a holy body—a corpus sanctum—created, has never been extinguished, but floats over the ocean, appearing now as a warning of approaching death, anon as a harbinger of hope to mariners. This was the Spanish tale of the Corpus Sant, and I now asked for the English legend of ‘Nell’s Beacon.’ ‘Why,’ quoth the boatswain, ‘I never heard it told; but often I have heard it sung both afloat and ashore, in the taverns at Limehouse or Portsmouth Point, and aboard many a ship in many a sea.’ Thereupon, all the watch desiring to hear the song, the boatswain, in a very coarse gruff voice, chanted the following stanzas, which, rude as they are, I put down just as I heard them:— The Legend of ‘Nell’s Beacon.’ There are stormy seas do roll, Which the boldest well may dread, When the east wind whistles snell On the cliffs of Beachy Head. By that coast, tempest beaten, On the sea-weed clustered stones, Stout-hearted sailors many, Have laid their weary bones. From the sandy shores of Eastbourne, Nigh the rocks whereof I sing, Sailed a brave and lusty seaman, And his name was Richard King. He was captain of a trading sloop, Which voyaged unto the Seine, And ’twas Beachy Head he always made When he returned again. For there, from eve to dawning, A beacon always shone During the time, whate’er it was, That Richard King was gone. From the window of a cottage That beam came, ever bright, For there sat Nelly, Richard’s wife, And trimmed the lamp all night. She trimmed it, for she knew That her husband dear would gaze, When the white cliffs loomed a-head, For those love-enkindled rays; And when he saw them flicker, Through the darkness of the night, He would straightways cry right cheerily ‘There’s Nelly’s Beacon Light.’ But, ah! these long night watches, They paled poor Nelly’s cheek; Her eye was bright and fevered, But her step grew slow and weak. Her husband bent above her, And she looked up in his face— ‘I’m wearing fast away,’ quoth she; ‘I go unto my place. But you are bound to sea, dear, To the stormy Spanish shore; Look, Richard, look upon your Nell, You ne’er may see her more! But watch when you return, dear, You will know that I am dead, If no light shines out to greet you From the top of Beachy Head. ‘Yet death shall never part us, For, if it lawful be, My soul shall fly to you, dear, Athwart the roaring sea; But not a ghastly sheeted corpse Shall I appal your sight, You will see an airy Beacon, And my soul will be the Light.’