THE MEETING PLACE.

Where the faded flower shall freshen, Freshen never more to fade; Where the shaded sky shall brighten, Brighten never more to shade: Where the sun-blaze never scorches, Where the star-beams cease to chill; Where no tempest stirs the echoes Of the wood, or wave, or hill: Where the morn shall wake in gladness, And the noon the joy prolong, Where the daylight dies in fragrance, 'Mid the burst of holy song: Brother, we shall meet and rest 'Mid the holy and the blest!

Where no shadow shall bewilder, Where life's vain parade is o'er, Where the sleep of sin is broken, And the dreamer dreams no more; Where the bond is never sever'd, Partings, claspings, sob and moan, Midnight waking, twilight weeping, Heavy noontide, all are done: Where the child has found its mother, Where the mother finds the child, Where dear families are gather'd That were scatter'd on the wild: Brother, we shall meet and rest 'Mid the holy and the blest!

Where the hidden wound is healed, Where the blighted life re-blooms, Where the smitten heart the freshness Of its buoyant youth resumes; Where the love that here we lavish On the withering leaves of time, Shall have fadeless flowers to fix on In an ever spring-bright clime: Where we find the joy of loving, As we never loved before, Loving on, unchill'd, unhinder'd, Loving once and evermore: Brother, we shall meet and rest 'Mid the holy and the blest!

Where a blasted world shall brighten Underneath a bluer sphere, And a softer, gentler sunshine, Shed its healing splendour here; Where earth's barren vales shall blossom, Putting on their robe of green, And a purer, fairer Eden, Be where only wastes have been: Where a king in kingly glory, Such as earth has never known, Shall a.s.sume the righteous sceptre, Claim and wear the holy crown: Brother, we shall meet and rest 'Mid the holy and the blest!

TRUST NOT THESE SEAS AGAIN.

Trust not these seas again, Though smooth and fair; Trust not these waves again, Shipwreck is there.

Trust not these stars again, Though bright and fair; Trust not these skies again, Tempest is there.

Trust not that breeze again, Gentle and fair; Trust not these clouds again, Lightning is there.

Trust not that isle again, Flower-crown'd and fair; Trust not its rocks again, Earthquake is there.

Trust not these flowers again, Fragrant and fair; Trust not that rose again, Blighting is there.

Trust not that earth again, Verdant and fair; Trust not its fields again, Winter is there.

Trust not these hopes again, Sunny and fair; Trust not that smile again, Peril is there.

Trust not this world again, Smiling and fair; Trust not its sweets again, Wormwood is there;

Trust not its love again, Sparkling and fair; Trust not its joy again, Sorrow is there.

JOHN HALLIDAY.

A song-writer of merit, John Halliday was born on the 18th July 1821, at Hawickshielsgate, near Hawick, Roxburghshire. His father was an agricultural labourer; and, with an ordinary education at school, he was, at an early age, engaged as an a.s.sistant shepherd to a tenant farmer in his native district. Inheriting from his mother a taste for the elder Scottish ballad, he devoted his leisure hours to reading such sc.r.a.ps of songs as he could manage to procure. In his thirteenth year he essayed to compose verses, and at the age of twenty became a contributor of poetical stanzas to the provincial journals. Encouraged by a numerous list of subscribers, he published, in 1847, "The Rustic Bard," a duodecimo volume of poems and songs. After being several years resident at Hopekirk, Roxburghshire, he removed in 1854 to Bridge of Allan, where he is well employed as a florist and landscape gardener.

THE AULD KIRK BELL.

In a howm, by a burn, where the brown birks grow, And the green ferns nod when the wild winds blow, Stands the roofless kirk in the auld kirkyard, Where the gowans earliest gem the swaird; And the gray, gray moss on ilk cauld through stane Shrouds in oblivion the lang, lang gane-- Where the ance warm heart is a cauld, cauld clod, And the beauteous and brave give a green to the sod-- On a time-worn tower, where the dim owls dwell, Tuneless and torn, hangs the auld kirk bell.

On the auld kirk floor is the damp night dew, Where warm words flow'd in a worship true; Is the sugh o' the breeze, and the hum o' the bee As it wings and sings in its taintless glee Through the nettles tall to the thistles red, Where they roughly wave o'er each deep, dark bed; And it plies its task on the wa'-flowers tall, Which bloom in the choir and wave on the wall; Then, soaring away with a sweep and a swell, It covers its combs in the auld kirk bell.

