Loudly they talked of his money that's gone,
And his lady began to upbraid him;
But little he recked, so they let him snore on
'Neath the counterpane just as we laid him.

We tucked him in, and had hardly done,

When, beneath the window calling,
We heard the rough voice of a son of a gun
Of a watchman "One o'clock" bawling.

Slowly and sadly we all walked down.

From his room in the uppermost story;
A rush light was placed in the cold hearth-stone;
And we left him alone in his glory.

The Jackdaw of Rheims

THE Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal's chair!
Bishop, and Abbot, and Prior were there;
Many a monk, and many a friar,

Many a knight and many a squire,

With a great many more of lesser degree

In sooth, a goodly company;

And they served the Lord Primate on bended knee.

Never, I ween,

Was a prouder seen,

Read of in books, or dreamt of in dreams,

Than the Cardinal Lord Archbishop of Rheims !

In and out

Through the motley rout,

That little Jackdaw kept hopping about;

Here and there,

Like a dog in a fair,

Over comfits and cates,
And dishes and plates,

Cowl and cope, and rochet and pall,
Mitre and crosier, he hopped upon all!
With saucy air,

He perched on the chair.

Where, in state, the great Lord Cardinal sat
In the great Lord Cardinal's great red hat;
And he peered in the face
Of his Lordship's grace,

With a satisfied look, as if he would say,

"We two are the greatest folks here to-day!" And the priests, with awe,

As such freaks they saw,

Said, "The devil must be in that little Jackdaw!"

The feast was over, the board was cleared,
The flawns and the custards had all disappeared,
And six little singing-boys-dear little souls!

In nice clean faces, and nice white stoles,

Came, in order due,
Two by two,

Marching that grand refectory through!

A nice little boy held a golden ewer,
Embossed and filled with water, as pure
As any that flows between Rheims and Namur,
Which a nice little boy stood ready to catch
In a fine golden hand-basin made to match,

Two nice little boys, rather more grown,
Carried lavender-water and eau-de-Cologne ;
And a nice little boy had a nice cake of soap,
Worthy of washing the hands of the Pope.
One little boy more
A napkin bore,

Of the best white diaper, fringed with pink,
And a cardinal's hat marked in

permanent ink.”

The great Lord Cardinal turns at the sight
Of these nice little boys dressed all in white:
From his finger he draws

His costly turquoise,

And, not thinking at all about little Jackdaws,
Deposits it straight

By the side of his plate,

While the nice little boys on his Eminence wait;
Till, when nobody's dreaming of any such thing,
That little Jackdaw hops off with the ring!

There's a cry and a shout,
And a deuce of a rout,

And nobody seems to know what they're about,

But the monks have their pockets all turned inside out;

The friars are kneeling,

And hunting and feeling

The carpet, the floor, and the walls, and the ceiling.

The Cardinal drew

Off each plum-coloured shoe,

And left his red stockings exposed to the view;

He peeps and he feels,

In the toes and the heels;

They turn up the dishes, they turn up the plates,
They take up the poker and poke out the grates,

They turn up the rugs,
They examine the mugs—
But no! no such thing;

They can't find THE RING!

And the Abbot declared that "when nobody twigged it, Some rascal or other had popped in and prigged it."

The Cardinal rose with a dignified look,

He called for his candle, his bell, and his book!

In holy anger and pious grief,

He solemnly cursed that rascally thief!

He cursed him at board, he cursed him in bed;
From the sole of his foot to the crown of his head;
He cursed him in sleeping, that every night

He should dream of the devil, and wake in a fright;
He cursed him in eating, he cursed him in drinking,
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 in living, he cursed him in dying!— Never was heard such a terrible curse!

But, what gave rise
To no little surprise,

Nobody seemed one penny the worse!

The day was gone,

The night came on,

The monks and the friars they searched till dawn;

When the Sacristan saw,

On crumpled claw,

Come limping a poor little lame Jackdaw;

No longer gay,
As on yesterday;

His feathers all seemed to be turned the wrong way;

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! 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,

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 these words were heard,
That poor little bird

Was so changed in a moment, 'twas really absurd;