Upon which, Toft seized Peter by the throat, with an energy that, but for the timely intervention of the company, who rushed to his assistance, the prophet might himself have anticipated the doom he prognosticated. Released from the grasp of Toft, who was held back by the bystanders, Peter again broke forth into his eltrich laugh; and staring right into the face of his adversary, with eyes glistening, and hands uplifted, as if in the act of calling down an imprecation on his head, he screamed, in a shrill and discordant voice, "Soh! you will not take my warning? you revile me-you flout me! 'Tis well! your fate shall prove a warning to all unbelievers-they shall remember this night, though you will not. Fool! fool!your doom has long been sealed! I saw your wraith choose out its last lodgment on Halloween; I know the spot. Your grave is dug already-ha, ha!" And, with renewed laughter, Peter rushed out of the room. "Did I not caution thee not to provoke him, friend Toft?" said Plant; "it's ill playing with edge tools; but don't let him fly off in that tantrum- -one of ye go after him." "That will I," replied Burtenshaw; and he departed in search of the sexton. "I'd advise thee to make it up with Peter so soon as thou canst, neighbour," continued Plant; "he's a bad friend, but a worse enemy." "Why, what harm can he do me?" returned Toft, who, however, was not without some misgivings. "If I must die, I can't help it-I shall go none the sooner for him, even if he speak the truth, which I don't think he do; and if I must, I shan't go unprepared-only I think as how, if it pleased Providence, I could have wished to keep my old missus company some few years longer, and see those bits of lasses of mine grow up into women, and respectably provided for. But His will be done. I shan't leave 'em quite penniless, and there's one eye at least, I'm sure, won't be dry at my departure." Here the stout heart of Toft gave way, and he shed some few "natural tears;" which, however, he speedily brushed away. "I'll tell you what, neighbours," continued he; "I think we may all as well be thinking of going to our own homes, for, to my mind, we shall never reach the churchyard to-night." "That you never will," exclaimed a voice behind him; and Toft, turning round, again met the glance of Peter. "Come, come, Master Peter," cried the good-natured farmer, "this be ugly jesting-ax pardon for my share of it-sorry for what I did so give us thy hand, man, and think no more about it." Peter extended his claw, and the parties were, apparently, once more upon terms of friendship. CHAPTER I. THE FUNERAL ORATION. in northern customs duty was exprest Who, to refresh the attendants to the grave, KING: Art of Cookery. Ceterum priusquam corpus humo injectâ contegatur, defunctus oratione funebri laudabatur.-DURAND. A SUPPLY of spirits was here introduced; lights were brought at the same time, and placed upon a long oak table. The party gathering round it, ill-humour was speedily dissipated, and even the storm disregarded, in the copious libations that ensued. At this juncture, a loiterer appeared in the hall. His movements were unnoticed by all excepting the sexton, who watched his proceedings with some curiosity. The person walked to the window, appearing, so far as could be discovered, to eye the storm with great impatience. He then paced the hall rapidly backwards and forwards, and Peter fancied he could detect sounds of disappointment in his muttered exclamations. Again he returned to the window, as if to ascertain the probable duration of the shower. It was a hopeless endeavour; all was pitch-dark without; the lightning was now only seen at long intervals, but the rain still audibly descended in torrents. Apparently seeing the impossibility of controlling the elements, the person approached the table. "What think you of the night, Mr. Palmer?" asked the sexton of Jack, for he was the anxious investigator of the weather. "Don't know-can't say-set in, I think-cursed unluckyfor the funeral, I mean we shall be drowned if we go." Where "And drunk if we stay," rejoined Peter. "But never fear, it will hold up, depend upon it, long before we can start. have they put the prisoner?" asked he, with a sucaon change of manner. "I know the room, but can't describe it; it's two or three doors down the lower corridor of the eastern gallery." "Good. Who are on guard?” "Titus Tyrconnel, and that swivel-eyed quill-driver, Coates." "Enough." "Come, come, Master Peter," roared Toft, "let's have another stave. Give us one of your odd snatches. No more corpsecandles, or that sort of thing. Something lively-something jolly -ha, ha!" "A good move," shouted Jack. "A lively song lillibullero from a death's head-ha, ha!" from you "My songs are all of a sort," returned Peter; "I am seldom asked to sing a second time. However, you are welcome to the merriest I have." And preparing himself, like certain other accomplished vocalists, with a few preliminary hems and haws, he struck forth the following doleful ditty: THE OLD OAK COFFIN. Sic cgo componi versus in ossa velim.