Perfume, congenial to the clime, The sweetest in the sweetest time! The merry bells, in jocund chime, Rang through the air, And minstrels play'd in strains sublime, To charm the fair!

And fairer than our Nithsdale fair, Or handsomer, there's nane elsewhere Pure as the streams that murmur there, In them ye'll find

That virtue and the graces rare

Are a' enshrin'd!

Lang may the bonnie bairns recline On plenty's bosom, saft and kind! And, O! may I, ere life shall dwine To its last scene,

Return, and a' my sorrows tine,
At hame again!

LOGAN'S BRAES.

"By Logan's streams that rin sae deep,
Fu' aft wi' glee I've herded sheep;
Herded sheep, or gathered slaes,
Wi' my dear lad, on Logan braes.
But wae's my heart! thae days are gane,
And I, wi' grief, may herd alane;
While my dear lad maun face his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan braes.

"Nae mair at Logan kirk will he
Atween the preachings meet wi' me;
Meet wi' me, or when it's mirk,
Convoy me hame frae Logan kirk.
I weel may sing thae days are gane-
Frae kirk an' fair I come alane,
While my dear lad maun face his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan braes!

"At e'en, when hope amaist is gane,
I dauner out, or sit alane,
Sit alane beneath the tree
Where aft he kept his tryst wi' me.
O! cou'd I see thae days again,
My lover skaithless, an' my ain!
Belov'd by frien's, rever'd by faes,
We'd live in bliss on Logan braes."

While for her love she thus did sigh,1
She saw a sodger passing by,
Passing by wi' scarlet claes,

While sair she grat on Logan braes.
Says he, "What gars thee greet sae
sair,

What fills thy heart sae fu' o' care? Thae sporting lambs hae blithesome days,

An' playfu' skip on Logan braes."

"What can I do but weep and mourn?
I fear my lad will ne'er return,
Ne'er return to ease my waes,
Will ne'er come hame to Logan braes."
Wi' that he clasp'd her in his arms,
And said, I'm free from war's alarms,
I now ha'e conquer'd a' my faes,
We'll happy live on Logan braes."

་་

Then straight to Logan kirk they went,
And join'd their hands wi' one consent,
Wi' one consent to end their days,
An' live in bliss on Logan braes.
An' now she sings, "thae days are

gane,

When I wi' grief did herd alane,
While my dear lad did fight his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan braes."

I These three stanzas are by an anonymous author, and were added after Mayne's death.

MRS GRANT of Carron, the author of "Roy's Wife," one of the sprightliest songs in the language, was born near Aberlour, at the mouth of the Spey, about 1745. She was latterly married to Dr Murray of Bath, and died about 1814.

She has often been confounded with Mrs Grant of Laggan, a lady more celebrated for her prose than her poetry, but who also has written one good song, commonly known as the "Blue Bells of Scotland," although it has no reference to those flowers.

ROY'S WIFE.

Roy's wife of Alldivalloch, Roy's wife of Alldivalloch, Wat ye how she cheated me,

As I cam' o'er the Braes o' Balloch.

She vow'd, she swore, she wad be mine,
She said she lo'ed me best o' ony;
But oh! the fickle, faithless quean,
She's ta'en the carle and left her Johnnie.
O, she was a canty quean,

We'el could she dance the Highland walloch;

How happy I had she been mine,

Or I been Roy of Ardivalloch !

Her face sae fair, her e'en sae clear,

Her wee bit mou' sae sweet and bonny; To me she ever will be dear,

Though she's for ever left her Johnnie.

Ben gaed our gudeman,

And ben gaed he;

And there he spied a sturdy man Where nae man should be.

How cam' this man here?

How can this be?
How cam' this man here
Without the leave o' me?

A man! quo' she:
Ay, a man, quo' he.
Poor blind body,

And blinder mat ye be; It's a new milking maid My mither sent to me.

A maid! quo' he : Ay, a maid, quo' she. Far hae I ridden,

And muckle hae I seen, But lang-bearded maidens Saw I never nane.

priding themselves on extensive literature, were thought sufficiently booklearned if they could make out the Scriptures in their mother tongue. Writing was entirely out of the line of female education. At that period the most of our young men of family sought a fortune or found a grave in France. Cromlus, when he went abroad to the war, was obliged to leave the management of his correspondence with his mistress to a lay brother of the monastery of Dunblain, in the immediate neighbourhood of Cromleck, and near Ardoch. This man, unfortunately, was deeply sensible of Helen's charms. He artfully prepossessed her with stories to the disadvantage of Cromlus; and by misinterpreting or keeping up the letters and messages intrusted to his care, he entirely irritated both. All connection was broken off betwixt them; Helen was inconsolable; and Cromlus has left behind him, in the ballad called "Cromlet's Lilt," a proof of the elegance of his genius as well as the steadiness of his love.

When the artful monk thought time

had sufficiently softened Helen's sorrow, he proposed himself as a lover. Helen was

obdurate; but at last overcome by the persuasions of her brother, with whom she lived, and who, having a family of thirtyone children, was probably very well pleased to get her off his hands, she submitted rather than consented to the ceremony: but there her compliance ended; and, when forcibly put into bed, she started quite frantic from it, screaming out, that after three gentle taps on the wainscot, at the bed head, she heard Cromlus's voice crying, Helen, Helen, mind me! Cromlus soon after coming home, the treachery of the confidant was discovered,—her marriage disannulled, and Helen became Lady Cromlecks.]