Then rose from earth to sky a withering shriek, A loud, a long-protracted note of woe, Such as when tempests roar, and timbers creak, And o'er the side the masts in thunder go; While on the deck resistless billows break, And drag their victims to the gulfs below;-- Such was the scream when, for the want of candle, Nick Mason drove his awl in up to the handle. Scared by his Lady's heart-appalling cry, Vanished at once poor Mason's golden dream-- For dream it was;--and all his visions high, Of wealth and grandeur, fled before that scream-- And still he listens, with averted eye, When gibing neighbors make "the Ghost" their theme While ever from that hour they all declare That Mrs. Mason used a cushion in her chair! A LAY OF ST. GENGULPHUS. R. HARRIS BARHAM Gengulphus comes from the Holy Land, With his scrip, and his bottle, and sandal shoon; Full many a day hath he been away, Yet his lady deems him return'd full soon. Full many a day hath he been away, Yet scarce had he crossed ayont the sea, Ere a spruce young spark of a Learned Clerk Had called on his Lady, and stopp'd to tea. This spruce young guest, so trimly drest, Stay'd with that Lady, her revels to crown; They laugh'd, and they ate, and they drank of the best And they turn'd the old castle quite upside down. They would walk in the park, that spruce young Clerk, With that frolicsome Lady so frank and free, Trying balls and plays, and all manner of ways, To get rid of what French people call Ennui. * * * * * * Now the festive board with viands is stored, Savory dishes be there, I ween, Rich puddings and big, and a barbacued pig, And ox-tail soup in a China tureen. There's a flagon of ale as large as a pail-- When, cockle on hat, and staff in hand, While on naught they are thinking save eating and drinking, Gengulphus walks in from the Holy Land! "You must be pretty deep to catch weasels asleep," Says the proverb: that is "take the Fair unawares." A maid o'er the banisters chancing to peep, Whispers, "Ma'am, here's Gengulphus a-coming up-stairs." Pig, pudding, and soup, the electrified group, With the flagon pop under the sofa in haste, And contrive to deposit the Clerk in the closet, As the dish least of all to Gengulphus's taste. Then oh! what rapture, what joy was exprest, When "poor dear Gengulphus" at last appear'd! She kiss'd and she press'd "the dear man" to her breast, In spite of his "great, long, frizzly beard." Such hugging and squeezing! 'twas almost unpleasing, A smile on her lip, and a tear in her eye; She was so very glad, that she seem'd half mad, And did not know whether to laugh or to cry. Then she calls up the maid and the table-cloth's laid, And she sends for a pint of the best Brown Stout; On the fire, too, she pops some nice mutton-chops, And she mixes a stiff glass of "Cold Without."