hinted at, in the place of his birth. Where was the countenance the higher ranks should have conferred on him?-Where the support the wealthy could have given him to prosecute his studies and improve in his darling avocation? Merit in the lower paths of life was akin to a miracle in the eyes of the richer class of his native community, and miracles having died with the apostles they were not now to be believed.

We have done with our sketch. Sensible as we are that this essay is very defective in many respects-that it is often abridged where it should have been full and particular, and diffuse where it should have been concise and general, nevertheless, despite these faults, it will serve its end of being a kind of rude chart, by which some able hand may direct his course while prosecuting under happier auspices the same subjects of which we have treated. The mistakes or omissions which the attentive reader may discover, as they were either involuntary on our part or originated from lack of better information, it is hoped will be forgiven or at least charitably construed. What has been written was from the worthy motive of giving to our countrymen a bead roll of names belonging to this district that deserve not to perish without some tribute being paid to their memory, however inadequate such may be to their deserts, or insufficient to secure them from the obliviousness which time throws over the most illustrious dead.

I see that makaris amang the laif,

Playis heir thair padyanis, fyne gois to graif;
Spairit is nocht thair facultie;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

QUOD DUNBAR.

APPENDIX.

No. 1.

The Geste of Schir Gormalyn And the Reid Woulf

at the warldis

end.

Lythe and listen feeris al,

In quhat manere thirlit in thralle,
Wes ane swote May fair,

Be ane reid Woulff, ane ugsum fende,
Liggand nie the warldis end;

Quhyll ane knicht breem did wend

Thilk woulffis hert till tere.

Then this burde bricht to bring
Fra the Woulffis halde indigne,
Did himsel boune;

His aventuris, grit to tell,
Dois mi weake witt precell,

Quhairfoir me rede you well,

His laude to roune.

Gude Gormalyn bene pricken onne,
Ane squyer be him ronne,

Stalwarth and fre.

Ouir forthis, holtis, and how,
Quhyll thay prochen till a lowe,
Brennand bauld on ane knowe,
Meruailous till see.

F

"Quhar wonnis thow knicht,
In armour clere dicht?"
Spak furth ane man,

"I gang, quod Gormalyn,
Sum straunge aventur in,
Sua betide me hap and gyn,
Do quhat I can.

Quhat cace has happit the,
Sith sic dolore I see

Thorow this land gude?
Quhat bene this fyrie flare,
Trubland the mokie aire,
And sua moche of dispaire,
With teiris afflude?

"Welaway! mi hertis broken Wi moche wae ywroken," Quod the villeine;

"Syne ane reid woulfis stown, The swete May growan

Als lyk ane rois blowan,
And hir awa tane.

This woulff ben grit in bane,

Wi lang touzlit mane,

Hideous to see ;

Eyne lyk beadis of fyr,

With ane reid selcouth lyre,

Paweis scharpenit

Abune al gre.

Dwelland at the warldis end,

Nocht pitie him kend,

Bot dois devore

Flokkis, Schepperdis, Wemen,

Maydis, bairnis, eild men,

Then slinkis to his den

In moche glore.

Malisounis on him licht,
He swoppit ane May bricht,
Sib to the king

Of this royame braid;

And doomit to the deid,

Scho is perdie Ilede,

Sua sorrowis spryng.

Sith quhen the king heris
Fra mi foirfleyit feeris

Of this cace;

Certes, baith me and myne
Schal dree moche pyne,

Quhilk makis me dwyne
And sike, alace."

Up stertit Gormalyn,

Lyk ane suche of wynd,
Fers and fellone,

"Be him that bled on tre,

This samen May schall I fre,
And the grim woulff schall die
Be mie yron."

Out syne he drawis his suerd;
And settis its poynet till the erd,
Wittand to ken

Quhat airt it mote fall,

Quhilk fallow he schall,

Quhyll he mote saif mell

Wi the woulffis den.

Waffland till the west,

Joukand till the east,

Was sumdele the suerd,

Southlandis it whiles did beck,

Qubyll in fine north its neck

Bendand bot ane cheque

Daddit on erd.

(Multa deerant)

Furth prickit he throch the wud,

Lyk ane black clud,

In tide tempestive,

Calland loud and hie,

On the woulff ne to flee,
Quhan fleand sikarlie,

He was belive.

Alace in the woulffis mouth,
Borne was the mayd in trouth,
Shrikand delore,

Hir waist jimp and sma,

Crushit was atwixt his jaw,

And hir heid hong law,

Sad thoch decore.

Hir armis saft and lyte,

And halse ivorie quhyt

Sweepit the grund.

Quhyll hir goun in the wynd,

Trailand wes behind,

Alace! sicht of sic kynd,

Niver was fund.

Wae wes Schir Gormalyn,

Syne neir he ne win,

Albe he straive;

Eftsune his horss coupit
Ouir ane roche knoupit,
To erd Gormalyn loupit,
Deliver and braive.

On feet he swyth ran
Manie ane myl of land,

Nicht and day.

Thorow day he ay saw

Hir sklendir waist in woulffis jaw,

And thorow nicht a mane law,

For mercie alwaie.