which shed such perfume, faint and deep, the dreary Let the nymphs of ocean my vigils keep;
desert o'er. Let my bed be deck'd with the sapphire and beryl, And the waves' gentle murmur lull me to sleep.
It was not yellow, nor white, nor red, nor purple, nor For I have loved the ocean wide,
green, nor blue,
Nor like those flowers which poets clothe with fancy's And fearless rode o'er the rising billow; There let me repose beneath its tide,
Its leaves were rimm'd as the eve clouds are, with the Dearer to me than the downy pillow.
sun's last parting beamO bury me deep in the trackless sea, Let the freshening breeze around me hover ;
A soft, and a rich, and a golden shade, like a moon-teLet the soft bed of coral my pillow be,
flecting stream. And the circling waters lap me over.
And a warm and odorous scent breathed up, like a breeze
of the gentle west, W. B.
And a rosy glow tinged every leaf, like the depth of a The Editor. Indicative of a yet higher order of ge maiden's breast; nius, and of a more glowing imagination, is the follow- You might have deem'd it a heaven-loved flower, just ing composition, by one who has not hitherto come before fall’n from the summer sky, the world as a poet, but who certainly promises yet to And the dewdrop gleaming in its cup, the tear of an distinguish himself in that department of literature. Let
angel's eye. us request your attention to this production :
And a bubbling fount beside its foot gave music deep and THE FLOWER OF THE DESERT.A VISION.
Gentle, and soft, and musical, as the breathing of a child ; By J. W. Ord.
And its crystal depths were still and clear, as a winter No human form could I espy, no habitation there,
moonbeam's light, But only three black castle walls, most miserably bare ; And its heaving breast was full and fair, as a virgin's And near, two rotten leafless trees were staring on each bosom bright; other,
And the delicate murmuring melody, which at
throb And there they hiss'd with the hissing wind, like brother was heard, 'gainst a brother.
Was deeper, sweeter, more intense, than the song of the Away and away I wander'd, o'er the far and desert waste; forest bird, I went as if my life in heaven depended on my haste; A song like a zephyr sighing 'mong the gay and amorous And through the long and weary night I hurried on my trees, way,
As it fondles and kisses the panting leaves in its wanton For I sicken'd at the dreariness I had beheld that day;
Or the wild low chant of a fairy band o'er the grave of The Editor. Our next poem puts us in mind of a a sister dead,
question which we have long wished to ask you, Old Or the music of their silvery wings, as they float o'er the Cerberus ;-were you ever in love ? dreamer's head.
[The hair of Old Cerberus becomes first red, then And I knelt me down by that lonely flower, and I knelt black, then grey;
his eyes flash fire; and his whole by that crystal spring,
body is convulsed. A pause. And I drank from that stream, whose melody was deeper The Editor. Enough. We are answered. Here is than bird might sing ;
the poem : To the golden rim of the gentle flower I gave one fer nt
A LOVER'S HOUR. kiss,
By William Arndale. For I could not help but deeply love this child of the wilderness.
A star was twinkling in the west,
And rising o'er our woody hill ;
Turn'd looks of light on lake and rill;
Rustling o'er the pebbled strand, Are they glimpses dim of hidden joys and bright Elysian A low dull moan,-it seem'd to be gleams
The ripple dying on the sand ! The gifts of the guardian spirit kind that watches our couch in sleep,
Soft flow'd our thoughts that twilight hour, And thus gives token of coming bliss to those who mourn As I sat by thee in that lonely bower, and weep?
And gazed uncheck'd on those dark fringed eyes, Or are they glittering nothings, which attract the mental Where I saw reflected the deep blue skies, eye
And felt thy averted glance revealing Visions of things which dwell not in the earth, nor sea,
The tenderness which o'er thee stealing, nor sky
Made thee turn gently round with one full look, Unreal spirits sent to haunt the child of poetry?
A brief, a single look and all was told ! Guisborough, Yorkshire.
Sweet were our thoughts that silent hour, Old Cerberus. The man who wrote that has a highly As the moon beams checquer'd through our bower. poetical temperament, which ought to be encouraged. I And when our shadows startled thee, see he dates Guisborough, in Yorkshire ;—why is the And closer still thou crept to me, lyre of your old friend Danby, who now resides there, I felt thy bosom quickly prest silent ?
One yielding moment to my breast ! THE EDITOR. We know not the cause ; but we regret | Earth was forgot it was holy bliss the fact. If you are not tired
To love a maiden so gentle as thec ; Old Cerberus. Tired! My dearest EDITOR, I could And though we met in one deep kiss, listen to such compositions, enhanced, as they are, by the Our hearts were calm as that evening sea. rich, mellow, and manly tones of your voice, for a whole And then, thy hand was placed in mine, year.
