And was now a Franciscan some twenty days old,
He got up one fine morning before break of day,
Put the Pyx in his pocket-and then ran away.

MORAL.

I think we may coax out a moral or two
From the facts that have lately come under our view.
First-Don't meddle with Saints; -for you'll find if you do
They're what Scotch people call, "kittle cattle to shoe!"
And when once they have managed to take you in tow,
It's a deuced hard matter to make them let go !

Now to you, wicked Pagans!-who wander about,
Up and down Regent Street every night, "on the

scout,"

Recollect the Police keep a sharpish look-out,
And if once you're suspected, your skirts they will stick to
Till they catch you a last in flagrante delicto!-

Don't the inference draw That because he of Blois
Suffer'd one to bilk "Old father Antic the Law,"
That our May'rs and our Aldermen-and we've a City

full

Show themselves, at our Guildhall, quite so pitiful!
Lastly, as to the Pagan who play'd such a trick,
First assuming the tonsure, then cutting his stick,
There is but one thing which occurs to me-that
Is, Don't give too much credit to people who "rat!"

-Never forget Early habit's a net
Which entangles us all, more or less, in its mesh;

And "What's bred in the bone won't come out of the

flesh!"

We must all be aware Nature's prone to rebel, as
Old Juvenal tells us, Naturam expellas

Tamen usque recurret! There's no making Her rat!
So that all that I have on this head to advance
Is, whatever they think of these matters in France,
There's a proverb, the truth of which each one allows

here,

"YOU NEVER CAN MAKE A SILK PURSE OF A SOW'S EAR!"

In the succeeding Legend we come nearer home. Father Ingoldsby is particular in describing its locality, situate some eight miles from the Hall-less, if you take the bridle-road by the Churchyard, and so along the valley by Mr. Fector's Abbey.-In the enumeration of the various attempts to appropriate the treasure (drawn from a later source), is omitted one, said to have been undertaken by the worthy ecclesiastic himself, who, as Mrs. Botherby insinuates, is reported to have started for Dover, one fine morning, duly furnished with all the means and appliances of Exorcism. I cannot learn, however, that the family was ever enriched by his expedition.

THE LAY OF THE OLD WOMAN
CLOTHED IN GREY.

A LEGEND OF DOVER.

ONCE there lived, as I've heard people say,
An "Old Woman clothed in grey,"

So furrow'd with care, So haggard her air,

In her eye such a wild supernatural stare,

That all who espied her, Immediately shied her,

And strove to get out of her way.

This fearsome Old Woman was taken ill;
--She sent for the Doctor-he sent her a pill,

And by way of a trial, A two-shilling phial
Of green-looking fluid, like lava diluted,
To which I've professed an abhorrence most rooted.*
One of those draughts they so commonly send us,
Labell'd "Haustus catharticus, mane sumendus;"

She made a wry face, And, without saying Grace, Toss'd it off like a dram-it improved not her case.

-The Leech came again; He now open'd a vein, Still the little Old Woman continued in pain. So her "Medical Man," although loth to distress her, Conceived it high time that her Father Confessor Should be sent for to shrive, and assoilzie, and bless her,

* Vide p. 22.

That she might not slip out of these troublesome scenes "Unaneal'd and Unhouseled," whatever that means.*

Growing afraid, He calls to his aid
A bandy-legg'd neighbour, a "Tailor by trade," +
Tells him his fears, Bids him lay by his shears,
His thimble, his goose, and his needle, and hie
With all possible speed to the Convent hard by,

Requests him to say That he begs they'll all pray,
Viz., the whole pious brotherhood, Cleric and Lay,
For the soul of an Old Woman clothed in grey,
Who was just at that time in a very bad way,
And he really believed couldn't last out the day;

And to state his desire That some erudite Friar, Would run over at once, and examine, and try her;

For he thought he would find There was "something behind,"

A something that weigh'd on the Old Woman's mind,"In fact he was sure, from what fell from her tongue, That this little Old Woman had done something wrong.'

* Alack for poor William Linley to settle the point! His elucidation of Macbeth's "Hurlyburly" casts a halo around his memory. In him the world lost one of its kindliest Spirits, and the Garrick Club its acutest commentator.

† All who are familiar with the Police Reports, and other Records of our Courts of justice, will recollect that every gentleman of this particular profession invariably thus describes himself, in contradistinction to the Bricklayer, whom he probably presumes to be indigenous, and to the Shoemaker, born a Snob.

-Then he wound up the whole with this hint to the man, "Mind and pick out as holy a friar as you can!"

Now I'd have you to know That this story of woe,

Which I'm telling you, happen'd a long time ago;
I can't say exactly how long, nor, I own,
What particular monarch was then on the throne,
But 'twas here in Old England: and all that one knows is,
It must have preceded the Wars of the Roses.*

Inasmuch as the times Described in these rhymes,
Were as fruitful in virtues as ours are in crimes;
And if 'mongst the Laity Unseemly gaiety
Sometimes betray'd an occasional taint or two

At once all the Clerics Went into hysterics, While scarcely a convent but boasted its Saint or two; So it must have been long ere the line of the Tudors,

As since then the breed Of Saints rarely indeed With their dignified presence have darken'd our pew

doors.

-Hence the late Mr. Froude, and the live Dr. Pusey We moderns consider as each worth a Jew's eye;

* "An antient and most pugnacious family," says our Bath Friend. One of their descendants, George Rose, Esq., late M.P. for Christchurch (an elderly gentleman now defunct), was equally celebrated for his vocal abilities and his wanton destruction of furniture when in a state of excitement. -" Sing, old Rose, and burn the bellows!" has grown into a proverb.