Marget was fear'd, but spak and ex'd, 'Hey Missis! let me gang wi' ye, I hope as that ye'll nut be vext, But it is gitten dark and dree.' T' Park Mistress e'en shin'd o' wi' leet; Shou whyatly cam te Marget's side; T' gerss didn't bend underneath her feet; Shou seem'd in t' air te float and glide. As soon's shou cam whare Marget stood, Shou gript a tight houd on her hand; Shou led her first intul t' Park wood, Then back and forret o' owr t' land. They kept na road, they kept na path, They went thro' brackins, scrogs, and briar, Marget shou soon was out of breath, But t' lady didn't seem te tire. They baath com down te Wenning's brink, And Marget's throat was dry wi' dread, But shou dursn't ex te stop and drink, Saa forret still that woman led. Owr shillar and rough staans they trod, Intu t' Wenning, then out fra t' stream; Surlie their walkin' wasn't snod, T' way they travell'd was naan saa weam. Marget lous'd t' strings of her brat, And trail'd it gerss and bushes through, Till deg'd and damp and wet it gat; Then suck'd it out for t' cooling dew. Fra Weaver's Ayr they went up t' wood, Now gaain' straight and then aslant, They niver stopt, they niver stood, But raac'd up t' brow saa rough and brant. Marget could niver gradely say Where nesht wi' t' ghoost shou went that neet; On Windy Bank, when it was day, They fun' her liggin, spent wi' freet. Marget hed been stout and throddy, But t' walk she tuk that summer neet, Left lile fatness on her body; At efter shou was thin and leet." BOGGARTS IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. Having fallen into conversation with a working man on our road to Holme Chapel, we asked him if people in those parts were now ever annoyed by beings of another world. Affecting the _esprit fort_, he boldly answered, "Noa! the country's too full o' folk;" while his whole manner, and especially his countenance, as plainly said "Yes!" A boy who stood near was more honest. "O, yes!" he exclaimed, turning pale; "the Boggart has driven William Clarke out of his house; he flitted last Friday." "Why," I asked; "what did the Boggart do?" "O, he wouldn't let 'em sleep; he stripp'd off the clothes." "Was that all?" "I canna' say," answered the lad, in a tone which showed he was afraid to repeat all he had heard; "but they're gone, and the house is empty. You can go and see for yoursel', if you loike. Will's a plasterer, and the house is in Burnley Wood, on Brown Hills."[48]