church which was standing within recollection) lies neglected in an obscure corner; on it is inscribed the following quaint lines :

"Come gentle Reader you shall know what is Beneath this stone, HERE's natures rarities(Grand-Parents ioy; The ANGells charge (to keepe)

The saint's companion, But now laid to sleepe in a cold bed of clay (prepared by death) Till GOD restore to him An Heavenly breath NOT, ten yeares old (so young he was) and yet

Pregnant in learning. memory Reteat,
So DOCible that few so EXcellent.
Should I say All (was truly good) in him

I should come shorte in hymning forth this

stem

Nor would this stone conteynt, therefore no

more

So greene a roote more ripened fruite nere

bore

Now if yould know who 'tis deserues this praise

Reade the next lines 4nd's name and vertues Raise."

"Here lyes Thomas Garnet, eldest sonne of Kathirine, the wife of William Garnet, of Lond gent., one of the daughters of Thomas Foxall by Elizabeth his wife, late of this parrish. He departed this life the day of December 1648, being not fully ten years of age and his grandmother Elizabeth before named (* illegible) in her love to him and for the imitation of his vertues in others cavsed this inscription."

Buckestone's Pound.-at Bedford, may be seen an antique window of the pointed form, probably part of some ecclesiastical edifice; it graces the time-worn front of a little inn in an obscure part of the town, but, as little attention appears to have been paid to it, it is now in a mutilated state; it however retains the remains of same curious tracery, and the following inscriptive memorial, which is engraven deep on its massive stone sill:

"Mary Wryte and her mother
Her father ande brother-

Was Alle of them drowned,

Inn Bvckstones povnde.

October 17.

Fox hunting begins to take place 19 gularly on the 17th of October.

THE HUNTER'S SONG.

Give me the naked heavens above,
The broad bare heath below,
A merry glance from her I love,
My fleet hound and my bow.
I crave no red gold for

my pouch,
No wine-cup mantling high,
Nor broidered vest; nor downy couch,
On which the care-worn sigh:
With conscience clear, and stedfast mind
My cares I whistle to the wind.

If I am hungry, I can wing
The wild bird as he flies;

Or thirsty, yonder crystal spring

My sparkling draught supplies.
The dear must yield his dappled coat
My vig'rous limbs to don;

The heron his dark plume to float
My fearless brows upon.

I am content-canst thou say more,
With pride, and pomp, and treasured store?
Fireside Buch

18 October 1564, captain, afterwards sir John Hawkins, the first Englishman that gave countenance to the slave trade, sailed from Plymouth, his native place, for Cape Verd, on the coast of Africa being the first ostensible voyage in that most iniquitous commerce. The negroes were sold to the Spaniards in Hispaniola, in the West Indies. According to Anderson it was in 1562, two years earlier that, "Assisted by the subscriptions of

O GODD

out three ships, the largest being 120 tons, and the smallest but forty tons burthen; and having heard that negroes were a very good commodity in Hispaniola, he sailed to the coast of Guinea, and took in negroes, and sailed with them for Hispaniola, where he sold his negroes-returning in the year 1563, after making a

• Butier's Chrono.ogical Exercisos.

Prosperous voyage. This," says Anderson, seems to have been the very first atempt from England for any negro-trade." Upon this adventure, Hill says, in his aval history, "Here began the horrid tractice of forcing the Africans into slalery an injustice and barbarity which, Jo sure as there is vengeance in heaven for the worst of crimes, will some time be the destruction of all who encourage it."*

Vigorous efforts are in progress on the part of the legislature and numerous individuals to redeem our country from the nation-sinking sin of a trade in human beings, which has worked evil in the end to our slave-populated colonies, by entailing upon slave-proprietors and the owners of West India property embarrassment and ruin. Our hearts are cheered

by the knowledge that later navigators, and adventurers, have speculated in unfurling the flag of peace and good will to the ignorant natives of other climes.

