Sore tears are ours; joy is no more; No hope of smiles; no cheer in store; We seem like the brave Fians of yore And Finn forsaken: We seem like the, &c. Ah! true it seems the tale to tell; Our cup is filled with doings fell; Provoking in a rage of hell Bless’d God the Highest: Provoking in a rage, &c. Blest One from Thee let us not swerve; Above with Thee he goes to serve; O Christ! do Thou for us preserve Our loving brothers: O Christ! do Thou, &c. The early death of the subject of this elegy,—of Sir James Macdonald,—wrought the bard into unwonted seriousness. As his name indicates, this poet is a representative of the commingled Norse and Celtic races of the Hebridean people. HECTOR MACLEOD was a native of South Uist. Like MacCodrum, he was a zealous Jacobite, and after 1715 lived in the Roman Catholic districts of Arisaig and Morar. There is much originality and poetical ingenuity in MacLeod, who, finding it dangerous to sing his Jacobite leanings without disguise, had recourse to allegorical ways of expressing himself. ARCHIBALD MACDONALD, known as _Gilleasbuig na Ciotaig_, or left-handed Archibald, also a native of Uist, is one of the few comic bards that the Highlands have produced. An “Elegy” on John Roy, a piper while living, and the “Resurrection” of the same, are really clever productions, as well as his song for Dr MacLeod, a St. Kildian, who was for some time a surgeon in a Highland regiment. ZACHARY MACAULAY, whose father was an accomplished Episcopalian clergyman, was born in the island of Lewis at the beginning of the eighteenth century. He is thought in his youth to have written some “wanton” songs; his published pieces show true poetic instinct and power. The air of one of his songs was a favourite with Burns. Lord Macaulay was a descendant of Zachary’s family, from whom the brilliant essayist and historian evidently inherited his genius. Like that of all other peoples, the limited literature of the Scottish Clans has had its periods of revival and decadence. The bolder and more original poetry of the early centuries of our story was followed by the feeble and imitative strains of the verse writers of the medieval generations. ALEXANDER MACDONALD.