Having obtained from Sir Walter Scott a copy of Waldron's "Description of the Isle of Man," a very scarce and curious work, Mr Train conceived the idea of writing a history of that island. In the course of his researches, he accidentally discovered a M.S. volume containing one hundred and eight acts of the Manx Legislature, prior to the accession of the Atholl family to that kingdom. Of this acquisition he transmitted a transcript to Sir Walter, along with several Manx traditions, as an appropriate acknowledgment for the donation he had received. In 1845 he published his "History of the Isle of Man," in two large octavo volumes. His last work was a curious and interesting history of a religious sect, well known in the south of Scotland by the name of "The Buchanites." After a period of twenty-eight years' service in the Excise, Mr Train had his name placed on the retired list. He continued to reside at Castle-Douglas, in a cottage pleasantly situated on the banks of Carlingwark Lake. To the close of his career, he experienced pleasure in literary composition. He died at Lochvale, Castle-Douglas, on the 7th December 1852. His widow, with one son and one daughter, survive. A few months after his death, a pension of fifty pounds on the Civil List was conferred by the Queen on his widow and daughter, "in consequence of his personal services to literature, and the valuable aid derived by the late Sir Walter Scott from his antiquarian and literary researches prosecuted under Sir Walter's direction." [114] Mr Train published, in 1806, a small volume, entitled "Poetical Reveries." [115] Sir Walter Scott was convinced of the accuracy of the statement, regarding the extraordinary connexion between the Wellesley and Bonaparte families, and deferred publishing it only to avoid giving offence to his intimate friend, the Duke of Wellington. MY DOGGIE. AIR--_"There 's cauld kail in Aberdeen."_ The neighbours a' they wonder how I am sae ta'en wi' Maggie, But ah! they little ken, I trow, How kind she 's to my doggie. Yestreen as we linked o'er the lea, To meet her in the gloamin'; She fondly on my Bawtie cried, Whene'er she saw us comin'. But was the tyke not e'en as kind, Though fast she beck'd to pat him; He louped up and slaked her cheek, Afore she could win at him. But save us, sirs, when I gaed in, To lean me on the settle, Atween my Bawtie and the cat There rose an awfu' battle. An' though that Maggie saw him lay His lugs in bawthron's coggie, She wi' the besom lounged poor chit, And syne she clapp'd my doggie. Sae weel do I this kindness feel, Though Mag she isna bonnie, An' though she 's feckly twice my age, I lo'e her best of ony.