of a bridge, he composed the poem, fell asleep, and when awakened by the morning sun, he recollected it all, and wrote it down on reaching Mossgiel.

This took place in the seed-season of 1785, and an epidemical disorder was then raging in the country. Wilson soon afterwards quitted Tarbolton, and repairing to Glasgow engaged in mercantile pursuits, and achieved a moderate independence. He lives much respected for his religious feelings and his private worth.-"At Glasgow," says Cromek, in one of his interesting notes on Burns now before me, I heard that the hero of this exquisite satire was living: Hamilton managed to introduce me to him we talked of almost all subjects save the poems of Burns. Dr. Hornbook is above the middle size, stout made, and inclining to corpulency. His complexion is swarthy, his eye black and expressive: he wears a brown wig and dresses in black. There is little or nothing of the pedant about him: I think a man who had never read the poem would scarcely discover any, Burns, I am told, had no personal enmity to Wilson." Some will smile at the minute things remembered: the “bonnie lass," who suffered from ill-brewn drink, was an innkeeper's daughter and the wife, whose "neives were scarce weel bred," was spouse to a westlin weaver. When Burns wrote," says Wordsworth, "his story

of Death and Dr. Hornbook,' he had very rarely been intoxicated, or perhaps much exhilarated by liquor. Yet how happily does he lead his reader into that track of sensations! and with what lively humour does he describe the disorder of his senses and the confusion of his understanding, put to test by his deliberate attempt to count the horns of the moon!

• But whether she had three or four

He couldna tell.'

Behold a sudden apparition which disperses this disorder, and in a moments chills him into possession of himself! Coming upon no more important mission than the grisly phantom was charged with, what mode of introduction could have been more efficient or appropriate?"

My friend, Robert Chambers, has enabled me to complete the memoranda illustrative of this singular poem." In the neighbourhood of Tarbolton is situated the farm of Lochlea, where the Poet lived, as a humble denizen of his father' household, from the seventeenth to the twenty-fourth year of his age. This, of course, was the clachan to which at that period he resorted for the pleasures of society. He formed here, in 1780, a club of young men, who met monthly for mutual improvement and entertainment, and of which he and his brother poet, David Sillar, were the leading members: the utmost extent of expenditure on any night was threepence. Here, also, was a lodge of freemasons, which he delighted to attend, and to whom he wrote a farewell, incorporated in his poems. The lodge still exists, and possesses among its records many letters from Burns, some written long after he was locally dissevered from the association, but still breathing an intense interest in its concerns. It was after attending a meeting of this lodge that he wrote his poem entitled 'Death and Doctor Hornbook,' the object of which was to burlesque the shoolmaster, who had offended him that night in the course of argument."

THE KIRK'S ALARM :*

A SATIRE.

ORTHODOX, Orthodox,

Wha believe in John Knox,

Let me sound an alarm to your

There's a heretic blast

conscience;

Has been blawn in the wast,

That what is no sense must be nonsense.

Dr. Mac,† Dr. Mac,

You should stretch on a rack,

To strike evil doers wi' terror;

To join faith and sense

Upon ony pretence,

Is heretic, damnable error.

Town of Ayr, town of Ayr,
It was mad I declare,

To meddle wi' mischief a-brewing;

Provost John is still deaf

To the church's relief,

And orator Bob‡ is its ruin.

This poem was written a short time after the publication of Dr. M'Gill's Essay.

D'rymple mild,* D'rymple mild,
Tho' your heart's like a child,

And

your

life like the new driven snaw,

Yet that winna save ye,

Auld Satan must have ye,

For preaching that three's ane an' twa.

Rumble John,+ Rumble John,
Mount the steps wi' a groan,

Cry the book is wi' heresy cramm'd ;
Then lug out your ladle,

Deal brimstone like adle,

And roar every note of the damn'd.

Simper James, Simper James,

Leave the fair Killie dames, There's a holier chace in your view; I'll lay on your head,

That the pack ye'll soon lead, For puppies like you there's but few.

Singet Sawney,§ Singet Sawney,
Are ye herding the penny,

Unconscious what evil await;

Wi' a jump, yell, and howl,
Alarm every soul,

For the foul thief is just at your gate.

* Dr. Dalrymple.

+ Mr, Russell.

{ Mr. Moodie

Mr. McKinlay

Daddy Auld,* Daddy Auld,

There's a tod in the fauld,

A tod meikle waur than the clerk;

Though ye can do little skaith,
Ye'll be in at the death,

And gif ye canna bite, ye may bark.

Davie Bluster,† Davie Bluster,
If for a saint ye do muster,
The corps is no nice of recruits;
Yet to worth let's be just,

Royal blood ye might boast,

If the ass was the king of the brutes.

Jamy Goose, Jamy Goose,

Ye ha'e made but toom roose, In hunting the wicked lieutenant;

But the Doctor your's mark,

For the L-d's haly ark;

He has cooper'd and cawd a wrong pin in't.

Poet Willie,§ Poet Willie,

Gie the Doctor a volley,

Wi' your liberty's chain and your wit;

O'er Pegasus' side

Ye ne'er laid a stride,

Ye but smelt, man, the place where he sh―t.

*Mr. Auld. † Mr. G, O—. + Mr. Young. § Mr. Peebles, Ayr.