The author of “Poets and Poetry of the Lennox”—whose accounts of James Moffat and William Freeland we also give —says:—

“This venerable town, hoary with years, yet full of lusty life, hath produced a perfect galaxy of poets. In each of its coteries you will find at least one man who is a stringer of verses. I have been embarrassed with the local poetic riches at my disposal from which to make selections.

With few exceptions, the bards and bardlings of the place have been sons of toil, and some of them children of penury. I know not how to account for this rich harvest of song which the place has garnered. Other places in the country are at least as fair, but the fact is patent that the Kirkintillochians are a songful race beyond many of their compeers. Doth the click clack of the swiftly moving shuttle urge them on to weave tuneful verse? Doth the hum-drummeries of the dye-shop or the print-work make their souls yearn for the fair face of nature, and urge on their spirits to drink in its beauty and sound forth its praise?

These are mysteries I cannot solve. Sufficient to say that Kirkintilloch is a nest of singing birds.”