MY HIN MOST PENNY.

Ye little dingy-lookin' object,
If ye could listen to my subject,
Or if it were that ye could hear,
Ye couldna grudge to shed a tear,
Or, gifted wi' the power o' speech,
Guid moral lessons ye might teach;
For mony a queer road hac ye been,
And mony a strange face hae ye seen.
Ye've saired your end among the masses,
An' a' the different grades an' classes;
Indeed, ye aften dare to enter

Where common folk could scarcely venture;
That royal stamp upon your face
Begets ye friends in every place.
Although you're nothing but a penny,
You're shunned by few and sought by many;
Gently wooed by saint an' sinner,
Each striving hard to be your winner!
I've tried my skill in every sense
To multiply you into pence,

But to all schemes that I may lay
Dame Fortune always answers, nay.
In these hard times, when siller's scarce,
An' things in common look averse;

Labour scant and wages low,

Trade an' commerce movin' slow;
The season's cauld, an' crops are late,
An' a' the farmers lookin' blate,
Strugglin' on from day to day,
Wi' little pleasure, peace or pay;
The cattle cheap and profits nil,
An' farmin' wark a' standin' still;
Landlords only here an' there
Are listenin' to their tenants' prayer;
The soun' o' war is never ceasing,
Public burdens aye increasing.
Means an' substance meltin' fast,
The rich alone can stand the blast :
But times and seasons still revolve,
An' darknin' clouds may soon dissolve,
An' leave behind far brighter skies-
Far better prospects may arise.
Meanwhile let priest and politician
Suppress the spirit of ambition,
An' each an' a' partake a share,
An' save the needy frae despair,
I'm only feared I tyne the grip,
An' lat my hin'most penny slip.

GEORGE COLBURN.

MR COLBURN might not inaptly be designated "The Laureate of The Mearns," so striking is his devotion to the charms of his native county, to its men and maids, and to its gifted bards. A notable contribution to our later poetic literature was made in 1891, when he published his "Poems on Mankind and Nature," a volume of 442 pages, in which was embodied a work which appeared some seven years earlier. With exceptional felicity and grace he treats of themes the most diverse; and it is difficult to determine whether the vigour of his diction, or that restraint which is eloquent of much reserve power, is the more admirable of the predominant features of his style. Fortunately, too, the poet touches largely on what is nearest him, and we can glean from his pages much that is of value biographically. Of Laurencekirk, the scene of his birth in 1852, he sings:

Where first I saw the light, and where my feet
In childhood ran about in field and wood,
Or by the hoary tower on Garvock stood,
Or with companions in the sunny street
Played, with light joyous heart and footsteps
fleet;

Where my young heart first felt the kindly
glow

Of love that sweetens all our life below;
Where pleasures rose my eager soul to meet.
But that was in the far-off past, and I
Have nought of all those joys but memory.

Memories" form an extremely sweet and interesting section of a volume whose contents are arrayed in a striking and attractive manner. One of these "Memories," addressed to his brothers, is powerfully reminiscent of the author's early home and parental influences :

We who felt by the same beloved hearth
One mother's kindness, gentleness, and care
Cast round us like a robe with equal share,
And thought her love the sweetest thing on
earth

A thought all other loves have not disproved;
We who by common joys and pains were
moved,

My brothers, let us be friends as we were

In childhood's days-we are but children yet,
Learning our lessons at the world's school,
Gaining a knowledge of our kindred there;
Let us give as we should, not as we get,
Our lives still measured by love's golden rule.
Though different talents may our minds con-
trol,

Let us be brothers still in heart and soul.

That affection was centred on the worthiest of parents is clearly shown in many of these minor effusions. Humble, working-class people, they gave their large family of their best; and if early education was scanty, and work as a herd-boy a necessity for the future poet, his experience braced him for the battle of life, and formed the inspiration of many of his truest lines. "To My Father," is suggestive in this connection :--

Though but a humble toiler thou, yet I
Shall never fear to own thee. What to me
Would wealth, and earthly power, and honour
be,

If to be their possessor I'd deny

My friends, however poor, or pass them by
With looks of scorn? And thus, my sire, to

you

I grudge not all the love and honour due,
But freely give it.

