[First Printed in "Graphic Illustrator, p. 124.]

I cannot do better than introduce here "A Legend of Glastonbury," made up, not from books, but from oral tradition once very prevalent in and near Glastonbury, which had formerly one of the richest Abbeys in England; the ruins are still attractive.

Who hath not hir'd o' Avalon?
[Footnote: "The Isle of ancient Avelon."—Drayton.]
'Twar talked o' much an long agon,—
Tha wonders o' tha Holy Thorn,
Tha "wich, zoon Âter Christ war born,
Here a planted war by ArimathÉ,
Thic Joseph that com'd auver sea,
An planted Kirstianity.
Th z that whun a landed vust,
(Zich plazen war in God's own trust)
A stuck iz staff into tha groun
An auver iz shoulder lookin roun,
Whatever mid iz lot bevÂll,
A cried aloud "Now, weary all!"
Tha staff het budded an het grew,
An at Kirsmas bloom'd tha whol d droo.
An still het blooms at Kirsmas bright,
But best th z at dork midnight,
A pruf o' this nif pruf you will.
Iz voun in tha name o' Weary-all-hill!
Let tell Pumparles or lazy Brue.
That what iz tauld iz vor sartin true!

["The story of the Holy Thorn was a long time credited by the vulgar and credulous. There is a species of White Thorn which blossoms about Christmas; it is well known to naturalists so as to excite no surprise."]