NOTES EXPLANATORY AND CORROBORATIVE. And both, as we think of Columbia, exclaim, "Home, home, sweet, sweet home! There's no place like home! There's no place like home!" -Life and Writings of John Howard Payne, 4to, Albany, 1875. Puge 3.-THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT.The house of William Burns was the scene of this fine, devout, and tranquil drama, and William himself was the saint, the father, and the husband who gives life and sentiment to the whole. "Robert had frequently remarked to me," says Gilbert Burns, "that he thought there was something peculiarly venerable in the phrase, 'Let us worship God used by a decent, sober head of a family, introducing family worship." To this sentiment of the author the world is indebted for the "Cotter's Saturday Night." He owed some little, however, of the inspiration to Fergusson's "Farmer's Ingle," a poem of great merit. -Burns's Poetical Works, 8vo ed., Philada. Page 7.-MATRIMONIAL HAPPINESS.-Lapraik was a very worthy facetious old fellow, late of Dalfram near Muirkirk, which little property he was obliged to sell in consequence of some connection as security for some persons concerned in that villainous bubble, The Ayr Bank." He has often told me that he composed this song one day when his wife had been fretting over their mis fortunes. Robert Burns. Page 10.-THE MARINER'S WIFE.-This most felicitous song is better known as "There's nae Luck about the House." It first appeared on the streets about the middle of the last century, and was included in Herd's Collection, 1776. The authorship is a matter of doubt. A copy of it, like a first draught, was found among the papers of William Julius Mickle, and the song has hence been believed to be his, notwithstanding that he did not include it in his own works. On the other hand, there has been some plausible argument to show that it must have been the work of a Mrs. Jane Adams, who kept a school at Crawford's Dyke, near Greenock; it is not, however, included in her volume of Miscellany Poems, published as early as 1734. Jane Adams gave Shakespearian readings to her pupils, and so admired Richardson's Clarissa Harlowe that she walked to London to see the author. Toward the close of her life she became a wandering beggar, died in the poorhouse of Glasgow on April 3, 1765, and was "buried at the house expense."-Notes and Queries, Third Series, vol. x. Notwithstanding the weighty authority of Notes and Queries, I am inclined to ascribe its authorship to Jean Adam (not Jane Adams). Mickle never lived near a seaport, and never wrote anything as good as this poem. The remarkable statement that the poem does not appear in any of the published works of either claimant is, as far as it goes, an argument in favor of Miss Adam. She was poor, and probably published but one edition of her poems, which had a sale so small that the industrious Allibone does not mention her name in his Dictionary of Authors, while the scholarly translator of the Lusiad published many volumes of poems, some of which ran into several editions; and the fact that he never included "The Mariner's Wife" in any of them should determine the question of its authorship in her favor. Page 11.-THE EXILE TO HIS WIFE.-Joseph Brennan was a native of the north of Ireland. He joined the Young Ireland party in 1848, and was one of the conductors of the Irish Felon. He was imprisoned for nine months in Dublin, afterward edited the Irishman, and in October, 1849, being implicated in an insurrectionary movement in Tipperary, fled to America. He was for three years connected with the New Orleans Delta, and died in that city in May, 1857.-Rossiter Johnson's Single Famous Poems. Page 30.-PHILIP MY KING.-Philip Bourke Marston, the blind poet, was born in 1850, and was a beautiful child-worthy of this well-known lyric from his godmother, Mrs. Craik. But alas for the "large brown eyes"! When but three years old, in playing with some children, he received a blow on one of his eyes, and, inflammation setting in, he gradually lost the sight of both eyes. Thus cut off from the world without, the inner vision was the stronger, and some of his poems, though sad, have unusual merit. from the play. In the latter the scene is laid in Padua; there is but one child, which is murdered by a sudden stab of the unrelenting ruffian; he is slain himself by his less bloody companion, but ere he dies he gives the other a mortal wound, the latter living just long enough to impeach the uncle, who, in consequence of this impeachment, is arraigned and executed by the hand of justice, etc. Whoever compares the play with the ballad will have no doubt but the former is the original: the language is far more obsolete, and such a vein of simplicity runs through the whole performance that, had the ballad been written first, there is no doubt but every circumstance of it would have been received into the drama; whereas this was probably built on some Italian novel. -Percy's Reliques. Page 74.-THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET.-The well from whose perennial springs Woodworth's "Old Oaken Bucket" gathered its moss flows from the bosom of one of those large but gently rising and luxuriant hills which undulate the surface of the ancient town of Scituate, on the Old Colony coast of Massachusetts. On the eastern brow of this pleasant highland is his "father's plantation," which in the vernal season appears to encircle it like an emerald diadem. We can best attempt a brief description of the natural scenery from which he drew the imagery of his poem by following in his footsteps through the haunts of his childhood. Page 32.-LADY ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT.The subject of this pathetic ballad the editor once thought might possibly relate to the Earl of Bothwell, and his desertion of his wife, Lady Jean Gordon, to make room for his marriage with the Queen of Scots. But this opinion he now believes to be groundless; indeed, Earl Bothwell's age, who was upward of sixty at the time of that marriage, renders it unlikely that he should be the object of so warm a passion as this elegy supposes. He has been since informed that it entirely refers to a private story. A young lady of the name of Bothwell-or rather Boswell-One can see at this day the same "wide-spreading having been, together with her child, deserted by her husband or lover, composed these affecting lines herself.-Percy's Reliques. Page 33.-THE ANGELS' WHISPER.-A superstition of great beauty prevails in Ireland, that when a child smiles in its sleep it is "talking with the angels."—Lover's Lyrics of Ireland. Page 39.-GOLDEN TRESSED ADELAIDE.-The gifted child of the poet, Adelaide Anne Procter. Page 53. THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD.-The subject of this very popular ballad (which has been set in so favorable a light by The Spectator, No. 85) seems to be taken from an old play, entitled "Two Lamentable Tragedies; the one of the murder of Maister Beech, a chandler in Thamesstreete, etc. The other of a young child murthered in a wood by two ruffins, with the consent of his unkle. By Rob. Yarrington, 1601, 4to." Our ballad-maker has strictly followed the play in the description of the father's and mother's dying charge; in the uncle's promise to take care of their issue; his hiring two ruffians to destroy his wards, under pretence of sending them to school; their choosing a wood to perpetrate the murder in; one of the ruffians relenting and a battle ensuing, etc. In other respects he has departed meadows" which compose the valley of the North River and its tributaries. To the right is the "orchard," beyond is the "deep-tangled wildwood," to the left is the "pond" and the "rock' where the "cataract fell," the "bridge and "mill that stood by it," which was called in 1653 "the old mill," and was mentioned in 1640. King Philip tried to burn this mill in 1676, and after a sanguinary encounter was driven away. The pond is fed by a romantic brook, which was a favorite place of resort of young Woodworth. A short distance up the brook is the site of the ancient fulling mill erected in 1653 by James Torrey, an ancestor of Everett Torrey, the marbleworker in Beverly street. There is no place in New England that excels the poet's neighborhood in historic matter. The farm is owned by Henry Northey, a descendant of John Northey, who settled on the farm in 1675. The well is visited by many people, who drink from the crystal fountain and pass the bucket from one to another. -Boston Transcript. When Woodworth was a journeyman printer in an office on the corner of Chatham and Chambers streets in New York, near by in Frankfort street was a saloon kept by a man named Mallory, where Woodworth and several particular friends used to resort. One afternoon the liquor was unusually excellent, and Woodworth seemed inspired by it. After taking a draught, he set his glass on the table and, smacking his lips, declared that Mallory's ean de vie was superior to anything he had ever tasted. "No," said Mallory, "you are mistaken; there was one thing which in both our estimations surpassed this in the way of drinking." "What was that?" asked Woodworth dubiously. "The draught of pure spring water that we used to drink from the old oaken bucket that hung in the well, after our return from the field on a hot day in summer." A teardrop glistened for a moment in Woodworth's eye. "True, true!" he replied, and shortly after quitted the place. He immediately returned to the office, took a pen, and in half an hour "The Old Oaken Bucket" was ready in manuscript to be embalmed in the memories of succeeding generations.George M. Young, in The New England Magazine. Page 75.-WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE."Riding out of town a few days since, in company with a friend who was once the expectant heir of the largest estate in America, but over whose worldly prospects a blight has recently come, he invited me to turn down a little romantic woodland pass not far from Bloomingdale. "Your object?' inquired I.- Merely to look once more at an old tree planted by my grandfather, near a cottage that was once my father's.' 'The place is yours, then?' said I.-No; my poor mother sold it;' and I observed a slight quiver of the lip at the recollection of that circumstance. 'Dear mother!' resumed my companion: 'we passed many happy, happy days in that old cottage, but it is nothing to me now. Father, mother, sisters, cottage,-all are gone!-and a paleness overspread his fine countenance and a moisture came to his eyes as he spoke. After a moment's pause he added: Don't think me foolish. I don't know how it is; I never ride out but I turn down this lane to look at that old tree. I have a thousand recollections about it, and I always greet it as a familiar and well-remembered friend. In the bygone summer-time it was a friend indeed. Under its branches I often listened to the good counsel of my parents, and had such gambols with my sisters! its leaves are all off now, so you won't see it to advantage, for it is a glorious old fellow in summer; but I like it full as well in wintertime.' These words were scarcely uttered when my companion cried out, 'There it is! Near the tree stood an old man, with his coat off, sharpening an axe. He was the occupant of the cottage. What do you intend doing?' asked my friend, with great anxiety. What is that to you?' was the blunt reply. You are not going to cut that tree down, surely?' 'Yes, but I am, though,' said the woodman. What for?' inquired my companion, almost choked with emotion.-'What for? Why, because I think proper to do so. What for? I like that! Well, I'll tell you what for. This tree makes my dwelling unhealthy; it stands too near the house, prevents the moisture from exhaling, and renders us liable to fever and ague.' -Who told you that?-Dr. S—'—'Have you any other reason for wishing to cut it down?' Yes; I am getting old, the woods are a great way off, and this tree is of some value to me to burn.' He was soon convinced, however, that the story about the fever and ague was a mere fiction, for there never had been a case of that disease in the neighborhood, and then was asked what the tree was worth for firewood. Why, when it is down, about ten dollars.'-Suppose I make you a present of that amount, will you let it stand?'Yes.' 'You are sure of that?' 1 Positive.'Then give me a bond to that effect.' I drew it up; it was witnessed by his daughter; the money was paid, and we left the place with an assurance from the young girl, who looked as smiling and beautiful as a Hebe, that the tree should stand as long as she lived. We returned to the road and pursued our ride. These circumstances made a strong impression upon my mind, and furnished me with materials for the song I herewith send you."-From a letter of Geo. P. Morris to Henry Russell, the vocalist. Page 76.-THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS.-The house commemorated in the poem is the Gold-Appleton house-now known as the Plunkett mansion-in Pittsfield, Massachusetts. Page 81.AULD LANG SYNE. Of the two versions of this song, we adopt for our text that supplied to Johnson in preference to the copy made for George Thomson. The arrangement of the verses is more natural; it wants the redundant syllable in the fourth line of stanza first; and the spelling of the Scotch words is more correct. The poet transcribed the song for Mrs. Dunlop in his letter to her dated 17th December, 1788, and it is unfortunate that Dr. Currie did not print ■ verbatim copy of it, along with that letter, instead of simply referring his reader to the Thomson correspondence for it. Thomson's closing verse stands second in Johnson, where it seems in its proper place, as having manifest reference tc the earlier stages of the interview between the long-separated friends. Many of our readers must have observed that when a social company unites in singing the song before dispersing, it is the custom for the singers to join hands in a circle at the words, "And there's a hand," etc. This ought to conclude the song, with the chorus sung rapidly and emphatically thereafter. But how awkwardly and out of place does the slow singing of Thomson's closing verse come in after that excitement!" And surely ye'll be your pint stowp," etc. No, no! The play is over; no more pint stowps! - Burns's Poems, William Scott Douglas's edition. Page 87.-ODE TO AN INDIAN GOLD COIN.-This remarkable poem was written in Cherical, Malabar, the author having left his native land, Scotland, in quest of a fortune in India. He died shortly afterward in Java.