THEGIRT"6# \ii HEBER CUSM^NG PETERS *""^'^ CLASS OF 1892 ..4...3.o.5 3;.2.9 , U...JjT..j.|i),. ;2i6 Cornell University Ubrary PR 4058.15 1884 The Ingoldsby legends; or, Mirth and marv 3 1924 013 210 566 Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 92401 321 0566 THE INGOLDSBY LEGENDS: DI, MIETH AND MAEVELS THOMAS INGOLDSBT, Bbq.,^ fTHE ItBT. RICHARD HARRIS BARHAU), \ GLOBE EDITION, (TWO VOLUMES IN ONE.) WITH CEUIKSHANKS'. ZLLUSTRATIONS, NEW YORK: A. 0. ARMSTKONG & SOlf, 714 BEOADWAy. 1884. /\.'b6SSl'\ TO KICHARD BENTLEY, Esq. Uy I)K&;t Sir, Tod wisli me to collect into a single volume certain ramb- ling extracts from our family memoranda, many of which have already appeared in the pages of your Miscellany. At the same time you tell me that doubts are entertained in certain quarters as to the authenticity of their details. Now, with respect to their genuineness, the old oak cheat, in which the originals are deposited, is not more familiar to my eyes than it is to your own ; and if its contents have any value at all, it consists in the strict veracity of the facts they record. To convince the most incredulous, I can only add, that should business — ^pleasure is out of the question — ever call them into the neighbourhood of Follcestone, let them take the high road from Canterbury to Dover till they reach the eastern ex- tremity of Barham Downs. Here a beautiful green lane diverg- ing abruptly to the right, will carry them, through the Oxenden plantations and the unpretending village of Denton, to the foot of a very respectable hill — as hills go in this part of Europe. On reaching its summit let them look straight before them,— and if among the hanging woods which crown the opposite side of the valley, they cannot distinguish an antiquated Manor-house of Elizabethan architecture, with its gable ends, stone stanchions, and tortuous chimneys rising above the surrounding trees, why — the sooner they procure a pair of DoUand's patent spectacles the better. If, on the contrary, they can manage to descry i^, and, prO' ceeding some five or six furlongs through the avenr e, will ring at tLe Lodge-gate — ^they cannot mistake the stone lion with the Ingoldsby escutcheon (Ermiiie, a saltire engrailed Gules) in his pTlws, — they will be received with a hearty old English welcome. The papers in question having been written by different par- ties, and at various periods, I have tlioaght it advisable to re- duce the more ancient of them into a comparatively modern phraseology, and to make my collateral ancestor Fatljer John, especially, ' deliver himself like a man of this w arid ; ' Mr. Ma- guire, indeed, is the only Gentleman who, in his account of the late Coronation, retains his own rich vernacular. As to arrangement, I shall adopt the sentmient expressed by the Constable of Bourbon fouf centuries ago, teste Shaks- peare, one which seems to become more fashionable every day. " Tho Devil take all order 1 1— I'll to the throng 1 " Believe me to be. My dear Sir, Tours, most indubitably and immeasurably, Thomas Isooldbbt. TspplDgton Evenm Jan. SO, 1840. PREFACE SO THE SECOND EDITION. TO RICHARD BENTLEY, Esq, Hy Deas Sm, I SHOTILD have replied sooner to your letter, but I fiat the last three days 'in January are, as you are aware, always dedicated, at the Hall, to an especial hattve, and the old house is full of shooting-jackets, shot-belts, and "double Joes." Even the women wear percussion caps, and your favourite (?) Rover, who, you may remember, examined the calves of your legs vidth such suspicions curiosity at Christmas, is as pheasant-mad as if he were a biped, instead of being a genuine four-legged scion of the Blenheim breed. I have managed, however, to avail myself of a lucid interval in. the general hallucination (how the rain did come dovm on Monday !), and as you tell me the excellent fiiend whom you are in the habit of styling "a Generous and Enlightened Public," has emptied your shelves of the first edition, and " asks for more," why I agree with you, it would be a want of resfect to that very respectable personification, when furnishing him with a VI PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITIOS. farther supply, not to endeavour, at least, to amend my faults, which are few, and your own, which are more numerous; [ have, therefore, gone to work con amore, supplying occasionally on my own part a deficient note, or elucidatory stanza, and on yours knocking out, without remorse, your superfluous i's, and now and then eviscerating your colon. My duty to our illustrious friend thus performed, I have a crow to pluck with Tiim — ^Why will he persist — as you tell me he does persist — in calling me by all sorts of names but those to which I am entitled by birth and baptism — my " Sponsorial and Patronymic appellations," as Dr. Pangloss has it? — ^Mrs. Malaprop complains, and with justice, of " an assault upon her parts of speech," but to attack one's very existence — ^to deny that one is a person in esse, and scarcely to admit "that one may be a person in posse, is tenfold cruelty; — "it is pressing to death, whipping, and hanging !" — ^let me entreat all such likewise to remember that, as Shakspeare beautifully expresses himself elsewhere — ^I give his words as quoted by a very worthy Baronet in a neighbouring county, when protesting against a defamatory placard at a general election — "Who steals my purse steals stuff!— 'Twas mine — tisn't his— nor nobody else's! But he who runs away with my Good Name, Robs me of what does not do him any good, And makes me 'deuced poor!" * In order utterly to squabash and demolish every gainsayer * A reading which seems most unaccountably to have escaped the researches of all modem Shalispearians, including the rival editors of the new and illus* Crated versions. PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. yii I had thought, at one time, of asking my old and esteemed friend, Richard Lane, to crush them at once with his magic pencil, and to transmit my features to posterity, where all his woriss are sure to he " delivered according to the dh-ection;" but somehow the noble-looking proffles which he has recently executed of the Kemble family put me a little out of conceit with my own, while the undisguised amusement which my " Mephistopheles Eyebrow," as ha termed it, afforded him, in the " full face," induced me to lay aside the design. Besides, my dear Sir, since, as, has well been observed, " there never was a married man yet who had not somebody remarkably like him walking about tovm," it is a thousand to one but my lineaments might, after all, out of sheer perverseness be ascribed to any body rather than to the real owner. I have therefore sent you, instead thereof, a very fair sketch of Tappington, taken from the Folkestone road (I tore it last night out of Julia Simpkinson's album) ; get GUks to make a woodcut of it. And now, if any miscreant (I use the word only in its primary and "Pickwickian" sense of "Unbeliever,") ventures to throw any further doubt upon the matter, why, as Jack Cade's . friend says in the play, " There are the chimneys in my father's house, and the bricks are alive at this day to teslaf^ it!" " Why, very well then — ^we hope here be trutfls !" Heaven be with you, my dear Sb ! — I was getting a little excited; but you, who are mild as the nLik that dews tb° Till PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. soft whisker of the new-weaned kitten, will forgive in« when, wiping away the nascent moisture from mj brow, 1 " pull in," and subscribe myself, Yours quite as niuch as bis own, Thomas Ingoi,dsby. Tappingtoa Ererard Feb 2(lIP4a FIRST SEIilES. CONTENTS MOB THE BFECIBE Of TAFFINOION .... 13 THE NURSE'S STORY— THE HAND OF OL0I17 ... SI PATTY MORGAN THE MILKMAID'S STORY—" LOOK AT THE CLOCK" 61 GREY DOLPHIN .71 THE GHOST .... .... 99 THE CYNOTAPH . . 108 MRS. BOTHERBY'S STORY— THE LEECH OP FOLKESTONE 117 LEGEND OF HAMILTON TIGHE 165 THE WITCHES' FROLIC 169 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D 177 TEE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS 208 A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN 215 A LAY OF ST. GENGULPHUS . . . .227 A LAY OF ST. ODILLE . . . . 238 A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS ... . . 247 THE LADY ROHESIA . . . . 257 THE TRAGEDY . 268 SIR. BARNEY MAGUIRE'S ACCOUNT OF THE CORONATION. 27S THE "MONSTRE" BALLOON . .... 279 HON. MK. SUCKLETHUMBKIN'S STORY— THE EXECUTION 283 SOME ACCOUNT OF A NEW PLAY 2«9 MR. PETERS'S STORY- THE BAGMAN'S DOO ... SOI APPENDIX . . . . S» SECOND SERIES. C3NTENTS. hi THE BLACK MOUSQUBTAIRB - .... 7 SIR RUPERT THE FEARLESS 3S THE MERCHANT OS VENICE 46 THE AUTO-DA-Pfi 62 THE INGOLDSBT PENANCE ." 87 NETLEY ABBEY 105 FRAGMENT Ill NELL COOK 113 NURSERY REMINISCENCES 122 AUNT FANNY 12* MISADVENTURES AT MARGATE 134 THE SMUGGLER'S LEAP 139 BLOUDIE JACKE OF SHREWSBERRIE 148 THE BABES IN THE WOOD 163 THE DEAD DRUMMER 178 A ROW IN AN OMNIBUS (BOX) 184 THE LAY OF ST. CUTHBERT 190 THE LAY OF ST. ALOYS 205 THE LAY OF THE OLD WOMAN CLOTHED IN GREY 219 RAISING THE DEVIL 239 IHB LAY OP ST. MEDARD 241 THIRD SERIES. CONTENTS. THE LORD OP TIIOULOUSB 250 THE WEDDING-DAY; OR, IHE BUCCANEER'S CURSE 267 THE BLASPHEMER'S WARNING 284 THE BROTHERS OE BIRCHINGTON 310 THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY 325 THE HOUSE-WARMING 338 THE FORLORN ONE 355 JERRY JARVIS'S WIG 356 UNSOPHISTICATED WISHES 380 HERMANN; OR, THE BROKEN SPEAR 383 HINTS FOR AN HISTORICAL PLAY 386 MARIE MIQNOT ; 388 THE TRUANTS 391 THE POPLAR '. 396 MY LETTERS 397 NEW-MADE HONOUR 401 THE CONFESSION 401 SONG 402 EPIGRAM 403 EPIGRAM ; 404 SONG 404 AS I LAYE A-THYNKYKGB 40G THE •INGOLDSBY LEGENDS. THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON. " It is very odd, though ; what can have become of them ?" said Charles Seaforth; as he peeped under the valance of an old-fashioned bedstead, in an old-fashioned apartment of a still more old-fashioned manor-house ; " 't is confoundedly odd, and I can't make it out at all. Why, Barney, where are they ? — and where the d — 1 are you !" No answer was returned to this appeal; and the Lieutenant, who was, in the main, a reasonable person,-r- at least as reasonable a person as any young gentleman 'of twenty-two in " the service" can fairly be expected to be, — cooled when he reflected that his servant could scarcely reply extempore to a summons which it waa impossible he should hear. An application to the bell was the considerate result ; and the footsteps of as tight a lad as ever put pipe-clay to belt sounded along the gallery. " Come in 1" said his master. — An ineffectual attempt upon the door reminded Mr. Seaforth tb^t he had locked 14 THE SPECTKK ■bimself in. — " By Heaven ! this is the oddest thing of all," said he, as he turned the key and admitted Mr. Maguire into his dormitory. " Barney, where are my pantaloons ?" "Is it the breeches?" asked the -valet, casting an inquiring eye round the apartment ; — " is it the breeches, sir?" " Yes ; what have you done with them V' " Sure then your honour had them on when you went to bed, and it's hereabout they'll be, I'll be bail ;" and Barney lifted a fashionable tunic from a cane-backed arm-chair, proceeding in his examination. But the search was vain : there was the tunic aforesaid,^-there was a smart-looking kerseymere waistcoat ; but the mosi important article of aU in a gentleman's wardrobe was still wanting. " Where can they be ?" asked the master, with a strong accent on the auxiliary verb. " Sorrow a know I knows," said the man. " It must, have been the Devil, then, after all, who has been here and carried them off!" cried Seaforth, staring full into Barney's face. Mr. Maguire was not devoid of the superstition of his countrymen, still he looked as if he did not quite subscribe to the sequitur. His master read incredulity in his countenance. " Why, I tell you, Barney, I put them there, on that arm-chair, when I got into bed ; and, by Heaven ! I distinctly saw the ghost of the old fellow they told me of, come in at midnight, put on my pantaloons, and walk away with them." " May be so " was the cautious reply OP TAPPINGTON. 15 " I thought, of course, it was a dfeam ; but then, — where the d — ^1 are the breeches ?" The question was more easily asked than answered. Barney renewed his search, while the lieutenant folded his arms, and, hailing against the toilet, sunk iuto a reverie. " After all, it must be some trick of my laughter-loving cousins," said Seaforth. " Ah ! then, the ladies !" chimed in Mr. Maguire, though the observation was not addressed to him ; " and will it be Miss Caroline, or Miss Fanny, that's stole your honour's things ?" " I hardly know what to think of it," pursued the bereaved lieutenant, still speaking in soliloquy, with his eye resting dubiously on the chamber-door. " I locked myself in, that's certain ; and — ^but there must be some other entrance to the room — pooh ! I remember — the- private staircase ; how could I be such a fool ?" and he" crossed the chamber to where a low oaken doorcase was dimly visible in a distant corner. He paused before it. Nothing now interfered to screen it from observatiofl ; but it bore tokens of having been at some earlier period concealed by tapestry, remains of which yet clothed the walls on either side of the portal. " This way they must have come," said Seaforth ; " I wish with all my heart I had caught them !" " Och ! the kittens !" sighed Mr. Barney Maguire. But the mystery was yet as far from being solved as before. True, there was the "other door;" but then that, too, on examination, was even more firmly secured -than the one which opened on the gallery, — ^two heavy bolta on the inside effectually prevented any cnup da 16 THE SF£CTRB main on the lieutenant's hivouac from that quarter, He was more puzzled than ever ; nor did the minutest inspection of the walls and floor throw any light upon the subject:, one thing only was clear, — ^the breeches were gone ! " It is very singular," said the lieutenant. ***** Tappington (generally called Tapton) Everard, is an antiquated but commodious manot-house in the eastern division of the county of Kent. A former proprietor had been High-sheriff in the days of Elizabeth, and many a dark and dismal tradition was yet extant of the licentiousness of his life, and the enormity of his offences. The Glen, which the keeper's daughter was seen to enter, but never known to quit, still frowns darkly as of yore ; while an ineradicable bloodstain on the oaken stair yet bids defiance to the united energies of ■soap and sand. But it is with one particular apartment that a deed of more especial atrocity is said to be connected. A stranger guest — so runs the legend — arrived unexpectedly at the mansion of the " Bad Sir Giles." They met in apparent friendship; but the Hi-concealed scowl on their master's brow told the domestics that the visit was not a welcome one. The banquet, however, was not spared ; the wine-cup circulat- ed freely, — too freely, perhaps, — for sounds of discord at length reached the ears of even the excluded serving- men as they were doing their best to imitate their betters in the lower hall. Alarmed, some of them ventured to approach the parlour; one, an old and favoured retainer of the house, went so far as to break in upon his master's privacy. Sir Giles, already high in oath, fiercely enjoined his absence, and he retired ;_ not, OF TAPPINOTON. 17 however, before he had distinctly heard from the stranger's lips a menace that " There was that ■within his pocket which could disprove the knight's right to issue that or any other command within the walls of Tapton." The inti'usion, though momentary, seemed to have produced a beneficial effect; the voices of the dispu- tants fell, and the conversation was carried on thence- forth in a more subdued tone, till, as evening closed in. the domestics, when summoned to attend with lights, found not only cordiality restored, but that a stiil deeper carouse was meditated. Fresh stoups, and from the choicest bins, were produced ; nor was it till at a late, or rather early hour, that the revellers sought their chambers. The one allotted to the stranger occupied the first floor of the eastern angle of the building, and had once been the favourite apartment of Sir Giles himself. Scandal ascribed this preference to the facility which a private staircase, communicating with the grounds, had afforded him, in the old knight's time, of following his wicked courses unchecked by parental observation ; a consideration which ceased to be of weight when the death of his father left him uncontrolled master of his estate and actions. From that period Sir Giles had established himself in what were called the " state apartments ;" and the " oaken chamber" was rarely tenanted, save on occasions of extraordinary festivity, or when the yule log drew an unusually large acces- sion of guests around the Christmas hearth. On this eventful night it was prepared for the un- known visiter, who sought his couch heated and in- 18 THE SPBOTKB flamed from his midnight orgies, and in the morning was found in his bed a swollen and blackened corpse. No marks of violence appeared upon the body ; but the livid hue of the lips, and certain dark-coloured spots visible on the skin, aroused suspicions which those who entertained them were too timid to express. Apo- plexy, induced by the excesses of the preceding night. Sir Giles's confidential leech pronounced to be the cause of his sudden dissolution : the body was buried in peace ; and though some shook their heads as they witnessed the haste with which the funeral rites were hurried on, none ventured to murmur. Other events arose to distract the attention of the retainers; men's minds became occupied by the stirring politics of the day, while the near approach of that formidable armada, so vainly arrogating to itself a title which the very ele- ments joined with human valour to disprove, soon inter- fered to weaken, if not obliterate, all" remembrance of the nameless stranger who had died within the walls of Tapton Everard. Years rolled on : the " Bad Sir Giles" had himself long since gone to his account, the last, as it was be- lieved, of his immediate line ; though a few of the older tenants were sometimes heard to speak of an elder brother, who had disappeared in early life, and never inherited the estate. Rumours, too, of his having left a son in foreign lands were at one time rife ; but they died away, nothing occurring to siipport them : the property passed unchallenged to a collateral branch of the family, and the secret, if secret there were, was buried in Denton churchyard, in the lonely grave of the mysterious stranger. One circumstance alone occurred, OF TAPPINGTON. U after a long-intervening period, to revive the memory of these transactions. Some workmen employed in grubbing an old plantation, for the purpose of raising on its site a modem shrubbery, dug up, in the execu- tion of their task, the mildewed remnants of what seemed to have been once a garment. On more minute inspection enough remained of silken slashes and a coarse -embroidery to identify the relics as hav- ing once formed part of a pair of trunk hose ; while a few papers which fell from them, altogether illegible from damp and age, were by the unlearned rustics conveyed to the then owner of the estate. Whether the squire was more successful in deciphej- ing them was never known ; he certainly never alluded to their contents ; and little would have been thought of the matter but for the inconvenient memory of one old woman, who declared she heard her grandfather say that when the "stranger guest" was poisoned, though all the rest of his clothes were there, his breeches, the supposed repository of the supposed documents, could never be found. The master of Tap- ton Everard smiled when he heard Dame Jones's hint of deeds which might impeach the validity of his own title in favour of some unknown descendant of some unknown heir; and the story was rarely alluded to, save by one or two miracle-mongers, who had heard that others had seen the ghost of old Sir Giles, in his night-cap, issue from the postern, enter the adjoining copse, and wring his shadowy hands in agony, as he seemed to search vainly for something hidden among the evergreens. The stranger's death- room had, of course, been occasionally hauntijd from 20 THE SPKCTEE the time of his decease; but the periods of visitation had latterly become very rare, — even Mrs. Botherby the housekeeper, being forced tc admit that, during hei long sojourn at the manor, she had never " met with anything worse than herself ;" though as the old lady afterwards added upon more mature reflection, "I must say I think I saw the devil once." Such was the legend attached to Tapton Everard, and such the story which the lively Caroline Ingoldsby detailed to her equally mercurial cousin Charles Sea- forth, lieutenant in the Hon. East India Company's second regiment of Bombay Fencibles, as arm-in-arm they promenaded a gallery decked with some dozen grim-looking ancestral portraits, and, among others, with that of the redoubted Sir Giles himself. The gallant commander had that very morning paid his first visit to the house of his maternal uncle, after an absence of several years passed with his regiment on the arid plains of Hindostan, whence he was now returned on a three years' furlough. He had gone out a boy, ^he returned a man ; but the impression made upon his youthful fancy by his favourite cousin remained unimpaired, and to Tapton he directed his steps, even before he sought the home of his widowed mother, — comforting himself in this breach of filial decorum by the reflection that, as the manor was so little out of his way, it would be unkind to pass, as it were, the door of his relatives without just looking in for a few hours. But he found his uncle as hospitable and his cousin more charihing than ever ; and the looks of one, and the requests of the other, soon precluded the possibility of refusing to lengthen the " few hours " into a fe\« OF lAPl'INGTON. ^ 2 J days, though the house was at the moment full oi visiters. The Peterses were there- from Ramsgate ; and Mr., Mrs., and the two Miss Simpldnsons, from Bath, had come to pass a month with ' the family ; and Tom Ingoldsby had brought down his college friend, the Honourable Augustus SuoMethumblrin, with his groom and pointers, to take a fortnight's shooting. And then there was Mrs. Ogleton, the rich young widow, with her large black eyes, who, people did say, was setting her cap at the young squire, though Mrs. Botherby did not believe it ; and, above all, there was Mademoiselle Pau- line, her /(3m»ie de chamhre, who " mon-Dieu'd " every- thing and everybody, and cried " Quel horreur ! " at Mrs. Botherby's cap. In short, to use the last-named and much respected lady's own expression, the house was "choke-full" to the very attics, — all, save the " oaken chamber," which, as the lieutenant expressed a most magnificent disregard of ghosts, was forthwith appropriated to his particular accommodation. Mr. Maguire, meanwhile, was fain to share the apartment of Oliver Dobbs, the squire's own man : a jocular pro- posal of joint occupancy having been at first indignantly rejected by " Mademoiselle," though preferred with the " laste taste in life " of Mr. Barney's most insinuating brogue. ***** " Come, Charles, the urn is absolutely getting cold ; your breakfast vrill be quite spoiled : what can have made you so idle 1 " Such was the morning salutation of Miss Ingoldsby to the militaire as he entered the breakfast-room half an hour after the ld*«st of the party 22 THE SPECTRE "A pretty gentleman, truly, to maki an appointment with," chimed in Miss Frances. " What is become of our ramble to the rocks before breakfast ? " " Oh ! the young men never think of keeping a pro- mise now," said Mrs. Peters, a little fen-et-faced woman with underdone eyes. " When I was a young man," said Mr. Peters, " I remember I always made a point of " " Pray how long ago was that ? " asked Mr. Simpkin- son from Bath. " Why, sir, when I married Mrs. Peters, I was — let me see — I was " " Do pray hold your tongue. P., and eat your break- fast ! " interrupted his better half, who had a mortal horror of chronological references ; " it's very rude to tease people with your family affairs." The lieutenant had by this time taken his seat in silence, — a good-humoured nod, and a glance, half- smiling, half-inquisitive, being the extent of his saluta- tion. Smitten as he was, and in the immediate presence of her who had made so large a hole in his heart, his manner was evidently distrait, which the fair Caro- line in her secret soul attributed to his being solely occupied by her agremens, — ^how would she have bridled had she known that they only shared his medi- tations with a pair of breeches ! Charles drank his coffee and spiked some half-dozen eggs, darting occasionally a penetrating glance at the ladies, in hope of detecting the supposed waggery by the evidence of some furtive smile or conscious look. But in vain ; not a dimple moved indicative of roguery, uor did the slightest elovation of eyebrow rise confirm i GP TAIJPINGTON. 28 tive of Lis suspicions. Hints and insinuati<.Ds unheeded, — more particular inquiries were out of the question : — the subject was unapproachable. In the meantime, " patent cords " were just the thing for a morning's ride ; and, breakfast ended, away can- tered the party over the downs, till, every faculty ab- sorbed by the beauties, animate and inanimate, which suiTounded him, Lieutenant Seaforth of the Bombay Fencibles bestowed no more thought upon his breeches than if he had been born on the top of Ben Lomond. * * * * * Another night had passed away ; the sun rose bril- liantly, forming with his level beams a splendid rain bow in the far-off west, whither the heavy cloud, which for the last two hours had been pouring its waters on the earth, was now flying before him. "Ah ! then, and it's little good it'll be the claning of ye," apostrophised Mr. Barney Maguire, as he deposited in front of his master's toilet, a pair of " bran-new " jockey boots, one of Hoby's primest fits, which the lieutenant had purchased in his way through town. On that very morning had they come for the first time imder the valet's depurating hand, so little soiled, indeed, from the turfy ride of the preceding day, that a less scrupulous domestic might, perhaps, have considered the application of " Warren's Matchless," or oxalic acid, altogether superfluous. Not so Barney : with the nicest care had he removed the slightest impurity from each polished surface, and there they stood rejoicing in theii sable radiance. No wonder a pang shot across Mr Maguire's breast, as he thought on the work now cut out for them, so difl'erent from the light labours oi 24 THE SPECTRE the day before ; no wonder lie mu.'mured with a sigh, as the scarce-dried window-panes disclosed a road now inch-deep in mud, "Ah ! then, it's little good the claning of ye ! " — for well had he learned in the hall below that eight miles of a stiff clay soil lay between the ma nor and Bolsover Abbey, whose picturesque ruins, "Idke ancient Rome, m^estic in decay," the party had determined to explore. The master had already commenced dressing, and the man was fitting straps upon a light pair of crane-nected spurs, when his hand was arrested by the old question, — "Barney, where are the breeches ? " They were nowhere to be found ! ***** Mr. Seaforth descended that morning, whip in hand, and equipped in a handsome green riding-frock, but no " breeches and boots to match " were there : loose jeac trowsers, surmounting a pair of diminutive "Wellingtons, embraced, somewhat incongruously, his nether man, vice the " patent cords," relm-ned, like yesterday's panta- loons, absent without leave. The " top-boots " had a holiday. " A fine morning after the rain," said Mr. Simpkinson from Bath. " Just the thing for the 'ops," said Mr. Peters. " I remember when I was a boy — " " Do hold your tongue, P.," said Mrs. Peters, — advice which that exemplary matron was in the constant habit of administering to " her P." as she called him, when- ever he prepared to vent his remiaiscenoes. Her precise OF TAPPINGTON. 26 reason for tliis it would be difficult to determine, anless, indeed, the story be true which a little bird had whis- pere-l into Mrs. Botherby's ear, — Mr. Peters, though now a wealthy man, had received a liberal education at a charity school, and was apt to recur to the days of his muffin-cap and leathers. As usual, he took his wife's hint in good part, and " paused in his reply." " A glorious day for the ruins ! " said young Ingoldsby, "But, Charles, what the deuce are you about? — you don't mean to ride through our lanes in such toggery, as that?" " Lassy me ! " said Miss Julia SimpMnson, " wont you be very wet ? " " You had better take Tom's cab," quoth the squire. But this proposition was at once overruled ; Mrs. Ogleton had already nailed the cab, a vehicle of all others the best adapted for a snug flirtation. " Or drive Miss Julia in the phaeton ? " No ; that was the post of Mr. Peters, who, indifferent as an eques- trian, had acquired some fame as a whip while travel- ling through the midland counties for the firm of Bag- shaw, Snivelby, and Ghrimes. "Thank you, I shall ride with my cousins," said Charles with as much nonchalance as he could assume, — and he did so ; Mr. Ingoldsby, Mrs. Peters, Mr. Simp kinson from Bath, and his eldest daughter with her album, following in the family coach. The gentlemau- ~ commoner " voted the affair d — d slow," and declined the party altogether in favour of the game-keeper and a cigar. " There was ' no fun ' in looking at old houses ! " Mrs. Simpkinson preferred a short sejour in the still- room with Mrs. Botherby, who had promised to initiate FIRST SERIES. 2 26 THE SPECTRE her in that grand arcanum, the transmutation of goobe- beriy jam into Guava jelly. ***** " Did you ever see an old abbey before, Mr Peters 3 " " Yes, miss, a French one ; we have got one at Rams- gate ; he teaches the Miss Joneses to parley-voo, and is turned of sixty." Miss Simpkinson closed her album with an air of ineffable disdain. Mr. SimpMnson from Bath was a professed antiquary, and one of the first water ; he was master of GwiUim's Heraldry, and Milles's History of the Crusades ; knew every plate in the Monasticon ; — had written an essay on the origin and dignity of the office of overseer, and settled the date of a Queen Anne's farthing. An influ- ential member of the Antiquarian Society, to whose " Beauties of Bagnigge Wells " he had been a liberal subsci'iber, procured him a seat at the board of that learned body, since which happy epoch Sylvanus Urban had not a more indefatigable correspondent. His inaugural essay on the President's cocked hat, was con sidered a miracle of erudition ; and his account of the earliest application of gilding to gingerbread, a master piece of antiquarian research. His eldest daughter was of a kindred spuit : if her father's mantle had not fallen upon her, it was ctaly because he had not thrown it oft himself; she had caught hold of its tail, however, while it yet hung upon his honoured shoulders. To souls so congenial what a sight was the magnificent ruin of Bolsover ! its broken arches, its mouldering pinnacles, and the airy tracery of its half-demolished windows. The party weie in raptures; Mr. Simpkinson began tc OF fAPPlNGTON. 21 meditate an essay, and his daughter an ode ; eve» Sea- forth, as he gazed on these lonely reUcs of the older, time, was betrayed into a momentary forgetfulness of his love and losses : the widow's eye-glass turned from her cicisbeo's whiskers to the mantling ivy : Mi's. Peters wiped her spectacles ; and " her P." supposed the cen- tral tower " had once been the county Jail." The squire was a philosopher, and had been there often before ; so he ordered out the cold tongue and chickens. -' Bolsovfer Priory," said Mr. Simpkinson, with the aij of a connoisseur — " Bolsover Priory was founded in the reign of Henry the Sixth, about the bef ' ling of the eleventh century. Hugh de Bolsover haa 'companied that monarch to the Holy Land, in the expedition under- taken by way of penance for the murder of his young nephews in the Tower. Upon the dissolution of the monasteries, the veteran was enfeofl'ed in the lands and manor, to which he gave his own name of Bowlsover, or Bee-owls-over, (by con'uption Bolsover,) — a Bee in chief, over three Owls, all propei', being the armorial ensigns borne by this distinguished crusader at the siege of Acre." " Ah ! that was Sir Sidney Smith," said Mr. Peters ; '■ j.Ve heard tell of him, and all about Mrs. Partington, and—" "P. be quiet, and don't expose yourself!" sharply interrupted his lady. P. was silenced, and betook himself to the bottled stout. " These lands," continued the antiquary, " were held in grand serjeantry by the presentation of three white pwls and a pot of honey — " " Lassy me ! how nice !" said Miss Julia. Mi'. Peter licked his lips. so THE SPECTRE appearance of one of those higli and pointed arches, which that eminent antiquary, Mr. Horsley Curties, has described in his " Ancient Records" as " a Oothic window of the Saxon order ;" — and then the ivy clustered so thickly and so beautifully on the other side, that they went round to look at that ;— and then their proximity deprived it of half its effect, and so they walked across to a little knoll, a hundred yards off, and in crossing a small ravine, they came to what in Ireland they call " a bad step," and Charles had to carry his cousin over it ; — and then, when they had to come back, she would not give him the trouble again for the world, so they followed a better but more circuitous route, and there were hedges and ditches in the way, and stiles to get over, and gates to get through ; so that an hour or more had elapsed before' they were able to rejoin the party. " Lassy me !" said Miss Julia Simpkinson, " how long you have been gone 1" And so they had. The remark was a very just as well as a very natural one. They were gone a long while, and a nice cosey chat they had ; and what do you • think it was all about, my dear miss ? " " O, lassy me ! love, no doubt, and the moon, and eyes, and nightingales, and " Stay, stay, my sweet young lady; do not let the fervour of your feelings run away with you ! I do not pretend to say, indeed, that one or more of these pretty subjects might not have been introduced ; but the most important and leading topic of the conference was — Lieutenant Seaforth's breeches. " Caroline," said Charl js, " I have had some very odd dreams since I have been at Tappington." OF TAFPINGTON. 31 " Drepms, liave you 3" smiled the young lady, arcli- ing her taper neck like a swan in pluming. " Dreams, have you ?" " Ay, dreams, — or dream, perhaps, I should say ; for, though repeated, it was still the same. And what do you imagine was its subject ?" " It is impossible for me to divine," said the tongue ; — " I have not the least difficulty in guessing," said the eye as plainly as ever eye spoke. " I dreamt — of your great grandfather !" There was a change in the glance — "My great grandfather 1" " Yes, the old Sir Giles, or Sir John, you told me about the other day : he walked into my bedroom in his short cloak of murrey-coloured velvet, his long rapier, and his Ealergh-looking hat and feather, just as the picture represents him ; but with one excep- tion." "And what was that?" " Why his lower extremities, which were visible, were — those of a skeleton." "Well." "Well, after taking a turn or two about the room, and looking round him with a wistful air, he came to the bed's foot, stared at me in a manner impossible to describe, — and then he — he Isid hold of my panta- loons; whipped his long bony legs into them in a twinkling; and, strutting up to the glass, seemed to view himself in it with great complacency. I tried to speak, but in vain. The effort, however, seemed tc excite his attention ; for, wheeimg about, he showed me the grimmest-looking death's head' you can well so THE SPECTRE appearance of one of those high and pointed arches, which that eminent antiquary, Mr. Horsley Curties, has described in his " Ancient Records" as " a Gothic window of the Saxon order ;" — and then the ivy clustered so thickly and so beautifully on the other side, that they went round to look at that ; — and then their proximity deprived it of half its effect, and so they walked across to a little knoll, a hundred yards off, and in crossing a small ravine, they came to what in Ireland they call " a bad step," and Charles had to carry his cousin over it ; — and then, when they had to come back, she would not give him the trouble again for the world, so they followed a better but more circuitous route, and there ■were hedges and ditches in the way, and stiles to get over, and gates to get through ; so that an hour or more had elapsed before' they were able to rejoin the party. " Lassy me !" said Miss Julia Simpkinson, " how long you have been gone !" And so they had. The remark was a very just as well as a very natural one. They were gone a long while, and a nice cosey chat they had ; and what do you - think it was all about, my dear miss ? " " 0, lassy me ! love, no doubt, and the moon, and eyes, and nightingales, and —— " Stay, stay, my sweet young lady; do not let the fervour of your feelings run away with you ! I do not pretend to say, indeed, that one or more of these pretty subjects might not have been introduced ; but the most important and leading topic of the conference was — Lieutenant Seaforth's breeches. " Caroline," said Charl js, " I have had some very odd dreams since I have been at Tappington." OF TAPPINOTON. 31 " Drepms, tave you ?" siailed the young lady, arch- ing her taper neck like a swan in pluming. " Dreams, have you ?" " Ay, di'eams, — or dream, perhaps, I should say ; for, though repeated, it was still the same. And what do you imagine was its subject ?" " It is impossible for me to divine," said the tongue ; — " I have not the least difficulty in guessing," said the eye as plainly as ever eye spoke. "I dreamt — of your great grandfather !" There was a change in the glance — "My great grandfather !" " Yes, the old Sir Giles, or Sir John, you told me about the other day : he walked into my bedroom in his short cloak of murrey-coloured velvet, his long rapier, and his Raleigh-looking hat and feather, just as the picture represents him ; but with one excep- tion." "And what was that?" " Why his lower extremities, which were visible, were — those of a skeleton." " Well." " Well, after taking a turn or two about the room, and looking round him with a wistfid air, he came to the bed's foot, stared at me in a manner impossible to describe, — and then he — he laid hold of my panta- loons ; whipped his long bony legs into them in a twinkling; and, strutting up to the glass, seemed to view himself in it with great complacency. I tried to speak, but in vain. The effort, however, seemed tG excite his attention ; for, wheeling about, he showed me the grimmest-looking death's head' you can well 32 THE SPECTRB imagine, and with an indescribable grin strutted out of the room." " Absurd ! Charles. How can you talk such non- sense ?" " But, Caroline, — the breeches are really gone." ***** On the following morning, contrary to his usual custom, Seaforth was the first pci-son in the break- fast parlour. As no one else was present, he did precisely what nine young men out of ten so situated would have done ; he walked up to the mantel-piece, established himself upon the rug, and subducting his soat-tails one under each arm, turned towards the fire that portion of the human frame which it is con- sidered equally indecorous to present to a friend or an enemy. A serious, not to say anxious, expression was visible upon his good-humoured countenance, and his mouth was fast buttoning itself up for an incipient whistle, when little Flo, a tiny spaniel of the Blenheim breed, — the pet object of Miss Julia Simpkinson's afiec- tions, — bounced out from beneath a sofa, and began to bark at — his pantaloons. They were cleverly " built," of a light grey mixture, a broad stripe of the most vivid scarlet traversing each seam in a perpendicular direction from hip to ankle, — in short, the regimental costume of the Royal Bombay Fencibles. The animal, educated in the country, had never seen such a pair of breeches in her life — Omne ignotumpro magnifico ! The scarlet streak, inflamed as it was by the reflection of the fire, seemed to act on Mora's nerves as the same colour does on those of bulls and turkeys ; she advanced at the^o^ de charge, and hei -c OK TAPPINGTON. 3Z vociferation, lite her amazement, ^as unbounded. A sound tick from the disgusted officer changed its cha- racter, and induced a retreat at the very moment when the mistress of the pugnacious quadruped entered to the rescue. "Lossy me! Flo! what is the matter?" cried the sympathising lad/, with a scrutinizing glance levelled at the gentleman. It might as well have lighted on a feather bed. — His air of imperturbable unconsciousness defied ex- amination; and as he would not, and Flora could not, expound, that injured individual was compelled to pocket up her wrongs. Others of the household soon dropped in, and clustered round the board dedicated to the most sociable of meals ; the urn was paraded "hissing hot," and the cups which "cheer, but not inebriate," steamed redolent of hyson and pekoe ; muffins and marmalade, newspapers and Finnan bad- dies, left httle room for observation on the character of Charles's warlike " turn-out." At length a look from Caroline, followed by a smile that nearly ripened to a titter, caused him to turn abruptly and address nis neighbour. It was Miss Simpkinson, who, deeply engaged in sipping her tea and turning over her album, seemed, like a female Chronohotonthologos, " immersed in cogibundity of cogitation." An intereogatory on the subject of her studies drew from her the confession that she was at that moment employed in putting the finish- ing touches to a poem inspiied by the romantic shades of Bolsover. The entreaties of the company were of course urgent. Mr. Peters, "who liked verses," was specially persevering, and Sappho at length compliant 2* 34 THE SPECTEE After a preparatory hem ! and a glance at the mirroi to ascertain that her look was sufficiently sentimental the poetess began : — ** There is a calm, a holy feeling, Vulgfar minds can never know. O'er the bosom softly stealing, — Cbasten'd grief, delicious woe j Oh ! how sweet at eve regaining Yon lone tower's sequester'd shade- Sadly mute and uncomplaining " — Yow ! — yeough ! — yeough ! — yow ! — yow ! yelled a hapless sufferer from beneath the table. — It was an unluciy hour for quadrupeds ; and if " every dog will have his day," he could not have selected a more unpro- pitious one than this. Mrs. Ogleton, too, had a pet, — a favourite pug, — whose squab figure, black muzzle, and tortuosity of tail, that curled like a head of celery in a salad-bowl, bespoke his Dutch extraction. Yow ! yow ! yow ! continued the brute, — a chorus in which Flo instantly joined. Sooth to say, pug had more reason to express his dissatisfaction than was given him by the muse of Simpkinson ; the other only barked for company. Scarcely had the poetess got through her fii-st stanza, when Jom Ingoldsby, in the enthusiasm of the moment, became so lost to the material world, that, in his abstraction, he unwarily laid his hand on the cock of the urn. Quivering with emotion, he gave it such an unlucky twist, that the full stream of its scalding contents descended on the gingerbread hide jf the unlucky Cupid. — ^The confusion was complete ; — the whole economy of the table disarranged; — the Tompany broke up in most admired disorder ; — anc? OP TAPPINGTON, 35 "Vulgar minds will never know" anything morf> of Miss Pimpkinson's ode till ttey peruse it in some forthcoming AnnTial. Seaforth profited by tlie confusion to take the delin- quent who had caused this " stramash " by the arm, and to lead him to the lawn, where he had a word or two foi his private ear. The conference between the young geiitlemen was neither brief in its duration nor unim- portant in its result. The subject was what the lawyers call tripartite, embracing the information that Charles Staforth was over head and ears in love with Tom Ingoldsby's sister ; secondly, that the lady had referred him to " papa " for his sanction ; thij'dly, and lastly, his nightly visitations, and consequent bereavement. At ihe two first items Tom smiled auspiciously ; — at the last he burst out into an absolute " guffaw." " Steal your breeches ! — Miss Bailey over again, by Jove," shouted Ingoldsby. " But a gentleman, you say, —and Sir Giles too. — I am not sure, Charles, whether I ought not to call you out for aspersing the honour of the family ! " "Laugh as you will, Tom, — be as incredulous as /ou please. One fact is incontestable, — the breeches are gone ! Look here — I am reduced to my regi- mentals ; and if these go, to-morrow I must borrow of y >u ! " Rochefoucault says, there is something in the misfor- tunes of our very best friends that does not displease us ; — assuredly we can, most of us, laugh at their peuy inconveniences, till 'called upon to supjily them, Tom composed his feat.m-es on the instant, and replied with more gravity, as well as with an expletive, which, if mv 36 THE SPBCTRE Lord Mayor had been within hearing, might have cost him five shillings. " There is something very queer in this, after all. The clothes, you say, have positively disappeared. Some- body is playing you a trick ; and, ten to one, your ser- vant has a hand in it. By the way, I heard something yesterday of his kicking up a bobbery in the kitchen, and seeing a ghost, or something of that kind, himself. Depend upon it, Barney is m the plot ! " It now struck the Lieutenant at once, that the usually buoyant spirits of his attendant had of late been mate- rially sobered down, his loquacity obviously circum- scribed, and that he, the said Lieutenant, had actually rung his bell three several times that veiy morning before he could procure his attendance. Mr. Maguire was forthwith summoned, and underwent a close exami- nation. The " bobbeiy " was easily explained. Mr. Oliver Dobbs had hinted his disapprobation of a flirta- tion can-ying on between the gentleman from Munster and the lady from the Rue St. Honore. Mademoiselle had boxed Mr. Maguire's ears, and Mr. Maguii-e had pulled Mademoiselle upon his knee, and the lady had not cried Mon Dieu ! And Mr. Ohver Dobbs said it was very wrong ; and Mrs. Botherby said it was " scan- dalous," and what ought not to be done in any moral kitchen ; — and Mr. Maguire had got hold of the Ho- nourable Augustus Sucklethumbkin's powder-flask, and had put large pinches of the best double Dartford into Mr. Dobbs's tobacco-box ; — and Mr. Dobbs's pipe had exploded, and set fire to Mrs. Botherby's Sunday cap ; — and Mr. Maguire had put it out with the slop- basin, '• barring the wig ;" — and then they were all so OF TAPPINGTOIT. 3i •* cantanterous," that Baraey had gone to take a wall in the garden ; and then — then Mr. Barney had seen ghost ! ! "A what ? you hlockhead ! " asted Tom Ingoldshy. " Sure then, and it's meself will tell your honour tha rights of it," said the Ghost-seer. " Meself and Miss Pauline, sir, — or Miss Pauhne and meself, for the ladies come firs''; anyhow, — we got tired of the hohstToppylous skrimmaging among the ould jervants, that didn't know a joke when they seen one : and we went out to look at the comet, that's the rory-bory-alehouse, they calls him in this country, — and we walked upon the lawn, — and divil of any alehouse there was there at all ; and Miss Pauline said it was because of the shrubbery may- be, and why wouldn't we see it better beyonst the trees ? — and so we went to the trees, but sorrow a comet did meself see there, barring a big Ghost instead of it." "A ghost? And what sort of a ghost, Barney ? " " Och, then, divil a lie I'll tell your honour. A tall ould gentleman he was, all in white, with a shovel on the shoulder of him, and a big torch in his fist, — though what he wanted with that it's meself can't tell, for his eyes were hke gig-lamps, let alone the moon and the comet, which wasn't there at all; — and 'Barney,' says he to me, — 'cause why he knew me, — ' Barney,' says he, ' what is it you're doing with the colleen there, Barney ? ' — Divil a word did I say. Miss Pauline screeched, and cried murther in French, and ran off with herself ; and of course meself was in a mighty hurry after the lady, and had no time to stop palavering with him any way ; BO I dispersed at once, and the Ghost vanished in ft Qame of fire ! " 38 THE SPECTRE Mr; Maguire's account was received with avowed incredulity by both gentlemen ; but Barney stuck to his text with unflinching pertinacity. A reference to Ma- demoiselle was suggested, but abandoned, as neither party had a taste for delicate investigations. " I'll tell you what, Seaforth," said Ingoldsby, after Barney had received his dismissal, " that there is a trick here, is evident ; and Barney's vision may possibly be a part of it. Whether he is most knave or fool, you best know. At all events, I will sit up with you to- night, and see if I can convert my ancestor into a visit- ing acquaintance. Meanwhile your finger on your lip!" ***** "'Tw93 now the very witching time of night, When churchyards yawn, and graves give up their dead." Gladly would I grace my tale with decent horror, and therefore I do beseech the " gerltle reader " to beheve, that if all the succedanea to this mysterious narrative are not in strict keeping, he will ascribe it only to the disgraceful innovations of modern degeneracy upon the sober and dignified habits of our ancestors. I can introduce him, it is true, into an old and high-roofed cha'uber, it§ walls covered on three sides with black oak wamscotting, adorned with carvings of fruit and flowers long anterior to those of Grinling Gibbons ; the fourth side is clothed with a curious remnant of dingy tapestry, once elucidatory of some Scriptural history, but ot which not even Mrs. Botherby could determine. Mr. Simpkinson, who had examined it carefully, inclined tc believe the principal figure to be either Bathsheba. oi Daniel in the lions' den ; while Tom Ingoldsby decided OF TAPPINGTON. 39 in favour of tlie King of Bashan. All, lio-wtfver, was ooujecture, tradition being silent on the subject. — A lofty arched portal led into, and a little arched portal led out of, this apartment ; they were opposite each other, and each possessed the security of massy bolts on its interior. The bedstead, too, was not one of yesterday, but manifestly coeval with days ere Seddons was, and when a good four-post "article" was deemed worthy of bemg a royal bequest. The bed itself, with all the appurtenances of paUiasse, mattresses, &c., was of far later date, and looked most incongruously comfortable ; the casements, too, with their little diamond-shaped panes and iron binding, had given way to the modern heterodoxy of the sash-window. Nor was this all that conspired to ruin the costume, and render the room a meet haunt for such " mixed spirits " only as could con- descend to don at the same time an Elizabethan doublet and Bond-street inexpressibles. With their green morocco slippers on a modem fender, m front of a disgracefully modern grate, sat two young gentlemen, clad in " shawl-pattern " dressing gowns and black silk stocks, much at variance with the high, cane-backed chairs which supported them. A bunch of abomination called a cigar, reeked in the left- hand corner of the mouth of one, and in the right-hand corner of the mouth of the other ; — an arrangement happily adapted for the escape of the noxious fumes up the chimney, without that unmerciful " funking " each other, which a less scientific disposition of the weed would have induced. A small pembroke table filled up the intervening space between them' sustaining, at each extremity, an elbow and a glass of toddy ; — thus in 40 THE SPECTRE " lonely pensive contemplation " were the two worthies occupied, when the " iron tongue of midnight had tolled twelve." " Ghost-time's come ! " said Ingoldsby, taking from nis waistcoat ppcket a watch like a gold half-crown, and consulting it as though he suspected the tuiTet-clock over the stables of mendacity. " Hush ! " said Charles ; " did I not hear a footstep ? " There was a pause : — there was a footstep — it sounded distinctly — it reached the door — ^it hesitated, stopped, and — passed on. Tom darted across the room, threw open the door, and became aware of Mrs. Botherby toddling to her chamber at the other end of the gallery, after dosing one of the housemaids with an approved julep from the Countess of Kent's " Choice Manual." " Good night, sir ! " said Mrs. Botherby. " Go to the d — ^1 ! '! said the disappointed ghost- hunter. An hour — two — rolled on, and still no spectral visita- tion ; nor did aught intervene to make night hideous ; and when the turret-clock sounded at length the hour of three, Ingoldsby, whose patience and grog were alike exhausted, sprang from his chair, saying — " This is all infernal nonsense, my good fellow. Deuce of any ghost shall we see to-night ; it's long past the canonical hour. I'm off to bed ; and as to your breeches, I'll insure them for the next twenty-four hours at least, at the price of the buckram." " Certainly. — Oh ! thank'ee ; — to be sure ! " stam- mered Charles, rousing himself from a reverie, which had degenerated into an absolute snooze. OF TAPPINGTON. 41 " Good night, my boy ! Bolt the door behind me • and defy the Pope, the Devil, and the Pretender ! — " Seaforth followed his friend's advice, and the next morning came down to breakfast dressed in the habili- ments of the preceding day. The charm was broken, the demon defeated ; the light greys with the red stripe down the seams were yet in rerum naturd, and adorned the person^ of their lawful proprietor. Tom felicitated himself and his partner of the watch on the result of their vigilance ; but there is a rustic adage, which warns us against self-gratulation before we are quite "out of the wood." — Seaforth was yet within its verge. ***** A rap at Tom Ingoldsby's door the following morn- ing startled him as he was shaving : — he out his chin. " Come in, and be d — d to you 1 " said the martyr, pressing his thumb on the scarified epidermis. — The door opened, and exhibited Mr. Barney Maguire. " Well, Barney, what is it ? " quoth the sufierer, adopting the vernacular of his visitant. " The master, sir " " Well, what does he want ? " " The loanst of a breeches, plase your honour." " Why, you don't mean to tell me — By Heaven, this is too good ! " shouted Tom, bursting into a fit of uncon- trollable laughter. " Why, Barney, you don't mean to say the ghost has got them again ? " Mr. Maguire did not respond to the young squire's risibility; the cast of his countenance was decidedly serious. " Faith, then, it's gone they are, sure enough 1 Hasn i 42 THE SPECTRE meself been looting over the bed, and u'lidet the bed, and in the bed, for the matter of that, and divil a ha'p'orth of breeches is there to the fore at all : — I'm bothered entirely ! " " Hark'ee ! Mr. Barney," said Tom, incautiously removing his thumb, and letting a crimson stream " incarnadine the multitudinous " lather that plastered his throat, — " this may be all very well with your master, but you don't humbug me, sir : — tell me in- stantly what have you done with the clothes ?" This abrupt transition from " lively to severe " cer- tainly took Maguire by surprise, and he seemed for an instant as much disconcerted as it is possible to disconcert an Irish gentleman's gentleman. " Me ? is it meself, then, that 's the Ghost to your honour's thinking ? " said he, after a moment's pause, and with a slight shade of indignation in his tones : " is it I would stale the master's things, — and what would I do with them ? " " That you best know : — what your purpose is I can't guess, for I don't think you mean to ' stale ' them, as you call it ; but that you are concerned in their disappearance, I am satisfied. Confound this blood ! — give me a towel, Barney." Maguire acquitted himself of the commission. "As I've a sowl, your honour," said he solemnly, " little it is meself knows of the matter ; and after what I seen " " What you've seen ? Why, what have you seen 1 — Barney, I don't want to inquire into your flirtations ; but don't suppose you can palm oflF your saucer eyes and gig-lamps upon me ! " OF TAPPINGTOJT, 43 " Then, as sure as your honour 's standing there I 8HW him : and why wouldn't I, when Miss Pauline was to the fore as well as meself, and " " Get along with your nonsense, — leave the room, sir!" " But the master ? " said Barney, imploringly ; " and without a breeches ? — sure he'll be catching cowld ! — " " Take that, rascal ! " replied Ingoldsby, throwing a pair of pantaloons at, rather than to, him ; " but don't suppose, sir, you shall carry on your tricks here with impunity ; recollect there is such a thing as a treadmill, and that my father is a county magis- trate." Barney's eye flashed fire, — ^he stood erect, and was about to speak ; but, mastering himself, not without an efibrt, he took up the garment, and left the room as perpendicular as a Quaker. ***** " Ingoldsby," said Charles Seaforth, after breakfast, " this is now past a joke ; to-day is the last of my stay ; fcr, notwithstanding the ties which detain me, common decency obliges me to visit home after so long an absence. I shall come to an immediate explanation with your father on the subject nearest my heart, and depart while I have .a change -of dress left. On his answer will my return depend ! in the meantime tell me candidly, — I ask it in all seriousness, and as a friend, — am I not a dupe to your well-known propen- sity to hoaxing ? have you not a hand in " " No, by Heaven ! Seaforth ; I see what you mean : on my honom-, I am as mmh mystified as yourself; and if your servant " • ii THE SPECTRE " Not he : — if there be a trick, lie at least is not privy to it." "If there be a trick? Why, Charles, do you think " " I know not what to think, Tom. As surely as you are a living man, so. surely did that spectral anatomy visit my room again last night, grin in my face, and walk away with my trousers ; nor was I able to spring from my bed, or break the chain which seemed to bind me to my pillow." " Seaforth ! " said Ingoldsby, after a short pause, " I will — but hush ! here are the girls and my father. — I -n-irl cany off the females, and leave you a clear field with the Governor : carry your point with him, and we will talk about your breeches after- wards." Tom's diversion was successful ; he carried off the ladies en masse to look at a remarkable specimen of the class Dodecandria Monogynia, — which they could not find ; — while Seaforth marched boldly up to ' the encounter, and carried " the Governor's " outworks by a coup de main. I shall not stop to describe the progress of the attack ; suffice it that it was as success- ful as could have been wished, and that Seaforth was referred back again to the lady. The happy lover was off at a tangent ; the botanical party was soon over- taken ; and the arm of Caroline, whom a vain endea- vour to spell out the Linnaean name of a daffy-down- dilly had detained a little in the rear of the others, vat Boon firmly looked in his own. " What was the world to them, Iti noise, its nonsense, and its ' breeches' eU V* OF TAPPINGTOIT. ■ 48 Seaforth was in the seventh heaven ; he relireu to his room that night as happy as if no such thing as a goblin had ever been heard of, and personal chattels were as well fenced in by law as real property. Not so Tom Ingoldsby : the mystery — for mystery there evidently was, — had not only piqued his curiosity, but luffled his temper. The watch of the previous night had been unsuccessful, probably because it was ■mdisguised. To-night he would " ensconce himself," — ^not indeed " behind the arras," — ^for the little that remained was, as we have seen, nailed to the wall, — but in a small closet which opened from one corner of the loom, and, by leaving the door ajar, would give to its occupant a view of all that might pass in the apartment. Here did the young Ghost-hunter take up a position, with a good stout sapling . under his arm, a fUii half-hour before Seaforth retired for the night. Kot even his friend did he let into his con- fidence, fuu'y determined that if his plan did not succeed, the failure should be attiibuted to himself alone. At the -usual hour of separation for the night, Tom saw, from his concealment, the Lieutenant enter his room, and, after taking a few turns in it, with an expression so joyous as to betoken that his thoughts were mainly occupied by his approaching happiness, proceed slowly to disrobe himself The coat, the waistcoat, the black silk stock, were gradually dis- carded ; the green morocco slippers were kicked oif, and th«n — ay, and then — his countenance grew grave ; it seemed to occm- to him all at once that this was his last stake,-— nay, that the very breeches h.f •16 , THE SPECTRE had on were not his own, — ^that to-moriow morning was his last, and that if h6 lost them A glance showed that his mind was made up ; he replaced the single button he had just subducted, and threw him- self upon the bed in a state of transition, — ^half chrysalis, half-grub. Wearily did Tom Ingoldsby watch the sleeper by the flickering light of the night-lamp, till the clock, striking one, induced him to increase the narrow opening which he had left for the purpose of -observation. The motion, slight as it was, seemed to attract Charles's attention ; for he raised himself suddenly to a sitting posture, listened for a moment, and then stood upright upon the floor. Ingoldsby was on the point of discovering himr self, when, the light flashing full upon his friend's countenance, he perceived that, though his eyes were open, " their sense was shut," — that he was yet under the influence of sleep. Seaforth advanced slowly to the toilet, lit his candle at the lamp that stood on it, then, going back to the bed's foot, appeared to search eagerly for something which he could not find. For a few mo- ments he seemed restless and uneasy, walking round the apartment and examining the chairs, till, coming fully in front of a large swing-glass that flanked the dressing- table, he paused, as if contemplating his figure in it. He now returned towards the bed ; put on his slippers, and, with cautious and stealthy steps, proceeded towards the littte arched doorway that opened on the private staircase. As he drew the bolt, Tom Ingoldsby emerged from his hiding-place ; but the sleep-walker heard him not , he proceeded softly down stairs, followed at a due di» OF TAPPINOTON. 47 tance by liis friend; opened the door which led out upon the gardens ; and stood at once among the thick- est of the shrubs, which there clustered round the base of a corner turret, and screened the postern from comr mon observation. At this moment Ingoldsby had nearly spoiled all by making a false «tep : the sound attracted Seaforth's attention, — he paused and turned ; and, as the full moon shed her light directly upon his pale and troubled features, Tom marked, almost with dismay, the fixed and rayless appearance of his eyes : — " There was no speculation in those orbs That he did glare withal." riie perfect stillness preserved by his follower seemed to '•eassure him ; he turned -aside; and fi-om the midst of a thickset laurustinus, drew forth a gardener's spade, shouldering which he proceeded with greater rapidity mto the midst of the shrubbery. Arrived at a certain point where t) e earth seemed to have been recently dis- turbed, he set himself heartily to the task of digging, till, haying thrown up several shovelfuls of mould, he stopped, flung down his tool, and very composedly began to disencumber himself of his pantaloons. Up to this moment _Tom had watched him with a wary eye ; he now advanced cautiously, and, as his friend was busily engaged in disentangling himself from his garment, made himself master of the spade. Sea- forth, meanwhile, had accomphshed his purpose : he stood for a moment with " His streamers waving in the wind," occupied in carefully rolling up the small-clothes into as 48 THE SPECTRE compact a form as possible, and all heedless of the breath of heaven, which might certainly be supposed, at such a moment, and in such a plight, to " visit his frame too roughly." : — He was in the act of stooping low to deposit the pantaloons in the grave which he had been digging for them, when Tom Ingoldsby came close behind him, and with the flat side of the spade ***** The shock was effectual ; — never again was Lieu- tenant Seaforth known to act the part of a somnam- bulist. One by one, his breeches, — ^his trousers, — his pantaloons, — his silk-net tights, — his patent cords, — his showy greys with the broad red stripe of the Bombay Fencibles, were brought to fight,— rescued from the grave in which they had been buried 'like the strata -of a Christmas pie ; and, after having been well aired by MJ's. Botherby, became once again effective. The family, the ladies especially, i 'ughed ; — the Peterses laughed ;^the Simpkinsons laughed ; — Barney Maguire cried " Botheration 1 " and Ma'mseUe Pauline, "MonBieu/" Charles Seaforth, unable to face the quizzing which awaited him on all sides, started off two hours earlier than he had proposed : — he soon returned, however and having, at his father-in-law's request, given up the occupation of Rajah-hunting and shooting nabobs, led his blushing bride to the altar. Mr. Simpkinson from Bath did not attend the cere- mony, being engaged at the Grand Junction Meeting of Scavans, then congregating from all parts of the known world in the city of Dublin. His essay, dem;mstrating OF TAPPINGTON. 49 that the globe is a great custard, whipped into coagula- tion by whirlwinds, and. cooked by electricity, — a little too much baked in the Isle of Portland, and a thought underdone about the Bog of Allan, — was highly spoken of, and narrowly escaped obtaining a Bridgewater prize. Miss Simpkinson and her sister acted as brides- maids on the occasion ; the former wrote an epithala- -'num, and the latter cried " Lassy me ! " at the clergy- man's wig. Some years have since rolled on ; the union has been crowned with two or three tidy little oflF- shoots from the family tree, of whom Master If eddy is " grand-papa's darling," and Mary- Anne mamma's par- ticular " Sock." I shall only add, that Mr. and Mre. Seaforth are living together quite as happily as two good-hearted, good-tempered bodies, very fond of each other, can possibly do : and that, since the day of his marriage, Charles has shown no disposition to jump out of bed, or ramble out of doors o' nights, — though, from his entire devotion to every wish and whim of his young wife, Tom insinuates that the fair Caroline does still occasionally take advantage of it so far as to " slip on the Breeches." It was not till some years after the events just recorded, that Miss Mary-Anne, the " Pet Sock " before alluded to, was made acquainted with the following piece of family biography. It was communicated to her in strict confidence by Nurse Botherby, a maiden niece of the old lady's, then recently promoted from the ranks in the FIRST SERIES. R 50 THE SPECTRE Or TAFPINGTON. still-room to be second in command in the Nwsery department. The story is connected with a dingy wizen-faced por trait in an oval frame, generally known by the name of " Uncle Stephen," though from the style of his cut-velvet it is evident that some generations must have passed away since any living being could have stocxl towards him in that degree of consanguinity. THE N URSE'S STORY. THE HAND OF GLORY. "Malpfica qusBdam auguriathx in AngliEl fuit, quam demooes borhbilitei 4ztraxeTU]it| et imponentes super equum terribilem, per aera Tapuerunt . Clamoresque terribilea (ut ferunt) per quatuor ferin^ miliaria audiebautur.** Nwremb. Chrtm On the lone bleak moor, At the midnight hour. Beneath the Gallows Tree, Hand in hand The Murderers stapd By one, by two, by three I And the Moon that night With a grey, cold light Each baleful object tips ; One half of her form , "is seen through the storm. The other half's hid in Eclipse. And the cold Wind howls, And the Thunder growls. And the Lightning is broad and bright; And altogether It's very bad weather, And an unpleasant sort of a night I "Now mount who list. And close by the wrist Sever me quickly the Dead Man's fist I— 62 THE NURSES STORY. Sow climb who dare Where he swings in air, And pluck me five locks of the Dead Man's hair I " i» * * us * * There's an old woman dwells upon Tappington Moor, She hath years on her back at the least fourscore, And some people fancy a great many more Her nose it is hook'd, Her back it is crook'd. Her eyes blear and red : On the top of her head Is a mutch, and on that A shocking bad hat, Extinguisher-shaped, the brim narrow and flat I Then, — My Gracious I — ^her beard 1 — ^it would sadly perples A spectator at first to distingtdsh her sex ; Nor, 1 11 venture to say, without scrutiny could he Pronounce her, off-handed, a Punch or a Judy. Did you see her, in short, that mud-hovel within, With her knees to her nose, and her nose to her clu2i. Leering up with that queer, indescribable grin, You'd lift up your hands in amazement, and cry, " — ^WeU 1 — I never did see 'teuch a regular Guy I " And now before That old Woman's door. Where naught that 's good may be, » Hand in hand The Murderers stand By one, by two, by three I Oh I 'tis a horrible sight to view. In that horrible hovel, that horrible crew. By the pale blue glare of that flickering flame, Doing the deed that hath never a name 1 'Tis awful to hear Those words of fear I Tie pray'r mutfcer'd backwards, and said with a sneerl (Matthew Hopkins himself has assured us tliat when A wHtcb RAVfl hftr nrav'rR- ehn bfimnR ■with " ATTieTi_**\— THE HASD OF GLORY. 68 — ^Tis awfol to see On that Old Woman's knee The dead, shriTell'd hand, as she clasps it with glee And now, with care, The five locks of hair From the skull of the Gentleman dangling up there^ With the grease and the fat Of a black Tom Oat Bhe hastens to mix. And to twist into wicks, And one on the thumb, and each finger to Ss.— (For another receipt the same charm to prepare^ Consult Mr. Ainsworth and Petit Albert.) " Now open lock To the Dead Man's knock I Fly bolt, and bar, and band I — Nor move, nor swerve Joint, muscle, or nerve, At the spell of the Dead Man's hand ! Sleep aU who sleep ! — Wake all who wake I — And be as the Dead for the Dead Man's sake 1 1 " Ml is silent I all is still. Save the ceaseless moan of the bubbling rill As it wells from the bosom of Tappington Hill ; And in Tappington Hall Great and Small, Gentle and Simple, Squire and Groom, Each one hath sought his separate room. And sleep her dark mantle hath o'er them casl^ For the midnight hour hath long been past ! ' All is darksome in earth and sky. Save, from yon casement; narrow and high, A quivering beam On the tiny stream Plays, like some taper's fitful gleam By one that is watching wearily. 54 THE nurse's STOKT. Within that casement, narrow and high. In his secret lair, where none may spy, Sits one whose brow is wrinkled with care, And the thin grey locks of his failing hair Have left his little bald pate all bare ; For his full-bottom'd wig Hangs, bushy and big, On the top of his old-fashion'd, high-back'd elteir. Tlnbraeed are his clothes, TJngarter'd his hose. His gown is bedizened with tulip and rose. Flowers of remarkable size and hue, Flowers such as Eden never knew ; — ^And there, by many a sparkling heap Of the good red gold, The tale is told What powerful spell avails to keep That care-worn man from his needful sleep 1 Haply, he deems no eye can see As he gloats on his treasure greedily, — The shining store Of glittering ore, The fair Rose-Noble, the bright Moidore, And the broad Double Joe from ayont the sea, — But there's one that watches as well as he ; For, wakeful and sly, In a closet hard by, On his truckle-bed lieth a little Foot-page, A boy who's uncommonly sharp of his age. Like young Master HornSr, Who erst in a corner , Sat eating his Christmas pie : And, while that Old Gentleman's counting his hoardii, litUe Hugh peeps through a crack in the boards! * « * * * There's a voice in the air. There's a step on the stair. The old man starts In his cane-back'd ohair; THE HAND OF GLORY. W <'■ At the first faint sound He gazes around. And holds up his dip of sixteen to the pound. Then half arose From beside his toes His little pug-dog with his little pug nose, But, ere he ean vent one inquisitive sniflF, That little pug-dog stands stark and stiff, For low, yet clear, Now fall on the ear, — ^Where once pronounced for ever they dwell,— The unholy words of the Dead Man's spell I " Open lock To the Dead Man's knock ! Fly bolti and bar, and bandl Nor move, nor swerve Joint, muscle, or nerve. At the spell of the Dead Man's hand I Sleep all who sleep 1 — ^Wake all who wake I — But be as the Dead for the Dead Man's sake 1 1 " Now lock, nor bolt, nor bar avails. Nor stout oak panel thick-studded with nails. Heavy and harsh the hinges creak. Though they had been oil'd in the course of the week ; The door opens wide as wide may be. And there they stand. That murderous band, Let by the light of that Glorious Hand, • By one ! — by two I — ^by three I " They have pasp'd through the porch, they have pass' thi'<">gh .. the hall. Where the Porter sat snoring against the wall ; The very snore froze In his very snub nose, Tou'd have verily deem'd he had snored his last When the Glokious Hand by the side of him past I 66 THB nurse's story. E'en the litUe wee mouse, as it ran o'er the mat At the t^p of its speed to escape from the cat, Though half dead with affright^ Paused in its flight; And the cat, that was chasing that little wee thing Lay croueh'd as a statue in act to spring 1 And now they are there, On the head of the stair, And the long crooked whittle is gleaming and barel — ^I really don't think any money would bribe Me the horrible scene that ensued to describe Or the wUd, wild glare Of that old man's eye. His dumb despair. And deep agony. The kid from the pen, and the lamb from the fold. Unmoved may the blade of the butcher behold ; They dream not — ah, happier they ! — ^that the kuifa^ Though uplifted, can menace their innocent life ; It falls ; — the frail thread of their being is riven, They dread not, suspect not, the blow till 'tis given.— But, oh 1 what a thing 'tis to see and to know That the bare knife is raised in the hand of the foe> Without hope to repel, or to ward off the blow! — — ^Enough I — ^let's pass over as fast as we can The fate of that grey, that unhappy old man I But fancy poor Hugh, Aghast at the view. Powerless alike to speak or to do 1 In vain doth he try To open the eye That is shut, or close that which is elapt to the clunk, Though he'd give all the world to be able to wink I— Ko I — ^for all that this world can give or refuse, I would not be now in that little boy's shoes, Or indeed any garment at all 1-hat is Hugh's 1 THE HAND OF QLOBY. 51 — "Tis lucky for him that the chink in the wall Ho has pecp'd through eo long, ia so narrow and small ! Wailing Toioes, sounds of woe, Such as follow departing friends, That fatal night round Tappington go, Its long-drawn roofs and its gable ends : Ethereal Spirits, gentle and good. Aye weep and lament o'er a deed of blood I ***** "lis early dawn — the morn is grey, And the clouds and the tempest have pass'd away, And all things betoken a very fine day ; But, while the lark her carol is singing, Shrieks and screams are through Tappington ringing I Upstarting all. Great and small. Each one who's found within Tappington Hall, Gentle and Simple, Squire or Groom, All seek at once that old Gentleman's room ; And there, on the floor, Drench'd in its gore, A ghastly corpse lies exposed to the view, Carotid and jugular both cut through 1 And there,. by its side, 'Jlid the crimson tide, Kneels a little Foot-page of tenderest years ; Adown his pale cheek the fast-falling tears Are coursing each other round and big. And he's staunching the blood with a fuU-bottom'd wig Alas I and alack for his staunching! — ^'tis plain. As anatomists tell us, that never again Shall life revisit the foully slain, Wlien once they've been cut through the jugular vein. ***** Ehere's a hue and a cry through the County of Kent, And in chase of the cut-throats a Constable's sent, But no one can tell the man which wav they went 3* 58 THE nuese's story. There's a little Foot-page with that Constable goes, And a little pug-dog with a little pug-nose. * » * » • In Rochester town At the sign of the Crown, Three eliahby-genteel men are just sitting down To a fat stubble-goose, with potatoes down brown ; When a little Foot-page Rushes in, in a rage, Upsetting the apple-sauee, onions, and sage. That little Foot-pag« talses the first by the throat. And a little pug-dog takes the next by the coat, And a Constable seizes the one more remote ; And fair rose-nobles and broad moidores. The W.-iitor pulls out of their pockets by scores. And the Boots and the Chambermaids rnn in and stare ; And the Constable says, with a dignified air, " You're wanted, Gen'lemen, one and all, For that 'ere precious lark at Tappington Hall I" There's a black gibbet frowns upon Tappington Moor, Where a former black gibbet has frown'd before ; It is as black as black may be. And murderers there Are dangling in au-, By one I — ^by two I — ^by three I There's a horrid old hag in a steeple-orown'd hat, Round her neck they have tied to a hempen cravat A Dead Man's hand, and a dead Tom Cat 1 They have tied up her thumbs, they have tied up her toes. They have tied up her eyes, they have tied up her limbs ! Into Tappington mill-dam souse she goes With a whoop and a halloo 1 — " She swims ! — She swims !" They have drs^g'd her to land. And every one's hand, Is grasping a faggot, a billet, or brand. THE HAND OF GLORY. 59 When a queer-looking horseman, drest all in black, Snatches up that old harridan just like a sack To the crupper behind him, puts spurs'to his hack, Makes a dash through the crowd, and is off in a crack i— Ifo one can tell. Though they guess pretty well. Which way that grim rider and old woman go, For all see he's a sort of infernal Ducrow ; And she soream'd so, and cried, We may fairly decide That the old woman did not much relish her riJc I MORAI.. This truest of stories confirms beyond doubt That' truest of adages — " Murder will out I" In vain may the blood-spiller "double" and fly In vain even witchcraft and sorcery try : Although for a time he may 'scape, by-acd-by He'll be eure to be caught by a Hugh and s Crf . One marvel follows another as naturally as one " shoulder of mutton " is said " to drive another down." A little Welsh girl, who sometimes makes her way from the kitchen into the nursery, after listening with intense interest to this tale, immediately started off at score with the sum and substance of what, in due reverence foi such authority, I shall call — PATTY MOKGAJSr THE MILKMAID'S STORl "LOOK AT THE CLOCKl" * Look at the dock !" quoth "Winifred Pryoe, As she opea'd the door to her husband's knock, Then paua'd to give him a piece of advice, " Tou nasty Warmint^ look at the Clock I Is this the way, yo^ Wretch, every day you Treat her who voVd to love and obey you ?— Out all night I Me in a fright ; Staggering home as it's just getting light 1 Tou intoxified brute I — you insensible block 1 — Look at the Clock! — ^Dol — ^Look at the Clock!" ■Winifred Pryee was tidy and clean. Her gown was a flower'd one, her petticoat green. Her buckles were bright as her milking cans, And her hat was a beaver, and made like a man's ; Her little red eyes were deep set in their socket-holea, Her gown-tail was turn'd up, and tucked through the pocket holes ; A f&fie like a ferret Betoken'd her spirit : To conclude, Mrs. Pryoe was not over young. Had very short legs, and a very long tongue. 62 PATTY MORGAN THE MILKMAId's STORT. ITow David Pryoe Had one dariing yiee ; Remarkably partial to anything nice, Kought that was good to him came amieS) Whether to eat, or to drink, or to kiss I Especially ale — If it was not too staie I really believe he'd have emptied a paU ; U"ot that in Wales They talk of tlieir Ales ; To pronounce the word they make use ol ii^^ght trouble yon. Being spelt with a 0, two Rs, and a W. That particular day, As I've heard people say, Mr. David Pryce had been soaking his clay. And amusing himself with his pipe and cheroots, The whole afternoon at the Goat-in-Boots, With a couple more soakers. Thoroughbred smokers, Both, like himself, prime singers and jokers ; And, long after day had drawn to a close. And the rest of the world was wrapp'd in repose, They were roaring out " Shenkin 1" and " Ar hydd y nos ;" WhUe David himself, to a Sassenach tune. Sang, " We've drunk down the Sun, boys I let's drink down tht Moon! What have we with day to do 1 Mrs. Winifred Pryce, 'twas made for you 1" — At length, wben they couldn't well drink any more, Old "Goat-in-Boots" showed them the door: And then came that knock. And the sensible shock David felt when his wife cried, "Look at the dock!" For the hands stood as crooked as crooked might be. The long at the Twelve, and the short at the Three I That self-same clock had long been a bone Of contention between this Darby and Joan ; " LOOK AT THE CLOCK." 63 And often, among their pother and ront, When this otherwise amiable couple fell out, Pryoe would drop a cool hint With an ominous s({uint At its case, of an " Uncle " of his, who 'd a "Spout" That horrid word "Spout" No sooner came out, Than Winifred Pryoe would turn her about. And with scorn on her lip. And a hand on each hip, " Spout " herself till her nose grew red at the tip, " You thundering Willin, I know you'd be killing Your wife — ay, a dozen of wives, — for a shilling I You may do what you please. You may sell my chemise, (Mrs. P. was too well bred to mention her stedt,) J y^ But I never will part with my 6randmothei''s Clock 1 * Mrs. Pryce's tongue ran long and ran fast ; But patience is apt to wear out at last. And David Pi-yoe in temper was quick. So he stretch'd out his hand, and caught hold of a stick Perhaps in its use he might mean to be lenient^ But walking just then wasn't very convenient, So he threw it, instead. Direct at her head ; It knoek'd off her hat ; Down she fell flat ; Her case, perhaps, was not much mended by that But whatever it was, — ^whether rage and pain Produced apoplexy, or burst a vein, . Or her tumble induced a concussion of brain, I can't say for certain, — ^but this I can, When, sober'd by frighf^ to assist her ho ran, Mrs. Winifred Pryce was as dead as Queen Anne S4 PATTY MORGAN TBjS MILKMAID S STORY. The fearful catastrophe Named in my last strophe As atding to grim Death's exploits such a vast trophy, Made a great noise ; and the shooldDg fatality Ran over, like wUd-fire, the whole Principality. And then came Mr. Ap Thomas, the Coroner, With his jury to sit, some dozen or more, on her. Mr. Ptjce to commence His " ingenious defence," Made a "powerful appeal" to the jury's "good sense," "The world he must defy Even to justify Any presumption of 'Malice Prepense ;' " — The unlucky lick From the end of his stick He " deplored," — ^he was " apt to be rather too quick '— . But, really, her prating Was so aggravating : Some trifling correction was just what he meant ; — all The rest, he assured them, was " quite accidental I " Then he calls Mr. Jones, Who depones to her tones. And her gestures, and hints about " breaking his bouet" While Mr. Ap Morgan and Mr. Ap Rhys Declared the Deceased Had styled him " a Beast," And swear they had witness'd, with grief and surprise. The allusions she made to his limbs and his eyes. The jury, in fine, having sat on the body The whole day, discussing the case, and gin toddy, ' i fieturn'd about half-past eleven at night The following verdict, " We find, Sarve lier right I " Mr. Pryee, Mrs. Winifred Pryce being dead. Felt lonely, and moped ; and one evening he said He would marry Miss Davis at once in her stead. •' LOOK AT TliE CLOCK." 65 Not far from his dwelling, From the vale proudly swelling, Rose a mountain ; its name you'll excuse me from telling; For the vowels made use of in Welsh are so few That the A and the E, the I, 0, and the U, Have really but little or nothing to do ; And the duty, of course, falls the heavier by far On the L, and the H, and the N, and the E. Its first syllable "Pen," Is pronounceable ; — then Come two L Ls, and two H Hs, two F Fs, and an N ; About half a score Es, and some Ws follow. Beating all my best efforts at euphony hollow: But we shan't have to mention it often, so when We do, with your leave, we'll curtail it to " Pen." Well — ^the moon shone bright Upon "Pen" that night. When Pryce, being quit of his fuss and his fright, Was sealing its side With that sort of a stride A man puts on when walking in search of a bride, Mounting higher and higher, Hfl" began to perspire. Till, finding his legs were beginning to tire. And feeling opprest By a pain in his chest. He paus'd, and turn'd round to take breath, and to rest A walk all up hiU is apt, we know. To make one, however robust, puff and blow. So he stopp'd and look'd down on the valley below. O'er fell, and o'er fen, Over mountain and glen. All bright in the moonshine, his eye roved, and then All the Patriot rose in his soul, and he thought Vpou Wales, and her glories, and all he 'd been taught 66 PATIT MOKGAN THE MIIKMAID's STOBT. Of her Heroes of old. So brave and so bold, — Of her Bards with long beards, and harps mounted ia gold J Of King Edward the First; Ojf memory accurst ; And the scandalous manner in which he behaved. Killing Poets by dozens, With their uncles and cousins, Of whom not one in fifty had ever been shaved. — Of the Court Ball, at which by a lucky mishap, Owen Tudor fell into Queen Katherine's lap ; And how Mr. Tudor Successfully woo'd her, Till the Dowager put on a new wedding ring, And so made him Father-in law to the King. He thought upon Arthur, and Merlin of yor^ On Gryffith ap Conan, and Owen Glendour ; On Pendragon, and Heaven knows how many more. He thought of all this, as he gazed, in a trice. And on all things, in short, but the late Mrs. Pryce ; When a lumbering noise from behind made him star^ And isent the blood back in full tide to his heart. Which went pit-a-pat As he cried out "What's that?" That very queer soimd ? Does it come from the ground f Or the air, — from above, — or below, — or around I — It is not like Talking, It is not like Walking, tt 'b not like the clattering of pot or of pan, Or the tramp of a horse, — or the tread of a man, — Or the hum of a crowd, — or the shouting of boys,— - It 's really a deuced odd sort of noise 1 ffot unlike a cart's, — but that can't be ; for when Could " all the King's horses and all the King's men," With Old Nick for a waggoner, drive one np " Pen }" "look at clock." 67 Pryoe, usually brimful of valour when drunk, Now experienced what schoolboys denominate " fank." In Tain he look'd back On the whole of the track He had ti-aversed ; a thick cloud, uncommonly black, At this moment obsom'ed the broad disc of the moon. And did not seem likely to pass away soon ; While clearer and dearer, 'Twas plain to the hearer, Be the noise what it might, it drew nearer and nearer. And sounded, as Pryoe to this moment declares, Very much "like a Goflin a-walldng up stairs." Mr. Pryee had begun To "make up" for a run, As in such a companion he saw no great fun. When a single bright ray Shone out on the way He had passed, and he saw, with no little dismay. Coming after him, bounding o'er crag and o'er rock, T}ie deceased Mrs. Winifred's " Grandmother's Clock 1 1" Twas so 1 — it had certainly moved from its place. And come, lumbering on thus, to hold him in chase ; Twas the very same Head, and the very same Case, And nothing was altered at all — but the Face I In that he perceived, with no little surprise, The two little winder-holes turned into eyes Blazing with ire, Like two coals of fire ; 4Jid the " Name of the Maker" was changed to a Lip, And the Hands to a Nose with a very red tip. No ! — he could not mistake it, — 'twas She to the life I Ihe identical face of his poor defunct Wife I One glance was enoiigh. Completely " Quant. Suff." As the doctors write down when they send you their " stuff,"— Uke a Weathev-cock whirled by a vehement pufF, fiS PATir MORGAN THE MILKMAIDS STOBI. David tamed himself round ; Ten feet of ground He clear'd, in his start, at the rery first bound 1 I Ve seen people run at West-End Fair for cheeses — I Ve seen Ladies run at Bow Fair for chemises- - At Greenwich Fair twenty men run for a hat, And one from a Bailiff much faster than that — At foot-ball I 've seen lads run after the bladder — I 've seen Irish Bricklayers runup a ladder — I 've seen little boys run away from a cane — And I 've seen (that is, read of) good running in Spain,* But I never did read Of, or witness, such speed As David exerted that evening — ^Indeed All I ever have heard of boys, women, or men. Falls far short of Pryce, as he ran over " Pen I " He now reaches its brow, — He has past it, — and now 'Having once gained the summit, and managed to cross it, he Rolls down the side with uncommon velocity ; But, run as he wUl, Or roll down the hiU, That bugbear beliind him is after him still 1 And close at his heels, not at all to his liking. The terrible clock keeps on ticking and striking, Till, exhausted and sore. He can't run any more, But falls as he reaches Miss Davis's door, And screams when they rush out, alarm'd at his knock, " Oh I Look at the Clock I— Do !— Look at the Clock 1 1 " Miss Davis look'd up. Miss Davis look'd down, She saw nothing there to alarm her ; — a frown * T-mn. j« a town said to have been so named from soinethiu^ of tlu lort. " LOOK AT THE CLOCK." 69 Came o'er her white forehead, She said, " It -was horrid A man should come knookiag at that time of nighty And give her Mamma and herself such a fright ; — To squall and to bawl About nothing at all I" — She begg'd " he'd not think of repeating his call, His late wife's disaster By no means had past her," She 'd "have him to know she was meat for his Masterl" Then regardless alike of his love and his woes, She turn'd on her heel and she turned up her nose. Poor David in vain Implored to remain, He " dared not," he said, " cross the mountain again." Why the fair was obdurate None knows, — to be sure, it Was said she was setting her cap at the Curate ; — Be that as it may, it is certain the sole hole Pryce found to creep into that night was the Coal-hol^ 1 In that shady retreat With nothing to eat, And with very bruised limbs, and with very sore feei^ All night close he kept ; I can't say he slept ; But he sigh'd, and he sobb'd, and he groan A, and he wept Lamenting his sins, And his two broken shin^ BewaDing his fate with contortions and grins, And her he once thought a complete Jtara Avix. Consigning to Satan, — viz. cruel Miss Davis I Mr. David has since had a " serious call," He never drinks ale, wine, or spirits, at all. And they say he is going to Exeter Hall To make a grand speech, And to preach and to teach TO PATTY MOEGAN THE MILKMATd's STORF. People that " they can't brew their malt Uqnor too small 1" That an ancient "Welsh Poet, one Pinbae ap Tudob, Was right, in proclaiming "Abibton men .Udok!" Which means " The pure Element Is for Man's belly meant 1" And that Oin 's but a Snare of Old Nick the deluder 1 And " still on each evening when pleasure fills up," At the old Goat-in-Boots, -with Metheglin, each cup, Mr. Pryce, if he 'e there, Will get into "The Chair," And make all his quondapi associates stare By calling aloud to the Landlady's daughter, " Patty, bring a cigar, and a glass of Spring Water t" The dial he constantly watches ; and when The long hand 's at the "XII," and the short at the " X," He gets on his legs, .Drains his glass to the dregs, ^ ~ Takes his hat and great-coat off their several pegs, - With his President's hammer bestows his last knock, And says solemnly — " Gentlemen ! "Look at the Clook 1 1 1" The succeeding Legend has long been<.an established favourite with all of us, as containing much of the personal history of * one of the greatest ornaments of the family tree. To the wedding between the sole heiress of this redoubted hero and a direct ancestor is it owing that the Lioncels of Shurland hang so lovingly parallel with the Saltire of the Ingoldsbys, and now form as cherished a quartering in their escutcheon as the " dozen white lowses '' in the " old coat " of Shallow. GREY DOLPHIN. A LEGEND OF SHEPPET. ' JBtE won't — won't be ? Then bring me my boots !" said thu Baron. Consternation was at its height in the castle of Shur- land — a caitiff had dared to disobey the Baron ! and — the Baron had called for his boots ! A thunderbolt in the great hall had been a bagatelle to it. A few days before, a notable miracle had been wrought in the neighbourhood; and in those times miracles were not so common as they are now ; — no royal balloons, no steam, no railroads, — while the few Saints who took the trouble to walk with their heads under their arms, or to pull the Devil by the nose, scarcely appeared above once in a century ; so the affair made the greater sensation. The clock had done striking twelve, and the Clerk of Chatham was unti-ussing his points preparatory to seek- ing his truckle-bed ; a half-emptied tankard of mild ale stood at his elbow, the roasted crab yet floating on its surface. Midnight had surprisfd the worthy function ary while occupied in discussing it, and with his task ' yet unaccomplished. He meditatP'l a mighty draft : one 72 GREY DOLPHIN. hand was fumbling with his tags, while the other was extended in the act of grasping the jorum, when a knock on the portal, solemn and sonorous, arrested his fingers. It was repeated thrice ere Emmanuel Saddleton had presence of mind suflScient to inquiw who sought admit- tance at that untimeous hour. "Open! open! good Clerk of St.' Bridget's," said a female v.oice, small, yet distinct and sweet, — an excel- lent thing in woman. The Clerk arose, crossed to the doorway, and undid the latchet. On the threshold stood a Lady of surpassing beauty : her robes were rich, and large, and full ; and a diadem, sparkling with gems that shed a halo around, crowned her brow : she beckoned the Clerk as he stood in asto- nishment before her. " Emmanuel ! " said the Lady ; and her tones sounded like those of a silver flute. " Emmanuel Saddleton, truss up your points, and fo\low me ! " The worthy Clerk stared aghast at the vision ; the purple robe, the cymar, the coronet, — above all, the smile ; no, there was no mistaking her ; — ^it was the blessed St. Bridget herself! And what could have brought the sainted lady out of her warm shrine at such a time of night ? and on such a night? for it was as dark as pitch, and, meta- phorically speaking, " rained cats and dogs." Emmanuel could not speak, so he looked the ques- tion. " No matter for that," said the Saint, answering to his thought. '- No matter for that, Emmanuel Saddleton : only follow me, and you'll see ! " A LESEND OF SHEPPB7. 