On the publication, in 1849, of another volume, ent.i.tled, "Sketches from Nature, and other Poems," the critic wrote to the poet in these words, "I can remember when the appearance of such a work would have produced a great sensation, and secured to its author both distinction and more solid advantages." Among the last written of Lord Jeffrey's letters, was one addressed to Mr Maclagan in regard to the second edition of his Poems. Shortly after his patron's death, the poet found a new friend in Lord c.o.c.kburn, who procured for him a junior clerkship in the office of the Inland Revenue, Edinburgh. This situation proved, however, most uncongenial; he found himself unsuited to the practice of lengthened arithmetical summations, and he resigned his post under the promise of being transferred to another department, more suitable to his habits. In 1851 he was, by a number of his admirers, entertained at a public dinner in the hall attached to Burns' Cottage, and more lately he received a similar compliment in his native town. Considerate attentions have been shewn him by the d.u.c.h.ess of Sutherland, the Duke of Argyle, the Rev. Dr Guthrie, and other distinguished individuals. In the autumn of 1856 he had conferred on him by the Queen a small Civil List pension.

Mr Maclagan's latest publication, ent.i.tled, "Ragged and Industrial School Rhymes," appeared in 1854, and has well sustained his reputation.

Imbued with a keen perception of the beautiful and pleasing, alike in the natural and moral world, his poetry is marked by refinement of thought, elegance of expression, and an earnest devotedness. In social life he delights to depict the praises of virtue. The lover's tale he has told with singular simplicity and tenderness.

FOOTNOTES:

[12] To Mr Disseret of Edinburgh we are indebted for the particulars of Mr Maclagan's personal history.

CURLING SONG.

Hurrah for Scotland's worth and fame, A health to a' that love the name; Hurrah for Scotland's darling game, The pastime o' the free, boys.

While head, an' heart, an' arm are strang, We 'll a' join in a patriot's sang, And sing its praises loud and lang-- The roarin' rink for me, boys.

Hurrah, hurrah, for Scotland's fame, A health to a' that love the name; Hurrah for Scotland's darling game; The roarin' rink for me, boys.

Gie hunter chaps their break-neck hours, Their slaughtering guns amang the muirs; Let wily fisher prove his powers At the flinging o' the flee, boys.

But let us pledge ilk hardy chiel, Wha's hand is sure, wha's heart is leal, Wha's glory 's on a brave bonspiel-- The roarin' rink for me, boys.

In ancient days--fame tells the fact-- That Scotland's heroes werena slack The heads o' stubborn foes to crack, And mak' the f.e.c.kless flee, boys.

Wi' brave hearts, beating true and warm, They aften tried the curlin' charm To cheer the heart and nerve the arm-- The roarin' rink for me, boys.

May love and friendship crown our cheer Wi' a' the joys to curlers dear; We hae this nicht some heroes here, We aye are blythe to see, boys.

A' brithers brave are they, I ween, May fickle Fortune, slippery queen, Aye keep their ice baith clear and clean-- The roarin' rink for me, boys.

May health an' strength their toils reward, And should misfortune's gales blow hard, Our task will be to plant a guard Or guide them to the tee, boys.

Here 's three times three for curlin' scenes, Here 's three times three for curlin' freen's, Here 's three times three for beef an' greens-- The roarin' rink for me, boys.

A' ye that love auld Scotland's name, A' ye that love auld Scotland's fame, A' ye that love auld Scotland's game, A glorious sicht to see, boys-- Up, brothers, up, drive care awa'; Up, brothers, up, ne'er think o' thaw; Up, brothers, up, and sing hurrah-- The roarin' rink for me, boys.

THE AULD MEAL MILL.

The auld meal mill--oh, the auld meal mill, Like a dream o' my schule-days, it haunts me still; Like the sun's simmer blink on the face o' a hill, Stands the love o' my boyhood, the auld meal mill.

The stream frae the mountain, rock-ribbit and brown, Like a peal o' loud laughter, comes rattlin' down; Tak' my word for 't, my friend, 'tis na puny rill That ca's the big wheel o' the auld meal mill.