Below are some exquisite verses by Andrew Marvell, "supposed to be sung by a party of those volunteers for conscience sake, who, in a profligate age, left their country to enjoy religious freedom in regions beyond the Atlantic; the scene is laid near the Bermudas, or Summer Islands, as they were then called," where Berkeley, the good bishop of Cloyne, proposed to found a university of h manity.

THE EMIGRANTS.

Where the remote Bermudas ride
In ocean's bosom unespy'd,
From a small boat that row'd along,
The listening winds received this song.
"What should we do but sing his praise,
That led us through the watery maze,
Unto an Isle so long unknown,
And yet far kinder than our own.
"Where He the huge sea-monsters racks,
That lift the deep upon their backs;
He lands us on a grassy stage,
Safe from the storms and prelates' rage.

"He gives us this eternal spring,
Which here enamels every thing;
And sends the fowls to us, in care,
On daily visits through the air.
"He hangs in shades the orange bright,
Like golden lamps in a green night,
And does in the pomegranate cl se
.ewels more rich thnn Ormus shows.

Hist. of Commerce, i. 117.

"He makes the figs our mouths to meet,
And throws the melons at our feet;
With cedars chosen by his hand,
From Lebanon, He stores the land.
"He cast-of which we rather boast-
The Gospel's pearl,upon our coast,
And, in these rocks, for us did frame
4 temple, where to sound his name.
"Oh! let our voice his praise exalt,
Till it arrive at heaven's vault,
Which, thence perhaps rebounding, may
Echo beyond the Mexique Bay."
Thus sang they in the English boat,
An holy and a cheerful note;
And all the way, to guide their chime,
With falling oars they kept the time.

It is due to Mr. Montgomery to add that the preceding poem aptly occurred to recollection by seeing them in his "Christian Poet," a four shilling household book of beautiful verse.

19 October, 1645, the Scots took Newcastle by storm. The town was held by the royalists for Charles I. After a siege of ten weeks, Leven the Scottish general began a furious cannonade from his several batteries against the town wall. About three o'clock in the afternoon the garrison, by countermines, had nearly approached two of his mines for blowing up the walls, which being signified to Leven, he ordered these two mines, to be fired. About nightfall breaches being made, though not so large and passable as was needful, the rest of the mines were exploded, the Scottish regiments advanced all at once to the assault, and, after two hours' desperate fighting upon the breaches, they forced their first entry at the mine sprung on the west side of the town, near to Close-gate. The cavalry of the garrison repulsed them with three brave charges, till the Scottish reserve came up, when the garrison, seeing farther resistance vain, forsook the walls; and the assailants became masters of the town. The mayor sir John Marley, with others, who had been most resolute in

holding out, betook themselves to the castle, and general Leven went to courch with his chief officers to return thanks for their success. The next day sir John Marley, wrote a spirited letter to general Leven, requesting liberty to withdraw to some neighbouring garrison of the king. Leven insisted upon a general surrender, and on the day following sir John Marley, with his associates, yielded themselves prisoners to the Scottish army, but were in danger of being torn in pieces by the mob. The Scots, after the capture, are said to have rifled the town's hutch, and destroyed most of the evidences and deeds belonging to the corporation. There is a tradition, that, during the siege, the Scottish general threatened the mayor, that, if the town was not delivered up, the besiegers would direct their cannon so as to demolish the beautiful steeple of St. Nicholas. The mayor instantly ordered the chief of the Scottish prisoners to be taken to the top of the Tower, below the lantern, and returned for answer, that if the structure fell it should not fall alone, as their countrymen were placed in it with a view either to preserve it from ruin or be destroyed with it; this saved the edifice. But St. Andrews church received so much damage, that we find by the parish register: "1645. Ther was no child baptized in this parish for 1 year's tim after the town was taken, nor sarmon in this church for one year's tim."*

