His tail waggled more Even than before;
But no longer it wagged with an impudent air,
No longer he perched on the Cardinal's chair.

He hopp'd now about With a gait devout;
At Matins, at Vespers, he never was out;
And, so far from any more pilfering deeds,
He always seem'd telling the Confessor's beads.
If any one lied, or if any one swore,

Or slumbered in prayer-time and happen'd to snore,
That good Jackdaw Would give a great "Caw!"
As much as to say, "Don't do so any more!
While many remark'd, as his manners they saw,
That they never had known such a pious Jackdaw!"
He long lived the pride Of that county side,
And at last in the odor of sanctity died;

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When, as words were too faint, His merits to paint, The Conclave determined to make him a Saint: And on newly-made Saints, and Popes, as you know, It's the custom at Rome, new names to bestow, So they canonized him by the name of Jim Crow ! REV. THOMAS BARHAM.

PROGRAMME NO. 7.

THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE.

James Graham, Marquis of Montrose, was executed in Edinburgh, May 21, 1650, for an attempt to overthrow the power of the commonwealth and restore Charles II. The ballad is a narrative of the event, supposed to be related by an aged Highlander, who had followed Montrose throughout his campaigns, to his grandson, Evan Cameron.

Come hither, Evan Cameron! Come, stand beside my knee : I hear the river roaring down towards the wintry sea; There's shouting on the mountain side, there's war within the blast,

Old faces look upon me, old forms go trooping past;

I hear the pibroch wailing amidst the din of fight,
And my dim spirit wakes again upon the verge of night.

'Twas I that led the Highland host through wild Lochaber's

snows,

What time the plaided clans came down to battle with Mon

trose.

I've told thee how the Southrons fell beneath the broad clay

more,

And how we smote the Campbell clan by Inverlochy's shore. I've told thee how we swept Dundee, and tamed the Lindsay's pride;

But never have I told thee yet how the Great Marquis died!

A traitor sold him to his foes;

Oh, deed of deathless shame! I charge thee, boy, if e'er thou meet with one of Assynt's

name,

Be it upon the mountain's side, or yet within the glen,

Stand he in martial gear alone, or backed by armed men,Face him as thou wouldst face the man who wronged thy

sire's renown;

Remember of what blood thou art, and strike the caitiff down.

They brought him to the Watergate, hard bound with hempen

span,

As though they held a lion there, and not an unarmed man. They set him high upon a cart- the hangman rode belowThey drew his hands behind his back, and bared his noble brow;

Then, as a hound is slipped from leash, they cheered the common throng,—

And blew the note with yell and shout, and bade him pass along.

But when he came, though pale and wan, he looked so great and high,

So noble was his manly front, so calm his steadfast eye,— The rabble rout forbore to shout, and each man held his

breath,

For well they knew the hero's soul was face to face with death.

And then a mournful shudder through all the people crept, And some that came to scoff at him, now turned aside and wept.

Had I been there with sword in hand, and fifty Camerons by, That day through high Dunedin's streets had pealed the slo

gan cry.

Not all their troops of trampling horse, nor might of mailéd

men

Not all the rebels in the south had borne us backwards then! Once more his foot on Highland heath had trod as free as air, Or I, and all who bore my name, been laid around him there.

It might not be. They placed him next within the solemn hall,

Where once the Scottish kings were throned amidst their nobles all,

But there was dust of vulgar feet on that polluted floor,

And perjured traitors filled the place where good men sat before.

With savage glee came Warristoun to read the murderous

doom,

And then uprose the great Montrose in the middle of the

room:

Now by my faith as belted knight, and by the name I bear, And by the bright St. Andrew's cross that waves above us

there,

Yea, by a greater, mightier oath, and oh, that such should be! By that dark stream of royal blood that lies 'twixt you and

me,

I have not sought in battlefield a wreath of such renown, Nor hoped I, on my dying day, to win a martyr's crown!

"There is a chamber far away where sleep the good and brave,

But a better place ye've named for me than by my father's

grave.

For truth and right, 'gainst treason's might, this hand hath always striven,

And ye raise it up as a witness still in the eye of earth and

heaven.

Then nail my head on yonder tower,-give every town a

limb,

And God who made shall gather them: I go from you to Him."

The morning dawned full darkly, the rain came flashing down, And the jagged streak of the levin-bolt lit up the gloomy town. The thunder crashed across the heaven, the fatal hour was come, Yet aye broke in, with muffled beat, the 'larum of the drum. There was madness on the earth below, and anger in the sky, And young and old, and rich and poor, came forth to see him die.

Ah God! that ghastly gibbet! how dismal 'tis to see
The great, tall, spectral skeleton, the ladder and the tree!
Hark! hark! it is the clash of arms, the bells begin to toll-
He is coming! he is coming! God's mercy on his soul !
One last long peal of thunder-

the clouds are cleared away, And the glorious sun once more looks down amidst the dazzling day.

He is coming! he is coming! — Like a bridegroom from his

room

Came the hero from his prison to the scaffold and the doom. There was glory on his forehead, there was lustre in his eye, And he never walked to battle more proudly than to die,