Andrew Mercer was born at Selkirk, in 1775. By his father, who was a respectable tradesman, he was destined for the pulpit of the United Secession Church. He became a student in the University of Edinburgh, in 1790, and was the class-fellow and friend of John Leyden, and of Dr Alexander Murray, the future philologist. At the house of Dr Robert Anderson, he formed the intimacy of Thomas Campbell; he also numbered among his early associates Thomas Brown and Mungo Park. Abandoning theological study, he cultivated a taste for the fine arts; and he endeavoured to establish himself in the capital in the twofold capacity of a miniature-painter, and a man of letters. With respect to both avocations, he proved unfortunate. In 1804, a periodical entitled the _North British Magazine_ was originated and supported by his friends, on his behalf; but the publication terminated at the end of thirteen months. At a subsequent period, he removed to Dunfermline, where he was engaged in teaching, and in drawing patterns for the manufacturers. In 1828, he published a "History of Dunfermline," in a duodecimo volume; and, at an interval of ten years, a volume of poems, entitled "Summer Months among the Mountains." A man of considerable ingenuity and scholarship, he lacked industry and steadiness of application. His latter years were clouded by poverty. He died at Dunfermline on the 11th of June 1842, in his 67th year. THE HOUR OF LOVE. When the fair one and the dear one-- Her lover by her side-- Strays or sits as fancy flits, Where yellow streamlets glide; Gleams illuming--flowers perfuming Where'er her footsteps rove; Time beguiling with her smiling, Oh! that 's the hour of love. When the fair one and the dear one, Amid a moonlight scene, Where grove and glade, and light and shade, Are all around serene; Heaves the soft sigh of ecstasy, While coos the turtle-dove, And in soft strains appeals--complains, Oh! that 's the hour of love. Should the fair one and the dear one The sigh of pity lend For human woe, that presses low A stranger, or a friend, Tears descending, sweetly blending, As down her cheeks they rove; Beauty's charms in pity's arms-- Oh! that 's the hour of love. When the fair one and the dear one Appears in morning dreams, In flowing vest by fancy drest, And all the angel beams; The heavenly mien, and look serene, Confess her from above; While rising sighs and dewy eyes Say, that 's the hour of love! JOHN LEYDEN, M.D.