66 was evidence to rest upon, its sentiment is quite inconsistent with the tone and spirit of "The Farewell" quoted above. The song, Gloomy Winter's noo awa',' was written for R. A. Smith, who adapted the words to the melody, and on its publication it immediately became a general favourite. In May, 1874, it was included in the programme of the Crathie Choir a few days before the celebration of the Tannahill Centenary, when that choir sang at Balmoral Castle in presence of Queen Victoria in honour of Her Majesty's birthday. The Braes o' Balquhidder also a popular favourite in the Highlands, especially among the fair sex; and D. T. Holmes, in his Literary Tour in the Highlands and Islands of Scotland, found that the people of Ross-shire placed Tannahill on a level with Shakespeare. This recalls the incident of the Scotsman who paid a visit to the Metropolis while John Home's tragedy of “Douglas was staged in one of the London theatres. The countryman of the author was so carried away on witnessing the play that when the applause began to subside he was heard to exclaim at the top of his voice, “Whar's yer Wullie Shakespeare noo ?" "Loudoun's Bonnie Woods and Braes is also deserving of special mention. It was written in honour of the Marquis of Hastings on the occasion of his going abroad on military service soon after his marriage to the Countess of Loudoun. He was appointed Commander-in-Chief of the Forces in Scotland in view of the threatened invasion of Great Britain by Napoleon Bonaparte, then Consul of the French Republic. The Poet's native Paisley was among the first places which raised two regiments of volunteers. This song was one of the author's first favourites, though critical opinion scarcely endorses that view. 66 The once popular song, "O are ye sleeping, Maggie,' first appeared in the Glasgow Nightingale in 1806, and if not the best, it was one of the most spontaneous effusions of the poet's muse, being composed while plying his rod and line in the river. The heroine of this song was not an imaginary fair one, as was the case in others of his songs, but Margaret Pollock, the author's own cousin on the mother's side. If he was ever actually in love with her he evidently did not earnestly urge his suit, for she died with her maiden name unchanged. The Braes o' Gleniffer also first appeared in the Glasgow Nightingale in 1806, and was set to music by John Ross, of Aberdeen. It was regarded by the inner circle of his literary associates as the best of all his poetical productions, and really the descriptive power and imagery throughout will rank among the finest flowers of Scottish poetry. The songs here referred to are but a few samples of the author's productions, but they are among the choicest of his lyrics. In addition to his songs of love and sentiment, he could sing on other keys with no faltering voice. He has written several amusing Bacchanalian songs, amongst which may be mentioned the "Five Frien's," which is perhaps the most famous and amusing, and "The Coggie." The former was originally intended for private circulation only, and to enhance the humour the author represents himself as being "As blin' as an owl," which was not the case in reality, and must be put down as a poetical exaggeration, for he lived an exceptionally temperate life, and despised excess in others. The following lines from his rhymed Epistle to his friend Alexander Borland, will best express his true sentiments on the subject :— Retired, disgusted, from the tavern roar, Where strong-lung'd ignorance does highest soar, And shallow laughter takes her gaping fit; Where selfish sophistry out-brother's sense, Again, there are in this connection the author's two Bacchanalian poems, "Scotch Drink" and the "Bacchanalians," which may be mentioned in passing. His Bacchanalian songs, as well as many other of his songs and poems, manifest a strong sense of humour, which makes it all the more puzzling to understand why this sense did not save him from the tragic end which threw his native Paisley into a state of sadness and gloom. When the rising tide of the poet's reputation commenced to flow beyond the confines of his own literary circle, and when his love songs had begun to fascinate the blythe milkmaid and the artless young lassie at her spinningwheel, the sad intelligence of his melancholy end arrested the flowing tide. On the 16th of May, 1810, Tannahill walked to Glasgow to see his friend Alexander Borland, with whom he had a long conversation, in the course of which his friend became alarmed by his incoherent and rambling speech. Observing it was vastly different from the clear and well-ordered speech of the Tannahill of other days, he resolved to accompany him to Paisley. When opposite Crookston Castle, almost at the spot where the Poet and the Ettrick Shepherd parted