,
And so she was not of human mould;
Not of the living nor the dead.
Her left hand and foot were warm to touch;
Her right as cold as a corpse's flesh!
And she would sing like a funeral bell, with a ding-dong tune.
The pigs were afraid, and viewed her aloof;
And women feared her and stood afar.
She could do without sleep for a year and a day;
She could sleep like a corpse, for a month and more.
No one knew how this lady fed--
On acorns or on flesh.
Some say that she's one of the swine-possessed,
That swam over the sea of Gennesaret.
A mongrel body and demon soul.
Some say she's the wife of the Wandering Jew,
And broke the law for the sake of pork;
And a swinish face for a token doth bear,
That her shame is now, and her punishment coming.'

And so it went on, in a gingling rigmarole. The more anxious I seemed to go
on our way, the more likely was she to loiter. I therefore showed no signs
of impatience, and I saw her consult her watch in the course of her ugly
minstrelsy, and slyly glance, as if expecting something, in the direction
of our destination.

When she had sung to her heart's content, up rose Madame, and began to walk
onward silently. I saw her glance once or twice, as before, toward the
village of Trillsworth, which lay in front, a little to our left, and
the smoke of which hung in a film over the brow of the hill. I think she
observed me, for she enquired--

'Wat is that a smoke there?'

'That is Trillsworth, Madame; there is a railway station there.'

'Oh, le chemin de fer, so near! I did not think. Where it goes?'

I told her, and silence returned.

Church Scarsdale is a very pretty and odd scene. The slightly undulating
sheep-walk dips suddenly into a wide glen, in the lap of which, by a
bright, winding rill, rise from the sward the ruins of a small abbey, with
a few solemn trees scattered round. The crows' nests hung untenanted in the
trees; the birds were foraging far away from their roosts. The very cattle
had forsaken the place. It was solitude itself.

Madame drew a long breath and smiled.

'Come down, come down, cheaile--come down to the churchyard.'

As we descended the slope which shut out the surrounding world, and the
scene grew more sad and lonely. Madame's spirits seemed to rise.

'See 'ow many grave-stones--one, _two_ hundred. Don't you love the dead,
cheaile? I will teach you to love them. You shall see me die here to-day,
for half an hour