Who is now the chief of beggars Since the best of them is gone? Sorely down our tears are streaming Since his begging face has flown. Piteous is the orphan’s case; Death to begging ill has brought; In each homestead there is sorrow, As the begging can’t be taught. Ever since our God created Man at first, I have not heard Of a mendicant like Lachlan, Whose decease our grief has stirred. Without father, without mother, Beggary grows weak and poor; For none e’er could beg like Lachlan: How can I my loss endure! DUNCAN MACPHERSON is thought to have been an ecclesiastic, a class, notwithstanding Professor Blackie’s genial sneer about the “solemn sepulchral piety of certain North-Western Gospellers,” who have been the authors and _media_ of the most of what the literary Highlander can refer to with national pride. The “sombre nationality” of the old Ossianic bards is discernible in the following lines:— Alastair, art still in sorrow? Or canst cast it to the ground? The old year is swiftly passing, And yet godless art thou found? Now while thou art grey and aged, Hast thou not the grace of heaven? If there be aught good in sorrow, God to thee rich gifts has given. JOHN MACVURICH.—This writer was likely a member of the famous family who were so long hereditary bards to Clanranald. Their ancestor was the famous Muireadhach Albannach of the thirteenth century. I give a metrical rendering of some verses:— O, sorry is the fate I find mine own to-day! Have pity kindly heav’n; Save from this pain, I pray. The misery I feel Is threefold here alone; And my misfortune black Comes weighted with a stone. My rage and wrath are great For how she’s grieving me. I see her sweet soft skin Like white foam on the sea. So rosy is her hand; Her lips like berries red; My soul she holds while sleep At night flies from my bed. I fancied she was nigh, And that she smiled on me; But since my grief began The maid I can not see. Her raven curly locks Are prettily arrayed; Five lovers there are knit To th’ name of the fair maid. O that she were my own: Then I should be so blest; My love for evermore To press her to my breast! Many of the authors whose compositions appear in the Dean’s Book were evidently professional men, either clerical or medical. It was among these two classes that the lamp of literature was kept burning. Many of the names are indeed suggestive of professional connections, such as Mac-an-Olave, MacNab, Macpherson, Maol Domhnuich, &c.