Even Porter Paul, at the sound of such revelling,

With fervour began himself to bless;

For he thought he must somehow have sure let the Devil in,—
And perhaps was not very much out in his guess.

The Accusing Byers flew up to Heaven's Chancery,
Blushing like scarlet with shame and concern;
The Archangel took down his tale, and in answer he
Wept-(See the works of the late Mr. Sterne.)

Indeed, it is said, a less taking both were in
When, after a lapse of a great many years,
They book'd Uncle Toby five shillings for swearing,
And blotted the fine out at once with their tears!

But St. Nicholas' agony who may paint?

His senses at first were well-nigh gone;

The beatified Saint was ready to faint

When he saw in his Abbey such sad goings on!

For never, I ween, had such doings been seen

There before, from the time that most excellent Prince,
Earl Baldwin of Flanders, and other Commanders,
Had built and endow'd it some centuries since.

-But, hark!-'tis a sound from the outermost gate!
A startling sound from a powerful blow.

Who knocks so late?-it is half after eight

By the clock, and the clock 's five minutes too slow.

Never, perhaps, had such loud double-raps
Been heard in St. Nicholas' Abbey before;

All agreed "it was shocking to keep people knocking,"
But none seem'd inclined to answer the door."

66

Now a louder bang through the cloisters rang,

And the gate on its hinges wide open

And all were aware of a Palmer there,

flew;

With his cockle, hat, staff, and his sandal shoe.

Many a furrow, and many a frown,

By toil and time on his brow were traced;
And his long loose gown was of ginger brown,
And his rosary dangled below his waist.

Now seldom, I ween, is such costume seen,
Except at stage-play or masquerade;
But who doth not know it was rather the go
With Pilgrims and Saints in the second Crusade?

With noiseless stride did that Palmer glide

Across the oaken floor;

And he made them all jump, he gave such a thump
Against the Refectory door!

Wide open it flew, and plain to the view
The Lord Abbot they all mote see;
In his hand was a cup, and he lifted it up,
"Here's the Pope's good health with three !!"

Rang in their ears three deafening cheers,
"Huzza! huzza! huzza!"

And one of the party said, "Go it, my hearty!"
When out spake that Pilgrim grey—

"A boon, Lord Abbot! a boon ! a boon!

Worn is my foot, and empty my scrip;
And nothing to speak of since yesterday noon
Of food, Lord Abbot, hath passed my lip.

"And I am come from a far countree,

And have visited many a holy shrine;
And long have I trod the sacred sod
Where the Saints do rest in Palestine !"—

"An thou art come from a far countree,

And if thou in Paynim lands hast been,
Now rede me aright the most wonderful sight,
Thou Palmer grey, that thine eyes have seen.
"Arede me aright the most wonderful sight,

Grey Palmer, that ever thine eyes did see,
And a manchette of bread, and a good warm bed,
And a cup o' the best shall thy guerdon be!"-
"Oh! I have been east, and I have been west,
And I have seen many a wonderful sight;
But never to me did it happen to see

A wonder like that which I see this night!

"To see a Lord Abbot in rochet and stole,

With Prior and Friar,-a strange mar-velle !—
O'er a jolly full bowl, sitting cheek by jowl,
And hob-nobbing away with a Devil from Hell!"

He felt in his gown of ginger brown,

And he pull'd out a flask from beneath ;
It was rather tough work to get out the cork,
But he drew it at last with his teeth.

O'er a pint and a quarter of holy water

He made the sacred sign;

And he dash'd the whole on the soi-disante daughter
Of old Plantagenet's line!

Oh! then did she reek, and squeak, and shriek,
With a wild unearthly scream;

And fizzled and hiss'd, and produced such a mist,
They were all half-chok'd by the steam.

Her dove-like eyes turn'd to coals of fire,
Her beautiful nose to a horrible snout,
Her hands to paws with nasty great claws,

And her bosom went in, and her tail came out.

On her chin there appear'd a long Nanny-goat's beard,
And her tusks and her teeth no man mote tell;
And her horns and her hoofs gave infallible proofs
'T was a frightful Fiend from the nethermost Hell!

The Palmer threw down his ginger gown,

His hat and his cockle; and, plain to sight,
Stood St. Nicholas' self, aud his shaven crown
Had a glow-worm halo of heav'nly light.

The Fiend made a grasp, the Abbot to clasp;
But St. Nicholas lifted his holy toe,

And, just in the nick, let fly such a kick

VOL. III.

On his elderly Namesake, he made him let go.

2 M

And out of the window he flew like a shot,
For the foot flew up with a terrible thwack,
And caught the foul demon about the spot
Where his tail joins on to the small of his back.
And he bounded away, like a foot-ball at play,
Till into the bottomless pit he fell slap,
Knocking Mammon the meagre o'er pursy Beephglor,
And Lucifer into Beelzebub's lap.

Oh! happy the slip from his Succubine grip,

That saved the Lord Abbot, though, breathless with fright,

In escaping he tumbled, and fractured his hip,

And his left leg was shorter thenceforth than his right!

On the banks of the Rhine, as he's stopping to dine,
From a certain Inn-window the traveller is shown
Some picturesque ruins, the scene of these doings,
A few miles up the river, south-east of Cologne.

And, while "saur kraut" she sells you, the Landlady tells you
That there, in those walls, now all roofless and bare,
One Simon, a Deacon, from a lean grew a sleek one,
On filling a çi-devant Abbot's state chair.

How a ci-devant Abbot, all clothed in drab, but

Of texture the coarsest, hair shirt, and no shoes, (His mitre and ring, and all that sort of thing

Laid aside,) in yon Cave liv'd a pious recluse;

How he rose with the sun, limping "dot and go one'
To yon rill of the mountain, in all sorts of weather,
Where a Prior and a Friar, who liv'd somewhat higher
Up the rock, used to come and eat cresses together;

How a thirsty old codger the neighbours call'd Roger, '
With them drank cold water in lieu of old wine!
What its quality wanted he made up in quantity,
Swigging as though he'd fain empty the Rhine!

And how, as their bodily strength fail'd, the mental man
Gain'd tenfold vigour and force in all four:

And how, to the day of their death, the “Old Gentleman "
Never attempted to kidnap them more.

And how, when at length in the odour of sanctity,
All of them died without grief or complaint;
The Monks of St. Nicholas said 'twas ridiculous

Not to suppose every one was a Saint.

And how, in the Abbey no one was so shabby
As not to say yearly four masses a head,

On the eve of that supper, and kick on the crupper
Which Satan received, for the souls of the dead!

How folks long held in reverence their reliques and memories,
How the ci-devant Abbot's obtained greater still,
When some cripples, on touching his fractured os femoris,
Threw down their crutches, and danced a quadrille.

And how Abbot Simon, (who turn'd out a prime one,)
These words, which grew into a proverb full soon,

O'er the late Abbot's grotto, stuck up as a motto,

“UWho suppes wyth the Deuylle sholde haue a long spoone !!" THOMAS INGOLDSBY.