refuge after the battle of Worcester; and it is also said that the great gate leading to the Ham avenue, has never been opened to any meaner visiter since the hour when the fugitive king, after he left the wood of Boscabel, was admitted within it for a night's shelter. Another tradition, which is still more questionable, asserts that here also, as at Boscabel, he hid himself among the branches of an oak to escape a party of his eager pursuers. A shattered trunk of a tree in Ham Lane was formerly shown to the visiter as the identical royal oak; and a fair which is annually held on the spot on the 29th of May, has tended to countenance the belief among the people of the neighbourhood, who have no notion that any incredulous and too precise examiner into dates and facts should deprive them of their traditions. However, "truth is strong," and truth compels us to say, that their royal oak is only a counterfeit. Just before we arrive at Twickenham, there is a small island in the middle of the river, called by some "Twickenham Ait," but better known to the people of London, as "Eel-pie Island." The tavern upon the island is famous for its eels, and the mode of dressing them, and during the summer season is visited by great crowds from the metropolis. Clubs, benefit societies, trades' unions, and other confederations, frequently proceed thither, each member with his wife and children, or his sweetheart, to feast upon the dainties of the spot. On a fine Sunday especially, Eel-pie Island is in all its glory, thronged with "spruce citizens," "washed artisans," and "smug apprentices," who repair hither, as Byron has it, "to gulp their weekly air," And o'er the Thames to row the ribbon'd fair," or to wander in the park, which thanks to the public spirit of one humble individual, is still open to every pedestrian. Though somewhat of an episode, the history of the right of way through this pleasant park is deserving of mention. In the year 1758, the Princess Amelia, daughter of George the Second, who was ranger, thought fit to exclude the public; but an action was brought against her by Mr. John Lewis, a brewer, and inhabitant of Richmond, which he gained, and the princess was forced to knock down her barriers. The public right has never since been disputed, and the memory of the patriotic brewer is still highly esteemed in all the neighbourhood, and his portraits sought after, as memorials of his courage and per severance. But to return again to Eel-pie Island. The place was the favourite resort of Kean for a few months before his death. The boatman we were fortunate enough to hire was the boatman generally employed by the great actor, and from him we learned, that after the fatigues of the night were over at the theatre, he often caused himself to be rowed to Eel-pie Island, and there left to wander about by moonlight till two or three o'clock in the morning. The tavern used at that time to be frequented by a poetical sawyer of Twickenham whose poetry Kean greatly admired. The first time he heard the sawyer's rhymes, he was so delighted that he made him a present of two sovereigns, and urged him to venture upon the dangerous seas of authorship. By his advice the sawyer rushed into print, and published a twopenny volume upon the beauties of Eel-pie Island, the delights of pie-eating, and various other matters of local and general interest. Kean at this time was so weak, that it was necessary to lift him in and out of the wherry-a circumstance which excited the boatman's curiosity to go and see him in Richard the Third at the Richmond Theatre. "There was some difference then, I reckon," said the honest fellow; "so much that I was almost frightened at him. He seemed on the stage to be as strong as a giant, and strutted about so bravely, that I could scarcely believe it was the same man. Next morning he would come into my boat with a bottle of brandy in his coat-pocket, as weak as a child, until he had drunk about half the brandy, when he plucked up a little. One morning he came on board-I shall never forget him -he was crying like a child, and sobbing as if his heart was breaking'twas the morning when his lady' ran away from him, and he told me all about it as well as he could for his tears. He had a bottle of brandy with him then. He gave me a quartern of it, and drank all the rest before we got to Twickenham, and then he was much better. But he was never the same man afterwards; he said his heart was broken; and I believe it was, for he never held up his head again, poor fellow!" We thought the boatman (we should mention his name -George Cripps) seemed affected at the thought, and we asked if Kean had been kind to him. "Many's the time," replied he, "that I have carried him in my arms in and out of the boat, as if he were a baby :-but he wasn't particularly kind. He always paid me my fare, and never grumbled at it, and was very familiar and free-like. But all the watermen were fond of him. He gave a new boat and a purse of sovereigns to be rowed for every year." "Ah! that accounts for it," said we. "When he died," continued the boatman, "a great many of the watermen subscribed their little mite towards his monument. "Was there much gathered?" inquired we. "About seven or eight hundred pounds, I think," replied the boatman, "and it was to have been placed in Richmond church; but we hear nothing of it now, or whether it's ever to be erected at all. But here we are, sir, at Twickenham church; and if you please to step ashore, I'll wait for you, and then row you up to the Grotto." This was exactly the arrangement that suited us, and we walked into the dirty village of Twickenham, to pay our homage at the grave of Pope. 88 THE GOLDEN LEGEND.-No. III. BY THOMAS INGOLDSBY. A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. "This holy childe Dunston was borne in ye yere of our Lorde ix hondren & xxv. that tyme regnynge in this londe Kinge Athelston. **** "Than it so was that Sapnt Dunston was wery of prayer than used he to werke in goldsmith's werke with his own handes for to eschewe ydelnes." Fytte E. ST. DUNSTAN stood in his ivy'd tower, Alembic, crucible, all were there; How the story goes: He took up the tongs and caught hold of his nose. Nor do I intend An instant to spend On the tale, how he treated his monarch and friend, Edwy left them all joking, So tipsily grand, they'd stand nonsense from no King, Their Sovereign to fish up, With a hint that perchance on his crown he might feel taps, In the Royal Academy, very well done, And mark'd in the catalogue four, seven, one. You may there view the Saint, who in sable array'd is, Sad victim you'll lie to your love for Elgiva !" No farther to treat Of this ungallant feat, What I mean to do now is succinctly to paint * St. Jingo, or Gengo (Gengulphus), sometimes styled "The Living Jingo," from the great tenaciousness of vitality exhibited by his severed members. For his Legend, see BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY for March last. Which somehow, for want of due care, I presume, St. Dunstan stood again in his tower, He had been standing a good half hour, And call'd to his Broomstick to bring him a seat. The words of power !-and what be they As the prelate I named has recorded none of them, But I know they are three, And ABRACADABRA, I take it, is one of them: However that be, You'll doubtless agree It signifies little to you or to me, As not being dabblers in Grammarye ; Still, it must be confess'd, for a Saint to repeat For, as Solomon hints to folks given to chatter, "A Bird of the air may carry the matter;" And, in sooth, From my youth I remember a truth Insisted on much in my earlier years, To wit, "Little Pitchers have very long ears!" Was outside the door, which his "ears" appeared glued to. Peter, the Lay-brother, meagre and thin And watching his master the whole afternoon. This Peter the Saint had pick'd out from his fellows, For, of course, you have read That St. Dunstan was bred A Goldsmith, and never quite gave up the trade; In his praise-now recorded their archives among- Of their guests, who, the newspapers told the whole town, I am sadly digressing-a fault which sometimes So I'll reign up my Pegasus sharp, and retreat, or The course of the day or the night, be inditing, It occurs to me here You'll perhaps think it queer That St. Dunstan should have such a personage near, Those words,-be what they may, And his Broomstick at once his commands would obey.- "Twas rarely his practice Such aid to resort to, or such means apply, Unless he'd 66 Adopting, though sometimes, as now, he'd reverse it, |