73 The Cleric turned a wistful eye at the cornei^cup- board. " Oh ! never mind the lantern, Emmanuel : you'll not want it : but you may bring a mattock and a shovel." As she spoke, the beautiful apparition held up her deli- cate hand. From the tip of each of her long taper fingers issued a lambent flame of such surpassing bril- liancy as would have plunged a whole gas company into despair — it was a " Hand of Glory," * such a one as tradition tells us yet burns in Rochester Castle ever] St. Mark's Eve. Many are the daring individual', whc have watched in Gundulph's Tower, hoping to find it, and the treasurfc k guards ;^but none of them ever did. " This way, Emmanuel ! " and a flame of peculiar radiance streamed from her little finger as it pointed to the pathway leading to the churchyard. Saddleton shouldered his tools, and followed in silence. The cemetery of St. Bridget's was some half-mile distant from the Clerk's domicile, and adjoined a chapel dedicated to that illustrious lady, who, after leading but a so-so life, had died in the odour of sanctity. Em- manuel Saddleton was fat and scant of breath, the mattock was heavy, and the Saint walked too fast for him : he paused to take a second wind at the end of the first furlong. " Emmanuel," said the holy lady, good-humouredly, for she heard him pufiBng ; " rest awhile, Emmanuel, and I'll tell you what I want with you." • One of the uses to which this mystic chandelier was put, was the pro- tection of secret treasure. Blow out all the fingers at one puflF and you had *he money. EIRBT SERIES. 4 74 GRET DOLPHIN. Her auditor wiped his brow with the back of his hand, and looked all attention and obedience. "Emmanuel," continued she, "what did you and Father Fothergill, and the rest of you, mean yesterday by burying that drowned man so close to me? He died in mortal sin, Emmanuel ; no shrift, no unction, no absolution : why, he might as well have been excom- municated. He plagues me with his grinning, and I can't have any peace in my shrine. You must howk him up again, Emmanugl." " To be sure, madam, — my lady, — that is, your holi- ness," stammered Saddleton, trembling at the thought of the task assigned him. " To be sui-e, your ladyship ; only — that is — " " Emmanuel," said the Saint, " you'll do my bidding ; or it would be better you had ! " and her eye changed from a dove's eye" to that of a hawk, and a flash came from it as bright as the one from her little finger. The Clerk shook in his shoes ; and, again dashing the cold perspii-ation from his brow, followed the footsteps of his mysterious guide. ***** The next morning all Chatham was in an uproar. The Clerk of St. Bridget's had found himself at home at daybreak, seated in his own arm-chair, the fire out, and— the tankard of ale out too ! Who had drunk it ? — where had he been ? — ^how had he got home ? — all was a mystery ! — he remembered " a mass of things, bu* nothing distinctly." All was fog and fantasy. What he could clearly recollect was, that he had dug up the Grinning Sailor, and that the Saint had helped to throw him into the river again. All was thenceforth wonde"" A LEGEND OF SHEPPET. 7S ment and devotion. Masses were sung, tapers were kin died, bells were toUed ; the monks of St. Eomauld had a solemn procession,* the abbot at their head, the sacristan at their tail, and the holy breeches of St. Thomas a Becket in the centre ; — Father Fothergill brewed a XXX puncheon of holy-water. The Rood of Gilling- ham was deserted ; the chapel of Rainham forsaken ; every one who had a soul to be saved, flocked with his offering to St. Bridget's shrine, and Emmanuel Saddle- ton gathered more fees from the promiscuous piety of that one week than he had pocketed during the twelve . preceding months. Meanwhile the corpse of the ejected reprobate oscil- lated like a pendulum between Sheerness and Gilling- ham Reach. Now borne by the Medway into the Wfestem Swale, — now cai-ried by the refluent tide back to the vicinity of its old quartei-s, — it seemed as though the River god and Neptune were amusing themselves with a game of subaqueous battledore, and had chosen this unfortunate carcass as a marine shuttlecock. For some time the alternation was kept up with gi-eat spirit, till Boreas, interfering in the shape of a stiflBsh " Nor'- wester," drifted the bone (and flesh) of contention ashore on the Shurland domain," where it lay in all the majesty of mud. It was soon discovered by the retain- ers, and dragged from its oozy bed, grinning worse than ever. Tidings of the god-send were of course carried instantly to the castle ; for the Baron was a very great man ; and if a dun cow had flown across his property unannounced by the warder, the Baron would have kicked him, the said warder, from the topmost battle- lUfiut into the bottommost ditcli, — .a descent of peril, 76 QRET DOLPHIN. and one wliich " Ludwig the leaper," or the illustrious Trenck himself, might well have shrunk from encoun- tering. " A^n't please your lordship — " said Peter Periwinkle. " No, villain ! it does not please me !" roared the Baron. His lordship was deeply engaged with a peck of Feversham oysters, — he doated on shellfish, hated inter- raption at meals, and had not yet despatched more than twenty dozen of the " natives." "'I'here's a body, my lord, washed ashore in the lower creek," said the Seneschal. 1'he Baron was going to throw the shells at his head ; but paused in the act, andxsaid with much dignity, — " Turn out the fellow's pockets !" But the defunct had before been subjected to the double scrutiny of Father Fothergill, and the Clerk of St. Bridget's. It was ill gleaning after such hands; there was not a single maravedi. We have already said that Sir Robert de Shurland, Lord of the Isle of Sheppey, and of many a fair manor on the main-land, was a man of worship. He had rights of freewarren, saccage and sockage, cuisage and jambage, fosse and fork, infang theofe and outfang theofe : and all waifs and strays belonged to him in fee simple. " Turn out his pockets ! " said the Knight. "An't please you, my lord, I must say as how they was turned out afore, and the devil a rap's left." " Then bury the blackguard ! " '' Please your lordship, he has been buried pnce." "Then bury him again, and be !" Tlie Baron bestowed a benediction. A LEGEND OP SHEPPET. 77 The^enesclial bowed low as he left the room, and the Baron went on with his oysters. Scarcely ten dozen more had vanished when Peri winkle reappeared. "An't please you, my lord, Father Fothergill says as how that it's the Grinning Sailor, and he won't bury him anyhow." " Oh ! he won't — won't he ? " said the Baron. Can it be wondered at that he called for his boots ? Sir Robert Shurland, Lord of Shurland and Minster, Baron of Sheppey in comitatu Kent, was, as has been before hinted, a very great man. He was also a very little man ; that is, he was relatively great, and rela- tively little, — or physically little, and metaphorically great, — like Sir Sidney Smith and the late Mr. Bona- parte. To the frame of a dwarf he united the soul of a giant, and the valour of a gamecock. Then, for so small a man, his strength was prodigious ; his fist would fell an ox, and his kick — oh ! his kick was tremendous, and, when he had his boots on, would, — to use an expression of his own, which he had picked up in the holy wars, — would " send a man from Jericho to J une." He was bull-necked and bandy-legged ; bis chest was broad and deep, his head large and uncommonly thick, his eyes a little blood-shot, and his nose retrousse with a remarkably red tip. Strictly speaking, the Baron could not be called handsome : but his tout ensemile was singularly impressive : and when he called for his boots, everybody trembled and dreaded the woist. " Periwinkle," said the Baron, as he encased his better .eg, " let the grave be twenty feet deep ! " " Your lordship's command is law." 79 GRBZ DOLPHIN. - " And, Periwinkle," — Sir Robert stamped Ms left heel into its receptacle, — " and, Periwinkle, see that it be wide enough to hold not exceeding two ! " " Ye — ye — ^yes, my lord." "And, Periwinkle, tell Father Fothergill I would fain speak with his Reverence." " Ye — ye — yes, my lord." The Barifa's beard was peaked ; and his mustaches, stiff' and stumpy, projected horizontally like those of a Tom Cat ; he twirled the one, he stroked the other, he drew the buckle of his surcingle a thought tighter, and strode down the great staircase three steps at a stride. The vassals were assembled in the great hall of Shur- land Castle ; every cheek was pale, every tongue was mute : expectation and perplexity were visible on eveiy brow. What would his lordship do ? — ^Were the recu- sant anybody else, gyves to the heels and hemp to the throat were but too good for him : — but it was Father Fothergill who had said " I won't ; " and though the Baron was a very great man, the Pope was a greater, and the pope was Father Fothergill's great friend — some people said he was his uncle. Father Fothergill was busy in the refectory trying conclusions with a venison pasty, when he received the summons of his patron to attend him in the chapel cemetery. Of course he lost no time in obeying it, for obedience was the general rule in Shurland Castle. If , any body ever said " I won't," it was the exception ; and, like all other exceptions, only proved the rule the stronger. The Father was a friar of the Augustine pei'- suasion ; a brotherhood which, having been planted in Kent some few centuries earher^ had taken very kindly A LEGEND OF SBEPPET. 79 to tte soil, and overspread the county mucli as hops did Bome few centuries later. He was plump and portly, a little thick-winded, especially after dinner, — stood five feet four in his sandals, and weighed hard upon eighteen stone. He was moreover a personage of singular piety ; and the iron girdle which, he said, he wore under his cassock to mortify withal, might have been well mistaken for the tire of a cart-wheel. — When he arrived, Sii- Robert was pacing up and down by the side of a newly opened grave. " Benedicite ! fair son," — (the Baron was as brown as a cigar,) — " Benedicite ! " said the Chaplain. The Baron was too angry to stand upon compliment. — " Bury me that grinning caitiff there ! " quoth he, pointing to the defunct. " It may not be, fair son," said the Friar ; " he hath perished without absolurton." " Bury the body ! " roared Sir Robert. " Water and earth alike reject him," returned the Chaplain ; " holy St. Bridget herself " " Bridget me no Bridgets ! — do me thine office quickly, Sir Shaveling; or, by the Piper that played before Moses ! " The oath was a fearful one ; and whenever the Baron swore to do mischief, he was never known to peijure himself. He was playing with the hilt of his sword. — " Do me thine office, I say. Give him his passport to Heaven ! " . " He is already gone to hell ! " stammered the Friar. " Then do you go after him ! " thundered the Lord »f Shurland. His sword half leaped from its scabbard. No ! — the trenchant blade, that had cut Suleiman Ben Malek Ben 80 GEET DOLPHIN. Buckskin from helmet to ctine, disdainea to daub itsell with the cerebellum of a miserable monk ; — it leaped back again ; — and as the Chaplain, scared at -its flash, turned him in terror, the Baron gave him a kick ! — one kick ! — it was but one ! — but such a one ! Despite its obesity, up flew his holy body in an angle of forty five degrees ; then, having reached its highest point ol elevation, sunk headlong into the open grave thai yawned Ho receive it. If the reverend gentleman haa possessed such a thing as a neck, he had infallibly broken it ; as he did not, he only dislocated his verte- brae, — but that did quite as well. He was as dead as ditch-water ! " In with the other rascal ! " said the Baron, — and he was obeyed ; for there he stood in his boots. Mat- tock and shovel made short work of it ; twenty feet of superincumbent mould pressed'down alike the saint and the sinner. , " Now sing a requiem who list ! " said the Baron, and his lordship Went back to his oysters. The vassals at Castle Shurland were astounded, or, as the Seneschal Hugh better expressed it, " perfectly con- glomerated," by this event. What ! murder a monk in the odour of sanctity, — and on consecrated gi'ound too ! ■ — They trembled for the health of the Baron's soul. To the unsophisticated many it seemed that matters could not have been much worse had he shot a bishop's coach-horse ; — all looked for some signal judgment. The melancholy catastrophe of their neighbours at Can- terbury was yet rife in their memories : not two centuries had elapsed since those miserable sinners had cut off the tail of the blessed St. Thomas's mule. The tail of the mule, it was well known, had been forthwith affixed tc A LEOEND OF SHEPPBY. 81 ihat of the mayor ; and rumour said it had since been hereditary in the corporation. The least that could be expected was, that Sir Robert should have a friar tacked on to his for th^term of his natural life ! Some bolder spirits there were, 'tis true, who viewed the matter in various lights, according to their different temperaments and dispositions ; for perfect unanimity existed not even in the good old times. The verderer, roistering Rob Roebuck, swore roundly " 'Twere as good a deed as eat to kick down the chapel as well as the monk." — Hob had stood there in a white sheet for kissing Giles Miller's daughter. On the other hand, Simpkin Agnew, the bell-ringer, doubted if the devil's cellar, which runs under the bottomless abyss, were quite deep enough for the delinquent, and speculated on the probability of a hole being dug in it for his especial accommodation. The philosophers and economists thought, with Saunders McBuUock, the Baron's bagpiper, that " a feckless monk more or less was nae gi'eat subject for a clamjamphry," especially as " the supply considerably exceeded the- demand ;" while Malthouse, the tapster, was arguing to Dame Martin that a murder now and then was a season- able check to population, without which the Isle of Sheppey would in time be devoured, 'like a mouldy cheese, by inhabitants of its own producing. — Mean- while, the Baron ate his oysters and thought no more of the matter. But this tranquillity of his lordship was not to last. A couple of Saints had been seriously offended ; and we have all of us read at school that celestial minds are by no means insensible to the provocations of anger. There were those who expected that St. ^Bridget would 4* 82 GREY DOLPHIN. come m person, and have the friar up again, as she dia the sailor ; but perhaps her ladyship did not care to trust herself within the walls of Shurland Castle. To say the truth, it was scarcely a decent hguse for a female Saint to be seen in. The Baron's gallantries, since he became a widower, had been but too notorious ; and her own reputation was a little blown upon in the earlier days of her earthly pilgrimage : then things were so apt to be misrepresented : in short, she would leave the whole affair to St. Austin, who, being a gentleman, could interfere with propriety, avenge her affront as well as his own, and leave no loop-hole for scandal. St. Austin himself seems to have had his scruples, though their precise nature it would be difficult to determine, for it were idle to suppose him at all. afraid of the Baron's boote. Be this as it may, the mode which he adopted was at once prudent and efficacious. As an ecclesiastic, he could not well call the Baron out, — had his boots been out of the question ; — so he resolved to have recourse to the law. Instead of Shurland Castle, therefore, he repaired forthwith to his own magnificent monastery, situate just without the walls of Canterburyj and presented himself in a vision to its abbot. No one who has ever visited that ancient city, can fail to recol- lect the splendid gateway which terminates the vista of St. Paul's street, and stands there yet in all its pristine beauty. The tiny train of miniature artillery which now adorns its battlements is, it is true, an ornament of a later date ; and is said to have been added some centu- ries after by a learned but jealous proprietor, for the pui-p-se of shooting any wiser man than himself who mig' I chance to come that way. Tradition is silent as A LEGEND OP SHBPPEr. 83 to any discharge having taken place, nor can the oldest inhabitant of modern days recollect any such occur- rence.* Here it was, in a handsome chamber, imme- diately over the lofty archvray, that the Superior of the monasteiy lay buried in a brief slumber snatched fi-om his accustomed vigils. His mitre — for he was a Mitred Abbot, and had a seat in parliament — ^rested on a table beside him ; near it stood a silver flagon of Gascony wine, ready, no doubt, for the pious uses of the morrow. Fast- ing and watching had made him more than usually somnolent, than which nothing could have been better for the purpose of the Saint, who now appeared to him radiant in all the colours of the rainbow. "Anselm!" — said the beatific vision, — "Anselmt are you not a pretty fellow to lie snoring there, when your brethren are being knocked at head, and Mother Church* herself is menaced ! — It is a sin and a shame, Anselm ! " " What's the matter ? — Who are you ? " cried the Abbot, rubbing his eyes, which the celestial splendour of his visitor had set a-winking. " Ave Maria ! St. Austin himself ! — Speak, Beatissime ! what would you with the humblest of your votaries ?" " Anselm !" said the saint, " a brother of our order, whose soul Heaven assoilzie ! hath been foully murdered. He hath been ignominiously kicked to the death, Anselm ; and there he lieth cheek-by-jowl with a wretched carcass, which our sister Bridget has turned out of her cemetery for unseemly grinning. — Arouse thee, Anselm ! " * Since tho appearance of the flrst edition of tills Legend " the guna " lure been dismounted. Ramour liiuts at some alarm on the part of th* Town Gomicil. 84 GREY DOLPHIN.- " Ay, SO please you, Sanctissime /" said the Abbot ' " I will order forthwith that thirty masses be said, thirtj Paters, and thirty Aves!'' " Thirty fools' heads !" interrupted his patron, who was a little peppery. '' I will send for bell, boot, and candle — " "Send for an inkhorn, Anselm. — Write me now a letter to his Holiness the Pope in good round terms, and another to the Coroner, and another to the Sheriff, and seize me the never-enough-to-be anathematised villain who hath done this deed ! Hang him as high as Ham an, Anselm !— up with him ! — down with his dwelling-place, root and branch, hearthstone and roof- tree, — down with it all, and sow the site with salt and sawdust ! " St. Austin, it will be perceived, was a radical reformer. " Marry will I," quoth the Abbot, warming with the Saint's eloquence ; " ay, marry will I, and that instanter. But there is one thing you have forgotten, most Beati- fied — the name of the culprit." " Robei-t de Shurland." " The Lord of Sheppey ! Bless me ! " said the Abbot, crossing himself, " won't tbat be rather incon- venient ? Sir Robert is a bold baron, and a powerful ; ■ — ^blows will come and go, and crown^ will be cracked, and " " "What is that ,to you, since yours will not be of the number ?" " Very true, Beatissime ! — I will don me with speed, and do your bidding." " 1^0 so, Anselm ! — fail not to hang the baron, bum A LEGEND OF SHEPPET. 85 his castJe, confiscate his estate, and buy me two large wax candles for my own particular shrine out of your share of the property." With this solemn injunction the vision began to fade. " One thing more !" cried the Abbot, grasping his rosary. "What is that?" asked the Saint. " Beats Augustine, ora pro nobis /" " Of course I shall," said St. Austin. " Pax vobiscum /" — and Abbot Anselm was left alone. Within an hour all Canterbury was in commotion. A friar had been murdered, — two friars — ten — ^twenty ; a whole convent had been assaulted, — sacked, — ^burnt, — all the monks had been killed, and all the nuns had been kissed ! — Murder ! — fire '.—Sacrilege ! Never was a city in such an uproar. From St. George's gate to St. Dunstan's suburb, from the Donjon to the borough of Staplegate, all was noise and hubbub. " Where was it «"— " When was it ? "— " How was it ?" The mayor caught up his chain, the Aldermen donned their furred gowns, the Town-clerk put on his spectacles. " Who was he ?"— " What was he ? " — " Where was he ?"— he should be hanged, — ^he should be burned, — he should " be broiled, — ^he should be fried, — he should be scraped to death with red-hot oyster shells ! " Who was he 3 " — " What was his name ?" The Abbot's Apparitor drew forth his roll and read aloud : — " Sir Robert de Shurland, Knight banneret, Baron of Shurland and Minster, and Lord of Shep- pey." The Mayor put his chain in his pocket, the Aldermen took off their gowns, the Town-clerk put his pen behind 86 CfRET DOLPHIN. his ear. — It was a county business altogether; — the Sheriff had better call out the posse comiiatus. While saints and sinners were thus leaguing against him, the Baron de Shurland was quietly eating his breakfast. He had passed a tranquil night, undisturbed by dreams of cowl or capuchin ; nor was his appetite more affected than his conscience. On the contrary, he sat rather longer over his meal than usual : luncheon- time came, and he was ready as ever for. his oysters : but scarcely had Dame Martin opened his first half-dozen when the warder's horn was heard from the barbican. ' "Who the devil's that ?" said Sir Robert. " I'm not at home. Periwinkle. I hate to be disturbed at meals, and I won't be at home to anybody." " An't please your lordship," answered the Seneschal, " Paul Prior hath given notice that there is a body " " Another body !" roared the Baron. " Am I to be everlastingly plagued with bodies ? No time allowed me to swallow a morsel. Throw it into the moat !" " " So please you, my lord, it is a body of horse — and — and Paul says there is a still larger body of foot behind it ; and he thinks, my lord, — that is, he does not know, but he thinks — and we all think, my lord, that they are coming to — to besiege the castle !" " Besiege the castle ! Who ? What ? What for ?" " Paul says, my lord, that he can see the banner of St. Austin, and the bleeding heart of Hamo de Creve- coeur, the Abbot's chief vassal ; — and there is John de Northwood, the sheriff, with his red-cross engrailed ; and Hever, and Leybourne, and Heaven knows how many more ; and they are all coming on as fast as ever they can." A LEGEND OF SHEPPET. 87 " Periwinkle," said the Baron, " up with the draw- bridge ; down with the portcullis ; bring me a cup of canary, and my nightcap. I won't be bothered with them. I shall go to bed." " To bed, my lord ?" cried Periwinkle, with a look that seemed to say, " He's crazy !" At this moment the shrill tones of a trumpet were heard to sound thrice from the champaign. It was the signal for parley : the Baron changed his mind ; instead of going to bed he went to the ramparts. " Well, rapscallions ! and what now ! " said the Baron. A herald, two pursuivants, and a trumpeter,- occupied the foreground of the scene ; behind them, some three hundred paces off, upon a rising ground, was drawn up in battle array the main body of the ecclesiastical forces. " Hear yOu, Robert; de Shurland, Knight, Baron of Shurland and Minster, and Lord of Sheppey, and know all men by these presents, that I do hereby attach you, the said Robert, of murder and sacrilege, now, or of late, done and committed by you, the said Robert, contrary to the peace of our Sovereign Lord the King, his crown and dignity : and I do hereby require and charge you the said Robert,--to forthwith surrender and give up your own proper person, toge- ther with the castle of Shm-land aforesaid, in order that the same may be duly dealt with according to law. And here starideth John de North wood. Esquire, good man and true, sheriff of this his Majesty's most loyal county of Kent, to enforce the same, if need be, with his posse eomitatus — " 88 GRET DOLPHIH. " His what 3" said the Baron. " His posse cormtatus, and- " Go to Bath !" said the Baron. A defiance so contemptuous roused the ire of tht adverse commanders. A volley of missiles rattled about the Baron's ears. Nightcaps avail little against contusions. He left the walls, and returned to the great hall. " Let them pelt away," quoth the Baron : " there are no windows to breat, and they can't get in." — So he toot his afternoon nap, and the siege went on. Towards evening his lordship awote, and grew tired of the din. Guy Pearson, too, had got a black eye from a brick-bat, and the assailants were clambering over the outer wall. So the Baron called for his Sunday hau- berk of Milan steel, and his gi-eat two-handed sword . with the terrible name : — ^it was the fashion in feudal times to give names to swords : King Arthur's was christened Excalibar ; the Baron called his Tickletoby, and whenever he took it in hand it was no joke. "Up with the portcullis ! down with the bridge !" said Sir Robert ; and out he sallied, followed by the elite of his retainers. Then there was a pretty to-do. Heads flew one way — arms .and legs another ; round went Tickletoby ; and, wherever it alighted, down came horse and man : the Baron excelled himself that day. All that he had done in Palestine faded in the comparison ; he had fought for fun there, but now it was for life and lands. Away went John de Northwood; away went William of Hever, and Roger of Leybourne. Hamo de Crevecoeur, with the church vassals and the banner of St. Austin, had been gone some time. The siege waf A LB&END OF SHEPPET. 89 raised, and the Lord of Sheppey was left alone in his glory. But, brave as the Baron undoubtedly was, and tota'; as had been the defeat of his enemies, it cannot be sup- posed that La S toccata would be allowed to carry it away thus. It has before been hinted that Abbot An- selm had written to the Pope, and Boniface the Eighth piqued himself on his punctuality as a correspondent in all matters connected with church discipline. He sent back an answer by return of post ; and by it all Chris- tian people were strictly enjoined to aid in exterminat- ing the offender, on pain of the greater excommunica- tion in this world, and a million of yeare of purgatory in the next. But then, again, Boniface the Eighth was rather at a discount in England just then. He had affi'onted Longshants, as the loyal lieges had nicknamed their monarch ; and Longshanks had been rather sharp upon the clergy in consequence. If the Baron de Shur- land could but get the King's pardon for what, in his cooler moments, he admitted to be a peccadillo, he might sniff at the Pope, and bid him " do his devil- most." Fortune, who, as the poet says, delights to favour the bold, stood his friend on this occasion. Edward had been, for some time, , collecting a large force on the coast of Kent, to carry- on his French wars for the recovery of Guienne ; he was expected shortly to review ■ it in person; but, then, the troops lay principally in cantonments about the month of the Thames, and his Majesty was to come down by water. What was to be done? — ^the royal barge was in sight, and John de Northwood and Hamo de Crevecoeur had broken up aU 90 GREY DOLPHIN. the boats to boil their camp-iettles. A truly great mind is never without resoxirces. " Bring me my boots !" said the Baron. They brought him his boots, and his dapple-grey steed along with them. Such a courser ! all blood and bone, short-backed, broad-chested, and, — ^but that he was a little ewe-necked, — ^faultless in form and figure. The Baron sprang upon his back, and dashed at once into the river. The barge which carried Edward Longshanks and his fortunes had by this time nearly reached the Nore ; the stream was broad and the current strong, but Sir Robert and his steed were almost as broad, and a great deal stronger. After breasting the tide gallantly for a couple of miles, the Knight was near enough to hail the steersman. " What have we got here ?" said the King. " It's a mermaid," said one. " It's a grampus," said another. " It's . the devil," said a third. But they were all wrong ; it was only Eobert de Shurland. " Grammercy," quoth the King, " that fellow was never bom to be drowned ! " It has been said before that the Baron had fought in the Holy wars.; in fact, he had accompanied Long- shanks, when only heir apparent, in his expedition twenty-five years before, although his name is unac- countably omitted by Sir Hanis Nicolas in his list of crusaders. He had been present at Acre when Amirand of Joppa stabbed the prince with a poisoned dagger, and had lent Princess Eleanor his own tooth-brush after she had sucked out the venom from the wound. He had slain certain Saracens, conterted himself with his A LEGEND OF SHEPPET. 91 own plunder, and never dunned the commissariat foi arrears of pay. Of course lie ranked high in Edward's good graces, and had I'eceived the honour of knight- hood at his hands on the field of battle. In one so circumstanced it cannot be supposed that such a trifle as the killing of a frowzy friar would be much resented, even had he not taken so bold a mea- sure to obtain his pardon. His petition was granted, of course, as soon as asked ; and so it would have been had the indictment drawn up by the Canterbury town clerk, viz. "That he the said Kobert de Shurland, &c. had then and there, with several, to wit, one thousand pairs of boots, given sundry, to wit, two thousand kicks, and therewith and thereby killed divers, to wit, ten thousand, Austin friars," been true to the letter. Thrice did the gallant grey circumnavigate the barge, while Robert de Winchelsey, the chancellor, and arch- bishop to boot, was making out, albeit with great reluc- tance, the royal pardon. The interval was sufiEciently long to enable His Majesty, who, gracious as he was, had always an eye to business, just to hint that the gra- titude he felt towards the Baron was not unmixed witli a lively sense -of services to come; and that, if life were now spared him, common decency must oblige him to make himself useful. Before the archbishop, who had scalded his fingers with the wax in afiBxing the great seal, had time to take them out of his mouth, all was settled, and the Baron de Shurland had pledged him- self to be forthwith in readiness, cwm suis, to accom- pany his liege lord to Guienne. With the royal pardon secured in his vest, boldly did his lordship turn again to the shore ; and as boldly did 92 • GEBY DOLPHISr. his courser oppose Ms breadth of chest to the stream, It was a work of no common difficulty or danger ; a steed of less " metal and bone " had long since sunk in the effort : as it was, the Baron's boots were full of water, and Grey Dolphin's chamfrain more than once dipped beneath the wave. The convulsive snorts of the noble animal showed his distress ; each instant they became more loud and frequent ; when his hoof touched the strand, and " the horse and his rider " stood once again in safety on the shore. Rapidly dismounting, the Baron was loosening the girths of his demi-pique, to give the panting animal breath, when he was aware of as ugly an old woman as he had ever clapped eyes upon, peeping at him under the horse's belly. " Make much of yom- steed, Robert Shurland ! Make much of your steed ! " cried the hag, shaking at him her long and bony finger. " Groom to the hide and corn to the manger ! He has saved your life, Robert Shurland, for the nonce ; but he shall yet be the means of your losing it, for all that ! " The Baron started : " What's that you say, you old faggot ? " He ran round by his horse's tail ; — the wo- man was gone ! The Baron paused ; his great soul was not to be shaken by trifles ; he looked around him, and solemnly ejaculated the word " Humbug ! " — then slinging the bridle across his arm, walked slowly on in the direction of the castle. The appearance, and still more, the disappearance of the eronCj had however made an impression ; every step he took he became more thoughtful. "'Twould be A LEGEND OF SHEPPET. 93 deuced pioToking though, if he should break my neck after all." He turned,. and gazed at Dolphin with the scrutinizing eye of a veterinary surgeon. " I'll be shot if he is not gi'oggy ! " said the Baron. With his lordship, like another great Commander, " Once to be in doubt, was once to be resolved : " it would never do to go to the wars on a rickety prad. He dropped the rein, drew forth Tickletoby, and as the enfranchised Dolphin, good easy horse, stretched out his ewe-neck to the herbage, struck off his head at a single blow. " There, you lying old beldame ! " said the Baron ; " now take him away to the knacker's." ***** Three years were come and gone. King Edward's French wars were over ; both parties, having fought till they came to a stand-still, shook hands ; and the quarrel, as usual, was patched up by a royal marriage. This happy event gave his Majesty leisure to turn his atten- tion to Scotland, where things, through the intervention of William Wallace, were looking rather queerish. As his reconciliation with Philip now allowed of his fight- ing the Scotch in peace and quietness, the monarch lost no time in marching his long legs across the border, and the short ones of the Baron followed him of course. At Falkirk, Tickletoby was in great request ; and, in the year following, we find a contemporary poet hint- ing at his master's prowess under the walls of Cae^ laverock, ®bec ms fu artfminej 2,1 beau aaobcrt tie SJurlanD 3£lf feant seoft sur le cjebal "Me s mlioit Jome fee someille d4 GREY ^0LPH1^' A quatrain which Mr. Simpkinson translates, " With them was marching The good Robert de Shurland, Who, when seated on horseback, Does not resemble a man asleep 1 " So thoroughly awake, indeed, does he seem to have proved himself, that the bard subsequently exclaims, in an extasy of admiration, Si le estofe une (uceUtte 3e U ioiitfe ctuv et cora CEant est Tse lu ions It rccors. " If I were a young maiden, I would give my heart and person. So great is his fame I" Fortunately the poet was a tough old monk of Exeter ; since such a present to a nobleman, now in his grand climacteric, would hardly have been worth the carriage. With the reduction of this stronghold of the Maxwells seem to have concluded the Baron's military services ; as on the very first day of the fourteenth century we find him once more landed on ,his native shore, and marching, with such of his retainers as the wars had left him, towards the hospitable shelter of Shurland Castle. It was then, upon that very beach, some hun- dred yards distant from high -water mark, that his eye fell upon something like an ugly old woman in a red cloak ! She was seated on what seemed to be a large stone, in an interesting attitude, with her elbows resting upon her knees, and her chin upon her thumbs. The Baron started : the remembrance of his interview with a similar personage in the same place, some three A LEGEND OF 8HBPPET. 95 years since, flashed upon his recollection. He rushed towards the spot, but the form was gone; — ^nothing remained but the seat it had appeared to occupy. This, on examination, turned out to be no stone, but the whitened skull of a dead horse ! — A tender remem- brance of the deceased Grey Dolphin shot a momentary pang into the Baron's bosom ; he drew the back of his hand across his face ; the .thought of the hag's predic- tion in an instant rose, and banished all softer emotions. In utter contempt of his own weakness, yet with a tremour that deprived his redoubtable kick of half its wonted force, he spurned the relic with his foot. One word alone issued from his lips, elucidatory of what was passing in his mind, — ^it long remained imprinted on the memory of his faithful followers, — that word was " Gammon ! " The skull bounded across the beach till it reached the very margin of the stream ; — one instant more and it would be engulfed for ever. At that moment a loud " Ha ! ha ! ha ! " was distinctly heard by the whole train to issue fi-om its bleached and toothless jaws : it sank beneath the flood in a horse laugh ! Meanwhile Sir Robert de Shurland felt an odd sort of sensation in his right foot. His boots had suffered in the wars. ' Great pains had been taken for their preser- vation. They had been " soled" and " heeled" more than once; — ^had they been " goloshed," their owner might have defied Fate! Well has it been said that " there is no such thing as a trifle." A nobleman's life depended upon a question of ninepence ! The Baron marched on ; the uneasiness in his foot increased. He plucked ofi' his boot ; — a horse's tooth was sticking in his great toe t 06 " GREY DOLPHIN. The result may be anticipated. Lame as lie was, his lordsbip, with characteristic decision, would hobble on to Shurland ; his walk increased the inflammation ; a flagon of aqua vitce did not mend matters. He was in a high fever ; he took to his bed. Next morning the toe presented the appearance of a Bedfordshire carrot ; by dinner-time it had deepened to beet-root ; and when Bargrave, the leech, at last sHced it off, the gangrene was too confirmed to admit of remedy. Dame Martin thought it high time to send for Miss Margaret, who, ever since her mother's death, had been living with her maternal aunt, the abbess, in the Ursuline convent at Greenwich. The young lady came, and with her came one Master Ingoldsby, her cousin-german by the mother's side ; but the Baron was too far gone -in the dead- thaw to recognise either. He died as he lived, uncon- quered and unconquerable. His last words were — " Tell the old hag she may go to — -, — ." Whither remains a secret. He expired without fully articulating the place of her destination. But who and what was the crone who prophesied the catastrophe ? Ay, " that is the mystery of this won- derful histoiy." — Some say it was Dame Fothergill, the late confessor's mamma; others, St. Bridget herself; others thought it was nobody at all, but only a phantom conjured up by conscience. As we do not know, we decline giving an opinion. And what became of the Clerk of Chatham ? — Mr. Simpkinson avers that he lived to a good old age, and was a!t last hanged by Jack Cade, with his inkhom about his neck, for " setting boys copies." In support of this he adduces his name " Emmanuel," and refera to A LEGEND OF SHBPPKT. 97 the liistoriaa Shatspeare. Mr. Peters, on the contrary, considers this to be what he calls one of Mr. Simpkin- son's " Anacreonisms," inasmuch as, at the introduction of Mr. Cade's reform measure, the Clerk, if alive, would have been hard upon two hundred years old. The probabiKty is, that the unfortunate alluded to was his gi-eat-grand son. Margaret Shurland in due course became Margaret Ingoldsby, her portrait still hangs in the gallery at Tap- pington. The features are handsome, but shrewish, be- traying, as it were, a touch of the old Baron's tempera- ment ; but we never could learn that she actually kicked her husband. She brought him a very pretty fortune in chains, owches, and Saracen ear-rings ; the barony, being a male fief, reverted to the Crown. In the abbey-church at Minster may yet be seen the tomb of a recumbent^^arrior, clad in the chain-mail of the 13th century.* His hands, are clasped in prayer ; his legs, crossed in that position so prized by Templars in ancient, and tailors in modem, days, bespeak- him a soldier of the faith in Palestine. Close behind his dex- ter calf lies sculptured in bold relief a horse's head ; and a respectable elderly lady, as she shews the monu- ment, fails not to read her auditors a fine moral lesson on the sin of ingratitude, or to claim a sympathising tear to the memory of poor " Grey Dolphin !" * Subsequent to the first appearance of the foregoing narrative, the tomb alluded to has been opened during the coui-se of certain repaii's which the church has undergone. Mr. Simpkinson, wlio was present at the ex- humation of the body within, and has enriched liis collection with three of its grinders, says the bones of one of the great toes were wanting. He speaks in terms of great admiration at the thickness of the skull, and is of opinion that the skeleton is that of a gi-eat patriot much addicted to Lundy- ftwt. It is on my own personal reminiscences that I draw lor the following story ; the scene of its leading event was most famUiar to me in early life. If the principal actor in it be yet living, he must have reached a very advanced age. He was often at the Hall, in my infancy, on professional visits. It is, however, only from those who " prated of his whereabouts" that I learned the history of his adventure with 99 THE GHOST. These stands a City, — neither large nor Bmall, Its air and situation sweet and pretty ; It matters very little — ^if at all — Whether its denizens are dull or witty, Whether the ladies there are short or taU, Brunettes or blondes, only, there stands a cityt— ■ Perhaps 'tis also requisite to minute That there's a Castle and a Cobbler in it A fair Cathedral, too, the story goes, And kings and heroes lie entomb'd within her ; There pious Saints in marble pomp repose. Whose shrines are worn by knees of many a Sinner ; There, too, full many an Aldermanio nose Roll'd its loud diapason after dinner ; And there stood high the holy seonoe of Beeket, —Till four assassins came from France to crack it The Castle was a huge and antique mound. Proof against all th' artillery of the quiver, Ere those abominable guns were found To send cold lead through gallant warrior's liver. It stands upon a gently rising ground, Sloping down gradually to the river, EesemW^ug (to compare great things with smaller) A well-scooped, mouldy Stilton cheese, — ^but taller. The Keep, I find, 's been sadly alter'd lately,' And, 'stead of mail-clad knights, of honour jealona, In martial panoply so grand and stately. Its walls are filled with -woney-making fellows. 100 THB rjHOST. And stuff' J, unless I 'm misinformed gi-eatlj, With leaden pipes, and coke, and coals, and bellows; In short, so great a change has come to pase^ Tb now a manufactory of Gas. But to my tale. — ^Before this profanation. And ere its ancient glories were out short all, A poor hard-working Cobbler took his station In a small house, just opposite the portal.; His birth, his "parentage, and education, I know but little of — a strange, odd mortal TTia aspect, air, and gait, were all ridiculous ; His name was Mason — he'd been christened Niehola*. Nick had a wife possessed of many a charm, And of the Lady Huntingdon persuasion ; But, spite of all her piety, her arm She'd sometimes exercise when in a passion ; ^ And, being of a temper somewhat warm, Would now and then seize, upon small occasion, A stick, or stool, or anything that round did lie, And baste her lord and master most confoundedly. No matter I — ^"tis a thing that's not uncommon, 'Tis what we all have heard, and most have read o^ — I mean, a bruizing, pugilistic woman, Such as I own I entertain a dread of, —And so did Nick, — whom sometimes there would come on A sort of fear his Spouse might knock his head off, Demolish half his teeth, or drive a rib in. She shone so mnch in "facers" and in "fibbing." nere's time and place for all things,'' said a sage, (King Solomon, I think,) and this I can say, Within a well-roped ring, or on a stage, Boxing may be a very pretty Fancy, When Messrs. Burke or Bendigo engage ; —Tis not so well in Susan, Jane, or Nancy : — THE GHOST. 101 To get well mill'd by any one's an eTJl, But by a lady — ^"tis the very DeviL And BO thought Nicholas, whose only trouble, (At least his worst), was this his rib's propensity, For sometimes from the alehouse he would hobbl^ His senses lost. in a sublime immensity Of cogitation — then he couldn't cobble — And then his wife woiild often try the density Of his poor skuU, and strike with all her mighl^ As fast as kitchen-wenches strike a light. Mason, meek soul, who ever hated strife, . Of this same striking had a morbid dread. He hated it like poison — or his wife — A vast antipathy ! — but so he said — And very often, for a quiet life, On these occasions he'd sneak up to bed. Grope darkling in, and, soon as at the door He heard his iSdy — he'd pretend to snore. One night, then, ever partial to society, Mck, with a Mend (another jovial fellow). Went to a Club— I should have said Society— At the " City Ai-ms," once call'd the Porto-Bello A Spouting party, which, though some decry it, I Consider no bad lounge when one is mellow ; There they discuss the tax on salt, and leather. And change of ministers and change of weather. In short, it was a kind of British Forum, like John Gale Jones's, erst in Piceadilly, Only they managed things with more decorum. And the Orations were not quite so sflly ; Far different questions, too, would come before 'en^ Not always Politics, which, will ye nill ye, Their London prototypes were always willing, To give one guantimi suff. of — for a shilling. 102 THE GilOST. It more resembled one of later date, And tenfold talent, as I'm told in 'Bow •S'reet, Where kindlier natured souls do oongi-egate, And, though there are who deem that same a low EtreeU Tet^ I'm assured, for frolicsome debate And genuine humour it's surpassed by no street. When the " Chief Baron" enters, and assumes To " rule" o'er mimic " Thesigers" and " Broughams. Here they would oft forget their Eulers' faults, And waste in ancient lore the midnight taper, Inquire if Orpheus first produced the Walt^ How Gas-lights diflfer from the Delphic Vapour, Whether Hippocrates gave Glauber's Salts, > And what the Romans wrote on ere they'd paper ;— This night the subject of their disquisitions Was Ghosts, Hobgoblins, Sprites, and Apparitions. One learned gentleman, " a sage grave man," , Talk'd of the Ghcst in Hamlet, " sheath'd in steel ;"— His well-read friend, who next to speak began, Said, " That was Poetry, and nothing real ;" A third, of more extensive learning, ran To Sir George Villiers' Ghost, and Mrs. Teal ; Of sheeted Spectres spoke with shorten'd breath, And thrice he quoted " Drelincourt on Death." Nick smoked, and smoked, and trembled as he heard The point discussed, and aU they said upon it. How, frequently, some murder'd man appear'd. To tell his wife and children who had done it; Or how a Miser's ghost, with grisly beard, And pale lean visage, in an old Scotch bonnet, Wander'd about to watch his buried money ! When all at once ffick heard the clock strike One,— ha Sprang from his seat, not doubting bu< a lectiu-e Impended from his fond and faithful She; THE GHOST. 103 Sor conld he -well to pardon him expeit her, For he had promised to " be home to tea ; ' But having luckily the key o' the back door, He fondly hoped that, unperceived, he Might creep up stairs again, pretend to doze. And hoax his spouse with music from his nose. Vain, fruitless hope — ^The -Hrearied sentinel At eve may overlook the crouching foe, TDl ere his hand can sound the alarum-bell, He sinks beneath the unexpected blow ; Before the whiskers of Grimalkin fell, IVhen slumbering on her post, the mouse may go }— But woman, wakeful woman, 's never weary, — ^Above all, when she waits to thump her deary. Soon Mrs. Mason heard the well-known tread ; She heard the key slow creaking in the door. Spied through the gloom obscure, towards the bed Nick creeping soft, as oft he had crept before ; When, bang, she threw a something at his head. And Nick at once lay prostrate on the floor ; While she exclaimed with her indignant face on,— "How dare you use your wife so, Mr. Mason? " Spare we to tell how fiercely she debated, Especially the length of her oration, — Spare we to tell how Nick expostulated. Boused by the bump into a good set passion, So great, that more than once he execrated. Ere he erawl'd into bed in his usual fashion , — ^The Muses hate brawls ; suffice it then to say, He duek'd beneath the clothes — and there he lay I 'Twas now the very witching time of night. When churchyards groan, and graves give up their deud And many a mischievous, enfranchised. Sprite Had long since burst his bonds of stone or lead. 104 THE GHOST. And hnrried of^ with schoolboy-like delight, To play his pranks near some poor wretch's bei Sleeping perhaps serenely as a porpoise, Nor dreaming of this fiendisli Habeas Corpus. Not so our Nicholas, his meditations Still to the same tremendous theme recurred. The same dread subject of the dark narration^ Which, back'd with such authority, he'd heard lost in his own horrific contemplations, - He ponder'd o'er each well-remember'd word ; When at his bed's foot^ close beside the post, He verily believed he saw — a Ghost 1 Plain and more plain the unsubstantial Sprite To his astonished gaze each moment grew ; Ghastly and gaunt, it rear'd its shadowy height, Of more than mortal seeming to the view. And round its long, thin, bony fingers drew A tatter'd winding-sheet, of course all white;— Tlie moon that moment peepiig through a cloud, Nick very plainly saw it thr'. Uprose m agony — the Gorgon's head Was but a type of Nick's up-squatting in the beu From every pore dietUl'd a clammy dew. Quaked every limb, — ^the candle too no doub'; En regie, would have burnt extremely blue, But Nick unluckily had put it out ; And he, though naturally bold and stout, In short, was in a most tremendous stew; — THE GHOST. lOfi The room was jQUed with a sulphureous smell. But where that came &om Mason could not telL All motionless the Spectre stood, — and now Ifa reVrend form more dearly shone confest ; From the pale cheek a beard of purest snow Descended o'er its venerable breast ; The thin grey hairs, that orown'd its furroVd brow, Told of years long gone by. — ^An awful guest It stood, and with an action of command, Beckon'd the Cobbler with its wan right hand. " Whence, and what art thou, Execrable Shape f " Nick might have cried, could he have found a tongue^ But his distended jaws could only gape. And not a sound upon the welkin rung , His gooseberry orbs seem'd as they would have sprung Forth from their sockets, — ^like a frightened Ape He sat upon his hamiches, bolt upright, And shook, and grinn'd, and chatter'd with affright. And stiU the shadowy finger, long and lean. Now beckon'd Nick, now pointed to the door ; And many an ireful glance, and frown, between, The angry visage of the Phantom wore. As if quite vex'd that Nick woidd do no more Than stare, without e'en asking, "What d'ye mean. I" Because, as we are told, — a sad old joke too, — Ghosts, like the ladies, " never speak till spoke to." Cowards, 'tis said, in certain situations, Derive a sort of courage from despair. And then perform, from downright desperation. Much more than many a bolder man would dare Nick saw the Ghost was getting in a passion. And therefore, groping till he found the chair, Seized on his awl, crept softiy out of bed. And foUow'd quaking where the Spectre led. 5* 106 THE GHOST. A.nd down the winding stair, with noiseless tread, The tenant of the tomb pass'd slowly on, Each mazy turning of the humble shed Seem'd to his step at once familiar grown. So safe and sm-e the labyrinth did he tread As though the domicile had been his own. Though Nick himself, in passing through the shop, Had almost broke his nose against the mop. Despite its wooden bolt, with jarring sound. The door upon its hinges .jpen flew ; And forth the Spirit issued, — ^yet around It turn'd as if its follower's fears it knew, And, once more beckoning, pointed to the mound. The antique" Keep, on which the bright moon threw With such effulgence her mild silvery gleam, The visionary form seem'd melting in her beam. Beneath a pond'rous archway's sombre shade. Where once the huge portcullis swung sublime, 'Mid Ivied battlements in ruin laid. Sole, sad memorials of the olden time, The Phantom held its way, — and though afraid. Even of tlie owls that sung their vesper chime. Pale Meholas pursued, its steps attending, And wondering' what on earth it all would end in. Within the mouldering fabric's deep recess At length they reach a court obscure and lone ;— It seem'd a drear and desolate wilderness. The blacken'd walls with ivy all o'ergrown ; The night-bird shriek'd her note of wild distress, Disturb'd upon her solitary throne. As though indignant mortal step should dare, So led, at-such an hour, to venture there ! —The Apparition paused, and would have spoke Pomting to what Nick thought an iron ring THE GHOST. 107 But then a neighbouring chanticleer awoke, And loudly 'gan his early matins sing ; And then " it started like a guilty thing," As that shrill clarion the silence broke. —We know how much dead gentlefolks eschew .The appalling sound of " Cook-a-doodle-do !" The vision was no more — and Nick alone — "His streamers waving" in the midnight wind. Which through the ruins ceased not to groan ; — His garment, too, was somewhat short behind,^ And, worst of all, he knew not where to find The ring, — which made him most his fate bemoan— The iron ring — no doubt of some trap door, 'Neath which the old dead Miser kept his store. "What's to be done?" he cried, '"Twere yam to stay Here in the dark without a single clue — Oh, for a candle now, or moonlight ray ! 'Fore George, I'm vastly puzzled what to do," (Then clapped his hand behind) — " 'Tis chiUy too— m mark the spot, and come again by day. What can I mark it by ? — -Oh, here's the wall — The mortar's yielding — Here I'll stick my awl !" Then rose from earth to sky a withering shriek, A loud, a long protracted note of woe. Such as when tempests roar, and timbers creak. And o'er the side the masts in thunder go ; While on the deck resistless billows break, And drag their victims to the gulfs below ; — Such was the scream when, for the want of candle, Mck Mason drove his awl in up to the handle. Seared by his Lady's ieart-appalling cry. Vanished at once poor Mason's golden dream — For dream it was ; — and all his visions high. Of wealth ani grandeur, fled before that scream — 108 THE GHOST. And still he listens with averted eye, When gibing neighbours make " the Ghost" ttieir theme ; While ever from that hour they all declare That Mrs. Mason used a cushion in her chair I Confound not, I beseech thee, reader, the subject of the following monody with the hapless hero of the tea- urn, Cupid, of " Yow-Yow"-ing memory, tray was an attached favourite of many years' standing. Most peopln worth loving have had a friend of this kind ; Lord Byron says he " never had but one, and here he (the dog, not the nobleman,) lies 1" 109 THE CYNOTAPH. Poor Tray charmant 1 Poor Tra,y de man Mmi / Dog'lniry^ and Vergera, Ob ! where shall I bury my poor dog Tray, Now his fleeting breath has passed away } — Seventeen years I can venture to say, Have I seen him gambol, and frolic, and play. Evermore happy, and frisky, and gay, As though every one of his months was May, And the whole of his life one long holiday — Kow he's a hfeless lump of elay. Oh 1 where shall I bury my faithful Tray ! I am almost tempted to think it hard That it may not be there, in yon sunny churchyard, "Where the green willows wave O'er the peaceful grave. Which holds all that once was honest and brave, Kind, and courteous, and faithful, and true ; Qualities, Tray, that were found in you. But it may not be — ^yon sacred ground. By holiest feelings fenced around. May ne'er within its hallow'd bound Receive the dust of a soul-less hound. I would not place him in yonder fane, Where the mid-day sun through the storied pane Throws on the pavement a crimson stain ; 110 THE OTNOTAPH. Wiere the banners of chivalry heavily swing O'er the pinnacled tomb of the Warrior King, With helmet and shield, and all that sort of thing. No ! come what may, My gentle Tray Shan't be an intruder on bluff Harry Tudor, Or panoplied monarohs yet earlier and ruder Whom you see on their backs, In stone or in wax. Though the Sacristans now are " forbidden to ax" For what Mister Hume calls " a scandalous tax ;" While the Chartists insist they've a right to go snaoks.- Ifo ! — ^Tray's humble tomb would look but shabby 'Mid the sculptured shrines of that gorgeous Abbey. Besides, in the place They say there's not space To bury what wet-nurses call " a Babby." Even "Eare Ben Jonson," that famous wighti I am told, is interr'd there bolt upright, In just such a posture, beneath his bust, As Tray used to sit in to beg for a crust The epitaph, too, Would scarcely do For what could it say, but " Here lies Tray, A very good kind of a dog in his day ?" And satirical folks might be apt to imagine it Meant as a quiz on the House of Flantagenet, No I no ! — ^The abbey may do very well For a feudal "Nob," or poetical "Swell," " Crusaders," or " Poets," or " Knights of St. John," Or Knights of St. John's Wood, who once went on To the ffiastle n£ eKooiic Jlotlre JBfllinfltonne. Count Fiddle-furakin, and Lord Fiddle-faddle, "Sir Craven," "Sir Gael," and "Sir Campbell of Sadde^' (Who, as poor Hook said, when he heard of the featj " Was somehow knock'd out of his family-seat ; " THE CYNOTAPH. 11] The Esquires of the body To my Lord Tomnoddy ; ' Sir Fairlie," " Sir Lamb," And the " Knight of the Earn," The "Knight of the Eose," and the "Knight of the Dragon," Who, saye at the flagon, And prog in the wagon, The newspapers tell i;s did little " to brag on ; " And more, thoijgh the Muse knows but little eonoerning 'em, "Sir Hopkins," "Sir Popkins," "Sir Gage," and "Sir Jeruing ham." AllPreua; Chevaliers, in friendly rivalry Who should best bring back the glory of Chi-valry. — — (Pray be so good, for the sake of my song, Trf pronounce here the ante-penultimate long ; Or some hyper-oritio will certainly cry, " The word ' Chivalry ' is but a ' rhyme to the eye.' " And I own it is clear A fastidious .ear Will be, more or less, always annoy'd with you when you iH' sert any rhyme that 's not perfectly genuine. As to pleasing the " eye " 'Tisn't worth wliile to try, Since Moore and Tom Campbell themselves admit " Spinach " Is perfectly antiphonetio to " Greenwich.") — But stayl — I say I — Let me pause while I may — This digression is leading me sadly astray From my object — ^A grave for my poor dog Trayl [ would not place him beneath thy walls. And proud o'ershadowing dome, St. Paul's 1 Though I 've always consider'd Sir Chi'istopher Wren As an architect, one of the greatest of men ; And, — talking of Epitaphs, — Much I admire his, " Circumspice, si Monumerdum reguiris;" Wliioh an erudite Verger translated to me, " If vou ask for his monumeat, Sir-come-spy-see t — ^ Il2 THE CTNOTAPH. ITo I — I should not know where To place him there ; I woiild not have him by Burly Johnson be ; — Or that queer-looking horse that ia rolling on Ponsonby ;— Or those ugly minxes The sister Sphynxes, Mix'd creatures, half lady, half lioness, ergo, (Denon says,) the emblems of Leo and Virgo ; On one of the backs of which singular jumble, . Sir Ealph Abercrombie is going to tumble. With a thump which alone were enough to despa^h him, If the Scotchman in front shouldn't happen to catch him. No ! I 'd not have him there, — nor nearer the door, Where the man and the Angel have got Sir John Moore,* ' And are quietly letting him down through the floor, By Gillespie, the one who escaped, ^t Yellore, Alone from the row ; — Neither he, nor Lord Howe Would like to be plagued with a little Bow-wow. No, Tray, we must yield. And go further a-field ; To lay you by Nelson were downright effront'ry ; — ^Well be o£F from the City, and look at the country. It shall not be there, In that sepulchred square. Where folks are interr'd for the sake of the air, (Though, pay but the dues, they could hardly refuse To Tray what they grant to Thuggs, and Hindoos, Turks, Infidels, Heretics, Jumpers, and Jews,) Where the tombstones are placed In the very hest taste. At the feet and the head Of the elegaint Dead, And no one's received who 's not " bniied in lead : • See note at end of « The Cynotaph." THK CrNOTAPH. 113 For, there he the bones of Deputy Jones, Whom the widow's tears, and the orphan's groans Affected as much as they do the stones His executors laid on the Deputy's bones ; Little rest, poor knave I Would Tray have in his grave ; Since Spirits, 'tis plain, Are sent back again. To roam round their bodies, — ^the bad ones in pain,— Dragging after them sometimes a heavy jack chain ; Whenever they met, alarm'd by its groans, his Ghost all night long would be barking at Jones's, Nor shall he be laid By that cross Old Maid, Miss Penelope Bird, — of whom it is said All the dogs in the parish were ever afraid. He must not be placed By one so strait-laoed In her temper, her taste, and her morals, and waist For, 'tis said, when she went up to heaven, and St. Petur, Who happened to meet her. Came forward to greet her She pursed up with scorn every vinegar feature, And bade him "Get out for a horrid Male Creature! " So, the Saint, after looking as if he could eat her. Not knowing, perhaps, very well how to treat her. And not being willing, — or able, — to beat her. Sent her back to her giave till her temper grew sweeter. With an epithet — ^which I decline to repeat here. No, — ^if Tray were interr'd By Penelope Bird, No dog would be e'er so be-" whelp " 'd and be-" cur''r'd— All the night long her cantankerous Sprite Would be running about in the pale moon-light, Chasing him round, and attempting to lick The ghost of poor Tra^ with the ghost of a stick 114 THE CYNOTAPn. Stay I— -let me see ! — Ay — ^here it shall be At the root of this gnarled and time-worn tree> Where Tray and I Would often lie, And watch the bright clouds as they floated by In the broad expanse of the clear blue sky. When the sun was bidding the world good b'ye i And the plaintive Nightingale, warbling nigh, Pour'd forth her mournful melody ; Wliile the tender Wood-pigeon's cooing cry Has made me say to myself with a sigh, " How nice you would eat with a steak in a pie 1 " Ay, here it shall be ! — far, far from the view Of tlie noisy world and its maddening crew. Simple and few, Tender and true The lines o'er his grave. — ^Tliey have, some of them too. The advantage of being remarkably new. Upitaph. Affliction soro Long time he bore. Physicians were in vain ! — Grown blind, alas I he'<) Some Prussie Acid, And that put him out of his pain NotE, PAGE 112. In the autumn of 1824, Captain Medwin having hinted that certain beautiful lines on the buvial of this gallant officer might have been the production of Lord Byron's Muse, the late Mr. Sydney Taylor, somewhat indignant- THE CYNOTAPH. 115 ly, claimed them for their rightful owner, the late Eev. Charles Wolfe. During the controversy a third claim- ant started up in the person of a soi-disant " Doctoi Marshall," who turned out to be a Durham blacksmith, and his pretensions a hoax. It was then that a certain " Doctor Peppercorn " put forth his pretensions to what he averred was the only " true and original " version, viz.: — , Ifot a sous had he got, — not a guinea or note, And he looked confoundedly flurried. As he bolted away without paying his shot^ And the Landlady after him hurried. We saw him again at dead of night, When home from the Cluh returning • We twigg'd the Doctor beneath the light Of the gas-lamp brilliantly burning. All bare, and exposed to the midnight dewB, Reclined in the gutter we found him : And he look'd like a gentleman .taking a snooze. With his Marsliall cloak around liim. ' The Doctor 's as drunk as the d " we said. And we managed a shutter to borrow ; We raised him, and sigh'd at the thought that his head Would " eonsumedly ache " on the morrow. We bore him home, and we put him to bed. And we told his wife and his daughter To give him, next morning, a couple of red Herrings, with soda-water. — loudly they talk'd of his money that 's gone, And his Lady began to upbraid him ; But little he reok'd, so they let him snore on 'Neath the counterpane just as we laid him. 116 THE CTNOTAPH. We tuck'd him in, and had hardly dona When, beneath the window calling, We heard the rough voice of a son of a guo Of a watchman " One o'clock I" bawling Slowly and sadly we all walked down From his room in the uppermost story ; A rushlight we placed on the cold hearth-stone^ And we left him alone in his glory 1 1 Hos ego versiculos feci, tulit alter lionores. VlRML. I wrote the lines — * * owned them — ^he told stories I Thomas Inqoldsbt 117 MRS. BOTHERBY'S STORY. THE LEECH OF rOLKESTONB. Reader, were you ever bewitclied ? — I do not mean by a " white wench's black eye," or by love-potions im- bibed from a ruby lip; — ^but, were you ever really and bond, fide bewitched, in the tme Matthew Hopkins sense of the word ? Did you ever, for instance, find yourself from head to heel one vast comphcation of cramps ? — or burst out into sudorific exudation like a cold -thaw, with the thermometer at zero ? — -Were your eyes ever turned upside down, exhibiting nothing but their whites ? — Did you ever vomit a paper of crooked pins ? or expectorate Whitechapel needles ? — These are genu- ine and undoubted marks of possession ; and if you never experienced any of them, — why, " happy man be his dole !" Yet such things have been : yea, we are assured, and that on no mean authority, still are. The World, according to the best geographers, is divided into Europe, Asia, Africa, America, and Romney Marsh. In this last-named, and fifth, quarter of the globe, a Witch may still be occasionally discovered in favourable, i. e. stormy seasons, weathering Dungeness Point in an' egg-shell, or careering on her broomstick 119 MRS. bothbrbt's stort. over Dymchurch wall. A cow may yet, be sometimes seen galloping like mad, with tail erect, and an old pair of breeches on her horns, an unerring guide to the door of the crone whose magic arts have drained her udder. I do not, however, remember to have heard that any Conjuror has, of late, been detected in the district. Not many miles removed from the verge of this recondite region, stands a collection of houses, which its maligners call a fishirtg-town, and its well-wishers a Watering-place. A limb of one of the Cinque Ports, it has, (or lately had,) a corporation of its own,, and has been thought considerable enough to give a second title to a noble family. Rome stood on seven hills ; Folkestone seems to have been built upon seventy. Its streets, lanes, and alleys, — fanciful distinctions with- out much real difference,— ^are agreeable enough to per- sons who do not mind running up and down stairs ; and the only inconvenience at all felt by such of its inhabitants as are not asthmatic, is when some heedless urchin tumbles down a chimney, or an impertinent pedestrian peeps into a garret window. At the eastern extremity of the town, on the sea- beach, and scarcely above high water mark, stood, in the good old times, a row of houses then denominated '- Frog-hole." Modem refinement subsequently eupho- nized the name into " East street ;" but " what's in a name ?"■ — the encroachments of Ocean have long since levelled all in one common ruin. Here, in the early part of the seventeenth century,, flourished in somewhat doubtful reputation, hut com- parative opulence, a compounder of medicines, one Master Erasmus Buckthorne ; the efflvvia of whos€ IBE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 119 drugs from witliin, mingling agreeably with the " ancient and fish-like smells" from without, wafted a delicious perfume throughout the neighbourhood. At seven of the cloct, on the morning when Mrs. Botherby's narrative commences, a stout Suffolk " punch," about thirteen hands and a half in height, was slowly led up and down before the door of the pharmacopohst by a lean and withered lad, whose appearance warranted an opinion, pretty generally expressed, that his master foimd him as useful in experimentalizing as in house- hold drudgery ; and that, for every pound avoirdupoise of solid meat, he swallowed, at the least, two pounds troy weight of chemicals and galenicals. As the town clock struck the quarter, Master Buckthome emerged from his laboratory, and, putting the key carefully into his pocket, mounted the surefooted cob aforesaid, and proceeded up and down the acclivities and declivities of the town with the gravity due to his station and pro- fession. When he reached the open country, his pace was increased to a sedate canter, which, in somewhat more than Jialf an hour, brought " the horse and his rider " in front of a handsome and substantial mansion, the numerous gable-ends and bayed windows of which bespoke the owner a man of worship, and one well to do in the world. " How now, Hodge Gardener ?" quoth the Leech, scarcely drawing bit ; for Punch seemed to be aware that he had reached his destination, and paused of his own accord ; " How now, man ? How fares thine em- ployer, worthy Master Marsh ? How hath he done ' How hath he slept 3 — My potion hath done its office Ha.!" 120 MRS. botherby's story. " Alack 1 ill at ease, worthy sir — ill at ease," returned the hind ; " hia honour is up and Stirling ; but he hath rested none, and complaineth that the same gnawing pain devoureth, as it were, his very vitals ; in sooth he is ill^t ease." " Morrow, doctor !" interrupted a voice from a case- ment opening on the lawn. " Good morrow ! I have looked for, longed for, thy coming this hour and more ; enter at once ; the pasty and tankard are impatient for thine attack ! " " Many, Heaven forbid that I should baulk their fancy !" quoth the Leech sotto voce, as, abandoning the bridle to honest Hodge, he dismounted, and followed a buxom-looking handmaiden into the breakfast parlour. There, at the head of his well-furnisfeed board, sat Master Thomas Marsh, of Marston-hall, a Yeoman well respected in his degree : one of that sturdy and sterling class which, taking rank immediately below the Esquire, (a title in its origin purely military,) occupied, in the wealthier counties, the position in society now filled by the Country Gentleman. He was one of those of whom the proverb ran : " A Knight of Galea, A Gentleman of Wales, And a Laird of the North Countree ; A Yeoman of Kent, With his yearly rent. Will buy them out all three I" A cold sirloin, big enough to frighten a Frenchman, filled the place of honour, counter-checked by a game- pie of no stinted dimensions ; while a silver flagon of ''humming-bub," — viz. ale strong enough to blqw a THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 121 man's beaver off, — smiled opposite in treacherous amenity. The sideboard groaned beneath sundry massive cups and waiters of the purest silver ; whUe the huge skull of a fallow deer, with its branching horns, frowned majestically above. All spoke of affluence, of comfort, — all save the master, whose restless eye and feverish look hinted but too plainly the severest mental or bodily disorder. By the side of the proprietor of the mansion sat his consort, a lady now past the bloom of youth, yet still retaining many of its charms. The clear olive of her complexion, and " the darkness of her Anda- lusian eye," at once betrayed her foreign origin ; in fact, her " lord and master," as husbands were even then, by a legal fiction, denominated, had taken her to his bosom in a foreign country. The cadet of his family, Master Thomas Marsh, had early in life been engaged in com- merce. In the pursuit of his vocation he had visited Antwerp, Hamburg, and most of the Hanse Towns ; and had already formed a tender connexion with the oqjhan offspring of one of old Alva's officers, when the unex- pected deaths of one immediate, and two presumptive, heirs placed him next in succession to the family acres. He married, and brought home his bride ; who, by the decease of the venerable possessor, heart-broken at the loss of his elder children, became eventually lady of Marstou-Hall. It has been said that she was beautiful, yet was her beauty of a character that operates on the fancy more than the affections ; she was one to be admired rather than loved. The proud cm-l of her lip, the firmness of her tread, her arched brow, and stately carriage, showed the decision, not to say haughtiness, of ner soul; while her glances, whether lightening with riEST SEPJES. 6 122 MES. BOTHERBTS STOET., anger, or melting in extreme softness, betrayed tLe existence of passions as intense in kind as opposite in quality. She rose as Erasmus entered the parlour, and, bestowing on him a look fraught with meaning, quitted the room, leaving him in unrestrained communication with his patient. " 'Fore George, Master Buckthorne !" exclaimed tha latter, as the Leech drew near, " I will no more of your pharmacy; — burn, burn — gnaw, gnaw, — I had as lief the foul fiend were in my gizzard as one of your drugs. Tell me in the devil's name, what is the matter with me !" Thus conjured, the practitioner paused, and even turned somewhat pale. There was a perceptible falter- ing in his voice, as, evading the question, he asked, " What say yciir other physicians ?" " Doctor Phiz says it is wind,- — Doctor Fuz says it is water, — and Doctor Buz says it is something between wind and water." ".They are all of them wrong," said Erasmus Buck- thorne. "Truly, I think so," returned the patient. "Thej are manifest asses ; but you, good Leech, you are a horse of another colour. The world talks loudly of your learning, your skill, and cunning in ails the most abstruse ; nay, sooth to say, some look coldly on you therefore, and stickle not to aver that you are cater- cousin with Beelzebub himself." " It is ever the fate of science," murmured the profes- sor, " to be maligned by the ignorant and superstitious. But a truce with such folly ; — let me examine your palate." Master Marsh thi'ust out a tongue long, clear, and re^ THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 123 as beet-root. " There is nothing wrong there,'" said the Leech. " Your wrist : — no ; — the pulse is firm and regular, the stin cool and temperate. Sir, there is nothing the matter with you !" " Nothing the matter with me. Sir 'Potecary ? — But I tell you there is the matter with me, — much the matter with me. Why is it that something seems ever gnawing at my heart-strings ? — Whence this pain in the region of the liver ? — Why is it that I sleep not o' nights, — rest not o' days ? Why " " You are fidgety. Master Marsh," said the doctor. Master Marsh's brow grew dark ; he half rose from his seat, supported himself by both hands on the arms of his elbow-chair, and in accents of mingled anger and astonishment repeated the word " Fidgety !" " Ay, fidgety," returned the doctor calmly. " Tut, man, there is naught ails thee save thine own over-ween- ing fancies. Take less of food, more air, put aside thy flagon, call for thy horse ; be boot and saddle the word I Why, — hast thou not youth ? — " " I have," said the patient. " Wealth and a fair domain ?" " Granted," quoth Marsh cheerily. " And a fair wjfe ?" " Yea," was the response, but in a tone something less satisfied. "Then arouse thee, man, shake off this fantasy, betake thyself to thy lawful occasions, — ^use thy good iap,^follow thy pleasures, and think no more of these fancied aUnjeilts." " But 1 tell you, master mine, these ailments are not fancied. I lose my rest. I loathe my food, my doublet 124 MRS. BOTHERBTS STORY. gits loosely on me, — these racking pains. My wife, too, when I meet her gaze, the cold sweat stands on my forehead, and I could almost think " Marsh paused abruptly, mused awhile, then added, looking steadily at his visitor, " These things are not right ; they pass the common, Master Erasmus Buckthorne." A slight shade crossed the brow of the Leech, but its passage was momentary ; his features softened to i smile in which pity seemed slightly blended with contempt. " Have done with such follies. Master Marsh. You are well, an you would but think so. Eide, I say, hunt, shoot, do anything, — disperse these melancholic humours, and become yourself again." " Well, I will do your bidding," said Marsh, thought- fully. " It may be so ; and yet, — but I will do your bidding. Master Cobbe of Brenzet writes me that he hath a score or two of fat ewes to be sold a penny- worth ; I had thought to have sent Ealph Looker, but I will essay to go myself. Ho, there ! — saddle me the brown mare, and bid fealph be ready to attend me on the gelding." An expression of pain contracted the features of Master Marsh as he rose and slowly quitted the apartment to prepare for his joyrney ; while the Loech, having bidden him farewell, vanished through an opposite door, and betook himself to the private boudour of the fair mistress of Marston, muttering as he went a quotation from a then newly-published play, "Not poppy, nor mandragora, Nor all the (Ji'owsy syrups of the world, Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep, \ Which thou own'dst yesterday." % * * * * THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 125 Of what passed at this interview between the Folkestone doctor and the fair Spaniard, Mrs. BotherJ^y declares she could never obtain any satisfactory elucida? tion. Not that tradition is silent on the subject, — quite the contrary ; it is the abundance, not paucity, of the materials she supplies, and the consequent embarrass- ment of selection, that makes the diflBculty. Some have averred that the Leech, whose character, as has been before hinted, was more than threadbare, employed his time in teaching her the mode of administering certain noxious compounds, the unconscious partaker whereof would pine and die so slowly and gradually as to defy suspicion. Others there were who affirmed that Lucifer himself was then and there raised in proprid persand, with all his personal attributes of horn and hoof. In support of this assertion, they adduce the testi- mony of the aforesaid buxom housemaid, who protested • that the Hall smelt that evening Uke a manufactory of matches. All, hov^ever, seemed to agree that the con- fabulation, whether human or infernal, was conducted with profound secresy, and protracted to a considerable length ; that its object, as far as could be divined, meant anything but good to the head of the family ; that the lady, moreover, was heartily tired of her husband ; and that, in the event of his removal by disease or casualty, Master Erasmus Buckthorne, albeit a great philosophist, would have no violent objection to " throw physic to the dogs," and exchange his laboratory for the estate of Marston, its live stock included. Some, too, have infeiTed that to him did Madam Isabel seriously incUne ; while others have thought, induced perhaps by subse- quent events, that she was merel/ using him for hei 126 MRS. dotherby's story. purposes ; that one Jos6, a tall, bright-eyed, hook' nosed stripling from her native land, was a personage not unlikely to put a spoke in the doctor's wheel ; and that should such a chance arise, the Sage, wise as he was, would after all run no slight risk of being " bamboozled." Master Jose was a youth well-favoured, and ccmely to look upon. His office was that of page to the dame ; an office which, after long remaining in abeyance, has been of late yeai-s revived, as may well be seen in the persons of sundry smart hobbledehoys, now constantly to be met with on staircases and in boudoirs, clad, for the most part, in garments fitted tightly to the shape, the (ower moiety adorned with a broad stripe of crimson or silver lace, and the upper with what the ffi-st Wit of our times has described as " a favom-able eruption of buttons." The precise duties of this employment have never, as far as we have heard, been accurately defined. The perfuming a handkerchief, the combing a lap-dog, and the occasional presentation of a sippet-shaped billet- doux, axe, and always have been, among them ; but these a young gentleman standing five foot ten, and aged nineteen " last grass," might well be supposed to have outgrown. Jose, however, kept his place, perhaps because he was not fit for any other. To the confer- ences between his mistrees and physician he had not been admitted ; his post was to keep watch and ward in the ante-room ; and, when the interview was con- cluded, he attended the lady and her visitor as far as the court-yard, where he held, with all due respect, the stirrup for the latter, as he once more resumed liis position on the lack of Punch. ^ Who was it that says "little'-pitchers have laxge THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 127 ears ?" Some deep metapliysician of the potteries, who might have added that they have also quick eyes, and sometimes silent tongues. There was a little meta- phorical piece of crockery of this class, who, screened by a huge elbow-chair, had sat a quiet and unobserved spectator of the whole proceedings between her mamma and Master Erasmus Buckthorne. This was Miss Marian Mareh, a rosy-cheeked laughter-loving imp of some six years old ; but one who could be mute as a mouse when the fit was on her. A handsome and highly polished cabinet of the darkest ebony occupied a recess at one end of the apartment ; this had long been a great subject of speculation to little Miss. ITer curiosity, however, had always been repelled ; nor had all her coaxing ever won her an inspection of the thou- sand and one pretty things which its recesses no doubt contained. On this occasion it was unlocked, and Marian was about to rush forward in eager anticipation of a peep at its interior, when, child as she was, the reflection struck her that she would stand a better chance of carrying her point by remaining perdue. Fortune for once favoured her : she crouched closer than before, and saw her mother take something from one of the drawers, which she handed over to the Leech. Strange mutterings followed, and words whose sounds were foreign to her youthful ears. Had she been older, their import, perhaps, might have been equally unknown. After a while there was a pause ; and then the lady, as in answer to a requisition fi-om the gentleman, placed in his hand a something which she took from her toilet. The transaction, whatever its nature, seemed now to be complete, and the article wa^ 128 MRS. botherbt's stoet. carefully replaced in the drawer from which it had been taken. A long, and apparently interesting, -conversar tion then took place between the parties, carried on in a low tone. At its"^;ermination, Misti-ess Marsh and Master Erasmus Buckthorne quitted the boudoir toge- ther. But the cabinet ! — ay, that was left unfastened • the folding-doors still remained invitingly expanded, the bunch of keys dangling from the lock. In an instant the spoiled child was in a chair ; the drawer so recently closed, yielded at once to her hand, and her hunied researches were rewarded by the prettiest little waxen doU imaginable. It was a first-rate prize, and Miss lost no time in appropriating it to herself. Long before Madame Marsh had returned to her Sanctum, Marian was seated under a laurustinus in the garden, nursing her new baby with the most affec- tionate solicitude. ***** " Susan, look here ; see what a nasty scratch I have got upon my hand," said the young lady, when routed out at length from her hiding place to her noontide meal. " Yes, Miss, this is always the way with yoii ! mend, mend, mend, — nothing but mend ! Scrambling about among the bushes, and tearing your clothes to rags. What with you, and with madam's farthingales and kirtles, a poor bower-maiden has a fine time of it!" " But I have not torn my clothes, Susan, and it was not the bushes ; it was the doll : only see what a great ugly pin I have pulled out of it ! and look, here ia another ! " As she spoke, Marian drew forth one of •iioBe extended pieces of black pointed wire, with which, THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 129 in the days of toupees and pompoons, our foremotliera were wont to secure tlieii' fly-caps and head-gear from .he impertinent assaults of " Zephyrus afti the Little Breezes." "■ And pray, Miss, where did you get this pretty doll, as you call it ?" asked Susan, turning over the puppet, and viewing it with a scrutinizing eye. " Mamma gave it me," said the child. — ^This was a fib! " Indeed ! " quoth the girl thoughtfully ; and then, in half soliloquy, and a lower key, " WeU ! I wish I may die if it doesn't look like master ! — But come to your dinner. Miss ! Hark ! the bell is striking One !" Meanwhile Master Thomas Marsh, and his man Ralph, were threading the devious paths, then, as now, most pseudonymously dignified with the name of roads, that wound between Marston-Hall and the frontier of Romney Marsh. Their progi-ess was comparatively slow ; for though the brown mare was as good a road- ster as man might back, and the gelding no me^ nag of his hands, yet the tracts, rarely traversed save by the rude wains of the day, miry in the " bottoms," and covered with loose and roUing stones on the higher grounds, rendered barely passable the perpetual alter- nation of hill and valley. The master rode on in pain, and the man in hstless- ness ; although the intercourse between two individuals so situated was much less restrained in those days than might suit the refinement of a later age, little passed approximating to conversation beyond an occasional and half-stifled groan from the one, or a vacant whistle from the other. An hour's riding had . brought them 6* 130 MRS. bothbrbt's stort. among the woods of Acryse ; and they were about to descend one of those green and leafy lanes, rendered by matted and Overarching branches alike impei-vious to shower or sunbeam, when a sudden and violent spasm seized on Master Marsh, and nearly caused him to fall from his horse. With some difficulty he succeeded in dismounting, and seating himself by the road side. Here he remained for a full half hour in great apparent ■ agony ; the cold sweat rolled in large round drops adown his clammy forehead, a universal shivering palsied every limb, his eye-balls appeared to be starting from their sockets, and to his attached, though dull and heavy serving-man, he seemed as one struggling in the pangs of impending dissolution. His_gi'oans rose thick and frequent ; and the alarmed Ralph was hesi- tating between his disinclination to leave him, and his desire to procure such assistance as one of the few cot- tages, rarely sprinkled in that wild country, might aflFord, when, after a long-drawn sigh, his master's features as suddenly relaxed ; he declared himself better, the pang had passed away, and, to use his own expression, he, " felt as if a knife had been drawn from out his very heart." With Ralph's assistance, after a while, he again reached his saddle ; and, though still ill at ease from a deep-seated and gnawing pain, which ceased not, as he averred, to torment him, the violence of the paroxysm was spent, and it returned no more. ^ Master and man pursued their way with increased »peed, as, emerging from the wooded defiles, they at tength neared the coast; then, leaving the romantic castle of Saltwood, with its neighbouring town of Hithe, a little on their left, they proceeded along the THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 131 ancient paved causeway, and, crossing the old Roman road, or Watling, plunged again into the woods that stretched between Lympne and Ostenhanger. The sun rode high in the heavens, and its meridian blaze was powerfully felt by man and horse, when, again quitting their leafy covert, the travellers debouched on the open plain of Aldington Frith, a wide tract of unenclosed country stretching down to the very bordera of " the Marsh " itself. Here it was, in the neighbouring chapelry, the site of which may yet be traced by the curious antiquary, that Elizabeth Barton, the " Holy Maid of Kent," had, something less than a hundred years previous to the period of our narrative, commenced that series of super- natural pranks which eventually procured for her head an unenvied elevation upon London Bridge ; and though the parish had since enjoyed the benefit of the incum- bency of Master Erasmus's illustrious and enlightened Namesake, still, truth to tell, some of the Old leaven was even yet supposed to be at work. The place had, in fact, an ill name ; and, though Popish miracles -had ceased to electrify its denizens, spells and charms, operating by a no less wondrous agency, were"iaid to have taken their place. Warlocks, and other unholy subjects of Satan, were reported to make its wild recesses their -favourite rendezvous, and that to an extent which eventually attracted the notice of no less a per- sonage than the sagacious Matthew Hopkins himself Witchfinder-Greneral to the British government. A great portion of the Frith, or Fright, as the name was then, and is still pronounced, had formerly been a Chase, with rights of Free-warren, &c., appertaining to 132 MRS. botherbt's story. the Archbishops of the Province. Since the Reform! tion, ho\\^ver, it had been disparked ; and whenMast( Thomas Marsh, and his man Ralph, entered upon i confines, the open greensward exhibited a lively seen suflttciently explanatory of certain sounds that had alread reached their ears while yet within the sylvan scree which concealed their origin. It was Fair-day : booths, stalls, and all the rude -part phernalia of an assembly that then met as much f( the purposes of traffic as festivity, were scattered irr gularly over the turf ; pedlars, with their pacts, hors croupers, pig-merchants, itinerant venders of croekei and cutlery, wandered promiscuously among the mil gled groups, exposing their several wares and commi dities, and soliciting custom. On one side was tl gaudy riband, making its mute appeal to rustic gi lantry; on the other the delicious brandy-ball at alluring lollipop, compounded after the most approvi receipt in* the " True Gentlewoman's Oarland," ai " raising the waters " in the mouth of many an expe tant urchin. Nor were rural sports wanting to those whom pie sm-e, rather than business, had drawn from then- huml homes. Here was the tall and slippery pole, glitterij in its grease, and crowned with the ample cheese, th blocked the hopes of the discomfited climber. There t fugitive pippin, swimming in water not of the purest, a; bobbing from the expanded lips of the juvenile Tj talus. In this quarter the ear was pierced by squea from some beleaguered porker, whisking his well-soap tail from the grasp of one already in fancy his capt In that, the eye rested, with undisguised delight, up THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. IS J die grimaces of grinning candidates for the honours of the horse-collar. All was fun, frolic, courtship, junket- ing, and jollity. Maid Marian, indeed, with her lieges, Robin Hood, Scarlet, and little John, was wanting ; Friar Tuck was absent ; even the Hobby-horse had disappeared ; but the agile Morrice-dancers yet were there, and jingled their bells merrily among stalls well stored with ginger- bread, tops, whips, whistles, and all those noisy instru- ments of domestic torture in which scenes like these are even now so fertile. Had I a foe whom I held at dead- liest feud, I would entice his favourite child to a Fair, and buy him a Whistle and a Penny-trumpet. In one corner of the green, a little apart from the thickest of the throng, stood a small square stage, nearly level with the chins of the spectators, whose repeated bursts of laughter seemed to intimate the presence of something more than usually amusing. The platform was divided into two unequal portions ; the smaller of which, surrounded by curtains of a coarse calivass, veiled from the eyes of the profane the penetralia of this moveable temple of Esculapius, for such it was. Within its interior, and secure from vulgar curiosity, the Quack-salver had hitherto kept himself ensconced ; occupied, no doubt, in the preparation and arrangement of that wonderful panacea which was hereafter to shed the blessings of health among the admiring crowd. Meanwhile his attendant Jack-pudding was busily em- ployed on the proscenium, doing his best to attract attention by a practical facetiousness which took won- derfully with the spectators, interspersing it with the melodious notes of a huge cow's horn. The felloVs 134 MRS. botherbt's story. costume varied but little in character from that in wli\^fl the late (alas ! that we should have to write the word — late !) Mr. Joseph Grimaldi was accustomed to pre- sent himself before " a generous and enlightened public ;" the principal difference consisted in this, that the upper ■jarment was a long white tunic of a coarse linen, sar- mounted by a caricature of the ruff then fast falling into disuse, and was secured from the throat downwards by a single row of broad white metal buttons ; and his legs were cased in loose wide trousers of the same material ; while his sleeves, prolongued to a most disproportionate extent, descended far below the iingers, and acted as flappers in the somersets and caracoles, with which he diversified and enlivened his antics. Consummate im- pudence, not altogether unmixed with a certain sly humour, sparkled in his eye through the chalk and ochre with which his features were plentifully bedaubed; and especially displayed itself in a succession of jokes, the coarseness of which did not seem to detract from theii'' merit in the eyes of his applauding audience. He was in the midst of a" long and animated harangue explanatory of his master's high pretensions ; he had informed his gaping auditors that the latter was the seventh son of a seventh son, and of course, as they very well knew, an Unborn Doctor ; that to this happy accident of birth he added the advantage of most extensive travel ; that in search after science he had not only perambulated the whole of this world, but had trespassed on the boundaries of the next : that the depths of the Ocean and ihe bowels of the Earth were alike familiar to him ; that besides salves and cataplasms of sovereign virtue, by combining sundry mosses, ga- THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 13j thered many thousand fathoms below the surface of tha sea, with certain unknown drugs found in an undis- covered island, and boiling the whole in the lava of Vesuvius, he had succeeded in producing his celebrated balsam of Crackapanoko, the never-failing remedy foi all human disorders, and which, with a proper trial allowed, would go near to reanimate the dead. " Draw near ! " continued the worthy, " draw near, my masters ! and you, my good mistresses, draw near, every one of you. Fear not high and haughty carriage ; though greater than King or Kaiser, yet is the mighty Aldro- vando milder than mother's milk ; flint to the proud, to the humble he is as melting as wax ; he asks not your disorders, he sees them himself at a glance — nay, with- out a glance ; he tells your ailments with his eyes shut ! — Draw near ! draw near ! the more incurable the better ! List to the illustrious Doctor Aldrovando, first Physician to Prester John, Leech to the Grand Llama, and Haldm in Ordinary to Mustapha Muley Bey ! " " Hath your master ever a charm for the toothache, an't please you ?" asked an elderly countryman, whose swollen cheek bespoke his interest in the question. " A cl^arm ! — a thousand, and every one of thenj infallible. Toothache, quotha ! I had hoped you had come with every bone in your body fractured or out of joint. A toothache ! — ^propound a tester, master o' mine — we ask not more for such trifles : do my bidding, and thy jaws, even with the word, shall cease to trouble thee." The clown, fumbling a while in a deep leathern purse, at length produced a sixpence, which he tendered to the jester. "Now to thy master, and bring me tha charm forthwith." 