-TIBULLUS. In a churchyard, upon the sward, a coffin there was laid, For here was wrought the sculptured thought of a tormented face, And emblematic scrolls, mort-heads, and bones together met. Ah, well-a-day!" that sexton grey unto himself did cry, "Beneath that lid much lieth hid-much awful mysterie. It is an ancient coffin from the abbey that stood here; Perchance it holds an abbot's bones, perchance those of a frere. "In digging deep, where monks do sleep, beneath yon cloister shrined, That coffin old, within the mould, it was my chance to find; The costly carvings of the lid I scraped full carefully, In hope to get at name or date, yet nothing could I see. "With pick and spade I've plied my trade for sixty years and more, And saying so, with heavy blow, the lid he shattered wide, Though all was gone, save reeky bone, a green and grisly heap, The hands were clench'd, the teeth were wrench'd, as if the wretch had risen, The neck was bent, the nails were rent, no limb or joint was straight; And, as the sexton stooped him down to lift the coffin plank, "Ah, well-a-day!" that sexton grey unto himself did cry, "Full well I see how Fate's decree foredoomed this wretch to die; A vision drear did then appear unto that sexton's eyes: he coffin then, by reverend men, is borne with footsteps slow, He draweth breath-he wakes from death to life more horrible; Die! die he must, that wretched one! he struggles-strives in vain; "Gramercy, Lord!" the sexton roar'd, awakening suddenly, But nail me not in coffin fast-no grave will I dig more." It was not difficult to discover the effect produced by this song, in the lengthened faces of the greater part of the audience. Jack Palmer, however, laughed loud and long. "Bravo, bravo!" cried he; "that suits my humour exactly. I can't abide the thoughts of a coffin. No deal box for me." "A gibbet might, perhaps, serve your turn as well,” muttered the sexton; adding aloud, "I am now entitled to call upon you; -a song! !-a song!" "Ay, a song, Mr. Palmer, a song!" reiterated the hinds. "Yours will be the right kind of thing." "Say no more," replied Jack. "I'll give you a chant composed upon Dick Turpin, the highwayman. It's no great shakes, to be sure, but it's the best I have." And, with a knowing wink at the sexton, he commenced, in the true nasal whine, the following strain: ONE FOOT IN THE STIRRUP; OR, TURPIN'S FIRST FLING. Cum esset proposita fuga Turpi(n)s.—CICERO. "One foot in the stirrup, one hand in the rein, Oh! give me a seat in my saddle once more, And these bloodhounds shall find that the chase is not o'er!" Thus muttered Dick Turpin, who found, while he slept, That the Philistines old on his slumbers had crept; Hilloah! How Dick had been captured is readily told, "Zounds! gem'men!" cried Turpin, "you've found me at fault, You have turned up a trump (for I weigh well my weight), "A hundred to one is the odds I will stand, Hilloah! With derision at first was Dick's wager received, Hillcak! Hilloak! Bess was brought to her master-Dick steadfastly gazed My foot's in the stirrup, and catch me who can !" Hilloah! There was riding and gibing mid rabble and rout, My foot's in the stirrup !"-thus rang his last cry; Hilloah! Uproarious applause followed Jack's song, when the joviality of the mourners was interrupted by a summons to attend in the state room. Silence was at once completely restored; and, in the best order they could assume, they followed their leader, Peter Bradley. Jack Palmer was amongst the last to enter, and remained a not incurious spectator of a by no means common scene. Preparations had been made to give due solemnity to the ceremonial. The leaden coffin was fastened down, and enclosed in an outer case of oak, upon the lid of which stood a richly-chase |