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The well-known ballads on these two North-country legends were published by M.G. Lewis and Mr. Lambe, of Norham. "Sir Guy," in the Tales of Wonder, and "The Worm," in Ritson's Northumberland Garland. See Child's English and Scottish Ballads, 8 vols. 12mo, Boston, 1857, vol. i. p. 386. Fyn Segellak wel brand en vast houd: old brand used by sealing-wax makers.
Very soothing was that lullaby very soothing indeed yes it was very a very soothing little song and and And Ritson's head sank upon his breast, as he, too, yielded to the seductive influence of sleep. A few feet away stood or rather lolled the helmsman, his body drooping over the wheel, on the upper rim of which he had crossed his arms for the sake of the welcome support.
But after I had searched in vain for somewhat more than an hour one of the keepers of the place told me that in compliance with Ritson's earnest desire while living, that antiquary's grave was immediately after the interment of the body levelled down and left to the care of nature, with no stone to designate its location.
J. Ritson's copy, which is at the South Kensington Museum, had the "remarks" transcribed to it from Reed's copy, but Ritson notes that Reed copied the "remarks" from J. Putland's transcript of the Dean's own original. Ritson, however, does not say how he knew that Putland had the "Dean's own original." Mr. Edward Solly has an interesting paper on this matter in the "Bibliographer" for March, 1883.
May had turned at once, and the tears filled her eyes as she told the sad story. It was long, and the poor girl was graphic in detail. We can give but the outline here. Shank had gone off with Ritson not long after the sailing of the Walrus. On reaching America, and hearing of the failure of the company that worked the gold mine, and of old Ritson's death, they knew not which way to turn.
So at the present time no one knows just where old Ritson's grave is, only that within that vast enclosure where so many thousand souls sleep their last sleep the dust of the famous ballad-lover lies fast asleep in the bosom of mother earth. I have never been able to awaken in Miss Susan any enthusiasm for balladry.
The sky was "as clear as a bell," to use a favourite metaphor of Ritson's, not a trace of cloud being visible in any part of the vast sapphire vault which stretched overhead, spangled here and there with a few stars of the first magnitude, and with the moon, nearly at the full, hanging in the midst like a disc of burnished silver, her pure soft light flooding the sea with its dazzling radiance, and causing the sails to stand out like sheets of ivory against the deep dark blue of the sky.
Then, by association of ideas, Ritson's thoughts strayed away to the little flaxen, curly-haired urchin at home, his one-year-old son, who used to be so delighted to watch the wreathing smoke issue from his father's pipe, that he would crow and jump and kick upon his mother's knee, until the good woman had hard work to hold him.
The second mate handed over the telescope, and the skipper, proceeding aloft, soon saw quite enough to satisfy him that Ritson's conjectures as to the character and intentions of the schooner were only too likely to prove correct.
At the word Tom promptly applied the loggerhead; there was a ringing report; and as the smoke cleared off the shot was seen to strike the water close alongside the schooner, and the next instant a white scar in her bulwarks attested Ritson's skill as a marksman and showed that the shot had taken effect.
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