life, and interesting character of the Scottish peasantry-and great skill is shown in describing, without the slightest coarseness or vulgarity, the degradation of that life and character, by wretchedness and vice. A ballad so true to nature, and so full of instruction, cannot be unimportant to the cause of morality-and, as it has an existence in the hearts of the people, there can be no doubt that it has often joined its influence with other causes to guard the young from the insidious approaches of that vice, whose ruinous effects it so pathetically describes and deplores. The praise of this poem is not now, perhaps, much heard in book-shops or literary coteries-but it lives in the memory of many thousand virtuous hearts, who feel, ignorant and poor though they may be, the sanctity of their own small household-and cherish, with enthusiastic love, that poetry, in which are recorded their own simple annals. The genius of Hector Macneill also shone with peculiar beauty in his various little lyrical compositions, and songs breathed to the touching music of his country. Many of these songs have become part of our national lyrics, and it would not be easy to find any superior to some of them in simplicity and tenderness, and, above all, in that unity of feeling which is essential to such poetry. There are exhibited in them many specimens of that mingled gaiety and pathos which seems to mark the passion of love in all simple states of society; they are distinguished from the songs of real shepherds, only by the ornaments of Art working in the spirit of Nature—and have often been sung by the maiden at her wheel, as songs of for: r days framed by some bard in lowly life. Our limits prevent us from quoting any of them at present, but we refer our readers to Donald and Flora,'' Mary of Castle-Cary,' 'The Rose of Kirtle,' 'The Lammie,' 'Come under my Plaidy,' 'O tell me how for to woo,' 'Jeanie's Black Ee,' &c. Of Hector Macneill, we have now shortly spoken as a Poet-we could also with pleasure, speak of him as a Man. His high sense of honour-his unbending integrity-and his unostentatious spirit of independence, were well known to all who enjoyed his friendship. He was a sincere friend, and a fascinating companion; and when his mind was perfectly serene and happy, in the absence of those nervous complaints to which he was always subject, he delighted all companies by the liveliness of his illustrations, the originality of his remarks, and a boundless fund of curious and characteristic anecdote. Macneill, on his last return to Edinburgh, was a tall fine looking old man, with a very sallow complexion, and a dignified and somewhat austere expression of countenance. He published a variety of essays in prose, and a novel in two volumes, 8vo. entitled The Scottish Adventurers, or the Way to Rise.' VERSES ADDRESSED TO HECTOR MACNEILL, ESQ. AUTHOR OF WILL AN' JEAN. THE daisy-flower may blaw unseen Its head may raise! Nae musing bardie now, I ween, To sing their praise! Nae pensive minstrel wight we see The wilds amang! Wha native freaks wi' native glee Sae sweetly sang! His was the gift, wi' magic power, O' fancy sweet! An' paint the birk or brushwood bower, Whar lovers meet! But now he fills his silent ha'! Through future days, 'Till weary time in flenders a' The warld lays!' Such was the dowie plaint o' wae Whan Burns-(puir Burns!) was ta'en away And laid at rest! (Green grow the grass!—light lie the clay Upon his breast!) But now she draps the waefu' tale, She lanely mourns, And to her cheek, ance lily pale, The rose returns! The streaks o' joy glint in her face, Thy blossoms blaw! Happy to see thee fill the place O' him awa! How sairlie does her bosom beat At puir misfortune's wretched state! While tracing WILL through poortith great And prospects drear! She draps a tear! And at thy JEANIE'S hapless fate |