—Frederick Saunders's Festival of Song. Page 103.-WALY, WALY, BUT LOVE BE BONNY.-Nothing is known with certainty as to the authorship of this exquisite song, one of the most affecting of the many that Scotland can boast. It had been supposed to refer to an incident in the life of Lady Barbara Erskine, wife of the second Marquis of Douglas; but the allusions are evidently to the deeper woes of one not a wife -who "loved not wisely, but too well."-Illustrated Book of Scottish Song. Page 112.-THE NUT-BROWN MAID.-Henry, Lord Clifford, first Earl of Cumberland, and Lady Margaret Percy his wife, are the originals of this ballad. Lord Clifford had a miserly father and ill-natured stepmother, so he left home and became the head of a band of robbers. The ballad was written in 1502, and says that the "Notbrowne Mayd" was wooed and won by a knight who gave out that he was a banished man. After describing the hardships she would have to undergo if she married him, and finding her love true to the test, he revealed himself to be an earl's son, with large hereditary estates in Westmoreland.— Percy's Reliques (Series II.). Highland Page 120.- - HIGHLAND MARY. "6 Mary," says the Hon. A. Erskine in a letter to Mr. George Thomson, "is most enchantingly pathetic." Burns says of it himself, in a letter to Mr. Thomson: The foregoing song pleases myself; I think it is in my happiest manner; you will see at first glance that it suits the air. The subject of the song is one of the most interesting passages of my youthful days; and I own that I should be much flattered to see the verses set to an air which would ensure celebrity. Perhaps, after all, 'tis the still-glowing prejudice of my heart that throws a borrowed lustre over the merits of the composition."-Illustrated Book of Scottish Song, The history of this humble maiden is now known to all the world, and will continue to be remembered as long as Scottish song exists. Her name was Mary Campbell, and her parents resided at Campbelltown, in Argyleshire. At the time Burns became acquainted with her she was servant at Coilsfield House, the seat of Colonel | 1 Montgomery, afterward Earl of Eglinton. In notes to the Museum, Burns says of the present song: This was a composition of mine before I was known at all to the world. My Highland lassie was a warm-hearted, charming young creature as ever blessed a man with generous love. After a pretty long trial of the most ardent reciprocal attachment, we met by appointment on the second Sunday of May in a sequestered spot on the banks of the Ayr, where we spent the day in taking a farewell before she should embark for the West Highlands to arrange matters among her friends for our projected change of life. At the close of the autumn following she crossed the sea to meet me at Greenock, where she had scarce landed when she was seized with a malignant fever, which hurried my dear girl to her grave in a few days, before I could even hear of her illness." Cromek adds a few particulars of the final interview of the youthful lovers: "This adieu was performed with all those simple and striking ceremonials which rustic sentiment has devised to prolong tender emotion and to inspire awe. The lovers stood on each side of a small purling brook, they laved their hands in the limpid stream, and, holding a Bible between them, they pronounced their vows to be faithful to each other. They parted never to meet again." Cromek's account of this parting interview was considered somewhat apocryphal till, a good many years ago, a pocket Bible in two volumes, presented by Burns to Mary Campbell, was discovered in the possession of her sister at Ardrossan. This Bible afterward found its way to Canada, whither the family had removed; and having excited the interest of some Scotchmen at Montreal, they purchased it (for its possessors were unfortunately in reduced circumstances), and had it conveyed back to Scotlaud, with the view of being permanently placed in the monument at Ayr. On its arrival at Glasgow, Mr. Weir, stationer. Queen street (through the instrumentality of whose son, we believe, the precious relie was mainly procured), kindly announced that he would willingly show it for a few days at his shop to any person who might choose to see it. The result was, that thousands flocked to obtain a view of this interesting memorial, and the ladies in particular displayed an unwonted eagerness regarding it, some of them being even moved to tears on beholding an object which appealed so largely to female sympathies. On the anniversary of the poet in 1841, the Bible, enclosed in an oaken glass case, was deposited among other relies in the monument at Ayr. On the boards of one of the volumes is inscribed in Burns's handwriting, "And ye shall not swear by my name falsely, I am the Lord," Levit., chap. xix. v. 12: and on the other, "Thou shalt not forswear thy. |