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The above is a correct list of the Vicars and Curates extracted from the Parish Registers. The Chaplains of the Gaol, and Masters of the Grammar School, when in holy orders, frequently assisted the Vicars of the parish from time to time, but were never licensed by the Archbishop.

* Died at Northallerton, after a few days illness, Christmas Eve, 1876.

+ Mr. Wilkinson was curate of Northallerton for the long period of forty-two years, during which time he served three vicars in succession.

Son of Dr. Townsend, the vicar.

Married Caroline Sarah, youngest daughter of the Rev. T. W. Mercer, vicar.

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* The Wesleyans may be said to have "had people" in Northallerton from the time of Wesley's visit to the town in 1780 (vide page 135), but Northallerton was regularly visited by the ministers of the Thirsk circuit from 1774 to 1835.

+ For some years up to 1825 the connexion was served in Northallerton by students from the Airedale Independent College. The present Chapel is a neat building, erected in 1819 by Mr. George Hammond, (a native of this town, who died in 1839, aged 85 years, leaving £85,000 to charitable purposes), at a cost of £2,000, who also gave £1,000 for the minister's house. It is situated on the west side of the town, opposite Zetland-street, and behind which is a burial ground, closed in 1856.

+ Died at Northallerton after a pastorate of nine months.

The Primitive Methodists first visited Northallerton in 1820, vide Appendix, p. 15.

FREEMASONS.

Past Masters of the "Anchor" Lodge of Freemasons, Northallerton.

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Oh then bespake that noble kyng,

And with griefe hys hearte was woo'd:
"And ever I mourne that yon fayre streame
Shoulde be swell'd with human bloode."

Kynge Davyd hee sawe the verdante moore,
With wilde flow'res all bestrow'de;

"And ever I'm griev'd that soe greene a moore Shoulde be stayn'd with human bloode."

"But more am I griev'd, alas!" he cry'd,
"And more my hearte is woo'd,
That soe manye warriours young and brave
Muste thys daye shed theyr bloode."

As princely a hoste that kyng dyd leade
As ever march'd on playne;

Alas! that soe manye a warriour brave
Shoulde be soe soone yslayne!

And firste march'd forthe the Galloway men,
Of the anciente Picts they sprange;

Theyr speares all soe brighte and bucklers strong
For manye myles yrang.

And then cam on the Norman troopes,

With Englishe them amonge;

For the empresse Maud they cam to fighte,
To righte that ladye's wronge.

And then march'd forthe the Scottish foote,
And then march'd forthe the horse;

In armoure stronge, all those warriours came,
A greate and warlike force.

Kynge Davyd look'd athawart the moore,
And prince Henry hys brave sonne,

And they were aware of the Englishe hoste,
Cam merrilye marching on.

Oh then call'd forthe kynge Davyd,

And loudelye call'd hee,

"And whoo is heare in alle mye campe,

Can descrybe yon hoste to mee ? "`

Then came a bearne, besyde the tente,

An Englisheman was hee;

'Twas not long since from the Englishe hoste,

That traiterous wighte dyd flee.

"Now tell mee yon hostes," the king hee cry'd,

"And thou shalte have golde and fee

And whoo is yon chiefe that rydes along
With hys lockes soe aged greye ?”

"Oh that is Walter de Gaunte you see,
And hee hath beene greye full long,

But manye's the troope that hee dothe leade,
And they are stoute and stronge."

"And whoo is yon chiefe soe brighte of blee,
With hys troopes that beate the playne?"
"Oh that's the young earle of Albermarle,
Yleading hys gallante trayne.

A more gallante warrioure than that lorde
Is not yon hostes among;

And the gallante troopes that hee doth leade,
Like hym, are stoute and young."

"And who yon shynny warriours twoo,
With theyre troopes yclade the same?"
"Oh they're the Bruces, that in thys fighte
Have com t'acquire them fame."

Oh then call'd out kynge Davyd,
And fulle of woe spake hee;

"And ever I hold those Bruces false,
For muche they owe to mee."

"And who's yon chiefe of giante heighte,
And of bulke so huge to see?"
Walter Espec is that chiefe's name,
And a potente chiefe is hee.

His stature's large as the mountaine oake,
And eke as strong hys mighte:

There's ne'ere a chiefe in alle the northe
Can dare with hym to fighte."

"And whoo's yon youthe, yon youthe I see,
A galloping o'er the moore?

Hys troopes that followe soe gallantelye,
Proclayme him a youthe of pow're."

"Young Roger de Mowbray is that youthe,
And hee's sprang of the royal line;
Hys wealthe and hys followers, oh, kyng,
Are allemost as great as thyne."

"And who's yon aged chiefe I see
All yclad in purple veste ?"

"Oh that's the Bishoppe o' th' Orkney isles, And hee alle the hoste hath bleste.

And alle the reste are noblemen,

Of fortune and fame each one:

From Nottingham and from Derbyeshyre
Those valiante chiefetaynes com."

"But what's yon glitt'ring tow're I see
I' the centre o' the hoste ?"

Oh that's the hallow'd Standard, of whyche
The Englishe make suche boaste.

A maste of a shipp it is so hie,

Alle bedect with golde soe gaye;
And on the topp is a holye crosse.
That shynes as brighte as the daye.

Around it hang the holye banners
Of manye a blessed saynte;

Saynte Peter, and John of Beverlye,

And Saynte Wilfred there they paynte.

The aged folke arounde it throng,

With their old hayres so greye;

And manye a chiefetayne there bows ydowne,
And so heart'lye dothe hee praye."

DD

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