Of those who trod a toilsome path,
Thorn-planted by the tyrants' wrath-
Who nobly braved contempt and shame,
Contending for Messiah's claim,

And, leagued in brotherhood and love,
For His crown-rights and covenant strove,
Witness ye hills that point to heaven,
How true the testimony given !
Witness, ye streams which calmly glide,
How fearfully their faith was tried!
Witness, thou vale of Nith so fair,
Their hours of weariness and care-
Their days of dread, and nights of pain,
When shelter there they sought in vain!
Thy dusty caves their shadows bent,
Thy craggy glens their foliage lent,
To clasp within their dim embrace
The remnant of that stricken race.
But cruel men have eagle eyes-

They pierced the folds, and found the prize,
They found them, with long watching tired,
But yet with deep devotion fired-
With haggard look and raiment torn-
With visage marred, and famine-worn,
How wasted now each stalwart frame,
But still their high resolve the same-
To worship, though the host said nay,
As conscience pointed out the way:

Their heart-strings held their birth-right fast,
It was life's dearest boon and last;
In its blest exercise they fell,

Sore smitten in the mountain dell,

'Mid taunt and scorn they died-they diedBy desert stream, and lone hillside.

And this grey pyramid was piled
To keep their memory undefiled,
That men unborn might understand
The claim of Scotland's martyr'd band.

Then spare these stones, thou spoiler, Time!
To touch them were presumptuous crime.

F

MRS JESSIE J. SIMPSON WATSON.

ROM this poetess we have received several very pretty verse-pictures. Her songs are fresh, natural and cheery, while her descriptive poems possess much beauty of fancy, and her domestic pieces are tender and deeply loving. Mrs Watson was born on St Patrick's day, 1854, in the more mercantile than poetic town of Greenock. Her father is a miller, and she tells us that she "would not have changed the mill, of which I knew every cheek and crannie, for a palace." She thought in her early days that there could be no happiness anywhere like that which she found there. She had entered her 'teens before she began to embody in rhyme her thoughts about the mill and the millers. She thinks that any one would have been poetically inclined there. All around were sugar refineries, railways, boatbuilding yards, &c., and no wonder that the Muse turned aside from their din and bustle, and sought shelter beside the clatter of the mill. Does not the spirit of Poesy seem to haunt a mill, and any dusty miller may catch a glimpse of her if he keeps his eyes open? But now other cares engage her attention. She has a "fireside o' her ain." Yet although duty bids her live poetry, rather than write poetry, and although she very properly considers that a clean fireside and a happy home are the unwritten, yet grand and noble poems of daily life, she still can snatch a brief moment to dash off a beautiful poem or a cheerful song.

WE'RE A' WEEL AT HAME.

Wee messenger aneath whose seal sweet mysteries abide, Wee trysting nook where hearts may meet tho' lips be sundered wide,

O' hie ye to yon distant shore, ayont the billow's faim,

An' whisper in my laddie's ear, we're a' weel at hame.

The bairnies, lad, are thrivin' weel, and glaikit aye wi' fun-
Wee Johnnie maist can stan' his lane, his mither's dautit son;
An' Jamie wi' the towsie hair, sae steerin', aye the same;
An' Wattie too, an' Bess and Kate-they're a' weel at hame.

Frae early dawn to late at e'en, they toddle but and ben,
An' leave fu' monie a neuk to tosh, and duddie goon to men';
But blythesome is the couthie heart that's warmed by love's
sweet flame,

An' cantie is the mither's sang when a's weel at hame.

Brisk flee the tentie minutes by till gloamin' shadows fa',
An' here an' there are lyin' stool, an' doll, an' gird, an' ba';
Nae mair wee toshie feet to bathe, nor gowden locks to kame,
Ilk bonnie bairn is soun' asleep, an' a' weel at hame.

But laddie, laddie, wha can tell hoo sune the ruthless plou'
O' warld's carkin' care an' strife may scaith ilk sunny broo;
O' wae if in the feckless race o' pleasure, gowd, an' faine,
They e'en forget the prayers they lisped when a' weel at hame.

O' still to guide ilk bairnie's fit may ae star glint aboon,
Till, 'mid the dreesome shades o' nicht life's glimmerin' sun
gangs doon:

Till far ayont the dowie clouds o' wae, an' grief, an' shame,
An' safe within the pearly yetts we're a' weel at hame.

DUNE WI' TIME.

O dinna, dinna greet sae sair beside my deein' bed,

But raise me in your arms ance mair, an' haud my droopin' head
That I may see the bonnie wood an' hear the burnie's sang,
An' see the bonnie gownie braes that I hae speel'd sae lang.