When flashin' and dashin' the paddles flee round, The miller's blythe whistle aye blends wi' the sound; The spray, like the bricht draps whilk rainbows distil, Fa' in showers o' red gowd round the auld meal mill.

The wild Hielan' heather grows thick on its thack, The ivy and apple-tree creep up its back; The lightning-wing'd swallow, wi' Nature's ain skill, Builds its nest 'neath the eaves o' the auld meal mill.

Keep your e'e on the watch-dog, for Caesar kens weel When the wild gipsy laddies are tryin' to steal; But he lies like a lamb, and licks wi' good will The hard, h.o.r.n.y hand that brings grist to the mill.

There are mony queer jokes 'bout the auld meal mill-- They are noo sober folks 'bout the auld meal mill-- But ance it was said that a het Hielan' still Was aften at wark near the auld meal mill.

When the plough 's at its rest, the sheep i' the fauld, Sic' gatherin's are there, baith o' young folk and auld; The herd blaws his horn, richt bauldly and shrill, A' to bring doon his clan to the auld meal mill.

Then sic jumpin' o'er barrows, o'er hedges and harrows, The men o' the mill can scarce fin' their marrows; Their lang-barrell'd guns wad an armory fill-- There 's some capital shots near the auld meal mill.

At blithe penny-weddin' or christ'nin' a wee ane, Sic' ribbons, sic' ringlets, sic feather's are fleein'; Sic' laughin', sic' daffin', sic dancin', until The laft near comes doon o' the auld meal mill.

I hae listen'd to music--ilk varying tone, Frae the harp's deein' fa' to the bagpipe's drone; But nane stirs my heart wi' sae happy a thrill As the sound o' the wheel o' the auld meal mill.

Success to the mill and the merry mill-wheel!

Lang, lang may it grind aye the wee bairnies' meal!

Bless the miller--wha often, wi' heart and good-will, Fills the widow's toom pock at the auld meal mill.

The auld meal mill--oh, the auld meal mill, Like a dream o' my schule days it haunts me still; Like the sun's summer blink on the face o' a hill, Stands the love o' my boyhood, the auld meal mill.

THE THISTLE.

Hurrah for the thistle! the brave Scottish thistle, The evergreen thistle of Scotland for me!

A fig for the flowers, in your lady-built bowers-- The strong-bearded, weel-guarded thistle for me!

'Tis the flower the proud eagle greets in its flight, When he shadows the stars with the wings of his might; 'Tis the flower that laughs at the storm as it blows, For the stronger the tempest, the greener it grows!

Hurrah for the thistle, &c.

Round the love-lighted hames o' our ain native land-- On the bonneted brow, on the hilt of the brand-- On the face o' the shield, 'mid the shouts o' the free, May the thistle be seen where the thistle should be!

Hurrah for the thistle, &c.

Hale hearts we hae yet to bleed in its cause; Bold harps we hae yet to sound its applause; How, then, can it fade, when sic chiels an' sic cheer, And sae mony braw sprouts o' the thistle are here?

Then hurrah for the thistle! the brave Scottish thistle, The evergreen thistle of Scotland for me!

A fig for the flowers in your lady-built bowers-- The strong-bearded, well-guarded thistle for me!

THE SCOTCH BLUE BELL.

The Scotch blue-bell, the Scotch blue-bell, The dear blue-bell for me!

Oh! I wadna gie the Scotch blue-bell For a' the flowers I see.

I lo'e thee weel, thou Scotch blue-bell, I hail thee, floweret fair; Whether thou bloom'st in lanely dell, Or wavest mid mountain air-- Blithe springing frae our bare, rough rocks, Or fountain's flowery brink: Where, fleet as wind, in thirsty flocks, The deer descend to drink.

The Scotch blue-bell, &c.

Sweet flower! thou deck'st the sacred nook Beside love's trystin' tree; I see thee bend to kiss the brook, That kindly kisseth thee.

'Mang my love's locks ye 're aften seen, Blithe noddin' o'er her brow, Meet marrows to her lovely een O' deep endearin' blue!

The Scotch blue-bell, &c.