136 MRS. BOTHERBYS STOK"" "Nay, honest man; to disturb the mighty Aldro vandcT on such slight occasion were pity of my life . areed my counsel aright, and I will warrant thee for the nonce. Hie thee home, friend; infuse this powaer in cold spring-water, fill thy mouth with the misture, and sit upon thy fire till it boils I" "Out on thee for a pestilent inave !" cried the cozened countryman ; but the roar of merriment around bespoke the by-standers well pleased with the jape put upon him. He retired, venting his spleen in audible murmurs ; and the mountebank, finding the feelings of the mob enlisted on his side, waxed more impudent every instant, filling up the intervals between his fool- eries with sundiy capers and contortions, and discordant notes from the cow's horn. " Draw near, draw near, my masters ! Here have ye a remedy for every evil under the sun, moral, phy- sical, natural, and supernatural ! Hath any man a termagant wife ? — here is that will tame her presently ! Hath any one a smoky chimney ? — ^here is an incon- tinent cure !" To the first infliction no man ventured to plead guilty, though there were those standing by who thought their neighbours might have profited withal. For the last named recipe started forth at least a dozen candidates. With the gi-eatest gravity imaginable, Pierrot, having pocketed their gi'oats, delivered to each a small packet, curiously folded and closely sealed, con taining, as he averred, directions which, if truly observed, would preclude any chimney from smoking for a whole year. They whose curiosity led them to dive into the mysteiy, found that a sprig of mountain ash, culled bj THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 137 moonlight, was the charm recommended, coupled, how- ever, with the proviso that no fire should he lighted on the hearth during its exercise. The frequent bursts of merriment proceeding from this quarter, at length attracted the attention of Master Marsh, whose line of road necessarily brought him near this end of the fair ; he drew bit in front of the stage just as its noisy occupant, having laid aside his formida- ble horn, was drawing still more largely on the amaze- ment of " the public" by a feat of especial wonder, — he was eating fire ! Curiosity mingled with astonishment was at its height ; and feelings not unallied to alarm were beginning to manifest themselves, among the softer eex especially, as they gazed on the flames that issued from the mouth of the living volcano. All eyes, indeed, were fixed upon the fire-eater, with an intentness that left no room for observing another worthy who had now emerged upon the scene. This was, however, no less a personage than the Beus ex machind, — ^the illustrious Aldrovando himself. Short in stature and spare in form, the sage had somewhat increased the former by a steeple-crowned hat, adorned with a cock's feather; while the thick shoulder-padding of a quilted doublet, surmounted by a falling band, added a little to his personal importance in point 6{ breadth. His habit was composed through- out of black serge, relieved with scarlet slashes in the sleeves and trunks ; red was the feather in his hat, red were the roses in his shoes, which rejoiced moreover in a pair of red heels. The lining of a short cloak of faded velvet, that hung transversely over his left shoulder, wa also red. Indeed, from all that we could ever see or hea 138 MRS. BOTHBRBYS STORY. this agreeable alternation of red and black appears lu be tie mixture of colours most approved at the court ol Beelzebub, and the one most generally adopted by his friefids and favourites. His features were sharp and shrewd, and a fire sparkled in his keen grey eye, much at variance with the wrinkles that ran their irregular furrows above his prominent and bushy brows. Ha had advanced slowly from behind his screen while the attention of the multitude was absorbed by the pyro- technics of Mr. Merryman, and, stationing himself at the extreme corner of the stage, stood quietly leaning on a crutch-handle walking-staff of blackest ebony, his glance steadily fixed on the face of Marsh, from whose countenance the amusement he had insensibly begun to derive bad not succeeded in removing all traces of bodily pain. For a while the latter was unobservant of the inqui- sitorial survey with which he was regarded ; the eyes of the parties, however, at length met. The brown mare had a fine shoulder ; she stood pretty nearly six- teen hands. , Marsh himself, though slightly bowed by ill health and the " coming autumn " of life, was full six feet in height. His elevation" giving him an unob- structed view over the heads of the pedestrians, he had naturally fallen into the rear of the assembly, which brought him close to the diminutive Doctor, with whose face, despite the red heels, his own was about upon a level. " And what makes Master Marsh here ? — what sees he in the mummeries of a miserable buffoon to divert him when his life is in jeopardy ?" said a shrill cracked TOice that sounded as in his very ear. It was the Doctor who spoke. THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 139 "Knowest thou me, friend?" said Marsh, scanning with awakened interest the figure of his questioner : " I call thee not to mind ; and y6t — stay, where have we met ?" " It stills not to declare," was the answer ; " suffice it we have jnet, — in other climes perchance,^and now meet happily again^happily at least for thee." " Why truly the trick of thy countenance reminds me of somewhat I have seen before ; where or when I know not: but what wouldst thou with me?" '' Nay, rather what wouldst thou here, Thomas Marsh ? "What wouldst thou on the Frith of Alding- ton? — is it a score or two of paltry sheep? or is it something nearer to thy heart ?" Marsh started as the last words were pronounced with more than common significance : a pang shot through him at the moment, and the vinegar aspect of the charlatan seemed to relax into a smile half compassionate, half sardonic. " Grammercy," quoth Marsh, after a long-drawn breath, " what knowest thou of me, fellow, or of mv concerns ? What knowest thou " " This know I, Master Thomas Marsh," said the stranger gravely, " that thy life is even now perilled, evil practices are against thee ; but no matter, thou art quit for the nonce — other hands than mine hnve saved thee ! Thy pains are over. Hark ! the cloch strikes One !" As he spoke, a single toll from the bell-tower of Belsington came, wafted by the western breeze, over the thick-set and lofty oaks which inter- vened between the Frith and what had been once a priory. Doctor Aldrovando turned as the sound 140 MEs. botherby's sroRY. came floating on the wind, and was moving, as if half in anger, towards the other side of the stage, where the mountebank, his fires extinct, was now disgorging to the admiring crowd yard after yard of gaudy- colom-ed riband. " Stay ! Nay, prithee stay !" cried Marsh eagerly, " I was wrong ; in faith I was. A change, and that a sudden and most marvellous, hath indeed come over me ; I am free ; I breathe again ; I feel as though a load of years had been removed ; and — is it possible ? — hast thou done this ?" " Thomas Marsh !" said the doctor, pausing, and turning for the moment on his heel, " I have not : I repeat, that other and more innocent hands than mine have done this deed. Nevertheless, heed my counsel well ! Thou art parlously encompassed ; I, and I only, have the means of relieving thee. Follow thy courses ; piu-sue thy journey ; but as thou valuest life and more than hfe, be at the foot of yonder woody knoll what time the rising moon throws her first beam upon the bare and blighted summit that towers above its trees." He crossed abruptly to the opposite" quarter of the scafiblding, and was in an instant deeply engaged in listening to those whom the cow's horn had attracted, and in prescribing for their real or fancied ailments. Vain were all Marsh's efibrts again to attract his notice ; it was evident that he studiously avoided him ; and when, after an hour or more spent in useless endeavour, he saw the object of his anxiety seclude himself once more within his canvass screen, he rod* slowly and thoughtfully off the field. THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 141 What should he do ? Was the man a mere quack i «i unpostor ? — His name thus obtained ? — that might be easily done. But then, his secret griefs : the doctor's knowledge of them ; their cure ; for he felt that his pains were gone, his healthful feelings restored ! True ; Aldrovando, if that were his name, had dis- claimed all co-operation in his recovery : but he knew, or he at least announced it. Nay, more ; he had hinted that he was yet in jeopardy ; that practices — and the chord sounded strangely in unison with one that had before vibrated within him — that practices were in ope- ration against his life ! It was enough ! He would . keep tryst with the Conjurer, if conjurer he were ; and, at least, ascertain who and what he was, and how he had become acquainted with his own person and secret afflictions. When the late Mr. Pitt was determined to keep out Bonaparte, and prevent his gaining a settlement in the county of Kent, among other ingenious devices adopted for that purpose, he caused to be constructed what was then, and has ever since been, conventionally termed a " Military Canal." This is a not very practicable ditch, some thirty feet wide, aiid nearly nine feet deep-; — in the middle, — extending fi-om the town and port of Hithe to within a mile of the town and port of Rye, a distance of about twenty miles ; and forming as it were, the cord of a bow, the arc of which constitutes that remote fifth quarter of the globe spoken of by travellers. Trivial objections to the plan were made at the time by cavillers; and an old gentleman^ of the neighbourhood, who proposed as a cheap substitute, to put down his own cocked-hat upon a pole, was deserv 142 MRS. botheebt's story. edly pooh-pooh'd down ; in fact, the job, though rather an expensive one, was found to answer remark- ably welh The French managed, indeed, to scramble over the Rhine, and the Rhone, and other insignificant currents; but they never did, nor could, pass Mr. Pitt's "Military Canal." At no great distance from the centre of this cord rises abruptly a sort of woody promontory, in shape almost conical; its sides covered with thici underwood, above which is seen a bare and brown summit rising like an Alp, in miniature. The ''defence of the nation" not being then in existence, Master Marsh met with no obstruction in reaching this place of appointment long before the time prescribed. So much, indeed, was his mind occupied by his adven- ture and extraordinary cure, that his original design had been abandoned, and Master Cobbe remained unvisited. A rude hostel in the neighboui-hood furnished enter- tainment for man and horae ; and here, a full hour before the rising of the moon, he left Ralph and the other beasts, proceeding to his rendezvous on foot and alone. "You are punctual, Master Marsh," squeaked tht shrill voice of the doctor, issuing from the thicket as the first silvery gleam trembled on the aspens above. "'Tif well : now follow me and in silence." The first part of the command Marsh hesitated not to obey ; the second was more difficult of observance. " Who and what are you f Whither are you lead- ing me ? " burst not unnaturally fi'om his lips ; but all question was at once cut short by the peremptory tQne? of bis guide. " Hush ! I say ; your finger on vour lip, there bf THE LEECH OP TOLKESTONE. 143 oawks abroad : follow me, and that silently and quickly. The little man turned as he spoke, and led the way through a scarcely perceptible path, or track, which wound among the underwood. The lapse of a few minutes brought them to the door of a low building, so hidden by the surrounding trees that few would have suspected its existence. It was a cottage of rather extraordinary dimensions, but consisting of only one floor. No smoke rose from its solitary chimney; no cheering ray streamed from its single window, which was, however, secured by a shutter of such thickness as to preclude the possibility of any stray beam issuing from within. The exact size of the building it was, in that uncertain light, diflBcult to distinguish, a portion of it seeming buried in the wood behind. The door gave way on the application of a key, and Marsh followed his conductor resolutely, but cautiously, along a narrow passage, feebly lighted by a small taper that winked and twinkled at its farther extremity. The Doctor, as he approached, raised it from the ground, and, opening an adjoining door, ushered his guest into the room beyond. It was a large and oddly furnished apartment, insuffi- ciently lighted by an iron lamp that htuig from the roof, and scarcely illumined the walls and angles, which seemed to be composed of some dark-col«i\ired wood. On one side, however. Master Marsh could discover an article bearing strong resembance to a coffin ; on the other was a large oval mirror in an ebony frame, and in the midst of the floor was described, in red chalk, a double circle, about six feet in diameter, its inner verge inscribed with sundiy hieroglyphics, agreeably relieved at intervals with an alternation of skulls and cross bones. 144 MRS. BOTHEEBTS STORT. In the very centre was deposited one skull of such sur passing size and thickness as would have filled the soui of a Spurzheim or De Ville with wonderment. A large book, a naked sword, an hour glass, a chafing dish, and a black cat, completed the list of moveables ; with the exception of a couple of tapers which stood on each side of the mirror, and which the strange gentleman now proceeded to light from the one in his hand. As they flared up with what Marsh thought a most unnatural brilliancy, he perceived, reflected in the glass behind, a dial suspended over the cofiin-like article already men- tioned ; the hand was fast verging towards the hour of nine. The eyes of the little Doctor seemed riveted on the horologe. " Now strip thee. Master Marsh, and that quickly : untruss, I say ! discard thy boots, doff doublet and hose, and place thyself incontinent in yonder bath." The visiter cast his eyes again upon the formidable- looking article, and perceived that it was nearly filled vrith water. A cold bath, at such an hour and under such auspices, was anything but inviting : he hesitated, and turned his eyes alternately on the Doctor and the Black Cat. " Trifle not the time, man, an you be wise," said the former : " Passion of my heart ! let but yon minute- hand reach the hour, and thci not immersed, thy life were not worth a pin's fee ! " The Black Cat gave vent to a single Mew, — a most unnatural spund for a mouser, — ^it seemed as it were mewed through a cow's horn. " Quick, Master Marsh ! uncase, or you perish ! " repeated his strange host, throwing as he spoke a hand THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 145 fill of some dingy-lodldng powders into the brasier. " Behold the attack is begun ! " A thick cloud rose from the embers ; a cold shivering shook the astonished Yeoman ; shai-p pricking pains penetrated his ankles and the palms of his hands, and, as the smoke cleared away, he distinctly saw and recognised in the mirror the boudoir of Marston Hall. The doors of the well-known ebony cabinet were closed; but fixed against them, and standing out in strong relief from the contrast afforded by the sable background, was a waxen image — of himself ! It appeared to be secured, and sustained in an upright posture, by large black pins driven through the feet and palms, the latter of which were extended in a cruciform position. To the right and left stood his wife and Jose ; in the middle, with his back towards him, was a figure which he had no difficulty in recognising as that of the Leech_of Folkestone. The latter had just succeeded in fastening the dexter hand of the image, and was now in the act of drawing a broad and keen-edged sabre from its sheath. The Black Cat mewed again. " Haste or you die ! " said the Doctor, — Marsh looked at the dial ; it wanted but four minutes of nine : he felt that the crisis ' of his fate was come. Ofi' went his heavy boots ; doublet to the right, galligaskins to the left ; never was man more swiftly disrobed : in two minutes, to use an Indian expression, " he was all face ! " in another he was on his back, and up to his chin, in a bath which smelt strongly as of brimstone and garlic. " Heed well the clock !" cried the Conjuror : " with the first stroke of Nine plunge thy head beneath the FIRST SERIES. 7 146 MRS. bothekby's stoky. water, suffer not a hair above the sm-face ; plunge deeply or thou art lost J" The little man had seated himself in the centre of the circle upon the large skull, elevating his legs at an angle of forty-five degrees. In this position he spun round with a velocity to be equalled only by that of a tee-totum, the red roses on his insteps seeming to describe a circle of fire. The best buckskins that ever mounted at Melton had soon yielded to such rotatory friction — but he spun on— the Cat mewed, bats and obscene birds fluttered over head ; Erasmus was seen to raise his weapon, the clock struck ! — and Marsh, who had " ducked" at the instant, popped up his head again, spitting and sputtering, half-choked with the infernal solution, which had insinuated itself into his mouth, and ears, and nose. All disgust at his nauseous dip, was, however, at once removed, when, casting his eyes on the glass, he saw the consternation of the party whose persons it exhibited. Erasmus had evidently made his blow and failed ; the figure was unmutilated ; the hilt remained in the hand of the striker, while the shivered blade lay in shining fragments on the floor. The Conjuror ceased his spinning, and brought him- self to an anchor; the Black Cat purred, — its purring seemed strangely mixed with the self-satisfied chuckle of a human being. — Where had Marsh heard something like it before ? He" was rising from his unsavoury couch, when a Biotion from the little man checked him. " Rest where you are, Thomas Marsh ; so far all goes well, but the danger is not yet over!" He looked again, and per- ceived that the shadowy triumvirate were in deep and THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 14'! eager consultation; the fragments of the shattered weapon appeared to undergo a close scrutiny. The result was clearly unsatisfactory ; the lips of the parties moved rapidly, and much gesticulation might be" observed, but no sound fel. upon the ear. The hand of the dial had nearly reached the quarter : at once the parties separated : and Buckthorne stood again before the figure, his hand armed with a long and sharp- pointed misericorde, a dagger little in use of late, but such as, a century before, often performed the part of a modern oyster-knife, in tickling the osteology of a dis- mounted cavalier through the shelly defences of his plate armour. Again he raised his arm. "Duck!" roared the Doctor, spinning away upon his cephalic pivot : — the black Cat cocked his tail, and seemed to mew the word " Duck 1" — Down went Master Marsh's head ; — one of his hands had unluckily been resting on the edge of the bath : he drew it hastily in, but not alto- gether scathless ; the stump of a rusty nail, projecting from the margin of the bath, had caught and slightly grazed it. The pain was more acute than is usually produced by such trivial accidents ; and Marsh, on once more raising his head, beheld the dagger of the Leech sticking in the little finger of the wax figure, which it had seemingly nailed to the cabinet door. " By my truly, a scape o' the narrowest !" quoth the Conjuror : " the next course, dive you not the readier, there is no more life in you than in a pickled herring. — What ! courage. Master Marsh : but be needful ; an they miss again, let them bide the issue !" He drew his hand athwart his brow as he spoke and dashed off the perspiration, which the violence of hia 148 MRS. BOTHBRBT S STORY. exercise liad drawn from every pore. Black Tom sprang upon the edge of the bath, and stared full in the face of the bather: his sea-green eyes were lambent with unholy fire, but their mai-vellous obliquity of vision was not to be mistaken ; the very countenance, too ! — Could it be ? — the features were feline, but their expres- sion was that of the Jack Pudding ! Was the Mounte- bank a Cat? — or the Cat a Mountebank? — it was all a mystery ; — and Heaven knows how long Marsh might have continued staring at Grimalkin, had not his atten- tion been again called by Aldrovando to the magic mirror. Great dissatisfaction, not to say dismay, seemed now to pervade the conspirators ; Dame Isabel was closely inspecting the figure's wounded hand, while Jose was aiding the pharmacopolist to charge a huge petronel with powder and bullets. The load was a heavy one ; but Erasmus seemed determined this time to make sure of his object. Somewhat of trepidation might be observed in his manner as he rammed down the balls, and his withered cheek appeared to have acquired an increase of paleness ; but amazement rather than feai was the prevailing symptom, and his countenance betrayed no jot of irresolution. As the clock was about to chime half-past nine, he planted himself with a firm foot in front of the image, waved his unoccupied hand with a cautionary gesture to his companions, and, as they hastily retired on either side, brought the muzzle of his weapon within half a foot of his mark. As the shadowy form was about to draw the trigger. Marsh' again plunged his head beneath the surface ; and the sound of an explosion, as of fire-arms, mingled with the THE LEECH OV FOLKESTONE. 149 rush of water that poured into his eai-a. His immersion was but momentary, yet did he feel as though half suffocated : he sprang from the bath, and, as his eye fell on the mirror, he saw, — or thought he saw, — the Leech of Folkestone lying dead on the floor of his wife's boudoir, his head shattered to pieces, and his hand still grasping the stock of a bursten petronel. He saw no more ; his head swam, his senses reeled, the whole room was turning round, and, as he feL to the ground, the last impressions to which he was con- scious were the chucklings of a hoarse laughter, and the mewings of a Tom Cat ! Master Marsh was found the next morning by his bewildered serving-man, stretched before the door of the humble hostel at which he sojourned. His clothes were somewhat torn and much bemired ! and deeply did honest Ralph marvel that one so staid and grave as Master Marsh of Marston should thus have played the roisterer, missing, perchance, a profitable bargain for the drunken orgies of midnight wassail, or the endearments of some rustic light-o'-love. Tenfold was his astonish- ment increased when, after retracing in silence their journey of the preceding day, the Hall, on their arrival about noon, was found in a state of uttermost confusion. No wife stood there to greet with the smile of bland affection her returning spouse ; no page to hold his stirrup, or receive his gloves, his hat, and riding-rod. — The doors were open, the rooms in most admired disorder; men and maidens peeping, hurrying hither and thither, and popping in and out, like rabbits in a warren. — The lady of the mansion was nowhere to be found. 150 MRS. botherby's story. Jose, too, had disappeared ; the latter had been last seen riding furiously towards Folkestone early in the preceding afternoon ; to a question from Hodge Gar- dener he had hastily answered, that he bore a missive of moment from his mistress. The lean apprentice of Erasmus Buckthorne declared that the page had sum- moned his master, in haste, about six of the clock, and th3,t they had rode forth together, as he verily believed, on their way back to the Hall, where he had supposed Master Buckthorne's services to be suddenly required on some pressing emergency. Since that time he had seen nought of either of them : the grey cob, however, had returned late at night, masterless, with his girths loose, and the saddle turned upside down. Nor was Master Erasmus Buckthorne ever seen again. Strict search was made through the neighbourhood, but without success ; and it was at length presumed that he must, for reasons which nobody could divine, have absconded, together with Jose and his faithless mistress. The latter had carried off with her the strong box, divers articles of valuable plate, and jewels of price. Her boudoir appeared to have been completely ransacked ; the cabinet and drawers stood open and empty; the very carpet, a luxury then newly introduced into Eng- land, was gone. Marsh, however, could trace no vestige of the visionary scene which he affirmed to have been last night presented to his eyes. Much did the neighbours marvel at his stoiy: — some thought him mad ; others, that he was merely indulging in that privilege to which, as a traveller, he had a right indefeasible. Trusty Ealph said nothing, but shrugged his shoulders ; and, falling into the rear, THE LEECH OP FOLKESTONE. 151 imitated the act on of raising a wine-cup to his lips, An opinion, indeed, soon prevailed, that Master Thomas Marsh had gotten, in common parlance, exceedingly drunk on the preceding evening, and had dreamt all that he so circumstantially related. This belief acquired additional credit when they, whom curiosity induced to visit the woody knoll of Aldington Mount, declared that they could find no building such as that described, nor any cottage near ; save one, indeed, a low-roofed hovel, once a house of public entertainment, but now half in ruins. The " Old Cat and Fiddle " — so was the tene- ment called — had been long uninhabited ; yet still ex- hibited the remains of a broken sign, on which the keen observer might decipher something like a rude portrait of the animal from which it derived its name. It was also supposed still to afford an occasional asylum to the smugglers of the coast, but no trace of any visit from sage or mountebank could be detected ; nor was the wise Aldrovando, whom many remembered to have seen at the fair, ever found again on aU that country side. Of the runaways, nothing was ever certainly known. A boat, the property of an old fisherman who plied his trade on the outskhts of the town, had been seen to quit the bay that night ; and there«were those who de- clared that she had more hands on board than Garden and his son, her usual complement ; but, as a gale came on, and the frail bark was eventually found keel upwards on the Goodwin Sands, it was, presumed that she had struck on that fatal quicksand in the dark, and that all on board had perished. Little Marian, whom her profligate mother had X52 MES. botherby's story. abandoned, grew up to be a fine girl, ai.J a handsome, She became, moreover, heiress to Marston HaD, and brought the estate into the Ingoldsby family by hei marriage with one of its scions. Thus far Mrs. Botherby. It is a little singular that, on pulling down the old Hall in my grandfather's time, a human skeleton waa discovered among the i-ubbish : under what particular part of the building, I could never with any accur£(,cy ascertain ; but it was found enveloped in a tattered cloth, that seerned to have been once a carpet, and which fell to pieces almost immediately on being ex- posed to the air. The bones were perfect, but those of one hand were wanting ; and the stull, perhaps from the labourer's pic£-axe, had received considerable injury ; the worm-eaten stock of an old-fashioned pistol lay near, together with a rusty piece of iron which a work- man, more sagacious than his fellows, pronounced a portion of the lock, but nothing was found which the utmost stretch of human ingenuity could twist into a barrel. The portrait of the fair Marian hangs yet in the Gallery of Tappington ; and near it is another, of a young man in the prime of life, whom Mrs. Botherby affirms to be that of her father. It exhibits a mild and rather melancholy countenance, with a high forehead, and the peaked beard and moustaches of the seventeenth century. The signet-finger of the left hand is gone, and appears, on close inspection, to have been painted out by some later artist ; possibly in compliment to the tradition, which, teste Botherby, records that of Mr. Marsh to kave gangrened, and to have undergone sm- THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 163 putatioE at the knuckle-joint. If really the resemblance of the gentleman alluded to, it must have been taken at some period antecedent to his marriage. There is neither date nor painter's name ; but, a little above the head, on the dexter side of the picture, is an escutcheon, bearing " Quarterly, Gules and Argent, in the first quarter a horse's head of the second ;" beneath it are the words " uStatis sum 26." On the opposite side is a mark, which Mr. Simpkinson declares to be that of a Merchant of the Staple, and pretends to discover, in the monogram comprised in it, all the characters which compose the name of THOMAS MABSH, ot MARSTOBT, Respect lor the feelings of an honourable family, — nearly connected with the Ingoldstys, — has induced me to veil the real " sponsorial and patronymic appel- lations " of my next hero under a sobriquet interfering neither with rhyme nor rhythm.* I shall merely add that every incident in the story bears, on the face of it, the 'stamp of veracity, and that many " persons of honour" in the county of Berks who well recollected Sir George Rooke's expedition against Gibraltar, would, if they were now alive, gladly bear testimony to the truth of every syllable. • Pack o' nonsense 1 — Every body as belongs to him is dend and gone — and every body knows that the poor young gentleman's real name wasn't Sobriquet at all, but Hampden Pye, Esq., and that one of his uncles — or cousins — used to make verses about the king and the queen, and had a sack of money for doing it every year ; — and that's his picture in the blue coat and little gold-laced cocked hat, that hangs on the stairs over the door of the passage that leads to the blue room. — Sobriquet ? — ^but there !— The Bquire wrote it after dinner I EllXABSTn BOTHERBT* 15S LEGEND OF HAMILTON TIUHE. The Captain is ■walking his quarter-deok, With a troubled brow and a bended neck ; One eye is down through the hatchway east, The other turns up to the truck on the mast • Yet none of the crew may venture to hint. " Our Skipper hath gotten a sinister squint! " The Captain again the letter hath read Which the bum-boat woman brought out to Spithead— Still, since the good ship sad'd away, He reads that letter three times a-day ; Yet the writing is broad and fair to see, As a Skipper may read in his degree. And the seal is as black, and as broad, and as &a.t, As his own cockade in his own oock'd hat : He reads, and he says, as he walks to and fro, " Curse the old woman — she bothers mo so ! " He pauses now, for the topmen hail — " On the larboard quarter a sail I a sail I " That grim old Captain he turns him quick. And bawls through his trumpet for Hairy-faced Dick. " The breeze is blowing — ^huzza I huzza I The breeze is blowing — away ! away I The breeze is blowing — a race ! a race 1 The breeze is blowings — we near the chase I Blood will flow, and bullets will iiy, — Oh where will be then young Hamilton Tighe ! " — " On the foeman's deck, where a man should be. With his sword in his hand, and his foe at his knea Cockswain or boatswain, or reefer may try, But the first man on board wiU be Hamilton Tighe I' • « * * 156 LEGEND OP Hairy-faced Dick hath a swarthy hue, Between a ginger-bread-nnt and a Jew, And his pigtail is long, and bushy, and thioti Like a pump-handle stuck on the end of a stick Hairy -taeed Dick understands his trade ; Ho stands by the breech of a long carronade. The linstock glows in his bony hand. Waiting that grim old Skipper's command. " The bullets are flying — ^huzza 1 huzza 1 The bullets are flying — away I away I " — The brawny boarders moi.nt by the chains, And are over their buckles in blood and in brains: ■ On the foeman's deck, where a man should be, Young Hamilton Tighe Waves his cutlass high, And Capitaine Grapavd bends low at his knea Hairy-faced Dick, linstock in hand. Is waiting that grim-looking Skipper's command: — A wink comes sly From that sinister eye— Hairy-faced Dick at once lets fly, And knocks off the head of young Hamilton Tighel There's a lady sits lonely in bower and hall, Her pages and handmaidens come at her call : " Now, haste ye, my handmaidens, haste and see How he sits there and glow'rs with his head on his knee The maidens smile, and, her thoughts to destroy. They bring her a little, pale, mealy-faced boy ; And the mealy -faced boy says, " Mother dear, Now Hamilton's dead, I've a thousand a year I " The lady has donn'd her mantle and hood, She is bound for shrift at St. Mary's Eood ; — " Oh I the taper shall burn, and the bell sha)" toll. And the mass shall be said for my step-son', joil, And the tablet fair shall be hung on big) . Orate pro anima Hamilton llghe I " HAMILTON TIGHE. 157 Her eoach and four Draws up to the door With her groom, and her footman, and half a score more The Lady steps into her coach alone. And they hear her sigh, and they hear her groan ; They close the door, and they turn the pin, But therms One rides with her that never stepped in I All the way there and all the way back, The harness strains, and the coach-springs crack. The horses snort, and plunge, and kick, Till the coachman thinks he is driving Old Nick ; And the grooms and the footmen wonder, and say, "What makes the old coach so heavy to-day i" But the mealy-faced boy peeps in, and sees A man sitting there with his head on his knees I 'Tis ever the same, — in hall or in bower, Wherever the place, whatever the hour, That Lady mutters, and talks to the air, And her eye is fixed on an empty chair ; But the mealy-faoed boy still whispers with dread, "She talks to a man with never a head 1 " « » ' » * « There's an old Yellow Admiral living at BatJi, As gray as a badger, as thin as a lath ; And his very queer eyes have such -very queer leers^ They seem to be trying to peep at his ears ; That old Yellow Admiral goes to the Booms, And he plays long whist, but he frets and he fumes, For all his Knaves stand upside down. And the Jack of Cltibs does nothing but irown ; And the Kings, and the Aces, and all the best trumps Get into the hands of the other old frumps ; While, close to his partner, a man he sees Counting the tricks with his head on his knees. In EatcUfFe Highway there's an old marine store, And a jjreat black doll hangs out at the dcor; Ther? are rusty locks and dusty bags. And musty phials, and fusty rags, 158 LEGiSND OF HAMILTON TIGHB. And a lusty old woman, call'd Thirsty Nan, And her crusty old husband's a Hairy-faced man I That Hairy-faced man is sallow and wan. And his great thick pigtail is withered and gone ; And he cries, " Take away that lubberly chap Tliat sits there and grins with his head in his lap 1 " And the neighbours say, as they see him look sick; " What a rum old covey is Hairy-faced Dick I " That Admiral, Lady, and Hairy-faced man May say what they please, and may do what they caa But one thing seems remarkably clear, — They may die to-morrow, or live till next year, — But wherever they live, or whenever they die. They'll never get quit of young Hamilton Tighe. The "When, — the Where, — and the How, — of the succeeding narrative speak for themselves. It may be proper, however, to observe, that the ruins here alluded to, and improperly termed " the Abbey," are not those of Bolsover, described in a preceding page, but the remains of a Preceptory once belonging to the Knights Templars, situate near Swynfield, Swinkefield, or, as it is now generally spell and pronounced, Swingfield, Minnis, a rough tract of common land now undergoing the process of enclosure, and adjoining the woods and arable lands of Tappington, at the distance of some two miles from the Hall, to the South-eastern windows of which the time-worn walls in question, as seen over the inter- vening coppices, present a picturesque and striking object. 159 THE WITCHES' FEOLIC. Scene, tbe "Snuggery" at Tappington — Grandpapa in a higK-traclled cane-bottomed elbow-chair of carved walnut-tree, dozing ; kis nose at ai angle of forty-five degrees, — ^his thumbs slowly perform tbe rotatory motion descnbed by lexicograpbet^ as "twiddling." — The "Hope of the family" astride on a walking-stick, with bumt-cork mustachios, and a pheasant's tail pinned iu his cap, solaceth himself with martial music. — Roused by a strain of surpassing dissonance, Grandpapa loquitur J\ Comb hiiher, come hither, rdf little boy Ned t Come hither unto my knee — I cannot away with that horrible din. That sixpenny drum, and that tmmpet of tin. Oh, better to wander frank and free Through the Fair of good Saint Bartlemy, Than list to sueh awful minstrelsie. Now lay, little Ned, those nuisances by, And m rede ye a lay of Grammarye. Viinmdpapa riseth, yawneth like the crater of an extinct volcano, pro- ceedeth slowly to the window, and apostrophizeth the Abbey in thfl distance.] I love thy tower. Grey ruin, I joy thy form to see. Though reft of all, Cell, cloister, and hall. Nothing is left save^ tottering wall That awfully grand and darkly dull. Threatened to fall and demolish my skull. As, ages ago, I wander'd along Careless thy grass-grown courts among, In sky-blue jacket, and trowsors laced. The latter uncommonly short in the waist. 160 ' THE wrrcHKs' frolic. Thou art dearer to me, thou Rmn grey, Than the Squire's verandah over the way ; And fairer, I ween. The ivy sheen That thy mouldering turret binds, Thau the Alderman's house aKout half a mile ofl^ With the green Venetian blinds. Full many a tale would my Grandam tell, In many a bygone day. Of darksome deeds, which of old befell In thee, thou Euin grey 1 And I the readiest ear wotdd lend, And stare Hke frighten'd pig ! WbUe my Grandfather's haiiTwould have stood up on end. Had he not worn a wig. One tale I remember of mickle dread — Now lithe and listen, my little boy Ifed 1 « « « * • Thou mayest have read, my little boy Ned, Though thy mother thine idlesse blames, In Doctor Goldsmith's history book. Of a gentleman called King James, In quUted doublet, and great trunk breeches, Who held in abhorrence Tobacco and Witches. Well, — ^in King James's golden days, — For the days were golden then, — They could not be less, for good Queen Bess Had died, aged three score and ten. And her days we know, Were all of them so ; * While the Court poets sung, and the Court gallants sworo That the days were as golden still as before. Some people, 'tis true, a troublesome few, Who historical points would unsettle. Have lately thrown out a sort of a doubt Of the genuine ring of the metal ; THE witches' frolic. 161 But who can believe to a monarch so wise People would dare tell a parcel of lies ! — ^Welljjthen, in good King Jamea'a days, — Golden or not does not matter a jot, — Ton Ruin a sort of a roof had got ; For though, repairs lacking, its walls had heen cracking Since Harry the Eighth sent its people a-packing, Though joists, and floors. And windows, and doors Had all disappear'd, yet pillars by scores Bemain'd, and still propp'd up a ceiling or two; While the belfry was almost as good as new ; Tou are not to suppose matters look'd just so In the Euin some two hundred years ago. Just in that farthermost angle, where There are still the remains of a winding-stair, One turret especially high ia air Uprear'd its tall gaunt form ; As if defying the power of Fate, or The hand of " Time the Innovator ;" And though to the pitiless storm Its weaker brethren all around Bowing, in ruin had strew'd the ground, Alone it stood, while its fellows lay strew'd. Like a four-botfle man in a company " screw'd," Not finn on his legs, but by no means subdued. One night — ^"twas in sixteen hundred and six,— I like when I can, Ned, the date to fix, — The month was May, ^ Though I can't well say At this distance of time the particular day — Bnt oh ! that night, that horrible night I — Folks ever afterwards said with affright That they never had seen such a terrible sight. 162 THE WITCBES' FKOI.IC. The Sun had gone down liary red ; And if that evening he laid his head In Thetis's lap beneath the seas. He must have scalded the goddess's knees. He left behind him a lurid track Of blood-red light upon clouds so black, That Warren and Hunt, with the whole of tl eir crew, Oould scarcely have given them a darker hue. TTiere came a shrill and a whistling sound, Above, beneath, beside, and around, . Yet leaf ne'er moved on tree 1 So that some people thought old Belzebub must Have been lock'd out of doors, and was'T)lowing the dust Prom the pipe of his street-door key. And then a hollow moaning blast Came, sounding more dismally still than the last ; And the lightning flash'd and the thunder growl'd. And louder and louder the tempest howl'd. And the rain came down in such sheets as would staggei a Bard for a simile short of Niagara. Bob Gilpin "was a citizen;" But though of some " renown," Of no great "feredit" in his own. Or any other town. He was a wild and roving lad. For ever in the alehouse boozing; Or romping, — ^whieh is quite as bad, — With female friends of his own choosing; And Rob this very day had made. Not dreaming such a storm was brewing. An assignation with Miss Slade,-^ — Their trysting-place that same grey Buio, But Gertrude Slade became afraid. And to keep her appointment iin wining. THE witches' frolic. 108 Wlien she spied the rain on her -window-pane In drops as big as a shilling ; She put off her hat and her mantle again, — "He'll never expect me in all this rain I " But little he recks of the fears of the sex; Or that maiden false to her tryst could be; He had stood there a good half hour Ere yet had commenced that perilous shower, , Alone by the trysting-treel Eobin looks east, Eobin looks west, But he sees not h«r whom he Iotcs the best; Eobin looks up, and Kobin looks down. But no one comes from the neighbouring town. The storm came at last, — ^loud roar'd the blast, And the shades of evening fell thick and fast; The tempest grew ; and the straggling yew, His leafy umbrella, was w«t through and through Rob was half dead with cold and fright, When he spies in the Euins a twinkling light— A hop, two skips, and a jump, and straight Eob stands within that postern gate. And there were gossips sitting there, By one, by two, by three : Two were an old iU-favour'd pair , But the third was young, and passing fair, With laughing eyes, and with coal-black hair A dainty quean was she I Eob would have given his ears to sip But a single salute from her cherry lip. As they sat in that old and haunted room. In each one's hand was a huge birch broom. On each one's head was a steeple-crown'd hat, On each one's knee was a coal-black cat ; 164 THE witches', frolic. Each had a Idrtle of linooln green — It was, I trow, a fearsome Boene. "'Now riddle me, riddle me right, Madge Gray, What foot unhalloVd wends this way ? Goody Price, Goody, Price, now areed me aright. Who roams the old Ruins this drearysome night I" Then np and spate that sonsie quean, And shfi spake both loud and clear ; " Oh, be it for weal, or be it for woe, Enter friend, or enter foe. Hob Gilpin is welcome here ! — " Now tread we a measure ! a hall I a haU 1 Ifow tread, we a measure," quoth she — The heart of Eobiu Beat thick and throbbing — "Eoving Bob, tread a measure with me! " "Ay, lassie 1" quoth Rob, as her hand he gripes, "Though Satan himself were blowing the pipes. ' Now around they go, and around, and around. With hop-skip-and-jamp, and frolicsome bound. Such sailing and gliding. Such sinking and sliding. Such lofty curvetting. And grand pirouetting ; Ned, you would swear that Monsieur Gilbert And Miss Taglioni were capering there ! And oh I such awful music I — ne'er Fell sounds so uncanny on mortal ear. There were the tones of a dying man's groans Mix'd with the rattling of dead men's bones : Had you heard the shrieks, and the squeals and ibfc sqiwafc" You'd not have forgotten the sound for weeks. And around, and around, and around they go, Heel to hf el, and toe to toe, THE WITCH SS' FROLIC. 18ff Pranee and caper, curvet and wheel, Toe to toe, and heel to heel. '"Tis merry, 'tis merry. Cummers, T trow. To dance thus beneath the nightshade bought " " Goody Price, Goody Price, now riddle me righ<^ Where may we sup this frolicsome night J " " Mine host of the Dragon hath mutton and veal I The Squire hath partridge, and widgeon, and teal ; But old Sir Thopas hath daintier cheer, A pasty made of the good red deer, A huge grouse pie, and a fine Florentine, A fat roast goose, and a turkey and chine." — "Madge Gray, Madge Gray, Now tell me, I pray, Where's the best wassaU bowl to our roundelay I" " — ^There is ale in the cellars of Tappington Hall, But the Squire* is a churl, and his drink is small; Mine host of the Dragon Hath many a flaggon Of double ale, lamb's wool, and eau de vie, But Sir Thopas the Vicar, Hath costlier liquor, — A butt of the choicest Malvoisie He doth not lack Canary or sack ; And a good pint stoop of Clary wine Smacks merrily off with a Turkey and Chine I" " Now away I and away I without delay, Hey Oocholorwn t my Broomstick gay ! * Stephen Ingoldsby, surnamed " The Niggard," second cousin and bdo cessor to "Tlie Bad Sir GileB." (Visitatiou of Kent, 1666.) For an occoant of his murder by burglars, and their subsequent execution, see Dodsley'o " Remarkable Trials," &c. London. 17T6, vol. ii. p. 364, ex thf present volume, Art. " Hand of Glory." 166 THE witches' FKOLIO. We must be back ere the dawn of the daf ; Hey up the chimney I away I away 1"^ Old Goody Price Mounts in a trice, In showing her legs she is not over nice ; Old Goody Jones, All skin and bones, Follows, "like winking." — Away go the cronea^ Knees and nose in a line with the toes. Sitting their brooms Mke so many Ducrows ; Latest and laat The damsel pass'd. One glance of her coal-black eye she cast; She laugh'd with glee loud laughters three, " Dost fear, Eob Gilpin, to ride with me 1"— Oh, never might man unscath'd espy One single glance from that coal-black eye. — Away she flew I — Without more ado Kob seizes and mounts on a broomstick too, " Hey 1 up the chimney, lass ! Hey after you I" It^s a very fine thing, on a fine day in June, To ride through the air in a Nassau Balloon ; But you']] find very soon, if you aim at the jyioon In a carriage like that, you're a bit of a "Spoon," For the largest can't fly Above twenty mUes higli, And you're not half way then on your journey, nor nigh. While no man alive Could ever contrive, Mr. Green has declared, to get higher than five. And the soundest Philosophers hold that, perhaps. If you reach'd twenty miles your balloon would co]la;>a«h Or pass by such action The sphere of attraction, Getting into the track of some Comet — Good-lack I TMs a thousand to one thai you'd never come back ; THE witches' frolic. 1C7 And the boldest of mortals a danger like that must fear Bashly ])rotruding beyond our own atmosphere. No, no ; when I try A trip to the sky, I shan't go in that thing of yours, Mr. Gye, Though Messieurs Monk Mason, and Spencer, and Beady All join in saying it travels so easily. No ; there's nothing so good As a pony of wood — Not like that which, of late, they stuck up on the gate At the end of the Park, which caused so much debate. And gave so much trouble to make it stand straight, — But a regular Broomstick — ^you'll find that the favourite- Above all, when, like Robin, you haven't to pay for it — Stay — ^really I dread — I am losing the thread Of my tale ; and it's time you should be in your bed. So lithe now, and listen, my little boy Ned I ******* The Vicarage walls are lofty and thick, And the copings are stone, and the sides are brick; The casements are narrow, and bolted and barr'd. And the stout oak door is heavy and hard ; Moreover, by way pf additional guard, A great big dog runs loose in the yard. And a horse-shoe is nail'd on the threshold sill,-- To keep out aught tliat savours of ill, — But, alaekl the chimney-pot's open still 1 — That great big dog begins to quail. Between his hind-legs he drops his tail; Crouch'd on the ground, the terrified hound Gives vent to a very odd sort of a sound ; It is not a bark, loud, open, and free. As an honest old watch-dog's bark should be ; It is not a yelp, it is not a growl. But a something between a whine and a howl And, hark 1 — a sound from the wirdow high l68 THE witches' tkolic. Besponds to the watch-dog's pitiful cry : It is not a moan. It is not a groan : It comes from a nose, — ^but is not what a nose Produces in healthy and sound repose. Tet Sir Thopas the Vicar is fast asleep, And his respirations are heaTy and deep ! He snores, 'tis true, but he snores no more As he's aye been accustom'd to snore before, And as men of his kidney are wont to snore ;— (Sir Thopas's weight is sixteen stone four ;) He draws his breath like a man distress'd By pain or grief, or like one oppress'd By some ugly old Incubus perch'd on his breast. A something seems To distm-b his dreams, And thrice on his ear, distinct and clear, Falls a voice as of somebody whispering near, In still small accents, faint and few, "Hey down the chimney-potl — ^Hey after youl" Throughout the Ticarage, near and far, There is no lack of bolt or of bar ; There are plenty of looks To closet and box. Yet the pantry wicket is standing ajar I And the little low door, through which you must gov Down some half-dozen steps, to the cellar below, Is also unfastened, though no one may know, By so much as a guess, how it comes to be so ; Foi wicket and door, The evening before, Were both of them lock'd, and the key safely placed On the bunch that hangs down from the Housekeeper waist. Oh I 'twas a jovial sight to view In that snug little cellar that frolicsome crew I THE witches' frolic. 169 Old Goody Price Had^ot something nice, A turkey poult larded with bacon and spice ; — Old Goody Jones Would touch nought that had bones, — She might just as well mumble a parcel of stones. Goody Jones, in sooth, hath got never a tooth. And a New-College pudding of marrow and plums Is the dish of all others that suiteth her gums. Madge Gray was picking The breast of a chicken. Her coal-black eye, with its glance so sly, Was fixed on Eob Gilpin himself sitting by With his heart full of love, and his mouth fuU of pie Grouse pie, with hare ' In the middle, is fare Which, duly concocted with science and care. Doctor Elitchener says, is beyond all compare ; And a tenderer leveret Robin had never ate ; So, in after times, oft he was wont to asseverate. •'Now pledge we the wine-cup! — a health! a health! Sweet are the pleasures obtain'd by stealth I Fill up I fill up ! — the brim of the cup Is the part that aye holdeth the toothsomest sup ! Here's to thee, Goody Price I — Goody Jones, to thee 1— To thee. Roving Rob ! and again to me ! Many a sip, never a slip Come to us four 'twist the cup and the lip 1" The cups pass quick, , The toasts fly thick, Rob tries in vain out their meaning to pick^ But hears the words "Scratch," and "Old Bogey," and "Niek More familiar grown, Now he stands up alone, Volunteering to give them a toast of his own. KRST SERIES. 8 170 THB witches' frolic. " A bumper of -wine I' Fill thine I Fill mine 1 Here's a health to old Noah who planted the Vine I" Oh then what sneezing, What coughing and wheezing, Ensued in a way that was not over pleasing ! Goody Price, Goody Jones, and the pretty Madge Gray, All seem'd as their liquor had gone the wrong way But the best of the joke was, the moment he spoke Those words which the party seem'd almost to choke, As by mentioning Noah some spell had been broke, Every soul in the house at that instant awoke 1 And, hearing the din from barrel and bin, Drew at once tiie conclusion that thieves had got in. Up jump'd the Cook and caught hold of her spit : Up jump'd the Groom and took bridle and bit ; Up jump'd the Gardener and shoulder'd his spade : Up jump'd the Scullion,— *the Footman, — the Maid ; (The two last, by the way, occasioned some scandal, By appearing together with only one candlCj Which gave for unpleasant surmises some handle ;) Up jump'd the Swineherd, — and up jump'd the big boy, A nondescript under him, acting as Pig-boy ; Butler, Housekeeper, Coachman — ^from bottom to top Everybody jump'd up without parley or stop, With the -weapon which first in their way chanced to dropt Whip, warming-pan, wig-block, mug, musket, and mop. Last of all doth appear, With some symptoms of fear. Sir Thopas in person to bring up the rear. In a mix'd kind of costume half Pontifiealilms, / Half what scholars denominate Pure Natv/ralibus ; Nay, the truth to express. As you '11 easily guess, They have none of them time to attend much to iseaai \11 But He, or She, ^ As the case may be, He or She seizes what He or She pleases, Trunk-hosen or kirtles, and shirts or chemises. And thus one and all, great and small, short »niS taU, Muster at once in the Vicarage-hall, With upstanding looks, starting eyes, shorten'a 'breath Like the folks in the Gallery Scene in Macbeth, When Macduff is announcing their Sovereign's death. And hark ! — what accents clear and strong, To the listening throng came floating along I 'Tis Robin encoring himself in a Bong-5- " Very good song I very well sung I JoUy companions every one I" On, on to the cellar I away I away 1 On, on, t<> the cellar without more delay I The whole posse rush onwards in battle array — Conceive the dismay of the party so gay, Old Goody Jone^ Goody Price, and Madge Gray. When the door bursting wide, they descried the allied Troops, prepared for the onslaught, roll in like a tide, And the spits, and the tongs, and the pokers b«.side ! — " Boot and saddle's the word ! mount, Cummers, and rii Alarm was ne'er caused more strong and indigenous By cats among rats, or a hawk in a pigeon-house ; Quick from the view Away they all flew. With a yell, and a screech, and a hallibaUoo, " Hey up the chimney 1 Hey after you 1" — The Volseians themselves made an exit less speedy From Corioli, "flutter'd like doves" by Macready; They are gone^ — save one Robin alone I Robin, whose high state of civilization Precludes all idea of aerostation. l72 THE witches' frolic. And who no'nr has no notion Of more locomotion Than suffices to kick, with much zeal and devotion, Eight and left at the party, who pounced on their victim. And maurd.hiii:, and kick'd him, and lick'd Mm, and priok'd tiim, As they bore him away scarce aware what was done. And believing it all but a part of the fun. Hie — hiccoughing out the same strain he'd begun, " Jol — -jolly companions every ono 1" Mbrqjng gray Scarce bursts into day Ere at Tappington Hall there's the deuce to pay ; The tables and chairs are all placed in array In the old oat-parloui', and in and out Domestics and neighbours, a motley rout. Are walking, and whispering, and standing about - And the Squire is there In his large arm-chair, Leaning back with a grave magisterial air ; In the front of a seat a Huge volume, called Fleta, And Bracton, a tome of an old-fashion'd look. And Coke upon Lyttleton, then a new book ; And he moistens his lips With occEisional sips From a luscious sack-posset that smiles in a tankard Close by on a side-table — ^not that he drank hard. But because at that day, I hardly need say, The Hong Merchants had not yet invented How Quo, Nor as yet would you see Souchong or Bohea At the tables of persons of any degree ; How our ancestors managed to do without tea I must fairly confess is a mystery to me ; Yet your Lydgates and Chancers > Had no cups and saucers ; THE witches' frolic. 173 Their breakfast, in faotj and the best they could get, Was a sort of a dejeCiner a lafmarchette ; Instead of our slops They had outlets and chops, And sack-possets, and ale in stoups, tankards, an. 17!) ratory, in which, as he was fond of children, the two boys spent a great portion of their leisure time, wit- nessing many of those little experiments so attractive to youth, and in time aspiring to imitate what they admired. In such society, it is not surprising that Frederick S should imbibe a strong taste for the sciences which formed his principal amusement ; or that, when, in process of time, it became necessaiy to choose his walk in life, a profession so intimately connected with his favourite pursuit, as that of medicine, should be eagerly selected. No opposition was offered by my friend, who, knowing that the gi-eater part of his own income would expire with his life, and that the remain- der would prove an insufficient resource to his grand- child, was only anxious that he should follow such a path as would secure him that moderate and respectable competency which is, perhaps, more conducive to real happiness than a more elevated or wealthy station. Frederick was, accordingly, at the proper age, matricu- . lated at Oxford, with the view of studying the higher branches of medicine, a few months after his friend, John W , had proceeded to Leyden, for the purpose of making himself acquainted with t^ie practice of sur- gery in the hospitals and lecture-rooms attached to that university. The boyish intimacy of their younger days did not, as is fceqiientfy the case, yield to separation ; on the contrary, a close correspondence was kept up between them. Dr. Harris was even prevailed upon to allow Frederick to take a trip to Holland to see his friend ; and John returned the visit to Frederick at Oxford. ISO SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF Satisfaotory ao, for some time, were the accounts of the general course of Frederick S 's studies, by degi-ees rumours of a loss pleasant nature reached th« ears of some of his friends ; to the vicarage, however, I have reason to believe they never penetrated. The good old Doctor was too well beloved in . his parish for any one voluntarily to give him pain ; and, after all, nothing beyond whispers and surmises had reached X , when the worthy vicar was surprised on a sud- den by a request from his grandchild, that he might be permitted to take his name off the books of the univer- sity, and proceed to finish his education in conjunction with his friend W at Leyden. Such a proposal, made, too, at a time when the period for his graduating could not be far distant, both surprised and grieved the Doctor ; he combated the design with more perseverance than he had ever been known to exert in opposition to any declared wish of his darliug boy before, but, as usual, gave way, when more strongly pressed, from sheer • inabihty to persist in a refusal which seemed to give so much pain to Frederick, especially when the latter, with more energy than was quite becoming their relative situations, expressed his positive determination of not returning to Oxford, whatever might be the result of his grandfather's decision. My friend, his mind, perhaps, a little weakened by a short but severe nervous attack which he had scarcely recovered from, at length yielded a reluctant consent, and Frederick quitted England. It was not till some months had elapsed after his departure, that I had reason to suspect, that the eagei desire of availing himself of opportunities for study abroad, not afforded him at home, was not the sole, THE LATB fiENRT HARRIS, D.D. 181 or even the prineipal, reason which had drawn Frede- rick so abruptly from his Alma Mater. A chance visit to the university, and a convereation with a senior fellow belonging to his late college, convinced me of this ; still I found it impossible to extract from the latter the pre- cise nature of his offence. That he had given way to most culpable indulgences, I had before heard hinted ; and, when I recollected how he had been at once launched, from a state of what might be well called seclusion, into a woi-ld where so many enticements were lymg in wait to allure, — with liberty, example, every thing to tempt him from the straight road, — regret, I frankly own, was more the predominant feel- ing in my mind than either surprise or condemnation. But here was evidently something more than mere ordinairy excess — some act of profligacy, perhaps, of a deeper stain, which had induced his superiors, who, at first, had been loud in his praises, to desire him to withdraw himself quietly, but for ever ; and such an intimation, I found, had, in fact, been conveyed to him from an authority which it was impossible to resist. Seeing that my informant was determined not to be explicit, I did not press for a disclosure, which, if made, woTild, in all probability, only have given me pain, and that the rather, ^ my old friend the Doctor had recently obtained a valuable living from Lord M , only a few miles distant from the market town in which I resided, where he now was, amusing himself in putting his grounds into order, ornamenting his house, and getting everything ready against his grand- son's expected visit in the following autumn. October came, and with it came Frederick ■ he rode over more 182 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OP than once to see me, sometimes accompanied by the Doctor, between whom and myself the recent loss of my poor daughter Louisa had drawn the chords of sympathy still closer. More than two years had flown on in this way, in which Frederick S had as many times made temporaiy visits to his native country. The time was fast approaching when he was expected to return, and finally take up his residence in England, when the sudden illness of my wife's father obliged us to take a journey into Lancashire, my old friend, who had himself a curate, kindly offering to fix his quarters at my parsonage, and superintend the concerns of my parish till my return. — -Alas ! when I saw him next he was oft the bed of death 1 My absence was necessaidly prolonged much beyond what I had anticipated. A letter, with a foreign post- mark, had, as I afterwards found, been brought over froin his own house to my venerable substitute in the interval, and barely giving himself time to transfer the charge he had undertaken to a neighbouring clergy- man, he had hurried off at once to Leyden. His arrival there was, however, too late. Frederick was dead ! — killed in a duel, occasioned, i,t was said, by no ordinary provocation on his part, although the flight of his antagonist had added to the mystery which enveloped its origin. The long journey, its melancholy termina- tion, and the complete overthrow of all my poor friend's earthly hopes, were too much for him. He appeared too, — as I was informed by the proprietor of the house in which I found him, when, his summons nt length had brought me to his bed-side, — to TOE LATE HENRY HAB.RIS, D.D. 183 Iiave received some sudden and unaccountable slioclc, which even the death of his grandson was inadequate to explain. There ■ was, indeed, a wildness in his fastr glazing eye, which mingled strangely with the glance of satisfaction thrown upon me as he pressed my hand ; — he endeavoured to raise himself, and would have spoken, but fell back in the effort, and closed his eyes for ever. — I buried him there, by the side of the object of his more than parental affection, — in a foreign land. It is from the papers that I discovered in his travel- ling-case that I submit the following extracts, without, however, presuming to advance an opinion on the strange circumstances which they detail, or even as to the connection which some may fancy they discover between different parts of them. The first was evidently written at my own house, and bears date August the 15th, 18 — , about three weeks after my own departure for Preston. It begins thus : — " Tuesday, August 15. — Poor girl ! — I forget who it is that says, ' the real ills of life are light in comparison with fancied evils ;' and certainly the scene I have just witnessed goes some way towards establishing the truth of the hypothesis. — Among the afflictions which flesh is heir to, a diseased imagination is far fl'om being the lightest, even when considered separately, and without taking into the account those bodily pains and suffer- ings which, — so close is the connection between mind and matter, — are but too frequently attendant upon any disorder of the fancy. Seldom has my interest be^n more powerfully excited than by poor Mary Graham. Her age, her appearance, her pale, melancholy features, the very contour of her countenance, all isonspired to 184 SINGtJLAB. PASSAGE IN THE LIEE OF remind me, but too forcibly, of one who, waking o? Bleeping, is never long absent from my thougbts,) — -but enough of this. " A fine morning had succeeded one of the most tempestuous nights I ever remember, and I was just sitting down to a substantial breakfast, which the care of my friend Ingoldsby's housekeeper, kind-hearted Mrs. "Wilson, had prepared for me, when I was inter- rupted by a summons to the sick-bed of a young parishioner whom I had frequently seen in my walks, and had remarked for the regularity of her attendance at Divine worship. — Mary Graham is the elder of two daughters, residing with their mother, the widow of an attorney, who, dying suddenly in the prime of life, left his family but slenderly provided for. A strict though not parsimonious economy has, however, enabled them to live with an appearance of respectability and com- fort ; and from the personal attractions which both the girls possess, their mother is evidently not without hopes of seeing one, at least, of them advantageously settled In life. As far as poor Mary is concerned, I fear she is doomed to inevitable disappointment, as I am much mistaken if consumption has not laid its wasting finger upon her; while this last recurrence, of what I cannot but believe to be a most formidable epileptic attack, threatens to shake out, with even added velocity, the little sand that may yet remain within the hour-glass of time. Her very delusion, too, is of such a nature as, by adding to bodily illness the agitation of superstitious terror, can scarcely fail to accelerate the catastrophe, which I think I see fast approaching. "Before I was introduced into the sick-room, he* THE LAIE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. IS/i sister, who had been watching my arrival from tha window, took me into their Httle parlour, and, after the usual civilities, began to prepare me for the visit I was about to pay. Her countenance was marked at once with ti-ouble and alarm, and in a low tone of voice, which some internal emotion, rather than the fear of distm-bing the invalid in a distant room, had subdued almost to a whisper, informed me that my presence was become necessary, not more as a clergyman than a magistrate ; — that the disorder with which her sister had, during the night, been so suddenly and unaccounta- bly seized, was one of no common kind, but attended with circumstances which, coupled with the declarations of the sufferer, took it out of all ordinary calculations, ?.nd, to use her own expression, that ' malice was at the bottom of it.' "Naturally supposing that these insinuation* were intended to intimate the partaking of some deleterious substance on the part of the invalid, I inquu-ed what reason she had for imagining, in the first place, that anything of a poisonous nature had been administered at all ; and, secondly, what possible incitement any human being could have for the perpetration of so foul a deed towards so innocent and unoffending an indivi- dual 1 Her answer considerably relieved the appre- hensions I had begun to entertain lest the poor girl should, from some unknown cause, have herself been attempting to rush uncalled into the presence of her Creator ; at the same time, it surprised me not a little by its apparent want of rationality and common sense. She had no reason to believe, she said, that her sister had taken poison, or that any attempt upon her Ufa 186 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE lEFB OP had been made, or was, perhaps, contemplated, but that ' still malice was at work, — the malice of villains or fiends, or of both combined ; that no causes purely natural would suffice to account for the state in which her sister had been now twice placed, or for the dread- ful sufferings she had undergone while in that state ; and that she was determined the whole affair should undergo a thorough investigation.' Seeing that the poor girl was now herself labouring under a great degree of excitement, I did not think it necessary to enter at that moment into a discussion upon the absur- dity of her opinion, but applied myself to the tranquil- lizing her mind by assurances of a proper inquiry, and then drew her attention to the symptoms of the indisposition, and the way in which it had first made its appearance. " The violence of the storm last night had, I found, induced the whoI» family to sit up far beyond their usual hour, till, wearied out at length, and, as their mother observed, 'tired of burning fire and candle to no purpose,' they repaired to their several chambers. " The sistere occupied the same room ; Elizabeth was already at their humble toilet, and had commenced the arrangement of her hair for the night, when her atten- tion was at once drawn from her employment by a half smothered shriek and exclamation from her sister, who, in her dehcate state of health, had found walking up two flights of stairs, perhaps a little more quickly than usual, an exertion, to recover from which she had seated hereelf in ,\ large arm-chair. " Turning hastily at the sound, she perceived Mary deadly pale, grasping, as it were con^lsively, each arm of the chair which supported her, and bending forwar'l THE LATE HENRY HAERIS, D.D. 187 ill the attitude of listening ; ter lips were trembling and bloodless, cold drops of perspiration stood upon her forehead, and in an instant after, exclaiming in a pierc ing tone, ' Hark 1 they are calling me again ! it is — ■ it is the same voice ; — Oh no ! no ! — Oh my God ! save me, Betsy, — hold me — save me !' she fell forward upon the floor. Elizabeth flew to her assistance, raised her, and by her cries brought both her mother, who had not yet got into bed, and their only servant girl, to her aid. The latter was despatched at once for medical help ; but, from the appearance of the sufferer, it was much to be feared that she would soon be beyond the reach of art. Her agonized parent and sister succeeded in bearing her between them and placing her on a bed ; a faint and intermittent pulsation was for a while percepti- ble ; but in a few moments a general shudder shook the whole body ; the pulse ceased, the eyes became fixed and glassy, the jaw dropped, a cold clamminess usurped the place of the genial warmth of life. Before Mr. I arrived, everything announced that dissolution had taken place, and that the freed spirit had quitted its mortal tenement. "The appearance of the surgeon confirmed their worst apprehensions ; a vein was opened, but the blood refused to flow, and Mr. I pronounced that the vital spark was indeed extinguished. " The poor mother, whose attachment to her children was perhaps the more powerful, as they were the sola relatives or connections she had in the world, was over- whelmed with a grief amounting almost to frenzy ; it was with difficulty that she was removed to her own cooni I'v llie united strength of her daughter, and 188 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF medical adviser. Nearly an houi* elapsed during th« endeavOir at calming her transports ; they had suc- ceeded, however, to a certain extent, and Mr. 1 had taken his leave, vfhen Elizabeth, re-entoring the bed- chamber in which her sister lay, in order to pay the last sad duties to her corpse, was horror-struck at seeing a crimson stream of blood running down the side of the counterpane to the floor. Her exclamation brought the girl again to her side, when it was perceived, to their astonishment, that the sanguine stream proceeded from the arm of the body, which was noW manifesting signs of returning life. The half frantic mother flew to the room, and it was with difficulty that they could prevent her, in her agitation, from so acting as to extinguish for ever the hope which had begun to rise in their bosoms. A long-drawn sigh, amounting almost to a groan, fol- lowed by several convulsive gaspings, was the prelude to the restoration of the animal functions in poor Mary : a shriek almost preternaturally loud, considering her state of exhaustion, succeeded ; but she did recover, and with the help of restoratives, was well enough towards morning to express a strong desire that I should be sent for, — a desire the more readily complied with, inas- much as the strange expressions and declarations she had made since her restoration to consciousness, had filled her sister with the most horrible suspicions. The nature of these suspicions was such as would at any other time, perhaps, have raised a smile upon my lips ; but the distress, and evea agony of the poor girl, as she' half hinted and half expressed them, wete such as entirely to preclude every seiisation at all approaching to mirth. Without endeavouring, there THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 189 fore, to combat ideas, evidently too strongly impressed upon her mind at the moment to admit of present refu- tatiou, I merely used a few encouraging words, md requested her to precede me to the sick-chamber. "The invalid was lying on the outside of the bed, partly dressed, and wearing a white dimity wrapping- grown the colour of which corresponded but too well with the deadly paleness of her complexion. Her cheek was wan and sunken, giving an extraordinary promi- nence to her eye, which gleamed with a lustrous brilliancy not unfrequently characteristic of the aberra- tion of intellect. I took her hand ; it was chill and clammy, the pulse feeble and intermittent, and the general debUityof her frame was such, that I would fain have persuaded her to defer any convereation which, in her present state, she might not be equal to support. Her positive assurance that, until she had disburdened 'herself of what she called her 'dreadful secret,' she could know no rest either of mind or body, at length induced me to comply with her wish, opposition to which, in her then fi-ame of mind, might perhaps be attended with even worse effects than its indulgence. I bowed acquiescence, and in a low and faltering voice, with frequent interruptions, occasioned by her weakness, sho gave me the following singular account of the sen- sations which, she averred, had been experienced by her during her trance : — • " ' This, sir,' she began, ' is not the first time that the cruelty of others has, for what purpose I am imable to conjecture, put me to a degree of- torture which I can compare to no saffeidng, either of body or raind, which T have ever before experienced. On a former occasion 190 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OV I was willing to believe it the mere effect of a hideous dream, or what is vulgarly termed the nightmare ; but, this repetition, and the circumstances under which I was last summoned, at a time, too, when i. had not even composed myself to rest, fatally convince me of the reality of wliat I have seen and suffered. " ' This is no time for concealment of any kind. — It is now more than a twelvemonth since I was in the habit of occasionally encountering in mj walks a young man of prepossessing appearance, and gentlemanly deportment : he was always alone, and generally read- ing ; but I could not he long in doubt that these rencounters, which became every week more frequent, were not the eflfect of accident, or that- his attention, when we did meet, was less directed to his book than to my sister and myself. He even seemed to wish to address' us, and I have no doubt would have taken some other opportunity of doing so, had not one been afforded him by a strange dog attacking us one Sunday morning in our way to church, which he beat off, anc? made use of this little service to promote an acquaint- ance. His name, he said, was Francis Somers, and added that he was on a visit to a relation of the same name, resident a few miles fi-om X . He gave us to understand that he was himself studying surgery with the view to a medical appointment in one of the colonies. You are not to suppose, sir, that he had entered thus into his conceras at the first interview ; it was not tUl our acquaintance had ripened, and he had visited our house more than once with my mother's sanction, that these particulars were elicited. He never disguised, fi'om the first, that an attachment to myself was his THE LATE HENKY HARRIS, D.D. 19] object originally in introducing himself to our notice; as his prospects were comparatively flattering, my mother did not raise any impediment to his attentions, and 1 own I received them with pleasure. " ' Days and weeks elapsed ; and although the dis- tance at which his relation resided, prevented the possi- bility of an uninterrupted intercourse, yet neither was it so great as to preclude his frequent visits. The interval of a day, or at most of two, was all that intervened, and these temporary absences certainly did not decrease the pleasure of the meetings with which they terminated. At length a pensive expression began to exhibit itself upon his countenance, and I could not but remark that at every visit he became more abstracted and reserved. The eye of affection is not slow to detect any symptom of uneasiness in a quarter dear to it. I spoke to him, questioned him on the subject : his answer was evasive, and I said no more. My mother too, however, had marked the same appearance of melancholy, and pressed him more strongly. He at length admitted that his spirits were depressed, and that their depression was caused by the necessity of an early, though but a temporary, separation. His uncle, and only friend, he said, had long insisted on his spending some months on the Continent, with the view of completing his profes- sional education, ari that the time was now fast approaching when it would be necessary for him to commence his journey. A look made the inquiry which my tongue refused to utter. ' Yes, dearest Mary,' was his reply, 'I have communicated our attachment to him, partially at least : and though I dare not say that the intimation was received as I could have wished, yet 192 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF I have, perhaps, on the whole, no fair reason to be dis- satisfied with his reply. " ' The completion of my studies, and my settlement in the world, must, my uncle told me, be the first con- sideration ; when these material points were achieved, he should not interfere with any arrangement that might be found essential to my happiness ; at the same time he has positively refused to sanction any engage- ment at present, which may, he says, h^ve a tendency to divert my attention from those pursuits, on the due prosecution of which my future situation in life must depend. A compromise between love and duty was eventually wrung from me, though reluctantly ; I have pledged myself to proceed immediately to my destination abroad, with a full understanding that on my return, a twelvemonth hence, nd' obstacle shall be thrown in the way of what are, I trust, our mutual wishes.' "'I will not attempt to describe the feehngs with which I received this communication, nor will it be ne- cessajy to say anything of what passed at the few inter- views which took place before Francis quitted X . The evening immediately previous to that of his depar- . ture he passed in this house, and, before we separated, renewed his protestations of an unchangeable affection, requiring a similar assurance froin me in return. I did not hesitate to make it. ' Bo satisfied, my dear Francis,' said I, 'that no diminution in the regard I have avowed can ever take place, and though absent in body, my heart and soul will still be with you.' — ' Swear this,' he cned, with a suddenness and energy which surprised, and rather startled me ; ' promise that you will be with me m spirit, at least, when I am far away.' I gave him THE LATE HENRY HARMS, D.D. 193 my hand, but tliat was not sufficient. ' One of these dark shining ringlets, my dear Maiy,' said he, ' as a pledge that you will not forget your vow 1' I suffered him to take the scissors from my work-box and to sever & lock of my Lair, which he placed in his bosom. — The next day he was pursuing his journey, and the waves irere already bearing him from England. * " ' I had letters from him repeatedly during the first three months of his absence ; they spoke of his health, his prospects, and of his love, but by degrees the inter- vals between each arrival became longer, andl fancied I perceived some falling off from that warmth of ex- pression which had at first characterized his commu- nications. " ' One night I had retired to rest rather later than usual, having sat by the bedside, comparing his last brief note with some of his earlier letters, and was endeavouring to convince myself that my apprehensions of his fickleness were unfounded, when an undeflnable sensation of restlessness and-anxiety seized upon me. I cannot compare it to anything I had ever experienced before ; my pulse fluttered, my heart beat with a quick- ness and violence which alarmed me, and a strange tremor shook my whole frame. I retired hastily to bed, in hopes of getting rid of so unpleasant a sensation, but in vain ; a vague apprehension of I knew not what occupied my mind, and vainly did I endeavour to shake it off. I can compare my feelings to nothing but those which we sometimes experience when about to under- take a long and unpleasant journey, leaving those we love behind us. More than once did I raise myself in ray bed and listen, fancying that I heard myself called, VraST BERIES. 194 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE Or and on eacli of these occasions the fluttering of my heart increased. Twice I was on the point of calling tc xnj sister, who then slept in an adjoining room, but she had gone to bed indisposed, and an unwillingness to dis- turb either her or my mother checked me ; the large clocijin the room below at this moment began to strike the hour of twelve. I distinctly heard its vibrations, but ere its sounds had ceased, a bm-nihg heat, as if a hot iron had been applied to my temple, was succeeded by a dizziness, — a swoon, — a total loss of consciousness as to where or in what situation I was. " ' A pain, violent, sharp, and piercing, as though my whole frame were lacerated by some keen-edged weapon, roused me from this stupor, — but where was I ? Every- thing was strange around me — a shadowy dimness ren- dered every object indistinct and uncertain ; methought, however, that I was seated in a large, antique, high- backed chair, several of which were near, their tall black carved-frames and seats interwoven with a lattice-work of cane. The apartment in which I sat was one of moderate dimensions, and from its sloping roof, seemed to be the upper story of the edifice, a fact confirmed by the moon shining without, in full effulgence, on a huge round tower, which its light rendered plainly visible through the open casement, and the summit of which appeared but little superior in elevation to the room 1 occupied. Rather to the right, and in the distance, the spire of some cathedral or lofty church was visible, while sundry gable-ends, and tops of houses, told me I was in the midst of a populous but unknown city. " ' The apartment itself had something strange in its appearance ; and, in the character of its furniture and THE LATE HBNRT HARRIS, D.D. 195 appurtenarices, bore little or no j'esemblance to any I haa ever seen before. The fire-place was large and wide, with a pair of what are sometimes called andirons, betokening that wood was the principal, if not the only fuel consumed within its recess ; a fierce fire was now blazing in it, the light from which rendered visible the remotest parts of the chamber. Over a lofty old- fashioned mantelpiece, carved heavily in imitation of fruits and flowers, hung the half-length portrait of a gentleman in a dark-coloured foreign habit, with a peaked beard and mustaches, one hand resting upon a table, the other supporting a sort of baton, or short military staff, the summit of which was surmounted by a silver falcon. Several antique chairs, similar in appear- ance to those already mentioned, suii-ounded a massive oaken table, the length of which much exceeded its width. At the lower end of this piece of furniture stood the chair I occupied ; on the upper, was placed a small chafing dish filled with burning coals, and darting forth occasionally long flashes of various-coloured fire, the bril- liance of which made itself visible, even above the strong illumination emitted from the chimney. Two huge, black, japanned cabinets, with clawed feet, reflecting from their polished surfaces the effulgence of the flame, were placed one on each side the casement-window to which I have alluded, and with a few shelves loaded with books, many of which were also strewed in disorder on the floor, completed the list of the furniture in the apartment. Some strange-looking instruments, of unknown form and purpose, lay on the table near the chafing-dish, on the other side of which a miniature por- trait of myself hung, reflected by a small oval mirtor in 196 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF a da,rk-coloured frame, while a large open volume, traced with Strang 3 characters of the colour of blood, lay in front ; a goblet, containing a few drops of liquid of the same ensanguined hue, was by its side. " 'But of the objects which I have endeavoured to describe, none arrested my attention so forcibly as two others. These were the figures of two young men, in the prime of life, only separated from me by the table, They were dressed alike, each in a long flowing gown, made of some sad-coloured stuff, and confined at the waist by a crimson girdle ; one.of them, the shorter of the two, was occupied in feeding the embers of the chafing-dish with a resinous powder, which produced and maintained a brilliant but flickering blaze, to the action of which his companion was exposing a long lock of dark chestnut hair, that shrank and shrivelled as it approached the flame. But, O God ! — that hair ! — and the form of him who held it ! that face ! those features ! — not for one instant could I entertain a doubt — it was He ! Francis ! — the lock he grasped was mine, the very pledge of affection I had given him, and still, as it par- tially encountered the fire, a burning heat seemed to scorch the temple from which it had been taken, con- veying a torturing sensation that affected my very brain. '"How shall I proceed? — but no, it is impossible, — not even to you, sir, can I — dare I — recount the proceed- ings of that unhallowed night of horror and of shame. Were my life extended to a term commensurate with that of the Patriarchs of old, never could its detestable, its damning pollutions be effaced fi-om my remembrance; and oh ! above all, never could I forget the diabolical glee which sparkled in the eyes of my fiendish tormen- THE LATE HEHrtT HARRIS, D.D. 197 tors, as they witnessed the worse than useless struggles of theii' miserable victim. Oh ! why was it not permitted me to take refuge in unconsciousness — ^nay, in death itself from the abominations of which I was compelled to be, not only a witness, but a partaker ? But it is enough, sir ; I will not further shock your nature by dwelling longer on a scene, the full horrors of which, words, if I even dared employ any, would be inadequate to express ; suffice it to say, that after being subjected to it, how long I knew not, but certainly for more than an hour, a noise from below seemed to alarm my persecutors ; a pause ensued, — the lights were extinguished, — and, as the sound of a footstep ascending a staircase became more distinct, my forehead felt again the excruciating sensation of heat, while the embers, Jtindling into a momentary flame, betrayed another portion of the ring- let consuming in the blaze. Fresh agonies succeeded, not less severe, and of a similar description to those which had seized upon me at first ; oblivion again fol- lowed, and on being at length restored to consciousness, I found myself as you see me now, faint and exhausted, weakened in every limb, and every fibre quivering with agitation. — My groans soon brought my sister to my aid ; it was long before J could summon resolution to confide, even to her, the dreadful secret, and when I had done so, her strongest efforts were not wanting to per- suade me that I had been labouring under a severe attack of nightmare. I ceased to argue, but I was not con- vinced : the whole scene was then too present, too awfully real, to permit me to doubt the character of the transaction ; and if, when a few days had elapsed, the hopelessness of imparting to others the conviction I 198 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN ME LIFE OF entertained myself, produced in me an apparent acquies' sence with their opinion, I have never been the less satisfied that no cause reducible to the known laws of nature occasioned my sufferings on that hellish evening, Whether that firm belief might have eventually yielded to time, — whether I might at length have been brought to consider all that had passed, and the circumstances which I qould never cease tp remember, as a mere phan- tasm, the offspring of a heated imagination acting upon an enfeebled body, I know not — last night, however, would in any case have dispelled the flattering illusion — last night — last night was the whole horrible scene acted over again. The place — the actors — the whole infei-nal apparatus were the same ; — the same insults, the same torments, the same brutalities — all were renewed, B&ve that the period of my agony was not so prolonged. I became sensible to an incision in my arm, though the hand that made it was not visible ; at the same moment my persecutors paused ; they were manifestly discon- certed, and the companion of him, whose name shall never more pass my ■ lips, muttered something to his abettor in evident agitation ; the formula of an oath of horrible import was dictated to me in terms fearfully distinct. I refused it unhesitatingly ; again and again was it proposed, with menaces I tremble to think on — but I refused ; the same sound was heard — interruption was evidently apprehended, — the same ceremony was hastily repeated, and I again found myself released, Ipng on my own bed, with my mother and my sister weep- ing over me.