Though fetters yet should clank O'er the gay and princely rank Of cities on thy bank, All sublime; Still thou wilt wander on, Till eternity has gone, And broke the dial stone Of old Time.

REV. T. G. TORRY ANDERSON.

The author of the deservedly popular words and air of "The Araby Maid,"

Thomas Gordon Torry Anderson was the youngest son of Patrick Torry, D.D., t.i.tular bishop of St Andrews, Dunkeld, and Dunblane. His mother, Jane Young, was the daughter of Dr William Young, of Fawsyde, Kincardineshire. Born at Peterhead on the 9th July 1805, he received his elementary education at the parish school of that place. He subsequently prosecuted his studies in Marischal College, Aberdeen, and the University of Edinburgh. In 1827, he received holy orders, and was admitted to the inc.u.mbency of St John's Episcopal Church, Portobello. He subsequently became a.s.sistant in St George's Episcopal Church, Edinburgh, and was latterly promoted to the pastorate of St Paul's Episcopal Church, Dundee.

Devoted to the important duties of the clerical office, Mr Torry Anderson experienced congenial recreation in the cultivation of music and song, and in the occasional composition of both. He composed, in 1833, the words and air of "The Araby Maid," which speedily obtained a wide popularity. The music and words of the songs, ent.i.tled "The Maiden's Vow," and "I Love the Sea," were composed in 1837 and 1854, respectively. To a work, ent.i.tled "Poetical Ill.u.s.trations of the Achievements of the Duke of Wellington and his Companions in Arms,"

published in 1852, he extensively contributed. During the summer of 1855, he fell into bad health, and was obliged to resign his inc.u.mbency.

He afterwards resided on his estate of Fawsyde, to which he had succeeded, in 1850, on the death of his uncle, Dr Young. He died at Aberdeen on the 20th of June 1856, in his fifty-first year. He was three times married--first, in 1828, to Mrs Gaskin Anderson of Tushielaw, whose name he adopted to suit the requirements of an entail; secondly, he espoused, in 1838, Elizabeth Jane, daughter of Dr Thomas Sutter, R.N.; and lastly, Mrs Hill, widow of Mr William Hill, R.N., whom he married in 1854. He has left a widow and six children.

THE ARABY MAID.

Away on the wings of the wind she flies, Like a thing of life and light-- And she bounds beneath the eastern skies, And the beauty of eastern night.

Why so fast flies the bark through the ocean's foam, Why wings it so speedy a flight?

'Tis an Araby maid who hath left her home, To fly with her Christian knight.

She hath left her sire and her native land, The land which from childhood she trode, And hath sworn, by the pledge of her beautiful hand, To worship the Christian's G.o.d.

Then away, away, oh swift be thy flight, It were death one moment's delay; For behind there is many a blade glancing bright-- Then away--away--away!

They are safe in the land where love is divine, In the land of the free and the brave-- They have knelt at the foot of the holy shrine, Nought can sever them now but the grave.

THE MAIDEN'S VOW.

The maid is at the altar kneeling, Hark the chant is loudly pealing-- Now it dies away!

Her prayers are said at the holy shrine, No other thought but thought divine Doth her sad bosom fill.

The world to her is nothing now, For she hath ta'en a solemn vow To do her father's will.

But why hath one so fair, so young, The joys of life thus from her flung-- Why hath she ta'en the veil?

Her lover fell where the brave should fall, Amidst the fight, when the trumpet's call Proclaim'd the victory.

He fought, he fell, a hero brave-- And though he fill a lowly grave, His name can never die.

The victory's news to the maiden came-- They loudly breathed her lover's name, Who for his country fell.

But vain the loudest trumpet tone Of fame to her, when he was gone To whom the praise was given!

Her sun of life had set in gloom-- Its joys were withered in his tomb-- She vow'd herself to Heaven.

I LOVE THE SEA.

I love the sea, I love the sea, My childhood's home, my manhood's rest, My cradle in my infancy-- The only bosom I have press'd.

I cannot breathe upon the land, Its manners are as bonds to me, Till on the deck again I stand, I cannot feel that I am free.

Then tell me not of stormy graves-- Though winds be high, there let them roar; I 'd rather perish on the waves Than pine by inches on the sh.o.r.e.

I ask no willow where I lie, My mourner let the mermaid be, My only knell the sea-bird's cry, My winding-sheet the boundless sea!

GEORGE ALLAN.

