While cushats coo round the mill of Glenlee, And little birds sing on the thorn, Ye might hear the bonnie heather bleat croak In the wilds of Garryhorn. "Tis bonnie to see at the Garryhorn Kids skipping the highest rock, And, wrapt in his plaid at midsummer day, The moorman tending his flock. The reaper seldom his sickle whets there, To gather in standing corn; But many a sheep is to sheer and smear In the bughts of Garryhorn. There are hams on the bauks at Garryhorn Of braxy, and eke a store Of cakes in the kist, and peats in the neuk, To put aye the winter o'er. There is aye a clog for the fire at Yule, With a browst for New-Year's morn; And gin ye gang up ye may sit like a queen In the chamber at Garryhorn. And when ye are lady of Garryhorn, Ye shall ride to the kirk with me; Although my mither should skelp through the mire, With her coats kilted up to the knee. I woo not for siller, my bonnie May, Sae dinna my offer scorn; Atween my Bawtie and the cat There rose an awfu' battle. An' though that Maggie saw him lay And syne she clapp'd my doggie. Though Mag she isna bonnie; An' though she's feckly twice my age, I love her best of ony. May not this simple ditty show If she is kind unto his dog, OLD SCOTIA. I've loved thee, old Scotia, and love thee I will, Till the heart that now beats in my bosom is still. My forefathers loved thee, for often they drew Their dirks in defence of thy banners of blue; Though murky thy glens, where the wolf prowl'd of yore, "No! but ye maun speer at my minny," quo' she, And craggy thy mountains, where cataracts war, Ere I gang to Garryhorn.' MY DOGGIE. The neighbours a' they wonder now How kind she's to my doggie. But was the tyke not e'en as kind, The race of old Albyn, when danger was nigh, For thee stood resolved still to conquer or die. I love yet to roam where the beacon-light rose, Where waved the blue flag when the battle was o'er. I love yet to roam o'er each field of thy fame, But let a foe face thee, raise fire on each hill, Thy sons, my dear Scotia, will fight for thee still! WALTER WATSON. BORN 1780- DIED 1854. WALTER WATSON, the author of several ad- | lished. Ten years later a selection of his best pieces, with a memoir by Hugh Macdonald, was published in Glasgow, In 1820 Watson left Chryston for Kilsyth, and after many migrations during the next thirty years he finally settled at Duntiblae, near Kirkintilloch, where he died September 13, 1854. His remains were interred in the churchyard of his native parish, and a handsome granite monument was erected to his memory in 1875. mirable songs and poems abounding in pawky Scottish humour, was born in the village of Chryston, Lanarkshire, March 29, 1780. His father being in very humble circumstances could give his son but a scanty education. When eight years old he was sent to herd cows in summer, picking up a little more instruction during the winter months. After trying weaving and other occupations for a time he at length, in 1799, enlisted in the famous cavalry regiment the Scots Greys, where he remained for three years, and was discharged on the reduction of the army after the peace of Amiens. It was about this period that he became known as a poet by the songs "Jockie's Far Awa," "Sae Will we yet," and others, which have acquired great popularity. After leaving the army Watson resumed his former trade of weaving, married, and settled in his native village. Encouraged by the success of his fugitive pieces, he published in 1808 a small volume of songs and ballads, which gained him something more than a local reputation. In 1823 a second volume appeared, and in 1843 a third collection of miscellaneous poems from his pen was pub A notice of the poet written at the time of his death says: "Independent of his merit as one of the best of our minor Scottish poets, he was a good and worthy man, beloved by all who knew him;" and the kindly hand of a brother poet thus sketches him in old age: "In the course of nature he is now drawing near the close of his career, and amidst age and the infirmities incident to a more than ordinarily extended span is now earning his living on the loom in the village of Duntiblae. Yet is the old man ever cheerful. He has many friends among his lowly compeers, and the respect in which he is held by them has been manifested in many ways, which must have been alike gratifying to his feelings and ameliorative of his necessities." MAGGIE AN' ME. The sweets o' the simmer invite us to wander An' by the clear burnies that sweetly meander, plyin' While lapt in its leaves lies the strawberry dainty, The future, by thee, is made almost the present; peasant, Thou lang hast befriended my Maggie an' me. Her tender young offspring, like Maggie an' Ere life was in bloom we had love in our glances, me. The corn in full ear, is now promisin' plenty, An' aft I had mine o' her bonnie blue e'e; We needit nae art to engage our young fancies, 'Twas done ere we kent, an' we own it wi glee. The red clusterin' row'ns bend the witch- Now pleased, an' aye wishin' to please ane scarrin' tree, VOL. II.-C anither. We've pass'd twenty years since we buckled | Nae vauntin' can buy her, nae threatnin' can thegither, An' ten bonnie bairns, lispin' faither an' mither, Hae toddled fu' fain atween Maggie an' me. THE BRAES O' BEDLAY.1 When I think on the sweet smiles o' my lassie, My cares flee awa' like a thief frae the day; My heart loups licht, an' I join in a sang Amang the sweet birds on the bracs o' Bedlay. How sweet the embrace, yet how honest the wishes, When luve fa's a-wooing, and modesty blushes, Whaur Mary an' I meet amang the green bushes That screen us sae weel on the bracs o' Bedlay. There's nane sae trig or sae fair as my lassie, An' meet me nae mair on the bracs o' Bedlay. 