Success to our flag! and when danger is near it, May our pipes be heard playing "The Campbells are coming!" And an angel voice crying, "O dinna ye hear it?" Dinna ye hear it? dinna ye hear it? High o'er the battle's din, dinna ye hear it? High o'er the battle's din, hail it and cheer it! "Tis the Highlanders' slogan! O dinna ye hear it?" WE'LL HA'E NANE BUT HIGHLAND BONNETS HERE.1 Alma, field of heroes, hail! Alma, glorious to the Gael! Glorious to the symbol dear, Glorious to the mountaineer. Hark, hark to Campbell's battle-cry! It led the brave to victory; It thundered through the charging cheer, See, see the heights where fight the brave! Braver field was never won, Braver deeds were never done; Braver blood was never shed, Braver chieftain never led; Braver swords were never wet With life's red tide when heroes met! 1 This fine song was dedicated to Sir Colin Campbell. At the decisive charge on the heights of Alma, when the Guards were pressing on to share the honour of taking the first guns with the Highlanders, Sir Colin Campbell, cheering on his men, cried aloud, "We'll ha'e nane but Highland bonnets here!" How these heroic words acted upon his brave followers is well known.-ED. Let glory rear her flag of fame, SUCCESS TO CAMPBELL'S HIGHLANDMEN. All beneath an Indian sun, Another glorious field is won! Success to Campbell's Highlandmen! They march! the dauntless hearts and true! They march! the stainless bonnets blue! They dash the traitor columns through. Success to Campbell's Highlandmen! Chorus. Success to Campbell's Highlandmen! Success to Campbell's Highlandmen! They fought the traitors one to ten! Success to Campbell's Highlandmen! They charge! the bravest files they break! Hail, heroes of a glorious day! TO A WOUNDED SEA-BIRD. I marked the murdering rifle's flash, Thy wild scream 'bove the wailing blast, And ever as the swelling wave Thee and thy riven plumage gave Thy glossy neck, with terror strained, The sea-surf, foaming white. Away! on, on the proud ship flies; And he who struck thee from the skies- Feels not a pang for thee, poor thing! Of the cold careless sea. Thy mates, perchance to bathe their breast, With greetings soothing kind! How it will wring thy little heart, All glad, refreshed, and free! Thou'lt stretch in vain thy wounded wing, WILLIAM B. SCOTT. author, who in after years has written so much in biography, criticism, and poetry, does not appear to have been distinguished as a pupil. WILLIAM BELL SCOTT was born at St. Leon- | at the high-school of their native city; but our ards, near Edinburgh, September 12, 1811. The house then inhabited by his father Robert Scott, a landscape - engraver, was an oldfashioned villa, standing by itself, with a coat of arms over the doorway, both outside and inside of the house showing the characteristics of by-past days. Here his boyhood was passed with his two elder brothers and a sister younger than himself, who died when he was still in his teens. This house and sister he has commemorated in a sonnet, which we give among our selections: it also speaks of his loving, pious mother. His father had at this time a large workshop in Edinburgh, which the boys were in the habit of frequenting; and David the eldest having learned to engrave and etch, finally became a painter, the same course being followed by William. The boys were educated The earliest metrical compositions of William are described as of a very ambitious character, his first being a tragedy of the wildest description, which he diffidently persuaded his school companions he had picked up in the street! His first published poem was the "Address to P. B. Shelley," revised and reprinted in his late illustrated volume. It appeared in Tait's Edinburgh Magazine in 1831-32, and was followed by other pieces, and by several in the "Edinburgh University Souvenir," published at Christmas, 1834. This volume, emulating the annuals then fashionable, was written and produced by a few students in the theological section, these being the most intimate friends of Scott at this time, although he had long | Having organized the School of Art at Newbefore entered the Trustees' Academy of Art, and had determined his path in life. At the age of twenty-five he resolved to leave Edinburgh, and proceeded to London in Sept. 1836. He here became acquainted with Leigh Hunt, who was then editing the Monthly Repository, in which Scott printed a poem of considerable length called "Rosabell," afterwards re-christened "Mary Anne," by which he became favourably known. In 