As the cloud’s yellow wreath on the mountain’s high brow, The locks of my fair one redundantly flow; Her cheeks have the tint that the roses display. When they glitter with dew on the morning of May. As the planet of Venus that gleams o’er the grove, Her blue rolling eyes are the symbols of love; Her pearl-circled bosom diffuses bright rays, Like the moon, when the stars are bedimm’d with her blaze. The mavis and lark, when they welcome the dawn, Make a chorus of joy to resound through the lawn; But the mavis is tuneless—the lark strives in vain, When my beautiful charmer renews her sweet strain. When summer bespangles the landscape with flow’rs, While the thrush and the cuckoo sing soft from the bowr’s, Through the wood-shaded windings with Bella I’ll rove, And feast unrestrain’d on the smiles of my love. MacLachlan counted a number of distinguished men among his friends—among others, Alexander, Duke of Gordon; the late Glengarry, Sir John Sinclair, Dr Gregory, and Lord Bannatyne Macleod. His funeral was attended by the Professors of the University and Magistrates of the city to show their respect. His remains were removed to his native Lochaber for burial. On the way to the burial place at Killievaodain in Ardgour the hearse was met and accompanied to the last resting-place by Glengarry and a number of his clansmen dressed in their native garb. Few of MacLachlan’s talents and culture in modern times have devoted their energies to the cultivation of Gaelic literature. There is a reason: the practical spirit of the nineteenth century has, perhaps desirably, cooled even the enthusiasm of bardic natures. JOHN MACLEAN.