ps he
considered it a point of honour to stick by his friends, and share their
fate, whatever it might be. Anyhow, he surrendered with the rest, and
with the rest was condemned to death. Time after time he was reprieved,
owing to the exertions of friends who happened to be high in favour
with the Hanoverian King's Government, but time after time he was
recommitted, and finally Tyburn saw the last of poor "Mad Jack Hall."
They hanged him on the 13th of July 1716.

SEWINGSHIELDS CASTLE, AND THE SUNKEN TREASURE OF BROOMLEE LOUGH

The old castle of Sewingshields is one of which there are many legends.
If local tradition might be accepted as a guide, we should find that
Arthur the King lived there once on a time. But surely another Arthur
than him of whom Tennyson sang. One,

"Not like that Arthur, who, with lance in rest,
From spur to plume a star of tournament,
Shot through the lists at Camelot, and charged
Before the eyes of ladies and of kings,"

but a being even more mythical than that Arthur to whom, with his
knights, legend assigns so many last resting-places--in that vast hall
beneath the triple peak of Eildon, here in a cavern below the rocks at
Sewingshields, and in many a spot besides. This Arthur of Sewingshields
in his feats was indeed more akin to the old Norse gods and heroes. And
it is told that, as he talked with his Queen one day when they sat on
those great rocks to the north of the castle, which still bear as names
the King's and the Queen's Crag, Guinevere chanced to let fall a remark
which angered Arthur; whereupon he, snatching up a rock that lay ready
to his hand, hurled it at his royal consort. Now, Guinevere at the
moment was combing her long, fair locks; but she saw the stone come
hurtling through the air, and, with remarkable presence of mind and
dexterity, with her comb she fended off the missile, so that it fell
between them, doing no harm. And if anyone should presume to disbelieve
this tale, there lies the rock to this day, and the marks of the teeth
of the Queen's comb are on it still for all to see. The distance that
the King hurled this missile is not above a quarter of a mile, and the
pebble itself may weigh a trifle of twenty tons or so.

Local tradition tells also how once on a time there came to
Sewingshields, to visit Arthur, a great chieftain from the wild north,
one named Cumin. And when Cumin departed from the castle to go back to
his own land, he b