And we knelt mid flowers in the pale moonshine; The Editor. We shall not tax your patience quite so And we vow'd in our hearts—for no words were spoken long, for there are only three other effusions which we That the link of true-love should never be broken. intend to separate at present from these mighty heaps be.. Colliston, September, 1829. fore and around us. The first is entitled
Old Cerberus. (Still much agitated.) An hour such
as is here described can only exist once in all this long and Like a boat on the wave
dreary life,—the first hour in which mutual passion is When a storm's in the sky,
confessed, is felt, is rejoiced in. Let it be locked up for Like the rose o'er a grave
ever in the innermost chamber of the heart. Men may When the winter is nigh
dream of living it over again ; but it is impossible. The Like a star when it streams
whole soul will never more foam and sparkle up so high. Through the clouds in their Aight,
Much of the ethereal essence has been expended, and what Like the fabric of dreams
is left, gradually subsides into the stale flat lees of ordiMid the slumbers of night,
Better to be a vampire, and dig up the Like the lamp that is lit
dead, than endure the misery of vainly lamenting over In the mist o'er the moor,
the shadows of the past ! Or the bubbles that flit
The Editor. Apropos of the dead, here is a sad and By the rude rocky shore,
gentle poem, which will tend to soothe your somewhat Is the vision of life in this tempest-tost clime,
perturbed spirit. It is the last we shall produce : A shadow fast fleeting-a moment of time.
By Thomas Brydson.
At most times I feel it a dreary thing
To walk in the churchyard alone,
Though the moments go by on sunny wing,
And bright is each sculptured stone.
Oh! the grisly likeness of Death is there,
And a heavy sadness weighs down the air.
I live and I move where those have moved,
Who beneath my feet decay;
I think of a home and of friends beloved,
And those sleepers, so once did they. The sport of his passions—the monarch of earth. They turn'd to that home, and the morning shine Drumlithie, near Stonehaven.
Brought the joy to their bosoms it brings to mine.
There's a voice in the dark rank grave-weeds too, formation upon this subject has since been put into our That mocks at my hope and fear :
hands, which we have much pleasure in now communi. “ He was young,—but he gasp'd out a long adieu, cating to our readers: The portrait already mentioned And we revel above him here."
having been shown to Mr Alexander Smellie, the son of Thus speak the intruders where man is less
the gentleman who printed the first edition of Burns's Than the weed in his poison'd helplessness.
Poems, he addressed a letter to Messrs Constable and Co.,
which, with their permission, we now subjoin, and which; Yet mournfully pleasing it is, I ween,
cannot fail to be read with interest : To read on the tomb of some long-lost friend, (While memory brings us the days that have been,)
Edinburgh, 8th Jan. 1830. How his life was blameless, and calm his end : “ GENTLEMEN,— As I have been requested to give my Then mingles a ray with our spirit's gloom
opinion of the original portrait of Burns recently discoHeaven in contrast with mortal doom.
vered, I think it right to state the opportunities I had of
judging of his likeness. From the beginning, I think, But many moods of mind there be
of January, 1787, when the first Edinburgh edition of Coming and going like light and shade
his poems was begun to be printed by my father, till O'er the green fields of summer—and blessed is he about the middle of April of the same year, I sat every
Whom the black cloud of sadness hath seldom sway'd. day at the opposite side of the desk, reading to Burns the At most times, though sunshine is in the sky, manuscript of his poems, while he corrected the proofI shrink from the lonely cemetery.
sheets. Some time after this period, I occasionally met
with him in Mr Hill's house. I also frequently saw The Editor. The many peris who still surround our
him at the meetings of the Crochallan Fencibles, a congates must exert their patience for a time, for we cannot yet give them admission to our paradise.
vivial club, consisting of many of the first literary chaOld Cerberus. Why should you? Are there not in
racters of the day, which met in a tavern kept by one numerable drivellers, who ought to be kept as far from Douglas, in the Anchor Close, where the members of you as midges from the sun ;-creatures that buzz in that corps used to pit the Poet and my father against each your ear ; and when you will not deign to listen to them, such ample opportunities of seeing him, it is somewhas
other in contests of wit and irony. Though I had thus seek for revenge, by attempting to sting you, although a wasp might as well attempt to sting Ben Lomond ?
curious that I do not recollect any thing at all remarkTHE EDITOR. Nay, let us part in peace with our con
able about his eyes, which some persons have described as
being so keen and penetrating. I cannot, however, fortributors ;-we have a liking for them all.
get the peculiarity of manner which he exhibited on his Enter Peter.
first appearance in my father's printing-office. He was Peter. Eighteen printer's Devils have just arrived in dressed much in the style of a plain country farmer, in a triumphal car, to convey the manuscript of the next
a grey coat, striped vest, and his usual buckskin breeches Number of the LITERARY Journal to the Printing-office. and boots. He walked three or four times from one end Old Cerberus. It is a contrivance of mine.
