onunciation of Greek, advocating a return, in the
reading of prose, to that pronunciation of Greek which was the only one
known in Europe anterior to the time of Erasmus. This method is
consistently carried out in the Greek classes. In 1853 he travelled in
Greece, living in Athens for two months and a-half, and acquiring a
fluent use of the living Greek language. On his return, he gave the
results of his journey in various articles, especially in one in the
_North British_ on Modern Greek Literature, and in another in the
_Westminster_ on Greece. He also expressed some of them in an
introductory lecture "On the Living Language of Greece." Since that time
he has written principally in _Blackwood_ and the _North British_,
discussing subjects of general literature, and introducing any new
German book which he considers of especial interest. Among his papers
may be mentioned his reviews, in the _North British_, of his friend
Bunsen's "Signs of the Times," and of Perthos' Life. His articles more
especially relating to his own department are AEschylus and Homer, in the
_Encyclopaedia Britannica_, an article on accents in the _Cambridge
Philological_, and an essay on Plato in the "Edinburgh Essays."

In 1857 was published the work which brings him into the list of
Scottish poets--"Lays and Legends of Ancient Greece, with other Poems."
The Lays and Legends are the work of the scholar, who, believing verse
to be the proper vehicle for an exposition of these beautiful myths,
gives them that form, instead of writing learned dissertations about
them. The miscellaneous poems shew more of the inner man than any of his
other works--deep religious feeling, great simplicity, earnestness, and
manliness, confidence in the goodness of men, and delight in everything
that is pure, beautiful, and honest, with thorough detestation of all
falsehood.

FOOTNOTES:

[11] The present Memoir has been contributed by James Donaldson, Esq.,
Edinburgh.

SONG OF BEN CRUACHAN.

Ben Cruachan is king of the mountains
That gird in the lovely Loch Awe;
Loch Etive is fed from his fountains,
By the streams of the dark-rushing Awe.
With his peak so high
He cleaves the sky
That smiles on his old gray crown,
While the mantle green,
On his shoulders seen,
In many a fold flows down.

He looks to the north, and he renders
A greeting to Nevis Ben;
And