ory. The "Tales of the Glens" were published shortly after his
decease, under the editorial care of the late Mr James M'Cosh, of
Dundee, editor of the _Northern Warder_ newspaper; and, in 1836, an
edition of his collected works was published at Edinburgh, with a
biographical preface by the poet Nicol.

Of a fine genius, a gentle and amiable nature, and pure Christian
sentiments, Grant afforded eminent promise, with a prolonged career, of
becoming an ornament to literature. Cut down in the bloom of youth, his
elegy has been recorded by the Brechin poet, Alexander Laing--

"A kinder, warmer heart than his
Was ne'er to minstrel given;
And kinder, holier sympathies
Ne'er sought their native heaven."

THE BLACKBIRD'S HYMN IS SWEET.

The blackbird's hymn is sweet
At fall of gloaming,
When slow, o'er grove and hill,
Night's shades are coming;
But there is a sound that far
More deeply moves us--
The low sweet voice of her
Who truly loves us.

Fair is the evening star
Rising in glory,
O'er the dark hill's brow,
Where mists are hoary;
But the star whose rays
The heart falls nearest,
Is the love-speaking eye
Of our heart's dearest.

Oh, lonely, lonely is
The human bosom,
That ne'er has nursed the sweets
Of young Love's blossom!
The loveliest breast is like
A starless morning,
When clouds frown dark and cold,
And storms are forming.

LOVE'S ADIEU.

The e'e o' the dawn, Eliza,
Blinks over the dark green sea,
An' the moon 's creepin' down to the hill-tap,
Richt dim and drowsilie.
An' the music o' the mornin'
Is murmurin' alang the air;
Yet still my dowie heart lingers
To catch one sweet throb mair.

We've been as blest, Eliza,
As children o' earth can be,
Though my fondest wish has been knit by
The bonds of povertie;
An' through life's misty sojourn,
That still may be our fa',
But hearts that are link'd for ever
Ha'e strength to bear it a'.

The cot by the mutterin' burnie,
Its wee bit garden an' field,
May ha'e mair o' the blessin's o' Heaven
Than lichts o' the lordliest bield;
There 's many a young brow braided
Wi' jewels o' far-off isles,
But woe may be drinkin' the heart-springs,
While we see nought but smiles.

But ad