of the composing room to the other, cracking a long whip, is built after the fashion of an Eastern chariot ; and both
to the no small annoyance of the compositors and press the vehicle itself, and the four black horses which draw
men; and although portions of the manuscript of his it, I purchased as a present for the Editor in his Slip- poems were lying before every compositor in the house, PERS. (The Editor bows.) I have to request, in return, he never once looked at what they were doing, nor asked one favour,--that you will allow me to drive the manu
a single question. He frequently repeated this odd pracscript of the forthcoming Number to the Printer's my- tice during his visits to the printing-office, and always in self.
the same strange and inattentive manner. We had been The Editor. By all means.-Peter, order the Devils told, when the poems were first sent to be printed, and to enter and receive the copy.
before Burns had made his appearance in the printing
[Exit Peter. office, that they were the composition of a common illiOld Cerberus. I have long been distressed to think young man, the cracking of the whip, and the strangely
terate ploughman; and though I was at that time a that any of your immortal lucubrations should be con
uncouth and unconcerned manner of Burns, always imveyed to the press, just as if they were the writings of any pressed me with the notion that he wished to assume the ordinary man ; but I have now, by the present expedient, clownish appearance of a country rustic in a greater deobviated the difficulty. The triumphal car, as it heb
gree than what naturally belonged to bim. domadally gleams along Prince's Street, will be at once recognised, and many an anxious anticipation will be house, Dumfries, in 1796, when I was introduced to her
“I saw the original portrait, by Nasmyth, in Mrs Burns's awakened as to the contents of the succeeding Number.
by Mrs Riddel of Woodley Park, (not of Glenriddd, THE EDITOR. Our best thanks are due to you.
as she has been so often erroneously designated,) a lady [Re-enter Peter, followed by the eighteen Printer's much celebrated by Burns, and the writer of a very in
Devils. The Editor gives a quantity of manu- genious critique on his poetical works. I well rememscript to each, and then presenting his hand to Old ber, one evening shortly after his funeral, of this- same Cerberus, leads him out to the door, followed by lady, in a fit of enthusiasm, proposing to me to accomPeter and the Devils. Old Cerberus ascends the pany her to the burial place of Burns. We accordingly bor, and the eighteen Devils seat themselves in the went together, and at the dead of night planted laurels
The crowd assembled round the house give on his grave. Mrs Riddel, on my return from Dumthree cheers. Old Cerberus and the Devils bow tries to Edinburgh, gave me a letter of introduction to respectfully to the Editor, and the horses set off at the celebrated Clarinda, who at that time resided in the full speed. Exeunt the Editor and Peter into the Canongate. Clarinda was so kind as to read to me a house. The Scene closes.
number of the letters which she had received from Burns, many of which I have never seen in print.
“ Before I saw this portrait of Burns by Mr Taylor, REMINISCENCES AND RELICS OF ROBERT BURNS.
I had never seen any thing at all like him, except the en. We were lately enabled to lay before our readers some graving done by Beugo for the first Edinburgh edition of interesting relics of Scotland's favourite poet, Burns, and his Poems, which was, in my opinion, far liker than the also to give a full account of the discovery of a new and portrait by Nasmyth, from which it was taken. This highly interesting portrait of the bard. Some farther in- may have been owing to the engraver’s having, if I mis
A TRIBUTE TO THE GENIUS OF FERGUSON.
take not, had frequent sittings of the Bard, during the From another source we have been supplied with two progress of the engraving, in addition to Nasmyth's por- curious relics of Burns. The first is probably the last trait lying before him.
letter he ever wrote, bearing date “July 16th, 1796,” which “ The Portrait which I have now seen in the hands is two days later than any other hitherto published. He of the engraver, I think a remarkably striking likeness— died upon the 20th of the same month. It is a letter, adso much so, that I recognised it the instant it was shown dressed from the Brow, near Dumfries, to the late Mr to me. It is, in my opinion, much liker than that done James Gracie of that town, and is in these words, which * by Nasmyth. of this I conceive there cannot be the we copy verbatim from the original, now in our possessmallest doubt in the mind of any one who has a distinct sion : recollection of the features of the celebrated original. I pointed out to Mr Horsburgh, the engraver, what I
My dear Sir,— It would be doing high injustice to thought a small defect in the Portrait, which he said he this place not to acknowledge that my rheumatisms have would endeavour to correct in the engraving.
derived great benefit from it already ; but, alas, my loss of “ After what I have stated, I need not add that I have appetite still continues. I shall not need your kind offer - not the smallest doubt of the authenticity of this invalu- this week, and I return to town the beginning of next able Portrait.I am, gentlemen, your most obedient ser
week, it not being a tide week. I am detaining a man ALEX. SMELLIE.”
in a burning hurry. So God bless you! R. Burns.
