He ne'er was seene to laugh nor smile,
But weepe and make great moane;
Lamenting still his miseries,

And dayes forepast and gone :
If he heare any one blaspheme,
Or take God's name in vaine,
He telles them that they crucifie
Their Saviour Christ againe.

"If you had seene His death," saith he,
"As these mine eyes have done,
Ten thousand thousand times would yee
His torments think upon :

And suffer for His sake all paine

Of torments, and all woes."

These are his wordes and eke his life
Whereas he comes or goes.

The story of the Wandering Jew is of considerable antiquity: it had obtained full credit in this part of the world before the year 1228, as we learn from Matthew Paris. For in that year, it seems, there came an Armenian archbishop into England, to visit the shrines and reliques preserved in our churches; who, being entertained at the monastery of St. Albans, was asked several questions relating to his country, &c. Among the rest, a monk, who sat near him, inquired "if he had ever seen or heard of the famous person named Joseph, that was so much talked of; 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, who was well known to a servant of the abbot's, interpreting his master's words, told them in French, "That his lord knew the person they spoke of very well that he had dined at his table but a little while before he left the East: that he had been Pontius Pilate's porter, by name Cartaphilus; who, when they were dragging Jesus out of the door of the Judgment-hall, struck him with his fist on the back, saying, "Go faster, 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." He lives for ever, but at the end of every hundred years falls into an incurable illness, and at length into a fit or 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 arose with Him, the composing of 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. Albans, and was living at the time when the Armenian archbishop made the above relation.

N

THEY shot him dead at the Nine-Stone Rig,
Beside the Headless Cross,

And they left him lying in his blood,
Upon the moor and moss.

They made a bier of the broken bough,
The sauch and the aspin gray,
And they bore him to the Lady Chapel,
And waked him there all day.

A lady came to that lonely bower,
And threw her robes aside;
She tore her ling long yellow hair,
And knelt at Barthram's side.

She bathed him in the Lady-Well,
His wounds so deep and sair;

And she plaited a garland for his breast,
And a garland for his hair.

They rowed him in a lily-sheet,
And bare him to his earth;

And the Gray Friars sung the dead man's mass,
As they pass'd the Chapel Garth.

They buried him at the mirk midnight,

When the dew fell cold and still,
When the aspin gray forgot to play,
And the mist clung to the hill.

They dug his grave but a bare foot deep,
By the edge of the Nine-Stone Burn,
And they cover'd him o'er with the heather-flower,
The moss and the lady fern.

A Gray Friar staid upon the grave,

And sang till the morning tide;

And a friar shall sing for Barthram's soul,
While the Headless Cross shall bide.

The above fragmentary Ballad (from Scott's Minstrelsy) was taken down from the recitation of an old woman, in the north of England. The name of Barthram, or Bartram, would argue a Northumbrian origin; and there is, or was, a Headless Cross, among many so named, at Elsden, in Northumberland. But the mention of the Nine-Stane Burn, and Nine-Stane Rig, seems to refer to those places in the vicinity of Hermitage Castle, which is countenanced by the mention of our Ladye Chapel. They certainly did bury in former days near the Nine-Stane Burn; for the Editor remembers finding a small monumental cross, with initials, lying among the heather. It was so small that, with the assistance of another gentleman, he easily placed it upright. In the return made by the Commissioners on the Dissolution of Newminster Abbey, there is an item for a chauntry priest to sing daily "Ad crucem lapideam."

KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY.

AN ancient story Ile tell you anon

Of a notable prince, that was called King John;
And he ruled England with maine and with might,
For he did great wrong, and maintein'd little right.

And Ile tell you a story, a story so merrye,
Concerning the Abbot of Canterburye;
How for his house-keeping, and high renowne,
They rode poste for him to fair London towne.

An hundred men the king did heare say,
The abbot kept in his house every day;
And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt,
In velvet coates waited the abbot about.

"How now, father abbot, I heare it of thee,
Thou keepest a farre better house than mee,
And for thy house-keeping and high renowne,
I feare thou work'st treason against my crown."

66

'My liege," quo' the abbot, "I would it were knowne, I spend not a piece, but what is my owne;

And I trust, your grace will doe me no deere,
For spending of my owne true-gotten geere."

"Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is highe,
And now for the same thou needest must dye;
For except thou canst answer me questions three,
Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodìe."

"And first," quo' the king, "when I'm in this stead,
With my crowne of golde so faire on my head,
Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe,
Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worthe.

"Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt,
How soone I may ride the whole world about.
And at the third question thou must not shrink,
But tell me here truly what I do think.”

"O, these are hard questions for my shallow witt,
Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet:
But if you will give me but three weekes space,
Ile do my endeavour to answer your grace."

"Now three weeks space to thee will I give,
And that is the longest time thou hast to live;
For if thou dost not answer my questions three,
Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to mee."

Away rode the abbot all sad at that word,
Aud he rode to Cambridge, and Oxenford;
But never a doctor there was so wise,

That could with his learning an answer devise.

Then home rode the abbot of comfort so cold,
And he mett his shepheard a going to fold:
"How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome home;
What newes do you bring us from our King John?"

"Sad newes, sad newes, shepheard, I must give;
That I have but three weeks more to live;
For if I do not answer him questions three,
My head will be smitten from my bodie.

"The first is to tell him there in that stead,
With his crowne of golde so fair on his head,
Among all his liege-men so noble of birth,
To within one penny of what he is worth.

"The seconde, to tell him, without any doubt,
How soone he may ride this whole world about:
And at the third question I must not shrinke,
But tell him there truly what he does thinke."

"Now cheare up, sire abbot, did you never hear yet,
That a fool he may learne a wise man witt?
Lend me horse, and serving men, and your apparel,
And I'll ride to London to answer your quarrel.

"Nay frowne not, if it hath been told unto mee,
I am like your lordship, as ever may bee:
And if you will but lend me your gowne,

There is none shall knowe us in fair London towne."

"Now horses, and serving-men thou shalt have,
With sumptuous array most gallant and brave;
With crozier, and miter, and rochet, and cope,
Fit to appeare 'fore our father the pope."

"Now welcome, sire abbot," the king he did say, ""Tis well thou'rt come back to keepe thy day; For and if thou canst answer my questions three, Thy life and thy living both saved shall bee.