XI.

And everybody praised the Duke
Who such a fight did win.

But what good came of it at last ?-
Quoth little Peterkin.

Why that I cannot tell, said he,

But 'twas a famous victory.

ST. ROMUALD.

ONE day, it matters not to know
How many hundred years ago,

A Spaniard stopt at a posada door:

The landlord came to welcome him, and chat

Of this and that,

For he had seen the traveller there before.

Does holy Romuald dwell

Still in his cell ?

The traveller ask'd, or is the old man dead?
No, he has left his loving flock, and we

So good a Christian never more shall see,
The landlord answer'd, and he shook his head.

Ah, sir! we knew his worth.

If ever there did live a saint on earth!

Why, sir, he always used to wear a shirt For thirty days, all seasons, day and night: Good man, he knew it was not right

For dust and ashes to fall out with dirt, And then he only hung it out in the rain, And put it on again.

There used to be rare work

With him and the Devil there in yonder cell, For Satan used to maul him like a Turk. There they would sometimes fight

All through a winter's night,

From sunset until morn,

He with a cross, the Devil with his horn;

The Devil spitting fire with might and main,
Enough to make St. Michael half afraid;
He splashing holy water till he made

His red hide hiss again,

And the hot vapour fill'd the little cell.

This was so common, that his face became

All black and yellow with the brimstone flame, And then he smelt-Oh Lord! how he did smell!

Then, sir! to see how he would mortify

The flesh! If any one had dainty fare,
Good man, he would come there,

And look at all the delicate things, and cry,
Oh, belly! belly!

You would be gormandizing now, I know.
But it shall not be so;-

Home to your bread and water-home, I tell ye!

But, quoth the traveller, wherefore did he leave
A flock that knew his saintly worth so well?
Why, said the landlord, sir, it so befell
He heard unluckily of our intent

To do him a great honour, and you know
He was not covetous of fame below,

And so by stealth one night away he went.

What was this honour, then? the traveller cried. Why, sir, the host replied,

We thought, perhaps, that he might one day leave us; And then should strangers have

The good man's grave;

A loss like that would naturally grieve us,
For he'll be made a saint of, to be sure.
Therefore we thought it prudent to secure
His relics while we might,

And so we meant to strangle him one night.

THE KING OF THE CROCODILES.

The people at Isna, in Upper Egypt, have a superstition concerning crocodiles similar to that entertained in the West Indies; they say there is a king of them, who resides near Isna, and who has ears, but no tail; and he possesses an uncommon regal quality-that of doing no harm. Some are bold enough to assert that they have seen him.

your veil ?

Now, woman, why without
And wherefore do you look so pale ?
And woman, why do you groan so sad,
And beat your breast, as you were mad?
Oh! I have lost my darling boy,
In whom my soul had all its joy;
And I for sorrow have torn my veil,
And sorrow hath made my very heart pale.

Oh, I have lost my darling child,
And that's the loss that makes me wild;
He stoop'd to the river down to drink,
And there was a crocodile by the brink.
He did not venture in to swim,
He only stoop'd to drink at the brim;
But under the reeds the crocodile lay,
And struck with his tail and swept

Now take me in your boat, I pray,
For down the river lies my way;
And me to the reed-island bring,
For I will go to the crocodile king.

him away.

The king of the crocodiles never does wrong—
He has no tail so stiff and strong,
He has no tail to strike and slay,
But he has ears to hear what I say.

And to the king I will complain
How my poor child was wickedly slain;
The king of the crocodiles he is good,
And I shall have the murderer's blood.

The man replied, No, woman, no,
To the island of reeds I will not go;
I would not, for any worldly thing,
See the face of the crocodile king.

Then lend me now your little boat,
And I will down the river float.
I tell thee that no worldly thing
Shall keep me from the crocodile king.

The woman she leapt into the boat,
And down the river alone did she float,
And fast with the stream the boat proceeds,
And now she is come to the island of reeds.

The king of the crocodiles there was seen,
He sat upon the eggs of his queen,
And all around, a numerous rout,
The young prince crocodiles crawl'd about.

The woman shook every limb with fear,
As she to the crocodile king came near,
For never man without fear and awe
The face of his crocodile majesty saw.

She fell upon her bended knee,
And said, O king, have pity on me,
For I have lost my darling child,
And that's the loss that makes me wild.

A crocodile ate him for his food,
Now let me have the murderer's blood,
Let me have vengeance for my boy,
The only thing that can give me joy.

I know that you, sire! never do wrong;
You have no tail so stiff and strong,
You have no tail to strike and slay,
But you have ears to hear what I say.

You have done well, the king replies,
And fix'd on her his little eyes;
Good woman, yes, you have done right,
But
you have not described me quite.

I have no tail to strike and slay,
And I have ears to hear what you say;
I have teeth, moreover, as you may see,
And I will make a meal of thee.

GOD'S JUDGMENT ON A BISHOP.

Here followeth the History of HATTO, Archbishop of Mentz.

It hapned in the year 914, that there was an exceeding great famine in Germany, at what time Otho, surnamed the Great, was Emperor, and one Hatto, once Abbot of Fulda, was Archbishop of Mentz, of the bishops after Crescens and Crescentius the two and thirtieth, of the archbishops after St. Bonifacius the thirteenth. This Hatto, in the time of this great famine aforementioned, when he saw the poor people of the country exceedingly oppressed with famine, assembled a great company of them together into a barne, and like a most accursed and mercilesse caitiffe burnt up those poor innocent souls, that were so far from doubting any such matter, that they rather hoped to receive some comfort and relief at his hands. The reason that moved the prelate to commit that execrable impiety, was because he thought the famine would the sooner cease, if those unprofitable beggars that consumed more bread than they were worthy to eat, were dispatched out of the world. For he said that those poor folks were like to mice, that were good for nothing but to devour corne. But God Almighty, the just avenger of the poor folks quarrel, did not long suffer this hainous tyranny-this most detestable fact-unpunished. For he mustered up an army of mice against the archbishop, and sent them to persecute him as his furious Alastors, so that they afflicted him both day and night, and would not suffer him to take his rest in any place. Whereupon the prelate, thinking that he should be secure from the injury of mice if he were in a certain tower, that standeth in the Rhine, near to the towne, betook himself unto the said tower as to a safe refuge and sanctuary from his enemies, and locked himself in. But the innumerable troupes of mice chaced him continually very eagerly, and swumme unto him upon the top of the water to execute the just judgment of God, and so at last he was most miserably devoured by those sillie creatures; who pursued him with such bitter hostility, that it is recorded they scraped and gnawed out his very name from the walls and tapistry wherein it was written, after they had so cruelly devoured his body. Wherefore the tower wherein he was eaten up by the mice is shown to this day, for a perpetual monument to all succeeding ages of the barbarous and inhuman tyranny of this impious prelate, being situate in a little green island in the midst of the Rhine, near to towne of Bing, and is commonly called in the German tongue, the Mowse-turn.-Coryat's Crud.

Other authors who record this tale say that the bishop was eaten by

rats.

THE summer and autumn had been so wet,
That in winter the corn was growing yet,
'Twas a piteous sight to see all around
The corn lie rotting on the ground.