Could the reader, who has travelled with me so far, have been present at Kiddal Hall some six years later, he would have seen a joyous sight. Once more did the old house look gay. A grand entertainment was being given. Gay devices adorned the walls; temporary bowers were erected in the gardens; a flag waved from the building; tables were spread over the green space, in the middle of the village; labour was laid aside; and every soul seemed to rejoice. By a special act on the part of Mr. Lupton, it had been settled that Colin should take the family name. This had been done; and therefore I may now declare, that on the happy day here spoken of was celebrated the birth of the first son of Colin and Jenny Lupton. Already had they been blessed with two girls, that now had become the prettiest ornaments of the house. Proudly did these two young people walk amongst the tenantry, rejoicing in the good wishes which were heard on every side.

To add to the general joy, Mr. Roger Calvert and Fanny Woodruff, after a courtship of unaccountable duration, had selected that day also as their wedding-day; and now, along with the father of the latter, and the whole family of the former, joined in each other's pleasure, and that of the inhabitants of Kiddal.

About dusk, Colin walked forth for the purpose of enjoying the enjoyment of others; and, amongst other signs that all were happy, observed a knot of bumpkins gathered round something that appeared to afford them amusement, by the peals of laughter which broke from the crowd. No sooner did the latter observe who approached than they respectfully fell back. Colin perceived a man past the middle age, apparently worn down by trouble and poverty, with a pack on his back, like a travelling pedlar, a stick in his hand, and a small, shaggy, wire-haired terrier at his heels.

The first sight of this odd figure was sufficient to assure our hero that he beheld Peter Veriquear. Colin, to the amazement of all, seized him by the hand, with the exclamation,

Mr. Veriquear? Or is it possible I can be mistaken?'

Whether you are mistaken or not,' replied the individual, is your business, and not mine; just as it is my business to say I glad to see my old assistant, Mr. Colin Clink."

am

'But under what strange circumstances have you come here ?' That,' replied Peter, 'is my concern, and not yours; though, perhaps I ought to make it my business to tell you.'

'Certainly,' responded Colin; for I can assure you that I feel it to be my business to know. But come,' he continued, let me conduct you to better quarters, where we can talk over those things which I feel anxious to hear.'

Mr. Peter Veriquear and his dog accompanied our hero to Kiddal Hall, where he soon found himself seated at a plentiful table.

6

When Peter had sufficiently satisfied himself,

Ah, sir!' said he, 'you will feel as much astonished to find that I have sunk so low, as I am to see how high you have risen.' 'Why, what can have happened?'

'Sad things' replied Peter. In the first place, I have lost all my family. Mrs. Veriquear, the little Veriquears, that you used to take such pleasure in drawing about in the coach,-all have been taken from me. One of those horrible fevers laid them down all to. gether on beds of sickness. The doctor made it his affair to physic

them so much, that the stock of bottles in my warehouse was materially increased. At the same time the bone-trade became bare, and the rag-trade was torn to rags by competition. One after another the family dropped off, until I could not help thinking the undertaker did nothing else but make it his business to go backwards and forwards from his house to mine. The consequence was that everything I had saved to keep my family alive was spent in putting them into the ground. My house seemed a desert to me. Everywhere it appeared that I ought to meet one or other of them, and yet I was always disappointed,-always alone. Used to having those little people for ever about my feet,-to feed them at my table,—to talk about them to my wife,-to think how I should dispose of them as they grew up, and speculate on their luck in after life,-and thus suddenly to be deprived of them all,--not one left,-not a solitary one; to be myself the only one where there had been many!' -Peter's feelings had made him eloquent, and tears scrambled oddly down his cheeks. Colin could not but feel Veriquear's words. He requested him to conclude his narrative.

'At last,' added Peter, 'I made it my business to dispose of my business, and sell off all I had; and, though it was a good deal to look at, it produced me little money. However, as I could no longer endure the place, I made the best of the case I could, and resolved to travel to where I originally came from, one of the Orkney Islands, and am now going back on foot, as you see.'

Mr. Colin Lupton felt more than he expressed in words; but by his actions the effect may be judged, as he insisted on poor Peter being well lodged for the night, and before his departure made him such a present as would entitle him to be considered a man of substance in the little Orkney island, towards which he finally steered his course.

Having now brought the fortunes of the characters who have figured in these pages to a close, it only remains to relate some few stray scraps of information, and to conclude the story.

It will be remembered that the last time we parted with Doctor Rowel, we left him in a state of high mental excitement, and conveyed by his friends to his brother, on the borders of Sherwood Forest. To reduce that excitement, or even to prevent its increasing to a state of confirmed madness, all care was found unavailable. Eventually, he was confined for life in a public institution. There he raved continually about an imaginary skeleton in an imaginary box, and gave utterance to unintelligible jargon, wherein the names of Woodruff, of his sister Frances, and of his niece, were mingled. He continued to exhibit to the very last a picture of misery and horror. Mr. Woodruff was a frequent visiter at the hall, especially after the marriage of his daughter. Under these circumstances, a degree of interest was observed to grow up between him and Miss Shirley, and suspicions began to be entertained that a match might be eventually made between them. Whether any reliance could be placed upon them I cannot determine, any more than upon a similar report respecting Sylvester and Miss Wintlebury,-since people frequently conclude matches by report which never go off in reality; though equally true it is that many are made, of which gossips are never afforded an opportunity of reporting upon at all.

COUNTY LEGENDS.-No. II.

