an eye to the known story of Hugh of Lincoln, a child said to have been there murthered by the Jews in the reign of Henry III.

Bishop Percy says that Mirry-land toune is a corruption of Milan, and Pa stands for Po. Another commentator suggests, and it would seem with better reason, that "Lincoln is meant-Merry Lincoln corrupted into Merry Lin-town."

Everything seems to point to this. Doubtless the legend of Hugh of Lincoln's murder gave rise to the ballad, the name of the child being Hew. There is at Lincoln 'the Jew's house," a curious piece of architecture, said to have been originally possessed by Belassel de Wallingford, a Jewess who was hanged for clipping in the reign of Edward I., and of whom doubtless many stories, true and false, were handed down to posterity. The Pa may be an abbreviation of palace,-John of Gaunt's palace, or the Bishop's palace of those days.

Ball-play in ancient days in England was a famous game, partaken of by all classes, and less likely to be played in Italy on account of the exertion required.

THE rain rins doun through Mirry-land | Scho cast him in a deip draw-well,

toune,

Sae dois it doune the Pa:

Sae dois the lads of Mirry-land toune,
Quhan they play at the ba'.

Than out and cam the Jewis dochtèr,

Said, Will ye cum in and dine? 'I winnae cum in, I cannae cum in, Without my play-feres nine."

Scho powd an apple reid and white

To intice the zong thing in :
Scho powd an apple white and reid,
And that the sweit bairne did win.

And scho has taine out a little pen-knife,
And low down by her gair,

Scho has twin'd the zong thing and his
life;

A word he nevir spak mair.

And out and cam the thick thick bluid,
And out and cam the thin;

And out and cam the bonny herts bluid:
Thair was nae life left in,

Scho laid him on a dressing borde,

And drest him like a swine,
And laughing said, Gae nou and pley
With zour sweit play-feres nine.

Scho rowd him in a cake of lead,
Bade him lie stil and sleip.

Was fifty fadom deip.

IV. SIR CAULINE.

It may be proper to inform the reader, before he comes to Pt. II., v. 110, III, that the round table was not peculiar to the reign of King Arthur, but was common in all the ages of chivalry. The proclaiming a great tournament (probably with some peculiar solemnities) was called "holding a round table."

This ballad is given in its original form in the folio edition, together with Bishop Percy's own version, which is the one here printed. There are two opening verses of the original not given here, then the original is quoted up to verse 140, with a few interpolations by the bishop, after which he proceeds with the ending of the story in his own fashion. In the original fragment the ending is less tragical. Sir Cauline not only conquers the pagan giant, but, unarmed, he kills a lion by thrusting his mantle down its throat. He then marries the king's daughter, who bears him fifteen sons.

Sir Cauline may possibly have been founded on the legend of Charlemagne's daughter and the Secretary Eginhardt. There are many points of resemblance in the story, with the exception of the one winning by deeds of valour what the other gained through learning and scholarship.

As to what will be observed in this ballad of the art of healing being practised by a young princess, it is no more than what is usual in all the old romances, and was conformable to real manners; it being a practice derived from the earliest times among all the Gothic and Celtic nations, for women, even of the highest rank, to exercise the art of surgery.

THE FIRST PART.

IN Ireland, ferr over the sea,
There dwelleth a bonnye kinge;
And with him a yong and comlye knighte,
Men call him syr Cauline.

The kinge had a ladye to his daughter,
In fashyon she hath no peere;
And princely wightes that ladye wooed
To be theyr wedded feere.

Syr Cauline loveth her best of all,

But nothing durst he saye;
Ne descreeve his counsayl to no man,
But deerlye he lovde this may.

Till on a daye it so beffell,

Great dill to him was dight;
The maydens love removde his mynd,
To care-bed went the knighte.

One while he spred his armes him fro,
One while he spred them nye:

And aye! but I winne that ladyes love,
For dole now I mun dye.

And whan our parish-masse was done,
Our kinge was bowne to dyne:
He sayes, Where is syr Cauline,

That is wont to serve the wyne?

Then aunswerde him a courteous knighte,
And fast his handes gan wringe :
Sir Cauline is sicke, and like to dye
Without a good leechinge.

Fetche me downe my daughter deere,
She is a leeche fulle fine:

Goe take him doughe, and the baken
bread,

And serve him with the wyne soe red;
Lothe I were him to tine.

Fair Christabelle to his chaumber goes,
Her maydens followyng nye:

For the Eldridge knighte, so mickle of Then either shooke his trustye speare,

That soone he with paine and lacke of bloud I-wys he neither stint ne blanne,