— God ! God ! when and how is thia to end ? — When will my spirit be left in peace 1— Where, or wi+h whom shall I find refuge ? ' THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 199 " It is impossible to convey any adequate idea of the emotions with which this unhappy girl's narrative aflected. me. It must not be supposed that her story was delivered in the same continuous and uninterrupted strain in which I have transcribed its substance. On the contrary, it was not without frequent intervals, of longer or shorter duration, that her account was brought to a conclusion : indeed, many passages of her strange dream were not without the greatest difficulty and re- luctance communicated at all. — My task was no easy one; never, in the course of a long life spent in the active duties of my Christian calling, — never had I*been summoned to such a conference before ! "To the half-avowed, and palliated, confession of committed guilt, I had often listened, and pointed out the only road to secure its forgiveness. I had succeeded in cheering the spirit of despondency, and sometimes even in calming the ravings of despair ; but here I had a diflferent enemy to combat, an ineradicable prejudice to encounter, evidently backed by no common share of superstition, and confirmed by the mental weakness at- tendant upon severe bodily pain. To argue the suffere. out of an opinion so rooted was a hopeless attempt. I did, however, essay it: I spoke to her of the strong and mysterious connection maintained between our waking images and those which haunt us in our dreams, and more especially during that morbid oppression com- monly called nightmare. I was even enabled to adduce myself as a strong, and living, instance of the excess to which fancy sometimes carries her freaks on tbese occa- sions ; while by an odd coincidence, the impression made upon my own mind, which I adduced as an -example, 200 SINGDLAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF bore no slight^ resemblance to her own. I stated to her, that on my recovery from the fit of epilepsy, which had attacked me about two years since, just before my grandson Frederick left Oxford, it was with the greatest di6Sculty I could persuade myself that I had not visited him, during the interval, in his rooms at Brazenose, and even conversed both with himself and his friend W , seated in his arm-chair, and gazing through the window full upon the statue of Cain, as it stands in the centre of the quadrangle. I told her of the pain I undierwent both at the commencement and termination of my attack, — of the extreme lassitude that succeeded ; but my efforts were all in vain : she listened to me, indeed, with an interest almost breathless, especially when I informed her of my having actually experienced the very burning sensation in the brain alluded to, no doubt a strong attendant symptom of this peculiar affection, and a proof of the identity of the complaint ; but I could plainly perceive that I failed entirely in shaking the rooted opinion which possessed her, that her spirit had, by some nefarious and unhallowed means, been ac- tually subtracted for a time from its earthly tenement " ***** The next extract which I shall give from my old friend's memoranda is dated August 24th, more than a week subsequent to his first visit at Mrs. Graham's. He appears, from his papers, to have visited the poor young woman more than once during the interval, and to have afforded her those spiritual consolations which no one was more capable of communicatiTig. His patient, for so in a religious sense she may vrell be termed, had been sinking under the agitation she had THB LATE HENRY HARMS, D.D. 201 ex])erienced ; and the constant dread slie was under of similar suflferings, operated go strongly on a frame al- ready enervated, that life at length seemed to hang only by a thread. His papers go on to say, " I have just seen poor Mary Graham, — I fear for the last time. Nature is evidently quite worn out ; she is aware that she is dying, and looks forward to the ter- mination of her existence here, not only with resigna- tion, but with joy. It is clear that her dream, or what she persists in calling her ' subtraction,' has much to do with this. For the last few days her behaviour has been altered ; she has avoided conversing on the sub- ject of her delusion, and seems to wish that I should consider her as a convert to my view of her case. This may, perhaps, be partly owing to the flippancies of her medical attendant upon the subject, for Mr. I has, somehow or other, got an inkling that she has been much agitated by a dream, and thinks to laugh off the impression, — in my opinion injudiciously ; but though a skilful, and a kind-hearted, he is a young man, and of a disposition, perha,ps, rather "^oo mercurial for the chamber of a nervous invalid. Her manner has since been much more reserved to both of us : in my case, probably because she suspects me of betraying her secret." ***** " August 26th. — Mary Graham is yet alive, but sinking fast ; her cordiality towards me has returned since her sister confessed yesterday that she had, herself, told Mr. I that his patient's mind ' had been affect- ed by a terrible vision.' I am evidently restored to hej confidence. — She asked me this morning, with much 9* 202 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE Or earnestness, ' What I believed to be the state of departed spirits during the interval between dissolution and the final day of account ! — And whether I thought they would be safe, in another world, from the influence of wicked persons employing an agency moie than human ?' — Poor child ! — One cannot mistake the pre- vailing bias of her mind. — Poor child !" ***** "August 2'7th. — It is nearly over; she is sinking rapidly, but quietly and without pain. I have just administered to her the sacred elements of which her mother partook. Elizabeth declined doing the same ; she cannot, she says, yet bring herself to forgive the villain who has destroyed her sister. It is singular that she, a young woman of good plain sense in ordinary matters, should so_ easily adopt, and so pertinaciously retain, a superstition so puerile and ridiculous. This must be matter of future conversation between us ; at present, with the form of the dying girl before her eyes, it were vain to argue with her. The mother, I find, has written to young Somers, stating the dangerous situation of his affianced vnfe ; indignant, as she justly is, at his long silence ; it is fortunate that she has no knowledge of the suspicions entertained by her daugh- ter. ■ I have seen her letter, it is addressed to Mr. Francis Somers, in the Hogewoert, at Leyden, — a fellow-student then of Frederick's. I must remember to enquire if he is. acquainted with this young man." ***** Mary Graham, it appears, died the same night. Before her departure, she repeated to my friend the •angular story sh And in it a stone figure, found on the place, When, thinking the old Hall no longer a Jileasant one. They puU'd it aU down, and erected the present one. If you look, you'U peroeive that this stone figure twists A thing like a broomstick in one of its fists. It's so injured by time, you can't make out a feature ; But it is not St Dunstan, — so doubtless it's Peter. Gengulphus, or, as he is usually styled in this coun- try, " Jingo," was perhaps more in the mouths of the " general" than any other Saint, on occasions of adjura- tion (see note, page 216). Mr. Sinipkinson from Bath had kindly transmitted me a portion of a primitive tallad, which has escaped the researches of Ritson and Ellis, but is yet replete with beauties of no common order. I am happy to say that, since these Legends first appeared; I have recovered the whole of it. — Vide infra. "% JiBitMjn's JSosigt Itptlr oStr a stsit, EitJOr figs wsmt iaKS litttl Bsrtjjo 38 Sniti) a g— i bstj an N,— N bjti a I&—I& Snjti an ©,— Sti^tj t&WSs \m littlt Bjnso I ®ts* ;lFtanMsn, %-^ts, \t irtiotlr 300IU n-slt, gtnlr TjJE tairir it 3£taw sonJrt ^tjnjg;* %, St, i, N, «E, ffi I %t xatl'lr it ilart flooit JStsnflo I Noint Cjb nottt tijs a prtttj aonfl? 3E tRnfee it i« igt Sjngo I I fajttt a g— N, (£, ©— 5 fifataw si is is isngo I" 227 A LAY OF ST. GENGULPHUS. " NoQ niulto postt Gengrulphus, m domo suA donnienSj occisus est i Cuodam clerico qui cum uxoro'sua adulterare solebat. Cajus corpus dum^ in fereto, in sepulturam portaretUT, multi infirmi de tactu sanati suut/' " Cum hoc illius uxori referretur ab ancilla sua, scilicet dominum suum. iiuam martyrem sanctum, miracula facere, irrideiis ilia, et subsurrans, ait ' Ita Gengulphus miracula facitat ut palvinarium meum canta\,' " &c. dec. WOLFU MkHORAB. OsirGULPHns comes from the Eolj Land, With his scrip, and his hottle, and sandal shoon ; Full many a day hath he been away, Tet his lady deems him retnrn'd full soon. Pull many a day hath he been away, Yet scarce had he crossed ayont the sea. Ere a spruce young spark of a Learned Clerk Had called on his Lady, and stopp'd to tea. This spruce young guest, so trimly drest, Stay'd with that Lady, her revels to crown ; Tliej laugh'd, and they ate and they drank of the best. And they turn'd the old castle quite upside down. They would walk in the park, that spruce young Clerk, With that frolioksome Lady so frank and free. Trying balls and plays, and all manner of ways. To get rid of what French people call Ennui. 228 A LAY OF Now the festive board -with viands is stored, Savouiy dishes be there, I ween. Rich puddings and big, and a, barbecued pig, And oxtail soup in a China tureen. •>, There 's a flagon of ale as large as a pail — When, oooklo on hat, and staff in hand. While on nought they are thinking save eating and drinking Gengulphus walks in from the Holy Land I " You must be pretty deep to catch weazels asleep," Says the proverb : that is " take the Fair unawares ; " A maid o'er the bannisters chancing to peep, Whispers, " Ma'am, here 's Gengulphus a-coming upstairs" Pig, pudding, and soup, the electrified group, With the flagon, pop under the sofa in haste, And contrive to deposit the Clerk in the closet. As the dish least of all to Gengulphus's taste. Then ohl what rapture, what joy was expresl^ When "poor dear Gengulphus" at last appear'd 1 She kiss'd and she press'd " the dear man " to her breast, In spite of his great, long, frizzly beard. Such hugging and squeezing 1 'twas almost unpleasing, A smile on her lip, and a tear in her eye ;* She was so very glad, that she seem'd half mad, And did not know whether to laugh or to cry. Then she calls up the maid and the table-cloth's laid. And she sends for a pint of the best Brown Stout ; On the fire, too, slie pops some nice mutton chops. And she mixes a stiff glass of " Cold Without." Then again she beg^n at the " poor dear" man; She press'd him to drink, and she press d hira to eat, A nd she brought a foot-pan, with hot water and bran. To comfort bis '' poor dear," travel-worn feet * Ei/i SaKpvert ysXaffaira. — HoM. ST. GENGULPHUS. 229 " Nor night nor day since lie 'd been away, Had she had any rest " she " vow'd and declared." She "never could eat one morsel of meat, For thinking how ' poor dear ' Gengulphus fared." She " really did think she had not slept a wink Since he left her, although he 'd been absent so long," He here shook his head, — right little he said. But he thought she was " coming it rather too strong." Now his palate she tickles with the chops and the pickles^ Till, so great the eflfeet of that stiff gin grog, His weaken'd body, subdued by the toddy, Falls out of the chair, and he lies like a log. Then out comes the Clerk from his secret lair; He lifts up the legs, and she lifts up the head. And, between them, this most reprehensible pair Undress poor Gengulphus, and put him to bed. Then the bolster they place athwart his face, And his night-cap iuto his mouth they cram ; And she pinches his nose underneath the clothes, Till the "poor dear soul " goes off like a lamb. And now they tried the deed to hide ; For a little bird whisper'd, "Perchance you may swing, Here 's a corpse in the case with a sad swell'd face, And a Medical Crowner 's a queer sort of thing 1 " So the Clerk and the wife, they each took a knife. And the nippers that nipp'd the loaf-sugar for tea ; With the edges and points they serer'd the joints At the clavicle, elbow, hip, ankle, and knee. Thus, limb from limb, they dismember'd him So entirely, that e'en when they came to his wrists, With those great sugar-nippers they nipp'd off his "ffipper^" As the Olerk, very flippantly, term'd his fists. 230 A LAY OP When they 'd cut off his head, eutertaining a dread Lest folks should remember Gengulphus's face, They determined to throw it where no one could know it, Down the well, — and the limbs in some different place. But first the long beard from the chin they shear'd. And managed to stuff that sanctified hair, With a good deal of pushing, all into the cushion That filled up the seat of a large arm-chair. They contriv'd to pack up the trunk in a sack. Which they hid in an osier-bed outside the town, The Clerk bearing arms, legs, and all on his back. As that vile Mr. Greenaore served Mrs. Brown. But to see now how strangely things sometimes turn oulv And that in a manner the least expected I Who could surmise a man ever could rise Who 'd been thus carbonado'd, cut up, and dissected 1 No doubt 'twould surprise the pupils at Guy's ; I am no unbeUever — ^no man can say that o' me^ But St. Thomas himself would scarce trust his own eyes If he saw such a thing, in his School of Anatomy. You may deal as you please with Hindoos and Chinese, Or a Mussulman making his heathen salaam, or A Jew or a Turk, but it 's other guess work When a man has to do with a Pilgrim or Palmer. :fc * :!: :ic 4: :{;. 4e By chance the Prince Bishop, a Eoyal Divine, Sends his cards round the neighbourhood next day, and urges his Wish to receive a snug party to dine Of the resident clergy, the gentry, and 1 At a quarter past five they are all alive^ At the palace, for coaches are fast rolling in; And to every guest his card had express'd " Half past " as the hour for " a greasy chin.* BT, GBNGULPHUS. 231 Some thirty are seated, and handsomely treated With the choicest Rhine wines in his Highness's stock ; When a Count of the Empire, who felt himself heated. Requested some water to mix with his Hook. The Butler, who saw it, sent a maid out to draw xt, But scarce had she given the windlass a twirl. Ere Gengulphus's head, from the well's bottom, said In mild accents, "Do help us out, that's a good girll" Only fancy her dread when she saw a great head In her bucket ; — with fright she was ready to drop : — Conceive, if you can, how she roar'd and she ran. With the head rolling after her bawling out " Stop I " She ran and she roar'd, till she came to the board Where the Prince Bishop sat with his party aironnd. When Gengulphus's poll, which continued to roll At her heels, on the table bounced up with a l)ouiA Never touching the cates, or the dishes or plates. The decanters or glasses, the sweetmeats or fruits. The head smiles, and begs them to bring him his leg^ As a well spoken gentleman asks for his boots. Kicking open the casement^ to each one's amazement, Straight a right leg steps in, all impediment seorne^ And near the head stopping, a left follows hopping Behind, — for the left leg was troubled with corns. Next, before the beholders, two great brawny shoulders; And arms on their bent elbows dance through the throng, While two hands assist, though nipp'd off at the wrist. The said shoulders in bearing a body along. They march up to the head, not one syllable said, For the thirty guests all stare in wonder and doubly As the limbs in their sight arrange and unite, Till Grengulphus, though dead, looks as sound as a trout 232 A LAY or I will venture to say, from that hour to thia day, Ne'er did such an assembly behold sueh a seene ; Or a table divide fifteen guests of a side With the dead body placed in the centre between. yes, they stared — ^well they might at so novel a sight : No one utter'd a wlSsper, a sneeze, or a hem, But sat all bolt upright, and pale with affright ; And they gazed at the dead man, the dead man at them. The Prince Bishop's Jester, on punning intent, As he view'd the whole thirty, in jocular terms Said, " They put him in mind of a Council of Frente ' Engaged in reviewing the Diet of Worms." But what should they do? — Oh 1 nobody knew What was best to be done, either stranger or resident ; Tlie Chancellor's self read his Puffendorf through In vain, for his books could not furnish a precedent The Prince Bishop mutter'd a curse, and a prayer Which his double capacity hit to a nicety ; His Princely, or Lay, half induced him to swear. His Episcopal moiety said "Benedicitel" The Coroner sat on the body that night. And the jury agreed, — ^not a doubt could they harbour, — "That the chin of the corpse — ^the sole thing brought to light— - Had been recently shaved by a very bad barber." They sent out Von Taiinsend, Von Biirnie, Von Roe, Von Maine, and Von Eowantz — ^through chalets and ofcfi- teaux, 1 Towns, villages, hamlets, they told them to go, And they stuck uj placards on ths walls of the Stadth&u& ST, GENGULPHU8. 23& " MURDER 1 ! Whekeas, a dead Gentleman, surname unknown. Has been recently found at his Higlmess's banquet; Rather sliabbily drest in an Amice, or gown In appearance resembling a second-hand blanket ; " And WuEEEAS, there's great reason indeed to suspect That some ill-disposed person, or persons, with malice Aforethought, have Idll'd, and begun to dissect The said Gentleman, not very far from the palace ; 'This is to give Notice! — "WTioeyer shall seize, And such person, or persons, to justice surrender, Shall receive — such Reward — as his Highness shall please^ On conviction of him, the aforesaid offender. " And, in order the matter more clearly to trace To the bottom, his Highness, the Prince Bishop, further. Of his clemency, offers free Pardon and Grace To all such as have not been coneern'd in the murther. Done this day, at our palace, — July twenty-fiTe,-r- By Command, (Signed) Johann Von RiisseU. Deceased rather in years — ^had a squint when alive ; And smells slightly of gin — linen mark'd with a G." Ihe Newspapers, too, made no little ado. Though a different version each managed to dish up ; Some said "the Prince Bishop had run a man through," Others said " an assassin had kill'd the Prince Bishop." The "Ghent Herald" fell foul of the "Bruxelles Gazette," The " Bruxelles Gazette," with much sneering ironical, Scorn'd to remain in the " Ghant Herald's " debt. And the " Amsterdam Times " quizz'd the " Nui'cmberg Clirouicle." 234 A LAY OF In one thing, indeed, all the journals agreed, Spite of " politics," " bias," or " party collision ;" Viz.: to "giye," when they'd "further accounts" of the deed, "Full particulars" soon, in "a later Edition." But now, while on all sides they rode and they ran, Trying all sorts of means to discover the caitiffs, Losing patience, the holy Gengulphus began To think it high time to " astonish the natives." Mrst, a Rittmeister's Frau, who was weak in both eyes. And supposed the most short-sighted woman in Holland, Found greater relief, to her joy and surprise. From one glimpse of his " squint" than from glasses by Do! lond. By the slightest approach to the tip of his Nose, Meagrims, headache, and vapours were put to the rout ; And one single touch of his precious Great Toes Wag a certain specific for chilblains and gout. Rheumatics, — sciatica, — tio-douloureux ! Apply to his shin-bones — ^not one of them lingers ; — All bilious complaints in an instant withdrew. If the patient was tickled with one of his fingers. Much virtue was found to reside in his thumbs , When applied to the chest, they cured soantness of breathing Sea-sickness, and colic ; or, rubb'd on the gums, "Were " A blessing to Mothers," for infants in teething. Whoever saluted the nape of his neck. Where the mark remain'd visible still of the knife. Notwithstanding east winds perspiratien might cheek. Was safe from sore-throat for the rest of his life. Thus, while each acute, and each chronic complaint Giving way, proved an influence clearly divine, rhey perceived the dead Gentleman must he a Sainl^ So they lock'd him up, body and bones, in a shrine. ST. G£NaULFHU8. 23fi Through country and txjwn his new Saintship's renown As a first-rate physician kept daily increasing, Till, as Alderman Curtis told Alderman Brown, It seem'd as if " Wonders had never done ceasing." The Three Kings of Cologne began, it was known, J A sad falling off in their off'rings to find, His feats were so many — still the greatest of any, — In every sense of the word was — behind ; For the German Police were beginning to cease From exertions which each day more fi'uitless appear'd When Gengulphus himself, his fame still to increase, UnraveU'd the whole by the help of — his beard 1 If you look back you'll see the aforesaid barie gris. When divorced from the chin of its ram'der'd proprietor, Had been stuff 'd in the seat of a kind of settee. Or double arm'd chair, to keep the thing quieter. It may seem rather strange, that it did not arrange Itself in its place when the limbs join'd together ; Prhaps it could not get out, for the cushion was stout^ And constructed of good, strong, maroon-colour'd leather Or, what is more likely, Gengulphus might choose, For Saints, e'en when dead, still retain their volition. It should rest there, to aid some particular views. Produced by his very peculiar position. Be that as it may, on the very first day That the widow Gengulphus sat down on that settee, What oocurr'd almost frighten'd her senses away, Beside scaring her handmaidens, Gertrude and Betty. They were telling their mistress the wonderful deeds Of the new Saint, to whom all the Town said their orisons And especially how, as regards invalids. His miraculous cures far outrivall'd Von Morison's. 236 A LAI OF " The cripples," said they, " fling their crutches away, And people horn blind now can easily see ns !" — But she, (we presume, a disciple of Hume,) Shook her head, and said angrily, " Oredat Judaeus !" "Those rascally liars, the Monks and the Friais, To bring grist to their mill these devices have hit on.— He work miracles ! — ^pooh ! — ^I'd believe it of you Just as soon, you great Geese, — or the Chair that I sit on ' The Chair, — at that word — it seems really absurd, But the truth must be told, — what contortions and grins Distorted her face ! — She sprang up from her place Just as though she'd been sitting on needles and pins I For, as if the Saint's beard the rash challenge had heard Which she utter'd, of what was beneath her forgetful, Each particular hair stood on end in the chair, Like a porcupine's quills when the animal's fretful. That stout maroon leather, they pierced altogether, Like tenter-hooks holding when clench'd from within, And the maids cried " Good gracious 1 how very tenacious I* — ^They as well might endeavour to pull off her skin I — She shriek'd with the pain, but all efforts were vain; In vain did they strain every sinew and muscle, — The cushion stuck fast I — From that hour to her last She could never get rid of that comfortless " Bustli '" And e'en as Macbeth, when devising the death Of his King, heard "the very stones prate of h) where abouts ;" So this shocking bad wife heard a voice all her life Crying "Murder!" resound from the cushion, — OJ 'iien abouts. ST. GEKGULPnUS. 237 With regard to the Clerk, we are left in the dark As to what his fate was ; but I cannot imagine he Got off soot-free, though unnoticed it be Both by Eibadaneira and Jacques de Voragine : For cut-throats, we're sure, can be never secure, And " History's Muse.' still to prove it her pen holds, As you'll see, if you look in a rather scarce book, " God^s -Revenge against Murder," by one Mr, Reynolds. MOKAL. Now, you grave married Pilgrims, who wander away, Like Ulysses of old,* {vide Homer and BTaso,) Don't lengthen your stay to three years and a day i And when you are coming home, just write and say so) And you, learned Clerks, who're not given to roam, Stick close to your books, nor lose sight of decorum i Don't visit a house when the master's from home ! Shun drinking, — and study the " Vitts Sanctorum I" Above all, you gay ladies, who fancy neglect In youi- spouses, allow not your patience to fail But remember Gengulphus's wife I — and reflect On the moral enforced by our terrible tale 1 * Qui mores hominum multorum vidit et urhuiu 238 Me. Barney Maguire has laid claim to the nexJ Saint as a countrywoman ; and " Why wouldn't he ? " when all the world tnows the O'Dells were a fine ould, ancient family, sated in Tipperary "Ere the Lord Mayor Btole hia collar of gowld, And Bowld it away to a trader 1 " * He IS manifestly wrong ; but, as he very rationally observes, "No matter for that — she's a Saint any wayl" * The *' Inglorious Memory '' of this ould ancient transaction is stlllf we understand, kept up in Dublin hj an annual proclamation at one of the city gates. The jewel, which has replaced the abstracted ornament, is said to hare been presented by King William, and worn by Dauiol <')*Ojanell) Bkj. 239 THE LAY OF ST. ODILLE. Odille was a maid of a dignified race ; Her father, Count Otto, was lord of Alsace ; Such an air, such a grace. Such a form, such a face, AH agreed, 'twere a fruitless endeavour to trace In the Court, or within fifty miles of the place. Many ladies in Strasburg were beautiful, stiU They were beat all to sticks by the lovely Odflle. But Odille was devout, and, before she was nine. Had " experienced a call " she consider'd divine. To put on the veil at St Ermengarde's shrine. — Lords, Dukes, and Electors, and Counts Palatine Came to seek her in marriage from both sides the BfaiiM But vain their design. They are all left to pine. Their oglings and smiles are all useless ; in fine Not one of these gentlefolks, try as they will. Can draw "Ask my papa " from the cruel Odille. * At length one of her suitors, a certain Count Herman, A highly respectable man as a German, Who smoked like a chimney, and drank like a Merman Paid his court to her father, ooneeiving his firman Would soon make her bend. And induce her to lend An ear to a love-tale in lieu of a sermon. He gain'd the old Count, who said, "Come, Mynheer, fiUl— Here's luck to yourself and my daughter Odille I " HO . THE LAY OF ST. ODILLB. The Lady Odille was quite nervous with fear When a little bird whispered that toast in her car ; She murmnr'd " Oh, dear I My Papa has got queer, I am sadly a&aid, with that nasty strong beer I He's so Tery austere, and severe, that it's clear K he gets in his ' tantrums,' I can't remain here ; But St. Ermengarde's convent is luckily near ; It were folly to stay. Pour prendre congl, 1 shall put on my bonnet, and e'en run away I " — She unlook'd the back door and descended the hill, On whose crest stood the towers of the sire of Odille. — When he found she'd levanted, the Count of Alsace At first tm-ned remarkably red in the face ; He anathematized, with much unction and grace. Every soul who came near, and consign'd the whole race Of runaway girls to a very warm place ; With a frightful grimace He gave orders for chase ; His vassals set off at a deuce of a pace. And of aU whom they met, high or low, Jack or Jill, Ask'd, "Pray have you seen anything of OdiUe! " Sow I think I've been told, — ^for I'm no sporting man, — That the " knowing-ones " call this by far the best plan, "Take the lead and then keep it 1" — that is if you can.— OdUle thought so, too, as she set off and ran. Put her best leg before. Starting at score, As I said some lines since, from that little back door. And not being miss'd until half after four, Had what hunters call " law " for a good hour and more ; Doing her best. Without stopping to rest, Like " young Loehinvar who came out of the West." THB LAY OP ST. ODILLB. 24] '"Tis done! — I am gone! — over briar, brook, and rill! They HI be sharp lads who catch me I" said young Miss Odilie But you 've all read in jEsop, or Phssdrus, or Gay, How a tortoise and hare ran together one day ; How the hare, making play, " Progress'd right slick away," As " them tarnation chaps " the Americans say ; WTiile the tortoise, whose figure is rather outri For racing, crawl'd straight on, lyithout let or stay, Having no post-horse duty or turnpikes to pay, TUl, ere noon's ruddy ray Changed to eve's sober grey. Though her form and obesity caused some delay. Perseverance and patience brought up her lee-way. And she chased her fleet-footed " prayeursor " until She o'ertook her at last ; — so it fared with Odille I For although, as I said, she ran gaUy at first, * And shoVd no inclination to pause, if she durst ; She at length felt opprest with the heat, and with thirsl^ Its usual attendant ; nor was that the worst. Her shoes went down at heel ; at last one of them burst Now a gentleman smiles At a trot of ten miles ; But not so the Fair ; then consider the stiles, And as then ladies seldom wore things with a frill Round the ankle, these stiles s^dly bother'd Odille. Still, despite all the obstacles placed in her track. She kept steadUy on, though the terrible crack In her shoe made of course her progression more slack. Till she reaeh'd the Swartz Forest (in English the Black) ; I cannot divine How the boundary line Was pass'd which is somewhere there form'd by the Rhine- - Perhaps she'd the knack To float o'er on her back — FIRST SERIES. 11 242 THE LAY OF ST. ODILIX. Or, perhaps, cross'd the old bridge of boats at Brisach, (Which Vauban, some years after, secured from attack By a Dastion of stone which the Germans call " Wacke,") All I know is, she took not so much as a snack, Till, hungry and worn, feeling wretchedly ill, On a mountain's brow sank down the weary Odille. I said on its " brow," but I should have said " crown," For 'twas qrate on the sumraib, bleak, barren, and broivn, And so high that twas frightful indeed to look down Upon Fribui^, a place of some little renown, That lay at its foot; but imagine the frown That contracted her brow, when full many a clown She perceived coming up from that horrid post-town. They had follow'd her trail, And now thought without fail. As little boys say, to " lay salt on her tail ;" While the Coimt> who knew no other law but his will. Swore that Herman that evening shoidd marry Odilleu Alas, for Odille t poor dear I what could she do ? Her father's retainers now had her m view. As she found from their raising a joyous halloo ; While the Count, riding on at the head of his crew. In their snuff-colour'd doublets and breeches of blue. Was huzzaing and urging them on to pursue — What, indeed, could she do ? She very well knew If they caught her how much slie would have to go tlirongn But then — she'd so shocking a hole in her shoe I And to go further on was impossible ; — true She might jump o'er the precipice ; — still there are few. In her place, who could manage their courage to screw Up to bidding the world such a sudden adieu : — Alack 1 how she envied the birds as they flew ; No Nassau balloon, with its wicker canoe, Came to bear her from him she loath'd worse than a Jew; 60 she fell on her knees in a terrible stew, THE LAY OF ST. ODILLE, 243 Crying " Holy St. Ermengarde 1 Oil, from these Termin guard Her whose last hope rests entirely on you ; — Don't let papa cateh me, dear Saint 1 — rather kiJ At once, siir le champ, your devoted Odille I" It's delightfnl to see those who strive to oppress (ret baulk'd when they think themselves sure of success. The Saint came to the rescue ! — I fairly confess I don't see, as a Saint, how she well could do less Than to get such a votary out of her mess. Odille had scarce dosed her pathetic address When the rock, gaping wide as the Thames at Sheernese^ Closed again, and secured her, within its recess. In a natural grotto. Which puzzled Count Otto, Who could not conceive where the deuce she had got to. 'Twas her voice ! — ^biit 'twas Vox et proeterea Nil I Nor could any one guess what was gone with Odille 1 Then burst from the mountain a splendour that quite Eclipsed in its brilliance, the finest Bude lighl^ And there stood St. Ermengarde, drest all in white, A palm-branch in her left hand, her beads in her right ; While, with faces fresh gilt, and with wings bumish'd bright, A great many little boys' heads took their flight Above and around to a very great height, And seem'd pretty lively considering their plight. Since every one saw. With amazement and awe, They could never sit down, for they hadn't de quoi — All at the sight, From the knave to the knight. Pelt a very unpleasant sensation, oaU'd fright ; While the Saint, looking down. With a terrible frown, Said, " My Lords, you are done most remarkably brown ! — f am really asham'd of yju both ; — my nerves thrill it your scandalous conduct to poor dear Odille ; 244 THE i-AT OP ST. CiDILLB. " Come, make yourselves scarce 1 — ^it is useless to stay, you will gain nothing here by a longer delay. ' Quick I Presto I Begone 1' as the conjurors say ; For as to the Lady, I've stoVd her away In this hill, in a stratum of London blue clay ; Aad I shan't, I assure you, restore her to-day Till you faithfully promise no more to say ' If ay,' But declare, ' If she will be a nun, why she may.' For this you've my word, and I never yet broVe it, So put that in your pipe, my Lord Otto, and smoke it 1— One hint to your vassals, — a month at ' the Mill ' Shall be nuts to what they'll get who worry Odille I " The Saint disappear'd as she ended, and so Did the little boys' heads, which, above and below. As I told you a very few stanzas ago. Had been flying about her, and jumping Jim Crow ; Though, without any body, or leg, foot, or toe. How they managed such antics, I really don't know ; Be that as it may, they all " melted like snow Off a dyke," as the Scotch say in sweet Edinbro'. And there stood the Count With his men, on the mount, Just like "twenty-four jackasses all on a row." What was best to be done ! — 'twas a sad bitter pill- But gulp it he must, or else lose his Odille. The lord of Alsace therefore alter'd his plan, And said to himself, like a sensible man, " I can't do as I would, — I must do as I can ; It will not' do to lie under any Saint's ban. For your hide, when you do, they all manage to tan ; So Count Herman must pick up some Betsy or Nan, Instead of my girl, — some Sue, Polly, or Fan : — If he can't get the corn he must do with the bran, - And make shift with the pot if he can't have the pan." With such proverbs as these He went down on his knees, And said, " Blessed St. Ermengarde, just as you please — THE LAY OF ST. ODILLE. ?4'S Iney shall bnild a new conventj — ^Fll pay the whole bill, (TaMng discount,) — ^its Abbess shaU be my Odille 1" There are some of my readers, I'll venture to say, Who haye never seen Friburg, though some of them may And others, 'tis likely may go there some day. Now, if ever you happen to travel that way, I do b^ and pray, — ^'twill your pains well repay, — That you'll take what the Cockney folks call a ' po-shay, ' (Though in Germany these things are more like a dray,) Ton may reach this same hill with a single relay, — And do look how the rook. Through the whole of its block, Is split open, as though by some violent shook From an earthq^uake, or lightning, or horrid hard knock From the club-bearing fist of some jolly old cook Of a Germanized giant, Thor, Woden, or Lok : And see how it rears Its two monstrous great ears, For when once you're between them such each side appears And list to the sound of the water one hears Drip, drip, from the fissures, like rain-drops or tears, ^Odill^'s, I believe, — ^whioh have flowed all these years ; — ^I think they account for them so ; — ^but the rill I am sure is connected some way with Odille, Moral. Sow then, for a moral, which always arrives At the end, like the honey bees take to their hives. And the more one observes it the better one thrives. — We have all heard it said in the course of our lives " Needs must when a certain old gentleman drives," TKs the same with a lady, — if once she contrives To get hold of the ribands, how vainly one strives To escape from her lash, or to shake off her gyves! Then let's act like Count Otto, and while one survives. Succumb to our She-Saints — ^videlicet wives I 246 THE LAY OF ST. ODILLB. (Aside.) That is if one has not a, " good bunch of fives."— (I can't think how that last line escaped from my quill, For I am sure it has nothing to do Tfith Odille.) Now young ladies, to you ! — ; ' Don't put on the ehrew I And don't be surprised if your father looks blue "When you're pert, and won't act as he wants you to do I Be sure that you never elope ; — there are few, — Believe me, you'll find what I say to be true, — Who run restive, but find as they bake they must brew, And come oflF at the last with " a hole in their shoe ;" Since not even Clapliam, that sanctified ville, Can produce enough saints to save every Odille. '• Ngfolaa, fstijsit of s° •tst'^* "i ^KntXBtB, toss iernt »< 2,n& ts^ fate toss namtli JEjijJstrujs, anlr Jia mote 3i>!isiw." He was born on a cold frosty morning, on the 6tb of December, (upon whicli day bis feast is still observed,) but in wbat anno Domini is not so clear ; bis baptis- mal register, together with that of his friend and col- league, St. Thomas at Hill, having been " lost in the great fire of London." St. Nicholas was a great patron of Mariners, and, saving your presence — of Thieves also, which honor- able fraternity have long rejoiced in the appellation of his " Clerks." ' Cervantes's story of Sancho's detecting a sum of money in a swindler's walking-stick, is merely the Spanish version of a " Lay of St. Nicholas," extant "in choice Italian" a century before honest Miguel was bom. * Pfirish' 24? A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. • Sattim sacerdoti apparuit aiabolus in specie puellaj pulchritudinia mirai ot ecco Divus, fide catboUca, et cruce, et aqua benedicts armatua venit, e; aspersit aquam in nomine Sanctte et (ndividuae Trinitatis, quam, quasj ardentem, diabolus, nequaquam sustinere valenB, mugitibua f ugit." RoQEa HoVKnEN. "LoED Abbot 1 Lord Abbot I Td fain confess; I am Orwearj, and worn with woe ; Many a grief doth my heart oppress And haunt me whithersoever I go 1 " On bended knee spake the beaatifcl Maid; " Now lithe and listen. Lord Abbot to me I " — " Now naye, Fair Daughter," the Lord Abbot said, "Now naye, in sooth it may hardly be ; " There is Mess Michael, and holy Mess John, Sage Penitauncers I ween be they ! And hard by doth dwell, in St Catherine's oeU, Ambrose, the anchorite old and grey I " " — Oh, I will have none of Ambrose or John, Though sage Penitaimcers I trow they be ; Shrive me may none save the Abbot alone, Now listen. Lord Abbot, I speak to thee. " Nor think foul scorn, though mitre adorn Thy brow, to listen to shrift of mine 1 I am a Maiden royally born. And I come of old Plantagenet's line. 248 A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. " Though hither I stray, in lowly array, I am a damsel of high degree ; And the Compte of En, and the Lord of Fouthieu, They serve my father on bended knee I " Counts a many, and Dukes a few, A Buitoring came to ray fatlier's Hall ; But the Duke of Lorraine, with his large domain. He pleased my father beyond them aU. "Dukes a many, and Counts a few, I would have wedded right cheerfullie ; But the Duke of Lorraine was uncommonly plain, And I voVd that he ne'er should Toiy bridegroom be I " So hither I fly, in lowly guise. From their gilded domes and their princely naus , Fain would I dwell in some holy cell, Or within some Convent's peaceful walls 1 " —Then out and spake that proud Lord Abbot, " Now rest thee. Fair Daughter, withouten fear ; Nor Count nor Duke but shall meet the rebuke Of Holy Church an he seek thee here : "Holy Church denieth all search 'Midst her sanctified ewes and her saintly rams ; And the wolves doth mock who would scathe her flock. Or, especially, worry her little pet lambs. " Then lay, Fair Daughter, thy fears aside. For here tliis day shalt thou dine jvith me ! " — "Now naye, now naye," the fair maiden cried ; " In sooth. Lord Abbot, that scarce- may be I " Friends would whisper, and foes would frown, Sith thou art a Churchman of high degree, And ill mote it match with thy fair renown That a wanderins; damsel dine with thee I A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. 249 There ia Simon the Deacon hath pulse in store, With beans and lettuces fair to see ; His lenten fare now let rae share, I pray thee, Lord Abbot, in oliaritie 1 " — •' Though Simon the Deacon hath pulse in storey To our patron Saint foul shame it were Should wayworn guest, with toil oppress'd. Meet in his abbey such chiu^lish fare. ' There is Peter the Prior, and Francis the Friar, And Roger the Monk shall oui' oonTives be ; Small scandal I ween shall then be seen ; They are a goodly companie I " The Abbot hath donn'd his mitre and ring. His rich dalmatic, and maniple fine ; And the choristers sing, as the lay-brothers bring To the board a magnificent turkey and chine. The turkey and chine, they are done to a nicety Liver, and gizzard, and '.'1 are there ; Ne'er mote Lord Abbot pronounce BenedidU Over more luscious or delicate fare. But no pious stave he, no Pater or Ave Pronounced, as he gazed on that maiden's face • She ask'd him for stuffing, she ask'd him for grav" She asVd him for gizzard ; — ^but not for Grace I Yet gaily the Lord Abbot smiled, and press'd. And the blood-red wine in the wine-cup fiU'd ; And he help'd his giiest to a bit of the breast. And he sent the drumsticks down to be grill'd. There was no lack of old Sherris sack, Of Hippooras fine, or of Malmsey bright ; And aye, as he drain'd off his cup with a smae^ He grew less pious and more polite. 11* 250 A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. She pledged him onoe, and she pledged him twice, And she drank as Lady ought not to drink ; And ho press'd her hand 'neath the table thrice, And he innk'd as Abbot ought not to wink. And Peter the Prior, and Francis the Friar, Sat each with a napkin under his chin ; Bat Roger the Monk got excessively drunk, So they put him to bed and they tuck'd him in I rhe lay-brothers gazed on each other, amazed ; And Simon the Deacon, mth grief and surprise. As he peep'd through the key-hole, could scarce fancy real The scene he beheld, or believe his own eyes. In his ear was ringing the Lord Abbot singing, — He could not distinguish the words very plain. But 'twas all about "Cole," and "jolly old Sonl," And " Fiddlers," and " Punch," and things quite as profana Even Porter Paul, at the sound of ■'ueh revelling. With fervour himself began to bless ; For he thought he must somehow have let the Devil in, — And perhaps was not very much out in his guess. The Accusing Buyers* "flew up to Heaven's Chancery," Blushing like scarlet with shame and concern ; The Archangel took down his tale, and in answer he Wept — (See the -works of the late Mr. Sterne). Indeed, it is said, a less taking both were in When, after a lapse of a great many years. They book'd Uncle Toby five shillings for swearing. And blotted the fine out again with their tears I • The Prince of Peripatelie Informers, and terror of Stage Coachmen, Vf hen such things were. Alackl alaoli I the Railroads have ruined hia '* vested interest." A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. 251 But St. Nicholas' agony who may paint ! His senses at first were well-nigh gone ; The beatified Saint was ready to faint When he saw in his Abbey sxich sad goings on 1 For never, I ween, had such doings been seen There before, from the time that most excellent Prines Earl Baldwin of Flanders, and other Commanders, Had built and endowed it some centm'ies since. — ^But hark ! — ^"tis a sound from the outermost gate ! A startling sound fi'om a powerful blow. — •Who knocks so late ? — ^it is half after eight By the clock, — and the clock's five minutes tpo alow. Never, perhaps, had such loud double raps Been heard in St. Nicholas' Abbey before ; All agreed " it was shocking to keep people knocking," But none seem'd inclined to " answer the door." Now a louder bang through the cloisters rang. And the gate on its hinges wide open flew ; And all were aware of a Palmer there, With his cockle, hat, staff, and his sandal shoe Many a furrow, and many a frown By toil and time on his brow were traced ; And his long loose gown was of ginger brown. And his rosary dangled below his waist Now seldom, I ween, is,such costume seen. Except at a stage-play or masquerade ; But who doth not know it was rather the go With Pilgrims and Saints in the second Crusade I With noiseless stride did that Palmer glide Across that oaken floor ; And he made them all jump, he gave such a thump Against the Refectory door I 252 A LAT Oe ST. NICHOLAS. Wide open it &ew, and plain to the view The Lord Abbot ihey all mote see ; In his hand was a cup, and he lifted it up, "Here's the Pope's good health with three! " Bang in their ears three deafening cheers, "Huzza! huzza 1 huzza!" And on'^'of the party said, "Go it, my hearty I " When outspake the Pilgrim grey — " A boon, Lord Abbot I a boor 1 a boonl Worn is my foot and empty my scrip ; And nothing (o speak of since yesterday noon Of food, Lord Abbot, hath passed my lip. "And I am come from a far countree, And have visited many a holy shrine ; And long have I trod the sacred sod Where the Saints do rest in Palestine 1 " " An thou art come from a far countree, And if thou in Paynim lands hast been, Now rede me aright the most wonderful sight. Thou Palmer grey, that thine eyes have seen. 'Ai"ede me aright tJie most wonderful sighj^ Grey Palmer, that ever thine eyes did see, And a manohette of bread, and a good warm bed. And a cop o' the best shall thy guerdon be! " Oh 1 I have been east^ and I have been west, And I have seen many a wonderful sight ; But n jver to me did it happen to see A wonder like that which I see this night I ",To see a Lord Abbot, in rochet .and stole, • With Prior and Friar, — a strange mar-velle I — O'er a joUy full bowl, sitting cheek by jowl. And hob-nobbing away with a DevE from Hell I* W Ij^t^oeSBtcbolftilf ^ A LAY OP ST. NICHOLAS. 268 He felt in his gown of ginger brown, And he pnll'd out a f ask from beneath ; It was rather tough work to get out the cork, But he drew it at last with his teeth. O'er a pint and a quarter of holy water He made the sacred sign ; And he dash'd the whole on the soi-disant daughter Of old Plantagenet's line I Oh 1 then did she reek, and squeak, and shriek^ With a wild unearthly scream ; And fizd'd, and hiss'd, and produced such a mist; They were all half-choked by the steam. Her dove-like eyes turn'd to coals of firo, Her beautifal nose to a horrible snout, Her hands to paws, ^ith nasty great claws. And her bosom went in, and her tail came out On her chin there appear'd a long Ifanny-goat's beapj, And her tusks and her teeth no man mote tell ; And her horns and her hoofs gave infallible proofe 'Twas a frightful Rend from the nethermost Hell 1 The Palmer threw down his ginger gown, His hat and his cockle ; and, plain to sights Stood St. Nicholas' self, and his shaven crown Had a glow-worm halo of heavenly light. The Fiend made a grasp, the Abbot to clasp ; But St Nicholas lifted his holy toe. And, just in the nick, let fly such a kick On his elderly Namesake, he made him let ga And out of the window he flew like a shot. For the foot flew up with a terrible thwack, And caught the foul demon about the spot ■Where his taU joins on t-o the small of his back. 264 A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. And he bounded nwaj, Uke a foot-ball at play, Till into the bottomless pit he fell slap, Knocking Mammon the meagre o'er pursy Belphegor, And Lucifer into Beelzebub's lap. Oh I happy 'the slip from his Succubine grip, That saved the Lord Abbot, — though, breathless with fright In escaping he tumbled, and fractured his hip. And his left les; was shorter thencefoTth than his right! On the banks of the Rhine, as he's stopping to dine, •From a certain Inn-window the traveller is shown Most pieturesqiie ruins, the scene of these doings, Some miles up the river, south-east of Cologne. And, while " sour-kraut" she sells you, the Landlady tells yoa That there, in those walls, now all roofless and bare, One Simon, a Deacon, from a lean grew a sleek one. On filling a ci-devant Abbot's state chair. How a ci-devant Abbot, all clothed in drab, but Of texture the coarsest, hair shirt, and no shoes, (His mitre and ring, and all that sort of thing Laid aside,) in yon Cave lived a pious recluse ; How he rose with the sun, limping " dot and go one," To yon rill of the mountain, in all sorts of weather. Where a Prior and a Friar, who lived somewhat liigher Up the rock, used to come and eat cresses together ; How a thirsty old codger, the neighbours called Roger, With them drank cold water in lieu of old wine 1 What its quality wanted he made up in quantity, Swigginsr as though he would empty the Rhine i A LAY 01' en. NICHOLAS. 265 And how, as their bodily BtreHgth fail'd, the mental man Gaia'd tenfold rigour and force in all four ; ind how, to the day of their death, the " Old Gentleman" Ifever attempted to kidnap them more. i.nd how, when at length, in the odour of sanctity, . All of them died without grief or complaint ; The Monks of St. Nicholas said 'twas ridiculous Not to suppose every one was a Saint. And how, in the Abbey, no one was so shabby As not to say yearly four masses a head. On the eve of that supper, and kick on the crupper "Which Satan received, for the souls of the dead ! H.OW folks long held in reverence their reliques and memoriej, How. the ci-devant Abbot's obtain'd greater still, When some cripples, on touching his fractured osfemoris, Threw down their crutches, and danced a quadrille ! And how Abbot Simon, (who turn'd-out a prime one,) These words, which grew into a proverb full soon, O'er the late Abbot's grotto, stuck up as a motto, I jerujif t5 tnitli i^t j@ciiUt sWit lni>t n Itm^ Sfoant 1 1" SK^ Kohesia, daughter of Ambrose, and sister to Sii Everard Ingoldsby, was born about the beginning of the 16th century, and was married in 1526, at St Giles's Cripplegate in the City of London. The follow- ing narrative contains all else that is known of 267 THE LADY ROHESIA. The Lady Roliesia lay on her death-bed ! So said the doctor, — and doctors are generally allowed to be judges in these matters ; — ^besides, Doctoi Butts was the Court Physician : he carried a crutch- handled staflf, with its cross of the blactest ebony, — raison de plus ! " Is there no hope. Doctor ?" said Beatrice Grey. " Is there no hope ?" said Everard Ingoldsby. " Is there no hope ?" said Sir Guy de Montgomeri. — He was the Lady Rohesia's husband ; — ^he spoke the last. The doctor shook his head : he looked at the discon- solate widower in posse, then at the hour-glass ;— its waning sand seemed sadly to shadow forth the sinking pulse of his patient. Dr. Butts was a very learned man. " Ars longa, vita hrevis /" said Doctor Butts. "I am very sorry to hear it," quoth Sir Guy de Montgomeri. Sir Guy was a brave knight, and a tall ; but he was no scholar. "Alas ! my poor Sister !" sighed Ingoldsby. " Alas ! my poor Mistress !" sobbed Beatrice. Sir Guy neither sighed nor sobbed ; his grief was too deop-seated for outward manifestation. 258 THE LADY KOHESIA. " And how long, Doctoi —2" The afflicted husband could not finish the sentence. Doctor Butts withdrew his hand from the wrist of the dying lady ; he pointed to the horologe ; scarcely a - quarter of its sand remained in the upper moiety. Again he shook his head ; the eye of the patient waxed dimmer, the rattling in the throat increased. " What's become of Father Francis ?" whimpered Beatrice. " The last consolations of the church — " suggested Everard. A darker shade came over the brow of Sir Guy. " Where is the Confessor ?" continued his grieving brother-in-law. " In the pantry," cried Marion Hacket pertly, as she tripped down stairs in search of that venerable ecclesi- astic ; — "in the pantry, I warrant me." — The bower- woman was not wont to ba in the wrong ; — in the pantry was the holy man discovered, — at his devotions. "■Pax vobiscum/" said Father Francis, as he entered the chamber of death. " Vita brevis !" retorted Doctor Butts : — ^he was not a man to be browbeat out of his Latin, — and by a paltry Friar Minim, too, Had it been a Bishop, indeed, or even a mitred Abbot ; — ^but a miserable Franciscan I " Benedicite /" said the friar. " Ars longa /" returned the Leech. Doctor Butts adjusted the tassels of his falling band ; drew his short sad-coloured cloak closer around him ; and, grasping his cross-handled walking-staff, stalked majestically out of the apartment. Father Francis had the field to himself. THE LADY ROHESXA. 259 The worthy chaplain hastened to administer the last rites of the church. To all appearance he had little time to lose : as he concluded, the dismal toll of the passing-bell sounded from the belfry tower ; little Hubert, the bandy-legged sacristan, was pulling with all his might. It was a capital contrivance that same passing-bell: — which of the Urbans or Innocents invented it is a query ; but, whoever he was, he deserved well of his country and of Christendom. Ah ! our ancestors were not such fools, after all, as we, their degenerate children, conceit them to have been. The passing bell ! a most solemn warning to imps of every description, is not to be regarded with impimity: the most impudent Succubus of them all dare as well dip his claws in holy water, as come within the verge of its sound. Old Nick himself, if he sets any value at all upon his tail, had best convey himself clean out of hearing, and leave the way open to Para- dise. Little Hubert continued pulling with all his might, and St. Peter began to look out for a customer. The knell seemed to have some effect even upon the Lady Rohesia : she raised her head sligbtly ; inarticu- late sounds issued from her lips, — inarticulate, that is, to the profane ears of the laity. Those of Father Francis, indeed, were sharper ; nothing, as he averred, could be more distinct than the words, " A thousand marks to the priory of St. Mary Rouncival." Now the Lady Rohesia Ingoldsby had brought her husband broad lands and large possessions ; much of her ample dowry, too, was at her own disposal ; and nuncupative wills had not yet been abolished by Act of Parliament. 260 THE LADY ROHESIA. " Pious soul !" ejaculated Father Francis. " A thousand marks, she said — " " If she did, I'll be shot !" said Sir Guy de Mont- gomeri. " — A thousand marks !" continued the Confessor, fixing his cold grey eye upon the knight, as he went on heedless of the interruption ; — " a thousand marks ! and as many Aves and Paters shall be duly said — as soon as the money is paid down." Sir Guy shrank from the monk's gaze ; he turned to the window, and muttered to himself something that sounded like " Don't you wish you may get it ?" ****** The bell continued to toll. Father Francis had quitted the room, taking with him the remains of the holy oil he had been using for Extreme Unction. Everard Ingoldsby waited on him down stairs. " A thousand thanks !" said the latter. " A thousand marks !" said the friar. " A thousand devils !" growled Sir Guy de Mont- gomeri, from the to'p of the landing-place. But his accents fell unheeded : his brother-in-law and the friar were gone ; he was left alone with his departing lady and Beatrice Grey. Sir Guy de Montgonjeri stood pensively at the foot of the bed : his arms were crossed upon his boson;, his chin was sunk upon his breast ; his eyes were filled with tears ; the dim raya of the fading watch-light gave a darker shade to the fuiTows on his brow, and a brighter tint to the little bald patch on the top of his head, — ^for Sir Guy was a middle-aged gentleman, tall and portly withal, with a slight bend in his shoulders, THE LADY BOHBSIA. 261 but tliat not much : his complexion was somewhat floria, — especially about the nose ; but his lady was in extremis, and at this particular moment he was paler than usual. " Bim ! home !" went the bell. The knight gi-oaned audibly ; Beatrice Grey wiped her eye with her little square apron of lace de Malines ; there was a moment's Dause, — a moment of intense affliction ; she let it fall, — all but one corner, which remained between her finger and thumb. She looked at Sir Guy ; drew the thumb and forefinger of her other hand slowly along its border, till they reached the opposite extremity. She sobbed aloud : " So kind a lady !" said Beatrice Grey. — " So excellent a wife !" responded Sir Guy. — " So good !" said the damsel. — " So dear !" said the knight. — " So pious !" said she.—" So humble !" said he.—" So good to the poor !" — " So capital a manager !" — " So punctual at matins !" — " Dinner dished to a moment !" — " So devout !" said Beatrice. — " So fond of me !" said Sir Guy.— "And of Father Francis !"— " What the devil do you mean by that ?" said Sir Guy de Montgomeri. The knight and the maiden had rung their antipho- nic changes on the fine qualities of the departing Lady, like the Strophe and Antistrophe of a Greek play. The cardinal virtues once disposed of, her minor excellencies came under review : — She would drown a witch, drink lambs'-wool at Christmas, beg Dominie Dumps's boys a holiday, and dine upon sprats on Good Friday ! A low moan from the subject of these eulogies seemed to intimate that the enumeration of her good deeds w.v 262 THE LADT KOHESIA. not altogether lost on her, — that the parting spii-ft fell and rejoiced in the testimony. " She was- too good for earth 1" continued Sir Guy. " Ye-ye-yes !" sobbed Beatrice. " I did not deserve her !" said the knight. " No-o-o-o !" cried the damsel. " Not but that I made her an excellent husband, and a kind ; but she is going, and — and — where, or when, or how — shall I get such another ?" " Not in broad England — not in the whole wide world !" responded Beatrice Grey ; " that is, not just such another !" Her voice still faltered, but her accents on the whole were more articulate ; she dropped the corner of her apron, and had recourse to her handker- chief ; in fact her eyes were getting red, — and so was the tip of her nose. Sir Guj' was silent ; he gazed for a few moments stedfastly on the face of his lady. The single word " Another !" fell from his lips like a distant echo ; it is not often that the viewless nymph repeats more than is necessary. " Bim ! bome :" went the bell. Bandy-legged Hu- bert had been tolling for half an hour ; he began to grow tired, and St. Peter fidgety. "Beatrice Grey!" said Sir Guy de Montgomeri, " what's to be done ? Vf hat's to become of Montgomeri Hall ? — and the buttery, — and the servants ? And what — what's to become of me, Beatrice Grey ?" There was pathos in his tones, and a solemn pause succeeded. ■' I'll turn monk myself !" said Sir Guy. " Monk ?" said Beatrice. " I'll be a Carthusian !" repeated the knight, but in a THE LADY ROHESIA. 263 tone less assured : he relapsed into a reverie. Shave Iiis head ! — ^he did not so much mind that, — he was getting rather bald already ; but, beans for dinner,^and those without butter — and then a horse-hair shirt ! The knight seemed undecided : his eye roamed gloomily around the apartment : it paused upon dif- ferent objects, but as if it saw them not ; its sense was shut, and there was no speculation in its glance : it rested at last upon the fair face of the sympathising damsel at his side, beautiful in her grief. Her tears had ceased ; but her eyes were cast down, and mournfully fixed upon her delicate httle foot, which was beating the devil's tattoo. There is no talking to a female when she does not look at you. Sii- Guy turned round, — ^he seated him- self on the edge of the bed; and, placing his hand beneath the chin of the lady, turned up her face in an angle of fifteen degrees. " I don't think I shall take the vows, Beatrice ; but what's to become of me ? Poor, miserable, old — that is, poor, miserable, middle-aged man than I am ! No one to comfort, no one to care for me !" Beatrice'^ tears flowed afresh, but she opened not her lips. " 'Pon my life !" continued he, " I don't beheve there is a creature now would care a button if I were hanged to-morrow !" " Oh ! don't say so. Sir Guy !" sighed Beatrice ; " you know there's — there's Master Everard, and — and Father Francis — " " Pish !" cried Sir Guy testily. ^ " And — there's your favourite old bitch." " I am not thinking of old bitches !" quoth Sir Guy de Montgomeri. 26'i THE LADT ROHBSIA. Another pause ensued : the knight had released hei ehin, and taken her hand ; it was a pretty little hand, with Icng taper fingers and filbert-formed nails, and the softness of the palm said little for its owner's industry. " Sit down, my dear Beatrice," said the knight, thoughtfully ; " you must be fatigued with your long watching. Take a seat, my child." Sir Guy did not relinquish her hand ; but he sidled along the counter- pane, and made room for his companion between him- self and the bed-post. Now this is a very awkward position for two people to be placed in, especially when the right hand of the one holds the right hand of the other ; in such an atti- tude, what the deuce can the gentleman do with his left ? Sir Guy closed his till it became an absolute fist, and his knuckles rested on the bed a little in the rear of his companion. " Another !" repeated Sir Guy, musing ; " if, indeed, I could find such another !" He was talking to his thought, but Beatrice Grey answered him. " There's Madam Fitzfoozle." " A frump !" said Sir Guy. " Or the Lady Bumbarton." "With her hump !" muttered he. " There's the Dowager — " " Stop — stop !" said the knight, " stop one moment !" He paused ; he was all on the tremble ; something seemed rising in his throat, but he gave a great gulp', and swallowed it. " Beatrice," said he, " what think you of — ^" his voice sank into a most seductive sofl — " what think you of — Beatrice Grey !" THE LADY ROHBSIA. 265 The mui'der was out: tte tnight felt infinitely relieved ; the knuckles of his left hand unclosed- spon- taneously ; and the arm he had felt such a difficulty in disposing of, found itself, — ^nobody knows how, — all at once, encircling the jimp waist of the pretty Beatrice. The young lady's reply was expressed in thi-ee syllables. They were, — " Oh, Sir Guy !" The words might be somewhat indefinite, but there was no mistaking the look. Their eyes met ; Sir Guy's left arm contracted itself spasmodically : when the eyes meet, — at least, as theirs met, — the lips are very apt to follow the example. The knight had taken one long, loving kiss— nectar and ambrosia ! He thought on Doctor Butts and his repetatur haustus, — a prescription Father Francis had taken infinite pains to translate for him : he was about to repeat it, but the dose was inten-upted in transitu. Doubtless the adage, " There is many a slip Twixt the cup and the lip," nath reference to medicine. Sir Guy's lip was agam aD but in conjunction with that of his bride elect. It has been hinted already that there was a little round polished patch on the summit of the knight's pericranium, from which his locks had gradually receded ; a sort of oasis, — or rather a Mont Blanc in miniature, rismg above the highest point of vegetation. It was on this little spot, undefended alike by Ai't and Nature, that at this interesting moment a blow descended, such as we must borrow a term from the Sister Island adequately to describe, — it was a " Whack !" Sir Guy started upon his feet ; Beatrice Grey started FIRST SERIES. 12 266 THE LADY ROHESIA. upon hers : but a single glance to the rear reversed hei position, — she fell upon her knees and screamed. The knight, too, wheeled about, and beheld a sight which might have turned a bolder man to stone. I was She ! — the all but defunct Rohesia — there she sat bolt upright ! — ^her eyes no longer glazed with the filnj of impending dissolution, but scintillating like flint and steel ; while in her hand she grasped the bed-staff, — a weapon of mickle might, as her husband's bloody cox- comb could now well testify. Words were yet wanting, for the quinsy, which her rage had broken, still impeded her utterance ; but the strength and rapidity of her guttural intonations augured well for her future elo- quence. Sir Guy de Montgomeri stood for a while like a man distraught ; this resurrection — ^for such it seemed — ^liad quite overpowered him. " A husband ofttimes makes the best physician," says the proverb ; he was a living personification of its truth. Still it was whispered he had been content with Dr. Butts ; but his lady was restored to bless him for many years. Heavens, what a life he led ! The Lady Rohesia mended apace; her quinsy was cured ; the bell was stopped ; and little Hubert, the sacristan, kicked out of the ohapelry. St. Peter opened his wicket, and looked out ; — there was nobody there ; so he flung-to the gate in a passion, and went back to his lodge, grumbling at being hoaxed by a runaway ring. Years rolled on. The improvement of Lady Rohesia's temper did not keep pace with that of her health ; and one fine morning Sir Guy de Montgomeri was seen to • THE LADk 80HESIA. 267 enter the porte-cocMre of Durham House, at that time the town residence of Sii' Walter Raleigh. Nothing more was ever heard of him ; but a boat full of adven- turers was known to have dropped down with the tide that evening to Deptford Hope, where lay the good ship the Darling, commanded by Captain Keymis, who sailed next morning on the Virginia voyage. A brass plate, some eighteen inches long, may yet be seen in Denton chancel, let into a broad slab of Bethersden marble ; it represents a lady kneeling, in her wimple and hood ; her hands are clasjJed in prayer, and beneath is an inscription in the characters of the age — " prsit for j^ saiaU of je laiss Ma^ost, anil for allt ffifiriafjit saialts I" The date is illegible ; but it appears that she survived King Henry the Eighth, and that the dissolution of monasteries had lost St. Mary Eouncival her thousand marks. As for Beatrice Grey, it is well known that she was alive in 1559, and then had virginity enough left to be a maid of Honour to " good Queen Bess." 268 It was during the "Honey (or, as it is sometimes termed, Hae " Treacle,") Moon," that Mr. and Mrs. Sea- forth passed through London. A " goodnatured friend," who dropped in to dinner, forced them in the evening to the theatre for the purpose of getting rid of him. I give Charles's account of the Tragedy, just as it was written, vrithout altering even the last couplet — ^for there would be no maMng " Egerton" rhyme with " Story." 269 IHE TRAGEDY. QuEeqne ipse miserrima vidi. — VikoiIm Cathkbinb of Cleves was a Lady of rank, She had lands and fine houses, and cash in the Bank ; She had jewels and rings, And a thousand smart things ; Was lovely and young, With a rather sharp tongue, And she wedded a Noble of high degree With the star of the order of St. Esprit : But the Duke de Guise Was, by many degrees. Her senior, and not Tery easy to please ; He'd a sneer on his lip, and a scowl with his eye. And a frown on his brow, — and he look'd like a Gny,"" So she took to intriguing With Monsieur St. Megrin, A young man of fashion, and figure, and worth. But with no great pretensions to fortune or birth ; He would sing, fence, and dance With the best man in France, And took his rappee with genteel noTichalatice ; He smiled, and he flatter'd, and flirted with ease^ And was very superior to Monseigneur de Guise. Now Monsieur St Megrin was curious to know If the Lady approved of his passion or no ; 270 THE TRAGBDY. So without more ado, He put on his surtout. And went to a man ■with a beard like a Jew, One Signor Ruggieri, A Cunning-man near, he Could conjure, tell fortunes, and calculate tides. Perform tricks on the cards, and Heaven knows what hesidea^ Bring back a stray'd cow, silver ladle, or spoon, And was thought to be thick with the Man in the Moon. The sage took his stand With his wand in his hand. Drew a circle, then gave the dread word of command, Saying solemnly — " Presto ! — Hey, quick I — Cock-chlorum 11" When the Duchess immediately popp'd up before 'em. Just then a Conjunction of Venus and Mars, Or something peculiar above in the stars. Attracted the notice of Signor Ruggieri, Who "bolted," and left him alone with his deary. — Monsieur St. Megrin went down pa his knees. And the Duchess shed tears large as marrow-fat peas, When, — fancy the shock, — A loud double knock. Made the Lady cry " Get up, you fool ! — ^there's De Guisa I "— 'Twas his Grace, sure enough ; So Monsieur, looking bluff. Strutted by, with his hat on, and fingering his rufl^ While, unseen by either, away flew the Dame Through the opposite key-hole, the same 'v^ay she came : But, alack ! and alas 1 A mishap came to pass. In her hurry she, somehow or other, let fall A new silk Bandana she'd worn as a shawl ; She had used it for drying Her bright eyes while crying, And blowing her nose, as her Beau talk'd of dying! " Sow the Duke, who had seen it so lately adorn her, ind knew the great with the Crown in the corner THE TRAGEOr. 271 The instant he spied it, smoked something amiss, And said, wilh some energy, " D it I what's this f " He went home ia a fume, /?SSj^ And bounced into her room. Crying, " So, Ma'am, I find I've some cause to be jealous ! Look here ! — here's a proof you run after the fellows I — Now take up that pen, — if it's bad choose a better, — And write, as I dictate, this moment a letter To Monsieur — ^you know who 1 " The Lady look'd blue ; But replied with much firmness — " Hang me if I do 1 " De Guise grasped her wrist With his great bony fist, Ajid pinch'd it, and gave it so painful a twist, That his hard, iron gauntlet the flesh went an inch in,— She did not mind death, but she could not stand pincliiitg So she sat down and wrote . This polite little note : — ' Dear Mister St. Megrin, The Chiefs of the League in Our house mean to dine This evening at nine ; I shall, soon after ten, Slip away from the men, And you'll find me upstairs in the drawing-room then ; Come up the back way, or those impudent thieves Of Servants will see you ; Tours CATHEEDra; OF Cleve& ' She directed and sealed it, all pale as a ghost, And De Guise put it into the Twopenny Post. St. Megrin had almost jumped out of his skin For joy that day when the post came in ; He read the note through, Tlien began it anew. And thought it almost too good news to be trna— He clapp'd on his hat. And a hood over that^ 272 THE TRAGEDY. With a cloak to disguiae him, and make him, look fat , So great his impatience, from half after Four He was waiting till Ten at De Guise's back door. When he heard the great clock of St. Genevieye ohimd He ran up the back staircase six steps at a time. He had scarce made his bow, He hardly knew how, When alas I and alack I There was no getting back. For the drawing-room door was bang'd to with a whaflk ;— In Tain he applied To the handle and tried. Somebody or other had looked it outside ! And the Duchess in agony mourned her mishap, ^ " We are caught like a couple of rats in a trap." Now the Duchess's Page, About twelve years of age. For so little a boy was remarkably sage ; And, just in the nick, to their joy and amazement, Popp'd the Gas-lighter's ladder close under the casement. But all would not do, — Though Sti Megrin got through The window, — ^below stood De Guise and his crew. And though never man was more brave than St. Megrin, Yet fighting a score is extremely fatiguing ; He thrust carte and tierce Uncommonly fierce, But not Beelzebub's self could their cuirasses pierce ; While his doublet and hose. Being holiday clothes, Were soon cut through and through from his knees to hie nose. Still an old crooked sixpence the Conjuror gave him From pistol and sword was sufiieient to save him. But when beat on his knees, That confounded De Giiise Came behind with the " fogle " that caused all this breeze. THE rKAOEDT. 273 WHpp'd it tight round Ms neck, and, when Backward he'd jerk'd him, The rest of the rascals jumped on him and Burked him. The poor little Page, too, himself got no quarter, but Was served the same way, And was found the next day With his heels in the air, and his head in the water-butt ; Catherine of Cleves Roar'd "Murderl"and " Thieves I" From the window above While they murder'd her love ; Till, finding the rogues had aocomplish'd his slaughter, Bhe drank Prussic acid without any water, And died like a Duke-and-a-Duchess's daughter 1 MOEAI. Take warning, ye Fair, from this tale of the Bard's^ And dont go where fortunes are told on the cards, But steer clear of Conjurors, — never put query To " Wise Mrs. WUliams," or folks like Ruggieri. When alone in your room shut the door close, and lock it Above all, — keep toxjr handkerchief safe in toue pocket Lest you too should stumble, and Lord Leveson Gower, he Be call'd on,^-Bad poet I — ^to tell your sad story 1 274 It was in the summer of 1838 ttat a party from Tappington reached the metropolis with a view of witnessing the coronation of their youthful Queen, whom God long preserve ! — This purpose they were fortunate enough to accomplish hy the purchase of a peer's tictet, from a stationer in the Strand, who was enabled so to dispose of some, greatly to the indigna- tion of the hereditary Earl Marshal. How Mr. Barney managed to insinuate himself into the Abbey remains a mystery : his characteristic modesty and address doubt- less assisted him, for there he unquestionably was. The result of his observations was thus communicated to his associates in the Servants' Hall upon his return, to the infinite delectation of Mademoiselle Pauline over a Cruiskeen of his own concocting. 275 MR. BARNEY MAGUIRE'S ACCOUNT OF IIIE CORONATION. Air — " The Graiies of Blarney.'' "■ OcH ! tlie Coronation ! what celebration For emulation can with it compare! When to Westminster the Royal Spinster, And the Duke of Leinster, all in order did repair! Twas there you'd see the New Polishemen Making a skrimmage at half after four, ,ind the Lords and Ladies, and Miss O'Grady^ All standing round before the Abbey door. Their pfllows scorning, that self-same morning ThemselTcs adorning, all by the candle-light, With roses and lilies, and dafiy-down-dillies. And gould, and jewels, and rich di'monds bright And then approaches five hundred coaches, With Giniral DuUbeak. — Ooh I 'twas mighty fine To Bee how asy oould Corporal Casey, With his 'sword drawn, prancing, made them kape the line. Chen the Guns' alarums, and the King of Arums, All in his Garters and his Clarence shoes, Opening the massy doors to the bould Arabassydora, The Prince of Potboys, and great haythen Jews; Twould have made you crazy to see Esterhazy All joo'ls from his jasey to his di'mond boots. With Alderman Harmer, and that swate charmer The famale heiress. Miss Anja-ly Coutts. 276 MR. BARNEY MAGUIRE'S And Wellinglion, -sralkmg with his swoord drawn, talking To Hill and Hardinge, haroes of great fame ; And Sir De Lacy, and the Duke Dalmasey, (They call'd him Sowlt afore he changed his name,l Themselves presading Lord Melbourne, lading The Queen, the darling, to her royal chair, And that fine ould fellow, the Duke of Pell-Mello, The Queen of Portingal's Chargy-de-fair. Then the Noble Prussians, likewise the Russians, In fine laoed jackets with iheir goulden cuife, And the Bavarians, and the proud Hungarians, And Everythingarians all in furs and mufis. Then Misthur Spaker, with Misthur Pays the Quaker, All in the Gallery you might persave ; But Lord Brougham was missing, and gone a-fishing, Ounly crass Lord Essex would not give him lave. There was Baron Alten himself exalting, And Prince Von Swartzenburg, and many more, Och I I'd be bother'd and entirely smother'd To tell the half of 'em was to the fore ; With the swate Peeresses, in their crowns and dresses, And ildermanesses, and the boord of Works ; But Mehemet Ali said, quite gintaly, " I'd be proud to see the likes among the Turks I " Then the Queen, Heaven bless her 1 ooh I they did dress het In her purple garaments and her goulden Crown ; Like Venus or Hebe, or the Queen of Sheby, With eight young Ladies houlding up her gown. Sure 'twas grand to see her, also for to he-ar The big drums bating, and the trumpets blow. And Sir George Smart ! Oh ! he play'd a ConsartOi With his tour-and-twenty fiddlers all on a row I I Then the Lord Archbishop held a goulden dish up, For to resave her bounty and great wealth. ACCOUNT OF THE CORONATIOIT. 277 Saying, " Plase your Glory, great Queen Tio-tory I Te'll give the Clargy lave to dhrink your health ! " Then his Eiverenee, retrating, diseoorsed the mating , " Boys ! Here's yoar Queen 1 deny it if you can I And if any bould traitour, or infarior crathur, Sneezes at that, I'd like to see the man I " Then the Nobles kneeling to the Pow'rs appealing, " Heaven send your Majesty a glorious reign ! " And Sir Claudius Hunter he did confront her, All in his scarlet gown and gowlden chain. The great Lord May'r, too, sat in his chair, too, But mighty sarious, looking fit to cry. For the Earl of Surrey, all in his hurry, Throwing the thirteens, hit him in his eye. Then there was preaching, and good store of speechin^, With Dukes and Marquises on bended knee ; 4nd they did splash her with raal Maoasshur, And the Queen said, " Ah ! then, thank ye all for me 1 "— Then the trumpets braying, and the organ playing^ And sweet trombones with their silver tones ; But Lord RoEe, was rolling ; — ^'twas mighty consoling To think that his Lordship did not break his bones I Then the crames and custard, and the beef and mustard, All on the tombstones like a poultherer's shop ; With lobsters aftd white-bait, and other swate-meats. And wine, and nagus, and Imparial Pop I There was cakes and apples in all the Chapels, With fine polonies, and rich mellow pears, — Och ! the Count Von Strogonoff, sure he got prog enough. The sly old Divil, undernathe the stairs. Then the cannons thunder'd, and the people wonderd. Crying, " God save Victoria, our Royal Queen 1 " — —Och I if myself should live to be a hundred. Sure it's the proudest day that I'll have seen 1 — 278 MR. MAGUIRE's ACCOtTNT OF THE CORONATION. And no-w I have ended, what I pretended, This narration splendid in swate poe-thry, Te dear hewitcher, just hand the pitcher, Faith, it's myself that's getting mighty dhry 1 As a pendant to the foregoing', I shall venture to insert Mr. SimpMnson's lucubrations on a subject to him, as a Savant of the first class, scarcely less inter- esting. The aerial voyage to which it alludes took place about a year and a half previously to the august event already recorded, and the excitement manifested in the learned Antiquary's effusion may give some faint idea of that which prevailed generally among the Sons of ibcience at that memorable epoch. 279 THE "MONSTRE" BALLOON. OhI the balloon, the great balloon ' It left Vauxhall one Monday at noon, And every one said we should hear of it soon With news from Aleppo or Seandevoon. But very soon after folks changed their tune ; " The netting had burst — the silk — ^the shalloon ; — It had met with a trade-wind — a deuced monsoon — It .was blown out to sear— it was blown to the moon— They ought to have put off their journey till June ; Sure none but a donkey, a goose, or baboon Would go up in M"ovember in any balloon I " Then they talk'd about Green — " Oh ! where's Mister Green And where's Mister HoUond who hired the machine f And where is Monk Mason, the man that has been Up so often before — twelve times or thirteen — And who writes such nice letters describing the scene ? And where's the cold fowl, and the ham and poteen ? The press'd beef, with the fat cut off — ^nothing but lean, And the portable soup in the patent tureen f Have they got to Grand Cairo, or reaeh'd Aberdeen? 'Or Jerusalem — ^Hamburg — or Ballyporeen ? No! they have not been seen! Oh! they haven't been seen I " Stay ! here's Mister Gye — ^Mr. Frederick Gye — " At Paris," says he, " I've been up very high, A couple of hundred of toises, or nigh, A cockstride the Tuilleries' pantiles, to coy. 280 THE " MONSTRB " BALLOON. With Dollond's best telescope stuck at my eye, ^d my umbrella under my arm like Paul Pry, But I could see nothing at all but the sky ; So I thought with myself 'twaa of no use to try Any longer : and, feeling remarkably dry I^om sitting all day stuck up there, like a Guy, I came down again, and — ^you see — here am 1 1 " But here's Mr. Hughes I — What says young ',ir. Hughes f- " Why, I'm sorry to say we've not s^i* ^ny news Since the letter they threw dowti m one of their shoes, Which gave the mayor's nose such a deuce of a bruise, Ah he popp'd up his eye-glass to look at their cruise Over Dover ; and which the folks flock'd to peruse At Squier's bazaar, the same evening, in crews — Politicians, news-mongers, town-council, and blues, Turks, Heretics, Infidels, Jumpers, and Jews, Scorning Bachelor's papers, and Warren's reviews : But the wind was then blowing towards Helvoetsluye^ And my father and I are in terrible stews, For so lai'ge a balloon is t sad thing to lose 1 " — Here's news come at last ! — Here's news come at last !^ A vessel's come in which has sail'd very fast ; And a gentleman serving before the mast, — Mister Nokes — ^has declared, that " the party has past Safe across to the Hague, where their grapnel they cast As a fat burgomaster was staring aghast To see such a monster come borne on the blast. And it caught in his waistband, and there it stuck fast!"— Oh 1 fie ! Mister Jf okes, — for shame, Mr. Nokes I To be poking your fun at up plain-dealing folks- Sir, this isn't a time to be cracking your jokes, And such jesting your malice but scurvily cloaks ; Such a trumpery tale every one of us smokes. And we know very .well ypur whole story's a hoax 1— "Ohl what shall we do? — Oh I where will it end! — Can nobody go I — Can nobody send THE "monstre" balloon. 281 To Calais — or Bergen-op-zoom — or Osteud ? Can't you go there yourself? — Can't you -write to a friend, For news upon whicli we may safely depend ? " — Huzza I huzza t one and eight-pence to pay For a letter from Hamborough, just come to say They descended at "Weilburg, about break of day ; And they've lent them the palace there, during their stay. And the town is becoming uncommonly gay And they're feasting the party, and soaking their clay With Johannisberg, Rudesheim, Moselle, and Tokay 1 And the Landgraves, and Margraves, and Counts beg and ■pray That they won't think, as yet, about going away ; Notwithstanding, they don't mean to make much delay But pack up the balloon in a wagon, or dray. And pop themselves into a German "po-shay" And get on to Paris by Lisle and Tournay ; Where they boldly declare, any wager they'll lay If the gas people there do not ask them to pay Snch a sum as must force them at once to say "Nay," They'll, inflate the balloon in the Charaps-Elysees, And be back again here the beginning of May, — Dear me 1 what a treat for a Juvenile fete I What thousands will flock their arrival to greet! There'll be hardly a soiil to be seen in the streel^ For at Vauxhall the whole population will meet. And you'll scarcely get standing-room, much less a seat, For this all preceding attraction must beat : Since they'll unfold, what we want to be told. How they cough'd, — how they sneez'd, — how they shivei'd with cold, — How they tippled the " cordial " as racy and old As Hodges, or Deady, or Smith ever sold. And how they all then felt remarkably bold : How they thought the bofl'd beef worth its own weight » gold; And how Mr. Green was beginning to scold 282 IHE " MONSTKE " BALLOON. Because Mr. Mason -would try to lay hold Of the moon, and had very near oyerboard roll'd I And there they'll be seen — theyTl be all to be seen ! The great-coats, the coffee-pot, mugs, and tureen 1 With the tight-rope, and fire-works, and dancing between If the weather should only prove fair and serene, And there, on a beautiful transparent screen. In the middle you'll see a large picture of Green, Mr. HoUond on one side, who hired, the machine, Mr. Mason on t'other, describing the scene ; And Fame, on one leg, in the air, like a queen. With three wreaths and a trumpet, will over them lean While Envy, in serpents and black bomhazin, Looks on from below with an air of chagrin 1 Then they'll play up a tune in the Royal Saloon, And the people wUl dance by the light of the moon. And keep up the ball till the next day at noon ; And the peer and the peasant, the lord and the loon The haughty grandee, and the low picaroon. The six-foot life-guardsman, and little gossoon, Win all join in three cheers for the " Moustre " Balloon. It is much to be regretted that I have not as yet been able to discover more than a single specimen of my friend " SucMethumbkin's " Muse. The event it alludes to, probably the euthanasia of the late Mr. Greenacre, will scarcely have yet faded from the recollection of an admiring public. Although, with the usual diffidence of a man of fashion, Augustus has " sunk " the fact of his own presence on that interesting occasion, I have every reason to believe, that, in describing the party at the auherge hereafter mentioned, he might have said, with a brother Exquisite, " Quorum pars magna fui" 283 HON. MR. SUCKLETHUMBKIN'S STORY. THE EXECUTION. A SPOETINS ANEODOia Mr Lord Tomnoddy got up one day; It was half after two, He had nothing to do, So his Lordship rang for his cabriolet Tiger Tim Was clean of limb, His boots were polish'd, his jacket was trim ; With a very Bmart tie in his smart cravat. And a smart cockade on the top of his hat; Tallest of boys, or shortest of men. He stood in his stockings just four foot ten ; And he ask'd, as he held the door on the swings " Pray, did your Lordship please to ring 1" My Lord Tomnoddy he raised his head. And thus to Tiger Tim he said, " Malibran's dead, Duvernay's fled, Taglioni has not yet arrived in her stead; Tiger Tim, come tell me tr^e, What may a Nobleman find to do !" — 284 nON. MR. SUCKLETHDMBKIN S BTORT. Tim look'd up, and Tim look'd down, He paused, and he put on a thoughtful frown, And he held up his hat, and he peep'd in the crown ; He bit his lip, and he scratch'd his head, He let go the handle, and thus he said. As the door, released, behind him bang'd : " An't please you, my Lord, there's a man to be bang'd." My Lord Tomnoddy jump'd up at the news, "Bun to M "Fuze, And Lieutenant Tregooze, And rim to Sir Carnaby Jenks, of the Blues. Bope-danoers a pcore I've seen before — Madame Saoehi, Antonio, and Master Blaek-more : But to see a man swing At the end of a string. With his neck in a noose, will be quite a new thing !" My Lord Tomnoddy stept into his cab — Bark rifle green, with a lining of drab ; Through street, and through sc[uare. His high-trotting mare, lake one of Duerow's, goes pawing the air, Adown Piccadilly and Waterloo Place Went the high-trotting mare at a very quick pace; She produced some alarm. But did no great harm, Saye frightening a nurse with a child on her arm. Spattering with clay Two urchins at play, Knocking down — very much to the sweeper's dismal" An old woman who wouldn't get out of the way, And upsetting a stall Near Exeter Hall, Which made all the pious Church-Mission folks sa»«U. But eastward afar. Through Temple Bar, My Lord Tomnoddy directs his car; THE BXBOOTION. 28S Never heeding their squalls, Or their calls, or their bawls. He passes by "Waithman's Emporium for shawls, And, merely just catching a glimpse of St. Paul's, Turns down the Old Bailey, Where in front of the gaol, he Pulls up at the door of the gin-shop, and gaily Cries, " What must I fork out to-night, my trump. For the whole first-floor of the Magpie and Stump !" The clock strikes twelve — ^it is dark midnight — Yet the Magpie and Stump is one blaze of light The parties are met; The tables are set ; There is " punch," "cold without" " hot with," "heavy wet. Ale-glasses and jugs. And rummers and mugs. And sand on the floor, without carpets or rugs. Cold fowl and cigars. Pickled onions in jars, Welsh rabbits and kidneys — ^rare work for the jaws . — And very large lobsters, with very large claws ; And there is M'Puze, And Lieutenant Tregooze, And there is Sir Carnaby Jenks, of the Blues, AH come to see a man " die in his shoes 1" The clock strikes One 1 Supper is done, And Sir Carnaby Jenks is full of his fan, Singing " JoUy companions every one I" My Lord Tomnoddy Is drinking gin-toddy. And laughing at eVry thing, and eVry body. — The clock strikes Two I and the clock strikes Three 1 —"Who so merry, so merry as we ?" Save Captain MTuze, Who is takiug a snooze, 288 , HON. MR. sucjklethumbkin's stort. WMle Sir Carnaby Jenke is busy at worlt; Blackiag bis nose with a piece of burnt cork. The dock strikes Four 1 — Round the debtors' door Are gather'd a couple of thousand or more ; As many await At the press-yard ga-s, TUl slowly its folding-doors open, and straight The mob divides, and between their ranks A waggon comes loaded with posts and with plankSb The clock strikes Five ! The Sheriffs arrive, And the crowd is so great that the street seems alive But Sir Carnaby Jenks Blinks, and winks, A candle burns down in the socket, and stinks. Lieutenant Tregooze Is dreaming of Jews, And acceptances all the bOl-brokers refuse ; My Lord Tomnoddy Has drunk all his toddy, And just as the dawn is beginning to peep, The whole of the party are fast asleep. Sweetly, oh 1 sweetly, the morning bi-eake^ With roseate streaks, like the first faint blush on a maiden's cheeks Seem'd as that mild and clear blue sky Smiled upon all things far and nigh, On all — save the wretch condemn'd to die Alack I that ever so fair a Sun Aa that which its course has now begun. Should rise on such a scene of misery I — Should gUd with rays so light and free That dismal, dark-frowning Gallows-tree I And hark 1 — a sound comes, big with fate ; The clock from St Sepulchre's tower strikes — Eight I- THE EXECUTION. 28? list to that low funereal bell : It is tolling, alas 1 a living man's knell 1 — And see I — ^from forth that opening door They come — He steps that threshold o'er Who never shall tread upon threshold more ! — Godl 'tis a fearsome thing to see That pale wan man's mute agony, — The glare of that wild, despairing eye, Now bent on the crowd, now turn'd to the sky, As though 'twere scanning, in doubt and in fean The path of the Spirit's unknown career ; Those pinion'd arms, those hands that ne'er Shall be lifted again, — not even in prayer , That heaving chest ! — Enough — 'tis done I The bolt has fallen ! — ^the spirit is gone — " For weal or for woe is known but to One 1— — Oh I 'twas a-fearsome sight 1 — Ah me A deed to shudder at, — not to see. Again that clock 1 'tb time, tis time 1 The hour is past ; — ^with its earliest chime The cord is severed, the lifeless clay By " dungeon villains" is borne away ; Hine 1 — ^'twas the last concluding stroke 1 And then — my Lord Tomnoddy awoke 1 And Tregooze and Sir Carnaby Jenks arose. And Captain MTuze, with the black on his nose And they stared at each other, as much as to say "HoDol Hollo I Here's a rum Go 1 Why, Captain I — ^my Lord 1 — ^Here's the devil to pay The fellow's been cut down and taken away I — What's to be done ? We've missed all the fun 1 — Why they'll laugh »t and quiz us all over the town. We are all of us done so uncommonly bi'own !" What was to be done ? — ^'twas perfectly plain That they eonld not well hang the man over agaio; 288 HON. MR. SnOKLBTHUMBK!:/.S STORT. What was to be done? — ^The man -was deadl Nought eotdd be do'ne — ^nought could be said; So-7-my Lord Tomnoddy vent home to bed 1 The following communication will speak for itself: ** On thoii- own actions modest men are dumb I" 2S9 SOME ACCOUNT OF A NEW PLATf, IN A FAintlAK EPISTLE TO MT BEOTHEE-IN-LAW, USUI. SEATOETH, H.P. LATE OF THE HON. E.LC.'s 2ND KEGT. OF BOMBAY FENCIBLE3. « Tie play's tho ttuDgl"— Hamlet Tavistock Hotel, Not. 1639. Dea2 Chaeles, — In reply to your letter, and F On board of his cutter so trim and so jimp. Then, seizing him just as you'd handle a shrimp, Twirl'd him thrice in the air with a whirligig motion And soused him at once neck and heels in the ocean ; This was off Plymouth Sound, And he must have been drown'd, For 'twas nonsense to think he could swim to dry ground. If "A very great Warman, Cajl'd Billy the Norman," Had not just at that moment sail'd by, outward bound. A shark of great size, ■ With his great glassy eyes, Sheer'd off as he came, and relinquish'd the prize ; So he pick'd up the lad,* swabbed and dry-rubb'd, nr.c, mopp'd hira, And, having no children, "resolved to adopt him. • An incident very like one in Jack Shepard — A work some have lauded, and others have peppered — SOME ACCOUNT OP A NEW PLAY. 2J3 Full many a year Did he hand, ree^ and steer, And by no means consider'd himself as small beer. When old Norman at length died and left him his frigate, With lots of pistoles in his coffer to rig ip A sailor ne'er moans ; So, consigning the bones Of his fiiend to the looker of one Mr. Jones, For England he steers. — On the voyage it appears That he rescued a maid from the Dey of Algiers ; And at length reach'd the Sussex coast, where in a bay Not a great way from Brighton, most eoaey-ly lay His vessel at anchor, the very same day That the Poet begins, — ^thus commencing his play : Giles Gausseu accosts old Sir Maurice de Beevor, And puts the poor Enight in a deuce of a fever, By saying the boy, whom he took out to please him. Is come back a Captain on purpose to tease him. — Sir Maurice, who gladly would see Mr. Gaussen Breaking stones on the highway, or sweeping a crossing Dissembles — observes. It's of no use to fret, — And hints he may find some more work for him yet ; Then calls at the castle, and tells Lady A. That the boy they had ten years ago sent away Is return'd a grown man, and, to come to the point. Will put her son Percy's nose clean out of joint ; But adds, that herself she no longer need vex. If she'll buy him (Sir Maurice) a farm near the Ex. Where a Dutch pirate kidnaps, and tosses Thames Darrell Just so in the sea, and he's saved by a barrel, — On the coast, if 1 recollect lightly, it^s flung whole. And the hero, half-drown'd, scrambles out of the bung-holn. [It aint no sich thing !— the hero aint bung'd in no barrel at all. — Hel picked up by a Captain, just as Norman was arterwards. — Print. D ev.1 294 SOME ACCOUNT OF. A. NEW PLAY. "Ohl take it," she cries ; "but secure every document." "A bargain," says Maurice, — "including the stock yoa meant?" — The Captain, mean'while, With a lover-like smile. And a fine cambric handkerchief wipes off the tears Prom Miss Violet's eyelash, and hushes her fears. (That's the Lady he saved from the Dey of Algiers.) Now arises a delicate-point, and this is it — The young lady herself i? but down ouia visit She's perplex'd ; and, in fact^ Does not know how to act. It's her very first visit— and then to begin By asking a stranger — a gentleman, in — One with moustaches too — and a tuft on his chin — She " really don't know — He had much better go," — Here the Countess steps in from behind, and says " No 1— Fair sir, you are welcome. Do, pray, stop and dine — Tou will take our pot-luck — and we've decentish wine." He bows, looks at Miss, — and he dbes^ not decline. ACT n. After dinner the Captain recounts, with much glee^ All he's heard, seen, and done since he first went to eeo. All his perils and scrapes, ^.