1 The Braes of Bedlay are situated near Chryston, about seven miles to the north of Glasgow. Hugh Macdonald, a friend of the poet, relates the following amusing incident connected with the origin of this song:-A rumour having reached Watson that the laird of Bedlay House had expressed a favourable opinion of some of his verses, nothing would serve him, in the vanity of his heart, but that he should write something new, and present it to the great man in person. Casting about for a subject, he at length came to the conclusion that were he to compose a song the scene of which was laid on the gentleman's own estate, he would be quite certain of a favourable reception. The Braes o' Bedlay' was accordingly written, and 'snodding' himself up with his Sunday braws, the young port took the road one evening to the big house. On coming to the door be tirled bravely at the knocker, and was at once ushered into the presence of the laird. In the eyes of the young weaver he looked exceedingly grand, and he almost began to repent his temerity in having ventured into such company. Well, who are you, and what do you want?' said the laird (who was evidently in one of his bad moods), with a voice of thunder. My name's Walter Watson,' faltered the poet, 'and I was wanting you to look at this bit paper.' 'What paper,' said the grandee, can you have to show me? But let me see it.' The manuscript was placed in his hands, and, stepping close to the candle, he proceeded to peruse it. It'll be a' richt noo,' thinks his bardship. The laird, reading to himself, had got through with the first verse, when he repeated aloud the last two lines "Whaur Mary and I meet amang the green bushes That screen us sae weel on the braes o' Bedlay." sell her It's luve leads her out to the braes o' Bedlay. We'll gang by the links o' the wild rowin' burnie, Whaur aft in my mornin' o' life I did stray; Whaur luve was invited and cares were beguiled By Mary an' me, on the bracs o' Bedlay. Sae luvin', sae movin', I'll tell her my story, Unmixt wi' the deeds o' ambition for glory, Whaur wide-spreadin' hawthorns, sae ancient and hoary, Enrich the sweet breeze on the braes o' Eedlay. SAE WILL WE YET. Sit ye down here, my cronies, and gi'e us your crack, Let the win' tak' the care o' this life on its back; Our hearts to despondency we never will submit, For we've aye been provided for, and sae will we yet. And sae will we yet, &c. Oh, I dinna 'Who is Mary?' quoth he abruptly. ken,' said the poet; but Mary's a nice poetical name, and it suited my measure.' And you actually wrote this!' added the laird. 'Yes.' replied the poet, gaining confidence; 'you'll see I've put my name to the verses.' 'Well,' vociferated his lairdship, raising himself to his full altitude, are you not a most impudent fellow to come here and tell me that you have been breaking my fences and strolling over my grounds without leave? I'm just pestered with such interlopers as you on my property, and now that I have the acknowledgment of the offence under your own hand, I've really a very good mind to prosecute you for trespass! Get away with you to your loom! and if ever I catch either you or your Mary among my green bushes again, depend upon it I'll make you repent it.' Saying this, he flung the manuscript scornfully at the poet (who stood trembling, half in fear and half in indignation), and ringing the bell, ordered him at once to be ejected from the house. Alas! poor fellow, he went home that night with an aching heart and sadly crest-fallen. His song was given to the world, however, and immediately attained a considerable degree of popularity, a great portion of which, we are happy to say, it still retains. The laird has left the land which he so churlishly guarded, and his memory is fast falling into oblivion, while that of Walter Watson, who sung its beauties, will be entwined with the spot for ages. Truly there is a lairdship in genius which is more potent and lasting than that which is associated with rent rolls and title deeds! It is but fair to state, however, that the laird and the poet afterwards became good friends, and that the friendship was in many respects beneficial to the humble bard.”—ED. MY JOCKIE'S FAR AWA'. When Jockie's far awa' on sea, When Jockie's far awa'; Last May mornin', how sweet to see Did kindly walk this way! On yon green bank wild flowers he pou'd, Sweet, sweet he talk'd, and aft he vow'd, O gentle peace, return again, My Jockie's far awa', &c. WILLIAM LAIDLAW. BORN 1780-DIED 1845. WILLIAM LAIDLAW, the author of the beauti- | to discover the least merit in my essays, either ful song of "Lucy's Flittin'," and the trusted in verse or prose." In 1801, when Sir Walter friend of Sir Walter Scott, was the son of Scott visited Ettrick and Yarrow to collect James Laidlaw, a respectable sheep-farmer at Blackhouse, in the Yarrow district, Selkirk shire, where he was born November 19, 1780. He was the eldest of three sons, and received part of his education at the grammar-school of Peebles. Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, was for some years servant to his father, and the two young men formed here a lasting friendship. 'He was," says the Shepherd, "the only person who for many years ever pretended materials for his Border Minstrelsy, he made the acquaintance of young Laidlaw, from whom he received much assistance. Laidlaw began life by leasing a farm at Traquair, and afterwards one at Liberton, near Edinburgh, but the business proving unsuccessful he gave up the lease in 1817, and accepted an invitation from Sir Walter Scott to act as his steward at Abbotsford. Here he continued for some years, being held in high esteem and confidence by his employer, whom he in turn greatly loved | James at Contin, near Dingwall, where he died May 18, 1845, aged sixty-five. Besides the far-famed song of Lucy's Flittin'," which was first printed in 1810 in Hogg's Forest Minstrel, Laidlaw was the author of the sweet and simple songs "Her bonnie black E'e" and "Alake for the Lassie." He also wrote on Scottish superstitions for the Edinburgh Monthly Magazine, contributed several articles to the Edinburgh Encyclopædia, and was the author of a geological description of his native county. and revered. Whilst at Abbotsford part of Laidlaw's time was occupied in writing under Sir Walter's direction for the Edinburgh Annual Register. After the unhappy reverse in the affairs of his benefactor Laidlaw left Abbotsford for a time, but returned in 1830, and continued there till Sir Walter's death in 1832. He afterwards acted as factor for Sir Charles Lockhart Ross of Balnagowan, Rossshire; but his health failing, he gave up this position, and went to reside with his brother |