The summer sun is sinkin' fast 'mang clouds o' gowden hue,
An' sune the sicht maun be the last that I maun ha'e o't noo;
For, Bessie, Bessie, wha can tell? e'er neist it lichts the glen,
This weary heart may bid fareweel to ilka throb o' pain.

I see my flocks on yonder brae, they wander by the burn,
An' watch for ane the lea-lang day wha'll never mair return;
My kine are lowin' on the hills, my lambs are bleatin' sair,
They sadly miss the guidin' voice they noo maun hear nae mair.

Nae mair when twilicht glints the plain, my plaid aroun' me drawn,

I'll listen to the laverock's notes that echo o'er the lawn ;
Nae mair I'll wander in the wood when gloamin' shadows fa',
An' watch the bonnie siller moon an' warlds sae far awa'.

Adoon the brae the streamlet sweet 'll wimple late an' ear',
The trees that stan' aroun' its banks 'll blossom green an' fair ;
The yellow broom an' heather bell 'll crown the sunny brae,
An' there the happy bairns 'll pu' the bramble an' the slae.

Ah, Bessie, lass, it's hard to break the ties that bind me here-
To lea' ilk bonnie weel-kent haunt that we hae lo'ed sae dear;
But oh! it's harder far to pairt wi' you, my trusted frien'-
It seems to break my very heart, an' dims wi' tears my een.

It's hard to think a stranger lad maun fill my place to you-
That ane I lo'ed sae dearly ance a stranger lad will woo;
But oh! it maun be for the best-this sad an' waefu' doom-
That I, in life's sweet morning bricht, maun sink into the tomb.

For oh! I'm sinkin', sinkin' fast; the clammie han' o' death
Will triumph sune o'er this puir frame, an' stop my failin' breath.
Then, Bessie, gently lay me doon-ye ha'e been kind to me—
An' kiss me fondly on the broo ance mair before I dee.

Beside the burnie on the brae ye'll mak' my lowly grave,
Where birds may sing abune my head an' willow branches

wave;

Beside the bonny mossy seat, where we were wont to bide,
The burn I lo'ed sae dearly ance will wimple by my side.

Oh! dark, dark is the dreary bed beside the mountain stream,
An' dull, dull is the weary sleep that kens nae lichtsome dream.
But glintin' through the mists o' time a glorious land I see -
A world mair bricht than yonder sun noo greets my wonderin' e'e.

This world noo wadna win me back, though it may seem sae fair,
For, joy, eternal joy is mine, when I shall enter there.
Oh! what for me is yon pale sun? what earthly care an' strife?
I'm dune, for ever dune wi' time-Life, life, eternal life!

COME WI' ME, BESSIE.

come wi' me, Bessie, My lo'esome wee lassie,

The sun's gowden beams are delayin' for thee;
The minstrels are singin',

The woods are a' ringin',

O come to yon leaf-theekit bowrie wi' me.

Wee Robin sae fenny
Brings oot his ain Jenny

To listen his lyrics o' love in the glen;
An' couthie an' cantie

Ilk bonnie blythe lintie

Beguiles his wee mate wi' his pawkie love strain.

Lown breezes are blawin',

Saft dew-blabs are fa'in',

Sweet flow'rets are bloomin' for you an' for me;
The burnie is rinnin',

Sabbin' an' croonin',

Doon the green valleys awa' to the sea.

Frae 'neath ilk green bracken
The fairies are keekin'

To see the moon spiel o'er yon heathery brae;
When we are a' sleepin'

Their tryst they are keepin'

Daffin' an' singin' till dawnin' o' day.

The curtains o' e'enin'

O'er yon hills are beamin',

The lamps o' the gloamin' are lichted aboon;
Then come to yon bowrie

E'er dark winter scowrie

Has stown frae sweet simmer her braw bridal goon.

T

THOMAS BROWN,

HE proprietor of the extensive estates of Waterhaughs, and Lanfine, in the east of Ayrshire, was born early in the century. His college education was received, first at the University of Glasgow, and afterwards at Trinity College, Cambridge. He thereafter studied for the Bar at the Edinburgh University, being advised to do so by his uncle, Lord Jeffrey, renowned in law, literature, and politics. Al though Mr Brown became a member of the Scottish bar, he never, however, practised as an advocate, though there can hardly be a doubt that had he done so he would have shone in the profession, as, naturally, he was possessed of a clear understanding, and wit that was always ready at his will. His general knowledge was also broad and deep, while his taste was refined by large and well-directed reading, and by the companionship of the most cultured minds of the time. With William Makepeace Thackeray he was on intimate terms in his youth, and and had penetration enough to