The enthusiasm with which he recited, and spoke of our ancient ballads,
during that first tour of his through the forest, inspired me with a
determination immediately to begin and imitate them, which I did, and soon
grew tolerably good at it. Of course I dedicated The Mountain Bard to him:

Blest be his generous heart for aye;
He told me where the relic lay,
Pointed my way with ready will,
Afar on Ettrick's wildest hill,
Watched my first notes with curious eye,
And wonder'd at my minstrelsy:
He little ween'd a parent's tongue
Such strains had o'er my cradle sung.

_Edinburgh Literary Journal._

* * * * *



RETROSPECTIVE GLEANINGS.


NOTES OF A BOOKWORM.

(_For the Mirror_.)


Robberies and iniquities of all kinds were so uncommon in the reign of