Which men (for being poor) are sent to starve in,—
Rude remedy, I trow, for sore disease.

Within these walls, stifled by damp and stench,
Doth Hope's fair torch expire; and at the snuff,
Ere yet 'tis quite extinct, rude, wild, and wayward,
The desperate revelries of wild despair,
Kindling their hell-born cressets, light to deeds
That the poor captive would have died ere prac
tised,

Till bondage sunk his soul to his condition.

The Prison, Scene iii. Act i

(4.)--CHAP. XXVII.

Far as the eye could each no tree was seen,
Earth, clad in russet, scorn'd the lively green;
No birds, except as birds of passage, flew ;
No bee was heard to hum, no dove to coo;
No streams, as amber smooth, as amber clear,
Were seen to glide, or heard to warble here.
Prophecy of Famine.

(5.)-CHAP. XXXI.

"Woe to the vanquish'd!" was stern Brenno's wore When sunk proud Rome beneath the Gallic sword-

Farewell to the land where the clouds love to rest, Like the shroud of the dead on the mountain's cold breast;

To the cataract's roar where the eagles reply, And the lake her lone bosom expands to the sky.

Epilogue to the Appeal.'

SPOKEN BY MRS. HENRY SIDDONS,
FEB. 16, 1818.

A CAT of yore (or else old Æsop lied)
Was changed into a fair and blooming bride,
But spied a mouse upon her marriage day,
Forgot her spouse, and seized upon her prey;
Even thus my bridegroom lawyer, as you saw,
Threw off poor me, and pounced upon papa.
His neck from Hymen's mystic knot made loose.
He twisted round my sire's the literal noose.
Such are the fruits of our dramatic labor
Since the New Jail became our next-door neighbor.

Mackrimmon's Lament."

1818.

AIR-" Cha till mi tuille.''s

Mackrimmon, hereditary piper to the Laird of Macleod, is said to have composed this Lament when the Clan was about to depart upon a distant and dangerous expedition. The Minstrel was impressed with a belief, which the event verified, that he was to be slain in the approaching feud, and hence the Gaelic words, "Cha till mi tuille; ged thillis Macleod, cha till Mackrimmon,” “1 shall never return; although Macleod returns, yet Mackrimmon shall never return!" The piece is but too well known, from its being the strain with which the emigrants from the West Highlands and Isles usually take leave of their native shore.

MACLEOD'S wizard flag from the gray castle sallies, The rowers are seated, unmoor'd are the galleys; Gleam war-axe and broadsword, clang target and quiver,

for ever!

The future legal sage, 'twas ours to see,
Doom though unwigg'd, and plead without a fee.

But now, astounding each poor mimic elf, Instead of lawyers comes the law herself; Tremendous neighbor, on our right she dwells, Builds her high towers and excavates her cells; While on the left she agitates the town,

"The Appeal," a Tragedy, by John Galt, the celebrated author of the "Annals of the Parish," and other Novels, was played for four nights at this time in Edinburgh.

2 It is necessary to mention, that the allusions in this piece are all local, and addressed only to the Edinburgh audience. The new prisons of the city, on the Calton Hill, are not far from the theatre.

Farewell to each cliff, on which breakers are foaming;

Farewell, each dark glen, in which red-deer a roaming;

Farewell, lonely Skye, to lake. mountain, and river; Macleod may return, but Mackrimmon shall never

From the Ueart of Mid-Lothian.

1818.

(1.)-MADGE WILDFIRE'S SONGS.

WHEN the gledd's in the blue cloud, The lavrock lies still;

When the hound's in the green-wood, The hind keeps the hill.

O sleep ye sound, Sir James, she said,
When ye suld rise and ride?

There's twenty men, wi' bow and blade,
Are seeking where ye hide.

Hey for cavaliers, ho for cavaliers,

Dub a dub, dub a dub;

Have at old Beelzebub,Oliver's running for fear.

I glance like the wildfire through country and town;

I'm seen on the causeway-I'm seen on the down;
The lightning that flashes so bright and so free,
Is scarcely so blithe or so bonny as me.

What did ye wi' the bridal ring-bridal ringbridal ring?

What did ye wi' your wedding ring, ye little cutty quean, O?

I gied it till a sodger, a sodger, a sodger,

I gied it till a sodger, an auld true love o' mine, O.

Good even, good fair moon, good even to thee;
I prithee, dear moon, now show to me

The form and the features, the speech and degree,

Of the man that true lover of mine shall be.

It is the bonny butcher lad,

That wears the sleeves of blue, He sells the flesh on Saturday, On Friday that he slew.

There's a bloodhound ranging Tinwald Wood,
There's harness glancing sheen;
There's a maiden sits on Tinwald brae,
And she sings loud between.

Up in the air,

On my bonnie gray mare,

And I see, and I see, and I see her yet.

In the bonnie cells of Bedlam,
Ere I was ane and twenty,
I had hempen bracelets strong,

And merry whips, ding-dong,

And prayer and fasting plenty.

My banes are buried in yon kirk-yard Sae far ayont the sea,

And it is but my blithsome ghaist

That's speaking now to thee.

I'm Madge of the country, I'm Madge of the town,
And I'm Madge of the lad I am blithest to own→
The Lady of Beever in diamonds may shine,
But has not a heart half so lightsome as mine.

I am Queen of the Wake, and I'm Lady of May, And I lead the blithe ring round the May-pole to

day;

The wild-fire that flashes so far and so free Was never so bright, or so bonnie as me.

He that is down need fear no fall, He that is low no pride;

He that is humble ever shall

Have God to be his guide.

Fulness to such a burthen is

That go on pilgrimage; Here little, and hereafter bliss, Is best from age to age.

"As Jeanie entered, she heard first the air, and then a part of the chorus and words of what had been, perhaps, the song of a jolly harvest-home."

Our work is over-over now,

The goodman wipes his weary brow, The last long wain wends slow away, And we are free to sport and play.

The night comes on when sets the sun,
And labor ends when day is done.
When Autumn's gone, and Winter's come,
We hold our jovial harvest-home.

"The attendant on the hospital arranged her in her bed as she desired, with her face to the wall, and her back to the light. So soon as she was quiet in this new position, she began again to sing in the same low and modulated strains, as if she was recovering the state of abstraction which the interruption of her visitants had disturbed. The strain, however, was different, and rather resembled the music of the methodist hymns, though the measure of the song was similar to that of the former:"

When the fight of grace is fought,—
When the marriage vest is wrought,-
When Faith has chased cold Doubt away,-