Don't take too much of double X!-and don't at night

go out

To fetch your beer yourself, but make the pot-boy bring your stout!

And when you go to Margate next, just stop, and ring the bell,

Give my respects to Mrs. Jones, and say I'm pretty well!

And now for his Legend, which, if the facts took place rather beyond "the memory of the oldest inhabitant," are yet well known to have occurred in the neighbourhood "once on a time:" and the scene of them will be readily pointed out by any one of the fifty intelligent fly-drivers who ply upon the pier, and who will convey you safely to the spot for a guerdon which they term "three bob."

THE SMUGGLER'S LEAP.

A LEGEND OF THANET.

"Near this hamlet (Acol) is a long-disused chalk-pit of formidable depth, known by the name of 'The Smuggler's Leap.' The tradition of the parish runs, that a riding-officer from Sandwich, called Anthony Gill, lost his life here in the early part of the present (last) century, while in pursuit of a smuggler. A fog coming on, both parties went over the precipice. The smuggler's horse only, it is said, was found crushed beneath its rider. The spot has, of course, been haunted ever since." See "Supplement to Lewis's History of Thanet," by the Rev. Samuel Pegge, A.M., Vicar of Gomersham (W. Bristow, Canterbury, 1796), p. 127.

THE fire-flash shines from Reculver Cliff,
And the answering light burns blue in the skiff,

And there they stand, That smuggling band,
Some in the water and some on the sand,
Ready those contraband goods to land:
The night is dark, they are silent and still,
-At the head of the party is Smuggler Bill!

"Now lower away! come, lower away!
We must be far ere the dawn of the day.
If Exciseman Gill should get scent of the prey,

And should come, and should catch us here, what would

he say?

Come, lower away, lads-once on the hill,
We'll laugh, ho! ho! at Exciseman Gill!"

The cargo's lower'd from the dark skiff's side,
And the tow-line drags the tubs through the tide,

No trick nor flam, But your real Schiedam.
"Now mount, my merry men, mount and ride!"
Three on the crupper and one before,
And the led-horse laden with five tubs more;

But the rich point-lace, In the oil-skin case

Of proof to guard its contents from ill,
The "prime of the swag," is with Smuggler Bill!

Merrily now in a goodly row,

Away and away those Smugglers go,

And they laugh at Exciseman Gill, ho! ho!

When out from the turn Of the road to Herne,

Comes Gill, wide awake to the whole concern!
Exciseman Gill, in all his pride,
With his Custom-house officers all at his side!
-They were called Custom-house officers then ;
There were no such things as "Preventive men."

Sauve qui peut! That lawless crew,
Away, and away, and away they flew!
Some dropping one tub, some dropping two ;-
Some gallop this way, and some gallop that,
Through Fordwich Level-o'er Sandwich Flat,
Some fly that way, and some fly this

Like a covey of birds when the sportsmen miss;

These in their hurry Make for Sturry, With Custom-house officers close in their rear, Down Rushbourne Lane, and so by Westbere,

None of them stopping, But shooting and popping,
And many a Custom-house bullet goes slap
Through many a three-gallon tub like a tap,

And the gin spirts out And squirts all about,
And many a heart grew sad that day
That so much good liquor was so thrown away.

Sauve qui peut! That lawless crew,
Away, and away, and away they flew!
Some seek Whitstable-some Grove Ferry,
Spurring and whipping like madmen-very-
For the life! for the life! they ride! they ride!
And the Custom-house officers all divide,

And they gallop on after them far and wide!
All, all, save one-Exciseman Gill, -
He sticks to the skirts of Smuggler Bill!

Smuggler Bill is six feet high,

He has curling locks, and a roving eye,
He has a tongue and he has a smile
Trained the female heart to beguile,
And there is not a farmer's wife in the Isle,

From St. Nicholas quite To the Foreland Light, But that eye, and that tongue, and that smile will

wheedle her

To have done with the Grocer and make him her Tea

dealer;

There is not a farmer there but he still

Buys gin and tobacco from Smuggler Bill.

Smuggler Bill rides gallant and gay
On his dapple-grey mare, away, and away,
And he pats her neck and he seems to say,
"Follow who will, ride after who may,

In sooth he had need Fodder his steed,
In lieu of Lent-corn, with a Quicksilver feed;

-Nor oats nor beans, nor the best of old hay,
Will make him a match for my own dapple-grey!
Ho! ho! ho! ho!" says Smuggler Bill-
He draws out a flask and he sips his fill,
And he laughs "Ho! ho!" at Exciseman Gill.

Down Chistlett Lane, so free and so fleet
Rides Smuggler Bill, and away to Up-street;

Sarre Bridge is won- Bill thinks it fun;
"Ho! ho! the old tub-gauging son of a gun-
His wind will be thick, and his breeks be thin,
Ere a race like this he may hope to win!"

Away, away Goes the fleet dapple-grey, Fresh as the breeze and free as the wind, And Exciseman Gill lags far behind. " I would give my soul," quoth Exciseman Gill, "For a nag that would catch that Smuggler Bill !No matter for blood, no matter for bone, No matter for colour, bay, brown, or roan,

So I had but one!" A voice cried "Done!" "Ay, dun," said Exciseman Gill, and he spied A Custom-house officer close by his side, On a high-trotting horse with a dun-coloured hide.“ Devil take me," again quoth Exciseman Gill, "If I had but that horse, I'd have Smuggler Bill!"

From his using such shocking expressions it's plain That Exciseman Gill was rather profane.