Ye Pow'rs of Honour, Love, and Truth,
From ev'ry ill defend her;
Inspire the highly favour'd youth
The destinies intend her;

Still fan the sweet connubial flame
Responsive in each bosom ;
And bless the dear parental name
With many a filial blossom.

It is much to be regretted that the "powers of honour, love, and truth," did not inspire the "favour'd youth" of her young heart's desire to defend Miss Kennedy. For no fault that has been discovered, but alone that she was overtrustful, M'Doual, in a few years, threw her off and married another. She was induced to bring into Court an action for declarator of marriage, and consequent legitimacy of her child, it being pleaded that a secret marriage existed between them. The suit, however, had not proceeded far when the unfortunate lady died (in February, 1795), probably the victim of over-anguished feelings. The suit, however, did not lapse in consequence, and the Consistorial Court, in 1798, pronounced for marriage and legitimacy ; but the Court of Session, on review, revised the judgment, yet allowed £3,000 to the daughter in name of alimentary provision to herself and damages due to the deceased mother.

All these details would not be deemed called for here were it not that we might tell further how, in 1791, Miss Kennedy's sadly forsaken condition so appealed to the heart of the sympathetic Poet that he voiced her woe in the familiar and ever-touching lyric, "The Banks o' Doon than which no more tenderly affecting song, surely, was ever written. With no tale but its own, it has moved many thousands of hearts, but the poignancy of its pathos cuts into the very soul when the lines are read or listened to in

the light of the circumstance to which they actually refer. It is then-only then-surely, that we feel in its bitterest meaning the withering force of the expression

"And my fause lover staw my rose,

And, ah! he left the thorn wi' me."

Three versions of the song are extant, but the first to be composed, though seldom printed, is not the least moving. By preference—and not more because of its rarity than for its simple beauty-we will quote that. The second version is but slightly different; but in the third and final version of the song-which public opinion, by reason of its excellent music, has so thoroughly approved-the measure, it will be seen, is altered.

THE BANKS O' DOON.

Sweet are the banks-the banks o' Doon,
The spreading flowers are fair,

And everything is blythe and glad,

But I am fu' o' care.

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird,

That sings upon the bough;

Thou minds me o' the happy days

When my fause Luve was true;

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird

That sings beside thy mate;

For sae I sat, and sae I sang,
And wist na o' my fate.

Aft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon,

To see the woodbine twine;
And ilka bird sang o' its Luve,

And sae did I o' mine;

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
Upon its thorny tree;

But my fause Luver staw my rose,

And left the thorn wi' me;

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
Upon a morn in June;

And sae I flourished in the morn,

And sae was pu'd or 'noon!

Mrs. Begg, the poet's sister, in a letter written in October, 1850, says: "My mother remembers a conversation between Robert and Gilbert, on the hairst-rig, respecting the young lady [Miss Kennedy] and the song which had been written about her. Robert said she had a good deal of wit. One, Sarah Weir, who was often about Hamilton's, working, and knew them all well, was shearing on the same ridge with my mother. At the poet's remark about the wit of Miss Kennedy, Sarah stopped and asked if it was not of a shallow kind. The bard only replied with a look of contempt, which greatly amused my mother at the time, and which still remains imprinted on her memory."

BETTY MILLER

In his ode "On a Scotch Bard gone to the West Indies," which was composed in time to appear in the Kilmarnock edition, our author took a general farewell of the bonnie lasses of his acquaintance by saying:

"The bonnie lasses weel may miss him,
And in their dear petitions place him,
The widows, wives, and a' may bless him,
Wi' tearfu' e'e,

For weel I wat they'll sairly miss him,
That's owre the sea."

But he singles out one in particular from among "the belles of Mauchline" for whom he seems to entertain a more special interest. Dr. Chambers identifies her as the "braw Miss Betty" of the "six proper young belles," so distinguished in the canzonette quoted in the chapter on Jean Armour. She was the sister, he tells, of Miss Helen Miller, the wife of Dr. Mackenzie, and died shortly after being married to a Mr. Templeton. Throbbing, however, as the verses may be with the semblance of passion in every line, there is no necessity for supposing them addressed to anyone to whom the poet ever stood in the relation of a lover. We may rather presume, indeed, that she was no more than a much respected friend-worthy of a parting song, and so

FAREWELL TO ELIZA.

From thee, Eliza, I must go,

And from my native shore;

The cruel fates between us throw
A boundless ocean's roar :

But boundless oceans, roaring wide,
Between my Love and me,
They never, never can divide
My heart and soul from thee.

Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear,
The maid that I adore!

A boding voice is in mine ear,

We part to meet no more!

But the last throb that leaves my heart,

While death stands victor by,

That throb, Eliza, is thy part,

And thine that latest sigh!

Not more than a much respected friend, I repeat: for how could she be more? He has just told a friend that he loves Jean Armour to distraction, and of Mary Campbell he had written, perhaps within the same month

"Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low,

I'm thine, my Highland lassie, O."

One's heart may, in a measure, be divided between two, but, surely, not by any process could it be sub-divided so as to embrace a whole community of "proper young belles."