Northumberland, besieged the said castle of Alnwick and, now when the keepers of the hold were at point to have made surrender, a certain English knight, conceiving in his mind a hardy and dangerous enterprise, mounted on a swift horse without armour or weapon, saving a spear in his hand, upon the point of which he bore the keys of the castle, and so issued forth of the gates, riding directly towards the Scottish camp. They that warded, mistrusting no harm, brought him with great noise and clamor unto the king's tent, who hearing the noise cam? forth of his pavilion to understand what the matter meant. The Englishman here. with couched his staff, as though it had been to the end that the king might receive the keys which he had brought; and whilst all men's eyes were earnest in beholding the keys, the Englishman ran the king through the left eye, and, suddenly dashing his spurs to his horse, escaped to the next wood out of all danger. The point of the spear entered so far into the king's head that imme d.ately falling down amongst his men he yielded up the ghost. This was the end of king Malcolm in the midst of his army." The death of the king occasioned the Scots to raise the siege. They buried him in the abbey of Tynemouth, but afterwards disinterred the body, and reburied it at Dumfernline, before the altar of the Trinity. Edward his eldest son also perished at Alnwick.

According to Hollingshed, the knight by whose hand Malcolm fell obtained the name of Percy. "It is said that king William changed the name of this adventurous knight and called him Pers E; and, for that he struck king Malcolm so right in the eye, and in recompense of his service, gave him certain lands in Northumberland, of whom these Percecs are descended, which in our days have enjoyed the honorable title of earls of Northumberland." Unfortunately for the credit of Hollingshed's story, his annotator prints in the margin "The name of the Percees had no such beginning, for they came forth of Normandy at the conquest." In the Harleian collection there is a MS. memoir of the Percy family entitled "Ex Registro Monasterij de Whitbye," which corroborates the note upon Hollingshed. The MS. begins with "William Lord Percye the first founder

BOLTON ABBEY, YORKSHIRE.

Under the Saxon dynasty, Bolton had been the seat of earl Edwin's barony. In the twelfth century, Aaliza, the granddaughter of Robert de Romille, heiress of the castle and honor of Skipton, married William Fitz-Duncan, a chief, who, after laying waste Craven by fire and sword, had been establisned there by his uncle, David, king of Scotland. Aaliza

parted with this property to the canons of Embsay, and on the site of an ancient Saxon Church, in one of the most romantic situations in Craven, they built the beautiful structure of Bolton Priory. Dr. Whitaker, in his History of Craven, mentions a tragical event, assigned by tradition as the cause for lady Aaliza having parted with Bolton.

In the deep solitude of the woods betwixt Bolton and Barden, the Wharf suddenly contracts itself to a rocky channel, little more than four feet wide, and pours through the tremendous fissure with a rapidity proportioned to its confinement. This place was then, as it is yet, called the Strid, from a feat often exercised by persons of more agility than prudence, who s.ride from brink to brink, regardless of the destruction which awaits a faltering step. Such, according to tradition, was the fate of young Romille, who inconsiderately bounding over the chasm with a greyhound in his leash, the animal hung back, and drew his unfortunate master into the torrent. The forester who accompanied Romille, and beheld his fate, returned to the lady Aaliza, and, with despair in his countenance, inquired, "What is good for a bootless bene?" To which the motner, apprehending that some great

Antiquarian Rupertory, iv. 4.

calamity had befallen her son, instantly replied, "Endiess sorrow."

The language of this question, almost unintelligible at present, proves the antiquity of the story, which nearly amounts to proving its truth. But "bootless been" is unavailing prayer; and the meaning, though imperfectly expressed, seems to have been, "What remains when prayer is useless?"

This misfortune is said to have occasioned the translation of the priory from Embsay to Bolton, which was the nearest eligible site to the place where it happened. The lady was now in a proper situation of mind to take any impression from her spiritual comforters. The views of the parties were different; they spoke, no doubt, and she thought, of proximity to the scene of her son's death; but it was the fields and woods of Bolton for which they secretly languished.

