GEORGE MENZIES.

GEORGE MENZIES was born in the parish of Arbuthnot, Kincardineshire, on the 21st January 1797. His father was an agricultural labourer. On completing his education at a country school, he became, in his fourteenth year, apprentice to a gardener. He prosecuted his vocation in different districts; acted some time as clerk to the contractors of the Forth and Clyde Canal; laboured as a weaver in several towns in the counties of Forfar and Kincardine; and conducted unendowed schools in various localities. In 1833, he emigrated to Canada, where he taught in different seminaries, and afterwards formed a connexion with a succession of public journals. He ultimately became proprietor and editor of the Woodstock Herald newspaper. After a short illness, he died at Woodstock, Canada West, on the 4th March 1847, in his fifty-first year.

Menzies was possessed of good talents and indomitable energy. He wrote respectable verses, though not marked by any decided originality. In 1822, he published, at Forfar, a small volume of poems, entitled, "Poetical Trifles," of which a second and enlarged edition appeared five years afterwards. The whole of his poems, with an account of his life, in a duodecimo volume, were published at Montrose in 1854.

THE BRAES OF AUCHINBLAE.

As clear is Luther's wave, I ween,
As gay the grove, the vale as green;
But, oh! the days that we have seen
Are fled, and fled for aye, Mary!

Oh! we have often fondly stray'd
In Fordoun's green embow'ring glade,
And mark'd the moonbeam as it play'd
On Luther's bonnie wave, Mary!

Since then, full many a year and day
With me have slowly pass'd away,
Far from the braes of Auchinblae,

And far from love and thee, Mary!

And we must part again, my dear,
It is not mine to linger here;
Yes, we must part—and, oh! I fear,
We meet not here again, Mary!

For on Culloden's bloody field,
Our hapless Prince's fate is seal'd—
Last night to me it was reveal'd

Sooth as the word of heaven, Mary!

And ere to-morrow's sun shall shine
Upon the heights of Galloquhine,
A thousand victims at the shrine
Of tyranny shall bleed, Mary!

Hark! hark! they come-the foemen come

I go; but wheresoe'er I roam,

With thee my heart remains at home-
Adieu, adieu for aye, Mary!

FARE THEE WEEL.

FARE thee weel, my bonnie lassie;
Fare thee weel for ever, Jessie!
Though I ne'er again may meet thee,
Tell na me that I'll forget thee.

By yon starry heavens I vow it!
By my love! (I mayna rue it)—
By this hour in which we sever!
I will love but thee for ever.

Should the hand of death arrest me,
Think my latest prayer hath blest thee;
As the parting pang draws nearer,
I will love thee aye the dearer.

Still my bosom's love I'll cherish-
"Tis a spark that winna perish;
Though I ne'er again may meet thee,
Tell na me that I'll forget thee.

JOHN SIM.

JOHN SIM was born in Paisley, on the 6th of April 1797. His father, James Sim, was engineer in the factory of James Carlile and Sons, and was highly valued by his employers. In the Grammar-school, John made rapid progress in classical learning; and in 1814 entered the University of Glasgow, with a view to the medical profession. He obtained his diploma as surgeon on the 6th of April 1818. He commenced the practice of medicine in the village of Auchinleck, Ayrshire; but removed in a few months to his native town. His professional success was not commensurate with his expectations ; and in the hope of bettering his circumstances, he proceeded to the West Indies. He sailed from Greenock on the 19th January 1819, for Trinidad; but had only been resident in that island about eight months when he was seized with a fatal illness. The precise date of his death is unknown.

Sim was a young man of high promise. Early wedded to the muse, he was selected as the original editor of the "Harp of Renfrewshire." He published a small volume of poems and songs. His songs are somewhat imitative, but are remarkable for sweetness of expression, and are pervaded by genial sentiment.

NAE MAIR WE'LL MEET.

AIR-" We'll meet beside the dusky glen."

NAE mair we'll meet again, my love, by yon burn sideNae mair we'll wander through the grove, by yon burn side

Ne'er again the mavis lay will we hail at close o' day,
Nor ne'er again we 'll stray down by yon burn side.

Yet mem'ry oft will fondly brood on yon burn side,
O'er haunts which we sae saft hae trod, by yon burn side;
Still the walk wi' me thou 'lt share, though thy foot can
never mair

Bend to earth the gowan fair, down by yon burn side.

Now far removed from every care, 'boon yon burn side, Thou bloom'st, my love, an angel fair, 'boon yon burn side;

And if angels pity know, sure the tear for me will flow, Who must linger here below, down by yon burn side.

BONNIE PEGGY.*

AIR—“ Bonnie lassie, O!”

Oн, we aft hae met at e'en, bonnie Peggy, O!
On the banks of Cart sae green, bonnie Peggy, O!
Where the waters smoothly rin,

Far aneath the roarin' linn,

*This song is much in the strain of the popular song of " Kelvin Grove," which, it may here be remarked, has often been erroneously ascribed to Sim.