^ And his hair-breadth escapes. Talks of boa-constrictors, and lions, and apes. And fierce " Bengal Tigers," like that which, you know. If you've ever seen any respectable " Show," " Carried off the unfortunate Mr. Munro." Then, diverging a while, he adverts to the mystery Which hangs, like a cloud, o'er his own private history—' How he ran off to sea — how they set him afloat, (Not a word, though, of barrel or bung-hole — See Note) — ^How he happen'd to meet With the Algerine fleet, eOMB ACCOUNT OF A NBW PLAY. 295 And forced them, by sheer dint of arms, to retreat, Thus saving his Violet— {One of his feet Here just touch'd her toe, and she moved on her sea)^}— How his vessel was batter'd — In short, he so ehatter'd. Now lively, now serious, so ogled and flatter'd. That the ladies much marvell'd a person should be able To " make himself" both said, " so very agreeable." Captain Norman's adventures were scarcely half done When Percy, Lord Ashdale, her ladyship's son, In a terrible fume. Bounces into the room. And talks to his guest as you talk'd to your groom. Claps his hands on his rapier, and swears he'U be through him— ^ The CaBtain does nothing at all but "poohl poohl " him. — Unable to smother His hate of his brother. He rails at his cousin, and blows up his mother. — " Fie I fie ! " says the first. — Says the latter, " In sooth. This is sharper by far than a keen serpent's tooth 1 " (A remark, by the way, which King Lear had made yearn ago. When he ask'd for his Knights, and his Daughter said, "Here's a go! ") — This made Ashdale ashamed ; -But he must not be blamed Too much for his warmth, for, like many young fellows, ha Was apt to lose temper when tortur'd by jealousy. Still speaking quite gruff, He goes off in a huff ; Lady A., who is now what some call " up to snuff," Straight determines to patch Up a clandestine match Between the Sea-Captain she dreads like Old Scratch, And Mis^ — ^whom she does not think any great catch 296 SOME ACCOUNT OF A NEW PLAT. For Ashdale ; — ^besides, he ■won't kick up such shindi8» ■Were she onee fairly married and off to the Indies. Miss Violet takes from the Countess her tone ; She agrees to meet Iforman " by moonlight alone," . And slip off to his bark, " The night being dark," Though "the moon," the Sea-Captain says, rises in Heaven ' One hour before midnight," i. e. at eleven. From which speech I infer, — ^Though perhaps I may err — That, though weatherwise, doubtless, midst surges and suH he When " capering on shore " was by no means a Murphy He starts off, however, at sunset, to reach An old chapel in ruins, that stands on the beacli. Where the Priest is to bring, as he's promised by letter, ( Paper to prove his name, " birthright," &e. Being rather too late, Gaussen, lying in waiti Gives poor Father Onslow a knock on the pate. But bolts, seeing Norman, before he had wrested From the hand of the Priest, iis Sir Maurice requested. The marriage certificate duly attested. — Iformau kneels by the clergyman fainting and gory, And begs he won't die till he's told him his story. The Father complies, Ee-opens his eyes, And tells him all how and about it — and diesi Iforman, now call'd Le Mesnil, instructed of all. Goes back, though it's getting quite late for a call. Hangs his hat and his cloak on a peg in the hall. And tells the proud Countess it's useless to fWDother The fact any longer — ^he knows iihe'shis Mo' her! SOME ACCOUNT OF A NEW PLAY. 29l His Pa's wedded Spouse, — She questions his vovs, Aild thi'eatens to have him tarn'd out of the house.— He still perseveres, Till in spite of her fears, She admits he's the son she had cast oif for years, And he gives her the papers all "blister'd with tears," When Ashdale, who chances his nose in to poie Takes his hat and his cloak. Just as if in a joke. Determined to put in his wheel a new spoke, And slips off thus disguised, when he sees lay the dial it 's time for the rendesvous fixed with Miss Violet. — —Captain Norman, who, after all, feels rather sore At his mother's reserve, vows to see her no more, Kings the bell for the servant to open the door. And leaves his Mamma in a fit on the floor. Now comes the catastrophe ! — Ashdale, who's wrapt in The cloak, with the hat and the plume of the Captain, Leads Violet down tlu'ough the grounds to the chapel Wliere Gaussen's conoeal'd — ^he springs forward to grapple The man he's erroneously led to suppose Captain Norman himself, by the cut of his clothes. In the midst of their strife And just as the knife Of the Pirate is raised to deprive him of life. The Captain comes forward, drawn there by the squeals Of the Lady, and, knocking Giles head over heels, Fractures his " nob," Saves the hangman a job, Aiid executes justice most strictly, the rather, Twas the spot where that rascal had murder'd his fatlier Then in comes the mother, "Who finding one brother Had the instant before saved the life of the other , 13* 208 SOME ACCOUNT OF A NEW- PLAY. Explains the whole ease. Ashdale puts a good face On the matter ; and, since he's obliged to give place, Yields his coronet up with a pretty good grace ; Iforman vows he won't have it — ^the kinsmen embrace,— And the Captain, the first in this generous race, ' To remove every handle For gossip and scandal. Sets the whole of the papers alight with the candle ; An arrangement takes place — on the very same night, all Is settled and done, and the points the most vital Are, N. takes the personals ; — ^A., in requital, Keeps the whole real property. Mansion, and Title. — V. falls to the share of the Captain, and tries a Sea-voyage, as a Bride, in the " Royal Eliza." Both are pleased with the part they acquire as joint heirs, And old Maurice Beevor is bilndled down stairs 1 The public, perhaps, with the drama might quarrel If deprived of aU epilogue, prologue, and moral ; This may serve for all three then : — " Young Ladies of prop< ji;y, Let Lady A.'s history serve as a stopper t'ye ; Don't wed with low people beneath your degree. And if you've a^ baby, don't send it to sea 1 "Young Noblemen! shun every thing like a brawl ; And be sure when you dine out, or go to a. ball, Don't take the best hat that you find in the hall. And leave one in its stead that's worth nothing at all 1 •Old Knights, don't give bribes! — above all, never urge a man To steal people's tilings, or to stick an old Clergyman' "And you, yc Sea-Captaius I who've nothing to do SOME ACCOUNT, Off A NEW PLAY. 299 Bnt to run round the world, fight, and drink till all's blae. And tell us tough yarns, and then swear they are true, Reflect, notwithstanding your sea-faring Ufe, That you can't get on well long, without you've a wife ; So get one at once, treat her kindly and gently, Write a If autical novel, — and send it to Bentley " 300 It has been already hinted that Mr. Peters had been a * traveller " in his day. The only story which his lady would ever allow " her P." to finish — he began as many as would furnish an additional volume to the " Thou- sand and One Nights " — is the last I shall offer. The subject, I fear me, is not over new, but will remind my friends **0f ■oxoething better they have seen before." 301 MR. PETERS'S STORY. THE BAGMAN S DOG. Stant littore Puppies ! — ^VIbgil. It was a litter, a litter of five, Four are drowned and one left alive, He was thought worthy alone to suryive ; And the Bagman resolved upon bringing him tl{^ To eat of his bread, and to drink of his cup. He was sueh a dear little eook-tail'd pup ! The Bagman taught him many a trick ; He would carry, and fetch, and run after a stick. Could well understand The word of command, And appear to doze With a crust on his nose Till the Bagman permissively waved his hand: Then to throw up and catch it he never would fail, As he sat up on end, on his little eock-tail. Never was puppy so bien instruit, Or possess'd of such natural talent as he ; And as he grew older, Every beholder Agreed he grew handsomer, sleeker, and bolder.— Time, however his wheels we may clog. Wends steadily still with onward jog. And tlie cook'd-tail'd puppy's a cnrly-tail'd dog 302 MR. PBIBBS'S STORY. When, just at the time He waa reaching his prime, And all thought he'd be turning out something subiim*^ One unlucky day, How, no one could say. Whether some soft liaison induced him to elray, Or some Mdnapping vagabond coax'd him away, He was lost to the view. Like the morning dew ; — He had been, and was not — that's all that they knew I And the Bagman storm'd, and the Bagman swore As never a Bagman had sworn before ; But storming or swearing but little avails To recover lost dogs with great curly tails.— lu a large paved court, close by Billiter Sc^'^are, Statfds a mansion, old, but in thorough repair, The only thing strange, from the general air Of its size and appearance, is how it got there ; In front is a short semieirenlar stair Of stone steps, — some half score, — Then you reach the ground floor, With a shell-pattern'd architrave over the door. It is spacious, and seems to be built on the plan Of a Gentleman's house in the reign of Queen Anne; Which is odd, for, although. As we very well know. Under Tiidors and Stuarts the City could show Many Koblemen's seats above Bridge and belo.w. Yet that fashion soon after induced them to go Fi'om St. Michael Cornhill, and St. Mary-le-Bow, To St James, and St. George, and St. Anne in Soha -• Be this as it may, — at the date I assign To my tale, -^that's about Seventeen Sixty Nine, — This mansion, now rather upon the decline, Had less dignified owners, — belonging in fine. To Turner, Dry, Weipersyde, Rogers, and Pyne — A respeetnble House in the Manchester line. THE BAGMi^N'S DOG. SOS There were a score Of Bagmen, and more, Who had travell'd full oft for the firm before ; But just at this period they wanted to send Some person on whom they could safely depend — A trustworthy body, half agent, half friend — On some mercantile matter as far as Ostend ; And the person they pitch'd on was Anthony Blogg, A grave, steady man, not addicted to grog, — T)ie Gagman, in short, who had lost this great dog. ***** " The Sea ! the Sea I - the open Sea ! — That is the "place where we all wish to be, EoUing about on it merrily 1 " — So all sing and say By night and by day. In the hmdoir, the street, at the concert, and play, In a sort of coxcombical roundelay ; — Tou may roam through the City, transversely or straight) from Whitechapel turnpike to Cumberland gate, And every young Lady who thrums a guitar, EVry mustaohio'd Shopman who smokes a cigar. With affected devotion. Promulgates his notion, Of being a " Rover " and " child of the Ocean " — Whate'er their age, sex, or condition may be, They all of them long for the " Wide, Wide Sea ! " But however they dote. Only set them afloat In any craft bigger at all than a boat, Take them down to the JTore, And you'll see that, before The " Wessel " they " Woyage " in has made half her way Between SheU-Ness Point and the pier at Heme Bay, Let the wind meet the tide in the slightest degree. They'll be all of them heartily sick of " the Sea ! " 304 MR. PKTERS'S STORY. I've stood in Margate, on a bridge of 6ize Inferior far to that described by Byron, Wliere " palaces and pris'ns on each hand rise,-—" — ^That too's a stone one, this is made of iron — And little donkey-boys your steps environ, Each proffering for yonr choice his tiny hack. Vaunting its excellence ; and, should you hire one, For sixpence, will he urge, with frequent thwack, Tlie much-enduring beast to Buenos Ayres — and back And there, on many a raw and gusty day, I've stood, and turn'd my gaze upon the pier. And seen the crews, that did embark so gay That self same morn, now disembark so queer ; Then to myself I've sigh'd and said, " Oh dear 1 Who would believe yon sickly-looking man's a London Jack Tar, — a Cheapside Buccaneer I — " But hold, my Muse I — ^forthis terrific stanza Is all too stiffly grand for our Extravaganza. * * » * « '■ So now we'll go up, up, up, And now we'll go down, down, down, And now we'll go backwards and forwards. And now we'll go roun', roun', roun'." — — ^I hope you've sufficient discernment to see, Gentle Reader, that here the discarding the d Is a fault which you must not attribute to me ; Thus my Nurse out it off, when, "with counterfeit glee^* She Bung, as she danced me about on her knee, In the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and three : — All I mean to say is, that the Muse is now free From the self-imposed trammels put on by her betters. And no longer like FUoh, midst the felons and debtors At Drury Lane, dances her hornpipe in fetters. Resuming her track. At once she goes back To our hero, the Bagman — Alasl and Alack I THE bagman's DOQ, 30fi Poor Anthony Blogg Is as sick as a dog, Spite of sundry unwonted potations of grog, By the time the Dutch packet is fairly at sea, With the sands called the Goodwin's a league on Jier lea And now, my good friends, I've a fine opportunity To obfuscate you all by sea terms with impunity. And talking of " caulking," And " quarter-deck walking," "Fore and aft," And "abaft," "Hookers," "barkeys," and "crafty" (At which Mr. Poole has so wickedly laught,) Of binnacles, — bilboes, — ^the boom call'd the spanker, — The best bower cable, — ^the jib^ — and sheet anchor; Gf lower-deck guas, — and of broadsides and chases. Of taffrails and topsails, and splicing main-braces, And " Shiver my timbers I " and other odd phrases Employ'd by old pilots with hard-featured faces ; — Of the expletives seafaring Gentlemen use, The allusions they niake to the eyes of their crews ; How the Sailors, too, swear, How they cherish their hair, And what very long pigtails a great many wear. — Butj Reader, I scorn it — the fact is, I fear. To be candid, I can't make these matters so clear As Marryat, or Cooper, or Captain Chamier, Or Sir E. Lytton Bulwer, who brought up the rear Of the "Nauticals," just at the end of the year Eighteen thirty-nine — (how Time flies I — Oh, dear I)— With a well written preface to make it appear That his play, the " Sea-Captain," 's by no means small beer There 1 — " brought up the rear " — ^you see there's a mistake Which none of the authors I've mentioned would make, I ought to have said, that he "saU'd in their wake." — So m merely observe, as the water grew rougher The more my poor hero continued to suffer. Till the Sailors themselves cried, in pity. "Poor Buffer I'" 306 MR. PETEES'S 8T0RT. Still rougher it grew, And still harder it blew, And the thander Mck'd up such a halUballoo, That even the Skipper began to look blue ; While the crew, who were few, Look'd very queer, too. And Beem'd not to know what exactly to do, And they who'd the charge of them wrote in the logs, " Wind N. E. — blows a hurricane — trains cats and dogs." In short it soon grew to a tempest as rude as That Shakspeare describes near the " still vext Bermudas," •' When the winds, in their sport. Drove aside from its port The King's ship, with the whole Neapolitan Court, And Bwamp'd it to give "the King's Son, Ferdinand," « Soft moment or two with the Lady Miranda, WhUe her Pa met the rest, and severely rebuked 'em For unhandsomely doing him out of his Dukedom. You don't want me, however, to paint you a Storm, As so many have done, and in colours so warm ; Lord Byron, for instance, in manner facetious, Mr. Ainsworth more gravely, — see also LucretiuSr — ^A writer who gave me no trifling vexation When a youngster at school on Dean Colet's foundation — Suffice it to say That the whole of that day. And the next, and the next, they wore scudding away • Quite out of their course, Propell'd by the force Of those flatulent folks known in Classical story as Aquilo, Libs, Notus, Auster, and Boreas, Driven quite at their mercy 'Twixt Guernsey and Jersey, Till at length they came bump on the rocks and the shallows In West longitude, One, fifty- seven, near St. Maloes; * See Appendix. THE bagman's dog. 307 There you will not be surprised That the Teasel capsized. Or that Blogg, who had made, from intestine commotion^ Hia specifical gravity less than the Ocean's, Should go floating away, Midft the surges and spray, Like a cork in a gutter, which, swoln by a shoT^er, Runs down Holborn-hill about nine knots an hour. You've seen, Tve no doubt, at Bartholomew fair. Gentle Seader, — that is, if you've ever been there, — With their hands tied behind them, some two or three pair Of boys round a bucket set up on a chair. Skipping, and dipping Eyes, nose, chin, and lip in. Their faces and hair with the water all dripping. In an anxious attempt to catch hold of a pippin. That bobs up and down in the water whenever They touch it, as mocking the fruitless endeavour ; Exactly as Poets say, — ^how, though, they can't tell us, — Old Mck's Nonpareils play at bob with poot Tantalus. — Stay 1 — ^Fm not clear. But I'm rather out here ; Twas the water itself that slipp'd from him, I f^ar ; Faith, I can't recollect — and I haven't Lempriere. — No matter, — ^poor Blogg went on ducking and bobbing. Sneezing, out the salt-water, and gulping and sobbing Just as Clarence, in Shakspeare, describes all the qualms he Experienced while dreaming they'd drown'd him in Malmsey " Lord," he thought, " what pain it was to drown I " And saw great fishes with great goggling eyes, Glaring as he was bobbing up and down. And looking as they thought him quite a prize ; When, as he sank, and aU was growing darl^ A something seized him with its jaws I — ^A shark 1 — No such thing, Reader : — ^most opportunely for Blogg, Twas a very large, web-footed, ourly-tail'd Dog 308 MR. PETERS'S STORY. I'm not much of a traveller, and really can't boast That I know a great deal of the Brittany coast, But I've often heard say That e'en to this day. The people of Granville, St. Haloes, and thereabout Are a class that society doesn't much care about ; Men who gain their subsistence by contraband dealing, And a mode of abstraction strict people call " stealing ;" Notwithstanding all which, they are civil of speech. Above all to a stranger who comes within reach ; And they were so to Blogg, "When the curly-tail'd Dog At last dragg'd him out, high and dry on the beach. But we all have been told. By the proverb of old. By no means to think " all that glitters is gold ;" And, in fact, some advance That most people in France Join the manners and air of a Maitre de Danse, To the morals — (as Johnson of Chesterfield said)— Of an elderly Lady, in Babylon bred, Much addicted to flirting, and dressing in red. — Be this as it might It embarrassed Blogg quite To find those about him so very polite. A suspicious observer perhaps might have traced The peiites soins, tender'd with so much good taste, To the sight of an old-fashioned pocket-book, placed In a black leather belt well secured round his waist^ And a ring set with diamonds, his finger that graced. So brilliant, no one could have guess'd they were pasta The group on the shore Consisted of four; You will wonder, perhaps, there were not a few more ; But the fact is they've not, in that part of the nation, What Malthus would term, a " too dense population." Indeed the sole sign there of man's habitatinn iHB bagman's doo. .309 Was merely a single Bude hut, in a dingle That led away inland direct from the shingle, Its sides clothed with underwood, gloomy and dark, Some two hundred yards above high- water mark ; And thither the party. So cordial and hearty. Viz. an old man, his wife, and two lads made a starf^ ho The Bagman proceeding. With equal good breeding. To express, in indifferent French, all he feels. The great cnrly-tail'd Dog keeping close to his heels. — They soon reach'd the hut, which seem'd partly in ruin, All the way bowing, chattering, shrugging, Mon-Dieu-mg, Grimacing, and what sailors call parley-vooin^. 4; 4: H« * He Is it Paris, or Kitchener, Reader, exhorts You, whenever your stomach's at all out of sorts, To try, if you find richer viands won't stop in it, A basin of good mutton broth with a chop in it ? (Such a basin and chop as I once heard a witty one Call, at the Garrick, " a o — d Committee one," An expression, I own, I do not think a pretty one,) However, it's clear That, with sound table beer, Such a mess as I speak off js very good cheer; Especially too When a person's wet through. And is hungry, and tired, and don't know what to do, 'Sow just such a mess of delicious hot pottage Was smoking away when they enter'd the cottage, ' And casting a truly delicious perfume -Through the whole of an ugly, old, ill-furnish'd room ; " Hot, smoking hot," On the fire was a pot WeU replenish'd, but really I can't say with what ; For, famed as the French always are for ragouts, No creature can tell what they put in their stews. Whether bull-frogs, old gloves, or old wigs, or old sl-oesi 310. MR. PBTEKS'S STORY. Notwithstanding, when offer'd I rarely refuse, Any more than poor Blogg did, when, seeing the reeky Kepast placed before him, scarce ahle to speak, he In ecstasy mutter'd "By Jove, Cocky-leekyI " In an instant, as soon As they gave him a spoon, Every feeling and faculty bent on the gruel, he No more blamed Fortune for treating him cruelly, But fell tooth and nail on the soup and the bouUli, » » » « • Meanwhile that old man standing by, Subducted his long coat-tails on high, With his back to the fire, as if to dry A part of his dress which the watery sky Had visited rather inolemently. — Blandly he smil'd, but still he look'd sly, And a something sinister lurk'd in his eye. Indeed, had you seen him his maritime dress in, You'd have own'd his appearance was not prepossesaing He'd a " dreadnought " coat, and heavy sabots With thick wooden soles turn'd up at the toes. His nether man cased in a striped guelgue chose, And a hump on his back, and a great hook'd nose. So that nine out of ten would be led to suppose That the person before them was Punch in plain clothes. Yet still, as I told you, he smiled on all present, And did all that lay in his power to look pleasant. The old woman, too, Made a mighty ado, Helping her guest to a deal of the stew ; She fish'd up the meat, and she help'd him to that^ She help'd him to lean, and she help'd him to fat. And it look'd like Hare — ^but it might have been Cat The little gareons, too, strove to express Their sympathy towards the " Child of distress " With a great deal of juvenile French ^oK^esse; THE bagman's DOQ. 311 But the Bagman bluff Continued to "stuff" Of the fat, and the lean, and the tender and tough. Till they thought he would never cry " Hold, enough 1 " And the old woman's tones became far less agreeable^ Sounding like peste ! and sacre I and diable ! I Ve seen an old saw, which is well worth repeating That says, " fficoolr HSatjnst BtstiStti floai JStsnfesngt." You'll find it so printed by Caitoit, or SlSjltfejlt, And a very good proverb it is to my thinking. Blogg thought so too ; — As he finish'd his stew, His ear caught the sound of the word " Marbleu ! " Pronounced by the old woman under her breath. Ifow, not knowing what she could mean by " Blue Death I" He conoeiv'd she referr'd to a delicate brewing Which is almost synonymous, — ^namely, "Blue Ruin.*' So he pursed up his lip to a smile, and with glee. In his oooknefy'd accent, responded " Oh, Fee / " Which made her understand he Was asking for iJraudy ; So she tum'd to the cupboard, and, haying some handy, Produced, rightly deeming he would not object to it, An orbicular bulb with a very long neck to it; In fact you perceive her mistake was the same as his, Each of them "reasoning right from wrong premises;" — — ^And here by the way, Allow me to say. Kind Reader, you sometimes permit me to stray — Tis strange the French prove, when they take to aspersing So inferior to us in the science of cursing : Kick a Frenchman down stairs, How absurdly he swears 1 And how odd 'tis to hear him, when beat to a jeMy, Boar out, in a passion, " Blue Death 1 " and " Blue Belly I 312 MR. PETBES's STORY. "To return to our sheep" from this little digression: — Blogg's features assumed a complacent expression As he emptied his glass, and she gave him a fresh one ; Too little he heeded How fast they succeeded, Perhaps you or I might have done, though, as he did ; For. when once Madam Fortune deals out her hard rapa, It's amazing to think How one " cottons " to Drink 1 At such times, of all things in nature perhaps, There's not one that is half so seducing as Bchnflpf. Mr. Blogg, beside being uncommonly dry, Was, like most other Bagmen, remarkably shy, — "Did not like to deny" — " Felt obliged to comply " Every time that she ask'd him to " wet t'other eye ; " For 'twas worthy remark that she spared not the stoup, Though before she had seem'd so to grudge him the scu)> At length the fumes rose To liis brain ; and his nose Gave hints of a strong disposition to doze, And a vearning to seek, "horizontal repose." — His queer-looking host, "Who, firm at his p«st. During all the long meal had continued to toast That garment 'twere rude to Do more than allude to. Perceived, from his breathing and nodding, the views Of his guest were directed to " taking a snooze : " So he c^ght up a lamp in his huge dirty paw, W^ith (as Blogg used to tell it) "Mounseer, swimy mawl" And " marshall'd " him so "The way ho should go," Upstau's to an attic, large, gloomy, and low, Without table or chair, Or a moveable there. Save an old-fashion'd bedstead, mvich out of repair, That stood at tha end most remoVd from the stair. — THE bagman's doq. 31h With a grin and a shrug The host points to the rug, Just as much as to say, "There I — I tliink you '1] be stag ' Puts the light on the floor, Walks to the door. Makes a formal Salaam, and is then seen no more ; When just as the ear lost the sound of his tread, To the Bagman's surprise, and, at first, to his dread, Tlie gi'eat curly-tail'd Dog crept from under the bed !— — It's a very nice thing when a man's in a fright. And thinks matters all wrong, to find matters all right ; As, for instance, when going home late-ish at night Through a Churchyard, and seeing a thing all in white, Which, of course, one is led to consider a Sprite, To find that the Ghost Is merely a post, Or a miller, or chalky-faced donkey at most ; Or, when taking a walk as the evenings begin To close, or, as some people call it, " draw in," And some undefined form, " looming large " through haze. Presents itself, right in your path, to your gaze. Inducing a dread Of a knock on the head, Or a scver'd carotid, to find that, instead Of one of those rufiTians who murder and fleece men It's your uncle, or one of the " Rural Polioemen ; " — Then tho blood flows again Through artery and vein : You're delighted with what just before gave you pain , Tou laugh at your fears — and your friend in the fog Meets a welcome as cordial as Anthony Blogg Now bestoVd on his friend — the great curly-tailed Dog For the Dog leap'd up, and his paws found a place On each side his neck in a canine embrace. And he lick'd Blogg's hands, and he liek'd his faoe^ FIRST SERIES. 14 314 ME. PETEBS'S STORY. Aad he waggled his tail as much as to say ' Mr. Blogg, we've foregather'd before to-day 1 " And the Bagman saw, as he now sprang up, What, beyond all doubt, •He might have found out Before, had he not been so eager to sup, 'Twas Sancho ! — the Dog he had reared from a pup — The Dog who when sinking had seized his hair,— The J5og who had saved, and conducted him there,— The Dog he had lost out of Billiter Square 1 ! It's passing sweet. An absolute treat,. When friends, long sever'd by distance, meet, — With what warmth and affection each other they greet' Especially too, as we very well know, If there seems any chance of a little eadeau, A "Present from Brighton," or "Token," to show. In the diape of a work-box, ring, bracelet, or so. That our friends don't forget us, although they may go To Ramsgate, or Some, or Fernando Po. If some little advantage seems likely to start, From a fifty-pound note to a two-penny tart. It's surprising to see how it softens the heart. And you'll find those whose hopes from the other ai« strongest) Use, in common, endearments the thickest and longest. But^ it was not so heTe ; For, although it is clear, Whec abroad, and we have not a single friend near. E'en a cur that will love us becomes very dear, And the balance of interest 'twixt him and the Dog Of course was inclining to Anthony Blogg, Tet he, first of all, ceased To encourage the beast. Perhaps thinking " Enough is a good as a feast ; " And besides, as we've said, being sleepy and mellow. He grew tired of patting, and crying " Poor fellow * THE bagman's Doa. 316 So his smile by degrees hardeu'd into a frown. And his " That" s a good dog 1 " into " Down, Sancho 1 down 1" But nothing could stop his mute faVrite's caressing, Who, in fact, seem'd resolved to preyent his undressing. Using paws, tail, and head. As if he had said, " Most beloved of masters, pray, don't go to bed ; You had much better sit up, and pat me instead 1 " Nay, at last, when determined to take some repose, Blogg threw himself down on the outside the clothea^ Spite of all he could do, The Dog jump'd up too. And kept him awake with his very cold nose ; Scratching and whining. And moaning and pining. Till Blogg really believed he must have some design in Thus breaking his rest ; above all, when at length The dog scratch'd him off from the bed by sheer strength Extremely annoy'd by the " tarnation whop," as it 'b caU'd in Kentucky on its head and its opposite, Blogg show'd fight ; When he saw, by the light Of the flickering candle, that had not yet quite Burnt down in the socket, though not oyer bright. Certain dark-colonr'd stains, as of blood newly spilt, Keveal'd by the dog's having scratched oflF the quilt Which hinted a story of horror and guilt I — 'Twas " no mistake," — He was " wide awake " In an instant ; for, when only decently drunk, Nothing sobers a man so completely as " funk." And hark 1 — what's that t — They have got into chat In the kitchen below — ^what the deuce are they at — 816 MR. PBTEES'S STORY. There's the ugly old Keherman Boolding his wife — And she I — ^by the Pope 1 she's whetting a knife 1 — At each twist Of her wrist, And her great mutton fist, The edge of the weapon sounds shriller and louder 1— The fierce kitchen fire Had not made Blogg perspire Half so much, or a dose of the best James's powder. — It ceases — all's silent ! — and now, I declare There's somebody crawls up that rickety stair. » * « * » The horrid old ruffian comes, cat-like, creeping ; — He opens the door just sufficient to peep in, And sees, as he fancies, the Bagman sleeping I For Blogg, when he'd once asoertain'd that there was some " Precious mischief" on foot had resolv'd to play 'Possum ; — Down he went, legs and head, Flat on the bed. Apparently sleeping as sound as the dead ; WTiile, though none who look'd at him would think such a thing. Every nerve in his frame was braced up for a spring. Then, just as the villain Crept, stealthily stiU, in, And you'd not have in^ur'd his guest's life for a shilling. As the knife gleam'd on high, bright and sharp as a razor, Blogg, starting upright, " tipped " the fellow " a facer ;" — ^Down went man and weapon. — Of all sorts of blows, From what Mr. Jackson reports, I suppose There ai-e few that surpass a flush hit on the nose. Now, had I the pen of old Ossian or Homer, (Though each of these names some pronounce a misnomer, And say the fijst person Was call'd James M'Pherson, Wliile, as to the second, they stoutly declare He was no one knows who. and born no one knows where,) THB baoman's dog. 317 Or had I the quill of Pierce Egan, a writer Acknowledged the best theoretical fighter For the last twenty years. By the lively young Peers, Who, doffing their coronets, collars, and ermine, treat Boxers to "Max," at the One Tun in Jermyn Street; — — ^I say, could I borrow these Gentlemen's Muses, More skill'd than my meek one in " fibbings " and bruises, I'd describe now to you As " prime a Set-to," And " regular turn-up," as ever you knew ; Not inferior in " bottom " to aught you have read of Since Cribb, years ago, half knook'd Molyneux* head off. But my dainty Urania says, "Such things are shocking!" Lace mittens She loves. Detesting "The Gloves;" And turning, with air most disdainfully mocking. From Melpomene's buskin, adopts the silk stocking So, as far as I can see, I must leave you to " fancy " The thumps and the bumps, and the ups and the downs, And the taps, and the slaps, and the raps on the crowns. That pass'd twixt the Husband, Wife, Bagman, and Dog, As Blogg roU'd over thom, and they roll'd over Blogg ; While what's called " The Claret " Flew over the garret : Merely stating the fact, As each other they whack'd, The Dog his old master most gallantly back'd ; Making both the garcons, who came running in, sheer oQ, With "Hippolyte's " thumb, and " Alphonse's" left ear oflf Next, making a stoop on The buffenng group on The floor, rent in tatters the old woman's ^upon ; Then the old man tum'd up, and a 'fresh bite of Sancho's Tore out the whole seat of his striped Calimanooes— Beally, which way This desperate fray 318 MI!, PETERS'S STOET. Might have ended at last, rm not able to say, The dog keeping thus the assassins at bay : Bat a few fresh arriyals decided the day ; For bounce -went the door, In came half a ecore Of the passengers, sailors, and one or two more Who had aided the party in gaining the shore I It's a great many years ago — mine then were few — Since I spent a short time in the old Cowrageux ; — I think that they say She had been, in her day, A Krst-rate, — ^but was then what they term a Maaie,— And they took me on board in the Downs, where she lay (Captain Wilkinson held the command by the way.) In her I pick'd up, on that single occasion. The little I know that concerns Navigation, And obtained, inter alia, some Tague information Of a practice which often, in cases of robbing. Is adopted on shipboard — I think it's call'd " Cobbing;'' How it's managed exactly I really can't say, But I think that a Boot-jack is brought into play — That is, if I'm right ; — ^it exceeds my ability To tell how 'tis done ; But the system is one Of which Sanoho's exploit would increase the facility. And, from all I can learn, I'd much rather be robb'd Of the little I have in my purse, than be " cobb'd ;" That's mere matter of taste : But the Frenchman was placed — I mean the old scoundrel whose actions we've traced — In such a position, that, on this unmasking, TTia consent was the last thing the men thought of asking. The old woman, too, Was obliged to go through. With her boys, the rough discipline used by the crew, Who, before they let one of the set see the back of them, " Cobb'd " the whole carty, — ay, " every man Jack of them.' THE J!A.nMAN's DOS. 31S ' Moral. And nov, Gentle Reader, before that I say Farewell for the present, and wish you good day, Attend to the mornJ I draw from my lay I — If ever you travel, like Anthony Blogg, Be wary of strangers I — don't take too much grog 1 — And don't fall asleep, if you should, like a hog I — Above all — carry with you a curly-tail'd Dog I Lastly, don't act like Blogg, who, I say it with blushing Sold Sancho next month for two guineas at Flushing ; But still on these words of the Bard keep a fix'd eye, ISGRATDM SI DIXEBIS, OMNIA DIXTI I ! I i' Envoye. I felt so disgusted with Blogg, from sheer shame of hxa, I never once thought to enquire what became of him It you want to know, Header, the way I opine To achieve your design, — — Hind, it's no wish of mine, — la, — (a penny will do't,) — ^by addressing a line To Turner, Dry, Weipersyde, BogerS) and I^ne 320 APPENDIA. * SmoE penuing this stanza, a learii'd Antiquary Has put my poor Muse in no trifling quandary, By writing an essay to prove that he knows a Spot which, in truth, is The real " Bermoothes," In the Mediterranean, — ^now called Lampedosa ; — ^For proofs, having made, as he farther alleges, stir An entry was found in the old Parish Register, The which at his instance the excellent Vicar ex- tracted : viz. " Caliban, base son of Sycorax." — ^He had rather, by half. Have found Prospero's "Staff;" But 'twas useless to dig, for the want of a pick or axo,.^ Colonel Paaley, however, 'tis everywhere said. Now he's blown up the old Royal George at Spithead, And the great cliff at Dover, of which we've all read. Takes his whole apparatus, and goes out to look And see if he can't try and blow up " the Book/' — Gentle Reader farewell I — ^If I add one more liney "Hell be, in all likelihood, blowing up mine I * See page 306. THE n^TGOLDSBT LEGEl^DS. SECOND SERIES. TO EIOHAED BENTLEY, Esq. Mt dear Sib, Tou tell me that " a generous and enlightened Public" has given a favourable reception to those extracts from our family papers, ■which, at your suggestion, w,ere laid before it some two years since ; — and you hint, with all possible delicacy, that a second volume might not be altogether un- acceptable at a period of the year when " auld warld stories " are more especially in request. With all my heart, — the old oak chest is not yet empty; in addition to which I have recently laid my hand upon a long MS. correspondence of my great uncle, Sir Peregrine Ingoldsby, a cadet of the family, who somehow contrived to attract the notice of George the Second, and received from his " honour-giving ' hand " the accolade of knighthood. To this last-named source I am indebted for several of the ac- companying histories, while my inestimable friend Simp- kinson has bent all the powers of his mighty mind to the task. From Father John's stores I have drawn largely. Our " Honourable " friend Sucklethumbkin — by the way, be has been beating our covers lately, when he shot a woodcock, and one of the Governor's pointers — gives a graphic account of the Operatic "row" in which he was heretofore so conspicuous ; while even Mrs. Barney Maguire (nee Mademoiselle Pauline), whose horror of Mrs. Botherby's cap has no jot diminiihed, furnishes me with the opening Legend of the series from the hisiorieties of bar own 6eKe France. Vl TO EICnAED BENTLBT, ESQ. Why will you not run down to Tappington this Christ- mas? — We have been rather busy of late in carrying into execution the enclosure of Swingfield Minnis under the auspices of my Lord Radnor, and Her Majesty's visit to the neighbourhood has kept us quite alive : the Prince in one of his rides pulled up at the end of the avenue, and, as A** told Sucklethumbkin, was mnch taken with the pic- turesque appearance of our old gable-ends. Unluckily we were all at Canterbury that morning, or proud indeed should we have been to offer his Royal Highness the humble hospitalities of the Hall, — and then — fancy Mrs. Botherby's "My Gracious!" By the way, the old lady tells me you left your nightcap here on your last visit ; it is liiid up in lavender for you ; — eome and reclaim it. The Yule log will burn bright as ever ip the cedar room. Bin No. 6 is still one liquid ruby — the old October yet smiles like mantling amber, in utter disdain of that vile concoction of camomile which you so pseudonymously dignify with the title of " Bitter Ale.'' — Make a start, then : — pitch printer's-ink to old Harry, — and come and spend a fort- night with Yours, till the crack of doom, THOMAS mOOLDSBT. Tappingtoit Eterard, Dec. 16th, 1842. THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIBB, A LEGEND OF ERANOE. PuAnqois Xatier Auquste was a gay Mousquetairsi Tho Pride of the Camp, the delight* of the Fair; He 'd a mien so disiinguS, and so dSbonnaire, And shrugg'd with a grace so recherche and rare, And he twirl'd his moustache with so charming an nip, — His moustaches I should say, because he 'd a pair, — And, In short, show'd so much of the true igavoirfairi, All the ladies in Paris were wont to declare. That could any one draw Them from Dian's strict law, Into what Mrs. Ramsbottom calls a " Fox Paw," It would be Fran9ois Xa-rier Auguste de St. Foix. Now, I 'm sorry to say. At that time of day, The Court of Versailles was a little too gay ; The Courtiers were all much addicted to Play, To Bordeaux, Chambertin, Frontignac, St. Peray, Lafitte, Chateaux Margaux, And Sillery (a cargo ')n which John BuU sensibly (?) lays an embargo). 8 A LEGEND OF FRANCK. While Louis Quatorze Kept about him, ia scores, What the Noblesse, in courtesy, term'd his "Jane Shores," — They were caU'd by a much coarser name out of doors. — This, we all must admit, in A King's not befitting! For Buoh courses, when followed by persons of quality, Are apt to detract on the score of morality. Franyois Xavier Auguste acted nuch like the rest of them, Dress'd, drank, and fought, and chassffi with the best of them. Took his ceil de perdrix Till he scarcely could see. He would then sally out in the streets for a " spree ;" His rapier he 'd draw. Pink a Bourgeois, (A word which the English translate "Johnny Eaw,") For your thorough French Courtier, whenever the fil: he 's in. Thinks its prime fun to astonish a citizen: And, perhaps it 's no wonder that this kind of scrapes, In a nation which Voltaire, in one of his japes. Defines " an amalgam of Tigers and Apes," Should be merely considered as " Little Escapes," But I 'm sorry to add. Things are almost as bad A great deal nearer home, and that similar pranks Amongst young men who move in the Tery first ranks, Are by no means confined to the land of the Franks. Be this as it will. In the general, still. Though blame him we must. It is really but just To OUT lively young friend, Fran9ois Xavier Augnste, To say, that howe'er Well known his faults were, THE BLACK MOUSQITETAIRE. 9 At his Bacchanal parties he always drank fair, And, when gambling his worst, always play'd on the square. So that, being much more of pigeon than rook, he Lost large sums at faro (a game like "Blind Hookey"), And continued to lose. And to give I. 0. U.'s, Tin he lost e'en the credit he had with the Jews ; And, a parallel if I may venture to draw Between Fran§ois Xavier Auguste de St. Foix, And his namesake, a still more distinguished Francois, Who wrote to his "sceur"* From Pavia, "Mon Caeur, I have lost all' I had in the world /ors I'honneur,'' So St. Foix might have wrote No dissimilar note, " Vive la hagatcUe ! — toujours gai — idem semper — I 've lost all I had in the world but — my temper !" From the very beginning, Indeed, of his sinning. His air was so cheerful, his manners so winning. That once he prevailed — or his friends coin the tale for him On the bailiff who " nabbed" him, himself to " go bail" for him. • Well — ^we know in these cases Your " Crabs" and " Deuce Aces" Are wont to promote frequent changes of places , Town doctors, indeed, are most apt to declare That there 's nothing so good as the pure " country air," * Mrs. Ingoldsby, who is deeply read in Robertson, informs me that tbia is a mistake; that the lady to whom this memorable billet yras delivered by the hands of Pennalosa, was the unfortunate monarch's mamma, and not his sister. I would gladly rectify the error, but, then, — what am I to do for a rhyme? — On the whole, I fear I must content myself, like Talleyrand, with admitting that " it is worse than a fault — it 's a blunder 1" for which enor> mity, — as honest old Fepys says when he records having kissed bis 0OO&* maid, — " I humbly beg pardon of Heaven, and Mrs. Ingoldsby I" 10 A LEGEND OF PRANCE. Whenever exhaustion of person, or purse, in An invalid cramps him, and sets him a-oxirsing ; A -labit, I 'm very much grieved at divulging, Franfois Xavier Auguste was too prone to indulge in. But what could be done ? It's clear as the sun. That, though nothing 's more easy than say " Cut and run I' Yet a Guardsman can't live Trithout some sort of fun — E'en I or you. If we'd nothing to do. Should soon find ourselves looking remarkably blue. And, since no one denies What's so plain to all eyes, It won't, I am sure, create any surprise That reflections like lihese half reduced to despair Frangoia Xavier Auguste, the gay Black Mousquetaire. Patience par force ! He considered, of course, But in vain — ^he could hit on no sort of resource— Love ? — Liquor ? — Law ? — Loo ? They would each of them do. There's excitement enough in all four, but in none he Could hope to get on sans V argent — -i. e. money. • Love ? — ^no ; — ^ladies like little cadeaux from a suitor. Liquor ? — no, — that won't do, when reduced to " th* Pewter." — Then Law? — 'tis the same; It's a very fine game. But the fees and delays of "the Courts" are a shame, As Lord Brougham says himself — ^who 's a very great name, Though the Times made it clear he was perfectly lost in his Classic attempt at translating Demosthenes, And don't know his "particles." — Who wrote the articles, Showing his Greek up so, is not known very well; Miiny thought Barnes others Mitchell — some Merivale; THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIRE. 11 But it's scarce worth debate, Because from the date Of my tale one conclusion we safely may draw, * Viz. : 'twas not Franjois Xavier Aaguste de St. Foix! Loo ? — no ; — that he had tried ; 'Twas, in fact, his weak side, » But required more than any a purse well supplied. "Love? — Liquor? — Law? — Lo»? No! 'tis all the same story. Stay! I have it— ilfo foi! (that's 'Odd's Bobs!') thcro b Glory ! Away with dull care! Vive le Roil Vive la Guerre! Pesiel I'd almost forgot I'm a Black Mousquetaire ! When a man is like me. Sans six sous, sans souci, A bankrupt in purse. And in character worse, With a shocking bad hat, and his credit at Zero, What on earth can he hope to become, — but a Hero ? What a famous thought this is! I'll go as Ulysses Of old did — ^like him I '11 see manners, and know countries ; * Cut Paris, — and gaming, — and throats in the Low Countries.' So said, and so done — he arranged his affairs. And was off like a shot to his Black Mousquetaires Now it happen'd just then That Field-Marshal Turenne Was a good deal in want of " some aotiye young men," To fill up the gaps Which, through sundry mishaps, • Qui mores taominum multorum vidil et urbes. Who viewed men's manners, Londons, Yorks, and Derbys. 12 A LEGEND OF TRANCE. Had been made in his ranks by a certain " Great Condfi," A general unrivall'd — at least in his own day — Whose valour was such, That he did not care much If he fought with the French, — or the Spaniards, — or Butch,- A fact which has stamped him a rather " Oool hand," Being nearly related to Louis le Grand. It had been aU the same had that King been his brother ; He fought sometimes with one, and sometimes with another; For war, so exciting. He took such delight in. He did not care whom he fought, so he was fighting. And, as IVe just said, had amused himself then By tickling the tail of Field-Marshal Turenne ; Since which, the Field-Marshal's most pressing concern Was to tickle some other chief's tail in his turn. What a fine thing a battle is ! — ^not one of those Which one saw at the late Mr. Andrew Ducrow's, Where a dozen of scene-shifters, drawn up in rows, Would a dozen more scene-shifters boldly oppose. Taking great care their blows Did not injure their foes. And alike, save in colour and cut of their clothes, Which were varied, to give more effect to " Tableaux' While Stickney the Great Flung the gauntlet to Fate, And made us all tremble, so gallantly did he come On to encounter bold Generail Widdioombe — But a real, good fight, like Pultowa, or Lutzen, (Which Gustavus the Great « -.ded all his disputes ii 'Or that which Suwarrow engaged without boots in, Or Dettingen, Fontenoy, Blenheim, or Minden, . Or the one Mr. Campbell describes, Hohenlinden, Where " the sun was low," The ground all over snow, THE BLACK MOUSqUETAIRE. 13 And dark as mid-winter the swift Iser's flow, — Till its colour was alter'd by General Moreau ; While big drum was heard in the dead of the night. Which rattled the Bard out of bed in a fright, And he ran up the steeple to look at the fight. 'Twas in just such another one, (Names only bother one — ) Dutch ones, indeed, are sufficient to smother one — ) In the Netherlands somewhere — I cannot say where — Suflioe it that there La Fortune de guerre • Crave a cast of her calling to our Mousquetaire. One fine morning, in short, Franfois Xavier Auguste, After making some scores of his foes " bite the dust^" Got a mouthful himself of the very same crust ; And though, as the Bard says, " No law is more just Than for Necis artifices," — so they oall'd fiery Soldados at Borne, — " arte suS,perire," Yet fate did not draw This poetical law To its fullest extent in the case of St. Foix. His Good Genius most probably found out some flaw. And diverted the shot From some deadlier spot To a bone which, I think, to the best of my memory, 's Call'd by Professional men the " os femoris ;'' And the ball being one of those named from its shape, And some fancied resemblance it bears to the grape, St. Foix went down. With a groan and a frown, And a hole in his small-clothes the size of a crown. — — Stagger'd a bit By this "palpable hit," He turn'd on his face, and went off in a fit ! Yes ! — a Battle 's a very fine thing while you're fighting, Those same Ups-and-Duwns are so very exciting, 2 H A lEGEND OF FRANCB. But a sombre sight is a Battle-field To the sad survivor's sorrowing eye, Where those, who scorn'd to fly or yield. In one promiscuous carnage lie ; When the cannon's roar Is heard no more, And the thick dun smoke has roll'd away. And the victor comes for the last survey Of the well-fought field of yesterday ! No triiimphs flush that haughty brow,— No proud exulting look is there, — His eagle glance is humbled now, As, earth-ward bent, in anxious care It seeks the form whose stalwart pride But yester-morn was by his side ! And there it lies ! — on yonder bank Of corses, which themselves had breath But yester-morn — now cold and dank, With other dews than those of death I Powerless as it had ne'er been born The hand that clasp'd his — yester-morn 1 And there are widows wand'ring there, That roam the blood-besprinkled plain. And listen in their dumb despair For Bounds they ne'er may hear again! One word, however faint and low, — Ay, e'en a groan, — were music now! And this is Glory! — Fame! — But, pshaw I Miss Muse, you 're growing sentimental ; Besides, such things we never saw ; In fact they 're merely Continental. And then your Ladyship forgets Some widows came for epaulettes. THE BLACK MOUSQTJETAIKB. 16 So go back to yonr canter ; for one, I declare, Is now fumbling about our capsized Mousquetaire, A beetle-brow'd hag. With a knife and a bag, And an old tatter'd bonnet which, thrown back, discloses The ginger complexion, and one of those noses Peculiar to females named Levy and iMoses, Such as nervous folks still, when they come in their way, BbnD, Old vixen-faced tramps of the Hebrew persuasion. Tou remember, I trust, Franjois Xavier Auguste, Had uncommon fine limbs, and a very fine bust. Now there's something — I'cannot tell what it may be — About good-looking gentlemen tum'd twenty-three, Above all when laid up with a wound in the knee, Which affects female hearts, in no common degree. With emotions in which many feelings combine, Very easy to fancy, though hard to define ; Ugly or pretty, Stupid or witty, Young or old, they experience, in country or city, What's clearly not Love — yet it's warmer than Pity— And some such a feeling, no doubt, 'tis that stays The hand you may see that old Jezebel raise, Arm'd with the blade. So oft used in her trade, The horrible calling e'en now she is plying. Despoiling the dead, and despatching the dying! For these "nimble Conveyancers," after such battles. Regarding as treasure trouve all goods and chattels, Think nought, in "perusing and settling" the titleB. So safe as six inches of steel in the vitals. Now don't make a joke of That feeling I spoke of; 16 A LEQENL- Of FK&MCE For, as sure as you're born, that saii;,e feeling, — whate'or It may be, — sayes the life of the young Mousquetaire ' — The knife that was levell'd, ere-while at his throat. Is employ'd now in ripping the lace from his coat, And from what, I suppose, I must call his eulotte; And his pockets, no doubt. Being turn'd inside out, That his mouehoir and gloves may be put "up the spout," (For of coin, you may well conceive, all she can do Fails to ferret out even a single icu;) As a muscular Criant would handle an elf, The virago at last lifts the soldier himself, And, like a She-Sampson, at length lays him down In a hospital form'd in the neighbouring town I I am not very sure. But I think 'twas Namur; And there she now leaves him, expecting a cure. I ABOMINATE physic — ^I Care not who knows That there's nothing on earth I detest like "a dose"— That yellowish-green-looking fluid, whose hue I consider extremely unpleasant to view, With its sickly appearance, that trenches so near On what Homer defines the complexion of Fear ; XAupov isosy I mean, A nasty pale green, hough for want of some word that may better avail, I presume, our translators have rendered it "pale;"' For consider the cheeks Of those "well-booted Greeks," Their Egyptian descent was a question of weeks ; Their complexion, of course, like a half-decay'd leek's^ And you '11 see in an instant the thing that I mean in it. A Greek face in a funk had a good deal of green in it. THE BLACK MOnSQDETAIEE. 17 I repeat, I abominate physic ; but then, If folks will go campaigning about with such men As the Great Prince de Cond^, and Marshal Turenne. They may fairly expect To be now and then cheok'd By a bullet, or sabre-cut. Then their best solace is Found, I admit, in green potions, and boluses ; •So, of course, I don't blame St. Foix, wounded and lame, tf he swallowed a decent quant, mff. of the same ; Though I'm told, in such cases, it's not the French plan To pour in their drastics as fast as they can, The practice of many an English Savan, But to let off a man With i» little piisanne. And gently to chafe the patella (tuee-pan). "Oh, woman !" Sir Walter observes, "when the brow 's wrung with pain, what a minist'ring Angel art thou 1" Thou'rt a " minist'ring Angel" in no less degree, I can boldly assert, when the pain's in the knee; And medical friction Is, past contradiction. Much better performed by a She than a He. A fact which, indeed, comes within my own knowledge, For I well recollect, when a youngster at College, And, therefore, can quote A surgeon of note, Mr. Grosvenor of Oxford, who not only wrote On the subject a very fine treatise, but, still as his patients came in, certain soft-handed PhyUises Were at once set to work on their legs, arm<;, and b»c ra. And rubbed out theif complaints in a couple of cracks.—" Now, they say, To this day, Wlien sick people can't pay 18 A LEGEND OP FRANCE. Ou tne Continent, many of this kind of nurs. » Attend, If ithout any demand on their purses ; And these females, some old, others still in their teeng. Some call "Sisters of Charity," others "Beguines." They don't take the vows ; but, haK-Nun and half-Lay, Attend you ; and when you 've got better, they say, " You 're exceedingly welcome ! There 's nothing to pay. Out task is now done. You are able to run. We never take money ; we cure you for fun 1" Then they drop you a court'sy, and wish you good day. And go off to cure somebody else the same way. — ^A great many of these, at the date of my tale. In Namur walk'd the hospitals, workhouse, and jaU. Among them was one, A most sweet Demi-nun. Her cheek pensive and pale ; tresses bright as the sun, — Not carroty — no ; though you 'd fancy you saw burn Such locks as the Greeks lov'd, which moderns call auburn. These were partially seen through the veil which they wiire all Her teeth were of pearl, and her lips were of coi'al ; Her .eyelashes silken ; her eyes, fine large blue ones. Were sapphires (I don't call these similes new ones ; But, in metaphors, freely confess I 've a leaning To such, new or old, as convey best one's meaning) — Then, for figure ? In faith it was downright barbarity To muffle a form Might an anchorite warm In the fusty stuff gown of a Sceur de la CharitS; And no poet could fancy, no painter could draw One mor( perfect in all points, more free from a flaw, Than her s who now sits by the couch of St. Foix, Chafing there. With such care. And BO dove-like an air, THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIBE. 19 His leg, till her delicate fingers are oharr'd With the Steer's opodeldoc, joint-oil, and gonlard — Their Dutch appellations are really too hard To be.brought into verse by a transmarine Bard. — Now you '11 see, And agree, I am certain, with me. When a young man's laid up with a wound in Ms knee: And a Lady sits there, On a rush-bottom'd chair, To hand him the mixtures his doctors prepare, And a bit of lump-sugar to make matters square ; Above all, when the Lady 's remarkably fair, And the wounded young man is a gay Mousquetaiie, It's a ticklish affair, you may swear, for the pair, And may lead on to mischief before they 're aware. I reaUy don't think, spite of what friends would call Ms " Penchant for liasons," and graver men "follies," (For my own part, I think planting thorns on their pillows, And leaving poor maidens to weep and wear willows, Is not to be classed among mere peccadillos), His "faults," I should say — I don't think Franyois Xavier Entertain'd any thoughts of improper behaviour Tow'rds his nurse, or that once to induce her to sin he meant While superintending his draughts and his liniment. But, as he grew stout, And was getting about, Thoughts came into his head that had better been out ; While Cupid's an urchin We kp'iw deserves birching, He 's 90 prone to delude folks, and leave them the lurch in. 'Twas doubtless his doing That absolute ruin Was the end of all poor dear Therese's shampooing. — 20 A LEGEND OJ PRANCE. 'Tis a subject I don't like to dwell on : but such Things ■wUl huppen — ay, e'en 'mongst the phlegmatic Dutch. " Wlien Woman," as Goldsmith declares, " stoops to folly,- And finds out too late that false man can betray," She is apt to look dismal, and grow " melan-choly," And, in short, to be anything rather than gay. He goes on to remark that " to punish her lover, Wring his bosom, and draw the tear into his eye, There is but one method" which he can discover That's likely to answer — that one is "to diel" He 's wrong — the wan and withering cheek ; The thin lips, pale, and drawn apart ; The dim yet tearless eyes, that speak The misery of the breaking heart ; The wasted form, th' enfeebled tone That whispering mocks the pitying ear ; Th' imploring glances heaven-ward thrown, As heedless, helpless, hopeless here ; These wring the false one's heart enough. If "made of penetrable stuff." And poor Therese Thus pines and decays, TiL, stung with remorse, St. Foix takes a post-chaise With, for " wheelers," two bays. And, for leaders," two greys. And soon reaches France, by the help of relays. Flying shabbily oif from the sight of his victim. And driving as fast as if Old Nick had kick'd him. She, poor sinnner Grows thinner and thinner. Leaves off eating breakfast, and luncheon, and dinner, Till you 'd really suppose she could have nothing in her. — THE BLACK MOUSQTIXTArKB. 21 One eyening — 'twas just as the clock struck eleven — They saw she 'd been sinking fast ever since seven, — She breath'd one deep sigh, threw one look up to Heaven, And all was o'er! — ■ Poor Therese was no more — She was gone ! — the last breath that she managed to draw Escaped in one half-utter'd word — 'twas " St. Foix !" * * * * * * Who can fly from himself? Bitter cares, when you feel 'em Are not cured by travel — as Horace says, " Ccelum N'on animum mutant qui currunt trans mare!" It 's climate, not mind, that by roaming men vary — Remorse for temptation to which you have yielded, is A shadow you can't sell as Peter Sohlemil did his ; It haunts you for ever — in bed a^d at board. — Ay, e'en in your dreams. And you can't find, it seems. Any proof that a guilty man ever yet snored ! It is much if he slumbers at all, which but few, — Franjois Xavier Auguste was an instance — can do. Indeed, from the time He committed the crime Which out off poor sister Therese in her prime. He was not the same man that he had been — his plan Was quite changed — ^in wild freaks he no more led the van ; He'd scarce sleep a wink in A week; but sit thinking. From company shrinking — He quite gave up drinking. At the mess-table„ too, where now seldom he came, Yis\ fricasse, fricandmu, potage, or game, Dindon aux truffca, or iurbot d, la crime, No ! — he still shook his head, — it was always the same. Still he never complain'd that the cook was to blame 1 'Twas his appetite fail'd him — no matter how raro 22 A LEGEND OF rBANCS. And reeherchS the dish, how delicious the fare, — What he used to like best he no longer could bear; But he'd there. sit and stare • With an air of despair : Took no care, but would wear Boots that wanted repair; Such a shirt too ! you 'd think he 'd no linen to spare He omitted to shave; — he neglected his hair, And look'd more like a Guy than a gay Mousquetairo One thing, aboTe all, most excited remark : In the evening he seldom sat long after dark. Not that then, as of yore, he'd go out for " a lark With his friends; but when they, • After taking cafS Would have broiled bones and kidneys brought in on & tray, — ^Which I own I consider a very good way, If a man 's not dyspeptic, to wind up the day — No persuasion on earth could induce him to stay ; Butshe 'd take up his candlestick, just nod his head By way of "Good evening!" and walk off to bed. Yet even when there he seem'd no better off. For he'd wheeze, and he'd sneeze, and he'd hem I and he'd rough ; And they'd hear him all night. Sometimes, sobbing outright. While his valet, who often endeavour'd to peep, Declared that "his master was never asleep! But would sigh, and would groan, slap his forehead, and weep; That about ten o'clock His door he would lock. And then never would open it, let who would knock! — He had heard him," he said, " Sometimgs jump out of bed, And talk as if speaking to one who was dead 1 TOE BLACK HODSQUHTAIRIS. 23 He'd groan, and he'd moan, In so piteous a tone, Begging some one or other to lot him alone, That it really would soften the heart of a stone To hear him exclaim so, and call upon Heaven Then — The bother began alwa,js Just at eleven!" Frangois Xavier Auguste, as I 've told you before I believe, was a popular man in his corps, And his comrades, not one Of whom knew of the Nun, Now began to consult what was best to be done. Count Cordon Bleu And the Sieur de la Roue - Confess'd they did not know at all what to do : But the Chevalier Hippolyte Hector Achille Alphonse Stanislaus Emile de GrandviUe Made a fervent appeal To the zeal they must feel For their friend, so distingnish'd an officer, 's weal, " The first thing," he said, " was to find out the matter That bored their poor friend so, and caused all this clatter— Mort de ma vie!" — Here he took some rappee — " Be the cause what it may, he shall tell it to me 1" — He was right, sure enough — in a couple of days He worms out the whole story of Sister Thercse, Now entomb'd, poor dear soul ! in some Dutch Plre la Chain, — " But the worst thing of all," Frangois Xavier declares, " Is, whenever I 've taken my candle up stairs. There's Therese sitting there — -upon one of those chairs! Such a frown, too, she wears. And so frightfully glares. That I'm really prevented from saying my pray'rs, While an odour, — the very reverse of perfume, — More like rhubarb or senna, — ^ pervades the whole room I" 24 A LEGEND OF FRAJNCE. Hector AcMUe Stanislaus Emile, WLen he heard him talk so felt an odd sort of feel : Not that he cared 'for Ghosts — he was far too genteel; Still a queerish sensation came on -when he saw Him, whom, for fun, They'd, by way of a pun On his person and principles, nick-named Sana Foi, A man whom they had, you see, Mark'd as a Sadducee, — ) In his horns, all at once, so completely to draw. And to talk of a Ghost with such manifest awe !-;- It excited the Chevalier Grandville's surprise ; He shrugg'd up his shoulders, he turn'd up his eyes. And he thought with himself that he could not do lesb Than lay tne whole matter before the whole Mess. Kepetition 's detestable ; — So, as you're best able Paint to yourself the effect at the Mess-table — How the bold Brigadiers Prick'd up their ears. And receired the account, some with fears, some with sneers How the Sieur de la Roue Said to Count Cordon Bleu, "Ma foi — i^est bien drdle — Monseigneur, what say you?" — How Count Cordon Bleu Declared he " thought so too ;" — How the Colonel afiirm'd that "the case was quite new;" — How the Captains and Majors Began to lay wagers How far the Ghost part of the story was true ; — How, at last, when ask'd " What was the best thing to do t" Everybody was silent, — for nobody knew ! — And how, in the end, they said, " No one could deal With the matter so well, from his prudence and zeal, THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIRE. Zf As the Gentleman who was the first to reveal This strange story — viz. Hippolyte Heiitor Aflhille Alphonse Stanislaus Emile de Grandville!" I need scarcely relate The plans, little and great, Which came into the Chevalier Hippolyte's pate, To rescue his friend from his terrible foes. Those mischievous Imps, whom the world, I suppose From extravagant notions respecting their hue, Has strangely agreed to denominate " Blue," Inasmuch as his schemes were of no more avail Than those he had, early in life, found to fail, When he strove to lay salt on some little bird's talL In vain did he try With strong waters to ply His friend, on the ground that he never could spy Such a thing as a Ghost, with a drop in his eye ; St. Foix never would drink now unless he was dry ; Besides, what the vulgar call " sucking the monkey* Has much less effect on a man when he 's funky. In vain did he strive to detain him at table Till his " dark hour" was over — he never was able, Save once, when at Mess, WitK that sort of address Which the British call "Humbug," and Frenchmen " FinetM, (It's " Blarney" in Irish — I don't know the Scotch,) He fell to admiring his friend's English watch.* He examined the face. And the back of the case. And the young Lady's portrait there, done on enamel, he " Saw by the likeness was one of the family ;" Cried "Superbe! — Magnifigue !" (With his tongue in his cheek) - Then he opened the case, just to take a peep in it, and Seized the occasion to pop back the minute-hand. * " Tompion'B, I presume ?" — Fabquha^ 26 A LEOEND OP PRANCE. With a demi-conffS, and a shrug, and a grin, he Keturns the bijou and — c'est une affaire finie — " I 've done him," thinks he, " now, I '11 wager a guinea 1" It happen'd that day They were all very gay, 'Twas the Grand Monarque's birthday — that is, 'twas St. Louis's^ Which in Catholic countries, of course, they would view as his— So when Hippolyte saw Him about to withdraw, He cried, " Come — that won't do, my fine fellow, St. Foix, — Give us five minutes longer and drink Vive le Rot." Franpois Xavier Auguste, Without any mistrust Of the trick that was play'd, drew his watch from his fob. Just glanced at the hour, then agreed to "hob-nob," Fill'd a bumper, and rose With ^'Messieurs, I propose — " lie paused — his blanch'd lips fail'd to utter the toast! 'Twas eleven! — he thought it half-past ten at most — Ev'ry limb, nerve, and muscle grew stiiF as a post, — His jaw dropp'd — his eyes Swell'd to twice their own size — And he stood as a pointer would stand — at a Ghost t — Then shriek'(}, as he fell on the floor like a stone. '"Ah! Sister Therese ! now — do let me alone I" It 's amazing by sheer perseverance what men do,— As water wears stone by the " Scepe Oadendo," If they stick to Lord Somebody's motto, "Agendo! Was it not Robert Bruce ? — I declare 1 've forgot, But I think it was Robert — you '11 find it in Scott — Who, when cursing Dame Fortune, was taught by a Spider, " She 's sure to come round, if you will but abide her." THB BLACK MOUSQTJETAIBK. 27 Then another great Rob. Called " Whit-e-headed Boh," Whom I once saw receive such a thump on the " not" From a fist which might almost an elephant brain, That I really believed, at the first, he was slain, For he lay like a log on his back on the plain, Till a gentleman present accustom'd to train. Drew out a small lancet, and open'd a vein Just below his left eye, which relieving the pain. He stood up, like a trump, with an air of disdain, While his "backer" was fain, — For he could not refrain — (Se was dress'd in pea-green, vrith a pin and gold chain. And I think I heard somebody call him " Squire Hayne,") To whisper ten words one should always retain, — " Take a sock at the lemon, and at him again ! ! !" A. hint ne'er surpass'd, though thus spoken at random. Since Teucer's apostrophe — Nil desperandum ! — — GrandvUle acted on it, and order'd his Tandem. He had heard St. Foix Say, That no very great way From Namur was a snug little town called Grandpr^, Near which, a few miles from the banks of the Maese, .Dwelt a pretty twin-sister of poor dear Therfese, Of the same age, of course, the same father, the same mother. And as like to Therese as one pea to another ; She liv'd vrith her Mamma, Having lost her Papa, Late of contraband schnaps an unlicensed distiller, And her name was Des Moulins (in English, Miss MillerJ. Now, though Hippolyte Hector Could hardly expect her To feel much regard for her sister's " protector," When she'd seen him so shamefully leave and neglect hor; 28 A LEGEND OF FRANCE Still, he very well knew In this world there are few But are ready much Christian forgiveness to shew, For other folk's wrongs — if well paid so to do — And he 'd seen to what acts "Mes angustce" compel beaux And belles, whose affairs have once got out at elbows, With the magic effect of a handful of crowns Upon people whose pockets boast nothing but " browns;" A few francs well applied He 'd no doubt would decide Miss Agnes Des Moulins to jump up and ride As far as head-quarters, nezt day, by his side ; For the distance was nothing, to speak by comparison. To the town where the Mousquetaires now lay in garrison ; Then he thought, by the aid Of a veil, and goivn'made Like those worn by the lady his friend had betray'd, They might dress up Miss Agnes so like to the Shade, Which he fancied he saw, of that poor injured maid. Come each night, with her pale face, his guilt to upbraid ; That if once introduced to his room, thus array'd, And then unmask'd as soon as she'd long enough stay'd, 'Twould be no very difficult task to persuade Him the whole was a scurvy trick, cleverly play'd, Out of spite and revenge, by a mischievous jade ! With respect to the scheme — though I do not call that a geii- 8till 1 've known soldiers adopt a worse stratagem. And that, too, among the decided approvers Of General Sir David Dundas's "Manceuvres." There's a proverb, however, I've always thought clever. Which my Grandmother never was tired of repeating " The proof of the Pudding is found in the eating I " We shall see, in the sequel, how Hector Achille Had mix'd up the suet and plums for his meal. THE ULACK MODSQTTETAIRE. 29 The night had set in ; — 'twas a dark and a gloomy one ; — Off went St. Foix to his chamber ; a roomy one Five stories high, The first floor from the sky, And lofty enough to afford great facility For playing a game, with the youthful nobility Of "crack corps" a deal in Bequest, when they're feeling, In dull country quarters, ennui on them stealing ; A wet wafer 's applied To a sixpence's side. Then it 's spun with the thumb up to stick on the ceiling ; Intellectual amusement, which custom allows old troops, — I'ye seen it here practised at home by our Household troops He'd a table, and bed, And three chairs; and all's said. — A bachelor's barrack, where'er you discern it, y ..^u 're Sure not to find overburthen'd with furniture. Frau9ois Xavier Auguste lock'd and bolted his door With just the same caution he 'd practised before ; Little he knew That the Count Cordon Bleu, With Hector Achille, and the Sieur de la Boue, Had been up there before him, and drawn ey'ry screw! And now comes the moment — the watches and clocks AU point to eleven 1 — the bolts and the locks Give way — and the party tui'n out their bag-fox I — • With a step noiseless and light. Though half in a fright, " A cup in her left hand, a draught in her right," In her robe long and black, and her veil long and white Ma'amselle Agnes des Moulins walks in as a sprite 1 — She approaches the bed With the same silent tread Just as though she had been at least half a year dead I 30 A LEGEND OP TKANCE. Then seating herself on the " rush-bottom'd chair," Throws a cold stony glance on the Black Mousquetairfc. If you're one of the "play-going public," kind reader. And not a Moravian or rigid Seceder, You've seen Mr. Eean, I mean in that scene ■ Of Macbeth, — by some thought the crack one of the piece AVhich has been so -vrell painted by Mr. M'Clise, — When he wants, after having stood -up to say grace,* To sit down to his haggis, and can't iind a place ; You remember his stare At the high-back'd arm-chair. Where the Ghost sits that nobody else knows is there, And how, after saying " What man dares I dare !" He proceeds to declare He should not so much care If it came in the shape of a "tiger" or "bear," But he don't like it shaking its long gory hair ! While the obstinate Ghost, as determined to brave him, With a horrible grin, Sits, and cooks up his chin, Just as though he was asking the tyrant to shave him. And Lennox and Rosse Seem quite at a loss If they ought to go on with their sheep's head and sauce, And Lady Macbeth looks uncommonly cross, And says in a hiiff It's all "Proper stuff!"— All this you '11 have seen, Eeader, often enough ; So, perhaps 'twill assist you in forming some notion Of what must have been rran9ois Xavier's emotion If you fancy what troubled Macbeth to be doubled, * May good digeation wait on appetite, And health on both. — Macbeth, THE BLACK MOUSQlTETAIRle. 31 And, instead of one Banquo to stare in Ms face Without "speculation," suppose he'd a brace! I wish I'd poor Fuseli's pencil, who ne'er I bel- ieve was exceeded in painting the terrible, Or that of Sir Joshua Reynolds, who was so a- droit in depicting it — vide his piece DesoriptiTe of Cardinal Beaufort's decease, Where that prelate is lying Decidedly dying, With the King and his suite, Standing just at his feet, And his hands, as Dame Quickly says, fumbling the sheot , While, close at his ear, with the air of a scorner, "Busy, meddling," Old Nick's grinning up in the corner. But painting's an art I confess I am raw in. The fact is, I never took lessons in drawing, Had I done so, instead Of the lines you have read, I 'd have giv'n you a sketch should have fill'd you with dread , Fran9pis Xavier Auguste squatting up in his bed. His hands widely spread. His complexion like lead, Ev'iy hair that he has standing up on his head, As when, Agnes des Moulins first catching his view, Now right, and now left, rapid glances he threw, Then shriek'd with a wild and unearthly haUoo, " ifon Dieu ! v'la deux ! ! By the Pope theue ake two ! ! ! " He fell back — one long aspiration he drew. In flew De la Roue, And Count Cordon Bleu, Pommade, Pomme-de-terre, and the rest rf their crew. He stirr'd not, — he spoke not, — he none of them knew. 32 A LEGEND OF FRANCE, And Aohille cried "Odzooks! I fear, by his looks, Our friend, Franjois Xavier, has popp'd off the hooks 1" 'Twas too true Malheureux ! ! It was done ! — he had ended his earthly career, — He had gone off at once with a flea in his ear ; — The Black Mousquetaire was as dead as Small-Deer II 5B,*3Enijos. A moral more in point I scarce could hope Than this, from Mr. Alexander Pope. If ever chance should bring some Cornet gay, And pious Maid,' — as, possibly, it may, — From Knightsbridge Barracks, and the shades serene Of Clapham Rise, as far as Kensal Green ; O'er some pale marble when they join tlieir heads To kiss the falling tears each other sheds ; Oh ! may they pause ! — and think, in silent awe, Ke, that he reads the words, " Ci gil St. Foix .'" She, that the tombstone which her eye surreys Bears this sad line, — Htc j'acei Sceur Therese !" Then shall they sigh, and weep, and murmuring say " Oh ! may we never play siioh tricks as they!" — And if at such a time some Bard there be. Some sober Bard, addicted much to tea And sentimental song — like Ingoldsby — If such there be — who sings and sips so well. Lot him this sad, this tender story tell ! Warn'd by the tale, the gentle pair shall boast, " I 've 'soaped the Broken Heart !»' _ " and I the Ghost 1 1 " SIR RUPERT THE FEARLESS. 33 The uext in order of these " lays of many lands" refers to a a period far earlier in point of date, and has for its scene^ the banks of what our Teutonic friends are wont to call their "own imperial Eiver !" The incidents which it records afford sufficient proof (and these are days of demonstration), that a propensity to flirtation is not confined to age or country, and that its consequences were not less disastrous to the mail-clad Hitter of the dark ages than to the silken courtier of the seventeenth century. The whole narrative bears about it the stamp of truth, and from the papers among which it was discovered I am inclined to think it must have been picked up by Sir Peregrine in the course of one of his valetudinary visits to "The German Spa." SIR RUPERT THE FEARLESS. A LEGEND OF 6EEMANT. Sir Eupekt the Peakless, a gallant young knight, Was equally ready to tipple or fight, Crack a crown, or a bottle, Cut sirloin, or throttle; In brief, or as Home say.s, " to sum up the totile," Unstain'd by dishonour, unsullied by fear. All his neighbours pronounced him apreux chevalier. Despite these perfections, corporeal and mental, He had one slight defect, viz. a rather lean rental ; Besides, as 'tis own'd there are spots in the snn, Bo it must be confess'd that Sir Rupert had one ; 34 A LEGEND OF GERMANY. Being rather unthinking, He 'd scarce sleep a wink in A night, but addict himself sadly to drinking. And what Moralists say, Is as naughty — to play, To Rouge et Noir, Hazard, Short Whist, EcarlS ; Till these, and a few less defensible fancies Brought the Knight to the end of his slender finances. When at length through his boozing, And tenants refusing Their rents, swearing " times were so bad they were losing," His steward said, "0, sir. It 'a some time ago, sir, Since aught through my hands reach'd the baker or grocer, And the tradesmen in general are grown great complainers." Sir Rupert the brave thus addressed his retainers : " My friends, since the stock Of my father's old hock Is out, with the Eiirchwasser, Barsac, Moselle, And we're fairly .reduced to the pump and the well, I presume to suggest, We shall all find it best For each to shake hands with his friends ere he goes. Mount his horse, if he has one, and — follow his nose As to me, I opine, Left sans money or wine, My best way is to throw myself into the Rhine, Where pitying trav'lers may sigh, as they cross over, ' Though he lived a rouS, yet he died a philosopher.' " The Knight, having bow'd out his friends thus politely. Got into his skiff, the full moon shining brightly. By the light of whose beam. He soon spied ou the stream A. dame, whose complexion was fair as new cream , SIR BUPEKT THE FEARLESS. 35 Pretty pink silken hose Covor'd ankles and toes, In other respects she was scanty of clothes ; For, so says tradition, both written and oral, Her one garment was loop'd up with bunches of coral Full sweetly she sang to a sparkling guitar, With silver chords stretoh'd over Derbyshire spar, And she smiled on the Enight, Who, amazed at the sight. Soon found his astonishment merged in delight ; But the stream by degrees Now rose up to her knees, Till at length it invaded her very chemise. While the heavenly strain, as the wave seem'd to swallow he^ And slowly she sank, sounded fainter and hollower ; — Jumping up in his boat And discarding his coat, "Here goes," cried Sir Rupert, "by jingo I'll follow her!" Then into the water he plunged with a souse That was heard quite distinctly by those in the house Down, down, forty fathom and more from the brink, Sir Rupert the Fearless continues to sink, And, as downward he goes, Still the cold water flows Through his ears, and his eyes, and his mouth; and his nose, Till the rum and the brandy he 'd swallow'd since lunch Wanted nothing but lemon to fill him with punch ; Some minutes elapsed since he enter'd the flood, Ere his heels touoh'd the bottom, and stuck in the mud. But oh ! what a sight Met the eyes of the Knight, When he stood in the depth of the stream bolt upright [— S6 A LEGEND OF GESUANT. A grand stalactite hall, Like the cane of Fingal, Rose ahove and about him ; — great fishes and small Came thronging around him, regardless of danger, And seem'd all agog for a peep at the stranger. Their figures and forms to describe, language fails — They 'd such very odd heads, and such Tery odd tails , Of their genus or species a sample to gain, Tou would ransack all Hungerford market in vain ; E'en the famed Mr. Myers, Would scarcely find buyers, Though hundreds of passengers doubtless would stop To stare, were such monsters exposed in his shop. But little reck'd Rupert these queer-looking brutes, Or the efts and the newts That crawl'd up his boots. For a sight, beyond any of which I 've made mention, In a moment completely absorb'd his attention. A huge crystal bath, which, with water far clearer Than George Robins' filters, or Thorpe's (which are dearer), Hare ever distiU'd, To the summit was fiU'd, Lay stretoh'd out before him, — and every nerve thrill'd As scores of young women Were diving and swimming. Till the vision a perfect quandary put him in ; — All slightly acoutred in gauzes and lawns, They came floating about him like so many prawns. Sir Rupert, who (barring the few peccadilloes Alluded to,) ere he leapt into the billows Possess'd irreproachable morals, began To feel rather queer, as a modest young man ; When forth stepp'd a dame, whom he recognised soon As the one he had seen by the light of the moonj SIS RUPERT THE FEARLESS. And lisp'd, while a soft smile attended each sentence, " Sir Rupert^ I 'ra happy to make your acquaintance ; My name is Lurline, And the ladies you've seen, All do me the honour to call me their Queen ; I 'm delighted to see you, sir, down in the Rhine here, And hope you can make it couTenient to dine here." The Knight blush'd, and bow'd. Of subaqueous beauties, then answer'd aloud : "Ma'am, you do me much honour, — I cannot express The delight I shall feel — if you'll pardon my dress — May I venture to say, when a gentleman jumps In the river at midnight for want of ' the dumps,' He rarely puts on his knee-breeches and pumps ; If I could but have guess'd — what I sensibly feel — roTir politeness — I'd not have come en dishabille. But have put on my silk tights in lieu of my lieel." Quoth the lady, " Dear sir, no apologies, pray, Fou will take our ' pot-luck ' in the family way ; We can give you a dish Of some decentish fish. And our water 's thought fairigh ; but here in the Rhine, I can't say we pique ourselves much on our wine.'' The Knight made a bow more profound than before, AThen a Dory-faced page oped the dining-room door, And said, bending his knee, "Madame, on a seroi!" Rupert tender'd his arm, led Lurline to her place. And a fat little Mer-man stood up and said gi-ace. What boots it to tell of the viands, or how she Apologised much for their plain water-soucby. Want of Harvey's, and Cross's, And Burgess's sauces' 4 38 i. LEGEND OF GERHANnr. Or how Rupert, on his side, protested, by JoTe, he Preferr'd-his fish plain, without soy or anchovy. Suffice it , the" meal Boasted trout, perch, and eel, Besides some remarkably fine salmon peel. The Kufght, sooth to say, thought much less of the fishes Than of what they were served on, the massive gold dishes ; While his eye, as it glanced now and then on the girls, Wis caught by their persons much less than their pearls. And a thought came across him and caused him to muse, "If I could but get hold Of some of that gold, I might manage to pay off my rascally Jews 1" When dinner was done, at a sign to the lasses. The table was clear'd, and they put on fresh glasses ; Then the lady addrest Her redoubtable guest Much as Dido, of old, did the pious Eneas, " Dear sir, what induced you to come down and see us ?" — Rupert gave her a glance most bewitchingly tender, Loll'd back in his chair, put his toes on the fender. And told her outright How that he, a young Knight, Had never been last at a feast or a fight ; But that keeping good cheer Every day in the year. And drinking neat wines all the same as small-beer. Had exhausted his rent. And, his money all spent. How he borrow'd large sums at two hundred per cent. ; How they follow'd — and then, The once civiUest of men, Messrs Howard and Gibbs, made him bitterly rue it he 'd ever raised money by way of annuity ; SIR RUPERT THE FEARLESS. 39 « And, Ma mortgages being about to foreclose, How ho jump'd in the river to finish his woes ! Lnrline was affected, and owu'd, with a tear, That a story so mournful had ne'er met her ear ; Rupert, hearing her sigh, Look'd uncommonly sly. And said, with some emphasis, "Ah! miss, had 1 A few pounds of those metals You waste here on kettles. Then, Lord once again Of my spacious domain, A free Count of the Empire once more I might reign, With Lurline at my side. My adorable bride, (For the parson should come, and the knot should be tied) ; No couple so happy on earth should be seen As Sir Rupert the brave and his charming Lurline ; Not that money 's my object — No, hang it ! I scorn it — And as for my rank — but that you 'd so adorn it — I'd abandon it all To remain your true thrall. And, instead of ' the Great,' be call'd ' Rupert the Small;' — To gain but your smiles, were I Sardanapalns, I'd descend from my throne, and be boots at an alehouse."* Lurline hung her head, Tum'd pale, and then red. Growing faint at this sudden proposal to wed. As thDugh his abruptness, in "popping the question" So soon after dinner, disturb'd her digestion. Then, averting her eye. With a lover-like sigh, "Ton are welcome," she murmur'd in tones most bewitching, " To "every utensil I have in my kitchen !" * "Sardanapalus and "Boots," the Zeniih and Nadir of human society 4D A LEGEND OF GERUANT. t Upstarted the Knight, Half mad with delight, Bound her finely-form'd waist He immediately placed One arm, which the lady most closely embraced, Of her lily-white fingers the other made capture, And he press'd his adored to his bosom with rapture. "And oh!" he exclaim'd, "let them go catch my skiff, I '11 be home in a twinkling and back in a jiffy, Nor one moment procrastinate longer my journey Than to put up the banns and kick out the attorney." One kiss to her lip, and one squeezo to her hand, And Sir Rupert already was half-way to land. For a sour-Tisaged Triton, With features would frighten Old Nick, caught him up in one hand, though no light oxti, Sprang up through the waves, popp'd him into his fxinny, Which some othei-s already had half-fiU'd with money ; In fact, 'twas so heavily laden with ore And pearls, 'twas a mercy he got it to shore ; But Sir Eupert was strong. And while pulling along. Still he heard, faintly sounding, the water-nymphs' song. . LAY or THE NAIADS. "Away! away! to the mountain's brow, Where the castle is darkly frowning ; And the vassals, all in goodly row. Weep for their lord a-drowning! Away! away! to the steward's room. Where law with its wig and robe is ; Throw us out John Doe and Richard Roe, And sweetly we '11 tickle their tobies !" The unearthly voices scarce had ceased their yelling, When Rupert reach'd his old baronial dwelling. SIS RrPEKT THE FEARLESS. 41 What rejoicing was there ! How the vassals did stare ! The eld housekeeper put a clean shirt down to air, For she saw by her lamp That her masters was damp, And she fcar'd he 'd catch cold, and lumbago, and cramp ; But, scorning what she did, The Knight never heeded Wet jacket or trousers, nor thought of repining. Since their pockets had got such a delicate lining. But oh! what dismay! Fill'd the tribe of Ca Sa, When they found he 'd the cash, and intended to pay ! Away went " cognoviU," "bills," "bonds," and "escheats,"— Rupert clear'd off all scores, and took proper receipts. Now no more he sends out For pots of brown stout. Or sehnajts, but resolves to do henceforth without, Abjure from this hour all excess and ebriety, Enrol himself one of a Temp'rance Society, All riot eschew. Begin life anew, And new-cushion and hassock the family pew ! Nay, to strengthen him more in his new mode of life, He boldly determines to take him a wife. Now, many would think that the Knight, from a nice senst Of honour, should put Lurline's name in the license. And that, for a man of his breeding and quality. To break" faith .and troth, Coniirm'd by an oath. Is not quite consistent with rigid morality; But whether the nymph was forgot, or he thought her From her essence scarce wife, but at best wife-and-water, 4* 42 A LEGEND OF GERMANT. And declined as unsuited, A. bride so diluted — Be this as it may, He, I 'm sorry to say, (For, all things consider'd, I own 'twas a mm thing,) Made proposals in form to Miss Una Von — something (Her name has escaped me,) sole heiress, and niece To a highly respectable Justice of Peace. " Thrice happy 's the wooing That's not lo»g a-doing!" So much time is saved in the billing and cooing — The ring is now bought, the white favours, and gloves. And all the et cetera which crown people's loves ; A magnificent bride-cake comes home from the baker. And lastly appears, from the German Long Acre, That shaft which the sharpest in all Cupid's quiver is, A plum-oolour'd coach, and rich Pompadour liveries 'Twas a comely sight To behold the Knight, With his beautiful bride, dress'd all in white, And the bridemaids fair with their long lace veils. As they all walk'd up to the altar rails, While nice little boys, the incense dispensers, Maroh'd in front with white surplices, bands, and gilt censera With a gracious air, and a smiling look. Mess John had open'd his awful book. And had read so far as to ask if to wed he meant? And if "he knew any just cause or impediment?" When from base to turret the castle shook ! 1 1 Then came a sound of a mighty rain Dashing against each storied pane, The wind blew loud, And a coal-black cloud O'ershadow'd the church, and the party, and crowd ; SIB RCFERT THE FEARLESS, 43 How it could happen they could not divine, The morning had been so remarkably fine ! Still the darkness increased, till it reach'd sucli a pass That the sextoness hasten'd to turn on the gas ; But harder it pour'd, And the thunder roar'd, As if heaven and earth were coming together : None ever had witness'd such terrible weather. Now louder it crash'd. And the lightning flash'd. Exciting the fears Of the sweet little dears. In the veils, as it danced on the brass chandeliers ; The parson ran off, though a stout-hearted Saxon, When he found that a flash had set fire to his caxon. Though all the rest trembled, as might be expected, Sir Kupcrt was perfectly cool and collected, ' .And endeavour'd to cheer His bride, in her ear Whisp'ring tenderly, "Pray don't be frighten'd, my dear; Should it even set fire to the castle, and burn it, you 'n? , Amply insured, both for buildings and furniture." But now, from without, A trustworthy scout Rush'd hurriedly in. Wet through to the skin. Informing his master "the river was rising. And flooding the grounds in a way quite surprising." He 'd no time to say more. For aU'eady the roar Of the waters was heard as they reach'd the church -door. While, high on the first wave that roll'd in, was seen. Riding proudly, the form of the angry Lurline ; 44 A LEGEND OF GEBMANT. And all might observe, by her glanoc'fierce and stormy, She was stung by the spreice injuria formce. What she said to the Knight, what she said to the bride, What she said to the ladies who stood by her side, What she said to the nice little boys in white clothes. Oh, nobody mentions, — for nobody knows ; For the roof tumbled in, and the walls tumbled out. And the folks tumbled down, all confusion and rout, The rain kept on pouring. The flood kept on roliring. The billows and water-nymphs roU'd more and more in ; Ere the close of the day All was clean wash'd away — Jne only survived who could hand down the news, A little old woman that open'd the pews; She was borne off, but stuck, By the greatest good luck, In an oak-tree, and there she hung, crying and screaming. And saw all the rest swallow'd up the wild stream in ; In vain, all the week. Did the fishermen seek For the bodies, and poke in each cranny and creek ; In vain was their search After aught in the church, They caught nothing but weeds, and perhaps a few perch ; The Humane Society Tried a variety Of methods, and brought down, to drag for the wreck, tacktouj But they only fish'd up the clerk's tortoise-shell spectacles. MOBAI. This tale has a moral. Ye youths, oh, beware Of liquor, and how you run after the fair ! Shun playing at shorts — avoid quan-els and jars — And don't take to smoking those nasty cigars t SIB RCFERT THS FEARLESS. 45 — Let no run of bad-luck, or despair for some Jewess-eyed Damsel, induce you to contemplate suicide I Don't sit up much later than ten or eleven 1 — Be up in the morning hy half after seven ! Keep from flirting — nor risk, warn'd by Rupert's miscarriage An action for breach of a promise of marriage ; — Don't fancy odd fishes ! Don't prig silver dishes! And to sum up the whole, in the shortest phrase I know. Beware of the Rhine, and take care of the KhtnoI And now for " Sunny Italy," — the " Land of the unforgotten brave," — the land of blue skies and black- eyed Signoras. — I cannot discover from any recorded memoranda that " Uncle Perry" was ever in Venice, even in Carnival time — that he ever saw Garrick in Shylock I do not believe, and am satisfied that he knew nothing of Shakspeare, a circumstance that would by no means disqualify him from publishing an edition of that Poet's works. I can only conclude that, in the course of his Continental wanderings, Sir Peregrine bad either read, or heard of the following history, especially as he furnishes us with some particulars of the eventual des- tination of his dramatis persona which the Bard of Avon has omitted. If this solution be not accepted, I can only say, with Mr. Puff, that probably " two men hit upon the same idea, and Shakspeare made use of it first." THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. A LEGEND OP ITALY. * • * Of the Merchant of Venice there are two 4to editionB in 16OO, ous by Heyes and the other by KohertB. The Duke of Devonshire and Lord Francis Egerton have copies of the edition by Heyes, and tTiey vary impor- ianily. * * * It must be acknowledged that this is a very easy and happy emenda- tion, which does not admit of a moment's doubt or dispute. * * * Readers in general are not at all aware of the nonsense they have In many cases been accustomed to receive as the genuine text of Shak speare ! Seasons for a new edition 0^ ShaJcspear^s WorJcs, by J. Payne Collier I BELIEVE there are few But have heard of a Jew, Named Shylook, of Venice, as arrant a " Screw " En money transactions, as ever you knew ; An exorbitant miser, who never yet lent A ducat at less than three hundred per cent., Insomuch that tho veriest spendthrift in Venice, Who 'd take no more care of his pounds than his pennies, When press'd for a loan, at the very first sight Of his terms, would back out, and take refuge in Flight. It is not my purpose to pause and inquire If he might not, in managing thus to retire. Jump out of the frying-pan into the fire ; Suffice it, that folks would have nothing to do, Who could possibly help it, with Shylock the Jew. But, however discreetly one cuts and contrives, We 'vo been most of us taught, in the course of our lives, That " Needs must when the Elderly Gentleman drives I" (4G) THE MEKCnANT OF VENICE. 