JOHN HAMILTON. BORN 1761-DIED 1814. "Up in the Morning Early" is one of the oldest among the ancient Scottish airs. From the opening of the old song, "Cold and raw the wind does blaw," it has sometimes been called "Cold and raw." Burns wrote the fol "Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west, The drift is driving sairly; Sae loud and shrill I hear the blast, Up in the morning's no for me, Up in the morning early; JOHN HAMILTON, one of the minor minstrels of Scotland, of whose personal history few particulars are known, was born in the year 1761, and for many years carried on the business of publishing and selling music in Edinburgh. He also enjoyed considerable re-lowing brief version of "Up in the Morning putation as a teacher of instrumental music. | Early:"Among his pupils was a young lady of fortune and rank, whom he wooed, won, and married, in opposition to the wishes of her aristocratic connections. As the Moor won the fair Venetian by recounting his martial deeds, so the musical Hamilton gained his good fortune through his rhyming talents, which he directed towards the young lady with great skill and effect. Several of his lyrics are deservedly popular, and are to be met with in many collections of songs and ballads. Mr. Hamilton is also known as the composer of a number of beautiful Scottish melodies. He enjoyed the friendship of James Sibbald, the editor of the Chronicle of Scottish Poetry, who was attracted by his musical talents, and in whose bachelor quarters they spent many a gleesome evening together, in company with other littérateurs. | Hamilton died September 23, 1814, in the fifty-third year of his age. "The birds sit chittering in the thorn, A' day they fare but sparely; Up in the morning, &c." Hamilton's version is much longer, and is perhaps the best, as well as the most widely known of his productions. It is a pity that the name of the old poet, who originally had the boldness to announce his antipathy to early rising, has not come down to posterity. The bard of the Seasons would have certainly entertained a high regard for him. UP IN THE MORNIN' EARLY Cauld blaws the wind frae north to south; The sheep are cow'rin' in the heuch; Loud roars the blast amang the woods, Now, up in the mornin's no for me, To sit a' nicht wad better agree The sun peeps ower yon southland hills, Just blinks a wee, then sinks again; When snaw blaws in at the chimney-cheek. JOHN HAMILTON. Nae linties lilt on hedge or bush; Poor things! they suffer sairly; In cauldrife quarters a' the nicht, A' day they feed but sparely. Now, up in the mornin's no for me, Up in the mornin' early; A penniless purse I wad rather dree, Than rise in the mornin' early. A cosie house and canty wife Aye keep a body cheerly; And pantries stowed wi' meat and drink, But up in the mornin'-na, na, na! The gowans maun glint on bank and brae THE RANTIN' HIGHLANDMAN. Ae morn, last ouk, as I gaed out A jolly, rantin' Highlandman. I ne'er had seen sae braw a lad As this young rantin' Highlandman. He said, "My dear, ye're sune asteer; Cam' ye to hear the lav'rock's sang? Oh, wad ye gang and wed wi' me, And wed a rantin' Highlandman? In summer days, on flow'ry braes, When frisky are the ewe and lamb, I'se row ye in my tartan plaid, And be your rantin' Highlandman. "Wi' heather bells, that sweetly smell, I'll deck your hair, sae fair and lang, If ye'll consent to scour the bent Wi' me, a rantin' Highlandman. We'll big a cot, and buy a stock, Syne do the best that e'er we can: Then come, my dear, ye needna fear To trust a rantin' Highlandman." His words, sae sweet, gaed to my heart, Then, though my kin should scauld and ban, I'll ower the hill, or whare he will, Wi' my young rantin' Highlandınan. MISS FORBES' FAREWELL TO BANFF. Farewell, ye fields and meadows green! An' aft we'd lean us on a bank, To hear the feather'd warblers sing. The azure sky, the hills around, Gave double beauty to the scene; The lofty spires of Banff in view On every side the waving grain. The tales of love my Jamie told, In such a saft an' moving strain, Have so engaged my tender heart, I'm loath to leave the place again. But if the Fates will be sae kind As favour my return once more, For to enjoy the peace of mind In those retreats I had before: Now, farewell, Banff! the nimble steeds Do bear me hence-I must away; Yet time, perhaps, may bring me back, To part nae mair from scenes so gay. I wadna exchange them for country sport; What though, when I happen to gae to the town, But saitens an' silks they wad hae unco few, ROBERT LOCHORE. BORN 1762 DIED 1852. ROBERT LOCHORE, the author of metrical tales | and died in Glasgow, April 27, 1852. in his which in the early part of the present century were published as little pamphlets, and were very popular in the west of Scotland, also several songs still held in much repute, was born at Strathaven, Lanarkshire, July 7, 1762. At the age of thirteen he was apprenticed to a shoemaker; and for many years carried on that business in Glasgow on his own account. Mr. Lochore was a citizen highly respected as a Christian philanthropist, a promoter of public improvements, and as the founder of the Glasgow Annuity Society. He devoted much leisure time in early life to poetic composition, and addressed numerous rhyming epistles to his correspondents. A number of poems contributed to various periodicals were