THE

"Scots Wha Hae."

London Daily Telegraph says:-Scotsmen all over the world will rejoice to learn that the original manuscript of their national war song, which but a few days ago was on the point of expatriation, has not been permitted to quit the Land of Cakes for a foreign shore; it is at the present moment in the possession of the ancient city of Edinburgh. The masterpiece of passionate patriotism and martial exhortation, popularly known as "Scots wha hae," a happy combination of poetical and musical inspiration, which has been aptly described as "immortal verse wedded to undying strains," is as familiar to every native of Caledonia as is " Rule Britannia" to Englishmen of the Victorian age, or "La Marseillaise" to Frenchmen of the Third Republic. stands first and foremost in every printed repertory of Scottish song; it never palls upon the ear of a true-born Scotsman; there is no fear that its popularity will ever wane in the country to which the valiant and chivalrous William Wallace owed his birth, and for which that true hero of history and romance died a martyr's death. As long as stands Scotland where it did, the grand lyric protest against "proud Edward's power" will live in the hearts of the people.

It

Paraphrase on Poem "To a Mouse."

BY JOHN DUNLOP BROWN.

VERSE VERSE 1. Small, sleek, cowering, timid creature, your heart contains much sudden terror. You need not run away so quickly with careering speed. I would be unwilling to pursue you with murdering plough-stick.

Verse 2.—I feel sincerely sad to think that man has severed the bond of friendship which should unite him with the lower animals, and given good cause for the fear that makes you run away from me, your natural friend and fellow-creature.

Verse 3.—I have no doubt that you sometimes steal, but then you must eat to live. Poor animal, you are to be pitied. An ear of corn now and then in twentyfour sheaves is a very small portion. I will receive a blessing with the rest and miss it not.

Verse 4.-Your tiny house also is in ruins. The winds are scattering its frail walls, and no materials, such as rank grass, are left wherewith to build a new Dull December will soon come with its cold and

one.

piercing winds.

Verse 5.-You saw the fields laid bare and desolate, with dreary winter fast approaching. Here you hoped to dwell, comfortably protected from the raging winds. These hopes, however, are now rudely dispelled when the cruel fore-iron of the plough has crushed your dwelling-place.

Verse 6.-That little mound of leaves and straw has caused you a great deal of toil with your teeth. Now, notwithstanding all your trouble, you are expelled from home and hold to bear the drizzling sleet and cold, hoar frost.

Verse 7.-But, little mouse, you are not alone in discovering that forethought may be useless. The most carefully concocted plots of animals and human beings are often unsuccessful and fail to accomplish the intended object, leaving nothing but disappointment and sorrow in place of the expected happiness.

Verse 8.-Still you are happier than I. You are affected by the present only; but, alas! when I review my past life, I cast my eyes on dark scenes, and despairing of the future, I am filled with fear.

Burns.

BY HOPE A. THOMSON.

THE bells of fame are ringing,

Sweet memory to us bringing

His grand, though simple rhyme;
And Scotsmen true are singing

His praise in every clime.

It is the old, old story :

That men are ever prone
To stone the prophet hoary
Now as in ages gone;
And then, to tell his glory

And fame, they raise a STONE!

Burns' Highland Mary.

ON the first morning of January, 1827, I was at Coilsfield giving a welcome to the New Year. It seemed a use and wont in the various neighbors, after friendly visiting each other, bottle in hand, to assemble in the house of Hugh Andrew, who lived in a cottage of two apartments. Hugh at this time was nearly 64 years of age, and was hale, hearty and garrulous. A dance was going on in the room, while he and I were the only inmates of the kitchen. He was in bed. As the mirth was going on in the room, he fired up differently to the most of old people. Listening for a time he gave vent to speech. "Lord, man, I like to hear the young anes enjoying themselves! In confidence before this he told me that he had the honor to be the whipper-in mentioned by Burns. "Man, I hae danced wi' Highland Mary in other years in that same room! Man, she was a tight hizzie! and feth sae was I a tight chiel! Man, I could hae thought to hae rivalled Burns mysel'! But man, the times then werena such as they are noo. I wad be ayont fifteen, a sturdy fellow, feth! but hadna the power o' a bawbee. Callants were callants then, and had to gang barefit till they could earn their ain shoon. And I'se tell you what it is: it doesna matter how gude-looking a young chiel be, if he hasna siller and gude claes, he is held light amang the lassies; altho', man, Mary an' me were great when we were alane, and mony a time I thought

o' putting my han' round her neck. But, man, there was a dignity aboot her that garr'd me aye stan' back ; and when that ugly deevil Burns made his appearance, it was then she looked doun on me athegether, an' I'se tell you that was what I took warst o' a'. I used often to muck the byre for her, and then she wad joke wi' me; so you see, sir, that I could hae fand in my heart to despise her! Ay, feth, sir, it was gallin' to ony chiel o' spirit! But, O, man, she was a tight hizzie ! I hae ne'er seen in my day aught to match her; an' min' ye, I count mysel' a judge. I really shouldna hae ca'd Burns an ugly deevil, altho' to me he was. The truth is, he was owre gude-lookin'; he was a manly-lookin' chiel, and I had still a bit o' the callant lookin' out o' me, and the want o' the bawbees was against me. Ony chiel wha could tak' a lass into the yill-hoose atween the preachin's on Sabbath had aye mair standin' amang them through the week. Women believe in siller, depend on't. Aweel, ye see, Burns and Mary are baith awa', and I am here yet. Man, I can see them baith before me just as if they were in life; but we maun a' dee.”—Hunter's Life Studies of Character.