"And tho' two hundred years have flown,
Nell Cook doth still pursue
Her weary walk, and they who cross her path
The deed may rue.
Her fatal breath is fell as death!
The simoon's blast is not
More dire (a wind in Africa
That blows uncommon hot).
But all unlike the simoon's blast,
Her breath is deadly cold,
Delivering quivering, shivering shocks
Upon both young and old.
And whoso in the entry dark
Doth feel that fatal breath,
He ever dies within the year
Some dire untimely death."
So it is with him who meets "Piper Jock."
"By Jove," interrupted the golfing "Johnny," "has anyone seen him lately?"
"I only know of one man," I said, who told me that one awful night in a heavy thunderstorm he had heard wild pipe music, and seen the figure of a curiously dressed piper walking along the cliff edge, where no mortal could walk, at a furious speed."
"What do you think of it all?" asked my golfing friend.
"I don't know, I'm sure; I am not receptive and don't see ghosts, but if I could only find now the mouth of that place, I bet another 'Jock' and I would get along it and find out the whereabouts of 'Jock the Piper' and his poor little wife. Here is my hansom. Good night, don't forget the Piper."
And they haven't.
