His late wife's disaster

By no means had past her,"

She'd "have him to know she was meat for his Master!"

Then, regardless alike of his love and his woes,
She turn'd on her heel and she turned up her nose.

Poor David in vain

Implored to remain,

He" dared not," he said, "cross the mountain again." Why the fair was obdurate

None knows, to be sure, it

Was said she was setting her cap at the Curate ;-
Be that as it may, it is certain the sole hole

Pryce could find to creep into that night was the Coal-hole!
In that shady retreat,

With nothing to eat,

And with very bruised limbs, and with very sore feet, All night close he kept;

I can't say he slept;

But he sigh'd, and he sobb'd, and he groan'd, and he wept, Lamenting his sins

And his two broken shins,

Bewailing his fate with contortions and grins,
And her he once thought a complete Rara Avis,
Consigning to Satan,-viz. cruel Miss Davis !

Mr. David has since had a " serious call,"
He never drinks ale, wine, or spirits, at all,
And they say he is going to Exeter Hall

To make a grand speech,

And to preach, and to teach

People that "they can't brew their malt-liquor too small!" That an ancient Welsh Poet, one PYNDAR Ap Tudor, Was right in proclaiming " ARISTON MEN UDOR!"

And that Gin's but a Snare of Old Nick the deluder!

And" still on each evening when pleasure fills up,"
At the old Goat-in-Boots, with Metheglin, each cup,
Mr. Pryce, if he 's there,

Will get into "the Chair,"

And make all his quondam associates stare

By calling aloud to the landlady's daughter,

66

Patty bring a cigar, and a glass of Spring Water!" The dial he constantly watches; and when

The long hand's at the " XII," and the short at the "X,' He gets on his legs,

Drains his glass to the dregs,

Takes his hat and great-coat off their several pegs,
With his President's hammer bestows his last knock,
And

says solemnly," Gentlemen!

"LOOK AT THE CLOCK !! !”

The succeeding Legend has long been an established favourite with all of us, as containing much of the personal history of one of the greatest ornaments of the family tree.

To the wedding between the sole heiress of this redoubted hero and a direct ancestor is it owing that the Lioncels of Shurland hang so lovingly parallel with the Saltire of the Ingoldsbys, and now form as cherished a quartering in their escutcheon as the "dozen white lowses" in the "old coat" of Shallow.

* Vide Title-page.

GREY DOLPHIN.

E won't won't he? Then bring me my boots!" said the Baron.

H

Consternation was at its height in the castle of Shurland-a caitiff had dared to disobey the Baron! and

the Baron had called for his boots!

A thunderbolt in the great hall had been a bagatelle to it.

no

A few days before, a notable miracle had been wrought in the neighbourhood; and in those times miracles were not so common as they are now; Royal Balloons, no steam, no railroads, while the few Saints who took the trouble to walk with their heads under their arms, or to pull the devil by the nose, scarcely appeared above once in a century; so it made the greater sensation.

The clock had done striking twelve, and the Clerk of Chatham was untrussing his points preparatory to seeking his truckle-bed; a half-emptied tankard of mild ale stood at his elbow, the roasted crab yet floating on its surface. Midnight had surprised the worthy functionary while occupied in discussing it, and with the task yet unaccomplished. He meditated a mighty draught: one hand was fumbling with his tags, while the other was extended in the act of

grasping the jorum, when a knock on the portal, solemn and sonorous, arrested his fingers. It was repeated thrice ere Emmanuel Saddleton had presence of mind sufficient to inquire who sought admittance at that untimeous hour.

"Open! open! good Clerk of St. Bridget's," said a female voice, small, yet distinct and sweet," an excellent thing in woman."

The clerk arose, crossed to the doorway, and undid the latchet.

On the threshold stood a lady of surpassing beauty: her robes were rich, and large, and full; and a diadem, sparkling with gems that shed a halo around, crowned her brow: she beckoned the clerk as he stood in astonishment before her.

"Emmanuel!" said the lady; and her tones sounded like those of a silver flute. "Emmanuel Saddleton, truss up your points, and follow me!"

The worthy clerk stared aghast at the vision; the purple robe, the cymar, the coronet, above all, the smile; no, there was no mistaking her; it was the blessed St. Bridget herself!

And what could have brought the sainted lady out of her warm shrine at such a time of night? and on such a night? for it was as dark as pitch, and, metaphorically speaking, "rained cats and dogs."

Emmanuel could not speak, so he looked the ques

tion.

"No matter for that," said the Saint, answering to his thought. "No matter for that, Emmanuel Saddleton; only follow me, and you'll see."