47 In proof of thig rule, A thoughtlesa yoimg fool. ^Biissamo, a Lord of the Tom-noddy school, Who, by showing at Operas, Balls, Plays, and Court, A " swelling " (Payne Collier would read " swilling ") " pwt,' And inviting his friends to dine, breakfast, and sup, Had shnitik his "weak means," and was "stump'd" and "hard up," Took occasion to send To his very good friend Antonio, a merchant whose wealth had no end, And who 'd often before had the kindness to lend Him large sums, on his note, which he 'd managed to spend. "Antonio," said he, " Now listen to me : 1 've just hit on a scheme which, I think, you '11 agree. All matters consider'd, is no bad design, And which, if it succeeds, wiU suit your book and mine. " In the first place, you know all the money I've got. Time and often, from you has been long gone to pot. And in making those loans you have made a bad shot ; Now do- as the boys do when, shooting at sparrows And tom-tits, they chance to lose one of their an-ows, — Shoot another the same way — I '11 watch well its tract, And, turtle to tripe, I 'H bring both of them back ! — So list to my plan. And do what you can To attend to and second it, that 's a good man ! " There 's a Lady, young, handsome beyond all compare, a*. A place they call Belmontj whom, when I was there, at The suppers and parties my friend Lord Mountferrat Was giving last season, we all used to stare at. Then, as to her wealth, her Solicitor told mine, BcsidoB vast estates, a pearl-fishery, and gold mine 18 A LEGEND OF HALT. Her iron strong box Seems bursting its looks, It 's stuff 'd so ■with shares in ' Grand Junctions ' and ' Docks.' Not to speak of the money she's got in the Stocks, French, Dutch, and Brazilian, Columbian, and Chilian, In English Exchequer-bills full half a million, Not ' kites,' manufactured to cheat and inveigle, But the right sort of ' flimsy,' aU sign'd by Monteagle. Then I know not how much in Canal-sharos and Railways, And more speculations I need not detail, ways Of Testing which, if not so safe as some think 'em, Contribute a deal to improfing one's income ; In short, she 's a Mint ! — Now I say, deuce is in't If, with all my experience, I can't take a hint, And her ' eye's speechless messages,' plainer than print At the time that I told you of, know from a squint. In short, my dear Tony, My trusty old crony. Do stump up three thousand once more as a loan — I Am sure of my game — though, of course, there are brutes, Of all sorts and sizes, preferring their suits To her, you may call the Italian Miss Coutts, Yet Portia — she's named from that daughter of Cato's — Is not to be snapp'd up hke little potatoes, And I have not a doubt I shall rout every lout Ere you'll whisper Jack Robinson — tut them aU out — Surmount every barrier. Carry her, marry her! — Then hey! my old Tony, when once fairly noosed. For her Three-and-a-half per Cents — New and Kednc'd!" With a wink of his eye His friend made reply THE MERCHANT OP VENICE. 49 lu Ms jocular manner, sly, caustic, and dry, " Still the same boy, Bassanio — never say ' die ' ! — Well — I hardly know how T shall do 't, bat I 'Jl try, — Don't suppose my aifairs are at all in a hash, But the fact is, at present I 'm quite out of cash ; The bulk of my property, merged in rich cargoes, is Tossing about, as you know, in my Argosies, Tending, of course, my resources to cripple, — I 'to one bound to England, — another to Tripoli — Cyprus — Masullpatam — and Bombay ; — A sixth, by the way, I consigned t'other day, To Sir Gregor M'Gregor, Cacique of Poyais, A country where silver 's as common as clay. Meantime, till they tack. And come, some of them, back, What with Custom-house duties, and bills falling due, My account with Jones, Loyd, and Co., looks rather blue ; While, as for the 'ready,' I'm like a Church-mouse, — [ really don't think there 's five pounds in the house. But no matter for that, Let me just get my hat, And my new silk umbrella that stands on the mat. And we '11 go forth at once to the market — we two, — And try what my credit in Venice can do ; I stand well on 'Change, and, when all 's said and done, I Don't doubt I shall get it for love or for money." They were going to go, When, lol down below. In the street, they heard somebody crying, " Old Clo' 1" — " By the Pope, there 's the man for our purpose ! — I knew We should not have to search long. Solanio, run you, —'Salarino,— quick I — haste ! ere he get out of view, And call in that scoundrel, old Shyloct the Jewl" £0 A LEGEND OF ITALY. With a pack, Like a sack Of^old clothes at his Dack, Aurl three hats on his head, Shylook came in a crack, Saying, "Kestyou fair. Signer Antonio! — vat, pray. Might your vorship be pleashed for to vant in ma Tay f " —"Why, Shylock, although, .As yon very well know, I am what they call ' warm,' — ^pay my way as I go, And, as to myself, ijeither borrow nor lend, I can break through a rule, to oblige an old friend : And that 's the case now — Lord Bassanio would raise Some three thousand ducats — well, — knowing your wayB, And that nought 's to be got from you, say what one wiU, Unless you 're a couple of names to the bill, Why, for once, I'll put mine to it. Yea, seal and sign to it — Now, then, old Sinner, let 's hear what you '11 say As to ' doing' a bill at three months from to-day ? Three thousand gold ducats, mind — all in good bags Of hard money — no sealing-wax, slippers, or rags?" " — ^Vell, ma tear," says the Jew, "I'll see vat I can do! But Mishter Antonio, hark you, tish funny You say to me, ' Shylock, ma tear, Te 'd have money I' Ven you very yell knows How you shpit on ma clothes, And use naughty Tords — call me Dog — and avouch Dat I put too much int'resht py half in ma pouch. And vhile I, like de resht of ma tribe, shrug and crouch, You find fault mit ma pargains, and say I 'm a Smouch. — ^VeU! — no matters, ma tear, — Von Tord in your ear ! I'd be friends mit you bote — and to make dat appear. THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 61 Vy, I '11 £ nd yon de monies a? soon as you Till, Only Ton littel joke mushi be put in de pill ; — Ma tear, you masht say, If on such and such day Such sum or such sums, you shall fail to repay, I shall cut vhere I like, as de pargain is proke, A fair pound of your flesh — chest by vay of a joW So noTel a clause Caused Bassanio to pause ; But Antonio, like most of those sage "Johnny Raws" Who care not three straws About Lawyers or Laws, And think cheaply of " Old Father Antic," because They have never experienced a gripe from his claws, " Pooh pooh'd " the whole thing. — " Let the Smouch have hii way.^ Why, what care I, pray. For his penalty? — ^Nay, It 's a forfeit he 'd neyer expect me to pay ; And, come what may I hardly need say My ships will be back a full month ere the day." So, anxious to see his friend off on his journey. And thinking the whole but a paltry concern, he Aifix'd with all speed His name to a deed, Duly stamp'd and drawn up by a sharp Jew attorney. Thus again fumish'd forth. Lord Bassanio, instead Of squandering the cash, after giving one spread. With fiddling and masques, at the Saracen's Head, In the morning "made play,'' And without more delay, Siarted off in the steam-boat for Belmont next day But scarcely had he From the harbour got free. And left the Lagunes for the broad open sea. 52 A LEGEND OF ITAL7. Ere the 'Change and Bialto both rung with the news That he 'd carried off more than mere cash from the Jew'a Though Shylook was old, And, if rolling in gold, Was as ugly a dog as yoi 'd wish to behold, For few in his tribe 'mongst their Levis and Moseses Sported so Jewish an eye, beard, and nose as his. Still, whate'er the opinions of Horace and some be, Your aquilcB generate sometimes Columbte,* Like Jephthah, as Hamlet says, he 'd " one fair daughter, And every gallant, who caught sight of her, thought her A jewel — a gem of the very first water ; A great many sought her, Till one at last caught her. And, upsetting all that the Kabbis had taught her, To feelings so truly reciprocal brought her, ■ That the very same night Bassauio thought right To give aU his old friends that farewell " invite," And while Shylock was gone there to feed out of spite, On "wings made by a tailor" the damsel took flight. By these "wings" I'd express A grey duffle dress. With brass badge and muffin cap, ma^e, as by rule, For an upper class boy in the National School. Jessy ransack'd the house, popp'd her breeks on, and when Disguised, bolted off with her beau — one Lorenzo, An " Unthrift," who lost not a moment in whisking Her into the boat. And was fairly afloat * Ere her Pa had got rid of_the smell of the griskin. Next day, while old Shylook was making a racket. And threatening how well he 'd dust every man's jacket Who 'd help'd her in getting abroad of the packet, * Nee imljellem lerooea Prorencrant aatiilsR columbam. — Hoa. THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 53 Bassaiuo at Belmont was capering and prancing. And bowing, and scraping, and singing, and dancing, Mailing eyes at Miss Portia, and doing Ms best To perform tlie polite ind to cut out the rest; And, if left to herself, iie no doubt had succeeded. For none of them waltz'd so genteelly as he did ; But an obstacle lay, Of some weight, in his way, 'I'he defunct Mr. P. who was now turn'd to clay. Had been an odd man, and, though all for the best he meant, Left but a queer sort of "Last will and testament," — Bequeathing her hand. With her houses and land, &o., from motires one don't understand. As she rev'renced his memory, and valued his blessing. To him who should turn out the best hand at guessing ! Like a good girl, she did Just what she was bid ; In one of three caskets her picture she hid, And clapp'd a conundrum a-top of each lid. A couple of Princes, a black and a white one, Tried first,- but they both fail'd in choosing the right one. Another from Naples, who shoe'd his own horses ; A French Lord, whose graces might vie with Count D'Orsay's ;— 4. young English Baron ; — -a Scotch Peer his neighboui- : — A dull drunken Saxon, all mustache and sabre ; — All foUow'd, and all had their pains for their labour. Bassanio came last — happy man be his dole ! Put his conjuring cap on, — consider'd the whole, — The gold put aside as Mere "hard food for Midas," The silver bade trudge As a "pale common drudge;" Then choosing the little lead box in the middle. Came plump on the picture, and found out the riddle. 5* 64 A LEGEND OF ITAIT Now yon 're not sneh a goose as to think, I dare say. Gentle Reader, that all this was done in a day. Any more than the dome Of St. Peter's at Rome Was built in the same space of time ; and, in fact. Whilst Bassanio was doing , His billing and cooing, Three months had gone by ere he reach'd the fifth act ; Meanwhile that unfortunate bill became due. Which his Lordship had almost forgot, to the Jew, And Antonio grew In a deuce of a stew, For he could not cash up, spite of all he could do ; (The bitter old Israelite would not renew), What with contrary winds, storms, and wrecks, and embargoes, his Funds were all stopp'd, or gone down in his argosies, None of the set having come into port. And Shylock's attorney was moTing the Court For the forfeit supposed to be set down in sport. The serious news Of this step of the Jew's, And his fix'd resolution all terms to refuse. Gave the newly-made Bridegroom a fit of " the Blues," Especially, too, as it came from the pen Of his poor friend himself on the wedding-day, — then, When the Parson had scarce shut his book up, and when The Clerk was yet uttering the final Amen. " Dear Friend," it continued, " all 's up with me — I Have nothing on earth now to do but to die ! And, as death clears all scores, you 're no longer my debtor i I should take it as kind Could you come — never mind — , If your love don't persuade you, why, — don't let this letter'" THE MERCHANT OP VENICE. 55 [ hardly need say this was scarcely read o'er Ere a post-chaise and four Was brought round to the door, And Bassanio, though, doubtless, he thought it a bore, (Save his lady cue kiss, and then started at score. But scarce in his flight Had he got out of sight i^ Ere Portia, addressing a groom, said, " My lad, you a Journey must take on the instant to Padua ; Find out there BeEario, a Doctor of Laws, AVho, like PoUett, is neyer left out of a cause, And give him this note, Which I've liastily wrote. Take ihe papers he '11 give you — then push for the ferry Below, where I '11 meet you — you '11 do 't in a wherry. If you can 't find a boat on the Brenta with sails to it -^ •—Stay, bring his gown too, and wig with three tails to it." Giovanni (that 's Jack) Brought out his hack, Made a bow to his mistress, then jump 'd on its back. Put his hand to his hat, and was off in a crack. The Signora soon follow'd, herself, taking, as her Own escort Nerissa, her maid, and Balthasar. " The Court is prepared, the Lawyers are met, The Judges all ranged, a terrible show !" As Captain Macheath says, — and when one 's in debt. The sight 's as unpleasant a one as I know, 5ret still not so bad after all, I suppose, As if, when one cannot discharge what one oweSj They should bid people cut off one's toes or one's nose ; Yet here, a worse fate, Stands Antonio, of late A Merchant, might vie e'ert with Princes in state. 56 A LEGEND OF ITALY. With Ms waistcoat unbutton'd, prepared for the knife. Which, in taking a pound of flesh, mast take his life ; — On the other side Shylook, his bag on the floor, And three shocking bad hats on his head, as before, , Imperturbable stands, As he waits their commands, With his scales and hisjjreat snickersnee in his hands j — Between them, equipt in a wig, gown, and bands. With a very smooth face, a young dandified Lawyer, Whose air, ne'ertheless, speaks him quite a top-sawyer. Though his hopes ure but feeble, Does his possible To make the hard Hebrew to mercy incline. And in, lieu of his three thousand ducats take nine. Which Bassanio, for reasons we well may divine. Shows in so many bags all drawn up in a line. But vain are all eflxirts to soften him — still He points to the bond He so often has conn'd, And says in plain terms he'll be shot if he will. So the dandified Lawyer, with talking grown hoarse. Says, " I can say nc more — let the law take its course." Just fancy the gleam of the eye of the Jew, As he sharpen'd his knife on the sole of his shoe From the toe to the heel. And grasping the steel. With a business-like air was beginning to feel Whereabouts he should cut, as a butcher would veal. When the dandified Judge puts a spoke in his wheel. "Stay, Shylock," says he, "Here's one thing — you see This bond of yours gives you here no jot of blood ! — the words are 'A pound of flesh,' — that's clear as mud - Slice away, then, old fellow — but mind! — if you spill One drop of his claret that's not in your bill, I '11 bang you like Haman ! — by Jingo I will 1" THE MERCHANT OP VENICE. 57 When apprized of this flaw, You never yet saw Such an awfully mark'd elongation of jaw As in Shylock, who cried, " Flesh ma heart . ish dat law ?" — — Off went his three hats, And he look'd as the cats Do, whenever a mouse has escaped from their claw. " — Ish't the law?" — ^why the thing won't admit of a query — "No doubt of the fact, Only look at the act ; Ado quinio, cap: teriio, Dogi Falieri — Nay, if, rather than cut you 'd relinquish the debt, The Law, Master Shy, has a hold on you yet. See Fosoari's ' Statutes at large' — ' If a stranger A Citizen's life shall, with malice, endanger. The whole of his property, little or great, Shall go, on conviction, one half to the State, And one to the person pursued by his hate ; And, not to create Any farther debate, The Doge, if he pleases, may out off his pate,' So down on your marrowbones, Jew, and ask mercy. Defendant and Plaintiff are now why wersy." What need to declare How pleased they all were At so joyful an end to so sad an affair ? Or Bassanio's delight at the turn things had taken. His friend having saved, to the letter, his bacon ? — How Shylock got shaved, and tum'd Christian, though ate. To save a life-int'rest in half his estate 1 — How the dandified Lawyer, wL o 'd managed the thing Would not take any fee for his pains but a ring Which Mrs. Bassanio had giv'n to her spouse. With injunctions to keep it, on leaving the house f — 58 A LEGEND OF HALT. How when he, and the spark Who appoar'd as his clerk, Had thrown off their wigs, and their gowns, and their jettj coats, There stood Nerifesa and Portia in petticoats ? — How they pouted, and flouted, and acted the cruel, Beortuse Lord Bassanio had not kept his jewel ? — How they Bcdded and broke out. Till, having their joke out, Thej kiss'd, and were friends, and all blessing and blessed, Drove home by the light Of a moonshiny night. Like che one in which Troilus, the brave Trojan knight, Sat astride on a wall, and sigh'd after his Cressid ? — AH this, if 'twere meet, I 'd go on to repeat. But a story spun out so 's by no means a treat, So, I '11 merely relate what, in spite of the pains I have taken to rummage among his remains, No edition of Shakspeare, I 've met with, contains ; But, if the account which I 've heard be the true onCj We shall have it, no doubt, before long, in a new one. In an MS., then, sold ' For its full weight in gold. And knook'd down to my friend, Lord Tom-noddy, I'm told It 's recorded that Jessy, coquettish and vain. Gave her husband, Lorenzo, u, good deal of pain ; Being mildly rebuked, she levanted again, Ean away with a Scotchman, and, crossing the main. Became Imown by the name of the " Flower of Dumblane." That Antonio, whose piety caused, as we've seen, Ilim to spit upon every old Jew's gaberdine. IHE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 59 And wliose goodness to paint All coloui's were faint, Acquired the well-merited prefix of " Saint," And the Doge, his admirer, of honour the fount, Having given him a patent, and made him a Count, He went over to England, got nat'ralis'd there, And espous'd a rich heiress in Hanover Square. That Shylock came with him, no longer a Jew, But converted, I think may he possibly true. But that Walpole, as these self-same papers aver. By changing the y in his name into er. Should allow him a fictitious surname to dish up And in Seventeen-twenty-eight make him a Bishop, I cannot believe — but shall stUl think them two men Till some Sage proves the fact " with his usual acumen.'' MOBAL. From this tale of the Bard It's uncommonly hard If an editor can 't draw a moral. — ^"Tis clear. Then, — In ev'ry young wife-seeking Bachelor's ear A maxim, 'bove all other stories, this one drums, " Pitch Greek to old Hake.t, and stick to Conundkcms I . ' To new-married Ladies this lesson it teaches, " You 're ' no that far wrong ' in assuming the breeches !" Mouied men upon 'Change, and rich Merchants it schools To look well to assets — nor play with edge tools ! Last of all, this remarkable History shows men. What caution they need when they deal with old-clothes-men I So bid John and Mary To mind and be wary, And never let one of them come down the are' 1 CO A LEGEND OF SPAIN. From St. Mark to St. Lawrence — from the Eialto to the Escurial — from one Peninsula to another ! — it is but a hop, step, and jump — your toe at Genoa, your heel at Marseilles, and a good hearty spring pops yon down at once in the very heart of Old Castille. That Sir Pere- grine Ingoldsby, then a young man, was at Madrid soon after the peace of Ryswiek there is extant a long cor- respondence of his to prove. Various passages in it countenance the supposition that his tour was partly undertaken for political purposes; and this opinion is much strengthened by certain allusions in several of his letters addressed, in after life, to his friend. Sir Horace Mann, then acting in the capacity of Envoy to the Court of Tuscany. Although the Knight spent several months in Spain, and visited many of her principal cities, there is no proof of his having actually "seen Seville," beyond the internal evidence incidentally supplied by the follow- ing legend. The events to which it alludes were, of course, of a much earlier date, though the genealogical records of the " Kings of both the Indies " have been in vain aonsulted for the purpose of fixing their precise date, and even Mr. Simpkinson's research has failed to determine which of the royal stock rejoicing in the name of Ferdinand is the hero of the legend. The conglome- ration of Christian names usual in the families of the haute noblesse of Spain adds to the difficulty; not that this inconvenient accumulation of prefixes is peculiar to the country in question, witness my excellent friend Field-Marshal Count Herman Karl ' Heinrich Socrates von der Nodgerrie zii Pfefferkorn, whose appellations THE AUrO-DA-rf. 61 puzzled the recording clerk of one of our Courts lately, — and that not a little. That a splendid specimen of the genus Homo, species Monh, flourished in the earlier moiety of the 15th cen- tury, under the appellation of Torquemada, is notorious, — and this fact might seem to establish the era of the story; but then his name was John — not Dominic — though he was a Dominican, and hence the mistake, if any, may perhaps have originated — but then again the Spanish Queen to whom he was Confessor was called Isabella, and not Blanche — it is a puzzling ufiair altogether. From his own silence on the subject it may well be doubted whether the worthy transcriber knew himself, the date of the transactions he has recorded; the authen- ticity of the details, however, cannot be well called in question. — Be this as it may, I shall make no further question, but at once introduce my " pensive public " to THE AUTO-DA-P^. A LEGEND OF SPAIN. With a moody air, from morn till noon, King Ferdinand paces the royal saloon ; From morn till eve He does nothing but grieve ; Sighings and sobbings his midriff heave, And he vripes his eyes ■with his ermined sleeve, And he presses his feverish hand to his brow, And he frowns and he looks I can 't tell you how ; - And the Spanish Grandees, In their degrees. And whispering about in twos and in threes, And there is not a man of them seems at his ease, But they gaze on the monarch, as watching what he does, With their very long whiskers, and longer Toledos. Don Gaspar, Don Gusman, Don Juan, Don Diego, Don Gomez, Don Pedro, Don Bias, Don Eodrigo, Don Jerome, Don Giacomo join Don Alphonso In making inquiries Of grave Don Ramirez, The Chamberlain, what it is makes him take on so ; A Monarch so great that the soundest opinions Maintain the sun can 't set throughout his dominions ; But grave Don Ramirez In guessing no higher, is Than the other grave Dons who propound these inquiries ; When, pausing at length, as beginning to tire, his Msjesty beckons, with stately civility, .(62) THE AUTO-DA-rf. 63 To SeHor Don Lewis Cond6 d'Aranjuez, Who in birth, wealth, and consequence second to few ia, And SeHor Don Manuel, Count de Pacheco, A lineal descendant from King Pharaoh Neoo, Both Knights of the Golden Fleece, highborn Hidalgos, With whom e'en the King himself quite as a " pal " goes "Don Lewis," says he, "Just listen to me ; And you. Count Pacheco, — I think that we three On matters of state, for the most part agree, — Now you both of you know That some six years ago, Being then, for a King, no indifferent Beau, At the altar I took, like my forbears of old, The Peninsula's paragon. Fair Blanche of Aragon, For better, for worse, and to have and to hold — And you 're fully aware. When the matter took air, How they shouted, and fired the great guns in the Square. Cried ' Viva !' and rung all the bells in the steeple, And aU that sort of thing The mob do when a King Brings a Queen-Consort home for the good of his people. Well! — six years and a day Have flitted away Since that blessed event, yet I 'm sorry to say — In fact it's the principal cause of my pain — I don't see any signs of an Infant of Spain! — Now I want to ask you, Cavaliers true. And Counsellors sage — what the deuce shall I do? — 64 A LEGEND OF SPAIN. The state — don't you see? — hey? — an heir to the throne- Every monarch — you know — should have one of his own — Disputed succession — hey ? — terrihle Go ! — Hum! — hey? — Old fellows — yoc see! — don't you know?" Now Reader, dear, If you've ever been near Enough to a Court to encounter a Peer When his principal tenant 's gone off in arrear, And his brewer has sent in a long bill for beer, And his butcher and baker, with faces austere, Ask him to clear Off, for furnish'd good cheer. Bills, they say, "have been standing for more than a yeai," And the tailor and shoemaker also appear With their "little account" Of "trifling amount," For Wellingtons, waistcoats, pea-jackets, and — gear Which to name in society 's thought rather queer, — While Drummond's chief clerk, with his pen in his ear, And a kind of a sneer, says " We 've no effects here !" — Or if ever you've seen An Alderman, keen After turtle, peep into a silver tureen. In search of the fat cuTl'd par excellence "green," When there 's none of the meat left — not even the lean ! — — Or if ever you ' ve witness'd the face of a sailor lletum'd from a voyage, and escaped from a gale, or Foetid "Boreas," that " blustering railer," To find that his wife, when he hastens to "hail" her Has just run away with his cash — and a tailor — If one of these cases you 've ever survey'd. You'll, without my aid. To yourself have pourtray'd The beautiful mystification display'd, THE AUTO-DA-p£. 6t And tlie puzzled expression of manner and air Exhibited now by the dignified pair, When thus unexpectedly ask'd to declare Their opinions as Counsellors, several and joint, On BO delicate, grave, and important a point. SeSor Don Lewis Cond^ d'Aranjuez At length forced a smile 'twixt the prim and the grim, And look'd at Pacheoo — Pacheco at him — Then, making a rev'renoe, and dropping his eyes, Cough'd, hemm'd, and deliver'd himself in this wise : " My Liege ! — unaocustom'd as I am to speaking In public — an art I'm remarkably weak in — I feel I should be — quite unworthy the name Of a man and a Spaniard — and highly to blame. Were there not in my breast What — can't be exprest, — And can therefore,. — your Majesty, — only be gucss'd— — What I mean to say is — since your Majesty deigns To ask my advice on your welfare — and Spain's, — And on that of your Majesty's Bride — that is. Wife — It's the — as I may say — proudest day of my life ! But as to the point — on a subject so nice It's a delicate matter to give one's advice. Especially, too, ' When one don't clearly view The best mode of proceeding, — or know what to do ; My decided opinion, however, is this, And I fearlessly say that you can't do amiss, If, with all that fine tact Both to think and to act. In which all know your Majesty so much excels — You are graciously pleased to — ask somebody elsel" 6* 66 A LEGEND OP SPAIN. Here the noble Grandee Made that sort of congee, Which, as Hill nsed to say, "I once happm'd to aee" The great Indian conjuror, Ramo Samee, Make, ■while swallowing what all thought a regular chokes Viz. a small-sword as long and as stiff as a poker. Then the Count de Pacheco, Whose turn 'twas to speak, o- -mitting all preface, exclaim'd with devotion, " Sire, I beg leare to second Don Lewis's motion !" Now a Monarch of Spain Of course could not deign To expostulate, argue, or, much less, complain Of an answer thus giv'n, or to ask them again ; So he merely observ'd, with an air of disdain, "Well, Gentlemen, — since you both shrink from the task "Of advising your Sovereign — pray whom, shall I ask?" Each felt the rub, ' And in Spain not a Sub, Much less an Hidalgo, can stomach a snub, * So the noses of these Castilian Grandees Rise at once in an angle of several degrees, Till the under-lip 's almost becoming the upper, Each perceptibly grows, too, more stiff in the crupper. Their right hands rest On the left side the breast. While the hilts of their swords, by their left hands depvesV Make the ends of their scabbards to cock up behind Till thoy 're quite horizontal instead of jnclined. And Don Lewis, with scarce an attempt to disguise The disgust he experiences, gravely replies, ■'Sire, ask the Archbishop — his Grace of Toledo! — ho understands these things much better than we dol" — Pauca Verba! — enough, Eaoh turns off in a huff. THE AUTO-DA-Pf. 67 Tiiis twirling his mustache, that fingering his ruff, Like a blue-bottle fly on a rather large scale, With a rather large corldng-pin stuck through his tail. King Ferdinand paces the royal saloon, With a moody brow, and he looks like a " Spoon," And all the Court Nobles, who form the ring. Have a spoony appearance, of course, like the King, All of them eyeing King Ferdinand As he goes up and down, with his watch in his hand, Which he claps to his ear as he walks to and fro, — " What is it can make the Archbishop so slow ?" Hark! — at last there's a sound in the courtyard below, Where the Beefeaters all are drawn up in a row, — 1 would say the " Guards," for in Spain they're in chief e.itprs Of omelelies and garlic, and can't be call'd Beefeaters ; In fact, of the few Individuals I knew Who ever had happened to travel in Spain, There has scarce been a person who did not complain Of their cookery and dishes as all bad in grain, And no one I 'm sure will deny it who 's tried a Vile compound they have that 's called Olla podrida. (This, by the bye, 's a mere rhyme to the eye, For in Spanish the i is pronounced like an e. And they've not quite our mode of pronouncing the d. In Castille, for instance, it's given through the teeth, And what we call Madrid they sound more like Madj-ecM,) Of course you will see in a moment they've no men That at all correspond with our Beefeating Yeomen ; So call them " Walloons,'' or whatever you please, By their rattles and slaps they're not "standing at ease," But, beyond all disputing. Engaged in saluting, 68 A LEGEND OF SPAIW. Some very great person among the Grandees ; — Here a gentleman Usher walks in and declares, " His Grace the Archbishop 's a-coming up stairs !" The most Eeverend Don Garcilasso Quevedo Was just at this time, as he Now held the Primacy, (Always attached to the See of Toledo,) A man of great worship officii virluie Versed in all that pertains to a Counsellor's duty, Well skill'd to combine Civil law with divine ; As a statesman, inferior to none in that line J As an orator, too. He was equalled by few ; Uniting, in short, in tongue, head-piece, and pen. The very great powers of three very great men, Talleyrand, — who will never drive down Piccadilly more To the Traveller's Glub-House! — Charles Phillips — and PbilE more. Not only at home But even at Rome There was not a Prelate among them could cope With the Primate of Spain in the eyes of the Pope. (The Conclave was full, and they 'd not a spare hat, or he 'd long since been Cardinal, Legate d latere, A dignity fairly his due, without flattery. So much he excited among all beholders Their marvel to see At his age — thirty-three Such a very old head on such very young shoulders,) No wonder the King, then, in this his distress, Should send for so sage an adviser express, Who, you'll rcadUy guess, Gould not do less THE AUTO-DA- Ffi. " 69 Than start off at once without stopping to dress, In his haste to get Majesty out of a mess. His grace the Archbishop comes up the back Tfay— Set apart for such Nobles as have the enirie. Viz. Grandees of the first class, both cleric and lay- Walks up to the monarch, and makes him a boW; As a dignified clergyman always knows how, Then replaces the mitre at once on his brow ; For in Spain, recollect, As a mark of respect To the Crown, if a Grandee unooyers, it 's quite As a matter of option, and not one of right ; A thing not conceded by our Royal Masters, Who always make noblemen take ofi' their " castors," Except the heirs male Of John Lord Kinsale, A stalwart old Baron, who, acting as Henchman To one of our early Kings, kill'd a big Frenchman ; A feat which his Majesty deigning to smile on, AUow'd him thenceforward to stand with his "tile" on; And all his successors have kept the same privilege Down from those barbarous times to our civil age. Returning his bow with a slight demi-bob) And replacing the watch in his hand in his fob, " My Lord," said the King, " here 's a rather tough job. Which it seems, of a sort is To puzzle "our Cortes, And since it has quite flabbergasted that Diet, I Look to your Grace with no little anxiety Concerning a point Which has quite out of joint Put us all with respect to the good of society : — Your Grace is aware That we 've not got an Heir ; Now, it seems, one and all, they don't stick to declare 70 'a iigend or spaik. That of all our adTisers there is not in Spain ono Can tell, like your Grace, the best way to obtain one; So put y 5ur considering cap on — we 're curious To learn your receipt for a Prince of Asturias." One without the nice tact Of his Grace would have backt Out at once, as the Noblemen did, — and, in fact, He was, at the first, rather pozed how to act — One moment — no more! Bowing then as before, He said, ' Sire, 'twere superfluous for me to acquaint The ' Most Catholic King' in the world, that a Saint Is the usual resource In these cases, — of course Of their influence your Majesty well knows the force ; If I may be, therefore, allow'd to suggest The plan which occurs to my mind as the best. Your Majesty may go At once to St. Jago, Whom, as Spain's patron Saint, I pick out from the restj If your Majesty looks Into Guthrie, or Brooks, In all the apprOTed Geographical books You will find Compostella laid down in the maps Some two hundred and sev'nty miles ofl'; and, perhaps. In a case so important, you may not decline A pedestrian excursion to visit Ills shrine ; And, Sire, should you choose To put peas in your shoes, The Saint, as a Gentleman, can't well refuse So distinguish'd a Pilgrim, — especially when he Considers the boon will not cost him one penny !" His speeclj ended, his Grace bow'd, and put on his mitre As tight as before, and perhaps a thought tighter. THE AUTO-DA-Pfi. 71 "Pooh! pooh!" Bays the King, " I shall do no such thing ! It's nonsense, — Old fellow — you see — no use talking— Tha peas set apart, I abominate Tralking — Such a deuced way off, too — hey ? — walk there — what me ? Pooh! — it's no Go, Old fellow! — you know — don't yon see?" " Well, Sire," with much sweetness the Prelate replied, "If your Majesty don't like to walk — ^you can ridel And then, if you please, In lieu of the peas, A small portion of horse-hair, cut fine, we '11 insert, As a substitute under your Majesty's shirt; Then a rope round your collar instead of a laced band, — A few nettles tuck'd into your Majesty's waistband, — Asafoetida mix'd with your bouquet and civet, I '11 warrant you '11 find yourself right as a trivet '" " Pooh ! pooh ! I tell you," Quoth the King, "it won't do !"— A cold perspiration began to bedew His Majesty's cheek, and he grew in a stew, When Joz^ de Hnmez, the King's privy-purse-keeper, (Many folks thought it could scarce have a worse keeper) Oame to the rescue, and said with a smile, "Sire, your Majesty can't go — 'twould take a long while, And you won't post it under two shillings amile ! 1 Twenty-seven pounds ten To get there — and then Twenty-seven pounds ten more to get back agen ! 1 Sire, the iotile 's enormous — you ought to be King Of Golconda as well as the Indies, to fling Such a vast sum away upon any such thing!" At this second rebuff The Archbishop look'd gruff, And his eye glanced on Humez as if he 'd say " Stuff I" > 72 A LEGENB OP SPAIN. But seeing the King seem'd himself in a huff, He changed his demeanour, and grew smooth enough ; Then taking his chin 'twixt his finger and thumb, As a help to reflection, gave vent to a " Hum !" 'Twas the pause of an instant — his eye assumed fast That expression which says, "Come, I've got it at lastl" " There's one plan," he resumed," which with all due respect i« Your Majesty, no one, I think, can object to — — Since your Majesty don't hke the peas in the shoe — or to Travel — what say you to burning a Jew or two ? — Of all cookeries, most The Saints love a roast 1 And a Jew 's, of all others, the best dish to toast; And then for a Cook We have not far to look — Father Dominic's self. Sire, your own Grand Inquisitor, Luckily now at your Court is a visitor ; Of his Eev'rence's functions there is not one weightier Than Heretic-burning — in fact, 't is his mitier. Besides Alguazils Who still follow his heels, He has always Familiars enough at his beck at home, To pick you up Hebrews enough for a hecatomb ! • And depend on it. Sire, such a glorious specific Would make every Queen throughout Europe prolific !" Says the King, "That '11 do! Booh! pooh! — burn a Jew? Bum half a score Jews — bum a dozen — ^bura two — ■Tour Grace, it 's a match ! Bum all you can catch, Men, women, and children — Pooh ! pooh ! — great and small — Old clothes — slippers — sealing-wax — ^Pooh ! — burn them alL For once we'll be gay, A Grand Auto-da-fi Ib much better fun than a ball or a play 1' THE AUTO-DA-f£. So the warrant was made out without more delay, Drawn, seal'd, and delivered, and , (Signed) YO EL RE! These is not a nation in Europe but labours To toady itself, and to humbug its neighbours — " Earth has no such folks — no folks such a city, So great, or so grand, or so fine, or so pretty," Said Louis Quatorze,' "As this Paris of ours!" — Mr. Daniel O'Connell exclaims, " By the Pow'rs, Ould Ireland 's on all hands admitted to be The first flow'r of the earth, and first Gim of the sea !" — —Mr. Boll will inform you that Neptune, — a lad he. With more of affection than rev'renoe, styles, " Daddy," — Did not scruple to "say To Freedom, one day," That if ever he changed his aquatics for dry land, Hia home should be Mr. B.'s " Tight little Island." — He adds, too, that he, The said Mr. B., Of all possible Frenchmen can fight any three ; That, with no greater odds, he knows well how to treat them. To meet them, defeat them, and beat them, and eat fhem. — — In Italy, too, 'tis the same to the letter; There each Lazzarone Will cry to his crony, *' See Naples, then die ! * and the sooner the better !" The Portuguese say, as a weH-understood thing, "Who has not seen Lisbon f has not seen a good thing I"— *"yftli Napoli e poi moril" + " Quern nao tem vieto Li8l)oa NaS torn Tisto coiua boa." 7 74 A LEGEND OP SPAIN. While an old Spanish proverb nms glibly as under "QUIEN NO HA VISTO SeVILLA No HA VISTO MARA VILLA !" " He who ne'er has view'd SeviDe has ne'er view'd a Wonder 1" And from all I can learn, this is no such great blunder. In fact, from the river. The famed Guadalquivir, Where many a knignt's had cold steel through his liver,* The prospect is grand. The Iglesia Mayor Has a splendid effect on the opposite shore, With its lofty Giralda, while two or three score Of magnificent structures around, perhaps more, As our Irish friends have it, are there " to the fore ;" Then the old Alcazar, More ancient by far. As some say, while some call it one of the palaces Built in twelve hundred and odd by Abdalasis, With its horse-shoe shaped arches of Arabesque tracery, Which the architect seems to have studied to place awry, Saracenic and rich ; And more buildings, "the which," As old Lilly, in whom I've been looking a bit o' late. Says, " You 'd be bored should I now recapitulate ;" f , In brief, then, the view la BO fine and so new, It would make you exclaim, 'twould so forcibly strike ye, If a Frenchman, "Superbe!" — if an Englishman, "Crikey!'' Tes ! thou art " Wonderful !" — but oh, 'Tis sad to think, 'raid scenes so bright * " Rio verde, Ria verde, Ac." " Glassy water, glassy water, Down whose current clear and strong. Chiefs, confused in mutual slaughter. Moor and Christian, roll along." — Old Danish Romance. ^ Cum multis aliis quse nunc perscribere longum est. Propria gua mar%btte» THE aoto-da-ttS. 76 Aj9 thine, fair Seville, sounds of woe. And shrieks of pain and wild affright, An(J soul-wrung groans of deep despair. And blood, and death should mingle there ! Tes! thou art " Wonderful !" — the flames That on thy towers reflected shine. While earth's proud Lords and high-bom Dames, Descendants of a mighty line, With cold unalter'd looks are by To gaze, with an unpitying eye. On wretches in their agony. All speak thee "Wokdeefcl" — ^e phrase Befits thee well — the fearful blaze Of yon piled faggots' lurid light, Where writhing vicfims mock the sight, — The scorch'd limb shrivelling in its chains, — The hot blood parch'd in living veins, — The crackling nerve — the fearful knell Wrung out by that remorseless bell, — Those shouts from human fiends that swell,— That withering scream, — that frantic yell, All, Seville, — all too truly teU Thou art a "Maevel" — and a Hell! God ! — that the worm whom thou hast made Should thus his brother worm invade ! Count deeds like these good service done, And deem THINE eye looks smiling on ! 1 ITot there at his ease, with his whole Court around him. King Ferdinand sits "in his Gloet" — confound himl — Leaning back in his chair, With a satisfied air. And enjoying the bother, the smoke and the smother, With one knee cock'd carelessly over the other ; 7U A LEGEND OP SPAIN'. His pounoet-box goes To and fro at his nose, As somewhat misliking the smell lof old clothes^ And seeming to hint, by this action emphatic, That Jews, e'en when roasted, are not aromatic ; There, too, fair Ladies From Xerea, and Cadiz, Catalinas, and Julias, and fair Inesillas, In splendid laoe-veila and becoming mantillas ; Evlras, Antonias, and Claras, and Floras, And dark-eyed Jacinthas, and soft Isidoras, Are crowding the "boxes," and looking on coolly as Though 't was but one of their common teriuliai. Partaking, as usual, of wafer and ices, Snow-water, and melons cut out into slices. And chocolate, — fumish'd at coffee-house prices , While many a suitor, And gay coadjutor In the eating-and-drinking line, scorns to be neuter One, being perhaps jusfJeturn'd with his tutor From travel in England, is tempting his "future" With a luxury neat as imported, " The Pewter," And charming the dear Violantes and Ineses With a three-comer'd Sandwich, and soupfon of " Guirmess's ;* While another, from Paris but newly come back, Hints " the least taste in life " of the best cogniao. Such ogling and eyeing, In short, and such sighing, And such complimenting (one must not say 1 g), Of smart CaTaliers with each other still Tying, Mix'd up with the crying. And groans of the dying. All hissing, and spitting, and broiling and frying, Form a scene, which, although there can be no denying To a bon Catholigue it may prove edifying, THE AUTO-DA-P£. 11 I donbt if a Protestant smart Beau, or merry Belle Might not shrink from it as somewhat too terrible. It 's a question with me if you ever snrvey'd a More stern-looking mortal than old Torquemada, Benown'd Father Dominic, famous for twisting dom- estic and foreign necks all over Christendom ; Morescoes or Jews, Not a penny to choose, If a dog of a heretic dare to refuse A glass of old port, or a slice from a griskin, The good Padre soon would so set him a frisking, That I would not, for — more than I 'U say — be in his skin, 'T was just the same thing with his own race and nation. And Christian Dissenters of every persuasion, Muggletonian, or Quaker, Or Jumper, or Shaker, No matter with whom in opinion partaker, George Whitfield, John Bunyan, or Thomas Gat-acre, They 'd no better chance than a Bronze or a Fakir ; If a woman, it skill'd not — if she did not deem as he Bade her to deem touching Papal supremacy. By the Pope, but he 'd make her ! From error awake her, Or else — pop her into an oven and bake her ! No one, in short, ever came half so near, as he Did, to the full extirpation of heresy ; And if, in times of which now I am treating, There had been such a thing as a " Manchester Meeting, " Pretty pork " he 'd have made " Moderator " and " Minister," Had he but caught them on his side Cape Finisterre; — Pye Smith, and the rest of them once in his bonfire, hence forth you'd have heard little more of the " Conpeeenck '' And — there on the opposite side of the ring; He, too, sits "in his Glohi," confronting the King, 7* 79 A LEGEND OP SPAIIt. With his east-iron countenance frowning austerely, That matched with his en bon point but queerly, For, though grim his visage, his person was pursy. Belying the rumour Of fat folks' 'good-humour; Above waves his banner of " Justice and Mercy," Below and around stand a terrible band ad- ding much to the scene, — viz. The "Holy Sermandad," That's Brotherhood," — each looking grave as a Grand-dad. Within the arena Before them is seen a Strange, odd-looking group, each one dress'd in a garment Not "dandified" clearly, as certainly "varment," Being all over vipers and snakes, and stuck thick With multiplied silhouette profiles of Nick; And a cap of the same, All devils and fiame. Extinguisher-shaped, much like Salisbury Spire, Except that the latter 's of course somewhat higher; A long yellow pin-a-fore Hangs down each chin afore. On which, ere the wearer had donn'd it, a man drew The Scotch badge, a Saltire, or Cross of St. Andrew; Though I fairly confess I am quite at a loss To guess why they should choose that particular cross, Or to make clear to you What the Scotch had to do At all with the business in hand, — though it's true That the vestment aforesaid, perhaps, from its hue, Viz. yellow, in juxta-position with blue, (A tinge of which latter tint could but accrue On the faces of wretches, of course, in a stew As to what their tormentors were going to do,) Might make people fancy, who no better knew, They were somehow connected with Jeffrey's Review; THE AUTO-DA-Pfi. 79 Especially too As it's certain that few Things would make Father Dominic blither or happier Than to catch hold of il, or its Chef, Maovey Napier. — No matter for that — my description to crown, AU the flames and the devils were tnrn'd upside down On this habit, facetiously term'd San Benito, Much like the dress suit Of some nondescript brute From the show-van of Wombwell, (not George,) or Folito^ And thrice happy they,* Dress'd out in this way To appear with iclat at the Auio-da-FS, Thrice happy indeed whom the good luck might fall to Of devils tail upward, and " Fuego revolto," For, only see there, In the midst of the Square, Where, perch'd up on poles six feet high in the air, Sit, chain'd to the stake, some two, three, or four pair Of wretches, whose eyes, nose, complexion, and hair Their Jewish descent but too plainly declare, Each clothed in a garment more frightful by far, a Smock-frock sort of gaberdine, caU'd a Samarra, With three times the number of devils upon it, — A proportion observed on the sugar-loafd bonnet. With this farther distinction — of mischief a proof That every fiend Jack stands upright on his hoof 1 While the pictured flames, spread Over body and head. Are three times as crook'd, and three times as red I All, too, pointing upwards, as much as to say, " Here 's the real bonne bouche of the Auto-da-f4 !" Torquemada, meanwhile. With his cold, cruel smile, * flJrtunati nimium eua si bona nOrlott 80 A LEGEND OF SPAIN. Sits looking on calmly, and w atohing the pUe, As his hooded "Familiars" (their names, as some tell, come From their heing so much more "familiar" than "welcome,") Have, by this time, begun To be " poking their fun,'' And their firebrands, as if they were so many posies Of lilies and roses, Up to the noses Of Lazarus Levi, and Money Ben Moses ; While similar treatment is forcing out hollow moans From Aby Ben Lasco, and Ikey Ben Solomons, Whose beards — this a black, that inclining to grizzle- Are smoking, and curling, and all in a fizzle ; The King, at the same time, his Dons and his visitors. Sit, sporting smiles, like the Holy Inquisitors, Enough ! — no more !^ Thank heaven, 'tis o'er ! The tragedy 's done ! and we now draw a veil O'er a scene which makes outraged humanity quail ; The last fire 's exhausted, and spent like a rocket, The last wretched Hebrew 's burnt down in his socket > The Barriers are open, and all, saints and sinners, King, Court, Lords, and Commons, gone home to their dinners, With a pleasing emotion Produced by the notion Of having exhibited so much devotion, All chuckling to think how the Saints are delighted At having seen so many "Smouehes" ignited: — All, save Privy-purse Humez, Who sconced in his room is, And, Cooker in hand, in his leather-back'd chair. Is puzzling to find out how much the " affair" (By deep calculations, the which I can't follow,) cost, — The iotlle, in short, of the whole of the Holocaust. Perhaps you may think it a rather odd thing, That, while talking so much of the Court and the King^ THE auto-da-f£. 81 In describing the scene Through which we 've just been, I 've not said one syllable as to the Queen ; Especially, too, as her Majesty's ""Whereabouts," All things considered, might well be thought thereabouts; The fact was, however, although little known, Sa Magestad had hit on a plan of her own. And suspecting, perhaps, that an Auio alone Might faO in seciiring this " Heir to the throne," Had made up her mind. Although well inclined Towards galas and shows of no matter what kind. For once to retire And bribe the Saints higher Than merely by sitting and seeing a fire, — A sight, after all, she did not much admire ; So she locked herself up. Without platter or cup. In her Oriel, resolved not to take bite or sup. Not so much as her matin-draught (our " early pail"), Nor put on her jewels, nor e'en let the girl, Who help'd her to dress, take her hair out of curl. But to pass the whole morning in telling her beads. And in reading the lives of the Saints, and their deeds. And in vowing to visit, without shoes or sandals. Their shrines, with unlimited orders for candles, Holy water, and Masses of Mozart's, and Handel's.* And many a Pater, and Ave, and Credo Did She, and her Father Confessor, Quevedo, (The clever Archbishop, you know, of Toledo,) * "That is, She wmdd have orderd them — but none are known, I fear, as his, y For Handel never wrote a Mass — and so She 'd David Perez's — Bow! wow! wow I Tol, lol, cSc, Ac." (Posthumcm Note by the Ghost of James Smitk, Btji 82 A LKGEND OF SPAIN. Wlio came, as before, at a very short warning, Get through, -mthout doubt, in the course of that momiag ; Shut up, as they were. With nobody there To at all interfere with so pious a pair ; And the Saints must have been stony-hearted indeed. If they had not allow'd all these pains to succeed. Nay, it 's not clear to me but their very ability Might, Spain throughout. Have been brought into doubt. Had the Royal bed still remain'd cursed with sterility; St. Tago, however, who always is jealous In Spanish affairs, as their best authors teU us. And who, if he saw Anything like a flaw In Spain's welfare, would soon sing "Old Eose bum the bellows!" Set matters to rights like a King of good fellows ; By his interference. Three-fourths of a year hence. There was nothing but capering, dancing, and singing, Cachuoas, Boleros, and bells set a ringing. In both the Castiles, Triple-bob-major peals. Rope-dancing, and tuirbling, and somerset-flinging, Seguidillas, Fandangos, While ev'ry gun bang goes; And all the way through, from Gibraltar to Biscay, Figueras and Sherry make all the Dons frisky, (Save Moore's "Blakes and O'Donnells," who stick to the All the day long [whiskey;) The dance and the song Continue the general joy to prolong ; And even long after the close of the day You can hear little else but " Hip ! hip 1 hip 1 hurray I" The Eseurial, however, is not quite so gay, THB AtTTO-DA-rf. 83 For, ■whether the Saint had not perfectly heard The petition the Queen and Archbishop preferr'd, — Or whether his head, from his not being used To an Auto-da-fe, was a httle confused, — Or whether the Eing, in the smoke and the smother, (jot bother'd, and. so made some blunder or other, I am sure I can't say; AH I know is, that day There must have been some mistake ! — that, I'm afraid. Is Only too clear. Inasmuch as the dear Eoyal Twins, — ^though fine babies, — proved both little Ladies ! I Moral. Reader? — Not knowing what your "persuasion" may be, Mahometan, Jewish, or even Parsee, Take a little advice which may serve for all three ! First — "When you're at Rome, do as Rome does I" and note all her Ways — drink what She drinks! and don't turn Tea-totalerl In Spain, raison deplus, You must do as they do, Inasmuch as they're all there "at sixes and sevens," Just, as you know. They were, some years ago, In the days of Don Carlos and Brigadier Evans ; Don't be nice then — but take what they've got in their shopSi Whether griskins, or sausages, ham, or pork-chops I Next — Avoid Fancy- trousers ! — their colours and shapes Sometimes, as you see, may lead folks into scrapes ! For myself, I confess I've but small taste in dress, My opinion is, therefore, worth nothing — or less — 84 A LEGEXD OP PALESTINE. But seme friends I Ve consulted, — much given to watch one's Apparel — do say It 's by far the best way, And the safest, to do as Lord Brougham does — buy Scotch ones I I might now volunteer some advice to a King, — Let Whigs say what they will, I shall do no such thing, But copy my betters, and never begin Pntil, like Sir Robert, " I 'm duly called ik I" In the windows of the great Hall, as well as in those of the long Gallery, and the Library at Tappington, are, and have been many of them from a very early period, various " storied panes" of stained glass, which, as Blue Dick's* exploits did not extend beyond the neighbour- ing city, have remained unfractured down to the present time. Among the numerous escutcheons there displayed, charged with armorial bearings of the family and its connexions, is one in which a chevron between three eagles' cmsses, sable, is blazoned quarterly with the engrailed saltire of the Ingoldsbys. Mr. Simpkinson from Bath, — whose merits as an antiquary are so well * Richard Calmer, parson of Chartham, commonly so called, distinguished himself, while Laud was in the Tower, hy breaking the heantiful windows ia Canterbury Cathedral, " standing on the top of the city ladder, near sixty steps high, with a whole pilte in his hand, when others would not venture so high." Thi^ feat of Vandalism the cerulean worthy called " rattling aown proud Beckel's glassie bones." THE INGOIDSBT PENANOB. 85 knowii and appreciated as to make eulogy superfluous, not to say impertinent, — has been for some time bring- ing his heraldic lore to bear on these monumenta veiusia. He pronounces the coat in question to be that of a cer- tain Sir Ingoldsby Bray who flourished temp. Ric. 1 and founded the Abbey of Ingoldsby, in the county of Kent and diocese of Rochester, early in the reign of that monarch's successor. The history of the origin of that pious establishment has been rescued from the dirt and mildew in which its chartularies have been slum bering for centuries, and is here given. The link of connexion between the two families is shown by the accompanying extract from our genealogical tree Peter de Ingoldatiy) Lord of Tappington temp : Stepliea, killed at the battle of Lin- coln ex parte reffis Y Vitalis de = Alice de Qeof&ey = Joan Richard Inpjldshy, of Tap Engaine. Lizures, de Brai. I only pington aforesaid. A quA [ 2d wife. I "Sau. Hodiernus Inooldsbt. A Alicia = Ingoldsby de Bray, Chiy'ler, Reginald de Bray, 2d son, dau.& afterwards assumed his mo- heir lo his brother, from whom heir, ther's name, founder of In- descended Edmund Lord Bray, bus: goldsby Abbey, i. D. 1202, summoned to parliament 21 per ob. s, p. circiter 1214. to 28 Hen. 8. coU: A In this document it will be perceived that the death of Lady Alice Ingoldsby is attributed to strangulation superinduced by suspension, whereas in the veritable legend annexed no allusion is made to the intervention. 8 S9 A LEGEND OF PALESTINE. of a halter. Unluckily Sirlngoldsby left no issue, or we might now be " calling Cousins " with (_ci devanf) Mrs. Otway Cave, in whose favour the abeyance of the old Barony of Bray has recently been determined by the Crown. To this same Barony we ourselves were not without our pretensions, and, teste Simpkinson, had " as good a right to it as any body else." The " Collective wisdom of the country" has, however, decided the point, and placed us among that very numerous class of claim- ants who are " wrongfully kept out of their property and dignities — by the right owners." I seize with pleasure this opportunity of contradicting a. malicious report that Mr. Simpkinson, has, in a late publication, confounded King Henry the Fifth with the DuJce of Monmouth, and positively deny that he has evel represented Walter Lord Clifford, (father to Fair Bosa- mond,) as the leader of the 0. P. torn. THE INGOLUSBY PENANCEI A LEGEND OP PALESTINE AND — WEST KENT^ I '11 devise thee brave punisbments for him 1 — SHAX3PEAAB. Out and spake Sir Ingoldeby Bray, A stalwart knight, I ween, was he, " Come east, come west. Come lance in rest, Come falchion in hand, I '11 tickle the best Of all the Soldan's Chivabie !" Oh ! they came west, and they came east, Twenty-four Emirs and Sheiks at the least. And they hammer'd away At Sir Ingoldsby Btay, Fad back, fall edge, cut, thrust, and point, — Bat he topp'd off head, and he lopp'd off joint ; Twenty and three. Of high degree. Lay sfark and stiff on the crimson'd lea. All — all save one — and he ran up a tree ! " Now count them, my Squire, now count them and see I" "Twenty and three! Twenty and three! — All pf them Nobles of high degree: Tie? e they be lying on Ascalon lea !" On) md spake Sir Ingoldsby Bray, ' ffhat news ? what news ? come, tell to me ! (87) B8 A LEGEND 01" PAL3STINB. What news ? what news, thou little Poot-page ?^ I Ve been whacking the foe, tiU it seems an age Since I was iii Ingoldsby Hall so free ! What news ? what news from Ingoldsby HaH f Come tell me now, thou Page so small I" " Oh, Hawk and Hound Are safe and sound, ■ Beast in byre and Steed in stall ; , And the Watch-dog's bark, As soon as it 's dark. Bays wakeful guard around Ingoldsby Hall I" — "I care not a pound For Hawk or for Hound, For Steed in stall, or for Watch-dog's bay : Fain would I hear Of my dainty dear ; How fares Dame Alic.e, my Lady gay ?" — Sir Ingoldsby Bray, he said in his rage, "What news? what news? thoi* naughty Foot-page I"-— • That little Foot-page full low crouch'd he. And he doff'd his cap, and he bended his knoo, " Now lithe and listen, Sir Bray, to me : Lady Alice sits lonely in bower and haD, Her sighs they rise, and her tears they fall : She sits alone, Aud she makes her moan ; Dance and song She considers quite wrong ; Feast and revel Mere snares of the devil ; . She mendeth her hose, and she crieth 'Alack I When will Sir Ingoldsby Bray come back !' " " Thou liest ! thou liest, thou naughty Foot-page, THE INGOXDSBT PENANCE. 89 FnB loud dost thou lie, false Page, to me I There, in thy hreast, 'Neath thy silken vest, What scroll is that, false Page, I see ?" Sir Ingoldsby Bray in his rage drew near. That little Foot-page he blench'd with fear ; " Now where may the Prior of Abingdon lie ? King Richard's Confessor, I ween, is he, And tidings rare To him do I bear. And news of price from his rich Ab-bee 1" " Now nay, now nay, thon naughty Page I No learned clerk, I trow, am I, But weB, I ween, May there be seen Dame Alice's hand with half an eye ; Now nay, now nay, thou naughty Page, From Abingdon Abbey comes not thy news ; Although no clerk. Well may I mark The particular turn of her P's and her Q's !" Sir Ingoldsby Bray, in his fury and rage, By the back of the neck takes that Httle Foot-page ; The scroll he seizes, The Page he squeezes, And buffets, — and pinches his nose tiH he sneezes ; — Then he cuts with his dagger the silken threads Which they used in those days 'stead of little Queen's-heads ' When the contents of the scroU met his ■view. Sir Ingoldsby Bray in a pftssion grew. Backward he drew . His mailed shoe, 8* 90 A LEGEND OF PALESTINE. And he kicked that naughty Foot-page, that he flow Like a cloth-yard shaft from a bended yew, I may not say whither — I never knew " Now count the slain Upon Ascalon plain, — Go count them, my Squire, go count them again 1" " Twenty and three ! There they be, Stiff and stark on that crimaon'd lea t — Twenty and three ? — — Stay — let me see ! Stretched in his gore There lieth one more ! By the Pope's triple crown there are twenty and /our/ Twenty-four trunks, I ween, are there. But their heads and their limbs are no-body knows where 1 Ay, twenty-four corses, I rede, there be. Though one got away, and ran up a tree I " Look nigher, look nigher. My trusty Squire !" — " One is the corse of a bare-footed lyiaf! ! " Out and spake Sir Ingoldsby Bray, "A boon, a boon, King Richard," quoth he. Now Hear'n thee save, A boon I crave, A boon. Sir King, on my bended knee ; A year and a day Have I been away. King Richard, from Ingoldsby Hall so free; Dame Alice, she sits there in lonely_ guise. And she makes her moan, and she, sobs and she sighs. And tears like rain-drops fiiU from her eyes. And she darneth her hose, and she crieth 'Alack I THB INGOLDSBT PENANCE. Jli! when will Sir Ingoldsby Bray come back!' A. boon, a boon, my Liege," quoth he, " Fair Ingoldsby Hall I fain would see !" "Rise up, rise up. Sir Ingoldsby Bray," King Kiohard said right graciously, " Of all in my host That I love the most, I love none better. Sir Bray, than thee! Rise up, rise up, thou hast thy boon ; But — mind you make haste, and come back again Boonl" FYTTE II. Pope Gregory sits in St. Peter's chair, Pontiff proud, I ween, is he. And a belted Knight, In armour dight, la begging a boon on his bended knee, With signs of grief and sounds of woe, Peatly he kisseth his Holiness' toe. " Now pardon. Holy Father, I crave, Holy Father, pardon and grace I In my fury and rage A little Foot-page I have- left, I fear me, in evil case; A scroU of shame From a faithless dame Did that naughty Foot-page to a paramour bear; 1 gave him a ' lick' With a stick, And a kick. That sent him — I can't tell your Holiness where I Had he as many necks as hairs, He had broken them all down those perilous stairs I" 91 92 A LEGEND OF PALESTINE. " Rise up, rise up, Sir Ingoldsby Bray, Rise up, rise up, I say to thee ; A soldier, I trow. Of the Cross art thou; Rise Tip, rise up from thy bended knee I ni it beseems that a soldier true Of holy Church should vainly sue : — — Footr-pages, they are by no means rare, A thriftless crew, I ween, be they. Well mote we spare A Page — or a pair. For the matter of that — Sir Ingoldsby Bray, But stout and true Soldiers, like you. Grow scarcer and scarcer every day I Be prayers for the dead Duly read. Let a mass be sung, and a pater be said ; So may your qualms of conscience cease. And the little Foot-page shaU rest in peace 1" Now pardon, Holy Father, I crave. Holy Father, pardon and grace I Dame Alice, my wife. The bane of my life, 1 have left, I fear me, in evil case 1 A scroll of shame in my rage I tore. Which that caitiff Page to a paramour bore ; 'Twere bootless to tell how I storm'd ai.d swore ; Alack ! alack ! too surely I knew The turn of each P, and the tail of each Q, And away to Ingoldsby HaU I flew ! Dame Alice I found, — She sank on the ground, — I twisted her neck till I twisted it round 1 With jibe and jeer, and mock, and scoff, I twisted it on — till I twisted it off! — THE INGOLDSBT PENANCE. 93 All the King's Doctors and all the King's Men Can't put fair Alice's head on agen !" " Well-a-day ! weU-a-day ! Sir Ingoldsby Bray, Why really — I hardly know what to say ; — Foul sin, I trow, a fair Ladye to slay, Because she 's perhaps been a little too gay. — — Monk must chaunt and Nun must pray; For each mass they sing, and each pray'r they say. For ■«, year, and a, day, Sir Ingoldsby Bray A fair rose-noble must duly pay ! So may his qualms of conscience cease, And the soul of Dame AJice may rest in peace 1" •' Now pardon, Holy Father, I crave, Holy Father, pardon and grace 1 No power could save That paramour knaye ; 1 left him, I wot, in evil case ! There, 'midst the slain Upon Ascalon plain, Unburied, I trow, doth his body remain, His legs lie here, and his arms lie there, And his head lies — I can't tell your Holiness where." ' Now out and alas ! Sir Ingoldsby Bray, ?oul sin it were, thou doughty Knight, To hack and to hew A champion true Of holy Church in such pitiful plight ' Foul sin her warriors so to slay, ■When they're scarcer and scarcer every lay! — — ^A chauntry fair. And of monks a pair, 94 A LEGEND OF PALESTINE. To pray for his soul for ever and aye, Thou must duly endow, Sir Ingoldsby Bray, And fourteen marks by the year must thou pay For plenty of lights To burn there o' nights — None of your rascally 'dips' — but sound, Kound, ten-penny moulds of four to the pound ;— And a shirt of the roughest and coarsest hair For a year and a day, Sir Ingoldsby, wear ! — Bo may your qualms of conscience cease. And the soul of the Soldier shall rest in peace I" " Now nay, Holy Father, now nay, now nay ! Less penance may serve !" quoth Sir Ingoldsby Bray. "No champion free of the Cross was he; No belted Baron of high degree ; No Knight nor Squire Did there expire ; He was, I trow, but a bare-footed Friar ! And the Abbot of Abingdon long may wait With his monks around him, and early and late May look from loop-hole, and turret, and gate, — He hath lost his Prior — his Prior his pate!" " Now Thunder and turf!" Pope Gregory said, And his hair raised his triple crown- right off his head— " Now Thunder and Turf! and out and alas ! A horrible thing has come to pass ! What ! — cut off the head of a reverend Prior, And say he was ' only (!!!) a bare-footed Friar 1' — 'What Baron or Squire, Or Knight of the shire Is half so good as a holy Friar ?' 0, iurpissime! Yir nequissime ! Seehralissim'. I — quissime ! — isaime ! THE INGOI/CSBY PENANCE. 05 Never, I trow, have the Servi servarum Had before 'em Suoli a, breach of deoorum, Such a gross violation of morum bonorum. And won't have again scecula sceculoruml — Come hither to me, My Cardinals three. My Bishops in parlibue, Masters in Ariibus, Hither to me, A. B. and D. D. Doctors and Proctors of every degree ! Go fetch me a book ! — go fetch me a bell As big as a dustman's! — and a candle as vrell — I'll send him — where good manners won't let me tell!" — ' ' Pardon and grace ! — now pardon and grace !" — Sir Xngoldsby Bray fell flat on his face — " Med culpi ! — in sooth I'm in pitiful case — Peecavi! peccavil — I've done very wrong! But my heart it is stout, and my arm it is strong, And I 'U fight for holy Church all the day long ; And the Ingoldsby lands are broad and fair. And they 're here, and they 're there, and I can't tell you wherei And Holy Church shall come in for her share !" Pope Gregory paused, and he sat himself down, And he somewhat relax'd his terrible frown. And his Cardinals three they pick'd up his crown. " Now, if it be so that you own you 've been wrong, And your heart is so stout, and your arm is so strong. And you really will fight like a trump all day long ; If the Ingoldsby lands do lie here and there. And Holy Church shall come in for her share, — Why, my Cardinals three, You'll agree With me. 96 A LEGEND OF PALESTINE. That it gives a new turn to the whole affair, And I think that the Penitent need not despair I — If it he so, as yon seem to say, Eise up, rise up, Sir lugoldsby Bray ! An Abbey so fair Sir Bray shall found, Whose innermost wall's encircling bound Shall take in a couple of acres of ground ; And there in that Abbey all the year round, A fuU choir of monks, and a full choir of nuns. Shall lire upon cabbage and hot-crosa-buns ; And Sir Ingoldsby Bray, Without delay. Shall hie him again To Ascalon plain. And gather the bones of the foully slain: And shall place said bones, with all possible care, In an elegant shrine in his abbey so fair ; And plenty of lights Shall be there o' nights; None of your rascally 'dips' but sound. Best superfine wax-wicks, four to the pound ; And Monk and Nun ■ Shall pray, each one. For the Soul of the Prior of Abingdon 1 And Sir Ingoldsby Bray, so bold and so brave, Never shall wash himself, comb, or shave^ Nor adorn his body. Nor drink gin-toddy. Nor indulge in a pipe, — But shall dine upon tripe, And blackberries gather'd before they are ripe. And for ever abhor, renounce, and abjure Biun, hollands, and brandy, wine, punch, and liqueur!" (Sir Ingoldsby Bray Here gave way THE INGOLDSUr PENAKCB. 97 To a feeling which prompted a word profane, But he swallow'd it down, by an effort, again. And his Holiness luckily fancied his gulp a Mere repetition of 0, MeS, eulpd I) \ " Thrice three times upon Candlemas-day, Between Vespers and Compline, Sir Ingoldshy Bray Shall ran round the Ahbey, as best he may, Subjecting his back To thump and to thwack, Well and truly laid on by a bare-footed Friar, With a stout cat o' ninetails of whip-cord and wire ; And nor he, nor his heir* Shall take, use, or bear Any more, from this day. The surname of Bray, As being dishonour'd, but all issue male he has Shall, with himself, go henceforth by an aliM ! So his qualms of conscience at length may cease, And Page, Dame, and Prior shall rest in peace!" Sir Ingoldsby (now no longer Bray) Is off like a shot away and away. Over the brine To far Palestine, To rummage and hunt over Ascalon plain For the unburied bones of his victim slain. "Look out, my Squire, Look higher and nigher. Look out for the corpse of a bare-footed Friar! And pick up the arms, and the legs, of the dead. And pick up his body, and pick up his head !" • Uis brother, Kcginald, It would seem by the pedigree, disregarded thb prohibition, 9 A LEGEND OF FALESTINB. FYTTB III. Ingoldsby Abbey is fair to see, It hath manors a dozen, and royalties three, With right of free warren (whatever that be) ; Rich pastures in front, and green woods in the rear, All in full leaf at the right time of year ; About Christmas, or so they fall into the sear, And the prospect, of course, becomes rather more dreai ; But it 's really delightful in spring-time, — and near The great gate Father Thames rolls sun-bright and clear. Cobham woods to the right, — on the opposite shore Laindon hiUs in the distance, ten miles off or more ; Then you 'to Milton and Gravesend behind, — and before You can see almost all the way down to the Nore.* So charming a spot. It's rarely one's lot To see, and when seen it 's as rarely forgot. Yes, Ingoldsby Abbey is fair to see. And its Monks and its Nuns are fifty and three, And there they all stand each in their degi'ee, Drawn up in the front of their sacred abode. Two by two, in their regular mode, While a funeral comes down the Rochester road. Palmers twelve, from a foreign strand, Cockle in hat, and staff in hand. Come marching in pairs, a, holy band I * AlaB ! one might almost Ray that of this sacred, and once splendid, edifice, periSrunt Utiam ruinm. An elderly gentleman, however, of ecclesiastical cut, who oscillates between the Garrick Club and the Falcon in Gravesond, and is said by the host to be a " foreigneering Bishop," does not scruple to identify the luins still to be seen by the side of the high Dover road, about a mile and a half below the town, with those of the haunted SacdLunit The general features of the landscape certainly correspond, and tradition« oa certainly, countenances his con.iecture. THE INGOLDSBT PENANCE. 99 Little boys twelve, dressed aJl in -white, Each -with his brazen censer bright. And singing away with all their might, Follow the Palmers — a goodly sight; Next high in air Twelve Yeomen bear On their sturdy necks, with a good deal of care, A patent sarcophagus firmly rear'd, Of Spanish mahogany (not veneer'd). And behind walks a Knight with a very long beard. Close by his side Is a Friar, supplied With a stout cat o' niuetails of tough cow-hide. While all sorts of queer men Bring up the rear — Men- at-arms, Nigger captives, and Bow-men, and Spear-men. It boots not to tell What you '11 guess very weD, How some sang the requiem, some toU'd the bell ; Suffice it to say, 'Twas on Candlemas-day The procession I speak about reach'd the Sacellum ,' And in lieu" of a Supper The Knight on his crupper Received the first taste of the Father's flageUum ; That, as chronicles tell. He continued to dwell All the rest of his days in the Abbey he 'd founded, By the pious of both sexes ever surrounded, And, partaking the fare of the Monks and the Nuns, Ate the cabbage alone, without touching the buns ; — That year after year, having run round the Quad With his back, as enjoin'd him, exposed to the rod. Having not only kiss'd it, but bless'd it, and thank'd it, he Died, as all thought, in the odour of sanctity. 100 A LEQENS OF FALIISTINS^ When, — strange to relate ! and you'll hardly believe What I'm going to tell you, — next Candlemas Eve The Monks and the Nuns in the dead of the night Ttmble, all of them, out of their beds in afiright, Alarm'd by the bawls, And the calls, and the squalls Of some one who seem'd running aU round the walls 1 Looking out, soon By the light of the moon There appears most distinctly to ev'ry one's view, And making, as seems to them, all this ado, The form of a Knight with a beard like a Jew, As black sis if steep'd in that " Matchless !" of Hunt's, And so bushy, it would not disgrace Mr. Muntz ; A bare-footed Friar stands behind him, and shakes A flageilum, whose lashes appear to be snakes ; While more terrible still, the astounded beholders Perceive the said Friar has no head on his shovldek!). But is holding his pate In his left hand, out straight, As if by a closer inspection to find Where to get the best cut at his victim behind, With the aid of a small "bull's-eye lantern," — as placed By our own New Police, — in a belt round his waist. All gaze with surprise. Scarce believing their eyes. When the Knight makes a start like a raee-horse, and flies From his headless tormentor, repeating his cries, — In vain, — for the Friar to his skirts closely sticks, "Running after him," — so said the Abbot, — "like Bricks!'' Thrice three times did the Phantom Knight Course round the Abbey as best he might, Be-thwack'd and be-smaoked by the headless Sprite, While his shrieks so piercing made all hearts thrill,— Then a whoop and a halloo, — and all was still 1 THE INGOLUSBT PENANOB. 101 Ingoldsby Abbey has passed away, And at this time of day One can hardly survey Any traces or ti-ack, save a few ruins, grey With age, and fast mouldering into decay. Of the structure once built by Sir Ingoldsby Bray; But still there are many folks living who say That on every Candlemas Eve, the Knight, Accoutred and dight In his armour bright, With his thick black beard, — and the clerical Spnte, With his head in his hand, and his lantern alight. Run round the spot where the old Abbey stood. And are seen in the neighbouring glebe-land and wood ; More especially still, if it 's stormy and windy, you may hear ihem for miles kicking up their wild shindy And that once in a gale Of wind, sleet, and hail. They frighten'd the horses, and upset the mail. What 't is breaks the rest Of these souls unblest Would now be a thing rather hard to be guess'd, Though some say the Squire, on his death-bed, confess'd That on Ascalon plain. When the bones of the slain Were collected that day, and pack'd up in a chest Caulk'd and made water-tight. By command of the Knight, Though the legs and the arms they'd got all pretty right, And the body itself in a deoentish plight. Yet the Friar's Pericramum was nowhere in sight ; So, to save themselves trouble, they'd pick'd up instead. And popp'd on the shoulders, a Saracen's Head ! Thus the Knight in the terms of his penance had fail'd, And tlie Pof e's absolution, of coarse, nought avail'd. 9» |02 A LEGEND OP PALESTIJVB. Now thongh this might be, It don't seem to agree With one thing whichj I own, is a poser to me, — I mean, as the miraeles wrought at the shrine Containing the bones brought from far Palestine Were so great and notcxrious, 't is hard to eombine Tliis fad with the rea-son these people assign, Or suppose that the head of the murder'd Diyine Could be aught but what Yankees would call " genu-inA" 'Tis a very nice question — but be't as it ifiay. The Ghost of Sir Ingoldsby (ci-devant Bray), It is boldly affirm'd, by the folks great and small About Milton, and Chalk, and around Cobham Hall, Still on GandlSmas-day haunts the old ruin'd wall. And tbat many have seen him, and more heard him squall. So, I think, when the facts of the case you recall. My inference, reader, you'll fairly forestall, Viz. : that, spite of the hope Held out by the Pope, Sir Ingoldsby Bray was d d after all ! MOKAL. foot-pages, and Servants of ev'ry degree, In livery or out of it, listen to me ! See what comes of lying! — don't join in a league To humbug your master, or aid an intrigue ! Ladies! — married and single, from this understand How foolish it is to send letters by hand ! Don't stand for the sake of a penny, — but when yon 've a, -billet to send To a lover or friend. Put it into the post, and don't cheat the revenue ! Heverend gentlemen! — you who are given to roam, Don't keep up a soft correspondence at home 1 THE IMGOLDSBT PENANCE. 103 But while you're abroad lead respeotaWe lives ; fiOTO your neigliboura, and welcome, — but don't lore theii wives ! And, as bricklayers cry from the tiles and the leads When they're shovelling the snow off, "Take oaee of youb HEADS !" Knights ! — whose hearts . are so stout, and whose arms are so • strong. Learn, — to twist a wife's neck is decidedly wrong ! If your servants offend you, or give themselves airs, Rebuke them — but mildly — don't kick them down stairs! To "Poor Richard's" homely old proverb attend, " If you want matters well managed, Go! — if not. Send.'" A servant's too often a negligent elf; — If it's business of consequence. Do it yottkseh'! The state of society seldom requires People now to bring home with them unburied Friars, ' But they sometimes do bring home an inmate for life ; Now — don't do thai by proxy! — but choose your own wifel For think how annoying 'twould be, when you're wed, To find in your bed. On the pillow, instead Of th& sweet face you look for — A Sabaceh's Head! 104 A LEGEND OF HAMPSHIRE,. Alas, for Ingoldsby Abbey ! — Alas that on3 should have to say Peri€runt etiam Ruinse I Its Tery Ruins now are tiny 1 There is a something in the very sight of an old Abbey — family associations apart — as Ossian says (or Mao Pherson for him), " pleasing yet mournful to the soul !" nor could I ever yet gaze on the roofless walls and ivy-clad towers of one of these venerable monuments of the piety of bygone days without something very like an unbidden tear rising to dim the prospect. ^Something of this, I think, I have already hinted in recording our pio-nio with" the Seaforths at Bolsover. Since then I have paid a visit to the beautiful remains of what once was Netley, and never experienced the sensation to which I have alluded in a stronger degree — if its character was somewhat changed before we parted — it is not my fault. Still, be the drawbacks what they may, [ shall ever mark with a white stone the day on which I for <-.he first time beheld the time-worn cloisters of NETLEY ABBEY. A LEGEND OF HAMPSHIRE. I SAW thee, Ketley, as the snn Across the western waTe Was sinking slow, And a golden glow To thy roofless towers he gave; And the ivy sheen, With its mantle of green. That wrapt thy walla aronnd. Shone lovelily bright In that glorious light. And I felt 'twas holy ground. Then 1 thought of the ancient time — The days of thy Monks of old, — Wlien to Matin, and Vesper, and Compline chime, The lond Hosanna roU'd, And, thy courts and "long-drawn aisles" among, Swell'd the full tide of sacred song. And then a vision pass'd Across my mental eye ;* And silver shrines, and shaven crowns. And delicate Ladies, in bombazeen gowns. And long white veils, went by ; Stiff, and staid, and solemn, and sad, — — But one, methought, wink'd at the Gardener-lad ! • In my mind's eyo, noratio ' — HiMLET. (105) 106 A LEGEND OF HAMPSHIRE. Then came the Abbot, with mitre and ring, And pastoral staff, and all that sort of thing, And a Monk with a book, and a Monk with a bell, And " dear little souls," In clean linen stoles. Swinging their censers, and making a Bmell.— And see where the Choir-master walks in the rear. With front severe, And brow austere. Now and then pinching a little boy's ear When he chaunts the responses too late, or too soon. Or his Do, R e, Mi, Fa, Sol, La 's not quite in tune. (Then yon know, . They'd a " moveable Do," Not a fix'd one as now — and ol' course never knew How to set up a musical HuUah-baloo,) It was, in sooth, a comely sight. And I welcom'd the vision with pure delight. But then "a change came o'er" My spirit — a change of fear — That gorgeous scene I beheld no more. But deep beneath the basement floor A dungeon dark and drear! And there was an ugly hole in the wall — For an oven too big, — for a cellar too small ! And mortar and bricks All ready to fix. And I said, " Here's a Nun has been playing some tricks !- That horrible hole ! — it seems to say, ' I 'm a grave that gapes for a living prey !' " And my heart gx-ew sick, and my brow grew sad — And I thought of that wink at the Gardener-lad. Ah me ! ah me ! — 'tis sad to think That Maiden's eye, which was made to wink. NETT.ET AEBET. 107 Should here be compell'd to grow blear, and blink. Or be closed for aye In this kind of way, Shut out for ever from wholesome day, Wall'd up in a hoie with never a chink, No light, — no air, — no victuals, — no drinU— And that Maiden's lip, Which was made to sip. Should here grow wither'd and dry as a chip ! — That wandering glance and furtive kiss. Exceedingly naughty, and wrong, I wis. Should yet be consider'd so much amiss As to call for a sentence severe as this ! — And I said to myself, as I heard with a sigh, The poor lone victim's stifled cry,* "Well, I can't understand Flow any man's hand Could wall up that hole in a Christian land ! Why, a Mussulman Turk Would recoil from the work. And though, when his Ladies run after the fellows, he Stands not on trifles, if madden'd by jealousy. Its objects, I 'm sure, would declare, could they speak. In their Georgian, Circassian, or Turkish, or Greek, ' When aU 's said and done, far better it was for us, Tied back to back. And sewn up in a sack, To be pitch'd neck-and-heels from a boat in the Bosphorusl' — Oh! a Saint 'twould vex To think that the sex Should be treated no better than Combe's double X ! * About the middle of the last century a human skeleton was discovered in a recess in the wall among the ruins of Netley. On examination the bones were pronounced to be those of a female. Teste James Harrison, u youthful but intelligent cal>-driver of Southampton, who " well remembers to have heard his grandmother say that ' Somebody told her tn.' " 108 A LEGEND OF HAMPSHIRE. Sure some one might run to the Abbess, and te J her A. much better method of stocking her cellar." If ever on polluted walls Heaven's red right arm in vengeance falls,— If e'er its justice wraps in flame The black abodes of sin and shame. That justice, in its own good time, Shall visit for so foul a, crime, Ope desolation's floodgate wide, And blast thee, Netley, in thy pride 1 Lo where it comes! — the tempest lours, — It bursts on thy devoted towers ; Ruthless Tudor's bloated form Rides on the blast, and guides the storm; I hear the sacrilegious cry, "Down with the nests, ond the rooks will fly!" Down! down they come — a fearful faU — Arch, and pillar, and roof-tree, and all, Stained pane, and sculptured stone, There they lie on the greensward strown — Mouldering walls remain alone ! Shaven crown, Bombazeen gown, Mitre, and Crozier, and all are flown ! And yet, fair Netley, as I gaze Upon that grey and mouldering waJI, The glories of thy palmy days Its very stones recall ! — They " come like shadows, so depart" — I see thee as thou wert — and art — Sublime in ruin! — grand in woe! Iione refuge of the owl and ba*' NETLEY ABBEY. 109 No Toice a'vrates thine echoes now ! No sound — Good Gracious! — what was that? Was it the mpan, The parting groan Emhedded in mortar, and bricks, and stone! — Full and clear On my listening ear It comes — again— near, and more near — Why 'zooks ! it 's the popping of Ginger Beer I — I rush to the door — I tread the floor, By Abbots and Abbesses trodden before, In the good old chivalrio days of yore, And what see I there ? — In a rush-bottom'd chair A hag, surrounded by orookery-ware. Vending, in cups, to the credulous throng A nasty decoction miscaU'd Souchong, — And a squeaking fiddle and "wry-necked fife" Are screeching away, for the life ! — for the life ! — Danced to by "AU the World and his wife." Tag, Bag, and Bobtail, are capering there. Worse scene, I ween, than Bartlemy Fair ! — Two or three Cliimney-sweeps, two or three Clowns, Playing at "pitch and toss," sport their "Browns," Two or three damsels, frank and free, Are ogling, and smiling, and sipping Bohea. Parties below, and parties above, Some making tea, and some making lOTe. Then the "toot— toot— toot" Of that vile demi-flute, — The detestable din Of that cracked -violin, \nd the odours of "Stout," and tobacco, and ginl ■' — Dear me !" I exclaim'd, " what a place to be iiil ' 10 110 A LEGEND OP HAMPSHIRE. And I said to the person who drove my " shay," (A very inteUigent man, by the way,) " This, all things considered, is rather too gay! It don't suit my humour, — so take me away ! Dancing ! and drinking ! — cigar and song ! If not profanation, it's ' coming it strong,' And I really consider it all very wrong. — — Pray, to whom does this property now belong V — He paused, and said. Scratching his head, ■' Why I really do think he's a little to blame, But I can't say I knows the Gentleman's name !" "Well— weU!" quoth I, As I heaved a sigh, And a tear-drop fell from my twinkling eye, " My vastly good man, as I scarcely doubt That some day or other you '11 find il out. Should he come in your way. Or ride in your 'shay,' (As perhaps he may,) Be so good as to say That a Visitor, whom you drove over one day. Was exceedingly angry, and very much scandalized, Finding these beautiful i-uins so Vandalized, And thus of their owner to speak began, ^s he order' d you home in haste, ' No DOUBT HE 'S A 1TEE.Y RESPECTABLE MAN, But — I can't say much for his taste,' "* * Adieu, Mousieur Gil Bias; je vous Bouhaite toutiis Bortes de prDspftr(t£iS^ avec un peu plus de gout I — GU Bias. A FRAGMENT. Ill My very excellent brotber-in-law, Scaforth, late of the Bombay Fencibles, (lucky dog to have quitted the ser- vice before this shocking Affghan business !) seems te have been even more forcibly affected on the evening when he so narrowly escaped being locked in at West- minster Abbey, and when — but let him describe his own feelings, as he has done, indeed, in the subjoined FEAGMENT. A FEELiNO sad came o'er me as I trod the sacred ground Whore Tudors and Plautagenets were lying all around : I stepp'd with noiseless foot, as though the sound of mortal tread Might burst the bands of the dreamless sleep that wraps the mighty dead ! The slanting ray of the evening sun shone through those cloisters pale, With fitful light on regal vest, and warrior's sculptured mail, As from the stain'd and storied pane it danced with quiTering gleam, Each cold and prostrate form below seem'd quickening in the beam. Now, linking low, no more was heard the organ's solemn swell. And faint upon the listening ear the last Hosanna fell : It died — and not a breath did stir; — above each knightly stall Vnmoved, the banner'd blazonry hung waveless as a pall. 1 stood alone ! — a living thing 'midgt those that were no more— I thought on ages past and gone — the glorious deeds of yore — On Edward's sable panoply, on Crescy's tented plain, The fatal Roses twined at length — on great Eliaa's reign. 112 A PKAGMENT. I thdigJit on Naseby — Marston Moor — on Worc'ster's "crowix< ing fight;" When on mine ear a sound there fell — ^it chlll'd me with affright And thus in low, unearthly tones, I heard a voice begin, "—This here's the Cap of Giniral Monk! — Sir! please put summut in !" Codera desiderantur. That Seaforth's nervous system was powerfully acted upon on this occasion I can well believe. The circuni- Btance brings to my recollection a fearful adventure — or what might perhaps have proved one — of my own in early life while grinding Gerunds at Canterbury. A sharp touch of the gout, and the reputed sanatory quali- ties of a certain spring in St. Peter's Street, then in much repute, had induced my Uncle. to, take up a tem- porary abode within the Cathedral " Precinct." It was on one of those temporary visits which I was sometimes permitted to pay on half-holidays, that, in self-defence, I had to recount the following true narrative. I may add. that this tradition is not yet worn out : a small maimed figure of a female in a sitting position, and holding some- thing like a frying-pan in her hand, may still be seen on the covered passage which crosses the Brick Walk, and adjoins the house belonging to the sixth prebendal stall, — There are those, whom I know, who would, even yet, hesitate at threading the dark entry on a Friday — "not" of course " that they believe one word about" NELL COOK! LEGEND OF THE " DAKK ENTRY." THE KING'S SCHOLAE'S STORY. " 7rum the ' Brick walk ' branches off to the right along narrow faulted passage, paved with flagstones, vulgarly known, by the name of the • Dark Entry.' Its eastern extremity communicates with the cloisters, crypt, and by a private stair-ease, with the interior of the Cathedral. On the west it opens into the ' Green-court,' forming a communication between it and the portion of the ' Precinct ' called the ' Oaks.' " — A WaUc round Cunterburj/, Ac. Scene — A back parlour in Mr. John Ingoldsby's house in the Precinct. — A blazing Are. — Mine Uncle is seated in a high-backed easy-chair, twirling his thumbs, and contemplating his list-shoe. — Little Tom, the " King's Scholar," on a stool opposite. — Mrs John lugoldsby at the table, busily employed in manufacturing a cabbage-rose (cauliflower ?) in many-coloured worsteds. — Mine Uncle's meditations are interrupted by the French-clock on the mantel* piece. — He prologizeth with vivacity. IIakk ! listen Mrs. Ingoldsby, — the clock is striking nine 1 Give Master Tom another cake, and half a glass of wine, And ring the beU for Jenny Smith, and bid her bring his coat. And a warm bandana hankerchief to tie about his throat. "And, bid them go the nearest way, for Mr. Birch has said That nine o'clock 's the hour he '11 have his boarders all in bed ; And well we know when little boys their coming home delay. They often seem to walk and sit uneasily next day ! " " — Now, nay, dear Uucle Ingoldsby, now send me not, I pray. Back by that Entry dark, for that you know's the nearest way; I dread that Entry dark, with Jane alone at such an hour, It fears me quite — it 's Friday night ! — and th<}n Nell Cool hath pow'r I" 10* (113) 114 A LEGEND OF THE " DAKK ENTBT." "And, wlio's Nell Cook, thou silly child? — and what's Nell Cook to thee ? That thou shouldst dread at night to tread mth Jane that dark entree ?" — " Nay, list and hear, mine (Jncle dear! such fearsome things they tcU Of Nelly Cook, that few may brook at night to meet with Nell I" "It was in bluff King Harry's days, — and Monks and Friars were then, you know, dear Uncle Ingoldsby, a, sort of Clergymen. They'd coarse stuff gowns, and shaven crowns, — no shirts, — and no cravats ; And a cord was placed about their waist — they had no shovel hatt! ! " It was in bluff King Harry's days, while yet he went to shrift, And long before he stamp'd and swore, and cut the Pope adnft; There lived^a portly Canon then, a sage and learned clerk ; He had, I trow, a goodly house, fast by that Entry dark ! "The Canon was a portly man — of Latin and of Greek, And learned lore, he had good store, — ^yet health was on his cheel The Priory fare was scant and sparet the bread was made of ryii The beer was weak, yet he was sleek — he had a merry eye. " For though within the Priory the fare was scant and thin, The Canon's house it stood without ; — he kept good cheer within ; Unto the best he prest each guest with free and jovial look. And Elleu Bean ruled his cuisine. — He called her ' Nelly Cook.' "For soups, and stews, and choice ragouts, Nell Cook was famous stiU; She 'd make them even of old shoes, she had such wond'rous skill: Iler mancheta fine were qwite divine, her cakes were nicely brown'd. Her boil'd and roast, they were the boast of all the 'IVecinot' round; NELL CODE. lis " ABd Nelly was a comely laas, but calm and staid her air, And earthward bent her modest look — ^yet was she passing fair ; And though her gown was russet brown, their heads grave people shook ; — They aU agreed no Clerk had need of such a pi-etty cook. "One day, 'twas on a Whitsun-Eve — there came a coach anJ four; — It pass'd the ' Green-Coiirt' gate, and stopp'd before the Canon's door; The travel-stain on wheel and rein bespoke a weary way, — Each panting steed relax'd its speed — out stept a Lady gay. "' Now, welcome ! welcome! dearest Niece,' — the Canon ther did cry, ' ' And to his breast the Lady prest — he had a merry eye, — ' Now, welcome ! welcome ! dearest Niece ! in sooth, thou 'r' welcome here, 'Tis many a day since we have met — how fares my Brothei dear i' — " ' Now, thanks, my loving Uncle,' that Lady gay replied : 'Gramercy for thy benison!' — then 'Out, alas!' she aigh'd; ' My father dear he is not near ; he seeks the Spanish Main ; He prays thee give me shelter here tiU he return agaip !' — "'Now, welcome! welcome; dearest Niece; come lay thy mantle by!' The Canon kiss'd her ruby lip — he had a merry eye,-- But Nelly Cook askew did look, — it came into her mipd They were a little less than ' kin,' and rather more than ' kind.' " Three weeks are gone and over — fuH three weeks and a day. Yet still within the Canon's house doth dwell that Lady gay ; On capons iine chey daily dine, rich cates and sauces rare. And they quaff good store of Bordeaux wine, — so dainty '« their fare 116 A LEGEND OF THE " DABK ENTRY." "And fine upon the virginals is that gay Lady's touch, And sweet her Toioe unto the lute, you'll scarce hear any such , Cut is it ' sancHssima!' she sings iu dulcet tone? Or 'Angels ever bright and fair ?' — Ah, no ! — it 'b ' Sobbing Joan " * « ' * * * "The Canon's house is lofty and spacious to the view; The Canon's cell is order'd well — yet Nelly looks askew; The Lady's bower is in the tower, — yet Nelly shakes her head— ■ She hides the poker and the tongs in that gay Lady's bed ! ***** " Six weeks were gone and over — full six weeks and a day. Yet in that bed the poker and the tongs unheeded lay ! From which, I fear, it 's pretty clear that Lady rest had none ; Or, if she slept in any bed — it was not in her own. " But where that Lady pass'd her nights, I may not well divine. Perhaps in pious oraisons at good St. Thomas' Shrine, And for her father far away breathed tender vows and true — It may be so — I cannot say — but Nelly look'd askew. "And still at night, by fair moonlight, when all were lock'd in sleep. She'd listen at the Canon's door, — she 'dthrough the keyhole peep — I know not what she heard or saw, but fury fill'd h^ eye — — She bought some nasty Doctor's-stufi^, and she put it in a pie t ***** " It was a glorious summer's-eve — with beams of rosy red The Sun went down — all Nature smiled — but Nelly shook her head ! full softly to the balmy breeze rang out the Vesper bell — — Upon the Canon's startled ear it sounded like a knell 1 " ' Now here's to thee, mine Uncle ! a health I drink to thee I Now pledge me back in Sherris sack, or a cup of Malvoisie !'