collected by Mr. Lochore, and issued anonymously about the year 1815, in a small volume entitled "Tales in Rhyme, and Minor Pieces; in the Scottish Dialect." He married Isobel Browning of Ayrshire, at Paislev June 7, 1786, ninetieth year, leaving a large amount of unpublished MSS. in the possession of his eldest son, the Rev. Alexander Lochore, M. A., D.D., of Drymen, Stirlingshire. These include the recollections of his long life, and contain much valuable and amusing information concerning men and events of the past century, which it is to be hoped may hereafter be published, together with a selection from his manuscript poems. His Last Speech of the Auld Brig of Glasgow on being condemned to be taken down," written when he was in his eightyeighth year, is a very spirited production, and the more remarkable considering the great age the author had attained. Among the poet's intimate acquaintances in early life was Robert Burns, with whom and his bonnie Jean Lochore spent many evenings, and he often related the circumstance of seeing Burns reproved on the cutty stool by the Rev. Mr. Auld, familiarly known as "Daddy Auld." Liv'd Helen, ere she was a bride, A gausey, wanton widow. The bargin firm between the twa, For baith their gude was ettel't, That wha liv't langest wad get a' The gear they had, was settel't Quite sure that day. A' parties pleas'd-the day was set 'Bout dress nae day. Social they roun' a table sat, Was cover'd o'er wi' plenty O' fine milk saps, buns, cheese, an' what Wi' gust that day. Thus lib'ral, whan they'd a' been fed, Their horse were saddl'd ready. They mount, an' rang'd were in a raw, Then aff-quick-trot, fu' gaudy, They rode that day. The bridgroom rode a dapple-gray Sae vogie Walter did appear, When on the way advancin', That whan the bride's house they drew near He set the beast a prancin', Right vain, that day. The bride, wi'r party, in a room Was waitin', buskit finely, An' courteous welcom'd the bridegroom An' a' his frien's fu' kin'ly. Now bridegroom, bride, best maid an' man, The priest then join'd the pair in one, Enjoin'd that day. While he link'd them in Hymen's ban's, An' wish'd them ilka blessin'. Then to the loan they a' cam' out, Spent some time wi' their fykin', Wi' a fraise, that day. When for the road they were set right, An' just began a steerin', The broose wi' fury took the flight, An' splutterin' flew careerin'; Behin', wi' birr, cam' Bauldy Bell, The bulk an' body cam' belyve, A barn, set roun' wi' furms an' planks, 1 The racer who first reaches the bridegroom's house wins the broose or race, and receives a bottle of rum or whisky, with which he returns in triumph to the approaching company; and on his arrival he drinks the bride and bridegroom's health: then all proceed, the winner riding in the van exhibiting the bottle. * The occurrence of this wedding was about sixty years ago. Such great companies and ostentatious displays For dinner stood-kail in tureens, An' legs o' mutton roasted; Wheat bread in heaps, pies, beef an' greens, Collection for the poor was made (Frae use an' wont not swerving), Bestow'd on such as were decay'd, Ag'd, needfu', an' deservin'. The bridegroom's pride was rais'd to see Show them respeck-an a' to be On sic a day. The tables to a side were flung, The barn floor gat a clearin', While groups o' couples auld an' young Took to themsels an airin'; Baith out an' in confusion reign'd,— The barn resoun'd wi' clatter, In neuk o' whilk a tub contain'd Punch made wi' rum, cauld water, An' limes that day. PART II. 'Bout e'enin's edge they met again (Then day an' night was equal), Still incidents, yet in a train, At ilka corner tables stood, To sit at, talk, an' fuddle, An' Ned now scrunts an interlude, Wi' short springs on his fiddle, To tune't that night. Youngsters, wi' anxious whisperin' bizz, Best man an' bride commences. on occasions of this kind were common in Clydesdale at that period. To keep up such doings at weddings, young men sometimes contributed one shilling or one shilling and sixpence each, and young women one shilling or a sixpence, to defray the expense. Such large riding weddings, and the custom of collecting to defray the expense, do not now (1840) exist. 1 Collections for the poor at marriages is an old custom in Lanarkshire and elsewhere, and is still (1840) continued in many parishes. The money is generally committed to the minister for distribution among poor persons not on the poor's-roll. It is sometimes given to the beadle for cleaning the church. Though she ne'er learn'd steps, nor to wheel Yet she kept time, sail'd through the reel, Lasses wi' lads were now asteer, Went through the dances sweemin'. Betimes there was a bickrin' fray strave, Till she had cause to wai, at, For her new muslin gown they rave Frae headban' to the tail o't, Wi' a screed that night. This sad mishap her mither saw, Her wrath she could na smother, But bitter scawl't them ane an' a', An' urg'd the fallows hither; The chiels went to a drinkin' houff, But she affronted Annie By gi'en wi'r neeve her chafts a gouff, To learn her to be canny 'Mang lads that night. Amang the stir kind feelin's were, Some bauk-heigh loup't in daffin'; Even runkl'd wives an' carles look'd gay, Fidg't, leugh, an' crack't their thumbs when they Through foursome reels gaed loupin': An' whan they toom't their horns, loua cheers They gae at droll narrations |