any age, and to none of my own. I speak this, because I feel power." At his lowest estimate, he would be a second Wordsworth. For all this self-importance, he must not be taken as a conceited youth. He was diffident and humble in manner, reverent in mind, and conscious of many failings. All he wanted was a helping hand. On the 5th May, 1860, he took an imprudent step, which may have been the cause of his after sufferings and early death. He suddenly left Glasgow for London, bent on making a name for himself in that great city of light and leading, as many a wandering literary adventurer had done before him. He had little money, was bewildered at the hurry and bustle of the huge metropolis, and, for economy's sake, wandered about Hyde Park all night. It was always thought that this foolish freak brought on that consumption which took hold of his hitherto healthy frame, and added his name to the long list of those who have died young, the gods having loved them. Amongst the few friends he made in London was Mr. Milnes, afterwards Lord Houghton, who interested himseif in the young poet, treated him with great kindness, and endeavoured to find a publisher for his verse, but David often wished he were back in Glasgow, for waiting was weary work. Robert Buchanan, one of his dearest friends, lent his aid, but his health continued to fail, and at last he was sent back to his old home by the Luggie, where his parents received him with every tenderness. It was declared that if he were to live it must be in a warmer climate, and Natal, Italy, or Jamaica was spoken of, but, through want of funds, these projects fell through. Sydney Dobell, and others, had him sent to Richmond, and then to Torquay, but it all ended in his return to his mother's care. In April, 1861, he knew he was dying, and yet his poem had not appeared. To die unknown was a deep grief to him. In asking Mr. Buchanan to help him, he says:"Freeland has possession of the MSS., and with what ignoble trembling I anticipate its appearance! How I shall bless you should you succeed." Mr. Dobell's influence was untiring, and on 2nd December, 1861, a proof was sent out to the little cottage. What a moment that was to the poet when he took the paper in his hands! At last the dream of a lifetime was about to be realised, and that at the latest hour. On the following day he passed away. "God has love, and I have faith," were almost his last words. Truly had he called himself, "A piece of childhood thrown away." He was buried in the Auld Aisle, where he had often wandered, and which is also the subject of his song, and, on the 29th July, 1865, a plain obelisk was erected to his memory, subscribed for by his admirers. The inscription is the work of Lord Houghton : : This Monument OF AFFECTION, ADMIRATION, AND REGRET, IS ERECTED TO DAVID GRAY, The Poet of Merkland, BY FRIENDS FROM FAR AND NEAR, DESIROUS THAT HIS GRAVE SHOULD BE REMEMBERED AMID THE SCENES OF HIS RARE GENIUS AND EARLY DEATH, AND BY THE LUGGIE, NOW NUMBERED WITH THE STREAMS ILLUSTRIOUS IN SCOTTISH SONG. BORN 29TH JANUARY, 1838; DIED 3RD DECEMBER, 1861 But, like Burns, he left his own epitaph, and who can say it is not a beautiful one? Below lies one whose name was traced in sand, He died, not knowing what it was to live; Died, while the first sweet consciousness of manhood 27th September, 1861. DAVID GRAY. Thus lived and died one who left a few words only behind him; but these have been described as "the truest, purest, tenderest lyrical note that has floated to English ears this half century." Space will permit only of a few remarks upon them. The "Luggie" opens with the wish of the writer that his thought and verse may run as smoothly as his beloved river : : That impulse which all beauty gives the soul, Her tortuous waters, then the world would list It would be too much to say that the world has listened to him, but it is no exaggeration to state that those who have heard have appreciated. He then proceeds to describe scenery and circumstances pertaining to the seasons of the year in an inimitable manner. The winter scene of curling every one who knows the game will admit is realistic enough : Now underneath the ice the Luggie growls, The clinking stones are slid from wary hands, Of how this shot was played-with what a bend That stone came rolling grandly to the Tee With victory crown'd, and flinging wide the rest The attachment of youthful, boyish friendship is beautifully described : We sat together on one seat, Came home together thro' the lanes, and knew Lie close together on the bleak hill side We crept to one another, growing still True friends in interchange of heart and soul. These are but glimpses into the beauty of the poet's mind, and at the close he asks you if you note any failings in his work, to Forgive youth's vagaries, want of skill, And blind devotional passion for my home. This tribute to the memory of David Gray would be incomplete without giving the reader a copy of a sonnet which is one of a number he wrote, entitled, "In the shadows." His description of a wet October day will indicate how keenly he observed nature: October's gold is dim-the forests rot, The weary rain falls ceaseless, while the day No more, no more for me the spring shall make A resurrection in the earth and take The death from out her heart. O God, I die! Walter Watson. ANOTHER minor Scottish poet connected with Kirkintilloch was Walter Watson, the author of the well-known, proverbial lines: We've aye been provided for, and sae will we yet. Walter Watson was born in the village of Chryston, parish of Cadder, on 29th March, 1780, of humble, hard-working, weaving parents. In later years he described the old folks : My parents were folk that gaed aye to the kirk, Keepit in wi' their neibors about, Were carefu' and eident frae mornin' till mirk, X |