and great, stand before God; and the books were opened: and another book was opened, which was the book of life. . . And the sea gave up the dead which were in it; and death and hell delivered up the dead which were in them; and they were judged every man according to their works." led a rather irregular life for many years, but | place for them. And I saw the dead, small at length reformed, and in 1755 the Society for Propagating Christian Knowledge appointed him schoolmaster and catechist at Kinloch Rannoch. In this secluded spot he laboured with diligence during the remainder of his days; and here he wrote various poems and hymns, which latter will render his name as lasting as the Gaelic in which they were written. Besides his sacred poems and lyrics, he wrote a diary, which has been published with a memoir of the author. He possessed a most felicitous style, and it is to be regretted that his poetical writings, which resemble those of Cowper, have never been properly translated. His "Day of Judgment," displaying great power of imagination, is among the most popular poems in the language; "The Dream" contains useful lessons on the vanity of human pursuits; and "The Skull" is a highly poetic composition. He rendered very essential service to the Rev. James Stewart of Killin in translating the New Testament into Gaelic, and accompanied that gentleman to Edinburgh in 1766, for the purpose of supervising its publication. During his sojourn in the Scottish capital he attended the university classes in natural philosophy, anatomy, astronomy, and divinity. Among the men of distinction to whom Buchanan was introduced in Edinburgh was the celebrated David Hume, who kindly invited him to his house. While discussing the merits of various authors the historian observed that it was impossible to imagine anything more sublime than some of the passages in Shakspere, and in support of his assertion that they were far superior to any contained in the Bible he quoted the magnificent lines from The Tempest" "The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces, The poet admitted the great beauty and sub- Buchanan's beautiful hymns, which are sung in every Highland cottage, were first published in 1767. Since that time upwards of fifteen editions have been issued. "It may be truly said," remarks a recent writer, "that we have one hymn-writer, Dugald Buchanan, that has never yet been surpassed by any hymnpoet of any country, ancient or modern. The great characteristic of our hymns is their devotional and evangelical tone. A heterodox mist, or even an unscriptural or doubtful expression, is never met with. They have, however, one great fault in common-their length. The same fault characterizes all the popular songs of the Celts. The singing of fifty or one hundred stanzas with our ancestors seemed a common and quite a feasible thing. Dugald Buchanan is perhaps the only modern (Gaelic) poet that possesses much sublimity: many verses of his minor pieces, and nearly the whole of his Day of Judgment,' are dramatically vivid and very sublime." Soon after the publication of his little volume of hymns the poet returned to his useful and pious labours at Rannoch, where he died, June 2, 1768. His many friends there desired that his remains should be buried among them, but his wife and children preferred that he should be interred in the burial-place of his ancestors at Little Leny, near Callander. A meeting was held there more than a century after the poet's death by the Dugald Buchanan Memorial Committee, when a large number of influential gentlemen were present. Sugges tions were made about establishing a Dugald Buchanan bursary, and about placing a tombstone in Little Leny churchyard over the poet's grave, but the committee agreed to restrict their operations for the present to the erection of a monument in Strathire, where the poet was born and bred. 1 Remarks on Scottish Gaelic Literature, by Nigel M'Neill, Inverness, 1873. THE SKULL. As I sat by the grave, at the brink of its cave Alas! that thine aid should have ever betray'd Without beauty or grace, or a glance to express Or, wert thou a hero, a leader to glory, Of the by-stander nigh a thought; Its jaw and its mouth are tenantless both, Nor passes emotion its throat. No glow on its face, no ringlets to grace Its brow, and no ear for my song; While armies thy truncheon obey'd; To victory cheering, as thy foemen careering In flight, left their mountains of dead? Was thy valiancy laid, or unhilted thy blade, When came onwards in battle array Hush'd the caves of its breath, and the finger of The sepulchre-swarms, ensheathed in their arms, death The raised features hath flatten'd along. The eyes' wonted beam, and the eyelids' quick gleam - The