s. Verie hot: soe hee went in to dinner. Wee
attend the lords' table, abt four o'clock the king went downe to the
Allome mynes, and was ther an hower, and viewed them p[re]ciselie, and
then went and shott at a stagg, and missed. Then my Lord Compton had
lodged two brace. The king shott again, and brake the thigh-bone. A
dogg long in coming, and my Lo. Compton shott agn and killed him. Late
in to supper.

"Aug. 17, Houghton. Wee served the lords with biskett, wyne, and
jellie. The Bushopp of Chester, Dr. Morton, p[re]ched before the king.
To dinner. Abt four o'clock, ther was a rush-bearing and piping affore
them, affore the king in the middle court; then to supp. Then abt ten
or eleven o'clock, a maske of noblemen, knights, gentlemen, and
courtiers, affore the king, in the middle round, in the garden. Some
speeches: of the rest, dancing the Huckler, Tom Bedlo, and the Cowp
Justice of Peace.

"Aug. 18. The king went away abt twelve to Lathome."

The journalist who would note so trivial a circumstance as the heat of the
weather, was not likely to omit the knighting of the Sirloin, if it really
occurred; and hence, in the absence of more positive proof, we are disposed
to take Mr. Roby's view of the case, and treat it as one of the thousand
and one pleasant stories which "rumour with her hundred tongues" ever
circulates amongst the peasantry of a district where some royal visit, or
{332} other unexpected memorable occurrence, has taken place.

But this is not the only "pleasant conceit" of which the "merrie monarch"
is said to have delivered himself during his visit to Hoghton Tower. On the
way from Preston his attention was attracted by a huge boulder stone which
lay in the roadside, and was still in existence not a century ago. "O' my
saul," cried he, "that meikle stane would build a bra' chappin block for my
Lord Provost. Stop! there be letters thereon: unto what purport?" Several
voices recited the inscription:--

"_Turn me o're, an I'le tel thee plaine._"

"Then turn it ower," said the monarch, and a long and laborious toil
brought to light the following satisfactory intelligence:--

"_Hot porritch makes hard cake soft,_
_So torne me o'er againe._"

"My saul," said the king, "ye shall gang roun' to yere place again: these
country gowks mauna ken the riddle without the labour." As a natural
consequence, Sir Richard Hoghton's "great companie" woul