The son of the Rev. Hugh M'Diarmid, minister of the Gaelic church, Glasgow, John M'Diarmid was born in 1790. He received in Edinburgh a respectable elementary education; but, deprived of his father at an early age, he was left unaided to push his fortune in life. For some time he acted as clerk in connexion with a bleachfield at Roslin, and subsequently held a situation in the Commercial Bank in Edinburgh. He now attended some classes in the University, while his other spare time was devoted to reading and composition. During two years he was employed in the evenings as amanuensis to Professor Playfair. At one of the College debating societies he improved himself as a public speaker, and subsequently took an active part in the discussions of the "Forum." Fond of verse-making, he composed some spirited lines on the battle of Waterloo, when the first tidings of the victory inspired a thrilling interest in the public mind; the consequence was, the immediate establishment of his reputation. His services were sought by several of the leading publishers, and the accomplished editor of the Edinburgh Review offered to receive contributions from his pen. In 1816 he compiled some works for the bookselling firm of Oliver and Boyd, and towards the end of the same year, in concert with his friends Charles Maclaren and William Ritchie, originated the Scotsman newspaper. In January 1817, he accepted the editorship of the Dumfries and Galloway Courier—a journal which, established in 1809 by Dr Duncan of Ruthwell, chiefly with the view of advocating his scheme of savings' banks, had hitherto been conducted by that ingenious and philanthropic individual.
As editor of a provincial newspaper, M'Diarmid was possessed of the promptitude and business-habits which, in connexion with literary ability, are essential for such an office. The Dumfries Courier, which had formerly occupied a neutrality in politics, became, under his management, a powerful organ of the liberal party. But the editor was more than a politician; the columns of his journal were enriched with illustrations of the natural history of the district, and sent forth stirring appeals on subjects of social reformation and agricultural improvement. Devoted to his duties as a journalist, he continued to cherish his literary enthusiasm. In 1817 he published an edition of Cowper, with an elegant memoir of the poet's life. "The Scrap-Book," a work of selections and original contributions in prose and verse, appeared in 1820, and was speedily followed by a second volume. In 1823 he composed a memoir of Goldsmith for an edition of the "Vicar of Wakefield," which was published in Edinburgh. The Dumfries Magazine was originated under his auspices in 1825, and during the three years of its existence was adorned with contributions from his pen. In 1830 he published "Sketches from Nature," a volume chiefly devoted to the illustration of scenery and character in the districts of Dumfries and Galloway. "The Picture of Dumfries," an illustrated work, appeared in 1832. A description of Moffat, and a life of Nicholson, the Galloway poet, complete the catalogue of his publications. In 1820 he was offered the editorship of the Caledonian Mercury, the first established of the Scottish newspapers, but preferred to remain in Dumfries. He ultimately became sole proprietor of the Courier, which, under his superintendence, acquired a celebrity rarely attained by a provincial newspaper. In 1847 he was entertained at a public dinner by his fellow-townsmen. His death took place at Dumfries, on the 18th November 1852, in his sixty-third year.
A man of social and generous dispositions, M'Diarmid was esteemed among a wide circle of friends; he was in habits of intimacy with Sir Walter Scott, Jeffrey, Wilson, Lockhart, the Ettrick Shepherd, Dr Thomas Gillespie, and many others of his distinguished contemporaries. To his kindly patronage, many young men of genius were indebted for positions of honour and emolument. An elegant prose-writer, his compositions in verse are pervaded by a graceful smoothness and lively fancy.
NITHSIDE.
Air—"There 's a bonnie brier bush in our kail-yard."
When the lark is in the air, the leaf upon the tree,
The butterfly disporting beside the hummel bee;
The scented hedges white, the fragrant meadows pied,
How sweet it is to wander by bonnie Nithside!
When the blackbird piping loud the mavis strives to drown,
And schoolboys seeking nests find each nursling fledged or flown,
To hop 'mong plots and borders, array'd in all their pride,
How sweet at dewy morn to roam by bonnie Nithside!
When the flies are on the stream, 'neath a sky of azure hue,
And anglers take their stand by the waters bright and blue;
While the coble circles pools, where the monarch salmon glide,
Surpassing sweet on summer days is bonnie Nithside!
When the corncraik's voice is mute, as her young begin to flee,
And seek with swifts and martins some home beyond the sea;
And reapers crowd the harvest-field, in man and maiden pride,
How exquisite the golden hours on bonnie Nithside!
When stubbles yield to tilth, and woodlands brown and sear,
The falling leaf and crispy pool proclaim the waning year;
And sounds of sylvan pastime ring through our valley wide,
Vicissitude itself is sweet by bonnie Nithside!
And when winter comes at last, capping every hill with snow,
And freezing into icy plains the struggling streams below,
You still may share the curler's joys, and find at even-tide,
Maids sweet and fair, in spence and ha', at bonnie Nithside!
EVENING.
Hush, ye songsters! day is done,
See how sweet the setting sun
Gilds the welkin's boundless breast,
Smiling as he sinks to rest;
Now the swallow down the dell,
Issuing from her noontide cell,
Mocks the deftest marksman's aim
Jumbling in fantastic game:
Sweet inhabitant of air,
Sure thy bosom holds no care;
Not the fowler full of wrath,
Skilful in the deeds of death—
Not the darting hawk on high
(Ruthless tyrant of the sky!)
Owns one art of cruelty
Fit to fell or fetter thee,
Gayest, freest of the free!
Ruling, whistling shrill on high,
Where yon turrets kiss the sky,
Teasing with thy idle din
Drowsy daws at rest within;
Long thou lov'st to sport and spring
On thy never-wearying wing.
Lower now 'midst foliage cool
Swift thou skimm'st the peaceful pool,
Where the speckled trout at play,
Rising, shares thy dancing prey,
While the treach'rous circles swell
Wide and wider where it fell,
Guiding sure the angler's arm
Where to find the puny swarm;
And with artificial fly,
Best to lure the victim's eye,
Till, emerging from the brook,
Brisk it bites the barbed hook;
Struggling in the unequal strife,
With its death, disguised as life,
Till it breathless beats the shore
Ne'er to cleave the current more!
Peace! creation's gloomy queen,
Darkest Night, invests the scene!
Silence, Evening's handmaid mild,
Leaves her home amid the wild,
Tripping soft with dewy feet,
Summer's flowery carpet sweet,
Morpheus—drowsy power—to meet.
Ruler of the midnight hour,
In thy plenitude of power,
From this burthen'd bosom throw
Half its leaden load of woe.
Since thy envied art supplies
What reality denies,
Let thy cheerless suppliant see
Dreams of bliss inspired by thee—
Let before his wond'ring eyes
Fancy's brightest visions rise—
Long lost happiness restore,
None can need thy bounty more.
