"And fine upon the Virginals is that gay Lady's touch,
And sweet her voice unto the lute, you'll scarce hear any such;
But is it O Sanctissima!' she sings in dulcet tone?

Or Angels ever bright and fair'?-Ah, no!-it's Bobbing Joan!'

"The Canon's house is lofty and spacious to the view;
The Canon's cell is order'd well-yet Nelly looks askew ;

The Lady's bower is in the tower,-yet Nelly shakes her head—
She hides the poker and the tongs in that gay Lady's bed!

"Six weeks were gone and over, full six weeks and a day,
Yet in that bed the poker and the tongs unheeded lay!
From which, I fear, it's pretty clear that Lady rest had none;
Or, if she slept in any bed--it was not in her own.

"But where that Lady pass'd her nights I may not well divine,
Perhaps in pious oraisons at good St. Thomas' Shrine,

And for her father far away breathed tender vows and true-
It may be so-I cannot say-but Nelly look'd askew.

"And still at night, by fair moonlight, when all were lock'd in sleep,
She'd listen at the Canon's door,-she'd through the keyhole peep-
I know not what she heard or saw, but fury fill'd her eye-
-She bought some nasty Doctor's-stuff, and she put it in a pie!

"It was a glorious summer's eve-with beams of rosy red

The Sun went down-all Nature smiled-but Nelly shook her head!
Full softly to the balmy breeze rang out the Vesper bell-
-Upon the Canon's startled ear it sounded like a knell!

"Now here's to thee, mine Uncle! a health I drink to thee!
Now pledge me back in Sherris sack, or a cup of Malvoisie ! '—
The Canon sigh'd-but rousing, cried, I answer to thy call,
And a Warden-pie's a dainty dish to mortify withal !""

'Tis early dawn-the matin chime rings out for morning pray'r-
And Prior and Friar is in his stall-the Canon is not there!
Nor in the small Refect'ry hall, nor cloister'd walk is he—
All wonder-and the Sacristan says 'Lauk-a-daisey-me!'

They 've search'd the aisles and Baptistry-they've search'd above

around

The Sermon House '-the Audit Room'-the Canon is not found. They only find the pretty cook concocting a ragout;

They ask her where her master is-but Nelly looks askew !

They call for crow-bars-jemmies' is the modern name they bearThey burst through lock, and bolt, and bar-but what a sight is

there!

The Canon's head lies on the bed-his Niece lies on the floor!
-They are as dead as any nail that is in any door!

"The livid spot is on his breast, the spot is on his back!
His portly form, no longer warm with life, is swoln and black !—
The livid spot is on her cheek,-it's on her neck of snow,
And the Prior sighs, and sadly cries, Well!-here's a pretty Go!'

"All at the silent hour of night a bell is heard to toll, A knell is rung, a requiem 's sung as for a sinful soul,

And there's a grave within the Nave, it's dark, and deep, and wide, And they bury there a Lady fair, and a Canon by her side!

"An Uncle-so 'tis whisper'd now throughout the sacred fane,And a Niece-whose father's far away upon the Spanish MainThe Sacristan, he says no word to indicate a doubt,

But he puts his thumb unto his nose, and he spreads his fingers out!

"And where doth tarry Nelly Cook, that staid and comely lass? Ay, where ?-for ne'er from forth that door was Nelly known to pass. Her coif, and gown of russet brown were lost unto the view,

And if you mention'd Nelly's name-the Monks all look'd askew !

*

"There is a heavy paving-stone fast by the Canon's door,
Of granite grey, and it may weigh some half a ton or more,
And it is laid deep in the shade within that Entry dark,
Where sun or moon-beam never play'd, or e'en one starry spark.

"That heavy granite stone was moved that night, 'twas darkly said, And the mortar round its sides next morn seem'd fresh, and newly laid;

But what within the narrow vault beneath that stone doth lie,
Or if that there be vault, or no-

-I cannot tell-not I!

"But I've been told that moan and groan, and fearful wail and shriek, Came from beneath that paving-stone for nearly half a week— For three long days and three long nights came forth those sounds of

fear;

Then all was o'er-they never more fell on the listening ear.

"A hundred years were gone and past since last Nell Cook was seen, When, worn by use, that stone got loose, and they went and told the Dean.

-Says the Dean, says he, 'My Masons three! now haste and fix it tight;'

And the Masons three peep'd down to see, and they saw a fearsome sight.

"Beneath that heavy paving-stone a shocking hole they foundIt was not more than twelve feet deep, and barely twelve feet round; A fleshless, sapless skeleton lay in that horrid well!

But who the deuce 'twas put it there those Masons could not tell.

* And near this fleshless skeleton a pitcher small did lie,

And a mouldy piece of kissing-crust,' as from a warden-pie!

And Doctor Jones declared the bones were female bones, and, 'Zooks!

I should not be surprised,' said he, if these were Nelly Cook's !'

"It was in good Dean Bargrave's days, if I remember right,

Those fleshless bones beneath the stones these Masons brought to light;

And you may well in the Dean's Chapelle' Dean Bargrave's portrait view,

'Who died one night,' says old Tom Wright, 'in sixteen forty two!'

"And so two hundred years have passed since that these Masons three,

With curious looks, did set Nell Cook's unquiet spirit free;

That granite stone had kept her down till then-so some suppose,—
-Some spread their fingers out, and put their thumb unto their nose.

"But one thing's clear-that all the year, on every Friday night,
Throughout that Entry dark doth roam Nell Cook's unquiet Sprite :
On Friday was that Warden-pie all by that Canon tried;
On Friday died he, and that tidy Lady by his side!

"And though two hundred years have flown, Nell Cook doth still pursue

Her weary walk, and they who cross her path the deed may rue;
Her fatal breath is fell as death! the Simoom's blast is not
More dire,- (a wind in Africa that blows uncommon hot).

"But all unlike the Simoom's blast, her breath is deadly cold,
Delivering quivering, shivering shocks unto both young and old,
And whoso in that Entry dark doth feel that fatal breath,
He ever dies within the year some sad untimely death!

"No matter who-no matter what condition, age, or sex,

But some get shot,' and some 'get drown'd,' and some 'get' broken necks;

Some 'get run over by a coach;—and one beyond the seas
'Got' scraped to death by oyster-shells among the Caribbees!

"Those Masons three, who set her free, fell first!—it is averred That two were hang'd on Tyburn tree for murdering of the third! Charles Storey, too, his friend who slew, had ne'er, if truth they

tell,

*

Been gibbetted on Chartham Downs, had they not met with Nell!

In or about the year 1780, a worthy of this name cut the throat of a journeyman paper-maker, was executed on Oaten Hill, and afterwards hung in chains near the scene of his crime. It was to this place, as being the extreme boundary of the City's jurisdiction, that the worthy Mayor with so much naïveté wished to escort Archbishop M on one of his progresses, when he begged to have the honour of "attending his Grace as far as the Gallows."

,, 11in her the Awege De 2 and was buried in the zamanla madas 24. Mustin e Guyra, De, zi, LL

In enne port at our impression of the portrait Mr. Hill is represented to have born at Liverpod. Tius is an error,