The Colburn family removed to Stonehaven when George was nine years old; and at the age of fourteen he was sent to Montrose, where he learned the business of a grocer. In various parts of the country, and in America, he has spent an active career, and is now resident as a merchant at Glasgow. His poetry is so varied that it is difficult to convey a just impression of its range through such extracts as are here possible; but these, and the quotations made at other places, cannot fail to strike the reader with a sense of the resources of this bard, whose claim to the honourable title of our opening sentence is well maintained alike in his admirable volume, and in the estimation of his fellows.

COWIE'S STREAM.

O, Cowie's stream! O, Cowie's stream!
Thy hazel woods and dells,
Thy gowany braes and heathery hills,
Where memory fondly dwells;
The house embosomed in its screen
Of pine, and beech, and yew,

The tender hearts still linked with mine
In love and friendship true;

Where down by Mergie's thorny den
Thy mossy current flows,

And swift to join thy stronger stream

The mountain torrent rows;

Where waves the birch and spreads the beech
In all their sylvan prime,

And haw flowers scent the evening's breath
Sweet in the summer time.

With one who sweetly sang to me
The songs of love and truth,
Whose gentle presence lit with joy
The golden days of youth;

Whose heart and soul, in weal and woe,

Were fondly linked with mine,
Not by the bonds of common love,
But by some love divine.

And hand in hand we wandered free

By Cowie's rushing stream,

When Nature's face was fresh and fair,

And life a pleasant dream.

But years have sped, and friends are fled,
Her soothing spirit's gone;

The daisies deck her lowly grave,
And I am left alone.

SINGIN' WILLIE.

William Gall, an itinerant poet and musician, lately deceased, was well known in Angus and Mearns. He was honest to a proverb, and that's about as much as can be said of any man. He had no ambition to be great; was content to wander through the world like some free and joyous bird, that sings because it must because Nature had chosen even him to interpret her language. The apparent irreverent allusion to Carlyle must be forgiven, Singin' Will having left the world about the same time as the philosopher. It does seem strange, however, that no poet should have sought to eulogise a man so honest and so kind, who was even a philosopher - if making the best of what we have be philosophy.

GEORGE COOPER.

THE HE case of this Arbroath soldier bard is rather exceptional; for neither by printed volume nor by periodical publication have his numerous writings come prominently before the public. He wrote for his own gratification, happy man; and though advised to publish, declined to run the risk of such a venture, a course in which wisdom was conspicuous more than even his inherent modesty. Mr Cooper was born at Arbroath in 1829, was engaged betimes as a painter and flax-dresser, served in the 83rd Regiment of Foot during the Indian Mutiny, and returned in bad health to his native town in 1862. Here for fourteen years he lived a quiet, unostentatious life, finding his recreation, as has been indicated, in the composition of tales in verse, and of such lyrical pieces as that which follows:---

AMONG our bards are several who have begun life in the humblest of occupations herding and weaving, usually-but who have risen nobly from the trammels of circumstances to labour in that higher sphere where it is a

"Delightful task to rear the tender thought,
And teach the young idea how to shoot.'

William Cowper was one of these; and it is due to his memory to say that he laboured with much success and for many years in the dominie's profession at Craigo school. He was born at Laurencekirk in 1812, and died at Hillside,

near Montrose--where he had resided in retirement for some time-in 1886. He published a lengthy poem of a grandiose type, entitled, "At Midnight with the Book and the Stars," along with several shorter pieces, of which we submit a specimen, in a volume of 123 pages, 87 of which are occupied with the author's chef d'aurre.

TO LAURENCEKIRK.

CATHERINE PRINGLE CRAIG.

MISS CRAIG was a large contributor of meritorious poems, mainly of a serious character, to the Glasgow Citizen, and other papers and periodicals; and published three volumes of her writings, "Isadore," etc., in 1844; 'Mary," etc., in 1872; and "Zella," etc., in 1877. She was born at Brechin in 1826, and was reared in the manse of her grandfather, who was a minister at Kinclaven, Perthshire. Gilfillan spoke highly of her poetry, an excellent example of which will be found in the following piece.