fast as their legs could carry them, the bogle following, hooting and laughing, close at their heels. In crossing the Derwent, a small stream near Ebchester, the one who took the lead fell down in the water, and his companion, who was not far behind, tumbled over him. In their fright, the one mistook the other for the Kow, and loud was the cry of terror as they rolled over each other in the stream. They, however, managed to get out separately; and, on reaching home, each told a fearful tale of being chased by the Hedley Kow, and of being nearly drowned by him in the Derwent. A farmer of the name of Forster, who lived near Hedley, went out into the field, early one morning, and caught, as he believed, his own grey horse. After putting the harness on, and yoking him to the cart, Forster was about to drive away, when the horse, whose form had been assumed by the Kow, for the purpose of having a laugh at the surprise of the farmer, 'slipped away from the limmers like a knotless thread,' and set up a great nicker as he flung up his heels, and scoured away out of the farm-yard. This bogle was a perfect plague to the servant girls at farm houses; sometimes calling them out by imitating the voice of their lovers, and, during their absence overturning the kail-pot, setting the cat to the cream, undoing their knitting, or putting their spinning-wheel out of order. Sometimes, in the shape of a favourite cow, he would lead the milkmaid a long chase round the field before he would allow himself to be caught; and after kicking and rowting, during the time of milking as if the deil was in Hawkie,' would at last upset the pail, and, slipping clear of the tie, give a loud laugh, which informed the astonished girl that she had been the sport of the Kow. Such were the freaks of this bogle, who was mischevious rather than malignant. The house of death he rarely visited; though, at the birth of a child, he was almost certain to make himself either seen or heard; and his appearance at those times was so common as scarcely to excite alarm. The man who rode for the midwife on such occasions was often teazed by him sometimes by appearing to the horse in a lonely place—for a horse often sees a bogle when the rider does not-and making him take the reist; and, at other times, by some cantrip, causing the animal to kick and plunge in such a manner as to dismount his double load of messenger and howdy. Sometimes, when the goodman would rush out with a thick stick, to drive away, from the door or the window, the Kow that was mocking the groaning wife, the stick would be snatched from him by an invisible hand and lustily applied to his own shoulders; and, sometimes, after chasing the bogle round the farm-yard, he would tumble over one of his own calves.

A farmer riding homeward late one night, observed, as he approached a lonely part of the road where the Kow used to play many of his

tricks, a person also on horseback at a short distance before him. Wishing to have company in a part of the road where he did not like to be alone at night, he quickened the pace of his horse. The person whom he wished to overtake, hearing the tramp of a horse rapidly advancing, and fearing that he was followed by some one with an evil intention, put spurs to his steed, and set off at a gallop; an example which was immediately followed by the horseman behind. At this rate they continued, whipping and spurring as if they rode for life and death, for nearly two miles; the man who was behind calling out with all his might, "Stop! Stop!" The person who fled, finding that his pursuer was gaining upon him, and hearing the continued cry, the words of which he could not make out, began to think that he was pursued by something unearthly, as no one who had a design to rob him would be likely to make such a noise. Determined no longer to fly from his pursuer, he pulled up his horse, and thus adjured the supposed evil spirit: "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, what art thou?" Instead of an evil spirit, a terrified neighbour, at once answered and repeated the question: "I's Jemmy Brown o' the High Field.-Wha's thou?"—Rambles in Northd.

Sonnet on Jesmond Dean,

BY JANE HARVEY OF NEWCASTLE.

WEET vale! where wand'ring fancy oft has stray'd,
To seek fair nature in her summer bower;

Or tun'd the lyre, amid thy much lov'd shade,
To pensive strains, at evening's silent hour:
Oft times I strive to paint in humble song,
Thy rural beauties, by the muse inspir'd,
Whose votary shuns, the gay and busy throng;
And contemplation wooes, in scenes retir'd:
But ah! in vain their aid divine I ask;
Though my dull verse no fire poetic breathes,
My rustic lays, unequal to the task,

Can claim no poets crown, no laurel wreathes;

Yet would my muse a garland ask, sweet Dean

Form'd of the rose buds wild that deck thy lovely green.

BISHOP-MIDDLEHAM.

N the beginning of the fourteenth century, Bishop-Middleham was a fortress of the first class, and was the chief residence of bishop Anthony Beck within the county of Durham. The reasons which led to this preference are obvious: defended by a morass on two sides, and by broken ground to the north, the fortress presented an almost impregnable stronghold during the wars of the border, whilst Auckland lay bare and defenceless, on the direct rout of Scottish invasion. It is no wonder that in after-times Middleham was deserted for the green glades of Auckland.

The following lines are extracted, from an inedited poem on the "Superstitions of the North."

"There Valour bowed before the rood and book,
And kneeling Knighthood served a Prelate Lord;
Yet little deigned he on such train to look,

Or glance of ruth or pity to afford.

There Time has heard the peal rung out by night,
Has seen from every tower the cressets stream:
When the red balefire on yon Western height,

Had roused the Warder from his fitful dream;
Has seen old Durham's Lion banner float

O'er the proud bulwark, that, with giant pride,
And feet deep plunged amidst the circling moat,
The efforts of the roving Scot defied.