By the crumbling base of the auld kirk tower Is the broad-leaved dock and the bright brae flower; And the adders hiss o'er the lime-bound stones, And playfully writhe round mouldering bones: The bat clingeth close to the binewood's root, Where its gnarled boughs up the belfry shoot, As, hiding the handworks of ruthless time, It garlands in grandeur and green sublime The h.o.a.ry height, where the rust sae fell Bends, as with a burden, the auld kirk bell.

Oh, red is the rust, and a ruin is come To the auld kirk bell--ance and ever it 's dumb; On the brink of the past 'tis awaiting a doom, For a wauf o' the wind may awaken its tomb, As, bearing its fragments, all dust-like, away, To blend with water, the wood and the clay, Till lost 'mid the changes of manners and men; Then ne'er ane will think, nor ere ane will ken, That a joyfu' jowl and a waefu' knell, As it swung, had been rung by the auld kirk bell.

THE AULD AIK-TREE.

Oh, we hae been amang the bowers that winter didna bare, And we hae daunder'd in the howes where flowers were ever fair, And lain aneath as lofty trees as eye did ever see, Yet ne'er could lo'e them as we lo'e the auld aik-tree.

It 's no because its boughs are busk'd in any byous green, For simmer sairs it little now--it's no what it has been, Sin' ilka wauf o' win' that blaws dings dauds o't on the lea, And bairnies bear their burdens frae the auld aik-tree.

It 's no because the gowans bright grow bonnie by its ruit, For we hae seen them blum as braw in mony a ither bit; Nor yet because the mavis sings his mellow morning glee Sae sweetly frae the branches o' the auld aik-tree.

But there 's a kindly feeling found and foster'd in the heart, Which bears the thought a backward stream to lifetime's early part, And ties us to ilk morning scene o' love and laughing glee We 've seen, and kenn'd, and join'd aneath the auld aik-tree.

For we hae play'd aneath its shade a chuffie-cheekit bairn, Unkennin' o', uncarin' for, cauld care or crosses stern, And ran around it at the ba' when we frae schule wan free; Then wha daur say we sudna lo'e the auld aik-tree?

We 've speel'd upon its foggie stem and dern'd amang its green, To catch the pyet in her nest amidst the grays o' e'en; And watch'd the gooldie bringin' doon to big her hame sae wee Atween the cosie forkings o' the auld aik-tree.

And we hae tint and ta'en a heart when gloamin's shadows threw Out o'er the glen her misty gray in kindly drippin' dew, And felt the tear o' anguish fa' in torrents frae our e'e, When pairting frae that loved ane 'neath the auld aik-tree.

Our hame we left wi' hopefu' heart and mony a warm fareweel, And gowd and gear we gain'd awa; but oh, the freen's sae leal!

Where are they? where my childhood's hearth --those hearts sae kind and free,-- When a' is unco groun save the auld aik-tree?

JAMES DODDS.

A man of elegant and varied accomplishments, and one of the most eloquent public-speakers of the age, James Dodds was born in 1815, in the county of Roxburgh. He was at first intended by some influential friends for the Church, and proceeded through part of the College curriculum, but some changes occurring, he ultimately devoted himself to the study of law. Probably his ambition was for the Bar; but overruling circ.u.mstances led him, about twelve years ago, to enter on the profession of parliamentary solicitor in London, in which he has met with much success.

From his youth a devoted student, he has, amidst the exigencies of business, sedulously kept up his literary pursuits. He has produced no independent work, but has largely contributed, both in prose and verse, to the periodicals. Among these contributions, a series of poems, chiefly ballads on incidents connected with the times of the Covenant, which appeared in several of the Edinburgh magazines, about thirteen years since, attracted much attention. One of these lays we have transferred to the present work. Mr Dodds has lately prepared a series of lectures on the fifty years' struggle of the Covenanters, which will probably be presented to the public. He has evinced a deep interest in the cause of raising a national monument to Sir William Wallace, and has, under the auspices of the Central Committee, addressed public meetings on the subject in many of the princ.i.p.al towns.

TRIAL AND DEATH OF ROBERT BAILLIE OF JERVIESWOODE.

'Twas when December's dark'ning scowl the face of heaven o'ercast, And vile men high in place were more unpitying than the blast, Before their grim tribunal's front, firm and undaunted stood That patriot chief of high renown, the n.o.ble Jervieswoode.

The hand of death is on him press'd--the seal of death is there!

Oh, the savage of the wilderness those weak old limbs would spare!