George Allan was the youngest son of John Allan, farmer at Parad.y.k.es, near Edinburgh, where he was born on the 2d February 1806. Ere he had completed his fourteenth year, he became an orphan by the death of both his parents. Intending to prosecute his studies as a lawyer, he served an apprenticeship in the office of a Writer to the Signet. He became a member of that honourable body, but almost immediately relinquished legal pursuits, and proceeded to London, resolved to commence the career of a man of letters. In the metropolis his literary aspirations were encouraged by Allan Cunningham and Mr and Mrs S. C. Hall. In 1829, he accepted an appointment in Jamaica; but, his health suffering from the climate of the West Indies, he returned in the following year. Shortly after his arrival in Britain, he was fortunate in obtaining the editorship of the _Dumfries Journal_, a respectable Conservative newspaper. This he conducted with distinguished ability and success for three years, when certain new arrangements, consequent on a change in the proprietary, rendered his services unnecessary. A letter of Allan Cunningham, congratulating him on his appointment as a newspaper editor, is worthy of quotation, from its shrewd and sagacious counsels:--

"Study to fill your paper," writes Cunningham, "with such agreeable and diversified matter as will allure readers; correct intelligence, sprightly and elegant paragraphs, remarks on men and manners at once free and generous; and local intelligence pertaining to the district, such as please men of the Nith in a far land.

These are the staple commodity of a newspaper, and these you can easily have. A few literary paragraphs you can easily scatter about; these attract booksellers, and booksellers will give advertis.e.m.e.nts where they find their works are noticed. Above all things, write cautiously concerning all localities; if you praise much, a hundred will grumble; if you are severe, one only may complain, but twenty will shake the head. You will have friends on one side of the water desiring one thing, friends on the other side desiring the reverse, and in seeking to please one you vex ten. An honest heart, a clear head, and a good conscience, will enable you to get well through all."

On terminating his connexion with the _Dumfries Journal_, Allan proceeded to Edinburgh, where he was immediately employed by the Messrs Chambers as a literary a.s.sistant. In a letter addressed to a friend, about this period, he thus expresses himself regarding his enterprising employers:--

"They are never idle. Their very recreations are made conducive to their business, and they go through their labours with a spirit and cheerfulness, which shew how consonant these are with their dispositions." "Mr Robert Chambers," he adds, "is the most mild, una.s.suming, kind-hearted man I ever knew, and is perfectly uneasy if he thinks there is any one uncomfortable about him. The interest which he has shewn in my welfare has been beyond everything I ever experienced, and the friendly yet delicate way in which he is every other day asking me if I am all comfortable at home, and bidding me apply to him when I am in want of anything, equally puzzles me to understand or express due thanks for."

Besides contributing many interesting articles to _Chambers's Edinburgh Journal_, and furnishing numerous communications to the _Scotsman_ newspaper, Allan wrote a "Life of Sir Walter Scott," in an octavo volume, which commanded a wide sale, and was much commended by the public press. In preparing that elegant work, the "Original National Melodies of Scotland," the ingenious editor, Mr Peter M'Leod, was favoured by him with several songs, which he set forth in that publication, with suitable music. In 1834, some of his relatives succeeded, by political influence, in obtaining for him a subordinate situation in the Stamp Office,--one which at once afforded him a certain subsistence, and did not necessarily preclude the exercise of his literary talents. But a const.i.tutional weakness of the nervous system did not permit of his long enjoying the smiles of fortune. He died suddenly at Janefield, near Leith, on the 15th August 1835, in his thirtieth year. In October 1831, he had espoused Mrs Mary Hill, a widow, eldest daughter of Mr William Pagan, of Curriestanes, and niece of Allan Cunningham, who, with one of their two sons, still survives. Allan was a man of singularly gentle and amiable dispositions, a pleasant companion, and devoted friend. In person he was tall and rather thin, with a handsome, intelligent countenance. An enthusiast in the concerns of literature, it is to be feared that he cut short his career by overstrained application. His verses are animated and vigorous, and are largely imbued with the national spirit.[20]

FOOTNOTES:

[20] We are indebted to William Pagan, Esq. of Clayton, author of "Road Reform," for much of the information contained in this memoir. Mr Pagan kindly procured for our use the whole of Mr Allan's papers and MSS.

IS YOUR WAR-PIPE ASLEEP?[21]

Is your war-pipe asleep, and for ever, M'Crimman?

Is your war-pipe asleep, and for ever?

Shall the pibroch, that welcom'd the foe to Benaer, Be hush'd when we seek the dark wolf in his lair, To give back our wrongs to the giver?

To the raid and the onslaught our chieftains have gone, Like the course of the fire-flaught the clansmen pa.s.s'd on, With the lance and the shield 'gainst the foe they have boon'd them, And have ta'en to the field with their va.s.sals around them; Then raise your wild slogan-cry--on to the foray!

Sons of the heather-hill, pinewood, and glen, Shout for M'Pherson, M'Leod, and the Moray, Till the Lomonds re-echo the challenge again!