The Saint, till it fancied that he was deluded That he suffers this bad trick To be played on the innocent children of Erin ? His marvellous crozier That is able to banish all snakes in creation; So 'tis said, but we think without any foundation." Or an ass, to keep cool While he writes of a saint? Mr. Editor you'll Feel the weight of my crozier, my boy, on your shoulder, Such a slur to be cast on a narrative's verity! Faith this would be a thing to hand down to posterity! I'll show them this night I am able, by Japers, To stop of a sudden this gentleman's capers. Kathleen, bring me my boots, my crozier and mitre ; He put on his top-boots, which then were the fashion, CANTO II. Where the waters so placid and clear of the Shannon, As any stout party, Of eighty may well be supposed to be. And he walked by that river Without a shiver, Though the wind was enough to pierce to his liver; His skin a bright scarlet with slight streaks of yellow. That he was old Harry himself; there must be a To this, as a fact, from that age of tradition. At the sight the Saint stopped and laid near him a box, Then he put forth his crozier, Saying quietly, “Oh, cure [it, You'll catch cold if you lie there, no lungs, sir, could stand Come, honey, your family duties demand it. Fie! think of your family; join me in my walk; Besides, I should like with you half-an-hour's talk." So great was the power, Of the Saint that hour, The serpent arose and said, "Oh, with pleasure; "Egad, my fine boy, you're mighty polite." [right, "Faith, sir," said the snake, "it's myself knows what's And due to a gentleman saint, sir, like you; Yes, always I give to the devil his due. You're a gentleman saint, not one of the riff-raff. That stood close beside them; 'twas made of the best 66 Within and without, Most remarkably stout, The lock was a Bramah I know beyond doubt. I'm mighty obliged to you; but it's no go! [it, LIEP I am sorry I cannot accept your civility; But I thank you entirely for all your gentility." Made up just expressly for you, when I've brought it “Oh, come now, my darling!" the Saint said; "I bought Sure you haven't the heart to be half so cruel As refuse it? oh, no! here get in it, my jewel, I'd like very much to see how it suits; It's quite new; see the lock, how finely it shosts," "I never intended You should be offended," Said the snake; "but the fact is I think it's too small." But the careful saint bolted it up quite discreetly. "I'll get out," said the snake. "Pon my soul," said Saint Pat, "I'll take very good care that you never do that. I hope the chest fits you exactly, my honey." Here he shouldered the box, and, when that was done, he Walked down to the bridge, just beside Killaloe, 'Twas a mean trick, declaring He'd expose it, right into the deep river threw But if, as was hinted, this snake was no less Though the means he employed are enveloped in doubt. [We may add, the five shillings reward was paid over next day; but all efforts have failed to discover if an action was brought for the paper's iniquities in slandering the Saint, though one learned in antiquities has assured us in print, that to his certain knowledge he accepted the editor's ample apology.] F. FRANKFORT MOORE. HALLOW-E'EN. CHAPTER I. THE FRENCH EMIGRÉ A VERY quiet and secluded little hamlet is Bolton Percy, even in these days, and at the end of the last century it was even more so. A tiny village-a mere handful of houses, in fact-but rejoicing in a high-sounding name, and lying in the midst of a lovely landscape. It is true there is nothing majestic or wildly picturesque in the scenery around. Nature here appears in her softest and gentlest mood, and Bolton Percy lies, like a gem, set round with corn fields and meadows. About the end of the last century there stood, within a mile of Bolton Percy, an ancient red brick mansion, called Harborough Hall, the seat of Squire Fairfax, descended from the famous Fairfax, of Commonwealth renown; and over the large, dusky old pew in the north aisle of the Church at Bolton Percy, in which the Fairfax family worshipped, there was a mural monument in memory of the father of the Parliamentarian General. Harborough Hall was a quaint old mansion, looking ghost-like in the moonbeams on winter nights, when its many mullioned windows shone out, like so many gleaming eyes, from the dusky red brick walls, and the wind tossed about the bare branches of the giant oaks and elms, till they waved to and fro like the arms of grisly spectres. When the family were away, and the Hall was shut up, belated pedestrians would quicken their steps if they passed under the shadow of the north wing, though they would cast a scared glance, lured on by a species of horrible fascination, at a broad mullioned window under the roof; the window, in short, of the ghost-rooma chamber which, like some other mansions, Harborough Hall had possessed from time immemorial. Just now, however, we have nothing to do with the ghost-room, and, besides, the mansion was not closed, but full of gay company from kitchen to garret ; and the time of year was November-the first of the month also-and early in the evening. The sun had set, but a lurid red light yet lingered in the west, |