jected despoliation of a hornet's nest, or the dispersion of predatory rooks from the harvest fields of the husbandman. The pusillanimous yet valiant Cuddy has a literary companion possessing an analogous character, in the attendant on the Count in Lodoiska, who quaintly observed, when his master ridiculed him for his lack of valour, "I can fight the devil by day-light, but a ghost in the dark is quite a different thing." THE LEGEND OF CUDDY BELL. N days of yore, before the birth of order, When Rapine was the warden of the Border; When will was law,-craft, wisdom,-and strength, And the best plea for doing wrong was might! Ay! these were times indeed-when if a fair one Or in the yard (according to the weather); Armed them with spears or cudgels, as the case was, Oh! blessed age! oh! dear lamented times! When burning peels and towns were acts of merit, When every eye saw fairies, ghosts, and devils, When Merlay ruled in Morpeth's well-kept castle, Which, if you dare to listen, I'll unfold. He was a youth of grace in form and manners, Scotchmen he drubbed, as drubbed St. George the dragon, The daughter of the Parish Clerk of Mitford; I'll sketch her portrait, though she did not sit for't. In person just below the middle size, With dark brown hair, and black and sparkling eyes; That neatness, which a well-turned mind bespeaks, And still had sat, nor cared to sleep a wink, But churlish duty roused at length his hosts 1 'The Stanners' are portions of ground on the margin of the Wansbeck, near to Morpeth. The appellation Stanners, is used provincially to denote those small stones and gravel within the channel of the river, which are occasionally left dry. The word STANNERS is derived from the Gothic STENOER, composed of STEN, a stone, and OER, gravel. And then-oh then!-to love and Nanny true, And heard a thousand demons in the woods, But when our hero reach'd at length the place And reach'd at length the foot of the dark hill, And Nanny whisked from Cuddy's shuddering side, Sonnet ON THE MEMORY OF THOMAS BEWICK. THINK I see thee now, with beaming eyes, Of listening youth, or bending with delight O'er works, whose excellence could charm the wise. Oh! sure thy simple heart was one to prize The fame, forth blazoned by the new born light, Thou badst thy morning of revival rise- To young and guileless minds, the love they call,- And reverence for the mighty cause of all These would have formed a meed more dear to thee, HOUGH a belief in witchcraft has long been banished from the fashionable and educated circles of society, the lower orders still cling to it with astonishing tenacity. In my boyhood, and my hair is not yet grey, I was personally acquainted with two or three old women who had the reputation of being "o'er thick wi' the deil," as the country people expressed it, and who, in consequence, were held in real and considerable dread by their neighbours. Of these, was one known by the appellation of LUCKY WINTER. She lived in a village on the banks of the Beaumont--a small Northumbrian stream, winding through a district worthy of nobler associations than my present sketch can be supposed to invest it with. She was a widow, and having never had any children by her husband, she resided alone, in a cottage at one extremity of the village, which soon, from her supposed unhallowed propensities, acquired the name of "The Witch's Cabin." The grass, it was said, withered where she set her foot-if pigs or poultry molested her, there was sure to be a mortality among them-and if an unlucky urchin of a boy happened to offend her, the most disastrous consequences were to be apprehended. Her "evil e'e" was thought to possess a power which few cared to encounter or to provoke. For this reason, the greatest part of her neighbours affected a cordiality with her; her favours were accepted, and returned with interest; and it was duly remarked, that her friends were generally prosperous, while those who shrunk from her intimacy seldom failed to be visited by some exemplary calamity. To recount all the stories told of her, would require a volume. It is sufficient for my purpose to say, that after having baffled the best beagles in that part of the country under the various shapes of hare, fox, and cat, she was at last fairly brought down by the great hunter, Death, who bags without distinction whatever prey is catered for him by his indefatigable blood-hounds, Disease and Accident. Great was the turmoil in the village when the report spread that Lucky Winter was dying. It was a beautiful afternoon in autumn, |