"What dost thou here, Peter?" the Abbot exclaimed; "Explain, let me see if there's aught to be blamed: For as What's-his-name says, in his Justice with Jury, You ne'er at the culprit should fly in a fury, But hear of the question--both sides ere convicting-- Although you're quite certain which way you'll verdict him." Then the friar his courage plucked up in a minute, A mess was before him and he was near in it. A stroke swift and bold was the only plan waiting By which he might hope for a safe extricating. But while thus he was thinking the sage Abbot spoke, He was three-fourths in earnest but one-fourth in joke-- "What, speechless! then guilty you are I'm quite sure; For not proving innocent's guilty by law. As the same author says, who lately I quoted, Whose works for their truth and great clearness are noted." "O, help me, dear Fiction!" soliloquised Peter, (A-muse-meant t'invoke when Miss Truth we would cheat her), "For without a few fibs I must really confess, I shall never get out of this terrible mess. Then aid me, fair maiden, to frame some fine story To puzzle this old chap who now stands before me." * * * * * _CHAPTER THE SECOND._ The muse was propitious; how could she decline A man so determined through her smiles to shine? So, gulping his fear down, and banishing fuss, Began his defence with a steady voice, thus,-- "No, I'm not, as your highness might justly suppose, In error entrapped, as my tale shall disclose; For my life is as pure as this clear crystal stream, And reflects yon bright light as it does the sun's beam. Last night, after hours of watching and fasting, To slumber unconscious my wearied eyes passed in; When a vision I saw Coming in at the door, Which beckoned me thrice with her hand. So I quickly arose And slipt into my clothes, To fulfil this said spectre's command. Then she marched on before Through a small secret door, And hurried away at such double-quick pace, That I forced was to run, Till I almost begun To think I was in for a long wild-goose chase. But at length she stood still On the top of the hill Where old farmer Jonas has set up his mill; And pointing below, Said, 'There you must go, To hear and see things which concern you to know.' Then turning my head I beheld a faint, dim light, Which told me that some one was robbing old grim Night, And making my mind up to see what was doing, I asked the young lady if she would go too in. But she spoke not a word, So I thought she'd not heard, And called out again in a much louder key; When I found she had flown, And had left me alone, To go by myself this said mystery to see. So I quickly descended, And towards the light wended My steps, though it seemed to be far, far away. Though I walked for an hour Fast as legs have the power,