— ■ NELL COOK. 117 The Canon sigh'd — but, rousing, cried, ' I answer to thy call. And a Warden-pie 's a dainty dish to mortify withai 1' "'Tis early da-wn — the matin chime rings out for morning pray'r — And Prior and Friar is in his stall — the Canon is not there I Nor in the small Refect'ry hall, nor cloiater'd walk is he — All wonder — and the Sacristan says, 'Lauk-a-daisy-me!' "They've search'd the aisles and Baptistry — they've search'd above — around — The 'Sermon House' — the 'Audit Room' — the Canon is not found. They only find that pretty Cook concocting a ragout. They ask her where her master is — but Nelly looks askew. "They call for crow-bars — 'Jemmies' is the modem name they bear — They Ijurst through lock, and bolt, and bar — but what a sig?i'. is there ! — The Canon's head lies on the bed — his Niece lies on the floor i — They are as dead as any nail that is in any door! " The livid spot is on his breast, the spot is on his back ! His portly form, no longer warm with life, is swoln and black ! — The livid spot is on her cheek, — it's on her neck of snow, And the prior sighs, and sadly cries, 'Well — here's a pretty Go!' •' All at the silent hour of night a bell is heard to toll, A knell is rung, a requiem 's sung as for a sinful soul. And there's a grave within the Nave; it's dark, and deep, and wide. And they bury there a Lady fair, and a Cauon by her side ! "An Uncle — so 'tis whisper'd now throughout the eacrod fane, — '..18 A LEGEND OF THE "DARK ENTKT." Ajid a Niece — -whose father's far away tipon the Si)ani8l ■ Mains— The Sacristan, he says no word that indicates a doubt, But he puts his thumb unto his nose, and he spreads his fingers out! " And where doth tarry Nelly Cook, that staid and comely lass ' Ay, where? — for ne'er from forth that door was Nelly ksowo to pass. Her coif and gown of russet brown were lost unto the view, And if you mention'd Nelly's name, the Monks all look'd askewl " There is a heavy paving-stone fast by the Canon's Joor, Of granite grey, and it may weigh some half a ton or more, jVnd it is laid deep in the shade within that Entry dark. Where sun or moon-beam never play'd, or e'en one starry spark. " That heavy granite stone was moved that night, 'twas darkly said, And the mortar round its sides next morn seem'd fresh anC newly laid ; But what within the narrow vault beneath that stone doth lie. Or if that there be vault, or no — I cannot tell — not I! " But I've been told that moan and groan, and fearful wail and shriek Came from beneath that paving-stone for nearly half a week For three long days and three long nights came forth those sounds of fear ; Then all was o'er — they never more fell on the listening ear. ****** A. hundred years were gone and past since last Nell Cook was seen, When worn by use, chat stone got loose, and they went and told the l>ean. — NELJ/ COOK. 110 — Says the Dean, says he, ' My Masons three ! now haste and fix it tight;' And the Masons three peep'd down to see, and they saw a fear- some sight. " Beneath that heavy paving-stone a shocking hole they found — It was not more than twelve feet deep, and barely twelve feet round; — A fleshless, sapless skeleton lay in that horrid well ! But who the deuce 'twas p,ut it there those Masons could not teU. " And near this fleshless skeleton a pitcher small did lie, And a mouldy piece of ' kissing-crust,' as from a Warden-pie ! Atd Doctor Jones declared the bones were female bones and ' Zooks ! I should not be surprised,' said he, ' if these were Nelly Cook's !' "It was in good Dean Bargrave's days, if I remember right, Those fleshless bones beneath the stones these Masons brought to light; And you may weU in the 'Dean's Chapelle' Dean Bargrave's portrait view, ' Who died one night,' says old Tom Wright, ' in sixteen forty- two!' "And so two hundred years have pass'd since that these Masons three, With curious looks, did set Nell Cook's unquiet spirit free : That granite stone had kept her down till then — so some sup- pose, — — Some spread their fingers out, and put their thumb unto their nose. "But one thing's clear — that all the year, on every Friday night. Throughout that Entry dark doth roam Nell Cook's imquiet Sprite : 120 A LEGEND Of THE "DARK ENTRr." On Friday was that Warden-pie all by that Canon trie! ; On I'riday died he, and that tidy Lady by his side ! "And though two hundred years have flown, Nell Cook doth still pursue Her weary walk, and they who cros her path the deed may rue Her fatal breath is fell as death 1 the S-lmoom's blast is not More dire — (a wind in Africa that blows uncommon hot). But all unlike the Simoom's blast, her breath is deadly cold, Deliyering quiyering, shiTering shocks unto both young and old. And whoso in that entry dark doth feel that fatal breath, He ever dies within the year some dire, untimely death ! "No matter who — no matter what condition, age, or sex, But some 'get shot,' and some 'get drown'd,' and some 'get' broken necks ; Some ' get run over' by a coach ; — and one beyond the seas ' Got' scraped to death with oyster-shells among the Caribbees 1 "Those Masons three, who set her free, fell first: — it is averr'd That two were hang'd on Tyburn tree for murd'ring of the third : Charles Story,* too, his friend who slew, had ne'er, if truth they tell. Been gibbeted on Chartam Downs, had they not met with Nell ! "Then send me not, mine Uncle dear, oh! send me not, I pray. Back through that Entry dark to-night, but round some other way! I will not be a truant boy, but good, and mind my book, For Heaven forfeud that ever I foregather with Nell Cook !" * Id or about the year 1780, a worthy of this name cut the throat of a journeyman paper-maker, waa executed on Oaten Hill, and afterwards hung ,n chains near the scene of his crime. It was to this place, as hfeing the extreme boundary of the City's jurisdiction, that the worthy Mayor with so much naivete wished to escort Archbishop M*** on one of his progresses, when he begged to have the honour of " attending his Grace at far as tm yaUows." NELL COOK. 121 Ihe class was cali'd at morning tide, and Master Tom ■wa,a there; He look'd askew, and did eschew both stool, and bench, and chair, He did not talk, he did not walk, the tear was in his eye, — He had not e'en that sad resource, to sit him down and cry. Hence little boys may learn, when they from school go out to dine, They should not deal in rigmarole, but still be back by nine ; For if when they 've their great-coat on, they pause before they part To tell a long and prosy tale, — perchance their own may sma'rti Moral. — A few remarks to learned Clerks in country and in town — Don't keep a pretty serring-maid though clad in russet brown ! — Don't let your Niece sing "Bobbing Joan!" — don't with a merry eye. Hob-nob in Sack and Malvoisie, — and don't eat too much pie! ! And oh ! beware that Entry dark, — especially at night, — And don't go there with Jenny Smith all by the pale moonlight ! So bless the Queen and her Eoyal Weans, — and the Prince whose hand she took, — And bless us all, both great and small, — and keep us from Nell Cook! U 122 NDKSERf KEMINISCENCES. Kind, good hearted, gouty Unole John ! how well 1 remomber all the kindness and affection which my mis- chievous propensities so ill repaid — his bright blue coat and resplendent gilt buttons — his " frosty pow" si bien poudri — his little quill-like pigtail ! — Of all my praise- worthy actions — they were "like angel visits, few and far bc-tween '' — the never-failing and munificent reward- er ; of my naughty deeds — they were multitudinous as the s&nds on the sea-shore — the ever-ready palliator; my intercessor, and sometimes even my defender against punianment, " staying harsh justice in its mid career I " — Po'^r Unole John ! he will ever rank among the dear- est of my NURSERY REMINICBNCES. I BEiiEMBEB, I remember, When I was a little Boy, One fine morning in September Uncle brought me home a toy. I remember how he patted Both my cheeks in kindliest mood ; "Then," said he, "you little Fat-head, There's a top because you're good!" Grandmamma — a shrewd observer- I remember gazed upon My new top, and said with fervour, "Oh! how kind of Uncle John!" While mamma my form caressing, — In her eye the tear-drop stood. Bead me this fine moral lesson, "See what comes of being good!" • • * * NURSEET REMINISCENCES. I remember, I remember, On a wet and windy day, One cold morning in December, I stole out and went to play; I remember Billy Hawkins Came, and with his pewtei- squirt Squibb'd my pantaloons and stockings Till they were all over dirt ! To my mother for protection I ran, quaking eveiy limb : — She exolaim'd, with fond affection, "Gracious Goodness! look at him!"— Pa cried, when he saw my garment, — 'Twas a, newly-purchased dress — " Oh ! you nasty little Warment, How came you in such a mess?"^ Then he caught me by the collar, — Cruel only to be kind — And to my exceeding dolour. Gave me — several slaps behind. Grandmamma, while yet I smarted. As she saw my evil plight, Said — 'twas rather stony-hearted — "Little rascal! aarve him right!" I remember, I remember. From that sad and solemn day, Never more in dark December Did I venture out to play. And the moral, which they taught, I Well remember; thus they said — " Little Boys, when they are naughty. Must be whipp'd and sent to bed !" V^i 124 A LEGEND OF A SHIRT. Poor Uncle John ! "After life's fitful fever, be sleeps well,'* ■ in the old family vault in Denton chancel — and dea; Aunt Fanny too ! — the latter also " loo'd me weel," as the Scotch song has it, — and since, at this moment, 1 am in a most soft and sentimental humour — ( — whisky toddy should ever be made by pouring the boiling fluid — hotter if possible — upon the thinnest lemon-peel, — and then — but everybody knows " what then — ") I dedicate the following " True History " to my beloved AUNT FANNY. A LEGEND OP A SHIRT. Virginibus, Puerisqae canto, — Hob. Old Maids, and Bachelors I chaunt to I — T. L I SING of a Shirt that never was new ! In the course of the year Eighteen hundred and two Aunt Fanny began, Upon Grandmamma's plan, To make one for me, then her " dear little man."— — At the epoch I speak about, I was between A man and a boy, A hobble-de-hoy, A fat, little, punchy concern of sixteen, — Just beginning to flirt, And ogle, — so pert, ' 1 'd been whipt every day had I had my desert, --And Aunt Fan volunteer'd to make me a shirt I iUNT FANNT. 125 I've said she began it, — Some tmliioky planet No doubt interfered, — for, before slie, and Jauet Completed the "cutting-out," "hemming," and "stitching," A tall Irish footman appear'd in the kitchen ; — — This took off the maid, — And, I 'm sadly afraid, My respected Aunt Fanny's attention, too, stray'd ; For, about the same period, a gay son of Mars, Comet Jones of the Tenth (then the Prince's) Hussars, With his fine dark eyelashes, And finer moustaches. And the ostrich plume work'd on the corps' sabre-taches, (I say nought of the gold-and-red cord of the sashes. Or the boots far above the Guards 'vile spatterdashes,) — So eyed, and so sigh'd, and so lovingly tried To engage her whole ear as he lounged by her side, Looking doTfu on the rest with such dignified pride, \ That she made up her mind She should certainly find Cornet Jones at her feet, whisp'ring, " Fan, be my bride I" — She had even resolved to say "Yes" should he ask it, — And I — and my Shirt — were both left in the basket To her grief and dismay She disoover'd one day Comet Jones of the Tenth was a little too gay ; For, besides that she saw him — he could not say nay — Wink at one of the actresses capering away In a Spanish bolero, one night at the play. She found he 'd already a wife at Cambray ; — One at Paris, — a nymph of the corps de ballet; — And a third down in Kent, at a place oall'd Foot's Cray.— He was ii viler than dirt !" — Fanny vow'd to exert All her powers to forgot him, — and finish my Shirt. 11* 126 A LEGEND OF A SBIRT. But, oh! lack-a-day! How time slips away ! — Who 'd have thought that while Cupid was playing these tricks Ten years had elapsed, and — I 'd turn'i twenty-six! — ' ' I care not a whit, — He's not grown a bit," (jays my Aunt, " it will still be a very good fit," So Janet and She, Now about thirty-three, ' (The maid had been jilted by Mr. Magee,) Each taking one end of " the Shirt" on her knee. Again began working with hearty good will, "Felling the Seams," and "whipping the Frill," — For, twenty years since, though the Ruffle had Tanish'd, X Frill like a fan had by no means been banish'd ; <'eople wore them at playhouses, parties, and churches, Jjike overgrown fins of overgrown perches. — Now, then, by these two thus laying their caps Together, my " Shirt" had been finish'd, perhaps, But for one of those queer little three-corner'd straps, Which the ladies call " Side-bits," that sever the "Flaps;' — Here unlucky Janet Took her needle, and ran it Right into her thumb, and cried loudly, "Ads cuss it! I've spoil'd myself now by that 'ere nasty Gusset!" For a month to come Poor dear Janet's thumb Was in that sort of state vulgar people call " Bum." At the end of that time, A youth, -still in his prime, The Doctor's fat Errand-boy, — just such a dolt as is Kept to mix draughts, and spread plaisters and ponltilceE, Who a bread-cataplasm each morning had carried her, Sigh'd, — ogled, — ^proposed, — was accepted, — and married her ' AUNT FANNY. 127 Much did Aunt Fan Disapprove of the plan; She tum'd up her dear little snub at "the Man." She "could not believe it" — I "Could scarcely conceive it Was possible — What ! such a place ! — and then leave it • And all for a ' Shrimp' not as high as my hat — A little contemptible ' ShSver' like that ! ! With a broad pancake face, and eyes buried in fat !" ' — For her part, "She was sure She could never endure A lad with a lisp, and a leg like a skewer. — Such a name too ; — ('twas Potts !) — and so nasty a trade! No, no, — she would much rather die an old maid! — He a husband, indeed! — Well — mine, come what may come, Shan't look like a blister, or smell of Guaiacum!" But there! She'd "declare. It was Janet's affair — — Chacun d son goUt, As she baked she might brew — She could not prevent her — 'twas no use in trying it — Oh, no — she had made her own bed, and might lie in it They 'repent at leisure who marry at random.' No matter — De guatibus non dispuiandum !" Consohng herself with this choice bit of Latin, A.unt Fanny resignedly bought some white satin, And, as the Soubrette Was 11 very great pet After all, — she resolved to forgive and forget. And sat down to make her a bridal rosette. With magnificent bits of some white-looking metal Stuck in, here and there, each forming a petal. — — On such an occasion one couldn't feel hurt, Of course, that she ceased to remember — my Shirt i 12S A LEGEND 07 A SEIKT. Ten years, — or nigh, Had again gone by, When, Fan, accidentally casting her eye On a dirty old work-basket, hung up on high In the store-closet where herbs were put by to dry, Took it down to explore it — she didn't know why. — Within, a pea-soup colour'd fragment jhe spied. Of the hue of a November fog in Cheapside, Or a bad piece of gingerbread spoilt in the baking. — I still hear her cry, — " I wish I may die If here is n't Tom's Shirt, that 's been so long a-maklng I — My gracious me ! Well, — only to see ! I declare it 's as yellow as yellow can be ! Why it looks just as though't had been soak'd in green tea ! Dear me, did you ever? — But come — 'twill be clever To bring matters round ; so I '11 do my endeavour . 'Better Late,' says an excellent proverb, 'than Never!' — It is stain'd, to be sure ; but ' grass-bleaching ' will bring it To rights ' in a jiffy.' — We '11 wash it, and wi-ing^it ; Or, stay — ' Hudson's Liquor' Will do it still quicker. And " Here the new maid chimed in, "Ma'am, Salt cil Lemon Will make it, in no time, quite fit for the Gemman !" — So they " set in the gathers," — the large round the collar. While those at the wrist-bands of course were much smaller, ■ — The button-holes now were at length " overcast;" Then a button itself was sewn on — 'twas the lastl AU's done! All's won: Never under the sun Was Shirt so late flnish'd — so early begun ' — AUNT FANNY. 123 — The work would defy The most critical eye. It was "bleach'd," — it was wash'd, — it was hung out to dry,— Et was mark'd on the tail with a T, and an I ! On the back of a chair it Was placed, — -just to air it, In front of the fire. — " Tom to-morrow shall wear it !' — cceca mens homifum! — Fanny, good soul. Left her charge for one moment — but one — a yile coal Bounced out from the grate, and set fire to the whole ! Had it been Doctor Amott's new stove — not a grate :- Had the coal been a "Lord Mayor's coal," — viz- slate ; — What a different tale had I had to relate ! And Aunt Fan — and my Shirt — been superior to Fate! — One moment — no more ! — — Fan open'd the door! The draught made the blaze ten times worse than before ; And Aunt Fanny sank down — in despair — on the floor! You may fancy perhaps Agrippina's amazement, When, looking one fine moonlight night from her casement, She saw, while thus gazing, All Kome a-blazing, And, losing at once all restraint on her temper, or Feelings, exclaim' d, "Hang that Scamp of an Emperor, Although he 's my son ! — r — thinks it prime fun, No doubt ! — While the flames are demolishing Rome, There's my Nero a-fiddling, and singing ' Sweet Home !' " — Stay — I 'm really not sure 't was that lady who said The words I've put down, as she stepp'd into bed, — On reflection, I rather believe she was dead ; But e'en when at College, I Fairly acknowledge, I 130 A LEGEND OF A SHIRT. Never was very precise in Chronology ; So, if there 's an error, pray set down as mine a Mistake of no very great moment — in fine, a Mere slip — 'twas some Pleb's wife, if not Agrippita You may fancy that warrior, so stern and so stony. Whom thirty years since we all used to call Boket, ", When, engaged in what he styled "fulfilling his destinies," He led his rapscallions across the Borysthenes, And had made up his mind Snug quarters to find In Moscow, against the catarrhs and the coughs Which are apt to prevail 'mongst the "Owskis" and "Offs." At ii, time of the year When your nose and your ear Are by no means so safe there as people's are here. Inasmuch as "Jack Frost," that most fearful of Bogles, Makes folks leave their cartilage oft in their "fogies." You may fancy, I say, That same Bonet's dismay, When Count Eostopchin At once made him drop chin, And turn up his eyes, as his rappee he took, With a sort of mort-de-ma-vie kind of look, On perceiving that "Swing," And " all that sort of thing," * Was at work, — ^that he 'd just lost the game without knowing it— That the Kremlin was Mazing — the Russians a "a-going it,"~ Every plug, in the place frozen hard as the ground. And the deuce of a Turn-oock at all to be found ! You may fancy King Charles at some Court Fancy-BaU, (The date we may fix In Sixteen sixty-six,) In the room built by Inigo Jones at Whitehall, Whence his father, the Martyr, — (as such mourn'd by all Who, in hit, wept the Liw's and the Monarchy's fall,) — NETLET ABBET. 131 15t«i out to exchange regal robes for a pall — You way fancy King Charles, I say, stopping the brawl,* As bursts on his sight the old church of St. Paul, By the light of its flames, now beginning to crawl From basement to buttress, and topping its wall — — You may fancy old Clarendon making a call, And stating in cold, slow, monotonous drawl, " Sire, from Pudding Lane's End, close by Fishmongers' Hall •To Pye Corner, in Smithfleld, there is not a stall There, in market, or street, — not a house, great or small, In which Knight wields his faulohion, or Cobbler his awl. But 's on fire ! !" — ^You may fancy the general squall. And bawl as they all call for whimple and shawl ! — - — You may fancy all this — but I boldly assert You canH fancy Aunt Fan — as she look'd on MY SHIRT ! ! ' Was 't Apelles ? 3flZeuxix ? — I think 'twas Apelles, That artist of old — I declare I can't tell his Exact patronymic — I write and pronounce ill These Classical names — whom some Grecian Town-Council Employ'd, — I belioTe, by command of the Oracle, — To produce them a splendid piece, purely historical, For adorning the wall Of some fane, or Guildhall, And who for his subject determined to try a Large painting in oils of Miss Iphigenia At the moment her Sire, By especial desire Of " that Spalpeen, O'Dysseus " (see Barney Maguire), Has resolved to devote Her beautiful throat To old Chalcas's knife, and her limbs to the fire ; —An act which we moderns by no means admire,- * Not a " row," but a dance — " The brave Lord Keeper led the brawls, The seals and maces danced before him." — Gray —And truly Sir Christopher danced to some tune. 132 A LEGEND Or A. SniRT. An off ring, 'tis true, to Jove, Mars, or Apollo cost No trifling sum in those days, if a holocaust,— Still, although for economy we should condemn none, In an ava( apipan, like the great Agamemnon, To give up to slaughter An elegant daughter. After all the French, Music, and Dancing they 'd taught her. And Singing. — at Heaven knows how much a quarter, — In lieu of a Calf !— It was too bad by half! At a "nigger"* so pitiful who would not laugh, And turn up their noses at one who could find No decenter method of " Raising the Wind ?" No doubt but he might. Without any great Flight, Have obtain'd it by what we call "flying a kite," Or on mortgage — or sure, if he couldn't so do it, he Must have succeeded "by way of annuity." But there — it appears. His crocodile tears. His " Oh ! s" and his "Ah ! s" his " Oh Law ! s" and " Oh dearl s" Were all thought sincere, — so in painting his Victim The Artist was splendid — but could not depict Him, His features. and phiz awry Show'd so much misery, And so like a dragon he Look'd in his agony. That the foil'd Painter buried — despairing to gain a Good likeness — his face in a printed Bandana. — Such a veil is best thrown o'er one's face when one's hurl By some grief which no power can repair or avert! — — Such a veil I shall throw o'er Aunt Fan — and My Shirt I • Hibernice '• Digger," quasi " niggaitl." Tidf B, Maguin jMUffUb AUNT FANNY. MOBAI. 138 And now for some practical hints from the story Of Aunt Fan's mishap, which I've thus laid before ye; For, if rather too gay, I can venture to say, A fine vein of morality is, in each lay. Of my primitive Muse, the distinguishing trail! — First of all — Don't put off till to-morrow what may, Without inconvenience, be managed to-day ! That golden occasion we call " Opportunity" Barely 's neglected by man with impunity ! And the "Future," how brightly soe'er by Hope's dupe coloui'd, Ne'er may afford You a lost chance restored, Tin both you, and YOUR SHIRT, are grown old and pea-soup- colour'd ! I would also desire You to guard your attire. Young Ladies, — and never go too near the fire !— — Depend on 't there 's many a dear little Soul Has found that a Spark is as bad as a coal, — And " in her best petticoat burnt a great hole !" Last of all, gentle Reader, don't be too secure ! — Let seeming success never make you "cock-sure!" But beware! — and take care. When all things look fair. How you hang your Shirt over the back of your chair! — — "There's many a slip 'Twixt the cup and the lip!" Be this excellent proverb, then, well understood. And Don't halloo before you're quite odt cf the wood>I{ 12 134 A LEGEND OP JARVls's JETTV. It is to my excellent and erudite friend, Simpkinson, that I am indebted for his graphic description of the well-known chalk-pit, between Aool and Minster in the Isle of Thanet, known by the name of the " Smuggler's Leap." The substance of the true history attached to it he picked up while visiting that admirable institution, the " Sea-bathing Infirmary," of which he is a " Life > Governor," and enjoying his otium cum dignitate -last summer at the least aristocratic of all possible watering- places. Before I proceed to detail it however, I cannnot, in conscience, fail to bespeak for him the reader's sympathy in one of his own MISADVENTURES AT MARGATE A LEGEND OF JARVIS'S JETTY. MB. siMPKiNSOH [loquilur). I WAS in Margate last July, I walk'd upon the pier, I saw a little vulgar Boy — I said "What make you here? — The gloom upon your youthful cheek speaks anything but joy ;" Again I said, " What make you here, you little vulgar Boy ?" He frown'd, that little vulgar Boy, — he deem'd I meant to scoff— And viiien the httle heart is big, a little " sets it off;" He put his finger in his mouth, his little bosom rose, — He had no little handkerchief to wipe his little nose I " Hark !" don't you hear, my little man ? — it 's striking Nine," I said, " An hour when all good little boys and girls should be in bed. BISADrENTUEES AT MARGATE. 135 Rxm home and get your supper, else your Ma' Trill scold — Oh 1 fiel — It's very wrong indeed for little boys to stand and cry!" The tear-drop in his little eye again began to spring, His bosom throbb'd with agony, — he cried hke any thing! I stoop'd, and thus amidst his sobs I heard him murmur — "Ah ' I haven't got no supper ! and I haven't got no Ma" ! ! — "My father, he is on the seas, — my mother's dead and gone i And I am here, on this here pier, to roam the world alone ; I have not had, this Kve-long day, one drop to cheer my heart, Nor ' brown' to buy a bit of bread with, — let alone a tart. "If there's a soul will give me food, or find me in employ, By day or night, then blow me tight !" (he was a vulgar Boy ;) " And now I 'm here, from this here pier it is my fix'd intent To jump, as Mister Levi did from off the Monu-ment !" "Cheer up! cheer up! my little man — cheer up!" I kindly said, " You are a naughty boy to take such things into your head : If you should jump from off the pier, you 'd surely break your legs. Perhaps your neck — then Bogey 'd have yon, sure as eggs are " Come home with me, my little man, come home with me and sup;, My landlady is Mrs. Jones — we must not keep her up — There 's roast potatoes at the fire, — enough for me and you — Come home, you httle vulgar Boy — I lodge at Number 2." I took him home to Number 2, the house beside " The Foy," I bad him wipe his dirty shoes, — that little vulgar Boy,— ■ And then I said to Mistress Jones, the kindest of her sex, " Pray be so good as go and fetch a pint of double X 1" 136 A LEGEND OF JARTIs's JETTT. Bat Mrs. Jones was rather cross, she made a little noise, She said she " did not like to wait on little vulgar Boys." She with her apron wiped the plates, anil, as she rubb'il the delf. Said I might " go to Jericho, and fetch my beer myself!" I did not go to Jericho — I went to Mr. Cobb — * I changed a shilling — (which in town the people call a Bob)"— i It was not so much for myself as for that vulgar child — ~ And I said, "A pint of double X, and please to draw it mild!" When I came back I gazed about — I gazed on stool and chair-^ I could not see my little friend — because he was not there! I peep'd beneath the table-cloth — beneath the sofa too — I said " You little vulgar Boy ! why what 's become of you V I could not see my table-spoons — I look'd, but could not see The little fiddle-pattern'd ones I use when I 'm at tea ; — I could not see my sugar-tongs — my silver watch — oh, dear! I know 'twas on the mantel-piece when 1 went out for beer. I could not see my Macintosh — it was not to be seen! — .Nor yet my best white beaver hat, broad-brimm'd and lined with green; My carpet-bag — my cruet-stai-d, that holds my sauce and soy,^ My roast potatoes! — all are gone! — and so's that vulgar Boy! I rang the bell for Mrs. Jones, for she was down below, " — Oh, Mrs. Jones ! what do you think ? — ain't this a pretty go? — — That horrid little vulgar Boy whom I brought here to-night, — He's stolen my things and run away!!" — Says she, "And sarve you right ! !" * Qoi PACIT PER AUUM, FACIT PER SE — Deem DOt, gentle etranger, that Mr, Cobb is a petty dealer and chapman, as Mr. gimpkinson would here Mem ta kmply. lie ia a niafter, not a retailer of stingo, — and mighty prett; uppU he maJcis. BISADTENTURISS AT MARGATE. ISI Next morning I was up betimes — I sent the Criei round, All trith his bell and gold-laced hat, to say I 'd give a pound To find that littlfc vulgar Boy, who 'd gone and used me so ; ' But when the Crier cried, "0 Yes !" the people cried, " No I" I went to " Jarvis' Landing-place," the glory of the town. There was a common sailor-man a-walking up and down, I told my tale — he seem'd to think I'd not been treated well. And call'd me "Poor old Bufi'er!" — what that means I cannot teU. That Sailor-man, he said he'd seen that morning on the shore, A son of — something — 'twas a name I'd never heard before, A httle " gallows-looking chap" — dear me ; what could he mean! With a "carpet-swab" and "muoking-togS," and a hat tum'd up with green. He spoke about his "precious eyes," and said he'd seen him " sheer," — It's very odd that Sailor-men should talk so very queer — And then he hitch'd his trousers up, as is, I'm told, their use, ■ — It's very odd that SaUor-men should wear those things so loose. I did not understand him well, but think he meant to say He 'd seen that httle vulgar Boy, that morning, swim away In Captain Large's Royal George, about an hour before. And they were now, as he suppos'd, "somewAeres' about the Nore. A landsman said, "I twig the chap — he's been upon the Mill— And 'cause he gammons so ihe flats, ve calls him Veeping BUI!" He said "he'd done me worry brown," and nicely "slow'd the swag," — That's French, I fancy, for a hat — or else a carpet-bag. I went and told the constable my property to track; He asked me if " I did not wish that I might get it baokt" 12* 138 A LEGEND OF JARVIS'S JETTV. I answer'd, " To be sure I do ! — it's wiat- I'm come about." He smil'd and said, " Sir, does your mother know that you arc ' out?" Not knowing what to do, I thought I 'd hasten back to town. And beg our own Lord Mayor to catch the boy who'd "done me brown.'' His Lordship very kindly said he 'd try and find him out, But he "rather thought that there were several Tulgar boys about." He sent for Mr. Whithair then, and I described "the swag," My Macintosh, my sugar-tongs, my spoons, and carpet-bag ; He promis'd that the New Police should all their pow'rs employ; But never to this hour have I beheld that vulgar Boy 1 MOBAI. Ecmember, then, what when a boy I 've heard my Grandma' tell "Be wabn'd in time by othebs' harm, and you shail d« pull well !" Don't link yourself with vulgar folks, who 've got no fix'd abode Tell lies, use naughty words, and say they "wish they may b» blow'd!" Don't take too much of double X ! — and don't at night go out To fetch your beer yourself, but make the pot-boy bring yom stout ! And when you go to Margate next, just stop, and ring the bell. Give my respects to Mrs. Jones, and say I 'm pretty well I THE SMCGGLEE'S LEAP. 139 And now for his Legend, which, if the facts took place rather beyond " the memory of the oldest inhabi- tant," are yet well known to have occurred in the neigh- bourhood " once on a time;" and the scene of them will be readily pointed out by any one t)f the fifty intelligent fly-drivers who ply upon the pier, and who will convey you safely to the spot for a guerdon which they term "three bob." THE SMUGGLER'S LEAP. A LEGEND OP THANET. '* Near this hamlet (Acol) is a long-disused chalk-pit of formidable depth known by the name of " The Smuggler's leap." The tradition of thi. paris) runs, that a riding-ofiScer from Sandwich, called Anthony Gill, lost his lil* here in the early part of the present (last) century, while in pursuit of t smuggler. A fog coming on, both parties went over the precipice. The smuggler's horse onb/, it is said, was found crushed beneath its rider. The spot has, of course, been haunted ever since." — See "Supplement to Lewis't JTistory of Tlianet by the Bev. Samuel Peggt, A. M. Vicar of Gomershara^ W. Bristow, .Canterbury, 1796,^. 127. The fire-flash slijnes from Reoulver cliff, And the answering light hums hlue in the skiff, And there they stand That smuggling band, Some in the water, and some on the sand, Eeady those contrahand goods to land ; The night is dark, they are silent and still, — At the head of the party is Smuggler Bill ! " Now lower away t come, lower away ! We must he far ere the dawn of the day. If Exciseman Gill should get scent of the prey, And should come, and should catch us here, what would lie say J 140 A LEGEND OP THANiT. Come, lower away, lads — once on the hill, We'll laugh, ho! ho! at Exciseman GiU!" The cargo 's lower'd from the dark skiff's side, And the tow-line drags the tubs through the tide^ No trick nor flam, But your real Schiedam. "Now mount, my merry men, mount and ride!" Three on the crupper and one before, And the led-borse laden with five tubs more ; But the rich point-lace, In the oil-skin case Of proof to guard its contents from ill, The "prime of the swag," is with Smuggler Bill J Merrily now in a goodly row, Away, and away, those smugglers go, And they laugh at Exciseman GiE, ho 1 ho I When out from the turn Of the road to Heme, Comes GiU, wide awake to the whole concern 1 Exciseman GiU, in all his pride. With his Custom-house officers aU at his side I — They were caU'd Custom-house ofBcers then; There were no such things as " Preventive men " Sauve qui pent ! That lawless crew, Away, and away, and away they flew ! S ime dropping, one tub, some dropping two ; — Some gallop this way, and some gallop that, Through Forclwich Level — o'er Sandwich Flat, Some fly that way, and some fly this. Like a covey of birds when the sportsmen miss, These in their hurry Make for Sturry, THE smuggler's LEAF. 141 With Costom-house ofSoers close in their rear, Down Rushboume Lane, and so by Westbcro, None of them stopping, Bat shooting and popping. And many a Castom-house bullet goes slap Through many a three-gallon tub like a tap ; And the gin spirts out, And squirts all about, And many a heart grew sad that day That so much good liquor was so thrown avray. Sauve qui peat ! That lawless crew, Away, and away, and away they flew ! Some seek Whitstable— some Grove Ferry, Spurring and whipping like madmen — very — For the life ! for the life ! they ride ! they ride! And the Custom-house officers aU divide, And they gaUop on after them far and wide I All, all, save one — Exciseman Gill, — He sticks to the skirts of Smuggler BUI I Smuggler BiU is six feet high. He has curling locks, and a roving eye. He has a tongue, and he has a smile Train'd the female heart to beguile. And there is not a farmer's wife in the Isle, From St. Nicholas auite To the Foreland Light, But that eye, and that tongue, and that smile wiU wheedio her To have done with the Grocer, and make him her Tea-dealer; There is not a farmer there but he stiU Buys gin and tobacco from Smuggler Bill. Smuggler Bill rides gallant and gay On his dapple-grey mare, away, and away. And he pats her neck, and he seems to say, ' Follow who win, ride after who may. 142 A LEQEND OF THANET. In sooth he had need Fodder his steed, In li«u of Lent-oorn, with a Qaieksilver feed ; ■ — Nor oats, nor beans, nor the best of old hay, Win make him a match for my own dapple-grey ! Ho! ho! — ho! ho!" says Smuggler Bill — He draws out a flask, and he sips his fill, And he laughs " Ho ! ho !" at Exciseman GilL Down Chistlett lane, so free and so fleet Rides Smuggler Bill, and away to Up-street ; Sarre Bridge is won — Bill thinks it fun; " Ho ! ho ! the old tub-gauging sou of a gun — His wind will be thick, and his breeks be thin, Ere a race like this he may hope to win !" Away, away Goes the fleet dapple-grey, Kresh as the breeze, and free as the wind. And Exciseman Gill lags far behind. " I would give my soul," quoth Exciseman Gill, " For a nag that would catch that Smuggler Bill! — No matter for blood, no matter for bone. No matter for colour, bay, brown, or roan. So I had but one!" A voice cried " Done !" "Ay, dun," said Exciseman GiU, and he spied A Custom-house officer close by his side. On a high-trotting horse with a duu-colour'd hide.— " Devil lake me," again quoth Exciseman Gill, " If I had but that horse, I 'd have Smuggler Bill 1" From his using such shocking expressions, it's plain That Exciseman Gill was rather profane. He was, it is true, As bad as a Jew, THE smuggler's LEAP. 143 A sad old scoundrel as ever you knew, And he rode in his stirrups sixteen stone two. — He 'd just utter'd the words which I 've mentiou'd to you. When his horse coming slap on his knees with him, throw Him head over heels, and away he flew. And Exciseman Gill was bruised black and bltie. When he arose, His hands and his clothes, Were as filthy as could be, — he 'd pitch'd on his nose, And roU 'd over and over again in the mud. And his nose and his chin were all cover'd with blood ; Yet he scream'd with passion, "I'd rather grill Than not oome up with that Smuggler Bill !" — "'Mount! Mount!" quoth the Custom-house officer, "get On the back of my Dun, you 'U bother him yet. Your words are plain, though they're somewhat rough, ' Done and Done ' between gentlemen 's always enough ! — I '11 lend you a lift — you 're up on him — so, — He 's a rum one to look at — a devil to go I" Exciseman Gill Dash'd up the hill. And mark'd not, so eager was he in pursuit. The queer Custom-house officer's queer-looking boot. Smuggler Bill rides on amain. He slacks not girth — and he draws not rein. Yet the dapple-grey mare bounds on in vain, For nearer now — and he hears it plain — Sounds the tramp of a horse — "'Tis the Ganger again 1" Smuggler BiU Dashes round by the miU That stands near the road npon Monkton Hill, — " Now speed, — now speed, My dapple-grey steed. Thou ever, my dapple, wert good at need! 144 A LEGENB OP THANET. O'er Monktou mead, and through Minster Level We '11 baffle him yet, be he ganger or devil ! For Manston Cave, away ! away ! Now speed thee, now speed thee, my good dapple- grey! It shall never be said that Smuggler Bill Was run down like a hare by exciseman GUI !" Manston Cave was Bill's abode ; A mile to the north of the Ramsgate road, (Of late they say It's been taken away. That is, levell'd, and fiU'd up with chalk and clay, By a gentleman there of the name of Day.) Thither he urges his good dapple-grey ; And the dapple-grey steed. Still good at need. Though her chest it pants, and her flanks they bleed, Dashes along at the top of her speed ; But nearer and nearer Exciseman Gill Cries " Held thee ! now yield thee, thou Smuggler Bill!" Smuggler Bill, he looks behind. And he sees a Dun horse come swift as the wind. And his nosti-ils smoke, and his eyes they blaze Like a couple of lamps on a yellow post-chaise I Every shoe he has got Appears red-hot! And sparks round his ears snap, crackle, and play, And his tail cocks up in a very odd way. Every hair in his mane seems a porcupine's quill, And there on his back sits Exciseman Gill, Crying "Yield thee! now yield thee, thou Smuggler Bill I" Smuggler Bill from his holster drew A large horse-pistol, of which he had two, THE SMnOGLEE's LZAP. 145 Made by Nook ; He puU'd back the cock 4s far as he could to the back of the lock ; The trigger ha touoh'd, and the welkin rang To the sound of the weapon, it made such a bang ; Smuggler Bill ne'er misa'd his aim, The shot told true on the Dun — but there came From tho hole where it enter'd, — not blood, — but flame 1 — He cnanged his plan, And fired at the man; But his second horse-pistol flash'd in the pan I And Exciseman Gill with a hearty good will. Made a grab at the collar of Smuggler BiU. The dapple-grey mare made a desperate bound When that queer Dun horse on her flank she found. Alack ! and alas ! on what dangerous ground ! It 'a enough to make one's flesh to creep To stand on that fearful verge, and peep Down the rugged sides so dreadfully steep, ■Where the chalk-hole yawns full sixty-feet deep. O'er which that steed took that desperate leap ! It was so dark then under the trees. No horse in the world could tell chalk from cheese- Down they went — o'er that terrible fall, — Horses, Exciseman, Smuggler, and all ! ! Below were found Next day on the ground By an elderly Gentleman walking his round, (I wouldn't have seen such a sight for a pound.) All smash'd and dash'd, three mangled corses, Two of them humaii, — the third was a horse's,— That good dapple-grey, and Exciseman Gill Yet grasping the collar of Smuggler Bill I 13 146 A LEGEND OF THANBT. But where was the Dun ? that terrible Dun ? — From that terrible night he was seen by none ! — There are, some people think, though I am not one, That part of the story all nonsense and fun, But the oountry-folks there, One and all declare, When the " Crowner's 'Quest" came to sit on the pair. They hear a loud Horse-laugh up in the air 1 — — If in one of the trips Of the steam-boat Eclipse You should go down to Margate to look at the ships, Or to take what the bathing-room people call " Dips," You may hear old folks talk Of that quarry of chalk ; Or go OTer — it's rather too far for. a walk. But a three shilling drive will give you a peep At that fearful chalk-pit — • so awfully deep. Which is call'd to this moment "The Smuggler's Leap!" Nay more, I am told, on a moonshiny night, If you 're "plucky," and not over-sulyect to fright And go and look over that chalk-pit white, You may see, if you wiU, The Ghost of old Gill Grappling the Ghost of Smuggler Bill, And the Ghost of the dapple-grey lying between 'em.— I'm told so — I can't say I know one who's seen 'em! MOBAL. And now, gentle Reader, one word ere we part, Just take a friend's counsel, and lay it to heart. Imprimis, don't smuggle ! — if, bent to please Beauty, You must buy French lace, — purchase what has paid duty J Don't use naughty words, in the next place, — and ne'er in Your language adopt a bad habit of swearing! BLOUBIE JACKB OP SHREWSBEREIB. 147 Never say " Devil taie me !" — Or, "shake me!" — or "bake me" Or Buoli-like expressions. — Remember Old Nick To take folks at their word is remarkably quick. Another sound maxim I 'd wish you to keep, Is, " Mind what you are after, and — Look ere you Leap !" Above all, to my last gravest caution attend — NeVEK EOE.ROW A HORSE TOU DOh't KNOW OP A FRIEND I I I For the story which succeeds I am indebted to Mrs. Botherby. She is a Shropshire Lady by birth, and I overheard her, a few weeks since, in the nursery chaunt- ing the following, one of the Legends peculiar to her native County, for the amusement and information of Seaforth's little boy, who was indeed "all ears." As Ralph de Diceto, who alludes to the main facts, was Dean of St. Paul's in 1183, about the time that the Temple Church was consecrated, the history is evidently as ancient as it is authentic, though the author of the present paraphrase has introduced many unauthorised, as well as " anachronismatical interpolations." — For the interesting note on the ancient family of Ketch, I need Bcarcely say, I am obliged to the Simpkinson. a$loul(fe 3utfit: of Sftr^tosfierrf?, A LEGEND OF "THE PROUD SALOPIANS." THE SHROPSHIRE BLUEBEARD. Hisce ferS temporibus, in agro Salopiensi, Quidam, cui nomen JohanneB, 2.e ^dcnslaunt deinde nuncupatua, uxores quamplurimas ducit, eDecat ■ et (ita referunt) manducat ; osaa Boldm cani mirse magnifcudinis relinquens. rum demilni in flagrante delicto, Tel *' manu rubra," ut dicunt Jurifconsultl, do^rensua, carniflce vix opprimitur. — Eabulphds de Diceto. Oh ! why doth thine eye gleam so hright, Oh ! why doth thine eye gleam so bright ? — The Mother 's at home, The Maid may not roam, She never will meet thee to-night ! By the light Of the moon — It 's impossible — quite ! Yet thine eye is still brilhant and bright, asiouSte Sacftel It gleams with a fiendish delight — '"Tis done — She is won! Nothing under the snn Can loose the charm'd ring, though it 's slight f Ho! ho! It fits so remarkably tight!" — The wire is as thin as a thread, JSlDuUte Saclte! The wire is as thin as a thread ! — (148) BLOUDIE JACKE OF SHREWSBERIUB. 149 "Though slight he the chain, Again might and main Cannot rend it in twain — She is wed! She is wed I She, is mine, be she living or dead ! . Haw 1 haw 1 1 - Nay, laugh not, I pray thee, so loud, aSIouMe 3JacfteI Oh ! laugh not so loud and so clear ! Though sweet is thy smile The heart to begmle, Xet thy laugh is quite shocking to hear, dear! It makes the blood curdle with fear ! The Maiden is gone by the glen, JSloutife Sacftel She is gone by the glen and the wood — It 's a very odd thing She should wear such a ring. While her tresses are bound with a snood. By the roodl It's a thing that's not well understood ! The Maiden is stately and tall, SSlouBfe STacftel And stately she walks in her pride ; But the Young Mary-Anne Buns as fast as she can, To o'ertake her, and walk by her side : Though she chide — She deems not her sister a bride ! But the Maiden is gone by the glen, 33IouDfe %clt3l 13» 150 A LERENS OF SHROPSHISE. Mary-Anne she is gone by the lea ; She o'ertakcs not her sister. It's clear she has miss'd her, And cannot think where she can be! Dear mei " Ho ! ho ! — Wo shall see ! we shall see 1" Mary-Anne is gone over the lea, aSlouMe Jacfte! Mary-Anne she is come to the Tower ; But it makes her heart quail. For it looks like a jail, A deal more than a fair Lady's bower. So sour Its ugly grey walls seem to lour, For the Barbican's massy and high, aSUutife Jac&el And the oak-door is heavy and brown, And with iron it's plated And machecoUated, To pour boiling oil and lead down; How you'd ftown Should a ladle-fuU fall on your crown ! The rock that it stands on is steep, 33IouTiie Sac&el To gain it one 's forced for to creep ; The Portcullis is strong, And the Drawbridge is long, And the water runs all round the Keep ; At a peep Tou can see that the Moat's very deep ! The drawbridge is long, but it's down, movCQd Sfacftcl And the Portcullis hangs in the air ; BLOUDIE JACKE OF SHREIfSBERRIE. ISl And no Warder is near With his horn and his spear, To give notice when people come there. — I declara Mary-Anne has run into the Square ! The oak-door is heavy and brown, asiouafe Sacftel But the oak-door is standing ajar, And no one is there To say, "Pray take a chair, Tou seem tired, Miss, with running so far — So you are — With grown people you 're scarce on a par !" But the young Mary-Anne is not tired, aSlottJtc Sacftel She roams o'er your Tower by herself; She runs through, very soon. Each boudoir and saloon. And examines each closet and shelf, Toui pelf, All your plate, and your china — and delf. She looks at your Arras so fine, So rich, all description it mocks ; And she now and then pauses To gaze at your vases. Your pictures, and or-molu clocks ; Every boz. Every cupboard, and drawer she unlocks. She looks at the paintings so rare, That adorn every wall in your house ; Your impayahle pieces. Your Paul Veroncaes, 152 A LEGEND OP SHROPSHIBE. your Eembrandts, your Guicfos, and Dows, Morland's Cows, Claude's Landscapes, — and Landseer's Bow-wows. She looks at your Statues so fine, JSlouHfe Slacfte! And mighty great notice she takes Of your Niobe crying, Your Mirmillo dying. Your Hercules strangling the snakes, — How he shakes The nasty great things as he wakes ! Your Laocoon, his serpents and hoys, asioutife Sac%el She views with some little dismay ; A copy of that I can See in the Vatican, Unless the Pope 's sent it away, As they say. In the 'Globe, he intended last May.* There 's your Belvidere Phoebus, with which, JSlouttte Sac6cl Mr. Milman says none other Ties. (His lines on Apollo Beat all the rest hollow, And gain'd him the Newdigate prize.) How the eyes Seem watching the shaft as it flies I There 's a room full of satins and silks, SSIouife JacSel There 's a room full of Telrets and lace, "■"The Popo is said — this fact is hardly credible— to have sold tho Laooobn and the Apollo BeWidere to tho Emperor of Russia for nine million of francs '' — Globe and Traveller. BLOnniE JACKE OF SHBKWSBEREIB. l'>? There are drawers full of rings, And a thousand fine things, And a splendid gold watch with a case O'er its face, Is in every room in the place. There are forty fine rooms on a floor, SSIoutife Sac&e I And every room fit for a Ball, It's so gorgeous and rich. With so lofty a pitch. And so long, and so hroad, and so tall ; Yes, all. Save the last one — and that's very small! It boasts not stool, tahle, or chair, MouDCe ^Facltel But one Cabinet, costly and grand. Which has little gold figures Of little gold Niggers, With fishing-rods stuc^ in each hand. — It's japaim'd. And it's placed on a splendid buhl stand. Its hinges and clasps are of gold, 33Iautire SacSel And of gold are its key-hole and key, And the drawers within Have each a gold pin, And they 're number'd with 1, 2, and 3, You may see AH the figures in gold filigree 1 Number 1 's full of emeralJs green, SBIouTire Sacftel Number 2's fuJl of diamond and pearl; But what does she see In drawer Number 3 164 A LEGEND OF SHROPSHIRE. That makes all her senses to whirl, Poor Girlt And each look of Iier hair to uncurl ? — Wedding fingers are sweet pretty things, asiotttife Sacfte' To salute them one eagerly strives, When one kneels to "propose" — It's another quelque chose When cut off at the knuckles with knives. From our wives They are tied up in bunches of fives. Yet there they lie, one, two, three, four ! aSlouSfe Sacfte! There lie they, five, six, seven, eight ! And by them, in rows. Lie eight little Great-Toes, To match in size, colour, and weight ! From their state, It would seem they'd been sever'd of late. Beside them are eight Wedding-rings, asioulire Sacfeet And the gold is as thin as a thread — "Ho! ho! — She is mine — This will make up the Nine!" — Dear me! who those shocking words said? — — She fled To hide herself under the bed. But, alas ! there 's no bed in the room asiottire Sacft* And she peeps from the window on high ; Only fancy her fright And tlio terrible sight BLOCBIE JACKE OF SHBWSBERRIE. 155 Down beloTT, ■which at once meets her eye I "Oh My!!" She half utter'd, — but stifled her cry. For she saw it was You and your Man, JSloulife Jacftel And she heard your unpleasant " Haw 1 haw I" While her sister, stone dead, By the hair of her head, O'er the bridge you were trying to draw, As she saw — A thing quite contra-ry to law! Tour man has got hold of her heels, asiouSfe Sacftel JSloullfe Sacfte ! you 'ye got»hoH of her hair ! — But nor Jiacfte nor his Man Can see young Mary-Anne, She has hid herself under the stair, And there Is a horrid great Dog, I declare I His eyeballs are bloodshot and blear, aSlouMe SacSel He's a sad ugly cur for a pet ; He seems of the breed Of that " Billy," indeed, Who used to Mil rats for a bet ; — I forget How many one morning he ate. He has skulls, ribs, and Tertebrse there, asioutife SatSel AuiJ thigh-bones ; — and, though it 's so dim Yet it's plain to be seen He has pick'd them quite clean, — 156 A LEGEND OF SHROPSHIRE. She expects to be torn Emb from limb. Bo grim He looks at her — and she looks at him ! She bias given him a bun and a roll, MouDfe Sacftet She has given him a roll and a bun, And a Shrewsbury cake, Of JPaflfn's * o-wn make, Which she happeu'd to-take ere her mn She begun — She 'd been used to a luncheon at One. It's a " pretty particular Fix," SSIouTrfe Jacftei — Above, — ^there 's the Maiden that 's dead ; Below — growling at her — There 's that Cannibal Cur, Who at present is munching her bread Instead Of her leg, — or her arm, — or hef head. It 'b "a pretty particular Fix," SSIouUte Sac&et She is caught like a mouse in a trap ; Stay ! — there 'a something, I think. That has slipp'd through a chink, And fall'n, by a singular hap, Slap, Into poor little Mary- Anne's lap ! It 'a a very fine little gold ring, JSloutife SacKet * Ob, Pallin I Prince of cake^ompaunders I the mouth liquefies at thy very name — hut there t BLOUSIB JACEE Of SHKEWSBEBBIB . 15'/ Yet, though slight, i : 'a remarkably stout, But it's made a, sad stain, Which win always remain On her frock — for Blood wiU not wash out; I doubt Salts of Lemon won't bring it about ! She has grasp'd that gold ring in her hand, aSlou^fe JacSel In an instant she stands on the floor, She makes but one bound ' O'er the back of the hound, And a hop, skip, and jump to the door, And she's o'er The drawbridge she 'd traversed before ! Her hair 's floating loose in the breeze, 33lou'Dre Sacitel For gone is her "bonnet of blue." — Now the Barbican 's past! — Her legs "go it" as fast As two drumsticks a-beating tattoo, As they do At E^TeUlie, Parade, or Review ! She has run into Shrewsbury town, aSlouUfe Sacfte! She has called out the Beadle and May'r, And the Justice of Peace, And the Rural Police, Till "Battle Field" swarms like a Fair, — And see thare! — E'en the Parson's beginning to swear! ! There 's a pretty to-do in your Tower, aSIoiiWe Sacftel In your Tower there 's a pretty to-do ! All the people of Shrewsbury Playing eld gooseberry 14 158 A LEGEND OF SHR0PSHIM5. With your i^hoice bits of taste and vertH ; Each bijou Is upset in their search after you ! They are playing the deuce with your things, asioutiic Sscftel There's your Cupid is broken in two, ^ And so too, between us, is Each of your Venuses, The " Antique" ones you bought of the Jew, And the new One, George Bobbins swears came from St. Cloud. The Cailiptse'b injured behind, The De Medici 's injured before ! And the Anadtomene 'e injured in so many Places, I think there''s a score. Of her fingers and toes on the floor. asiouWe Jacfte , If not more They are hunting you up stairs and down, JSlouIife Sactel Every person to pass is forbid. While they turn out the closets And all their deposits — " There's the dust-hole — come lift up the lid!" — So they did— But they could not find where you were hid ! Ah ! Ah ! — they will have you at last, aSIouife SacftB The chimneys to search they begin ; — They have found you at last ! — There you are, sticking fast. With your knees doubled up to your chin. Though you 're thin 1 — Dear me ! what a mesg you are in I — BLOUDIE JACEE OF SHBEWSBERBFE. 159 What a terrible pickle you 're in, asiotttffe Sacfte! Why, your face is as black as your hat! Tour fine Holland shirt Is all OTer dirt I And so is your point-laoe cravat ! What a Flat, To seek such an asylum as that ! They can scarcely help laughing, I vow, MoutiCe Jacitel In the midst of their turmoil and strife ; You're not fit to be seen! — You look like Mr. Kean In the play where he murders his wife ! — On my life You ought to be scraped with a knife ! They have pull'd you down flat on your back ! JSIouSfe Sacftel They have pull'd you down flat on your back ! And they smack, and they thwack. Till your "funny bones" crack, As if you were stretoh'd on the rack, At each thwack! — Good lack ! what a savage attack ! They call for the Parliament Man, 3SlouJifc SacSel And the Hangman, the matter to clinch. And they call for the Judge, But others cry "Fudge! — Don't budge Mr. Caloraft,* an inch! • Jeban de Ketche acted as Provost Marshal to the army of ■William th^ Ck>iiqueror, and received from that monarch a grant of the dignity of Hereditary Grand Functionary of England, together with a "croft or parcel of land," known by the name of the ©lit JSa^lte, cc. Middx., to he h«ld bj 160 4 IJIGEND OF SHROPSniBB. Mr. Lynch I* Will do very -well at a pinch !" It is useless to scuffie and cuff, MonlsH Sacke! It is useless to struggle and bite ! And to kick and to soratoli You have met with your match. And the Shrewsbury Boys hold you tight, Despite Tour determined attempts " to show fight." They are pulling you all sorts of ways, KlouBfc Jacfte 1 They are twisting your right leg Nor-west, And your left leg due South, And your knee 's in your mouth, And your head is poked down on your breast, And it's prest, I protest, almost into your chest I They have puU'd off your arms and your legs, 3Slouliie Saeftel As the naughty boys serve the blue flies : him, and -the heirs general of his body, in Grand Seijeanty^ by the yearly presentation of " ane hempen cravatte." After remainii^ for several- generations in the same name, the office passed, by marriage of the heiress, into the ancient family of the Kirbyg, and thence again to that of Collcraft (1st Eliz. 1668). — Abhorson Callcraft Bsq. of Saflron Hill, oo. Middx. the present representative of the Ketches, exercised his '* function," on a Tei7 recent occasion, and claimed and was allowed the fee of 13J^(f under th» ancient grant as J^anQman's OTflOes. Arms. — ist and 4th, Quarterly, Argent and Sable ; in the first quarter a Gibbet of the second, noosed proper, Callcraft. "2nd. Sable, three Nightcaps Argent, tufted Gules, 2 and 1, Kdche. 3rd. Or, a Nosegay J^ewrani, Kirby, StJPPORTERS. — D&r.ter : A Sheriff in his pride, robed Gules, chained and foUared Or. — Sinister : An Ordinary displayed proper, wigged and banded Argent, nosed Gulea. Motto. — Sio itdr ad astra I * The American Justinian, Compiler of the "Yankee Pandeoto.". BLOUDrE JACKE OF SHEEWSBERRIE. 181 And they 've torn from their sockets, And put In their pockets Tour fingers and thumbs for a prize ! And your eyes A Doctor has bottled — from Guy's.* Your trunk, thus dismember'd and torn, asiouTrfe Jscfte' They hew, and they hack, and they chop ; And, to finish the ■whole, They stick up a pole In the place that 's still call'd the " JE&sl'tte ffloppe," And they pop Your grim gory head on the top ! They have buried the fingers and toes, asiouSfe Sacftel Of the victims so lately your prey. From those fingers and eight toes Sprang early potatoes, " JlaBfes' i^fnaers " they're call'd to this day; — So they say, — And you usually dig them in May. What became of the dear little girl ? 33Ioutire Sac&el What became of the young Mary-Anne ? Why, I 'm sadly afraid That she died an Old Maid, For she fancied that every young man Had a plan To trepan her like " poor Sister Fan !" So tiiey say she is now leading apes, iSImt^fe Sscfcet * A similar appropriation is said to have been made, by an eminent practl tioner, of those of the late Monsieur Courroisex-. 14* 162 A LEGEND OP SHROPSHIRE. And mends Bachelors' small-clothes below ; The story is old, And has often been told, But I cannot believe it is so — ^ Nol Nol Depend on 't the tale is " No Go 1" MOBAL. And now for the moral I 'd fain, That young Ladies should draw from my pen,— It's — " Don't take these flights Upon moon-shiny nights, With gay, harum-searum young men, Down a glen! — You really can't trust one in ten !" Let them think of yonr terrible Tower, ISlou^ie Jacitel And don't let them liberties take. Whether Maidens or Spouses, In Bachelors' houses ; Or, some time or another, they '11 make A Mistake! And lose — more than a SjitetDBiierrre ffiafte 1 1 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 163 Her niece, of whom I have before made honourable mention, is not a whit behind Mrs. Bothergy in furnish- ing entertainment for the young folks. If little Charles has the aunt to sol fa him to slumber. Miss Jenny is equally fortunate in the possession of a Sappho of her own. It is to the air of " Drops of Brandy " that Patty has adapted her version of a venerable ditty, ■which we have all listened to with respect and affection jinder its old title of THE BABES IN THE WOOD; OB, THE NORFOLK TRAGEDY. AS OLD SONQ TO A HEW TUJIE. When we were all little and good, — A long time ago I'm afraid, Miss — We were told of the Babes in the Wood By their false, cruel Uncle hetray'd. Miss ; Their Pa was a Squire, or a Knight, In Norfolk I think his estate lay — That is, if I recollect right, For I've not read the history lately. ■%- Rum H, &c. Their Pa and their Ma being seized With a tiresome complaint, which, in some seasons, People are apt to be seized With, who 're not on their guard against plum-seasons, • See Bloomfield's History of the County of Norfolk, in which all the par* ticulars of this lamentable history are (or ought to he) fully detailed, togethe] •vith the uamaE of the parties, and an elalvir<»*e undigree of the family. 164 A LEGEND OF NOErOLK. Vheir medical man shook Ms head As he oould not get well to the root of it ; Ajid the Babes stood on each side the bed, While their Uncle, he stood at the foot of it. "Oh, Brother!" their Ma whisper'd, faint And low, for breath seeming to labour, "Who'd Think that this horrid complaint. That 's been going about in the neighbourhood, Thus should attack me, — nay, more, My poor husband besides, — and so fall on hinf ,' Bringing us so near to Death's door That we can't avoid making a cali on himl "Now think, 'tis your Sister invokes Your aid, and the last word she says is. Be kind to those dear little folks When our toes are turn'd up to the daisies ! — By the servants don't let them be snubb'd, ; — — Let Jane have her fruit and her custard,^ And mind Johnny's chilblains are rubb'd Well with Whitehead's best essence of mustafi " You know they'll be pretty well off in Kespect to what's called 'worldly gear, For John, when his Pa 's in his coffin, Comes in to three hundred a-year ; And Jane 's to have five hundred pound On her marriage paid down, ev'ry penny, So you'll own a worse match might be found. Any day in the week, than our Jenny !" Here the Uncle pretended to cry, And, like ah old thorough-paced rogue, he Put his handkerchief up to his eye. And devoted himself to old Bogey THE BABES IN THE WOOD. '6$ it fati did not make matters all right, And said, should he covet their riches, He "wished the old Gentleman might Fly away with him body and breeches !" No sooner, however, were they Pat to bed with a spade by the sexton. Than he carried the darlings away Oat of that parish into the nest one, Giving oat he should take them to town And select the best school in the nation. That John might not grow up n clown. But receive a genteel education, " Greek and Latin old twaddle I caU !" Says he, "While his mind's ductile and plastic, I 'U place him at Dotheboys Hall ■Where he '11 learn- all that 's new and gymnastio. While Jane, as, when girls have the dumps. Fortune-hunters, by scores, to entrap 'em rise. Shall go to those worthy old frumps, The two Misses Tickler of Clapham Rise !" Having thought on the How and the When To get rid of his nephew and niece', He sent for two ill-looking men, Ajid he gave them five guineas a-piece. — Says he, " Each of you take up a child On the crupper, and when you have trotted Some miles through that wood lone and wild. Take your knife out and cut its carotid !" " Done" and " done" is pronounced on each side, While the poor little dears are delighted To think they a-cock-horse shall ride. And ore not in the least degree frighted ; 166 A LEGEND OF KORFOLK. iney say their " Ta! Ta!" as they start, And they prattle so nice on their journey. That the rognes themselvfes wish to their heart They could finish the job by attorney. Nay, one was so taken aback By seeing such spirit and life in them, That he fairly exclaim'd "I say. Jack, I 'm blowed if I ean put a knife in them !" — 'fPooh!" says his pal, "you great dunce! You 've pouoh'd the good gentleman's money, So out mth your whinger at once, And scrag Jane, while I spifiioate Johnny !" He refused, and harsh language ensued. Which ended at length in a duel. When he that was mildest in mood Gave the truculent rascal his gruel ; The Babes quake with hunger and fear. While the ruffian his dead comrade. Jack, buries ; Then he cries, " Loves, amuse yourselyes here V/ith the hips, and the haws, and the blackberries t " I '11 be back in a couple of shakes ; So don't, dears, be quivering and quaking : I 'm going to get you some cakes, And a nice butter'd roll that's a-baking !" Ho rode off with a tear in his eye, Which ran down his rough cheek, and wet it, As he said to himself with a sigh, "Pretty souls ! — don't they wish they may get it ! ! " From that moment the Babes ne'er caught sight Of the wretcn who thus wrought their undoing, But pass'd all that day and that night In wandering about and " boo-hoo "-ing. THE BABES IN TflK WUOO. 167 The night proved cold, dreary, and dark, So that, worn out witn sighings and sobbinfts, Next morn they were found stiff and stark, And stone-dead, by two little Cook-Robins. rhese two little birds it sore grieves To see what so cruel a dodge I call, — They cover the bodies with leaves, And interment (juite ornithological ; It might more expensive have been, But I doubt, though I 've not been to sec 'em, If among those in all Kensal Green You could find a more neat Mausoleum. Now, whatever your rogues may suppose, Conscienee always makes restless their pillow*. And Justice, though blind, has a nose That sniffs out all conceal'd peccadilloes. The wicted old Uncle, they say. In spite of his riot and revel. Was hippish and qualmish all day, And dreamt all night long of the d — 1, He grew gouty, dyspeptic, and sour. And his brow, once so smooth and so placid. Fresh wrinkles acquired every hour, And whatever he swallow'd turn'd acid. The neighbours thought all was not right, Sccarely one with him ventured to parley, And Captain Swing came in the night. And burnt all his beans and his barley. There was hardly a day but some fox Ran away with his geese and his ganders $ His wheat had the mildew, his flocks Took the rot, and his horses the glandeni 138 A LEGEND OF NORFOLK. His daughters drank mm in tteir tea, . His son, who had gone for a sailor. Went down in a steamer at sea, And his wife ran away with a tailor ! It was clear he lay under a curse. None would hold with him any communion ; Every day matters grew worse and worse, TUl they ended at length in The Union ; While his man being caught in some fact, (The particular crime I 've forgotten,) When he came to be hang'd for the act, Split and told the whole story to Cotton. Understanding the matter was blown, His employer became apprehensive Of what, when 'twas more fully known. Might ensue — he grew thoughtful and penavc He purchased some sugar-of-lead, Took it home, popp'd it into his porridge. Ate it up, and then took to his bed. And so died in the workhouse at Kofirich. KOEAL. Ponder well now, dear Parents, eack word That I've wrote, and when Sirius rages In the dog-days, don't be so absurd As to blow yourselves out with Green-gagoa i Of stone-fruits in general be shy. And reflect it's a fact beyond question That Grapes, when they 're spelt with an i, Promote anything else but digestion. — THE BABES IN THE WOOD. —When you set about making your -will, Which is commonly done when a body 's iU, Mind, and word it with caution and skill, And avoid, if you can, any codicil ! When once you 've appointed an heir / To the fortune you're made, or obtain'd, ere You leave a reversion, beware Whom you place in contingent remainder t Executors, Guardians, and all Who have children to mind, don't ill treat them, Nor think that, because they are small And weak, yon may beat them, and cheat them ( Remember that "ill-gotten goods Never thrive;" their possession 's but cursory; So never turn out in the woods Little folks you should keep in the nursery. i Be sure he who does such base things Will ne'er stifle Conscience's clamour ; His " riches will make themselves wings," And his property come to the hammer ! Then He, — and not those he bereaves. Will have most cause for sighings and sobbingd, When he finds himielf smother'd with leavos (Of fat catalogues) heap'd up by Brobbins I 15 IS9 170 A LEGEND OF SALISBURY PLAIN'. The incidents recorded in the succeeding Legend wero communicated to a dear friend of our family by the late lamented Sir Walter Scott. The names and localities have been scrupulously retained, as she is ready to testify. The proceedings in this case are, I believe, recorded in some of our law reports, though I have never been able to lay my band upon them. THE DEAD DRUMMER. A LEGEND OP SALISBURY PLAIN. Oh, Salisbury Plain is' bleak and bare, — At least so I've heard many people declare. For I fairly confess I never was there; — Not a shrub nor =.. tree, Nor a bush, can you see ; No hedges, no ditches, no gates, no stiles. Much less a house, or a cottage for mUes ; — — It's a very sad thing to be caught in the rain When night's coming on upon, Salisbury Plain. Now, I'd have you to know That a great while ago, — The best part of a century, may be, or ss. Across this same plain, so dull and so dreary, A conple of Travellers, way-worn and weary. Were making their way; Their profession, you'd say. At a single glance did not admit of a query ; The pump-handled pig:tail, and whiskers worn then. With scarce an exception, by seafaring men, The jacket, — the loose trousers " bows'd up together " — all Guiltless of braces, as those of Charles Weatherall, — THE DEAD DRrMMEB. 17! The pigeon-toed step, and the rollicking motion, Bespoke them two genuine sons of the Ocean, And show'd in a moment their real characters, (The accent so placed on this word by onr Jack Tars.) The one in advance was sturdy and strong. With arms uncommonly bony and long, 'And his Guernsey shirt Was all pitch and dirt. Which sailors don't think inconvenient or wrong. He was very broad-breasted. And very deep-chested ; His sinewy frame correspond with the rest did. Except as to height, for he could not be more At the most, you would say, than some five feet four, And if measured, perlmps had been found a thought lower. Dame Nature in fact, — whom some person or other, — A Poet, — has call'd a "capricious step-mother," — You saw when beside him. Had somehow denied him In longitude what she had granted in latitude, A trifling defect You'd the sooner detect From his having contracted a stoop in his attitude. Square-built and broad-shoulder'd, good-humour'd and gay, With his collar and countenance open as day, The latter — 'twas mark'd with small-pox, by the way, — Had a sort of expression good- will to bespeak ; He 'd a smile in his eye, and a quid in his cheek ! And, in short, notwithstanding his failure in height. He was just such a man as you 'd say, at first sight. You would much rather dine, or shake hands, with than fight The other, his friend and companion, was taller . By five or six inches, at least, than the smaller ; — • From his air and his mien It was plain to be seen. 172 A LEGEND OF SALISBURY PLAIN. That he -was, or had been, A something between The real "Jack Tar" and the "Jolly Marine." For, though he would give an occasional hitch. Sailor-like to his "slops," there was something, the which. On the whole savour'd more of the pipe-clay than pitch. — Such were now the two men who appear'd on the hill, Harry Walters the tall one, the short "Spanking Bill." To be caught in the rain, I repeat it again. Is extremely unpleasant on Salisbury Plain ; And when with a good soaking shower there are blended Blue lightnings and thunder, the"matter's not mended; Such was the case In this wild dreary place. On the day that I 'm speaking of now, when the brace Of trav'llers aUuded to quicken'd their pace. Till a good steady walk became more like a race To get quit of the tempest which held them in chase Louder, and louder Than mortal gunpowder. The heav'nly artill'ry kept crashing and roaring. The lightning kept flashing, the rain too kept pouring, ' While they, helter-skelter, In vain sought for shelter From, what I hare term'd, "a regular pelter;" But the deuce of a screen Could be anywhere seen. Or an object except that on one of the rises. An old way-post show'd Where the Lavington road Branch'd off to the left from the one to Devizes, Aid thither the footsteps of Waters seem'd tending, Though a doubt might exist of the course he was bending, To a landsman, at least, who, wherever he goes. Is content for the most part, to follow his nose ; IHE DEAD DRUMHES. ITS While Harry kept " backing And filling"— and "tacking,"— Tiro nautical terms which, I'll wager a guinea, are Meant to imply What you. Reader, and I Would can going zig-zag, and not rectilinear. But here, once for all, 1 jt me beg you 'U excuse All mistakes I may make in the words sailors use 'Mongst themselves, on a cruise. Or ashore with the Jews, Or in making their court to their PoUs and their Sues, Or addressing those slop-selling females afloat — women Known in our navy as oddly named boat-women. The fact is, I can't say, I'm versed in the school So ably conducted by Marryat and Poole ; (See the last-mention'd gentleman's "Admiral's Daughter;") The grand vade mecum For all who to sea come. And get, the first time in their lives, in blue water ; Of course in the use of sea terms you '11 not wonder If I now and then should fall into some blunder. For which Captain Chamier, or Mr. T. P. Cooke Would call me a "Lubber," and "Sou of a Sea-cook." To return to our muttons — rTMs mode of progression At length upon Spanking Bill made some impression. — " Hillo, messmate, what cheer ? How queer you do steer!" ' Cried Bill, whose short legs kept him still in the rear. " Why what 's in the wind. Bo ? — what is it you fear?" For he saw in a moment that something was frightening Hia shipmate much more than the thunder and lightning. — " Fear ?" stammer'd out Waters, " why, Him ! — don't you sot What faces that Drummer-boy's making at me ! — — How he dodges me so Wherever I go? — What is it he wants with mo, BiD, — do you know V 15» 17 A lEQEND OF SALISBURY PLAIK — " What Drummor-boy, Harry ?" cries Bill in surprise, (With a brief explanation, that ended in "eyes,") "What Drummer-boy, Waters ? — the coast is all clear, We haven't got never no Drummer-boy hero !" — " Why, there ! — don't you see How he's following me ? Now this way, now that way, and won't let me be ! Keep him off, Bill — look here — Don't let him come near ! Only see how the blood-drops his features besmear ! Wha^ tlie dead come to life again ! — Bless me ! — Oh deal I" Bill remark'd in reply, " This is all very queer — What, a Drummer-boy — blopdy, too — eh! — well, I never — I can't see no Drummer-boy here whatsumdever !" "Not see him! — why there; — look! — he's close by tlis post — Hark ! — ^hark ! — how he drums at me now ! — he's a Ghost 1" "A what?" returned Bill, — at that moment a flash More than commonly awful preceded a crasii Like what's called in Kentucky " an Almighty Smash." — And down Harry Waters went plump on his knees, While the sound, though prolong'd, died away by degrees i In its last sinking echoes, however, were some Which, Bill could not help thinking, resembled a drum ! " Hollo ! Waters !— I says," Quoth he in amase, " Why, I never see'd nuffin, in all my born days Half BO queer As this here, And I'm not very clear But that one of us two has good reason for fear — You to jaw about drummers, with nobody near us ' — 1 must say as how that I thinks it's mysterus," THE DEAD DRUMMEB. 17 "Oh, mercy i" roar'd Waters, " do keep him off, Bill, And, Andi'evT, forgive ! — I'll confess all ! — I will ! I'll make a clean breast, And as for the rest, You may do with me just what the lawyers think hest; But haunt me not thus ! — let these visitings cease, And your vengeance accomplish' d. Boy, leave me in peacf I" — Harry paused for a moment, — ithen tunung to Bill, Who stood with his mouth open, steady and still. Began " spinning" what nauticals term a "tough yam," Viz: his tale of what Bill call'd "this precious conaarn." » * » * * " It was in such an hour as this. On such a wild and wintry day. The forked lightning seem'd to hiss. As now, athwart our lonely way. When first these dubious paths I tried — Yon livid form was by my side ! — "Not livid then — the ruddy glow Of life, and youth, and health it bore 1 And bloodless was that gory brow. And cheerful was the smile it wore, And mildly then those eyes did shine — — Those eyes which now are blasting mine 1 1 "They beam'd with confidence and -ove Upon my face, — and Andrew Brand Had sooner fcar'd yon frighten'd dove Than harm from Gervase Matcham's hand — I am no Harry Waters — men Did call me Gervase Matcham then. "And Matcham, though a humble name, Was staiulese as the feathery flake From Heaven, whose virgin whiteness cam« 176 A LEGEND OP SALISnCftT FLAIK. tTpon the newly frozen lake ; Commander, comrade, all began To laud tlie Soldier, — ^like the Man. " Nay, muse not, William, — I have said I was a soldier — staunch and true As any he above whose head Old England's lion banner flew ; And, duty done, — her claims apart, — Twas said I had a kindly heart. "And years roll'd on, — and with them came . Promotion — Corporal — Sergeant — all In turn — I kept mine honest fame — Our Colonel's self, — whom men did call The veriest Martinet — ev'n he, Though cold to most, was kind to mo ! — " One morn — oh ! may that morning stanii Accursed in the rolls of fate Till latest time ! — there came command To carry forth a charge of weight To a detachment far away, — — It was their regimental pay ! — " And who so fit for such a task As trusty Matcham, true and tried, Who spum'd the inebriating flask. With honour for his constant guide? — On Matcham I'ell their choice — and He, — ' Toung Drum,' — should bear him company 1 " And grateful was that sound to hear, For ne was full of life and joy,' The mess-room pet — to each one dear Was that kind, gay, light-hearted boy — The veriest churl in all our Dand Had aye a smile for Andrew Brand. — THE DEAD DRVMMER, J'H " — Nay, glare not as I name thy name! That threatening hand, that fearful brow Relax — avert that glance of flame ! Thou seest I do thy bidding now ! Vex'd Spirit, rest ! — 'twill soon be o'er, — Thy blood shall cry to HeaVn no more ! "Enough — we journey'd on — the walk Was long, — and dull and dark the day, — And still young Andrew's cheerful talk And merry laugh beguiled the way ; Noon came — a sheltering bank was there,— We paused our frugal meal to share. " Then 'twas, with cautious hand, I sought To prove my charge secure, — and drew The packet from my vest, and brought The glittering mischief forth to view, And Andrew cried, — No ! — 'twas not He i — It was The Tempter spoke to me ! . " But it was Andrew's laughing voice That sounded in my tingling ear, — 'Now Gervase Matcham, at thy choice,' It seem'd to say, ' are gawds and gear, And all that wealth can buy or bring, Ease, — wassail, — worship, — tfrery thing ! '"No tedious drill, no long parade, No bugle call at^arly dawn ; For guard-room bench, or barrack bed, The downy couch, the sheets of lawn ; And I thy Page, — thy steps to tend, Thy sworn companion, — servant, — friend I — "He ceased — that is, I heard no more Though other words pass'd idly by. And Andrew chattei'd as before, 178 A LEGEND OF SALISBURY PLAUT. And laugh'd — I mark'd Mm not — not X, "Tie at thy choice!' that sound alone Bang in mine ear — Toice else was none. "I could not eat, — the untasted flask Mock'd my parch'd lip, — I pass'd it by. ' What ails thee, man '!' he seem'd to ask, — I felt, but could not meet his eye. — "Tis at thy choice!' — it sounded yet, — A sound I never may forget. — '"Haste! haste! the day draws on,' I cried, •And Andrew, thou hast far to go !' — 'Hast far to go!' the Fiend replied Within me, — 'twas not Andrew — no ! 'Twas Andrew's Toioe no more — 'twas He Whose then I was, and aye mu§t be I — " On, on we went ; — the dreary plain Was all around us — we were Hire! Then came the storm, — the lightning, — rain, — No earthly living thing was near. Save one wild Eaven on the wing, — If that, indeed, were earthly thing ! " I heard its hoarse and screaming voice High hovering o'er my frenzied head, 'Tts, Oervase Matcham, at thry choice! Hut he — the Boy!' methought it said. —Kay, Andrew, check that vengeful frown, — I loved thee when I struck thee down ! ****** '• 'Twas done ! the deed that damns me — done I know not how — I never knew ; — And Sere I stood — but not alone, — The prostrate Boy my madness slew, , Was by my side — Bmb, feature, name, 'Twas He I ! — another — yet the sameJ * * » » « TIIE DEAD DRnMMEB. 179 " Away ! away ! in frantic haste Throughout that liye-long night I flew— Away ! away ! — across the waste, — I know not how — I never knew. — My mind was one wild blank — and I Had but one thought, — one hope — to fly ! "And still the lightning plough'd the ground, The thunder roar'd — and there would come Amidst its loudest bursts a sound Familiar once — it was — A DKUM ! — Then came the morn, — and light, — and then Streets, — houses, — spires, — the hum of mea " And Ocean roU'd before me — fain Would I have whelm'd me in its tide, At once beneath the billowy main My shame, my guilt, my crime to hide ; But He was there ! , — He cross'd my track, — I dared not pass — He waved me back ! " And then rude hands detain'd me — sure Justice had grasp'd her victim — no ! Though powerless, hopeless, bound, secure, A captive thrall, it was not so ; • They cry ' The Frenchman's on tlie wave !' The press was hot — and I a slave. " They dragg'd me o'er the vessel's side ; The world of waters roll'd below ; The gallant ship in all her pride Of dreadful beauty sought her foe ; — Thou saw'st me, William, in the strife — Alack ! I bore a charmed life ; " la vain the bullets round me fly, In rain mine eager breast 1 1 bare ; Death shuns the wretch who longs to die, ISC' A LEGEND OF SALISSURT PLAIN. And eyery sword falls edgeless there I Still He is near ; — and seems to cry, 'Not liere, nor thus, may Matoham die!' — " Thou saw'st me on that fearful day, When, frviitless all attempts to aaye, Our pinnace foundering in the bay, The boat's-crew met a watery grave, — All, all — save one — the ravenous sea That swallow'd all — rejected Me ! '■And now, when fifteen suns have each Fulfill'd in turn its circling year. Thrown back again on England's beach, Our bark paid off — He drives me Here I I could not die in flood or fight — He drives me heke ! !" — "And sarve yon right 1 " What ! bilk your Commander ! — desart — and then rob ! And go scuttling a poor little Drummer-boy's nob ; Why, my precious eyes ! what a bloodthirsty swab ! — There 's old Davy Jones, Who cracks Sailors' bones For his jaw-work, would never, I 'm sure, s 'elp me Bob, Have come for to go for to do sich ajob ! Hark ye. Waters, — or Matoham, — whichever 's your purser- name, — T'other, your own, is, I'm sartain, the worser name, — Twelve years have we lived on like brother and brother ! — . Now — your course lays one way, and mine lays another I ■ " No, Wilham, it may not be so ; Blood calls for blood ! — 'tis Heaven's decree 1 And thou with me this night must go, And give me to the gallows-tree ! Ha ' — see — He smiles — He points the way ! On. William, on! — no more delay!" THE DEAD DRUMMER. 181 Now Bill, — so the story as told to me, goes. And who, as his last speech sufficiently shows, Was a " regular trump," — did not like to " tiim Nose ;" But then cam« a thuuder-olap louder than any Of those that precedod, though they were so manyf And hark ! — as its rumblings subside in a hum, What sound mingles too ? — "By the hokey — A Dkum ! '" I remember I once heard my Grandfather say, That some sixty years since he was going that way, When they show'd him the spot Where the gibbet — was not — On which Matcham's corse had been hung up to riit; It had fall'n down — but how long before, he'd forprot; And they told him, I think, at the Bear in Devizes, The town where the Sessions are held, — or the 'Sizes, That Matoham confess'd. And made a clean breast To the May'r ; but that after he 'd had a night's rest. And the storm had subsided, he " pooh-pooh'd " his friend. Swearing all was a lie from beginning to end ; Said "he'd only been drunk — That his sjiirits had sunk At the thunder — the storm put him into a funk, — That, in fact, he had nothing at all on his consOienoe, And found out, in short, he 'd been talking great nonsense."^ But now one Mr. Jones Comes forth and depones That, fifteen years since, he had heard certain groans On his way to Stone Henge (to examine the stones Described in a work of the late Sir John Soane's,) Tip.t he'd follow'd the moans. And, led by their tones. Found a Kayen a-pioMng a Drumroer-boy's bones I — 16 182 A LEGEND OP SALISBUET PLAIN. — Then the Colonel -wrote -word From the King's Forty-third, That ihe story was certainly true which they 'd heard, For, that one of their drummers, and one Sergeant Matcham, Had "brvish'd with the dibs," and they never could catch 'em, So Justice was sure, though a long time she 'd lagg'd. And the Sergeant, in spite of his "Gammon," got "scragg'd;" And people averr'd That an ugly black bird. The Eaven, 'twas hinted, of whom we haye heard. Though the story, I own,- appears rather absurd. Was seen (Gervase Matcham not being interr'd). To roost all that night on the murderer's gibbet ; An odd thing, if so, and it may be a fib — it, However 's a thing Nature's laws don't prohibit. — Next morning they add, that "black gentleman" flies out. Having pick'd Matcham's nose oflF, and gobbled his eyes out I MOKAL. Avis au VoyageuT. Imprimis. If you contemplate walking o'er Salisbury Plain, Consult Mr. Murphy, or Moore, and refrain From selecting a day when it 's likely to rain ! a". When trav'Uing, don't "flash" Tour notes or your cash Before other people — it 's foolish and rash ! i" At dinner be cautions, and note well your party : — There 's little to dread where the appetite's hearty, — But mind and look well to your purse and your throttle, When you see a man shirking, and passing his bottle' THE DEAD DKDMMER. 18a If you chance to be needy, Your coat and hat seedy, In war-time especially never go out When you've reason to think there's a prcss-ga-ng about! Don't chatter, nor tell people all ttat you think. Nor blab secrets, — especially when you're in driri, — But, keep your own counsel in all that you do ! — Or a Counsel may, some day or other, keep you. Discard superstition ! — and don't take a post. If you happen to se« one at night, for a Ghost ! — Last of ail, if by choice or convenience, you 're led, To cut a man's throat, or demolish his head. Don't do 't in a thunder-storm — wait for the summer ! And mind, above all things, the Man 's not a Dkummee 1 1 Among a bundle of letters I find one from Sucile- thumbkin, dated from London, and containing his ver- sion of perhaps the greatest theatrical Civil War since the celebrated " 0. P. row." As the circumstances are now become matter of history, and poor Doldrum himself has been, alas ! for some time the denizen of a far different " Hous'e," I have ventured to preserve it. Perhaps it may be unnecessary to add, that my Honoura- ble friend has of late taken to Poetry and goes without his cravat. A ROW IN AN OMNIBUS (BOX) A LEGEND OP THE HAYMARKET. Omnibus hoc Titium cantoribuB. — Hon. DoL-DHUM the Manager sits in his chair, With a gloomy brow and dissatisfied air, And he says as he slaps his hand on his knee, "I'll have nothing to do with Fiddle-de-dee!" — " But Fiddle-de-dee sings clear and loud, And his triUs and his quavers astonish the crowd ; Such a singer as he You'll nowhere see They '11 all be screaming for Fiddle-de-dee !" — "Though Fiddle-de-dee sings loud and clear, 4nd his tones are sweet, yet his terms are dear I The ' gloTC won't fit !' The deuce a bit. I shall give an engagement to Fal-de-ral-tit!" The Prompter bow'd, and he went to his stall. And the green-baize rose at the Prompter's call. And Fal-de-ral-tit sang fol-de-rol-lol ; But, scarce had he done When a "row" begun. Such a noise was never heard under the sun. " Fiddle-de-dee ! — — Where is he? Ho 's the Artiste whom we all want to see I — Dol-drum ! — Dol-drum ! — Bid the Manager come ! It 's a scandalous thing to exact such a sum as*) A BOW IN AN OMNIBtrS (bOx). 185 For boxes and gallery, stalls and pit, And then fob us off -with a Fal-de-ral-tit !" Deuce a bit! We'll never submit! Vioe Fiddle-de-dee! & ias Fal-de-ral-tit!" Dol-drum the Manager rose from his chair, With a gloomy brow and dissatisfied air ; But he smooth'd his brow, As he well knew how. And he walk'd on, and made a most elegant bow. And he paused, and he smiled, and advanced to the hghts, In his opera hat, and his opera-tights ; "Ladies and Gentlemen," then said he, " Pray what may you please to want with me '(" "Fiddle-de-dee! — Fiddle-de-dee !" Folks of all sorts and of every degree. Snob, and Snip, and haughty Grandee, Duchesses, Countesses, fresh from their tea, And Shopmen, who 'd only come there for a spree, Halloo'd, and hooted, and i-oar'd with glee' " Fiddle-de-dee ! — None but He! — Subscribe to his terms, whatever they be! — Agree, agree, or you '11 very soon see In a brace of shakes we '11 get up an 0. P. !" Dol-drum the Manager, full of care, With a gloomy brow and dissatisfied air, Looks distrest. And he bows his best. And he puts his right hand on the side of his 'breSHi, And he says, — says he, "We can't agree; His terms are a vast deal too high for me. — 16* 186 A LEGEND OF IHE HATMAEKET. Ihere 's the rent, and the rates, and the sesses, and taxoa - [ can't afford Kddle-de-dee what he axet. If you'll only permit Fal-de-ral-tit " Che " Generous Public" cried " Deuce a bit 1 Dol-drum ! — Dol-drum ! — We'll none of us come, ft's 'No Go!' — it's 'Gammon!' — it's 'all a Hum;'~ Tou 're a miserly Jew ! — ' Cock-a-doodle-doo !' He dorit ask too much, as you know — so you do — It's a shame — it's a sin — it's really too bad — You ought to be 'shamed of yourself — so you had!" Dol-drum the Manager never before In his life-time had heard such a wild uproar. Dol-drum the Manager turn'd to flee ; But he says — says he, ^' Mort de ma vie! I shall nevare engage Tid dat Fiddle-d«-dee I" Then all the gentlefolks flew in a rage, And they jump'd from the Omnibus on to the stage, Lord, Squires, and Knights, they came down to the lights In their opera-hats, and their opera-tights. Ma'am'selle Cherrytoes Shook to her very toes. She couldn't hop on, so hopp'd off on her merry toes. And the "evening concluded" with " Three times tbren 1" ' ' Hip — hip ! — hurrah ! for Fiddle-de-dee ! " Dol-driim the Manager, full of care, With a troubled brow and dissatisfied air, Saddest of men. Sat down, and then Took from his table a Perryan pen. And he wrote to the " News," How Mac Fuze and Tregooze, A ROW IN AN OMNIBUS (bOK) 187 Lord Tomnoddy, Sir Carnaby J'enks of the Blues, And the whole of their tail, and the separate crews Of the Tags and the Rags, and the No-one-knows-whos, Had cjmbinod Monsieur Fal-de-ral-tit to abuse, And make Dol-drum agree With Fiddle-de-dee, Who was not a bit better singer than he. — Dol-dnim declared "ho never could see, For the life of him, yet, why Fiddle-de-dee, Who in B flat, or C, ^ Or whatever the key Could never at any time get below Gr, Should expect a fee the same in degree As the great Burlybumbo who sings double D." Then slyly he added a little N,B. " If they'd have him in Paris he 'd not come to me ! The Manager rings, And the Prompter springs To his side in a jiffy, and with him he brings A set of those odd-looking envelope things. Where Brittania (who seems to be crucified,) flings To her right and her left, funny people with wings Amongst Elephants, Quakers, and Catabaw Kings ; And a taper and wax. And small Queen's heads in pslcks, •Which, when notes are too big, you're to stick on tl.eir backa Dpl-drum the Manager seal'd with care The letter and copies he 'd written so fair. And sat himself down with a satisfied air; Without delay He sent them away, In time to appear in "our columns" next day! Dol-drum the Manager, full of care, ame bo "healthy, wealthy, and wise;" (260) TUB LORD OF THOULOHSB 251 So pious withal — with such beautiful eyes — So exactly the Venus de' Medicis' size — la all that wide domain. » Then his cellar U stored As well as Ms board, Wnh the choicest cf all La Belle FroMe aaa afford ; Chttmbertin, Ch&teaux Margaux, La Eose, and Lafitte, With Moet's Champagne, "of the Comet year," "neat As imported," — "fine sparkling," — and not over sweet, Willie his Chaplain, good man, when call'd in to say graco, Wbcdd groan, and put on an elongated face At such tqrtle, such turbot, John Dory, and plaice ; Not without blushing, pronouncing a benison. Worthy old soul ! on such very fat venison. Sighing to think Such victuals and drink. Are precisely the traps by which Satan makes men his own. And grieving o'er scores Of huge barbecued Boars, Which he thinks should not darken a Christian man'fe doors, Though 'twas all very well P&gan Poets should rate 'em As " Animal propter convivia nalum." He was right, I must say. For at this time of day. When we 're not so precise, whether cleric or lay. With respect to our food, as in time so passi, We still find our Boars, whether grave ones or gay. After dinner, at least, very much in the way, (We spell the word now with an E, not an A ;) And as honest Fire Jacques was inclined to spare diet, ie Gave this advice to all grades of society, ''■ Think less of pudding — and think more of piety.' As to his clothes, Oh ! nobody knows 252 A LEGEND OF I.ANGrEDOC What lots tlie Count had of cloaks, (doublets, and hose, Pantoufles, mth bows Each as big as a rose, And such shirts with lace raffles, such waistcoats and those Indescribable garments it is not thought right To do more than whisper to oreilles polite. Still in spite of his power, and in spite of his riches, In spite of his dinners, his dress, and his — which is The strangest of all things — in spite of his Wife, The Count led a rather hum-drmn sort of life. He grew tired, in fact, of mere eating and drinking, Grew tired of flirting, and ogling, and winking At nursery maids As they walk'd the Parades, The Crescents, the Squares, and the fine Colonnades, And the other gay places, which young ladies use As their promenade through the good town of Thoulouse. He was tired of hawking, and fishing, and hunting. Of billiards; short-whist, chicken-hazard, and punting ; Of popping at/ pheasants. Quails, woodcocks, and — peasants: Of smoking, and joking, And soaking, provoking Such headaches next day As his fine St. Peray, Though the best of all Rhone wines can never repay, Tin weary of war, women, roast-geese, and glory, With no great desire to be "famous in story," AU the day long, This was his song, "Oh, dear! what will become of us? Oh, dear ! what shall we do ? We shall die of blue devils if some of us Can't hit on something that's newl" THE LORD OF THOULOUSE. 