an Methodists, who have greatly enlarged it, as a Chapel and Preacher's house. He had his country residence at Humshaugh, in the demesne afterwards occupied by the Richmond family. It is related of him that on one occasion whilst he sat solitarily in his house at Hexham; probably at an untimely hour, and perhaps whilst indulging those speculations which are peculiar to men who have made up their minds to let nothing stand between them and their wishes,-a sweep descended the chimney and stood in his presence, to the great consternation of the Lawyer, whose apprehensions were not much allayed by his black visitant informing him that his Master would be with him soon! Among several men-servants whom he kept about him, Tom Wilson of the Jobler's style seems to have had most influence with his master. Once after Lowes' failure, whilst the Lawyer and his man were overhauling a quantity of parchments which it was thought prudent to dispose of; whilst some were preserved and others committed to the flames, a document turned up which it was Wilson's interest as a tenant to put out of the way, 'Burn it,' said Tom, and the Lawyer not much troubled with scrupulosity, who had kept his carriage, but could not afford to keep a conscience,'-at once freed his man from his responsibility to his landlord.

What it was that gave a turn to his affairs, what events accelerated his ruin, cannot here be distinctly traced; but he did at length come to utter indigence, and continued so till his end, when he literally died in a ditch. He seems latterly to have gone almost mad, and ran about the country with a batch of papers on his back; living in great poverty, and lodging when in the town, with one Frank Armstrong. He seems to have survived his failure long, and died an

old man. He was somewhat small in person, and peculiar in manner and dress; in the latter period of his life he was ragged and dirty, though he was bred a gentleman, and had kept his coach. He constantly wore a red night-cap under his hat, which with a bag over his shoulder gave him an air of singularity, which his unique manner rendered more remarkable. On one of his excursions into Hexhamshire, he called at a gentleman's house at a late hour in the evening. His company was undesirable, but a recollection of his former rank in society, procured for him a nights' quarters, and a servant was ordered to provide him a lodging. The Lawyer however seemed disposed to spend the night in study, spread the contents of his green bag on the table, unrolled his briefs, and began transacting business in his own way; muttering his threatnings in the hearing of the servant, he forbad her interference on pain of imprisonment. Matters went on thus till three o'clock in the morning, when the woman being anxious for rest swept the Lawyers papers into the fire, and calling a manservant, turned him out of the house, raving at the loss of his documents, and indignant at the outrage on his person.

He was ultimately found dead in, or close by the Halgut, or Sealburn; at the foot of what was formerly called the Horse-close, a little to the west of Hexham church; and was buried under the old vestry room, by the side of a recumbent monument commonly shewn, perhaps erroniously, as that of the Duke of Somerset, near the north door of the building. His burial is thus recorded, "1793, Oct. 13th, Robert Lowes, Attorney at Law.”

When a Lawyer is seen rapidly accumulating wealth, especially if real property which had been the subject of litigation, fall into his hands; and the houses and fields of his clients, by a species of leger de main become his own possessions,-when like the monkey employed to divide a piece of cheese betwixt two cats, he never can bring the scales to an equipoize till he has made it all his own,-when estates are thus acquired without honest purchase or ligitimate inheritance, and he must walk blind-folded through the world who does not sometimes witness such things-the people of Hexham are accustomed to say of the Lawyer, be his name Ned or Charley"He's another Bobby Lowes."

fate drew tears from the spectators, and was a great misfortune to the country in which he lived. He gave bread to multitudes of people whom he employed on his estate;-the poor, the widow, and the orphan, rejoiced in his bounty.' (Hist. of Eng. vol. X. p. 200.) This is an amiable character, and though smirched with the foulness of rebellion, smells sweetly of heaven. The Editor cannot find any tradition on which this ballad is founded; it is taken from the recitation of a young girl, in the parish of Kirk-bean, in Galloway. He has searched for it carefully through all the collections he could meet with, but it is not to be found.

An' when young Derwentwater kneel'd,
'My gentle fair ladie',

The tears gave way to the glow o' love,
In our gude ladie's ee.

'I will think me on this bonnie ring,
And on this snawy hand,

When on the helmy ridge o' weir
Comes down my burley brand.

' And I will think on thae leuks o' gowd,
Which ring thy bonnie blue een.
When I wipe awa the gore o' weir,
An' owre my braid sword lean.

O never a word our ladie spake,
As he press'd her snawy hand,
An' never a word our ladie spake,
As her jimpy waist he spann'd
But 'O my Derwentwater,' she sigh'd,
When his glowing lips she fand.

He had drapp'd frae his hand the tassel o' gowd,
Which knots his gude weir glove;

An' he has drapped a spark frae his een,

Which gars our ladie love.

Come down, come down,' our gude lord says, 'Come down my fair ladie,

O dinna, young lord Derwent stop,

The morning sun is hie.'—

And high, high raise the morning sun,

Wi' front o' ruddie blude,

Thy harlot front frae thy white curtain,
Betokens naething gude.'

SOME ACCOUNT OF THE

MURDER OF MARGARET CROZIER,

OF THE RAW, NEAR ELSDON,

AND OF THE PUNISHMENT INFLICTED ON THE OFFENDERS.

FROM MR. ROBERT WHITE'S MANUSCRIPTS.

Look where yon waste

Slopes downward to the south, amongst the trees :
Close by the steading of a farm, thou 'lt mark

A little gable, which the radiant sun

Tips with his glory; 'twas in yonder spot

The murder foul was done. And on that ridge,
Eastward about a mile or more, the pole

With angular arm, which thou seest standing fair
Between us and the sky, tells you the place
Where hung the murderer's body. 'Tis a tale,
Solemn and sad, revealing much of ill,
And vengeance too, without a single trait
Of all-redeeming mercy.

MS.

IFTY years have now elapsed since this crime was committed, and great changes have taken place in the interval. Those who were then young, are now old; and those who were in middle life have nearly all passed from the stage of human existence. From the consequences which attended the murder, it will not readily be consigned to oblivion; and yet the detailed circumstances of the case have never appeared in a form by which they could be rendered available as material for history. They float, it is true, in the recollection of those who were alive at the time, and have been impressed on the memory of the succeeding generation; but Time, the great leveller, besides throwing down "temple and tower," is ever warring with Truth and changing it into Tradition : and unless some careful hand gather together the leading points of the "tragedy," not omitting its minor and fainter traces, and subject the whole to a sort of photographic process by the pen and the press, much that can now be appropriated to fill up the picture will afterwards be irretrievably lost. At the same time, the manipulator of the first of these departments will feel himself amply repaid if he be fortu