Long rolling years have swept those scenes away,
And Peace is on the mountain and the fell;
And rosy dawn, and closing twilight gray,

But hears the distant sheep-walks tinkling bell.
And years have fled since last the gallant deer
Sprung from yon covert at the thrilling horn;
Yet still, when Autumn shakes the forest sear,
Black Hugo's voice upon the blast is borne,
Woe to the wight who shall his ire provoke,
When the stern huntsman stalks his nightly round,

By blasted ash, or lightning-shivered oak,

And chears with surly voice his spectre hound."

Of this black Hugh take the following legendary account :"Sir Anthon Bek, busshop of Dureme in the tyme of king Eduarde, the son of king Henry, was the maist prowd and masterfull busshop

in all England, and it was com'only said that he was the prowdest lord in Christienty. It chaunced that emong other lewd persons, this sir Anthon entertained at his court one Hugh de Pountchardon, that for his evill deeds and manifold robberies had been driven out of the Inglische courte, and had come from the southe to seek a little bread, and to live by stalyinge. And to this Hughe, whom also he imployed to good purpose in the warr of Scotland, the busshopp gave the lande of Thikley, since of him caullid Thikley-Puntchardon, and also made him his chiefe huntsman. And after, this blake Hugh dyed afore the busshop; and efter that the busshop chasid the wild hart in Galtres. forest, and sodainly ther met with him Hugh de Pontchardon, that was afore deid, on a wythe horse; and the said Hugh loked earnestly on the busshop, and the busshop said unto him, 'Hughe, what makethe thee here?' and he spake never word, but lifte up his cloke, and then he shewed sir Anton his ribbes set with bones, and nothing more; and none other of the varlets saw him but the busshop only; and y saide Hughe went his way, and sir Anton toke corage, and cheered the dogges; and shortly efter he was made Patriarque of Hierusalem, and he sawe nothing no moe; and this Hughe is him that the silly people in Galtres doe call le Gros Veneur, and he was seen twice efter that by simple folk, afore yet the forest was felled in the tyme of Henry, father of king Henry yet now ys."—Surtees.

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A FARMER residing in the neighbourhood of Belford, Northumberland, who regularly attended the markets there, was returning home one evening, after drinking rather freely, and not being able very well to maintain his equilibrium, he rolled off into the middle of the road. His horse stood still, but after remaining patiently for some time, and not observing in its rider any disposition to get up and proceed further, he took him by the collar and shook him. This had little or no effect, for the farmer only gave a grumble of dissatisfaction at having his repose disturbed. The horse was not to be put off with any such evasion, and so applied his mouth to one of his coat laps, and after several attempts by dragging at it, to raise him upon his feet, the coat lap gave way. Three individuals who witnessed this extraordinary proceeding then went up, and assisted him in mounting his horse, putting the one coat lap into the pocket of the other, when he trotted off and safely reached his home. This horse was deservedly a favourite of his master, and had occasionally been engaged in gambols with him like a dog.-Wilson's Horses.

GEORGE COUGH RON'S

FROM

Farewell to Coquetdale.

MR. ROBERT WHITE'S MANUSCRIPTS.

HIS little piece, simple and unadorned though it be, has a claim on the attention of all who take an interest in the early effusions of men of genius; being, in all probability, the only composition of the kind its author ever produced. Science seems, afterwards, to have occupied all the energies of his mind; and as his labours can only be appreciated by those who are acquainted with the scientific periodicals of the time preceding his death, his fame has been limited ;hence, in his native district, he is almost unknown, save to the few who have heard of his extraordinary talents as a mathematician.

Some account of the life of GEORGE COUGHRON may be found in Mackenzie's history of Northumberland, vol. 2. page 72. He was born at Wreigh-hill, a small village near Rothbury, on the 24th day of August 1752. His father was a farmer, and his ancestors for several generations had followed the same occupation at Wreigh-hill. Growing up amidst his family, this remarkable young man was distinguished, at a very early period of life, by his attachment to books and study; and though intended, by his father, to follow the profession of a farmer, inclination had its sway, and, with him, every spare hour from bodily labour and sleep, was appropriated to mental cultivation. It seldom happens that a man's hand prospers in one calling, while his heart follows another; and it would seem from the following poem, which was written on the eve of his departure from Wreigh-hill, when he completed his eighteenth year, that previous to that period he had, like Samuel Johnson and a still greater man, John Milton, made an attempt to earn his bread by teaching school. This pursuit would afford him a greater degree of leisure for his favourite studies; but probably owing to the trifling encouragement given to the conductor of a poor country school, it was at last abandoned. He removed to Newcastle upon Tyne, and was employed there as a clerk in the office of Mr. George Brown, wine and spirit merchant. In this place he occasionally met with some young men, amongst whom was Charles Hutton, who, like himself, were votaries of science; and, enjoying an acquaintanceship of this kind, there can be no doubt, it exerted a considerable effect on his future career. He very soon made

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