Although there is reason for supposing that this tradition may refer to one of the sons of Cecilia de Romillè, the first foundress, and not Aaliza de Romille, yet Dr. Whitaker is without doubt that the story is true in the main. rence," says Dr. Drake, "which, whether it apply to Cecilia, or Aaliza, Romillè, is of little consequence in a poetical point of view, has furnished more than one of our living bards with a theme for his muse. 1 annex the lines of Mr. Rogers."

"This singular occur

THE BOY OF EGREMOND.

Say, what remains when hope is fled ?" She answer'd, 66 Endless weeping!" For in the herdsman's eye she read Who in his shroud lay sleeping.

At Embsay rung the matin-bell, The stag was roused on Badden-fell; The mingled sounds were swelling, dying, When, near the cabin in the wood, And down the Wharfe a hern was flying: In tartan clad, and forest-green, The boy of Egremond was seen. With hound in leash, and hawk in hood, Blithe was his song-a song of yore; But where the rock is rent in two, And the river rushes through, His voice was heard no more! 'Twas but a step! the gulf he pass'd ; But that step-it was his last! As through the mist he winged his way (A cloud that hovers night and day) The hound hung back, and back he drew The master and his merlin too. That narrow place of noise and strife Received heir little all of life!

There now the matin-bell is rung; The "Miserere!" duly sung ;

And holy men, in cowl and hood,

Are wandering up and down the wood.
But what avail they? Ruthless lord,
Thou didst not shudder when the sword
Here on the young its fury spent,
The helpless and the innocent.
Sit now, and answer groan for groan;
The child before thee is thy own;
And she who wildly wanders there,
The mother, in her long despair,
Shall oft remind thee, waking, sleeping,
Of those who by the Wharfe were weeping;

Of those who would not be consoled

- When red with blood the river roll'd.

THE WANDERING JEW.

Matthew Paris relates a story which

obtained full credit before the

year

1228.

He circumstantially reports that in that year came an Armenian archbishop into England to visit the shrines and reliques preserved in our churches; and that, being entertained at the monastery of St. Albans, he was asked several questionsrelating to his travels and his country. Among the rest, a monk who sat near him enquired "if he had ever seen or heard of the famous person named Joseph, who was present at our Lord's crucifixion, and conversed with him, and who was still alive in confirmation of the Christian faith." The archbishop answered that the fact was true; and afterwards one of his train, interpreting his master's words, told them in French, that his lord knew the person they spoke of very well; that History of Paris, iii. 266.

he dined at his table but a little while before he left the east; that he had been Pontius Pilate's porter, and was then named Cartaphilus; and that when the Jews were dragging Jesus out of the door of the judgment hall, this Cartaphilus struck him with his fist on the back, saying, "Go faster Jesus, go faster-why dost thou linger:" upon which Jesus looked at him with a frown, and said; "I, indeed, am going; but thou shalt tarry till I come." Soon afterwards he was converted, and baptized by the name of Joseph. He lives for ever, but at the end of every hundred years falls into an incurable ́illness, and, at length, into a fit of ecstacy, out of which, when he recovers, he returns to the same state of youth he was in when Jesus suffered, being then about thirty years of age. He remembers all the circumstances of the death and resurrection of Christ, the saints that rose with him, the composing cf the Apostles' creed, their preaching, and dispersion; and is himself a very grave and holy person. This is the substance of Matthew Paris's account, who was himself a monk of St. Alban's, and was living at the time when this Armenian archbishop made the above relation. Since then several impostors have appeared at intervals, under the name and character of the "Wandering Jew." Mr. Brand says, "I remember to have seen one of these impostors some years ago in the north of England, who made a very hermit-like appearance, and went up and down the streets of Newcastle with a long train of boys at his heels, muttering Poor John alone, alone! poor John alone!' otherwise, Poor Jew alone.' I thought he pronounced his name in a manner singularly plaintive." He adds that sir William Musgrave had a portrait of this man inscribed " Poor Joe alone!"