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times the metre is entirely changed, an expression only remaining the same here and there.

“The THREE BUTCHERS.
It was Ips, Gips, and Johnson, as I have heard many say,
They had five hundred guineas, all on a market-day;
As they rode over Northumberland, as hard as they could ride,

O hark, O hark,' says Johnson, 'I hear a woman cry.'
Then Johnson, being a valiant man, a man of courage bold,
He ranged the woods all over, till this woman he did behold.
'How came you here ” says Johnson, 'how came you here, I pray !
I am come here to relieve you, if you will not me betray.'

There has been ten swaggering blades, has hand and foot me bound, And stripped me stark naked, with my hair pinn'd on the ground.' Then Johnson being a valiant man, a man of courage bold, He took his coat from off his back, to keep her from the cold. As they rode over Northumberland, as hard as they could ride, She put her fingers in her ears, and dismally she cried ; Then up starts ten swaggering blades, with weapons in their hands, And riding up to Johnson, they bid him for to stand.

'It's I'll not stand,' says Ipson; then no indeed, not I.'

Nor I'll not stand,' says Gibson ; 'I'd sooner live than die.'
• Then I will stand,' says Johnson, “I'll stand the while I can ;
I never yet was daunted, nor afraid of any man.'
Then Johnson drew his glittering sword with all his might and main,
So well he laid upon them, that eight of them were slain ;
As he was fighting the other two, this woman he did not mind,
She took the knife all from his side, and ripp'd him up behind.

"Now I must fall,' says Johnson, 'I must fall unto the ground;
For relieving this wicked woman, she gave me my death-wound.
O base woman, O base woman, what hast thou done?
Thou hast killed the finest butcher that ever the sun shone on.'
This happened on a market-day, as people was riding by,
To see this dreadful murder, they gave the hue and cry.
It's now this woman's taken, and bound in irons strong,
For killing the finest butcher that ever the sun shone on.”

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They whip-ped me, they strip-pèd me,

My hands and feet they bound,
And left me here all naked

With my apron to the ground.'
Now Johnson was a valiant man,

And the cold he did not mind;
So he stripped his coat from off his back,

To keep her from the wind.
Now as they rode, a looking out

So sharp of either hand,
Three men they jumped from out a hedge,

And called on them to stand.
I'll stand, I'll stand,' says Johnson,

I'll stand as long as I can ;
For I was never yet afеard

Of any mortal man.'
Now Johnson was a valiant man,

And his bullets he let fly;
He killed two out of the three,

The tother runned away.
Now as they rode along the road

As vast as they could ride,
She boldly came to Johnson,

And ripped him in the side.
" I falls, I falls,' says Johnson;

I falls unto the ground;
For I believe, within my heart,

She's gi’n me my death-wound.'”. In coming to the purely modern ballad, we must give precedence to those which have to do with great crimes. They are by far the most numerous, and are bought with singular eagerness. There is no great criminal of any note in our day who has not been the subject of several ballads. And these are all of one character. They are almost always printed on a sheet to themselves. If the prisoner made a confession, it is given either at the head or foot of the sheet, but no other verses are printed on the same sheet; whereas in most other cases a song, or a second ballad, is stuck in the corner, to make up the money's worth. The family likeness, of which we have spoken already, will be plain at once to the reader from the selections we give from the first two or three which come to our hand.

“A new Song on the recent Poisoning-case with which William Palmer stands charged” begins :

“Come, all good people, pay attention

Unto these lines that I indite,
Of cruel murders I will mention,

That will fill your mind with fright :

A poisoner, named William Palmer,

He so many deeds have done,
Many a wife weeps for her husband,

Many a mother for her son.

Great deeds by poison he contracted;

But whether they were great or small,
He poisoned all his helpless victims,

O God, thy vengeance on him fall !
First his wife and then his brother,

They died almost in health and bloom;
The next fell on Mrs. Palmer's mother,

Antimony was their doom.
If Lord George Bentinck he have murdered,

Which in course of time we all shall see,
God's justice it will overtake him,
Thou canst not from his vengeance flee.

Chorus.
So all good people, pray take warning,

Of false friendship pray take care,
Remember the crimes of William Palmer,

Known as the Rugeley poisoner.”

