"St Cuthman stood on a point which crowns The entire range of the grand South Downs; Beneath his feet, like a giant field, Was stretched the expanse of the Suss.e.x Weald.

'Suppose,' said the Saint,''twas the will of Heaven To cause this range of hills to be riven, And what were the use of prayers and whinings, Were the sea to flood the village of Poynings: 'Twould be fine, no doubt, these Downs to level, But to do such a thing I defy the Devil!'

St Cuthman, tho' saint, was a human creature, And his eye, a bland and benevolent feature, Remarked the approach of the close of day, And he thought of his supper, and turned away.

Walking fast, he Had scarcely pa.s.sed the First steps of his way, when he saw something nasty; 'Twas tall and big, And he saw from its rig 'Twas the Devil in full diabolical fig.

There were wanting no proofs, For the horns and the hoofs And the tail were a fully convincing sight; But the heart of the Saint Ne'er once turned faint, And his halo shone with redoubled light.

'Hallo, I fear You're trespa.s.sing here!'

Said St Cuthman, 'To me it is perfectly clear, If you talk of the devil, he's sure to appear!'

'With my spade and my pick I am come,' said old Nick, 'To prove you've no power o'er a demon like me.

I'll show you my power-- Ere the first morning hour Thro' the Downs, over Poynings, shall roll in the sea.'

'I'll give you long odds,'

Cried the Saint, 'by the G.o.ds!

I'll stake what you please, only say what your wish is.'

Said the devil, 'By Jove!

You're a sporting old cove!

My pick to your soul, I'll make such a hole, That where Poynings now stands, shall be swimming the fishes.'

'Done!' cried the Saint, 'but I must away I have a penitent to confess; In an hour I'll come to see fair play-- In truth I cannot return in less.

My bet will be won ere the first bright ray Heralds the ascension of the day.

If I lose!--there will be _the devil to pay!_'

He descended the hill with a firm quick stride, Till he reached a cell which stood on the side; He knocked at the door, and it opened wide,-- He murmured a blessing and walked inside.

Before him he saw a tear-stained face Of an elderly maiden of elderly grace; Who, when she beheld him, turned deadly pale, And drew o'er her features a nun's black veil.

'Holy father!' she said, 'I have one sin more, Which I should have confessed sixty years before!

I have broken my vows--'tis a terrible crime!

I have loved _you_, oh father, for all that time!

My pa.s.sion I cannot subdue, tho' I try!

Shrive me, oh father! and let me die!'

'Alas, my daughter,' replied the Saint, 'One's desire is ever to do what one mayn't, There was once a time when I loved you, too, I have conquered my pa.s.sion, and why shouldn't you?

For penance I say, You must kneel and pray For hours which will number seven; Fifty times say the rosary, (Fifty, 'twill be a poser, eh?) But by it you'll enter heaven; As each hour doth pa.s.s, Turn the hour gla.s.s, Till the time of midnight's near; On the stroke of midnight This taper light, Your conscience will then be clear.'

He left the cell, and he walked until He joined Old Nick on the top of the hill.

It was five o'clock, and the setting sun Showed the work of the Devil already begun.

St Cuthman was rather fatigued by his walk, And caring but little for brimstone talk, He watched the pick crash through layers of chalk.

And huge blocks went over and splitting asunder Broke o'er the Weald like the crashing of thunder.

St Cuthman wished the first hour would pa.s.s, When St Ursula, praying, reversed the gla.s.s.

'Ye legions of h.e.l.l!' the Old Gentleman cried, 'I have such a terrible st.i.tch in the side!'

'Don't work so hard,' said the Saint, 'only see, The sides of your d.y.k.e a heap smoother might be.'

'Just so,' said the Devil, 'I've had a sharp fit, So, resting, I'll trim up my crevice a bit.'

St Cuthman was looking prodigiously sly, He knew that the hours were slipping by.

'Another attack!

I've cramp at my back!

I've needles and pins From my hair to my shins!

I tremble and quail From my horns to my tail!

I will not be vanquished, I'll work, I say, This d.y.k.e shall be finished ere break of day!'

'If you win your bet, 'twill be fairly earned,'

Said the Saint, and again was the hour-gla.s.s turned.