Weden. Morn." These reminiscences are characteristic and striking.
We consider the other relic, which we obtain from the From another gentleman of respectability in Edinburgh we received, a few days ago, a communication containing
same source, still more curious : some curious particulars illustrative of Burns's popular “ About seven or eight years ago," says our informant, and beautiful song, My Nannie, 0." We willingly “ Mrs Burns presented me with a volume of The give his letter a place also :
World,' with many of Burns's holograph remarks written To the Editor of the Edinburgh Literary Journal.
upon it ; and on one of the blank leaves are the following
lines, written with a pencil, much defaced, yet pretty SIR,- None of the editors or biographers of our im
legible, and in Burns's hand.” i mortal Poet seem to know any thing of the heroine or
history of the beautiful song, "My Nannie, O.' Mr We are not aware that these lines have ever before ap: Lockhart, though latest of them, refers this song to the peared in print. They may aptly be entitled, a time when the Poet lived at Mossgiel, and ascribes it to
one of the many minor love attachments to which the Poet, be thinks, was so prone. This is a mistake. The “ Ill-fated genius! heaven-taught Ferguson ! circumstances which gave rise to it were these :—Burns What heart that feels, and will not yield a tear, published at Kilmarnock, as is well known, the first col To think life's sun did set ere well begun lected edition of his poems, which was printed and pub To shed its influence on thy bright career.
lished by John Wilson, bookseller and printer there, a Oh! why should truest worth and genius pine á worthy and respectable man, whom I knew well. While Beneath the iron grasp of want and woe,
the work was in progress, Burns resided in Kilmarnock, While titled knaves and idiot greatness shine that he might be at hand to furnish_manuscript for the In all the splendour fortune can bestow.” press, and revise the proof sheets. During that season, he was a frequent visitor at the house of Mr Wilson, who These lines are every way characteristic of Burns. We
was opulent and hospitable, and possessed taste and ta are at all times glad to be the means of rescuing from obliį lent enough to relish the charms of Burns's conversation. vion aught that may belong to the memory of the illus
Mr Wilson had recently before married a daughter of Mr trious dead; and there is no one to whose memory we William Sheriff, farmer at Broomhouse, in East Lothian ; are more anxious that justice should be done than to that and Agnes, an unmarried daughter of Mr Sheriff's family, of Robert Burns. familiarly called Nannie by her sister, was on a visit to Mrs Wilson at the time the printing of this volume was going on. Nannie was eminently beautiful, with sweet,
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC SOCIETIES OF ē engaging manners, and Burns was delighted with so fas
EDINBURGH. cinating a young creature. As he often spoke in her 5 praise, her sister-whom I have often heard mention the
circumstances suggested that he should make her the subject of a song. He said, “ That would not be difficult,
Saturday, 230 January. but that it would be necessary to place her among scenery David FALCONER, Esq., V.P., in the Chair. somewhat more poetical than the houses and streets of Kilmarnock.' He soon produced the admirable song, Present, - Professors Jameson, Ritchie, Brunton, Graham; My Nannie, 0;' in the MS., and also in the first edition
Drs Gillies, John Aitken, Coldstream ; C. G. S. Men
teath, Henry Witham, James Wilson, · Torrie, Mark of which, he described her as residing Behind yon hills
Stark, Adie, Esquires, &c. &c. where Stinchar flows' which hills she had never seenbat which term Stinchar, he afterwards altered to Lugar Red Sandstone near to Leicester, by Mr Foster;" com
THERE were read, 1st, “ Notices on Coal, under the New -both of them streams in the south of Ayrshire-on account of the softer name. The lovely Nannie, who was
municated by Henry Witham, Esquire; on which Pro
fessor Jameson made some observations, tending to prove maternal aunt to my wife—the latter being, indeed, named that this position of coal strata is not so unfrequent as has after her—married, soon after, Mr Morton, a respectable been supposed; and 2d, A paper “ On the Circulation of young man, whom she accompanied to the West Indies, the Blood in the Fætus, in Man and in the lower Animals,' where, some years after, both of them died, leaving two by Dr John Aitken. We regret that the utter impossibility children, with a competency for their support.
of rendering the subjects of these interesting communica“ Though I would prefer anonymous publication, yet tions intelligible to our readers, unaided by the diagrams if you think authentication of the facts I have stated of which accompanied the one, and the specimens which acimportance, you are welcome to subjoin, in place of my attempting a sketch of their contents:
companied the other, obliges us to forego our intention of initials, my name and address as in the envelope.--I am, Before the termination of the meeting, an experiment of &c.
a highly interesting nature was exhibited by Mr Reid. It is Mr Alexander Smellie was thirty years Secretary to the Society had occurred to this gentleman, that if the heat given out of Scottish Antiquaries.
by a small ball of chalk, exposed to the united action of oxy