heavy blows struck, as if upon a soft dead substance—a groan or two, and all was over, for the spade was soon again at its busy work; and by such time as the grave was completed, he had reached his own home in safety. He had never run so fast but once in his life, and that was when the old women in the village of Skellingthorpe pelted him with rotten eggs. He jumped into bed without undressing, covered himself head over ears with the blankets; it was only by bits that Mrs. Saxby was enabled to draw from him an account of what he had witnessed. Towards morning he slept, and soon after daylight he arose, feeling himself the most important personage that had ever set foot in the village street of Skellingthorpe. He begun at the beginning, by causing the butcher and joiner to be first apprehended; and a willing guard was placed over them in the parlour of the Blue Lion. Sudden transition! They were prisoners in the very spot where they had held so many merry-makings; and even their own cronies stood sentry over them—one mounting guard with the tongs, another with the poker, a third with the fire-shovel, a fourth with the long broom. The culprits hung down their heads with a guilty look; they called for a quart of ale in a feeble voice, drank it up, and had another-filled their pipes and smoked as if nothing had happened; and every now and then the hardened wretches burst out into a loud fit of laughter, which was re-echoed by their gaolers, and which appeared very shocking to those who occasionally stopped to peep in at the window; and many an unbeliever jogged merrily along to see the grave opened; and when they told Saint Saxby, that they should n't wonder if it turned out to be another scare-crow, he drew himself to his full height, and said with dignity: "Remember, fools, that

the lives of two of our fellow-creatures will speedily be forfeited to the laws of the country, which they have outraged, and that these two men have long been our neighbours!" and he strode proudly along, and led the way to the spot where the murder was committed.

There was scarcely a grave countenance seen in the group which had collected at the end of the lane, and even the magistrate, who had been summoned at the earnest request of the constable, was so uncharitable as to say, that "he didn't think the Saint had courage enough to commit a murder himself; but if some poor fellow had been found dead by the road-side, he shouldn't at all wonder if Saint Saxby had buried him there, that he might obtain some credit for the discovery;" whereat the Saint folded his arms, and said, "Sir, we shall soon see." Meantime two labourers were busily employed in uncovering the grave. Nor were they long before they discovered the body, it was tied up in a coarse sack, and instead of requiring the aid of the six men who had jumped into the ditch to render assistance, one of the labourers laid hold of the end of the sack, and with his single arm threw it on the bank. Through the various holes from which the contents protruded, it was clear to all as the sun at noon-day, that they had disin terred a Bag of Shavings! Fifty hands in an instant were occupied in rifling the sack; and before the Saint had either time to speak or escape, he was first rolled in the mud, and then amongst the shavings, which stuck to him as if they were glued on, and as he run off they streamed out like ribbons. He looked as if a pile of shavings had been stripped of their covering, yet by some combined agency still kept together, and were running away. The children ran after him and hooted. Every cur in the village

was out barking; and he was met by the horrid murderers themselves and their gaolers, at the end of the lane, who joined in the loud whoop and halloo.

This was worse than the affair of the man-trap; he could not endure it; he tried to stop up his ears with his fingers, but all was in vain. The butcher was on one side of him, the joiner on the other, each with their interrogations:- "Were they to be gibbetted on the spot? Would he not come to see them executed?" Never before did saint swear like Saint Saxby; all the curses in "Tristram Shandy" were but jokes compared to what he launched out. He offered to fight, they laughed louder; he talked about the law, and they roared outright; he took up stones, and they retaliated with mud; they tantalised him with the great reward he would receive for his discovery, the promotion he would be sure to obtain. He showed his teeth, as if he fain would have bit his tormentors; and right thankful was he to reach home with sound bones.

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Never before had such shouting and huzzaing, mingled with peals of loud laughter, rung through the ancient village of Skellingthorpe. It seemed, as the landlord of the Blue Lion said, as if the divil hissen hed brocken louse." Even Mrs. Saxby, who had been peace-maker a thousand times, was compelled to keep within doors; and, worst of all, papers were printed, and cried about the neighbourhood, containing the "Wonderful Discovery and Full Particulars of the late Horrid Murder, Committed on the Body of a Sack of Shavings, with a Copy of Verses, written by Saint Saxby, of Skellingthorpe ;" many a random shot of rustic wit was showered around on this occasion.

After that day Saint Saxby was never again seen in the village; his wife, who was much respected, staid behind,

and disposed of their little freehold to Farmer Fletcher; but in what quarter of the world they afterwards resided, we have not been able hitherto to collect any information that may be depended upon. Rumour does say that he assisted in the management of a small country paper; and that the publisher was served with three notices of trial for libels within a month, which is not at all unlikely if the Saint was once intrusted to pen a paragraph. Still there is not half the fun going on in Skellingthorpe, which there was in Saint Saxby's days; his very abuse served to amuse many, and the discoveries which he was ever making were generally fraught with matter of merriment; and though a few, who merited the abuse he was wont to shower upon them, were almost ready to dance with joy, yet there were others who sorely missed Saint Saxby in Skellingthorpe.

"Wash, dress, be brief in praying,
Few beads are best, when once we go a-Maying.
Come, my Corinna! come; and, coming, mark,
How each field turns a street,-each street a park,
Made green and trimmed with trees: see how
Devotion gives each house a bough."

HERKICK.

WHEN the Puritans preached against long love-locks and May-poles as a sin, and the old-fashioned May games were, in a great measure, put down by law, and Oliver Cromwell had it all his own way, and the roystering Royalists were compelled to be as mute as mice, a great change was