The Saint disappear'd as she ended, and so

Did the little boys' heads, which, above and below,
As I told you a very few stanzas ago,

Had been flying about her, and jumping Jem Crow;
Though, without any body, or leg, foot, or toe,
How they managed such antics, I really don't know;
Be that as it may, they all" melted like snow
Off a dyke," as the Scotch say in sweet Edinbro'.
And there stood the Count,

With his men on the mount,

Just like "twenty-four jackasses all on a row."
What was best to be done?-'twas a sad bitter pill;
But gulp it he must, or else lose his Odille.

The lord of Alsace therefore alter'd his plan,
And said to himself, like a sensible man,
"I can't do as I would, I must do as I can ;"

It will not do to lie under any Saint's ban,

For your hide, when you do, they all manage to tan;
So Count Herman must pick up some Betsey or Nan,
Instead of my girl,—some Sue, Polly, or Fan ;—
If he can't get the corn he must do with the bran,
And make shift with the pot if he can't have the pan.
After words such as these

He went down on his knees,

And said, "Blessed St. Ermengarde just as you pleaseThey shall build a new convent,-I'll pay the whole bill, (Taking discount,)-its Abbess shall be my Odille !"

There are some of my readers, I'll venture to say,
Who have never seen Friburg, though some of them may,
And others 'tis likely may go there some day.

Now if ever you happen to travel that way

I do beg and pray, 'twill your pains well repay,

That you'll take what the Cockney folks call a 'po-shay,'

(Though in Germany these things are more like a dray); You may reach this same hill with a single relay,— And do look how the rock,

Through the whole of its block,

Is split open as though by some violent shock

From an earthquake, or lightning, or horrid hard knock
From the club-bearing fist of some jolly old cock
Of a Germanized giant, Thor, Woden, or Lok;
And see how it rears

Its two monstrous great ears,

For when once you're between them such each side ap

pears;

And list to the sound of the water one hears

Drip, drip from the fissures, like rain-drops or tears:
-Odille's, I believe,-which have flow'd all these years;
-I think they account for them so ;-but the rill
I'm sure is connected some way with Odille.

MORAL.

Now then for a moral, which always arrives

At the end, like the honey bees take to their hives,
And the more one observes it the better one thrives.—
We have all heard it said in the course of our lives
"Needs must when a certain old gentleman drives,"
'Tis the same with a lady,—if once she contrives
To get hold of the ribands, how vainly one strives
To escape from her lash, or to shake off her gyves.
Then let's act like Count Otto, and while one survives
Succumb to our She-Saints-videlicet wives.

(Aside.)

That is if one has not a 66 good bunch of fives:”(I can't think how that last line escaped from my quill, For I am sure it has nothing to do with Odille.)

Now young ladies to you!

Don't put on the shrew !

And don't be surprised if your father looks blue
When you're pert, and won't act as he wants you to do!
Be sure that you never elope ;—there are few,—
Believe me you'll find what I say to be true,—
Who run restive, but find as they bake they must brew,
And come off at the last with " a hole in their shoe;"
Since not even Clapham, that sanctified ville,
Can produce enough Saints to save every Odille.

Nycolas, cytezyn of ye cyte * of Pancraes, was borne of ryche and holye kynne.

And hys fader was named Epiphanus, and his moder Johane."

He was born on a cold frosty morning, on the 6th of December, (upon which day his feast is still observed,) but in what anno Domini is not so clear; his baptismal register, together with that of his friend and colleague, St. Thomas at Hill, having been "lost in the great fire of London."

St. Nicholas was a great patron of Mariners and— saving your presence - of Thieves also, which honourable fraternity have long rejoiced in the appellation of his "Clerks." Cervantes's story of Sancho's detecting a sum of money in a swindler's walking-stick, is merely the Spanish version of a "Lay of St. Nicholas," extant "in choice Italian " a century before honest Miguel was born.

* Parish?

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A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS.

"Statim sacerdoti apparuit diabolus in specie puellæ pulchritudinis miræ, et ecce Divus, fide catholicâ et cruce et aquâ benedictâ armatus, venit, et aspersit aquam in nomine Sanctæ et Individuæ Trinitatis, quam, quasi ardentem, diabolus, nequaquam sustinere valens, mugitibus fugit." ROGER HOVEDEN.

ORD ABBOT! Lord Abbot! I'd fain

confess;

I am a-weary, and worn with woe;

Many a grief doth my heart oppress,

And haunt me whithersoever I go!"

On bended knee spake the beautiful Maid;

"Now lithe and listen, Lord Abbot, to me!
"Now naye, Fair Daughter," the Lord Abbot said,
"Now naye, in sooth it may hardly be;

"There is Mess Michael, and holy Mess John,
Sage Penitauncers I ween be they!

And hard by doth dwell, in St. Catherine's cell,
Ambrose, the anchorite old and grey !"

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Oh, I will have none of Ambrose or John,
Though sage Penitauncers I trow they be;
Shrive me may none save the Abbot alone.

Now listen, Lord Abbot, I speak to thee.