A handloom weaver in Paisley, of which place he is a native, Charles Fleming has, from early youth, devoted his leisure hours to the pursuits of elegant literature. He has long been a contributor to the public journals.
When others are boasting 'bout fetes and parades,
Whar silken hose shine, and glitter cockades,
In the low-thatched cot mair pleasure I feel
To discourse wi' the aul'-farint Watty M'Neil.
The gentles may hoot, and slip by his door;
His mien it is simple, his haudin' is poor:
Aft fashion encircles a heart no sae leal—
Far, far will ye ride for a Watty M'Neil.
His welcome is touching, yet nought o' the faun—
A warmth is express'd in the shake o' his han';
His cog and his bed, or ought in his biel,
The lonely will share frae kind Watty M'Neil.
He kens a' 'bout Scotland, its friends and its foes,
How Leslie did triumph o'er gallant Montrose;
And the Covenant's banner ower Philiphaugh's fiel'
Waved glorious—'twas noble, says Watty M'Neil.
Then gang and see Watty ere laid in the mools,
He 's a help to the wise folk, a lesson to fools;
Contentment and innocence mingle sae weel
Mid the braw lyart haffits o' Watty M'Neil.