intelligent sight, are no more; But the worms of the soil, as they wriggle and coil, Come hither their dwellings to bore. No lineament here is left to declare Thou delver of death, in my ear let thy breath That my voice may not die without a reply, Say, wert thou a may, of beauty a ray, And flatter'd thine eye with a smile? Thy meshes didst set, like the links of a net, The hearts of the youth to wile? Alas! every charm that a bosom could warm Say, wise in the law, did the people with awe Acknowledge thy rule o'er them A magistrate true, to all dealing their due, And just to redress or condemn! Or was righteousness sold for handfuls of gold In the scales of thy partial decree; While the poor were unheard when their suit they preferr'd, And appeal'd their distresses to thee? To sack and to rifle their prey? How they joy in their spoil, as thy body the while Besieging, the reptile is vain, And her beetle-mate blind hums his gladness to find His defence in the lodge of thy brain! Some dig where the sheen of the ivory has been, Some, the organ where music repair'd; In rabble and rout they come in and come out At the gashes their fangs have bared. Do I hold in my hand a whole lordship of land, Perhaps stern of brow to thy tenantry thou! To leanness their countenances grew'Gainst their crave for respite, when thy clamour for right Required, to a moment, its due; While the frown of thy pride to the aged denied To cover their head from the chill, And humbly they stand, with their bonnet in hand, As cold blows the blast of the hill. Thy serfs may look on, unheeding thy frown, Or a head do I clutch whose devices were such Sav, once in thine hour, was thy medicine of power Did the tongue of the lie, while it couch'd like a To extinguish the fever of ail? And seem'd, as the pride of thy leech-craft e'en tried, O'er omnipotent death to prevail? spy In the haunt of thy venomous jaws, Its slander display, as poisons its prey The devilish snake in the grass! ADAM SKIRVING, a wealthy farmer of Haddingtonshire, was born in the year 1719, and educated at Preston Kirk, in East Lothian. He long held the farm of Garleton, near Haddington, on the road to Gosford. Skirving was a very athletic man, and excelled in all manly sports and exercises. He died in April, 1803, and was buried in the church of Athelstaneford, where his merits are recorded in a metrical epitaph:— "In feature, in figure, agility, mind, Skirving composed in 1745 two songs, which have for more than a hundred years held a place in the hearts of his countrymen, and in nearly every collection of Scottish minstrelsy. Among the various personages referred to in one of these, was a certain Lieut. Smith, an Irish man, who displayed much pusillanimity in the battle of Preston, or, as the poet calls it, Tranent Muir. He, however, challenged Skirving for the manner in which he was spoken of. "Gang back," said the rustic poet to the officer who brought the message, "and tell Lieut. Smith that I ha'e nae leisure to come to Haddington; but tell him to come here, and I'll tak' a look o' him, and if I think I'm fit to fecht, I'll fecht him; and if no-I'll do as he did-I'll rin awa." Skirving's other lyric, "Johnnie Cope," doubtless owes much of its popularity to its spirit-stirring air. Perhaps no song in existence has so many variations. Sir John Cope, as is well known, made a precipitate retreat from the field, followed by his dragoons, and did not draw rein till he reached Dunbar. He was tried by court-martial for his "foul flight," as Colonel Gardiner called it, but was acquitted. The Muses, however, did not acquit him; but have immortalized his cowardly and disgrace- | bravery of Prince Charles, aided by the impetuful retreat from the field of battle, called ous charge of the clans, defeated, a punning according to the different local positions of the rhymster made the following ludicrous but conflicting parties, Gladsmuir, Prestonpans, accurate epigram:— and Tranent Muir. Of the three generals whom the presence of mind and great personal Cope could not cope, nor Wade wade thro' the snow, TRANENT MUIR1 The Chevalier, being void of fear, Did march up Birsle brae, man, Frae many a spout came running out While he had breath to draw, man. And Major Bowle, that worthy soul, Was brought doun to the ground, man; For to get mony a wound, man: Frae whom he call'd for aid, man, He made sie haste, sae spurr'd his beast, To Berwick rade, and safely said, The Scots were rebels a', man: And Cadell drest, amang the rest, With gun and good claymore, man, On gelding gray he rode that way, With pistols set before, man; The cause was good, he'd spend his blood, But gallant Roger, like a soger, Stood and bravely fought, man; But mae doun wi' him brought, man: |