BY THOMAS INGOLDSBY, ESQ.

NELL COOK!!

A TALE OF THE DARK ENTRY.'

THE KING'S SCHOLAR'S STORY.

From the "Brick Walk" branches off to the right a long narrow vaulted passage paved with flagstones, vulgarly known by the name of the "Dark Entry." Its eastern extremity communicates with the cloisters, crypt, and, by a private staircase, with the interior of the Cathedral. On the west it opens into the "Green.Court," forming a communication between it and the portion of the Precinct" called the "Oaks.”—A Walk round Canterbury, &c. Scene-A back parlour in Mr. Ingoldsby's house in the Precinct.-A blazing fireThe Squire is seated by it in a high-backed easy-chair, twirling his thumbs, and contemplating his list shoe.-Little Tom, the King's Scholar, on a stool opposite. -Mrs. Ingoldsby at the table, busily employed in manufacturing a cabbage-rose, -or cauliflower?-in many-coloured worsteds.-The Squire's meditations are interrupted by the French clock on the mantlepiece.-The Squire prologizeth with vivacity.

'HARK! listen, Mrs. Ingoldsby-the clock is striking nine!
Give Master Tom another cake, and a half a glass of wine,
And ring the bell for Jenny Smith, and bid her bring his coat,
And a warm bandana handkerchief to tie about his throat.

'And bid them go the nearest way, for Mr. Birch has said
That nine o'clock's the hour he'll have his boarders all in bed;
And well we know when little boys their coming home delay,
They often seem to walk and sit uneasily next day !'—

'Now, nay, dear Uncle Ingoldsby, now send me not, I pray,
Back by that Entry dark, for that you know's the nearest way;
I dread that Entry dark with Jane alone at such an hour,
It fears me quite-it's Friday night, and then Nell Cook hath
pow'r !'-

'And, who's Nell Cook, thou silly child?—and what's Nell Cook to thee?

That thou shouldst dread at night to tread with Jane that dark entrée ?'

'Nay, list and hear, mine Uncle dear! such fearsome things they tell

Of Nelly Cook, that few may brook at night to meet with Nell!'

'It was in bluff King Harry's days, and Monks and Friars were then, You know, dear Uncle Ingoldsby, a sort of Clergymen.

They'd coarse stuff gowns, and shaven crowns, no shirts and no

cravats ;

And a cord was placed about their waist-they had no shovel hats!

'It was in bluff King Harry's days, while yet he went to shrift,
And long before he stamped and swore, and sent the Pope adrift;
There lived a portly Canon then, a sage and learned clerk;
He had, I trow, a goodly house fast by that Entry dark!

'The Canon was a portly man-of Latin and of Greek,

And learned lore, he had good store-yet health was on his cheek.
The priory fare was scant and spare, the bread was made of rye,
The beer was weak, yet he was sleek-he had a merry eye.

'For though within the Priory the fare was scant and thin,
The Canon's house it stood without; he kept good cheer within;
Unto the best he prest each guest with free and jovial look,
And Ellen Bean ruled his cuisine.-He called her "Nelly Cook!"
'For soups and stews and choice ragouts Nell Cook was famous still;
She'd make them even of old shoes, she had such wond'rous skill:
Her manchets fine were quite divine, her cakes were nicely brown'd,
Her flawns and custards were the boast of all the "Precinct" round;

And Nelly was a comely lass, but calm and staid her air,

And earthward bent her modest look, yet was she passing fair;

And though her gown was russet brown, their heads grave people shook ;

-They all agreed no Clerk had need of such a pretty cook.

'One day 'twas on a Whitsun-Eve-there came a coach and four; It passed the "Green-Court" gate, and stopped before the Canon's door;

The travel-stain on wheel and rein bespoke a weary way-
Each panting steed relaxed its speed-out stept a Lady gay.

"Now, welcome! welcome! dearest Niece," the Canon then did cry,

And to his breast the Lady prest-he had a merry eye

"Now, welcome! welcome! dearest Niece! in sooth thou'rt welcome here,

"Tis many a day since we have met-how fares my Brother dear ?"—

"Now, thanks, my loving Uncle," that Lady gay replied; "Gramercy for thy benison;" then "Out, alas!" she sighed ; "My father dear he is not near; he seeks the Spanish Main; He prays thee give me shelter here till he return again!”—

666 Now, welcome! welcome! dearest Niece; come lay thy mantle by!"

The Canon kissed her ruby lips-he had a merry eye-
But Nelly Cook askew did look-it came into her mind

They were a little less than "kin," and rather more than "kind."

'Three weeks are gone and over-full three weeks and a day, Yet still within the Canon's house doth dwell that Lady gay; On capons fine they daily dine, rich cates and sauces rare, And they quaff good store of Bourdeaux wine-so dainty is their fare.

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 ordered well-yet Nelly looks askew ; The Lady's bower is in the tower-yet Nelly shakes her headShe 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 passed her nights I may not well divine,
Perhaps in pious orisons 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 looked askew.

And still, at night, by fair moon-light, when all were locked in sleep,
She'd listen at the Canon's door-she'd through the key-hole peep-
I know not what she heard or saw, but fury filled 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 sighed; 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 prayer;
And Prior and Friar is in his stall--the Canon is not there!
Nor in the small Refectory hall, nor cloistered walk is he!
All wonder-and the Sacristan says, "Lauk-a-daisey me!"

'They've searched the aisles and Baptistry-they've searched abovearound

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 bear: They 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!