1838, when he was beginning to exhibit at the British Institution and elsewhere, he issued his first book, a very small one, called "Hades, or the Transit," two poems with two etchings by himself. This little volume, like his later ones the "Year of the World" and "Poems by a Painter," both of which in their original form were to some extent illustrated with designs by himself, is now an object of rarity and prized as such, although we believe the author would rather it had never been published at all, as the second of the two poems is a juvenile expression of the fact that there is a progress in human affairs as represented by history; and as this formed the motive in the scheme of the only large poem he has produced, the "Year of the World," which is so able and splendid as a whole, he would rather that the latter had stood quite alone. Before the "Year of the World" was produced Scott had taken a step which seriously militated against his position as a historical painter, by connecting himself with the newly-formed Government Schools of Design, and by leaving London, the centre of the arts in England. | castle-on-Tyne, however, he was fortunate to be commissioned by Sir Walter Trevelyan to paint eight important pictures for the saloon of his large house at Wallington. These pictures, four of the ancient and four of the later History of the English Border," are among the few excellent monumental works in painting yet existing in England. His eldest brother David, the author of two poems, and a painter of great intellectual activity, died in 1849, and William published his memoir in 1850. This volume was the beginning of his prose publications, which have now lengthened out to a considerable list. The next was "Antiquarian Gleanings in the North of England," followed by "Half-hour Lectures on the History and Practice of the Arts." The last we need to mention is "Albert Dürer, his Life and Works,” 1869. Previous to this the volume of miscellaneous poems entitled "Poems by a Painter” had appeared, the date of the first issue being 1864. Mr. Scott was now, if not one of the popular poets-which possibly he never can be--known to the initiated, and appreciated by the "inner circle," and he was content to remain so till 1875, when he thought the time had come when he "should put his poetical house in order." He accordingly issued a beautiful edition of the majority of his poems, entitled "Poems, Ballads, Studies from Nature, Sonnets, &c.,” richly illustrated by himself and his friend L. Alma Tadema, R. A. It is now many years since Mr. Scott returned to London, and finally took up his residence there. "But why?" she asked,-he only laughed,— Thou must live within green trees, Oh, the shower and the sunshine every day "Nay, nay, you jest, no wren am I, Nor thrush nor nightingale, And rather would keep this arras and wall "Tween me and the wind's assail. I like to hear little Minnie's gay laugh, And the whistle of Japes the page, Or to watch old Madge when her spindle twirls, And she tends it like a sage." Oh, the leaves, brown, yellow, and red, still fall, Fall and fall over churchyard or hall. "Yea, yea, but thou art the world's best Rose, "Nay, nay, sweet master, I'm no Rose, But a woman indeed, indeed, And love many things both great and small, Oh, the shower and the sunshine every day, "Aye, sweetheart, sure thou sayest sooth, But yet needs must I dibble the hedge, Then Minnie and Japes and Madge shall be And thou shalt hear my bugle-call For matin or even-song." Oh, the leaves, brown, yellow, and red, still fall, Fall and fall over churchyard or hall. "Look yonder now, my blue-eyed bird, See'st thou aught by yon far stream? He lifted her in by her lily-white hand, The wild-brier roses by runnels grow thick; And now tall elms from the wet mossed ground Oh, the leaves, brown, yellow, and red, still fall, Fall and fall over churchyard or hall. "O weary hedge, O thorny hedge!" I hear the cushat far overhead, And silence as sudden again. Oh, the shower and the sunshine every day "Maiden Minnie she mopes by the fire, And, oh, he is kind and true; Oh, the leaves, brown, yellow, and red, Fall and fall over churchyard or hall. "I lean my faint heart against this tree, I hold me up by this fair bent bough, The clouds like ghosts down into my prison Oh, the shower and the sunshine every day "I tune my lute and I straight forget To the sill where my Jesu stands; Fall and fall over churchyard or hall. "The golden evening burns right through My dark chamber windows twain: |