And then with a most unearthly din The farther end of the d.y.k.e fell in; But in spite of an awful rheumatic pain The Devil began his work again.

'I'll not be vanquished!' exclaimed the old bloke.

'By breathing torrents of flame and smoke, Your d.y.k.e,' said the Saint, 'is hindered each minute, What can one expect when the Devil is in it?'

Then an accident happened, which caused Nick at last To rage, fume, and swear; when the fourth hour had pa.s.sed, On his hoof there came rolling a huge ma.s.s of quartz.

Then quite out of sorts The bad tempered old cove Sent the huge ma.s.s of stone whizzing over to Hove.

He worked on again, till a howl and a cry Told the Saint one more hour--the fifth--had gone by.

'What's the row?' asked the Saint, 'A cramp in the wrist, I think for a while I had better desist.'

Having rested a bit he worked at his chasm, Till, the hour having pa.s.sed, he was seized with a spasm.

He raged and he cursed, 'I bore this at first, The rheumatics were awful, but this is the worst.'

With awful rage heated, The demon defeated, In his pa.s.sion used words that can't be repeated.

Feeling shaken and queer, In spite of his fear, At the d.y.k.e he worked on until midnight drew near.

But when the gla.s.s turned for the last time, he found That the head of his pick was stuck fast in the ground.

'Cease now!' cried St Cuthman, 'vain is your toil!

Come forth from the d.y.k.e! Leave your pick in the soil!

You agreed to work 'tween sunset and morn, And lo! the glimmer of day is born!

In vain was your f.a.g, And your senseless brag.'

Dizzy and dazed with sulphureous vapour, Old Nick was deceived by St Ursula's taper.

'The dawn!' yelled the Devil, 'in vain was my boast, That I'd have your soul, for I've lost it, I've lost!'

'Away!' cried St Cuthman, 'Foul fiend! away!

See yonder approaches the dawn of day!

Return to the flames where you were before, And molest these peaceful South Downs no more!'

The old gentleman scowled but dared not stay, And the prints of his hoofs remain to this day, Where he spread his dark pinions and soared away.

At St Ursula's cell Was tolling the bell, And St Cuthman in sorrow, stood there by her side.

'Twas over at last, Her sorrows were past, In the moment of triumph St Ursula died.

Tho' this was the ground, There never were found The tools of the Devil, his spade and his pick; But if you want proof Of the Legend, the hoof- Marks are still in the hillock last trod by Old Nick."

"Oh! that is jolly. Well, I never thought the girl was clever enough to write that. And there are some excellent rhymes in it, 'pa.s.sed he'

rhyming with 'nasty,' and 'rosary' with 'poser, eh;' and how well you recite it."

"Oh, I recited it better at the harvest supper; and you have no idea how the farmers enjoyed it. They know the place so well, and it interested them on that account. They understood it all."

John sat as if enchanted,--by Kitty's almost childish grace, her enthusiasm for her friend's poem, and her genuine enjoyment of it; by the abrupt hills, mysterious now in sunset and legend; by the vast plains so blue and so boundless: out of the thought of the littleness of life, of which they were a symbol, there came the thought of the greatness of love.

"Won't you cross the poor gipsy's palm with a bit of silver, my pretty gentleman, and she will tell you your fortune and that of your pretty lady?"

Kitty uttered a startled cry, and turning they found themselves facing a strong, black-eyed girl. She repeated her question.

"What do you think, Kitty, would you like to have your fortune told?"

Kitty laughed. "It would be rather fun," she said.

She did not know what was coming, and she listened to the usual story, full by the way of references to John--of a handsome young man who would woo her, win her, and give her happiness, children, and wealth.

John threw the girl a shilling. She withdrew. They watched her pa.s.sing through the furze. The silence about them was immense. Then John spoke:

"What the gipsy said is quite true; I did not dare to tell you so before."

"What do you mean, John?"

"I mean that I am in love with you, will you love me?"

"You in love with me, John; it is quite absurd--I thought you hated girls."

"Never mind that, Kitty, say you will have me; make the gipsy's words come true."

"Gipsies' words always come true."