only a few weeks previously, he made an effort to break away from his friend. By this strange action Borland deemed it prudent not to leave him till he saw him safe in his mother's dwelling, with whom he had lived since he returned from Bolton. He was put to bed and left under his mother's care, who, unfortunately, dozed off to sleep on her vigil. About three o'clock in the morning she discovered that he had stolen from his bed and could not be found. An alarm was quickly raised, and a search made. At length his coat and watch were found on the bank of Caudren Burn, and his lifeless body, discovered near-by, was carried to his mother's house by five o'clock on Thursday morning, 17th May, 1810. Thus terminated the career of one whose intellectual faculties should have been at their highest and best. From his high poetic gifts and past achievements, the world had reason to expect much more in the future, and this expectation would no doubt have been realised had it not been that a mind diseased thrust him into the merciless grip of relentless Fate. WM. M'ILWRAITH. THE SKINNER BI-CENTENARY. O N the evening of Monday, 3rd October, 1921, under the auspices of the Vernacular Circle of the London Burns Club, a large and distinguished company met in the Holborn Restaurant to do honour to the memory of John Skinner. Canon Wilkinson, Peterhead, who proposed the toast of the evening, said that in Scotland that night many grateful tributes were being paid to the memory of John Skinner. At his own beloved village of Longside, half a mile from the famous house of Linshart, his successor in office was at that moment extolling the genius and limning the personality of his great predecessor. But none of those rejoicings had the significance of that gathering in the heart of London; for their commemoration was proof, if proof were needed, not only that Skinner's place in literature was acknowledged far beyond the boundaries of his own land, but that his message was of that indomitable stuff which, like Betty Buchan's wincey petticoat, would stand "soakin', and scourin', and wringin', and rubbin', and then be as gweed as on the day it was made!" NO MILTONIC SPIRIT. Skinner was no Miltonic spirit who sounded his trumpet among the stars. He kept to the ingle-neuk and the King's highway, where there were weel-kent faces and friendly hearts; and there with unerring insight he read and interpreted and declared the character of his own. people and the conscience of his father's house. The modern poet, with his feet in Piccadilly and his mind sweeping the sands of Sahara for a new and startling simile, might be pardoned if he failed to perceive the essential greatness of a genius so beset with limitations that it preferred to find its inspiration, not at the ends of the earth, but at home. For Skinner was undoubtedly a provincial. He was provincially born, provincially reared, provincially trained. The high road to England was possibly too crowded for his liking; but at any rate his honest brogues never ventured upon it, and only faint adumbrations of the great world-movements of his age penetrated the obscurity of his homely surroundings. Indeed, practically the whole of his long life was passed in one Scottish county, and by far the greater part of it in one secluded corner of the shire. "I'm a faur-traivelled man," boasted the Kirkintilloch shoemaker, "I've been twice tae Mullguy, and ance at Arran, and I've veesited the wife's mother at Auchtermuchty; and, eh, sirs, what an awfu' warld we leeve in !" Skinner, being only a village parson and not a cosmopolitan shoemaker, did not attempt to envisage the universe from the reeking lums of Linshart; and therefore, thanks to the littleness of his environment, he saw less of the grandeur of the world, with its turmoil and its wickedness, and more of its simplicity, its tranquility, and its grace. That was why in his writings there is no vast campus on which the forces of good and evil are arrayed in eternal rivalry, and no great peaks on which the devil strives for the mastery of man's soul. SCOTTISH DIALECT POETRY. This, indeed, was the strength, or weakness, just as they cared to regard it, of the great body of Scottish dialect poetry. Their country was peculiarly rich in vernacular verse. Every village had its laureate, every considerable township its little nest of singing-birds. The output was tremendous and persistent, and inevitably there was much that did not rise or get beyond the boundaries of the parish. Pegasus in the paddock had grace, sprightliness, and no small beauty; but his limitations were manifest even to himself, and they welcomed the splendid moment when he broke bounds and pranced bravely on the mountain side, where the winds of heaven played around him and the vision of the world was unrolled. They knew, of |