Most fowl rise at dawn, but the owl wakes at e'en, And a jollier bird can there nowhere be seen; Like the owl, our snug scampsman his snooze takes by day, And, when night draws her curtain, scuds after his prey! _Derry down._ As the highwayman's life is the fullest of zest, So the highwayman's death is the briefest and best; He dies not as other men die, by _degrees_! But AT ONCE! without wincing, and quite at his ease! _Derry down._ And thus, for the present, we leave him. O rare Dick Turpin! _CHAPTER X_ _SAINT CYPRIAN'S CELL_ Lasciate ogni speranza voi ch' entrate. DANTE. Cyprian de Mulverton, fifth prior of the monastery of Saint Francis, a prelate of singular sanctity, being afflicted, in his latter days, with a despondency so deep that neither penance nor fasting could remove it, vowed never again to behold, with earthly eyes, the blessed light of heaven, nor to dwell longer with his fellowmen; but, relinquishing his spiritual dignity, "the world forgetting, by the world forgot," to immure himself, while living, within the tomb. He kept his vow. Out of the living rock that sustained the saintly structure, beneath the chapel of the monastery, was another chapel wrought, and thither, after bidding an eternal farewell to the world, and bestowing his benediction upon his flock, whom he committed to the care of his successor, the holy man retired. Never, save at midnight, and then only during the performance of masses for his soul's repose, did he ascend from his cell: and as the sole light allowed within the dismal dungeon of his choice was that of a sepulchral lamp, as none spoke with him when in his retreat, save in muttered syllables, what effect must the lustre emanating from a thousand tapers, the warm and pungent odors of the incense-breathing shrine, contrasted with the earthy vapors of his prison-house, and the solemn swell of the Sanctus, have had upon his excited senses? Surely they must have seemed like a foretaste of the heaven he sought to gain!