Our next extract shall be from “ The Esher Tragedy," a ballad published at Preston :

“You feeling Christians, give attention,

Young and old of each degree,
A tale of sorrow I will mention,

Join and sympathise with me:
It's of a sad and dreadful murder

I shall quickly let you hear,
Which was committed by a mother

On her six young children dear.” After the usual detailed description of the crime, interspersed with moral reflections, the ballad ends :

“Within the prison's massive walls

What anguish will torment her breast,
When phantoms of her six dear children

Will disturb her of her rest!
Such a sad and dreadful murder,

On record there is no worse,
Committed by a cruel mother,

Once the Prince of Wales's nurse."
“ The fate of Robert Marley, for the murder of Richard
Cope in Parliament Street," published by Rial, of Monmouth
Court, Seven Dials, is the last we shall quote from:

“ Come, all young men, by me take warning,

To my decease an ear pray lend :
Approaching is the Monday morning

When on a tree my life must end ;

For murdering my fellow-creature,

I'm to the gallows doomed to go;
For me, alas, there is no mercy,
Not while upon this earth below.

Chorus.
My sad name is Robert Marley-

What a dreadful sight to see-
For slaying of my fellow-creature,

Doomed to die on Newgate tree.” Then comes the usual history. We quote a portion, which will remind readers of Hood's celebrated lines on Thurtell's murder:

“ His neck they cut from ear to ear,

His skull they battered in ;
His name was Mr. William Wear,

He lived in Lion's Inn."

Marley says:

“ On the 20th day of last October,

About the hour of nine o'clock,
To Parliament Street I wandered over,

Where soon I caused a dreadful shock :
A tradesman's shop I soon did enter,

Where to gain some plunder I did hope ;
And with a dreadful life-preserver

I slew the servant, Richard Cope.
About the head I cruel beat him,-

I saw him weltering in his gore,
I beat him till I thought I killed him,

I saw him fall upon the floor, &c.

Three weeks in pain my victim lingered,

My heart was then more hard than steel,
And when brought in his dying presence,

I did not for his sufferings feel;
But when tried at the bar of Newgate,

Though I so hardened did appear,
When the jury found me guilty,

My conscience smote my breast with fear;
And when the judge said, “Robert Marley,

For you on earth there is no hope-
The sentence is, that you be hanged,

For murdering of Richard Cope.'
The dreadful moments are approaching

When I to the scaffold must be led,
Trembling in my dismal dungeon,

In grief I droop my guilty head.
For me there's not one spark of pity,

No sympathy for my sad fate;
All my crimes I view before me:

I see my error now too late.”

These three ballads come not only from different publishers, but from distant towns,-London, Birmingham, and Preston, but they all have the same stamp. And the whole of the last dying speeches and confessions, trials and sentences, from whatever part of the country they come, run in the same form of quaint and circumstantial detail: appeals to Heaven, to young men, to young women, to Christians in general, and moral reflections. We have seldom met with one of a different character; and the ballads on “appalling accidents,” which are also very common, are like them. We give one specimen of these before quitting this part of our subject. The ballad on the “appalling accident at the Victoria Theatre" is headed with a list of killed and wounded. It begins:

“ On the twenty-seventh of December,

When every heart was light and gay,
And which for long we will remember,

Which did occur on Boxing-day.
At the Victoria Theatre,

Numbers there were wounded sore,
While many fell that dreadful moment
In death's cold arms to rise no more.

Chorus.
Sixteen killed, and fifty wounded-

A moment previous all was gay
At the Victoria Theatre,

Where they'd gone on Boxing-day.

We cannot tell what is before us,

Like those who left their homes so gay,
Full of mirth, and in enjoyment,

To banish grief on Boxing-day.
We know not what may be to-morrow :

Then trust in Him who reigns on high ;
All our joy may turn to sorrow,

Youth as well as age may die.”

In strange contrast to the monotonous morality of murderand-accident ballads stand out what, for want of a better name, we may distinguish as the Cadgers' ballads. They are not numerous, but form such a distinct class that we cannot pass them over, although, perhaps, the less said about them the better. One specimen shall suffice. When the St. Giles's rookery was pulled down, some years since, to make room for the New Oxford-Street improvements, the event seems to have happened which is commemorated in “ The Cadgers' Ball.” The intention of the Government as to their favourite haunt began to be known.

As soon as it got vind, however,

Old St. Giles's vos to fall,
They all declared, so help their never,
They'd vind up with a stunnin' ball.

Tol lol, &c.

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