He cursed him in coughing, in sneezing, in

winking;

He cursed him in sitting, in standing, in lying; He cursed him in walking, in riding, in flying; He cursed him living, he cursed him dying!Never was heard such a terrible curse!!

But what gave rise

To no little surprise,

Nobody seemed one penny the worse!

His pinions drooped, he could hardly stand,— His head was as bald as the palm of your hand; His eye so dim,

So wasted each limb,

That, heedless of grammar, they all cried,

"THAT'S HIM!

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That's the scamp that has done this scandalous

thing,

That's the thief that has got my Lord Cardinal's

Ring!"

The poor little Jackdaw,

When the monks he saw,

Feebly gave vent to the ghost of a caw; And turned his bald head as much as to say, "Pray be so good as to walk this way!" Slower and slower

He limped on before,

Till they came to the back of the belfry-door, Where the first thing they saw,

Midst the sticks and the straw,

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Was the RING, in the nest of that little Jackdaw!

Then the great Lord Cardinal called for his

book,

And off that terrible curse he took:

The mute expression

Served in lieu of confession,

And, being thus coupled with full restitution,
The Jackdaw got plenary absolution!

-When those words were heard,
That poor little bird

Was so changed in a moment, 't was really
absurd:

He grew sleek and fat;

In addition to that,

A fresh crop of feathers came thick as a mat! His tail waggled more

Even than before;

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140

But no longer it wagged with an impudent air. No longer he perched on the Cardinal's chair: He hopped now about

With a gait devout;

At Matins, at Vespers, he never was out;
And, so far from any more pilfering deeds,
He always seemed telling the Confessor's beads.
If any one lied, or if any one swore,

Or slumbered in prayer-time and happened to

Would give a great Caw!"

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As much as to say, "Don't do so any more!" While many remarked, as his manners they saw, That they "never had known such a pious Jackdaw!"

He long lived the pride

Of that country side,

And at last in the odor of sanctity died;

When, as words were too faint

His merits to paint,

The Conclave determined to make him a

Saint.

And on newly-made Saints and Popes, as you

know,

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It's the custom of Rome new names to bestow, So they cannonized him by the name of Jim

1840.

Crow!

Richard Harris Barham
(Thomas Ingoldsby, Esq.).

BRIEF EPICS AND TALES