RICHIE STORRIE.

Long, long be it their happy home,
Their cares and sorrows be but few;
Long may they live to walk with God,
When I have bid them all adieu.

211

These lines are believed to be the last lines written by the Rev. James Proudfoot, the late much respected Free Church minister of Coulter, on leaving his home, to which, alas! he never returned. He died at Lower Norwood, London, on the 15th November, 1876, in the 50th year of his ministry, 16 of which were spent in the Established, and 33 in the Free Church. His friends will not do justice to his memory if they do not gather together, for publication, his poetical and literary productions, which were of a very superior order.

RICHIE STORRIE.

The Earl of Wigton, who died in 1665, by his lady, Jane Drummond, a daughter of the Earl of Perth, had five sons and three daughters. Lilias, the second daughter, fell in love with one of her father's servants, named Richard Storrie, eloped, and succeeded in forming with him a matrimonial union. The family afterwards obtained for Storrie a situation in the Custom-house. The marriage of this pair made a great noise at the time, and gave rise to the following ballad :

THE Erle o' Wigton had daughters three,
O braw wallie, they were bonnie;
The youngest o' them, an' the bonniest too,
Has fa'en in love wi' Richie Storrie.

"Here's a letter for you, fair lady," he said
"Here's a letter for you, my lady;

The Erle o' Home wad fain presume
To be a suitor to you, my lady."

;

"I'll hae nane o' your letters, Richie," she said;
"I'll hae nane o' that letter frae you;

For I hae made a vow, and I'll keep it true,

That I will marry nane but you."

"O do not say so, fair lady," he said!
"O do not say so, my lady so true;
For I've neither castles, nor land, nor rent,
In health and comfort to keep you.

“And ye maun wear ribbons, and pearlins, and rings, And silks and satins so fine, lady,

And laces around your bonnie white neck,
O' the goud that shines so fine, lady."

"I'll lie 'yont a dyke, dear Richie," she said;
"Wi' you I would lie 'yont a dyke,
And I'll aye be obedient to your command
And bide wi' you whaur ye like.

"Fair Powmoodie is mine, dear Richie,
And goud and pearlins too;

Gin ye'll consent to be mine, dear Richie,
I will gie them a' to you.'

O he's gone away on the braid, braid road,
And she's gane thro' the broom so bonnie;
Her silken robes flowed down to her heels,
And she's awa wi' Richie Storrie.

The lady gaed up the Parliament stairs,
Wi' pendles in her lugs so bonnie;
Many a lord lifted his hat frae his hair,

But never dreamed she was Richie's lady.

Up then spak' the Erle o' Home's lady-
"O Lily! warna ye richt sorrie

To leave the lands o' bonnie Cumbernauld
And follow on wi' Richie Storrie?"

"O what need I be sorrie, Ladie Home;

O what need I be sorrie ?

For I've gotten the lad that I like best, Ladie Home, And that's my ain dear Richie Storrie.

CLYDESDALE FOLK.

"And I've gotten the lad was ordained for me,
And that's my ain dear Richie Storrie,

And I wadna' gie him for your proud, proud lord,

To change, indeed, I wad be sorrie!"

213

Boghall Castle, Biggar, was for many centuries the residence of the Earls of Wigton.

CLYDESDALE FOLK.

On Yarrow braes and Ettrick shaws beat leal, leal hearts and warm,

In men, and dames, and lovely maids, that cheer alike and

charm;

But lealer hearts and fairer forms are no in Scotland wide, Than those that trace and sweetly grace the bonnie banks o'

Clyde.

The Tweed rows down his water far along yon mountain glen,

Where lovely rills and lofty hills are round the hames o'

men;

But Tintock rears a prouder crest, and guards a fairer tide, In casting his broad shadow o'er the valleys o' the Clyde.

Where glow the hearths as erst they glowed, wi' them we left behind;

Where love and worth combined to bless the kindest of the kind,

And bright intelligence lits up the fare, they freely there provide,

When couthily they crack within the happy hames o' Clyde.

May peace and plenty dwell wi' them, who still are dwellers

there;

May love the sunny ringlets wreathe, and wit the hoary hair;

And sympathies that aye are young immingles life's ain tide, While harps are strung, and songs are sung, on the bonnie banks o' Clyde.

H. SCOTT RIDDELL.

DOLLERIE MILLS.

Dollerie Mills! Dollerie Mills!
I'll ne'er forget Dollerie Mills!
My bosom swells, my e'e it fills,
When I think on Dollerie Mills.

Oh there I spent life's early days,
In sporting on Dollerie's braes;
And bathed my feet in Turret's rills,
Swift gliding by Dollerie Mills.

And when I think on dear Dalvreck,
What it was once, now what a wreck !
Again the briny tear distils

For it, and dear Dollerie Mills.

My father and my mother dear,
My brothers and my sisters fair,
Your pictures still my memory fills
When I think on Dollerie Mills.

Dollerie! what a lovely scene!
Dollerie's woods are fresh and green;
Her evening song the mavis trills
So sweetly at Dollerie Mills.

Though short my span of life has been,

Yet many changes I have seen,
And many hearts the cold grave fills

That loved me at Dollerie Mills.

THE WESTPORT TREE.

Our uncle James, and uncle John,
Aunt Isabell, they all are gone;

The thought my heart with sorrow fills,
They'll ne'er see more Dollerie Mills.

But we'll meet again in the heavens high
Above yon stars, and above yon sky,
Where rapture every bosom fills-
Far, far, from dear Dollerie Mills.

215

JOHN M'EWAN.

In memoriam of James, John, and Isabell M'Owen, all most respectable people of Dalvreck and Crieff, whose remains repose in the churchyard of Monzie, near Crieff.

THE WESTPORT TREE.

THE old tree! the good old tree! and is it down at last? Full many a winter it hath stood each rude tempestuous blast; Through the summer time of beauty, verdant clad for many a year,

It hath reared its giant timbers, to an old age grey and sere.

Oh, would that tree had language! what might it not unfold, Of scenes in which it bore a part, far in the days of old? Race after race have sprung since then, and fallen to decay, Unmoved there stood that aged trunk, with aspect cold and grey.

Wallace the brave!-in Scottish hearts so fondly yet enshrined

Rode past with silken banners gaily floating in the wind; His little band of followers, so trusty, tried, and true, Clinging round with deep devotion-it had them all in view.

That tree hath been the centre place of many a joyous game, In happy childhood's blythesome hours, as sorrows went and

came;