253 Meanwhile his sweet Countess, so pious and good, Such pomps and such Tanities stoutly eschew'd. With all fermented liquors and high-season'd food, Devill'd kidneys, and sweet-breads, and ducks and green poas liaked sucking-pig, goose, and all viands like these, [[ash'd calf s-head included, no longer could please, A. curry was sure to elicit a hreeze, 33 was alC; or a glass of port-wine after cheese, ■^ . Indeed, any thing strong. As to tipple, was wrong ; She stuck to "fine Hyson," "Bohea," and "Souchong," And similar imports direct from Hong-Kong. In Tain does the family Doctor exhort her To take with her chop one poor half-pint of porter; No ! — she alleges She's taken the pledges ! Determined to aid In a gen'ral Crusade Against publicans, -rintuers, and all of that trade, And to bring in sherbet, ginger-pop, lemonade, Pau sucrie, and drinkables mild and home-made ; So she claims her friends' efforts, and vows to devote all hers Solely to found "The Thoulousian Teetotallers." Large sums she employs In dressing small boys In long duffle jackets, and short corduroys. And she boxes their ears when they make too much noiEO , In short, she turns out a complete Lady Bountifal, Filling with drugs and brown Holland the county full. Now just at the time when our story commences. It seems that a case Past the common took place, To entail on her ladyship further expenses, In greeting with honour befitting his station The Prior of Aries, with a Temperance Legataon, 22 254 a. l:EGEND OF liANGDEDOC. Despatch'd by Pope Urban, Trho seized this occasion To aid in diluting that part of the nation, An excellent man, One who stuck to his can Of cold water "without" — and he'd take such a lot of it, None of your sips That just moistens the lips ; At one single draught he 'd toss off a whole pot of it, — No such bad thing By the way, if they bring It you iced as at Verrey's, or fresh from the spring, When the Dog Star compels folks in toWn to take wing. Though I own even then I should see no great sin in it, Were there three drops of Sir Felix's ^n in it. Well, leaving the lady to follow her pleasure. And finish the pump with the Prior at leisure. Let 's go back to Raymond, still bored beyond measures And harping away, On the same dismal lay, " Oh dear ! what will become of us ? Oh dear! what can we do ? We shall die of blue devils, if some of us Can't find out something that's new!" At length in despair of obtaining his ends By his own mother wit, he takes courage and sends. Like a sensible man as he is, for his friends. Not his Lyndhursts or Eldons, or any such high sirs. But only a few of his "backstairs " advisers; "Come hither," says he,. " My gallants so free. My bold feigmarole, and my brave Eigmaree, And my grave Baron Proser, now listen to me ! You three can't but see I 'm half dead with ennui. What's to be done? I must have some fun, THE LORD OF THOITLOCSE. 255 And I win too, that's flat — ay, as sure as a gun. So find me out ' something new under the sun,' Or I '11 knock your three jobbernowls all into one !— You three Agree ! Come, what shall it be ? Resolve me — propound in three skips of a Jea!" Bigmarole gave a "Ha!" Kigmaree g^ve a "Hem!"' They look'd at Count Raymond — Count Raymond ■ ihem. As much as to say, " Have you nihil ad rem?" At length Baron Proser Responded, "You know, sir. That question's some time been a regular poser* Sear me! — let me see, — In the way of a ' spree' Something new! — Eh! — No! — Yes! No! — 'tis reallv ao go, sir." Sa/s the Count, "Rigmarole, You're as jolly a soul, On the whole, as King Cole, With his pipe and his bowl : Come, I'm sure you'll devise something novel and droll." — In vain — Bigmarole, with a look most profound. With his hand to his heart and his eye to the ground. Shakes his head as if nothing was there to be found. " I can only remark, That as touching a 'lark' X 'in as much as your Highness can be, in the dark ; I can hit on no novelty — none, on my life, Unless, peradventure, you'd 'tea' with your wife!" Quoth Raymond, "Enough! Nonsense ! — humbug ! — fudge ! — stuff ! Bigmarole, you're an asa, — you're a regular Muff! Drink tea with her ladyship ? — I ? — not a bit of it I Call you that fun? — faith, I can't see the wit of it; Mort de ma vie/ My dear Rigmaree. 256 A LEGEND OF LANGHEDOC. You're the man, after all, — come, by way of a fee, If you will but be bright, from the simple degree Of a knight I '11 create you at onoe a Mar-guis ! Put your conjuring cap on — consider and see, If you can't beat that stupid old ' Sumph' with his ' tea I " "That's the thing! that will do I Ay, marry, that's new!" Cries Eigmarce, rubbing his hands, " that will please — My 'Conjuring cap' — it's the thing: — it's 'the cheese!' It was only this morning I pick'd up the news ; Please your Highness, a, Conjuror 's come to Thoulouse ; I'll defy you to name us A man half so famous For devildoms, — Sir, it's the great Nostradamus Cornelius Agrippa, 'tis said, went to school to him, Gyngell 's an ass, and old Faustus a fool to him. Talk of Lilly, Albertus, Jack Dee ! — ;pooh ! all six He 'd soon pqt in a pretty particular fix ; Why he 'd beat ax digesting a sword, or ' Gun tricks' The great Northern Wizard himself all to sticks ! I should like tt) see you Try to tauter le coup With this chap at short whist, or unlimited loo, By the Pope you 'd soon find it a regular ' Do :' Why he does as he likes with the cards, — when he 's got 'em, There 's always an Ace or a King at the bottom ; Then for casting Nativities ! — only you look At the volume he's publish'd, — that wonderful book! In all France not another, to swear I dare venture, is Like, by long chalks, his ' Prophetical Centuries' — Don't you remember how, early last summer, he Wam'd the late Eng 'gainst the Tournament mummery ? Didn't his Majesty call it all flummery. Scorning The warning. And get the next morning His poke in the eye ftom that clumsy Montgomery! TBK LOUD OF rHOULOVSE. 257 WTiy he'll tell you, before You 'ro well inside liis door, All your Highness may wish to be up to, and more I" "■BraTo! — capital! — come, let's disguise ourselves — quiok' — Fortune 's sent him on purpose here, just in the nick ; We 'U see if old Hocus will smeU out the trick ; Let's start off at once — Rigmaree, you're a Brick!" The moon in gentle radiance shone O'er lowly roof and lordly bower, O'er holy pile and armed tower, And danced upon the blue Garonne : Through aU. that sUver'd city fair, Nc sound disturb'd the calm, cool air. Save the lover's sigh alone ! Or where, perchance, some slumberer's nose Proclaim'd the depth of his repose. Provoking from connubial toes A hint — or elbpw-boue ; It might, with such trifling exceptions, be said, That Thoulouse was as still as if Thoulouse were dead. And her "oldest inhabitant" buried in lead. But hark ! a sound invades the ear, Of horses' ho rfs advancing near ! They gain the bridge — they pass — they're here! Side by side Two strangers ride, Jor the streets in Thoulouse are sufficiently wide, Ihat is I'm assured they are — not having tried. — See, now they stop Near an odd-looking shop. And they knock, and they ring, and they won't be denied. At length the command Of some unseen hand 22* 258 A LEGEND 07 LANOUEDOC. Chains, and bolts, and bars obey, And the thick-ribb'd oaken door, old and grey, In the pale moonlight gives, slowly, way. They leave their steeds to a page's care, Who comes mounted behind on a Flanders mare. And they enter the house, that resolute pair. With a blundering step, but a dare-devil air, And ascend a long, darksome, and rickety stair ; While, arm'd with a lamp that just helps you to see How uncommonly dark a place can be. The grimmest of lads with the grimmest of gnns, Says, " Gentlemen, please to take care of your shinK i Who ventures this road need be firm on his pins ! Now turn to the left — now turn to the i4ght — Now a step — now stoop -^ now again upright — Now turn once again, and directly before ye 's the doer of the great Doctor's Labora-tory." A word ! a blow ! And in they go ! No time to prepare, or to get up a show, Yet everything there they find quite comme ilfaut:— Such as queer-lookiiig bottles and jars in a row, Eetorts, crucibles, such as all conjurors stow In the rooms they inhabit, huge bellows to blow The fire burning blue with its sulphur and tow ; From the roof a huge crocodile hangs rather low, With a tail, such as that, which, we all of us know, Mr. Waterman managed to tie, in a bow ; Pickled snakes, potted lizards, in bottles and basing Like those at Morel's, or at Fortnum and Mason's, All articles found, you're aware without telling. In every respectable conjuror's dwelling. ^ Looking solemn and wise, Without turning his eyes. Or betraying the slightest degree of surjaise. THE LORD OF THOULOUSE. 259 In the midst sits the doctor — hia hair is white, And his cheek is wan — but his glance is bright. And his long black roquelaure, not over-tight, Is marked with strange characters much, if not qmte Like those on the bottles of green and blue light Which you see in a chymist's shop-window at night. His figure is tall and erect — rather spare about Kibs, — and no wonder — such folks never care about Eating or drinking, Wiiile reading and thinking, Don't fatten — his age might be sixty or thereabout, Raisiag hia eye so grave and so sage. From some manuscript work of a bygone age, The seer very composedly turns down the page, Then shading his sight. With his hand from the light, Says, " Well, Sirs, what would you at this time of night! What brings you abroad these lone chambers to tread, When all sober folks are at home and abed !" "Trav'lers we, In our degree. All strange sights we fain would see. And Hther we come in company ; We have far to go, and we como from far, Through Spain and Portingale, France and Navarre ; We haiie heard of your name. And your fame, and our aim. Great Sir, is to witness, ere yet we depart From Thoulouse, — and to-morrow at cook-crow we start- Tour skill — we would fain crave a touch of your art!" "Now naye, now naye — no trav'lers ye ! Nobles ye be Of high degree! With half an eye that one may easily see, — Count Raymond, your servant! — Yours, Lord Kigmaree! 260 A LEGEND OF LANGUEDOC. I must call you so now since you're made a JUar-guiai Faith, clever boys both, but you can't humbug me I No matter for that! I see what you'd be at — Well — pray no delay, For it's late, and ere day I myself must be hundreds of miles on my way_; So teH me at once what you want with me — say ! ShaU I call up the dead From their mouldering bed? — Shall I send you yourselTea down to Hades instead ? — Shall I summon old Harry himself to this spot?" — "Ten thousand thanks, No ! we had much rather not. We really can't say That we're curious that way; But, in brief, if yoa'll pardon the trouble we're giving,' We 'd much rather take a sly peep at the living ? Rigmaree, what say you, in ' This case, as to viewing Our spouses, and just ascertain what they 're doing ?" "Just what pleases your Highness — I don't care a soua in The matter — but don't let old Nick and his crew in!" — "Agreed! — pray preceded then, most sage Nostradamus. And show us our wiees — I dare swear they won't shame vis !" A change comes o'er the wizard's face. And his solemn look by degrees gives placff To a half grave, half comical, kind of grimace. "For good or for ill, I work your will! Yours be the risk and mine the skill ; Blame not my art if unpleasant the piU I" He takes from a shelf, and h^ pops on his head, A square sort of cap, black, and turn'd up with red, And desires not a syllaMe more may be said; THE LORD OF THOULOUSE. He goes on to mutter, And stutter, and sputter Jard words, such as no men tat wizards dare utter. " Dies mies 1 — Hocus pocus^ Adsis Demon! nonestjokus! Hi Cooolorum — don't provoke us ! — Adesto ! Presto ! Put forth your best toe!" And many more words, to repeat which would choke us, - Such a sniff then of brimstone ! — it did not last long. Or they could not have borne it, the smell was so strong. A mirror is near, So large and so clear. If you priced such a one in a drawing-room here. And was ask'd fifty pounds, you 'd not say it was dear ; But a mist gather'd round at the words of the seer, Till at length as the gloom Was subsiding, a room On its broad polish'd surface began to appear. And the Count and his comrade saw plainly before 'em, The room Lady Isabel called her "Sanctorum.'' They start, well they might, With surprise at the sight, Methinks I hear some lady say, " Serve 'em right 1" For on one side the fire Is seated the Prior, At the opposite corner a fat little Fnar ; By the side of each gentleman, easy and free, Sits a lady, as close as close well may be, She might almost as well have been perch'd on his knee. Dear me ! dear me ! Why one 's Isabel — she On the opposite side's La Marquise Rigmaree! — To judge from the spread On the board, you'd have said 261 262 A LEGEND OF lANQITEDOC. That the partie quarrie had like aldermen fed, And now from long flasks with necks cover'd with letid. They were helping themselyes to champagne, whit? anl reo. Hohbing and nobbing. And nodding and bobbing, With many a sip Both from cup and from lip. And with many a toast follow'd up by a "Hip ! — Hip ! — hip ! — huazay !" — The Count, by the way. Though he sees all they 're doing, can't hear what they say Notwithstanding both he And Mar-quis Eigmaree Aie po Tex'd and excited al what they can see. That each utters a sad word beginning with D. That word once spoke, The silence broke, In £tn instant the vision is cover'd with smoke ! But enough has been seen. " Horse ! horse ! and away!" They have, neither, the least inclination to stay. E'en to thank Nostradamus, or ask what 's to pay. — They rush down the stair. How, they know not, nor care. The next moment the Count is astride on his bay. And my Lord Rigmaree on his mettlesome grey ; They dash through the town. Now up, and now down ; jind the stones rattle under their hoofs as they ride, As if poor Thoulouse were as mad as Cheapside ;* Through lane, alley, and street, Over all that they meet ; The Count bads the way on his courser so fleet. * " The stones did rattle underneath. As if Cheapside were mad." Cmpin's Jbur in MdcUesex and ffertt THE LC«D OF TUOULOUSE. 203 My Lord Rigmaree close pursuing Ms beat, With the page in the rear to protect the retreat. Where the bridge spans the river, so Tride and so deep, Their headlong career o'er the causeway they keep, Upsetting the ivatchman, two dogs, and a sweep. Ail the town population that was not asleep. They at length reach the castle, just-outside the town, Where — in peace it wai; usual with Knights of renown — The portcullis was up, and the drawbridge was down. They dash by the sentinels — "France et TholovseJ" Ev'ry soldier ( — they then wore cook'd hats and loi.s; queuet. Appendages banish'd from modem reviews). His arquebus Jower'd, aniS bow'd to his shoes ; While Count Raymond push'd on to his lady's boudoir — he Had made up his mind to make one at her soirSe. He rush'd to that door, Where ever before, He had rapp'd with his knuckles, and " tirl'd at the pin," Till he heard the soft sound of his Lady's Come in !" But now, with a kick from his iron-heel'd boot, Which, applied to a brick waU, at once had gone through 't. He dash'd open the look; It gave way at the shock ! ( — Dear ladies, don't think in recording the fact, That your bard 's for one moment defending the act, No — it is not a gentleman's — none but a low body Jfo — could perform it) — and there he saw — NOBODY! ! Nobody?— No!! Oh, ho! — Oh, ho! There was not a table — there was not a chair Of all that Count Raymond had ever seen there (They 'd maroon-leather bottoms well stuff 'd with horse- hairj That was out of its place ! — There was not =<■ trace Of a party — there was not a dish or a plate — No sign of a table-cloth — nothing to prate 2G4 A LliCiiiVb OF LAKtiDEBOC. Of a supper, symposium, or sitting up late ; There was not a sparlc of -fire left in the grate, It had all been poked out, and remain'd in that state. If there was not a fire. Still less was there friar, Marquise, or long glasses, or Countess, or Prior, And the Count, who rush'd in open-mouth'd, wa^ struck damb, And could only ejaculate, "Well! — this is rum!" He rang for the maids — had them into the room With the hutler, the footman, the coachman, the groom, He examined them all very strictly — hut no ! Notwithstanding he cross- and re-question'd them so, 'Twas in vain — it was clearly a case of " No Go !" " Their Lady," they said, " Had gone early to bed. Having rather complain'd of a cold in her head — The stout little Friar, as round as an apple. Had pass'd the whole night in a vigil in chapel. While the Prior himself, as he 'd usually done. Had rung in the morning, at half-after one, For his jug of cold water and twopenny bun, And been visible, since they were brought him, to none. But," the servants averr'd, "From the sounds that were heard To proceed now and then from the father's sacellum They thought he was purging His sins with a scourging. And making good use of his knotted flagellum." For Madame Kigmaree, They all testified, she Had gone up to her bed-chamber soon after tea, And they really supposed that there stiU she must be. Which her spouse, the Mar-quis, found at once to agree With the rest of their tale, when he ran up to see. THE LOBD OF THOUI.OUSE. Alack for Count Raymond ! he could not conceive How the case really stood, or know what to believe ; Nor could Eigmaree settle to laugh or to grieve. There was clearly a hoax, But which of the folks Had managed to make them the butt of their jokes, , Wife or wizard, they both knew no more than Jack Noken That glass of the wizard's Stuck much in their gizzards, His cap, and his queer cloak all X's and Izzards ; Then they found, when they came to examine again, Some slight falling off in the stock of champagne. Small, but more than the butler could fairly explain. However, since nothing could make the truth known, Why, — they thought it was best to let matters alone. The Count in the garden Begg'd Isabel's pardon Next morning for waking her up in a fright, By the racket he'd kiok'd up at that time of night; And gave her his word he had ne'er misbehaved so. Had he not come home as tipsy as David's sow. Still, to give no occasion for family snarls. The friar was pack'd back to his convent at Aries, While as for the prior, At Kaymond's desire. The Pope raised his rev'rence a step or two higher, Aad made him a bishop in partibus — where His see was I cannot exactly declare. Or describe his cathedral, not having beeft there. But I dare say you'll all be prepared for the news. When I say 'twas a good many miles from Thoulous^ Where the prelate, in order to set a good precedent. Was enjoin'd, as a sine qud non, to be resident. You will fancy with me. That Count Kaymond was free. For the rest of his life, from his former ennui; 23 26f> A LEGEND OF LANGUEIIOC. Still it somehow ocourr'd that as oftea as he Chanced to look in the face of my Lord Eigmaree, There was something or other — a trifling degree Of constraint^ or embarrassment — easy to see, And which seem'd to be shared by the noble Mar-guit, While the ladies — the queerest of all things by half in My tale, never met from that hour without laughing. Moral Good gentlemen all, who are subjects of Hymen, Don't make new acquaintances rashly, but try men, Avoid above all things your cunning (that 's sly) men I Don't go out o' nights To see conjuring sleights. But shun all such people, delusion whose trade is ; Be wise! — stay at home and take tea with the ladies. If you chance to be out, At a "regular bout," And get too much of "Abbot's Pale Ale" or "Brown Stout," Doif't be cross when you come home at night to your spouse. Nor be noisy, nor kick up a dust in the house ! Be careful yourself, and admonish your sons, To beware of all folks who love twopenny buns ! And don't introduce to your wife or your daughter, A. sleek, meek, weak gent — who subsists on cold water' THE WEDDING-DAY. 267 The main incident recorded in the following excerpta i-om our family papers has but too solid a foundation. The portrait of Roger Ingoldsby is not among those in the gallery, but I have some recollection of having seen, when a boy, a picture answering the description here given of him, much injured, and lying without a frame in one of the attics. THE WEDDING-DAY; OR, THE BUCCANEER'S CURSE. A FAMILY LEGEND. It has a, jeound sound, That gleeful marriage chime, As from the old and ivied tower. It peals, at the early matin hour. Its merry, merry round ; And the Spring is in its prime. And the song-bird, on the spray. Trills from his throat, in varied note. An emulative lay — It has a joyous sound 1 ! And the Vicar is there Tfith his-wig and his book, And the Clerk, with his grave, jaaii-sanctified look, And there stand the village maids, all with their posies^ Their lilies, and daffy-down-dillies, and roses, Dight in white, A comely sight, Fringing the path to the left and the right ; — From our nursery days we all of us know Ne'er dotii " Our Ladye's garden grow" So fair for a " Grand Horticultural Show" is whun border'd with "pretty maids all on a row." 268 A FAMILY LEGEND. And the iw^liins are there, escaped from the nil Of that "Limbo of Infants," the National Schoi Whooping, and bawling, And squalling, and calling. And crawling, and creeping. And jumping, and leaping. Bo-peeping 'midst " many a mould'ring heap" in Whose bosom their own "rude forefathers" are sleeping; — ^Young rascals! — instead of lamenting and weeping, Laughing and gay, A gorge deploySe — Only now and then pausing — and checking their play, To "wonder what 'tis makes the gentlefolks stay," Ah, well a-dayl Little deem they. Poor ignorant dears ! the bells, ringing away, Are anything else Than mere parish bells. Or that each of them, should we go into its history, Is but a "Symbol" of some deeper mystery — That the clappers and ropes Are mere pracfical tropes Of "trumpets" and "tongues," and of "preachers," and popes, Unless Clement the Fourth's worthy Chaplain, Durand, err, See the "Rationale," of that goosey-gander. Gently! gently. Miss Muse! Mind your P's and your Q's! Pon't be malapert — laugh, Miss, but never abuse! Calling names, whether done to attack or to back a schism, IS, Miss, believe me, a great piece of jack-ass-ism, And as, on the whole, You're a good-natured soul, You must never enact such a pitiful rile. No, no. Miss, pull up, and go back to your boys In the churchyard, who 're making this hubbub and noise — THE WEDDING-DAT. 2C9 But husli! there's an end to their romping and mumming, For voices are heard — here's the company^coming ! And see, — the avenue gates unfold, And forth they pace, that bridal train. The grave, the gay, the young, the old, They cross the green and grassy lane, Bridesman, Bridesmaid, Bridegroom, Bride, Two by two, and side by side. Uncles, and a;unt3, friends tried and proved. And cousins, a great many times removed. A fairer or a gentler she, A lovelier maid, in her degree, Man's eye might never hope to see, Than darling, bonnie Maud Ingoldsby, The flow'r of that goodly company ; While whisp'ring low, with bated voice. Close by her side, her heart's dear choice. Walks FredviDe's hope, young Valentine Boys — But where, oh where, — Is Ingoldsby's heir? U4ile Jack Ingoldsby? — where, oh where? Why he's here, — and he's there, And he 's every where — He 's there, and he 's here ; In the front — in the rear, — Now this side, now that side, — now far, and now near— The Puck of the party, the darling "pet" boy. Full of mischief, and fun, and good-humour and joy ; With his laughing blue eye, and his cheek like a rose. And his long curly locks, and his little snub nose ; In his tunic, and trousers, and cap — there he goes ! Now pinching the bridesmen, — now teazing his sister. And telling the bridesmaids how "Valentine kiss'd her;" The torment, the plague, the delight of them all. See, he's into the churchyard ! — he's ovef the wall — 23* 270 A FAMILY LEGEND. Gambolling, froliclting, capering away, He 's the first in the chirrch, be the second who may ! ***** 'Tis o'er ; — the holy rite is done, The rite that "incorporates two in one," — ^And now for the feasting, and frolic, and fun I Spare we to tell of the smiling and sighing. The shaking of hands, the embracing, and crying, The "toot — toot — toot" Of the tabour and flute, Of the white-wigg'd Vicar's prolong'd salute, Or of how the blithe "College Youths," — rather old stagers Accustomed, for years, to pull bell-ropes for wagers — Kang, faster than ever, their " triple-bob-MAJOES ;" (So loud as to charm ye, At once and alarm ye; — "Symbolic," of course, of that rank in the army.) dpare we to tell of the fees and the dues To the "little old woman that open'd the pews," Of the largesse bestow'd on the Sexton and Clerk, Of the four-year-old sheep roasted whole in the park , Of the laughing and joking. The quafSng, and smoking. And chaffing, and broaching — that is to say, poking A hole in a mighty magnificent tub Of what men, in our hemisphere, term " Humming Bub." But which gods, — who, it seems, use a different lingo From mortals, — are wont to denominate " Stingo " Spare we to tell of the horse-collar grinning ; The cheese ! the reward of the ugly one winning ; Of the young ladies racing for Dutch body-linen, — — The soapy-tail'd sow, — a rich prize when you've caught her, — Of little boys bobbing for pippins in water; THE WEDDING-DAT. 271 The smacks and the whacks, And the jumpers in sacks, These down on their nosos and those on their backs ; — Nor skills it to speak of those darling old ditties, Sung rarely in hamlets now — never in cities, The "King and the Miller," the "Bold Robin Hood," " Chevy Chase" " Gilderoy" and the "Babes in the Wood!" — You'll say that my taste Is sadly misplaced. But I can't help confessing these simple old tunes. The " Auld Robin Grays," and the "Aiken Aroons," The '■■ Gramachree Mollys," and "Sweet Bonny Doons'' Are dearer to me, In a tenfold degree, Than a fine fantasia from over the sea ; And, for sweetness, compared with a Beethoven fugue, arc As "best-refined loaf," to the coarsest "brown sugar;"* — Alack, for the Bard's want of science ! to which he owef All this misliking of foreign capridos ? — Not that he'd say One word, by the way. To disparage our new Idol, Monsieur Duprez — But he grudges, he owns, his departed half-guinea. Each Saturday night when, devour'd by chagrin, he Sits listening to singers whose^ames end in ini. But enough of the rustics — let's leave them pursuing Their out-of-door gambols, and just take a view in The inside the hall, and see what they are doing ; And first there's the Squire, The hale, hearty sire Of the bride, — with his coat-tails subducted and higher A thought, than they 're commonly wont to aspire ; His back and his buckskins exposed to the fire ; — • Ad Amicum, iSirvientem ad legem — This rhyme, if, when scann'd by your critical ¥ar It Ta not quite legitimate, comes pretty near it. — T.I. 272 A FAMILY LEGEND. — Bright, bright are his buttons, — and bright is the hne Of his squarely-cut coat of fine Saxony blue ; And bright the shalloon of his little quill'd queue; — ^White, white as " Young England's," the dimity vest Which descends like an avalanche o'er his broad breast. Till its further progression is put in arrest By the portly projection that springs from his chest, Overhanging the garment — that can't be exprest; — ^White, white are his locks, — which, had Nature fair play. Had appear'd a clear brown, slightly sprinkled with grey ; But they 're white as the peaks of Plinlimmon to-day, Or Ben Nevis, his pate is si Men poudrS ! Bright, bright are the boots that envelope his heels, — Bright, bright is the gold chain suspending his seals And still brighter yet may the gazer.descry The tear-drop that spangles the fond father's eye As it lights on the bride — His beloved one — the pride And delight of his heart, — sever'd now from his side ; — But brighter than all, Arresting its fall, Is the smile, that rebukes it for spangling at all, — A clear case, in short, of what old poets tell, as Blind Homer for instance, sv ianpvn yi\as. Then, there are the Bride and the Bridegroom, withdrawn To the deep Gothic window that looks on the lawn, Bnsconced on a squab of maroon-colour'd leather, And talking — and thinking, no doubt — of the weather. But here comes the party — Room! room for the guests! In their Pompadour coats, and laced ruffles, and vests, — First, Sir Charles Grandisou Baronet, and his son, Charles, — the mamma does not venture to "show",-— — Miss Byron, you know, She was call'd long ago — THE WEDDING-DAT. ST. For that lady, 'twas said had been playing the d — 1, Last season, in town, with her old beau. Squire Greville, Which very much shock'd, and ohagrin'd, as may well be Supposed, "Doctor Bartlett," and "Good Uncle Selby." — Sir Charles, of course, could not give Greville his gruel, in Order to prove his abhorrence of duelling, Nor try for, deterr'd by the serious expense, a Complete separation a thoro el mensS, So he "kept a calm sough," and, when ask'd to a party, A dance, or a dinner, or tea and icarli, He went with his son, and said, looking demurely. He'd "left her at home, as she found herself poorly." Two foreigners near, " Of distinction," appear ; A pair more illustrious you ne'er heard of, or saw, Gount Ferdinand Fathom, — Count Thaddeus of Warsaw, All cover'd with glitt'ring bijouterie and hair — Poles, Whom Lord Dudley Stuart calls ' ' Patriot," — Hook " Bare Poles ; Such rings, and such brooches, such studs, and such pins ! 'Twere hard to say which Were more gorgeous and rich, Or more truly Mosaic, their chains or their chins! Next Sir Roger de Coverley, — Mr. Will Ramble, With Dame Lismahago, {nis Tabitha Bramble), — Mr. Random and Spouse, — Mrs. Pamela Booby, (Whose nose was acquiring a tinge of the ruby, And "people did say" — but no matter for that,... Folks were not then enlighten'd by good Father Mat.) — — Three friends from "the Colonies" near them were seen. The Great Massachusetts man, General Muff Green, — Mr. Jonathan W. Doubikins, — men "Iniluential some," — and their " smart" TTnole Ben; — Eev. Abraham Adams (preferr'd to a stall), — — Mr Jones and his lady, from Allworthy Hall ; — Our friend Tom, by the way. Had turn'd out rather gay For a married man — certainly "people did say.''' 274 A FAMILY LEGEND. He Tvas shrewdly suspected of using his mfe ill, And being as sly as his half-brother Blifil. — (Miss Seagrim, 'tis well known, was now in high feather, And " people did say," they 'd been seen out together, — A fact, the "Boy Jones," who, in our days, with malice Aforethought, so often got into the Palacfe, Would seem to confirm, as 'tis whisper'd he owns, he's The son of a natural son of Tom Jones's.) Lady Bellaston {mem. she had not been in-rited!) Sir Peregrine Pickle, now recently knighted, — All joyous, all happy, all looking delighted! — It would bore you to death should I pause to describe, Or enumerate half of the elegant tribe Who fiU'd the back-ground, And among whom were found The Uile of the old country families round. Such as Honeywood, Oxenden, Knatohbull, and Norton, Matthew Robinson,* too, with his beard from Monk's Horton. The Fag-gs. and Finch-Hattons, Tokes, Derings, and ^eedses. And Fairfax, (who then called the castle of Leeds his ;) Esquires, Knights, and Lords, In bag- wigs and swords ; And the troops, and the groups Of fine Ladies in hoops ; The pompoons, the toupi.es, and the diamonds and feathers The flower'd-silk sacgues Which they wore on their backs — — How ? — sacques and pompoons, with the Squire's boots and leathers 1^ Stay ! stay ! — I suspect, Here 's a trifling neglect • A worthy and eccentric country gentleman, afterwards the second Lord Rokeby, being cousin (" a great many times removed ") and successor in tho barony to Kicbard, Archbishop of Armagh, who first bore that title. — nio beard was truly patriarchal. — Mr. Munts's — pooh I — THE WEDDING-DAT. 275 On youi- part, Madame Muse — though you're commonly acouiate, As to costume, as brown Quaker, or hlack Curate, For once, I confess. Here you're out as to dress; you 've been fairly caught napping, which gives me distress, For I can't but acknowledge it is not the thing, Sir Roger de Coverley's laced suit to bring Into contact with square-cut coats, — such as George Byng And poor dear Sir Francis appear'd in, last spring. — So, having for once been compell'd to acknowledge, I 've made a small hole in our mutual chronology, Canter on, Miss, without farther apology, — Only don't make Such another mistake, Or you '11 get in a scrape, of which I shall partake ; — Enough! — you are sorry for what you have done, So dry your eyes. Miss, blow your nose, and go on ! Well — the party are met, all radiant and gay. And how ev'ry person is dress'd — we won't say ; Suffice it, they all come glad homage to pay To our dear "bonnie Maud," on her own wedding-day, To dance at her bridal, and help " throw the stocking," — A practice that's now discontinued as shocking. There 's a breakfast, they know — There always is so On occasions like these, wheresoever you go. " Of course there are "lots" of beef, potted and hung. Prawns, lobsters, cold fowl, and cold ham, and cold tongue Hot tea, and hot coffee, hot rolls, and hot toast. Cold pigeon-pie (rook?), and cold boil'd and cold roast, Scotch marmalade, jellies, cold cream, colder ices — Blancmange, which young ladies say, so very nice is, — Rock-melons in thick, pines in much thinner siices, — 276 A FAMILY LEGEND. Char, potted with clarified butter and spices, Eenewing an appetite long past its crisis — Eefined barley-sugar, in various devices. Such as bridges, and baskets, and temples, and grottoes — And nasty French luoifer snappers vrith mottoes. — In short, all those gimoracks together were met Which people of fashion tell Gunter to get When they give a grand dSfeHner d la fourcheite — (A phrase which, though French, in our language still lingers, Intending a breakfast vrith forks and not fingers.) And see ! what a mountainous bride-cake ! — a thing By itself — with small pieces to pass through the ring ! Now as to the wines! — "Ay, the wine?" cries the Squire, Letting fall both his coat-tails — which nearly take fire, — Kubbing his hands. He calls out, as he stands, To the serving-men waiting "his Honour's" commands, "The vrine ! — to be sure — here you, Harry — Bob — Dick — "The wine, don't yoa hear! — bring us lights — come, be quick ! — And a crow-bar to knock down the mortar and brick — Say what they may ' 'Fore George we '11 make way Into old Roger Ingoldsby's cellar to-day ; And let loose his captives, imprison'd so long, His flasks, and his casks, that he brick'd up so strong !" — — "Oh dear! oh dear! Squire Ingoldsby, bethink you what yoft do !" Exclaims old Mrs. Botherby,*-^she is in mch a stew! — "Ohde&r! oh dear! what do I hear! — full oft you've heard me tell Of the curse ' Wild Roger ' left upon whoe'er should break Ms cell!' * Great-granclmamma, by the father*)? side, to the excellent lady of the sams Dame who yet " keeps the keys " at Tappington. THE WEDDING-DAT. 27" " Fun fiTe-and-twenty years are gone since Koger went airay. As I bethink me, too, it was upon this very day! And !^was then a comely dame, and you, a springald gay, Were up and down to London town, at opera, ball, and play ; Your locks were nut-brown then. Squire — you grow a littl« grey!— "'Wild Roger,' so we oaU'd him then, your grandsire's youngest son. He was, in truth, A wayward youth. We fear'd him, every one. In ev'ry thing he had his will, he would be stay'd by none. And when he did a naughty thing, he laugh'd and cali'd it fun I — One day his father chid him sore — I know not what he 'd donel But ho soorn'd reproof ; And from this roof Away that night he run ! " Seven years were gone and over — ' Wild Roger ' came again, He spoke of forays and of frays upon the Spanish Main ; And he had store of gold galore, and silks, and satins fine. And flasks, and casks of Malvoisie, and precious Gascon wine ! Rich booties he had brought, he said, across the western wave. And came, in penitence and shame, now of his sire to crave Forgiveness and a welcome home — his sire was in his grave ! "Your Father was a kindly man — he play'd a brothers part. He press'd his brother to his breast — he had a kindly heart. Fain would he have him tarry here, their common hearth to share. But Roger was the same man still, — he soorn'd bis brother's pray'r ! He cali'd his crew, — away he flew, and on those foreign shores 24 278 A PAMILT LEGEND. Got kfll'd in some ouflandish place— they call It the Eyesores,* But ere he went, ^ And quitted Kent, , — I well recall the day, — His flasks and casks of Gascon wine he safely ' stow'd away ;' Within the cellar's deepest nook, he safely stow'd them all. And Mason Jones brought bricks and stones, and they built up the wall. •'Oh! then it was a fearful thing to hear 'Wild Roger's' ban! Good gracious me ! I never heard the like from mortal man, ' Here's that,' quoth he, 'shall serre me well, when I return at last, A batter'd hulk, to quaff and laugh at toils and dangers past; Accurst be he, whoe'er he be, lays hand on gear of mine, Till I come back again from sea, to broach my Gascon wine !' And more he said, which fill'd with dread all those who listen'd there ; In sooth my very blood ran cold, it lifted up my hair With very fear, to stand and hear 'Wild Roger' curse and swear ! ! He saw my fright, as well he might, but stiU he made his game. He caU'd me 'Mother Bounce-about,' my Gracious, what a name! Nay, more 'an old' — some 'boat-woman,' — I may not say foi shame ! — Then, gentle Master, pause awhile, give heed to what I tell. Nor break, on such a day as this, ' Wild Roger's' secret cell 1" "Pooh! pooh!" quoth the Squire, As he moved from the fire. And bade the old Housekeeper quickly retire, " Pooh ! — never tell me I Nonsense — fiddle-de-dee ! What? — wait Uncle Roger's return back from sea? — * Azores? — Mrs. Botherljy's orthography, like that of her distinguished contemporary Baron Duberly, was " a little loose." THE WEDBINO-DAY. 279 Why he may, as you say, HaT» been somewhat too gay, And, no doubt, was a broth of a boy in his way ; But what's that to us, now, at this time of day? What, if some quarrel With Bering or Darrell — — I hardly know which, but I think it was Bering,—. Sent him back in a huff to his old priTateering, Or what his unfriends chose to call Buccaneering, It's twenty years since, as we very well know, He was knock'd on the head in a skirmish, and so Why rake up ' auld warld' tales of deeds long ago ? — — Foul befall him who would touch the deposit Of living man, whether in cellar or closet ! But since, as I 've said, Knock'd on the head. Uncle Roger has now been some twenty years dead As for his wine, I'm his heir, and it's mine! And I'd long ago work'd it well, but that I tarried For this very day — ' And I'm sure you '11 all say I was right — when my own darling Maud should get married I So lights and a crow-bar ! — the only thing lies On my conscience, at all, with respect to this prize. Is some little compunction anent the Excise — Come — you. Master Jack, Be the first, and bring back Whate'er comes to hand — Claret, Burgundy, Sack — Head the party, and mind that you're back in a crack I" Away go the clan. With cup and with can, Little Jack Ingoldsby leading the van ; liittle reck they of the Buccaneer's ban. 280 A FAMILY LEGEND. Hope wHspers, "Perchance we'll fall in with strong beer toe here!" Blest thought! which seta them all grinning from ear to eart Through cellar one, through cellars two, Through cellars three they pass'd ! And their way they took To the farthest nook Of cellar four — the last ! — Blithe and gay, they batter away, On this wedding-day of Maud's, With all their might, to bring to light, "Wild Roger's" "Custom-house frauds 1" And though stone and brick Be never so thick. When stoutly assail'd, they are no bar To the powerful charm Of a Yeoman's arm When wielding a decentish crow-bar ! Down comes brick, and down comes stone. One by one — Thejob's half done!— " Where is he ? — now come — where 's Master John?"-— — There 's a breach in the wall three feet by two, And little Jack Ingoldsby soon pops through ! Hark ! — what sound 's that ? — a sob ? — a sigh ? — The choking gasp of a stifled cry ? — " — What can it be ? — Let's see ! — let's see ! It earit be little Jack Ingoldsby The candle — quick !" Through stone and through brick. They poke in the light on a long split stick ; But ere he who holds it can wave it about, He gasps, and he sneezes — the light goes out I THE WEDDING-DAV. 'iSl Tct were there those, in after days, Who said that pale light's fliok'ring blaze, For a moment, gleam'd on a dark Form there, Seom'd as bodied of foul black air ! — — In Mariner's dress,— with cutlass braced By buckle and broad black belt, to its waist, — — On a oock'd-hat, laced With gold, and placed With a degagi, devil-may-care,' kind of taste. O'er a bttlafri brow by a soar defaced ! — That Form, they said, so foul and so black, Grinn'd as it pointed at poor little Jack. — — I know not, I, how the truth maybe, But the pent-up vapour, at length set free, Set them all sneezing, And coughing, and wheezing. As, working its way To the regions of day. It, at last, let a purer and healthier breeze in Of their senses bereft. To the right and the left, Ihose varlets so lately courageous and stout, There they !ay kicking and sprawling about, Like Billingsgate fresh fish, unconscious of ice, Or those which, the newspapers give us advice, Mr. Taylor, of Lombard-street, sells at half-price \ — Nearer the door, some half-dozen, or more ! Scramble away To the rez de chaussie, (As our Frenchified friend always calls his ground-floor,) And they call, and they bawl, and they bellow and roap For lights, vinegar, brandy, and fifty things more. At length, after no little clamour and din. The foul air let out and the fresh air let in. They drag one and all tip into the hall, 24* 882 A FAMILY LEGEND. Where a medical Quaker, the great Dr. Lettsom, Who's one of the party, " bleeda, physicks, and sweats 'cm." All ? — all — save One — —"But He !— my Son !— Merciful Heav^i ! — where — whetie is John ?" » » * * # Within that cell, so dark and deep Lies One, as in a tranquil sleep. A sight to make the sternest weep ! — — That little heart is pulseless now, And cold that fair and open brow, And closed that eye that beam'd with joy And hope — "Oh, God ! my Boy ! — my Boy '" * Enough ! — I may not, — dare not, — show The wretched Father's frantic woe, The Mother's tearless, speechless — No! I may not such a theme essay — Too bitter thoughts crowd in, and stay My pen — sad memory will have way ! Enough ! — at once I close the lay, Of fair Maud's fatal Wedding-day ! It has a mournful sound. That single, solemn Bell ! As to the hills and woods around, It flings its deep-toned knell I That measured toll ! — alone — apart. It strikes upon the human heart ! — It has a mournful sound ! MOBAL. Come, come, Mrs. Muse, we can't part in this way. Or you 'U leave me as duU as ditch-water all day. Try and squeeze out a Moral or two from your lay . And let us part cheerful, at least if not gay 1 THE WEDDIKG-DAT. 283 First and foremost then, Gentlefolks, learn from my song, Not to lock up your wine, or malt-liquor, too long ! Though Port should have age, Yet I don't think it sage , ^ To totomb it, as some of your connoisseurs do, Till it's losing in flayour, and body, and hue; — I question if keeping it does it much goad After ten years in bottle and three in the wood. If any young man, though a snubb'd younger brother, When told of his faults by his father and mother. Buns restive, and goes off to sea in a huff. Depend on 't, my friends, that young man is a Muff! Next — ill-gotten gains Are not worth the pains ! — They prosper with no one ! — so whether cheroots, Or Havannah cigars, — or French gloYes, or French boota,r ■ Whatever you want, pay the duty ! nor when you Buy any such articles, cheat the revenue ! And "now to conclude," — For it's high time I should, — When you do rejoice, mind, — whatsoever you do, That the hearts of the lowly rejoice with you too !— Don't grudge them their jigs, And their frolics and "rigs," And don't interfere with their soapy-tail'd pigs : Nor " because thou art virtuous," rail, and exhale An anathema, breathing of vengeance and wail, Upon every complexion less pale than sea-kale ! Nor dismiss the poor man to his pump and his pail. With "Drink there I — we'll have henceforth no mora cakes and ale I r THE BLASPHEMER'S "WARNING. A LAY or ST. KOMWOLD. Mox Begina filium peperit a multis optfttum et a Doo Banctificatum, Cumque Tnfans natus fuisset, statim clarft voce, omnibus audientibus, clamaTit *' Cltristianus suml Christianus suml Christianus swn I" Ad banc vocem Presbjrteri duo, Wlderinus et Edwoldus, dicentes Deo OraciaSf et omnes qui aderartt mirautes, cceperunt cantare Te Deum lavdattius. Quo facto rogabftt Infaua cathecumenum a Widerino sacerdote fieri, et ab Edwoldo teneri ad prsesignaculum fidei et Komwoldum vocari. — Nov Legend. Angl. in Vita SCK ROMUAU)!. In Kent, we are told, There was seated of old, A handsome young gentleman, courteous and bold, He'd an oaken strong-box, well replenish'd with gold, With broad lands, pasture, arable, woodland, and wold, Not an acre of which had been mortgaged or sold ; He 'd a Plesaunce and Hall passing fair to behold, He had beeves in the byre, he had flocks in the fold, And was somewhere about five-and-twenty years old. His figure and face, For beauty and grace. To the best in the county had scom'd to give place. Small marvel then. If, of women and men Wltom he chanced to foregather with, nine out of ten Express'd themselves charm'd with Sir Alured Denne. From my earliest youth, I 've been taught, as a truth, A maxim which most will consider as sooth. Though a few, peradventure, may think it uncouth ; (284) THE blasphemer's WARNING. 2S5 Th6re are three social duties, the whole of the swarm In this great human hiye of ours, ought to perform, And that too as soon as conveniently may be ; The first of the three— Is, the planting a Tree ! The next, the producing a Book — then, a Baby! (For my part, dear Reader, without any jesting, I So far at least, have acoomplish'd my destiny.) From the foremost, i.e. The "planting the Tree," The Knight may, perchance, have conceived himself free. Inasmuch as that, which way soever he looks Over park, mead, or upland, by streamlets and brooks, His fine beeches and elms shelter thousands of rooks ; In twelve eighty-two. There would also accrtie Much latitude as to the article, Books But, if those we've disposed of, and need not recall. Might, as duties, appear in comparison small. One remain'd, there was no getting over at all, — The providing a male Heir for Bonnington Hall; Which, doubtless, induced the good Knight to decide, As a matter of conscience, on taking a Bride. It's a very fine thing, and delightful to see Inclination and duty unite and agree, Because it's a case That so rarely takes place ; In the instance before us then Alured Denne Might well be esteem'd the most lucky of men. Inasmuch as hard by. Indeed so very nigh, That her chimneys, from his, you might almost descry, Dwelt a Lady ai; whom he 'd long cast a sheep's eye, One whose character scandal itself could defy, 286 THE LAY OP ST. EOMWOLD. While her charms and accomplishments rank'd veiy high, And TTho woiild not deny A propitious reply, But reflect back his Wushes, and give sigh for sigh. (A line that's not mine, but Tom Moore's, by the by.) There was many a gay and trim bachelor near. Who felt sick at heart when the news met his ear. That fair Edith Ingoldsby, she whom they all The "Kosebud of Tappington" ceased not to call, Was going to say, "Honour, lore, and obey" To Sir Alured Denne, Knight, of Bonnington Hall, That all other suIWvs were left in the lurch,, And the parlies had even been "out-asked " in church. For every cue says In those primitive'days, And I must own I think it redounds to their praise. None dream'd of transferring a daughter or niece As a bride, by an "unstamp'd agreement," or lease, 'Fore a Register's Clerk, or a Justice of Peace, While young ladies had fain Single women remain. And unwedded maids to the last "crack of doom" stick. Ere marry, by taking a jump o'er a broomstick. So our bride and bridegroom agreed to appear At holy St. Eomwold's, a Priory near. Which a long while before, I can't say in what year, Their forebears had join'd with the neighbours to rear, And endow'd, some with bucks, some with beef, some mti beer. To comfort the friars, and make them good cheer, Adorning the building. With carving and gilding, Aad stone altars, fis'd to the chantries and fill'd in; THE blasphemer's WARNING. 287 (Papistic in substance and form, on tUs and count With Judge Herbert Jenuer Fust justly at discount. See Cambridge Societaa Camdeniensis V. Faulkner, iert. prim. •Tanuarii Mensis, With "Judgment rerersed, costs of suit, and expenses;") All raised to St. Romwold, mth some reason, styled By Duke Humphrey's confessor,* a Wonderful Child," For ne'er yet was Saint, except him, upon earth Who made "his profession of faith" at his birth. And Trhen scarce a foot high, or six inches in girth. Converted his " Ma," and contrived to amend a Sad hole in the creed of his grandsire. King Penda, Of course to the shrine Of so young a divine Flow'd much holy water, and some little wine. And when any young folks did to marriage incline, The good friars were much in request, and not one Was more " sought unto " than the Sub-prior, Mess John ; To him, there and then. Sir Alured Denne Wrote a three-corner'd note with a small crow-quill pen. To say what he wanted, and fix "the time when," And, as it's well known that your people of quality Pique themselves justly on strict punctuality. Just as the clock struck the hour he 'd named in it, The whole bridal party rode up to the minute. Now whether it was that some rapturous dream, ■ Comprehending "fat pullets and clouted cream," Had borne the good man, in his vision of bliss. Far off to some happier region than this — * Honest John Capgrave, the voracious hiographor of " English Saintli,* author, or rather compiler of the " Nova Legenda AnglisB," was chaplain ia Iiumphrey, " the Good Duke " of Gloucester. A beautiful edition of hL" work If as printed ty Wynkyn de Worde. 288 A LAY OF ST. KOMWOLD. Or, whether his beads, 'gainst the fingers rebelling, Took longer than usual that morning in telling ; Or whether, his conscience with knotted cord purging Mess John was indulging himself with a scourging. In penance for killing some score of the fleas. Which, infesting his hair-shirt, deprived him of ease, Or whether a barrel of Faversham oysters. Brought in, on the evening before, to the cloisters, Produced indigestion. Continues a question — The particular cause is not worth a debate ; For my purpose it's clearly sufficient to state That whatever the reason, his rev'rence was late. And Sir Alured Denne, Not ihe meekest of men, Began' banning away at a deuce of a rate. Now here, though I do it with infinite pain. Gentle reader, I find I must pause to explain That there was — what, I own, I grieve to make known — * On" the worthy Knight's character one single stain. But for which, all his friends had borne witness I 'm sure. He had been sans riproche, as he still was sans peur. The fact is, that many distinguish'd commanders " Swore terribly {teste T. Shandy) in Flanders." Now into these parts our Knight chancing to go, countries amed from this sad, vulgar cu sto m, " Th e Low Countriea," vThough on common occasions as courteous as daring, ^^ Had pick'd up this shocking bad habit of swearing. And if anything vex'd him, or matters went wrong. Was given to what low folks call " coming it strong." Good, bad, or indifferent then, young or old. He'd consign them, when once in a humour to scold, \ ; To a place where the y certainly would not take cold, i ; ' — Now if there are those,^ and nve^ome in myey^'"^ THE blasphemer's ttarninq 289 VVlio 'd esteem this a crime of no very deep dye, Let them read on — they '11 find their mistake by and by. Near or far Few people there are Hut have heard, read, or sung about Young Lochinrar, How in Netherby Chapel, " at morning tide," The Priest and the Bridegroom stood waiting the Bride ; How they waited, "but ne'er A Bride was there." Still I don't find, on reading the ballad with care. The bereaved Mr. Graham proceeded to swear, And yet to experience so serious a blight in One's dearest affections, is somewhat exciting. 'Tis manifest then That Sir Alured Denne Had far less excuse for such bad language, when It was only the Priest not the Bride who was missing- He had fiU'd up the interval better with kissing. And iiwas really surprising. And not very wise in A Knight to go on so anathematising, When the head and the front of the Clergyman's crime Was but being a little behind as to time : Be that as it may. He swore so that day At the reverend gentleman's ill-judged delay. That not a bystander who heard what he said, But listen'd to all his expressions with dread. And felt all his hair stand on end on his head ; Nay many folks there Did not stick to declare The phenomenon was not confined to the hair, For the little stone Saint who sat perch'd o'er the door, St. Eomwold himself, as I told you before, 25 290 A LAY OP ST. ROMTFOLD. What will scarce be brf.'.eved, Was plainly perceived To Bhrug up his shoulders, as very much grieved, And look down with a frown So remarkably brown, That all sawjie'd now quite a different face on From that he received at the hands of the mason ; Nay, many averr'd he half rose in his niche. When Sir Alured, always in metaphor rich, Call'd his priest an " old son of " some animal — which, Is not worth the inquiry — a hint's quite enough on The subject — for more I refer you to Buffon. It's supposed that the Enight Himself saw the sight. And it 's likely he did, as he easily might. For 'tis certain he paused in his wordy attack And, in nautical lauguage,"seem'd "taken aback." In so much that when now The "prime cause of the row," Father John, in the chapel at last made his fcow. The Bridegroom elect was so mild and subdued. None could ever suppose he 'd been noisy and rude. Or made use of the language to which I allude ; Fair Edith herself, while the knot was a tying, Her bridemaids around her, some sobbing, some sighing. Some smiling, some blushing, half-laughing, half-crying. Scarce made her responses in tones more complying Than he who 'd been raging and storming so recently, All softness now, and behaving quite decently. Many folks thought too the cold stony frown Of the Saint up aloft from his niche looking down. Brought the sexton and clerk each an extra half-crown, When, the rite being over, the fees were all paid. And the party remounting, the whole cavalcade Prepared to ride home with no Uttle parade A LAT OF ST. ROMWOLD. 29i fn a climate so very unsettled as ours It's as well to be cautious and guard against showers, For though, about One You've a fine brilliant sun, When your walk or your ride is but barely begun, Yet long ere the hour-hand approaches the Two, There is not in the whole sky one atom of blue, But it "rains cats and dogs," and you're fairly wet through Ere you know where to turn, what to say, or to do ; For which reason I've bought, to protect myself well, a Good stout Taglioni and gingham umbrella, But- in Edward the First's days I very much fear Had a gay cavalier Thought fit to appear In any such "toggery" — then 'twas term'd " gear"^ He 'd have met with a highly significant sneer, Or a broad grin extending from ear unto ear On the features of every soul he came near ; There was no taking, refuge too then, as with us. On a slip-sloppy day, in a cab or a 'bus; As they rode through the woods In their wimples and hoods, Their only resource against sleet, hail, or rain, Was, as Spenser describes it, to "pryck o'er the plaine,' That is to clap spurs on, and ride helter-skelter In search of some building or other for shelter. Now it seems that the sky Which had been of a dye As bright and as blue as your lady-love's eye, The season in fact being genial and dry. Began to assume An appearance of gloom From the moment the Knight began fidget and fame^ Which deepen'd and deepen'd till all the horizon Grew blacker than aught they had ever set eyes on, 292 THE jtlLASPHEMEK's WARNING. And soon, from the far west the elements ramhling Increased, and kept pace with Sir Alured's gramlilmg. Bright flashes between. Blue, red, and green, Ail livid and lurid began to be seen ; At length down it came — a whole deltige of rain, 4. perfect Niagara, drenching the plain. And up came the reek. And down came the shriek Of the winds like a steam-whistle starting a train ; And the tempest began so to roar and to pour. That the Denues and the Ingoldsbys, starting at score, As they did from the porch of St. Bomwold's church door, Had scarce gaiu'd a mile, or a mere trifle more. Ere the whole of the crew, Were completely wet through. They dash'd o'er the downs, and they dash'd through the rales They dash'd up the hills, and they dash'd down the dales. As if elderly Nick was himself at their tails ; The Bridegroom in vain Attempts to restrain The Bride's frighten'd palfrey by seizing the rein, When a flash and a crash Which produced such a splash That a Tankey had oaU'd it "an Almighty Smash," Came down so complete At his own courser's feet That the rider, though famous for keeping his seat, Frons its kicldngs and plungings, now under now upper, Slipp'd out of his demi-pique oyer the crupper. And fell from the back of his terrified cob On what bards less refined than myself term his "Nob." (To obtain a genteel rhyme 's sometimes a tough job). — Just so — for the nonce to enliven my song With a classical simile cannot be wrong-- A LAY OF ST. ROMWOLD, 293 Just so — in such roads and in similar weather, Tydides and Nestor were riding together, When, so says old Homer, the King of the Sky, The great " Cloud-compellor," his lightnings let fly, And their horses both made snch a desperate shy At this freak of old Zeus, That at once they broke loose, Keins, traces, bits, breeohings were all of no use ; If the Pylian Sage, without any delay, Had not whipp'd them sharp round and away from the fray, They 'd have certainly upset his cabriolet, And there 'd been the — a name I won't mention — to pay. Well, the Knight in a moment recover'd his seat — Mr. Widdicombe's mode of performing that feat At Astley's could not be more neat or complete, — ^It's recorded, indeed by an eminent pen Of our own days, that this our great Widdioombe then In the heyday of life, had afforded some ten Or twelve lessons in riding to Alured Denne, — It is certain the Knight Was so agile and light That an instant sufficed him to set matters right. Yet the Bride was by this time almost out of sight ; For her palfrey, a rare bit of blood, who could trace Her descent from the "pure old Caucasian race," Sleek, slim, and bony, as Mr. Sidonia's Fine " Arab Steed" Of the very same breed, Which that elegant gentleman rode so genteelly — See "Coningsby" written by "B. Disraeli" — That palfrey, I say. From this trifling delay Had made what at sea's call'd " a great deal of waj ' 25* 294 THE BLASPHEMES'S WARNING. " More fleet than the roe-buck'' and free as the TOid, She had left the good company rather behind ; They whipp'd and they spurr'd and they after her press'd; Still Sir Alured's steed was " by long chalks" the best Of the party, and very soon distanced the rest ; But long ere e'en he had the fugitive near'd, She dash'd into the wood and_ at once disappear'd I It's a "fashious" affair when you're out on a ride, — Ev'n supposing you 're not in pursuit of a bride. If you are, it's more fashious, which can't be denied, — And you come to a place where three cross-roads divide, Without any way-post, stuck up by the side Of the road-to direct you and act as a guide, With a road leading here, and a road leading there, And a road leading no one exactly knows where. When Sir Alured came In pursuit of the dame To a fork of this kind, — a three-prong'd one — small blame To his scholarship if in selecting his way His respect for the Classics now lead him astray ; But the rule, in a work I ■wont stop to describe, is In medio semper iiiiissimns ibis. So the Knight being forced of the three paths to enter one, Dash'd, with these words on his lips, down the centre one. Up and down hill. Up and down hill, Through brake and o'er briar he gallops on still, Aye, banning, blaspheming, and cursing his fill ^t his courser because he had given him a "spiU;" Yet he did not gain ground On the palfrey, the sound. On the contrary, made by the hoofs of the beast Grew fainter and fainter, — and fainter, — and — ceased! Sir Alured burst through the dingle at last. To a sort of a clearing, and there — he stuck fast- A LAY OF ST. KOMTTOLD. 295 For his steed, though a freer one ne'er had a shoe on, Stood fix'd as the Governor's nag in " Don Juan," Or much like the statue that stands, cast in copper, a Few yards south-east of the door of the Opera, Save that Alured's horSe had not got such a big-tail. While Alured wanted the cock'd hat and pig-taU. Before him is seen A diminutive Green Scoop'd out from the covert — a thick leafy screen Of wild foliage, trunks with hroad branches between Encircle it wholly, all radiant and sheen. For the weather at once appear'd clear aua seijene, And the sky up above was a bright mazarine. Just as though no such thing as a tempest had been. In short it was one of those sweet little places In Egypt and Araby known as " oases," There, under the shade That was made by the glade, The astonish'd Sir Alured sat and survey'd A little low building of Bethersden stone. With ivy and parasite creepers o'ergrown, A Sacellum, or cell. In which Chronicles tell Saints and anchorites erst were aooustom'd to dwell , A little round arch, on which, deeply indented, The zig-zaggy pattern by Saxons invented Was cleverly ohisell'd, and well represented. Surmounted a door Some five feet by four. It might have been less or it might have W-i more. In the primitive ages they made these things lower Than we do in buildings that had but one floor, And these Chronicles say When an anchorite gray 296 THE blasphemer's ttakninq. Wiah'd to snut himself "up and keep out of the ipray, He was commonly wont in such low cells to stay, And pray night and day on the rez de chamsSe. There, under the arch I've endeaTOur'd to paint, With no little surprise, And scarce trusting his eyes. The Knight now saw standing that little Boy Saint 1 The one whom before He'd seen over the door Of the Priory shaking his head as he swore — With mitre, and crozier, and rochet, and stole on. The very self-same — or at least his Eidolon ! With a voice all unlike to the infantine squeak. You'd expect, that small Saint now address'd him to speak j In a bold, manly tone, he Began, while his stony Cold lips breathed an odor quite Eau-de-Cologne-y ; In fact, from his christening, according to rumour, he Beat Mr. Brummell to sticks, in perfumery. * " Sir Alured Denne !" Said the Saint, "be atten- — tive ! Your ancestors, all most respectable men, Have for some generations being vot'ries of mine, They have bought me mould candles, and bow'd at my shrihe, They have made my monks presents of ven'son and wine, "With a right of free pasturage, too, for their swine. And, though you in this Have been rather remiss, ' StiU I owe you a turn for the sake of ' Lang Syne,' And I now come to tell you, your cursing and swearing Have reaoh'd to a pitch that is really past bearing. * In eodem autem prato in quo baptizntus Sanctug Romualdus nunquam gratissimus odor deficit; ncque ibi licrbie pallescunt, sed semper in viriditate permanentes magna nectaria suavitate redolent. — Nov. Legend, AngU A LAF OF ST. ROMWOLp. !s97 'Twere a positive scandal In even a Vandal, It ne'er should be done, saye -with bell, book and candle : And though I 'ye now feam'd, as I 've always suspected, Your own education's been somewhat neglected; Still, you're not such an uninform'd pagan, I hope, As not to know cursing belongs tothe Pope! And his Holiness feels, very properly, jealous Of all such encroachments by paltry lay fellows. Now, take my advice. Saints never speak twice, So take it at once, as I once for all give it ; Go home ! you '11 find there all as right as a trivet. But mind, and remember, if once you give way To that shocking bad habit, I "m sorry to say, I have heard you so sadly indulge in to-day, As sure as you 're born, on the very first trip That you make — the first oath that proceeds from yonr llf, I '11 soon make you rue it ! — I 've said it — I '11 do it ! ' Forewarn'd is forearm'd,' you shan't say but you knew it; Whate'er you hold dearest or nearest your heart, I 'll take it away, if I come in a cart ! I will, on my honour! you know it's absurd. To suppo'-o that a Saint ever forfeits his word For a pitiful Knight, or to please any such man — I've said it! I'll do't — if I don't, I'm a Dutchman!" He ceased — he was gone as he closed his harangue, And some one inside shut the door with a bang! Sparkling with dew. Each green herb anew Its profusion of sweets round Sir Alured threw, As pensive and thoughtful he slowly withdrew, (For the hoofs of his horse had got rid of their glue,) 4nd the cud of reflection continued to chew 29h THE blasphemer's TVARNINO Till the gables of Boimington Hall rose in view Jittle reok'd he what he smelt, what he saw, BriUianoe of scenery. Fragrance of greenery, Fail'd in impressing his mental machinery ; Many an hour had elapsed, well I ween, ere he Fairly was able 'distinction to draw 'Twixt the odour of garlic and bouquet du Sot. Merrily, merrily sounds the horn, And cheerily ring the bells ; For the race is run, The goal is won, The little lost mutton is happily found. The Lady of Bennington's safe and sound In the Hall where her new Lord dwells I Hard had they ridden, that company gay, After fair Edith, away and away : This had slipp'd back o'er his courser's rump. That had gone over his ears with a plump, But the lady herself had stuck on like a trurilp. Till her panting steed Kelax'd his speed, And feeling, no doubt, as a gentleman feels When he 's once shown a bailiff a fair pair of heeb Stopp'd of herself, as it 's very well known Horses will do, when they 're thoroughly blown, And thus the whole group had foregathor'd again. Just as the sunshine succeeded the rain. Oh, now the joy, and the frolicking, roUiokiug Doings indulged in by one and by all ! Gaiety seized on the most melancholic in All the broad lands around Bennington HaU. All sorts of rcTeh-y, All sorts of deyilry. All play at " High Jinks " and keep up the ball. THE LAY OF ST. KOMWOLD. 29S Dayy, weetS; and months, it is really astonishing, When one 's so happy, how Time flies away ; Meanwhile the Bridegroom requires no admonishing As to what pass'd on his own wedding-day ; Never since then. Had Sir Alured Denne Let a word fall from his lip or his pen That began with a D, or left off with an N I Once, and once only, when put in a rage. By a careless young rascal he 'd hired as a Page, All buttons and brass. Who in handling a glass Of spiced hippocras, throws It all over his clothes, And spoils his best pourpoint, and smartest trunk hose, While stretching his hand out to take it and quaff it (he . 'd given a rose noble a yard for the taffety). Then, and then only, came into his head, A very sad word that began with a Z, But he cheek'd his complaint, He remember'd the Saint, In the nick — Lady Denne was beginning to faint — That sight on his mouth acted quite as a bung, Like Mahomet's coffin, the shocking word hung Half-way 'twist the root and the tip of his tongue. Many a year Of mirth and good cheer Flew over their heads, to each other more dear Every day, they were quoted by peasant and peer As the rarest examples of love ever known, Since the days of Le Ohivaler D'Arbie and 'Joanne, Who in Bonnington chancel lie sculptured in stone. Well — it happen'd at last, After certain years past. 300 THE blasphemer's varnino. That an embassy came to our court from afar — Prom the Grand-duke of Muscovy — • now call'd the Czar, And the Spindleshank'd Monarch, determined to do All\he grace that he could to a Nobleman, who Had sail'd all that way from a country which few In our England had heard of, and nobody knew, With a hat like a muff, and a beard like a Jew, Out arsenals, buildings, and dock-yards to Tiew, And to say how desirous. His Prince Wladimirus, Had long been with mutual regard to inspire us, And how he regretted he was not much nigher us, ■yVith other fine things, Such as Kings say to Kings When each tries to humbug his dear Royal Brother, ia Hopes by such "gammon" to take one another in — King Longshanks, I say, Being, now on his way Bound for France, where the rebels had kept him at bay Was living in clover At this time at Dover r the castle there, waiting a tide to go over. He had summon'd, I can't tell you how many men, Enights, nobles, and squires to the wars of Guienne, And among these of course was Sir Alured Denne, Who, acting like most Of the knights in the host, Whose residence was not too far from the coast. Had brought his wife with him, delaying their parting. Fond souls, till the very last moment of starting. Of course, with such lots of lords, ladies, and knights. In their SaraeeneUes,* and their bright chain-mail tights, * This sUk, of great repute amonf; our ancestors, had heeu bloughV liome^ a few years before, by EcLvrard, from the Holy Land; A LAY OP ST. ROMWOLD. All aeoustoin'd to galas, grand doings, and sights, A matter like this was at once put to rights ; 'Twould have been a strange thing, If so polish'd a Idng, With his board of Green Cloth, and Lord Steward's department Couldn't teaoh an Ambassador what the word "smart" meanH A banquet was order'd at once for a score. Or more, of the corps that had just come on shore, And the King, though he thought it " a bit of a bore," Asls'd all the dlite Of his levie to meet The illustrious Strangers and share in the treat; For the Boyar himself, the Queen graciously made him her Beau for the day, from respect to Duke Wladimir. (Queer as this name may appear in the spelling. You won't find it trouble you, Sound but the W, Like the First L in Llan, Lloyd, and Llewellyn!) Fancy the fuss and the fidgety looks Of Robert de Burghersh, the constables, cooks; For of course the cuisine Of the King and the Queen Was behind them at London, or Windsor, or Sheene, Or wherever the Court ere it started had been. And it 's really no jest. When a troublesome guest Looks in at a time when you 're busy and prest, Just going to fight, or to ride, or to rest, And expects a good lunch when you 've none ready drest. The servants, no doubt. Were much put to the rout, By this very extempore sort of set-out. But they wisely fell back upon Poor Richard's plan, " When you can't what you would, you must do what you can l* 26 302 THE blasphemer's wabnino. So they ransiiok'd the country, folds, pig-styes, and pens, For the sheep and the porkers, the cocks and the hons ; 'Twas said a Tom-cat of Sir Alured Denne's, A fine tabby-grey Disappear' d on that day. And whatever became of him no one could say ; They brought all the food That ever they cou'd. Fish, flesh, and fowl, with sea-coal and dry wood, To his Majesty's Dapifer, Eudo (or Tide), They lighted the town up, sat ringing the bells, And borrow'd the waiters from all the hotels. A bright thought, moreover, came into the head Of Dapifer Eudo, who 'd some little dread. As he said, for the thorough success of his spread. So he said to himself, " What a thing it would be Could I have here with me Some one, two, or three Of their outlandish scullions from over the sea ! It's a hundred to one if the Suite or their Chief Understand our plum-puddings< and barons of beef; But with five minutes' chat with their cooks or their valets We 'd soon dish up something to tickle their palates !" With this happy conceit for improving the mess. Pooh-poohing expense, he dispatch'd an express In a waggon and four on the instant to Deal, Who dash'd down the hill without locking the wheel. And, by means which I guess but decline to reveal, Seduced from the Downs, where at anchor their vessel rode, Tiumpoff Icywitz, serf to a former Count Nesselrode, A cook of some fame, Who invented the same Cold pudding that still bears the family name. This acoomplish'd, the Chef's peace of mind was restored. And in due time a banquet was placed on the board A LAY OF ST. ROMWOLD. 303 "In the very best style," whiclf implies in a ■word, "AU the dainties the season" (and king) "could aiFord." There were snipes, there wore rails. There were woodcocks and quails, There were peacocks served up in their pride (that is tails), Frioandeau, fricassees, Ducks and green peas, Cotelettes d Vlndimne, and chops (I la Soubise, (Which last you may call "onion sauce" if you please), There were barbecued pigs Stuff 'd with raisins and figs. Omelettes and haricots, stews and ragouts, And pork griskins, which Jews still refuse and abuse. Then the wines, — ^ round the circle how swiftly they wentl Canary, Sack, Malaga, Malvoisie, Tent; Old Hock from the Ehine, wine remarkably fine, Of the Charlemagne vintage of seven ninety-nine, — Five cent'ries in bottle had made it divine ! The rich juice of Rousillon, Gascoygne, Bonrdeaux, Marasquin, Carasoa, Kirsohen Wasser, Noyeau, And gin which the compEmy voted "No Go;" The guests all hob-nobbing. And bowing and bobbing ; Some prefer white wine, while others more value red, Few, a choice few, Of more orthodox goiit, Stick to " old crusted port," among whom was Sir Alured; Never indeed at a banquet before Had that gallant commander enjoy'd himself more. Then came "sweets" — served in silver were tartlets and pies— in glass. Tellies composed of punch, calves' feet, and isinglass, Creams, and whipt-syllabubs, some hot, some cool. Blancmange, and quince-custards, aiMe. Were ev'ryiThere hail'd with the loudest acclaim ; And whereTer they went, or wherever they came. Far and wide, The people cried. Huzza ! for the Lord of this noble domain, — Huzza ! Huzza ! Huzza ! — once again ! — Encore ! — Encore ! — One cheer more I — ^All sorts of pleasure, and no sort of pain To Sir Thomas the Good, and the Fair Lady Jane 1 1 Now Sir Thomas the Good, Be it well understood, Was a man of very contemplative mood, — He would pore by the hour. O'er a weed or a flower. Or the slugs that come crawling out after.a shower; Black-beetles, and Bumble-bees, — Blue-bottle flies, And Moths were of no small account in his eyes ; An "Industrious Flea" he'd by no means despise, While an " Old Daddy-long-legs," whose "long legs " and thighs Pass'd the common in shape, or in colour, or size. He was wont to consider an absolute prize. Nay, a hornet or wasp he could scarce "keep his paws off" — he Gave up, iu short, Both business and sport. And abandon'd himself, tout eniier, to Philosophy. Now, as Lady Jane was tall and slim. And Lady Jane was fair. And a good many years the junior of him,— And as he. All agree, Looli'd less like her Marx, THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY. ■ 327 As he Wdlk'd lij her side, than her Pbre,* There are some might be found entertaining a notion That such an entire and exclusive devotion To that part of science, folks style Entomology, Was a positive shame, And, to such a fair Dame, Really demanded some sort of apology; — No doubt, it would vex One half of the sex To see their own husband, in horrid green "specs," Instead of enjoying a sociable chat. Still poking his nose into this and to that, At a gnat, or a bat, or a cat, or a rat. Or great ugly things, All legs and -wings, With nasty long tails arm'd with nasty long stings ; And they'd join such a log of a spouse to condemn, — One eternally thinking. And blinking, and winking At grubs, — when he ought to be winking at them.— But no ! — oh no ! 'Twas by no means so With the Lady Jane Ingoldsby — she, far discreeter And, having a temper more even and sweeter. Would never object to Her spouse, in respect to His poking and peeping After "things creeping;" Much less be still keeping lamenting, and weeping. Or stolding at what she perceived him so deep in. Tout au contraire, No laiy so fair * My friend, Mr. Hood, In bis comical mood} Would have probably Btyled the good Enigbt and his Lady*- Him — " Stom.Old and Hopkins,' and her " T€te and Braldy " 328 A LEGEND OF THE EEIGN OF QUEESf ANITE. Was e'er known to wear more contented an air ; And, — let who would call, — every day she was there. Propounding receipts for some delicate fare. Some toothsome conserve, of quince, apple, or pear. Or distilling strong waters, — or potting a hare, — Or counting her spoons and her crockery-ware ; Or else, her tamtour-frame before her, with care Embroidering a stool or a back for a chair. With needle-work roses, most cunning and rare, Enough to make less-gifted visitors stare. And declare, where'er They had been, that "they ne'er [n their lives had seen aught that at all could compare With dear Lady Jane's housewifery — that they would swear" Nay more ; don't suppose With such doings as those This account of her merits must come to a close ; No ; — examine her conduct more closely, you '11 find She by no means neglected improving her mind; For there, all the while, with air quite bewitching, She sat herring-boning, tambouring, or stitching. Or having an eye to affairs of the kitchen. Close by her side. Sat her kinsman, MacBride, Her cousin, fourteen-times removed, — ; as you 'U see If you look at the Ingoldsby family tree, In "Burke's Commoners," vol. xx. page 53. All the papers I've read agree. Too, with the pedigree. Where, among the collateral branches, appears •'Captain Dugald MacBride, Koyal Scots Fusileers;" And I doubt if you'd find in the whole of his elan A. more highly-intelligent, worthy young man ; — And there he'd be sitting. While she was a-knittinp. THE KNIGHT AND THE LiDT. 329 Or heinming, or stitcliing, or darning and fitting, Or putting a, "gore," or a "gusset," or "bit" in. Beading aloud, with a very grave look, Some very " wise saw" from some very good book, — Some such pious divine as St. Thomas Aquinas ; Or, equally charming, The works of Bellarmine ; Or else he unravels The "voyages and travels" Of Hackluytz — (how sadly these Dutch names do sully verse 1)— Purchas's, Hawksworth's, or Lemuel Gulliver's, — Not to name others, 'mongst whom there are few so Admired as John Bunyan, and Bobinson Crusoe. — No matter who came, It was always the same. The Captain was reading aloud to the Dame, Till, from having gone through half the books on the shelf, They were almost as wise as Sir Thomas himself. Well, it bappen'd oue day, — I really can't say The particular month ; — but I think 'twas in May, — 'Twas, I know, in the Spring-time, — wfien "Nature looks gay, ' As the Poet observes, — and on tree-top and spray The dear little dickey-birds carol away ; When the grass is so green, and the sun is so bright, And all things are teeming with life and with light, — That the whole of the house was thrown into affright, For no soul could conceive what was gone with the Knight' It seems he had taken A light breakfast — bacon, An egg — with a little broil'd haddock — at most A round and a half of some hot butter'd toast, With a slice of cold sirloin fiom yesterday's roast. 28* 330 A LEGjiND OF THE REIQN OF QUEEN ANME. ABd then — let me see ! — He had two — perhaps three Cups (with sugar and cream) of strong gunpowder tea. With a spoonful in each of some choice eau de vie, — Which with nine out of ten would perhaps disagree.—. — In fact, I and my son Mix "black" with our "Hyson," Neither having the nerves of a bull, or a bison, And both hating brandy like what some call " pison." No matter for that — He had call'd for his hat, With the brim that I've said was so broad and so flat. And his " specs" with the tortoise-shell rim, and his cano With the crutch-handled top, which he used to sustain His steps in his walks, and to poke in the shrubs And the grass, when unearthing his worms and his grubfi ■• Thus arm'd, he set out on a ramble — alack ! He set out, poor dear Soul! — but he never came back! "First dinner-bell" rang Out its euphonous clang At five — folks kept early hours then — and the "Last" Ding-dong'd, as it ever was wont, at half-past. While Betsey and Sally, And Thompson the Valet, And every one else was beginning to bless himself. Wondering the Knight had not come in to dress himself, — — Quoth Betsey, " Dear me ! why the fish will be cold !" — Quoth Sally, " Good gracious ! how 'Missis' will sco\i\" — Thompson, the Yalet, Look'd gravely at Sally, As who should say " Truth must not always be told!" Then, expressing a fear lest the Knight might take cold,_ Thus exposed to the dews, Lambs'-wool stockings and shoes, THE KNIGHT AND THf! LADT. 331 Of each a fresh pair, He put down to air, And hung a clean shirt to the fire on a cha^. — Still the Master was absent — the Cook camo and said, "he Much fear'd, as the dinner had been so long ready, The roast and the boil'd Would be all of it spoil'd. And the puddings, her Ladyship thought such a treat, He was morally sure, would be scarce fit to eat!" This closed the debate — '"Twould be folly to wait," Said the Lady, " Dish up ! — Let the meal be served straight j And let two or three slices be put on a jlate, And kept hot for Sir Thomas. — He 's lost, sure as fate ! And, a hundred to one, won't be home till it 's late !" — Captain Dugald MaeBride then proceeded to face The Lady at table, — stood up, and said grace, — Then set himself down in Sir Thomas's place. Wearily, wearily, all that night, That live-long night did the hours go by; And the Lady Jane, In grief and in pain. She sat herself down to cry ! — And Captain MaeBride, Who sat by her side. Though I really can't say that he actually cned. At least had a tear in his eye ! — Ae much as can well be expected, perhaps, Fr jm " very young fellows" for very " old chaps ;" And if he had said What he 'd got in his head, 'Twould have been "Poor old Buffer! he's certainly dead > The morning dawn'd, — and the next, — and the nezt^ And all in the mansion were still perplex'd ; 332 A LEGEND OF T&E EEIGN OT QUEEN ANNS. Cfo •watch-dog "bay'd a treloome home," as A watoh-dog shovild to the " Good Sir Thomas:" No knocker fell His approach to tell, Sot so much as a runaway ring at the bell — The Hall was silent as Hermit's cell. Yet the sun shone bright upon tower and tree. And the meads smiled green as green may be, And the dear little dickey-birds caroll'd with glee. And the lambs in the park skipp'd merry and frea—* — Without, all was joy and harmony ! "And thus 'twill be, — nor long the day, — Ere we, like him, shall pass away ! Yon Sun, that now our bosoms warms. Shall shine, — but shine on other forms ; — Yon Grove, whose choir so sweetly cheers Us now, shall sound on other ears> — The joyous Lamb, as now, shall play, But other eyes its sports survey, — The stream we loved shall roll as fair. The flowery sweets, the trim Parterre Shall scent, as now, the ambient air, — The Tree, whose bending branches bear The One loved name — shall yet be there ; — But where the hand that carved it ? — Where V These were hinted to me as The very ideas Which pass'd through the mind of the fair Lady Jane Her thoughts having taken a sombre-ish train, A.S she walk'd on the esplanade, to and again. With Captain MacBride, Of course, at her side. Who could not look quite so forlorn, — though he tried. THE KNIGHT AND THE LADT. 333 — An "idea," in fact, had got into his head, That if "poor dear Sir Thomas" should really Be dead. It might be no bad " spec." to be there in his stead, And, by simply contriTing, in due time, to wed A Lady who was young and fair, A lady slim and tall, 1o set himself down in comfort there The Lord of Tapton* Hall. - Thinks he, " We have sent Half over Kent, And nobody knows how much money 's been tpent, Yet no one 's been found to say which way he went ! — The groom, who 's been oyer To Folkstone and DoTer, Can't get any tidings at all of the rover ! — Here 's a fortnight and more has gone by, and we 've tried Every plan we could hit on — the whole country-side, Upon all its dead walls, with placards we 've sujiplied, — And we 've sent out the Crier, and had him well cried — ' MissiNO ! 1 Stolen, or stray'd, Lost, or mislaid, A Gentibban ; — middle-aged, sober, and staid ; — Stoops slightly ; — and when he left home was array'tl In a sad-colour'd suit, somewhat dingy and fray'd ; — Had spectacles on with a tortoise-shell rim. And a hat rather low-orown'd, and broad in the brim Whoe'er Shall bear, Or shall send him with care, (Eight side uppermost) home ; or shall give notice where The said middle-aged Gentlemaii is ; or shall state * The familiar abbreviatioD for Tapp.^tigton Everard still in use among tbm tenantry. — Tide Prefatory Introduclion to the Ingdtdsby Legends, 334 A LEGEND OF THS RDIGN OF QUEER ANNE Any fact, that may tend to throw light on his fate, To the man at the turnpike, called Tappingion Gate, Shall receive a Eewaed of Five Pounds for his trouble,— B©°N.B.— If defunct the'EEWAED -will be double! l^^S) " Had he been above ground He mugi have been found. No ; doubtless he's shot, — or he 's hang'd, — or he 's drown'd' 5Tien his Widow — ;ay! ay! — But, what win follis say ! — To address her at once — at so early a day ! WeE — what then? — who cares! — let 'em say what they may — A fig for their nonsense and chatter! — suffice it, her Charms will excuse one for casting sheep's eyes at her!" When a Man has decided As Captain MacBride did. And once fully made up his mind on the matter, he Can't be too prompt in unmasking his battery. He began on the instant, and vow'd that "her eyes Far exceeded In brilliance the stars in the skies, — That her Ups were like roses — her cheeks were like lilies — Her breath had the odour of daffy-down-dilUes I " — With a thousand more compliments equally true, And express'd in similitudes equally new ! ■ — Then his left arm he placed Bound her jimp, taper waist — — Ere she fix'd to repulse, or return, his embrace, Up came running a m^n, at a deuce of a pace. With that very peculiar expression of face Which always betokens dismay or disaster. Crying out — 'twas the Gardener, — " Oh, Ma'am ! we 've found Master!" —'•Where! where?" scream'd the lady; and Echo soream'd-< "Where?" The man couldn't say " There ! " He had no breath to spare, TBI! KNIQBT AND TBB LADT. 335 But, gasping for air, he could only respond, By pointing — he pointed, alas! — to the Pond. — 'Twas e'en so — poor dear Knight! — with his "specs" and his hat He 'd gone poking his nose into this and to that ; When, close to the side Of the bank, he espied An "imcommon fine" Tadpole, remarkably fat ! He stoop'd; — and he thought her His own ; — ie had caught her 1 Got hold of her tail, — and to land almost bronght her, When — he plump'd head and heels into fifteen feet water' The Lady Jane was tall and slim. The Lady Jane was fair, Alas, for Sir Thomas! — she gricTed for him. As she saw two serving-men, sturdy of limb, His body between them bear : She sobb'd, and she sigh'd ; she lamented, and cried. For of sorrow brimful was her cup ; Bhe swoon'd, and I think she 'd have fall'n down and died. If Captain MaoBride Had not been by her side. With the Gardener ; they both their assistance supplied, And managed to hold her up. — But, when she "comes to," Oh ! 'tis shocking to view The sight which the corpse reveals ! Sir Thomas's body. It look'd so odd — he Was half eaten up by the eels ! His waistcoat and hose, and the rest of his clothei Were all gnawl'd through and through ; And out of each shoe An eel they drew j W6 A LEGEND OF THE REIGN OF ^UEEN ANNE. And from eacli of his pockets they pull'd out two I A.nd the Gardener himself had secreted a few, As well we may suppose ; For, when he came running to give the alarm. He had six in the basket that hung on his arm. Good Father John* Was summon'd anon; Holy water was sprinkled, And little bells tinkled, And tapers were lighted, And incense ignited, And masses were sung, and masses were said. All day, for the quiet repose of the dead. And allnight no one thought about going to bed. But Lady Jane was tall and slim, And Lady Jane was fair, — And, ere morning came, that winsome dame Had made up her mind — or, what 'a much the same, Had thought about — once more " changing her name," And she said with a pensive air. To Thompson, the valet, while taking away. When supper was over, the cloth and the tray,— " Eels a many I 've ate ; but any So good no'er tasted before ! — They 're a fish, too, of which I *m remarkably fond. — Go — pop Sir Thomas again in the Pond — Poor dear! — nE'n catch its some moke!!" * For some account of Father John Ingoldsb^, to whose papers I am 80 muou beholden, see Ingoldshy Legends, First Series, p. 208. This was the last eccl& slastical act of his long and valuable life. THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY, 337 MOBAL. All middle-aged Gentlemen let me advise. If you 're married, and have not got very good eyes, Don't go poking about after blue-bottle flies ! — If you 'to spectacles, don't have a tortoise-shell nm, And don't go near the water, — unless you can swim I Married Ladies, especially such as are fair. Tall, and slim, I would next recommend to beware How, on losing one spouse, they give way to despair ; But let them reflect, " There are fish, and no doubt ou t — As good in the river as ever came out on 't ! " Should they light on a spouse who is given to roaming In solitude — raison deplus, in the "gloaming," — Let them have a fix'd time for said spouse to come home in I And if, when "last dinner-bell" 's rung, he is late. To insure better manners in future — Bon't wait ! — If of husband or children they chance to be fond. Have a stout iron-wire fence put all round the pond I One more piece of advice, and I close my appeals — That is — if you chance to be partial to eels. Then — Orede experto — trust one who has tried — Have them spitch-cock'd, — or stew'd — they're too oily when fried I 29 THE HOUSE-WARMING I! A LEGEND OP BLEEDING-HEART YARD Did you e-ver see the Devil dance? — Old Query. 6ia Cheistopheh Hattoh he danced with gi-ace, He 'd a Tery fine form and a very fine face, And his cloak and his doublet were guarded with lace, And the rest of his clothes, As you well may suppose, In taste were by no means inferior to those ; He 'd a yellow-starch'd ruff, And his gloves were of buff, On each of his shoes a red heel and a rose. And nice little moustaches under his nose ; Then every one knows How he tum'd out his toes. And a very great way that accomplishment goes, In a Court where it 's thought, in a lord or a duke, a Disgrace to fall short in "the Brawls" — (their Cachonca) So what with his form, and what with his face, And what with his velvet cloak guarded with lace, And what with his elegant dancing and grace, His dress and address So tickled Queen Bess That her Majesty gave him a very snug place j And seeing, moreover, at one single peep, her Advisers were, few of them, sharper or deeper (Old Burleigh excepted), she made hiin Lord Keeper I 've heard, I confess, with no little surprise English history calVd a farrago of lies ■ 83« THE HOUSE-WARMINO. 320 And a certain Divine, A connexion of mine, Whc ought to know better, as some folks opine, Is apt to declare, Leaning back in his chair, With a sort of smirking, self-satisfied air, That " aU that 's recorded in Hume and elsewhere, Of our early 'Annates' A trumpery tale is, Like the 'Bold Captain Smith's,' and the 'Luckless Miss Bay- ley's' — That old Roger Hovedon, and Ralph de Diceto, And others (whose nS,mes should I try to repeat o- ver, well I 'm assured you would put in your Teto), Though aU holy friars, Were very great liars, And raised stories faster than Grisscl andPeto— That Harold escaped with the loss of a ' glim ' — That the shaft which kill'd Rufus ne'er glanced from a limb Of a tree, as they say, but was aim'd slap at him, — That Fair Rosamond never was poison'd or spitted. But outlived Queen Nell, who was much to be pitied ; — That Nelly her namesake, Ned Longshanks's wife. Ne'er went crusading at all in her life, Nor suck'd the wound made by the poison-tipp'd knife ! For as she, O'er the sea, ' Towards far Galilee, Never, even in fancy, march'd carcass or shook shanks, Of course she could no more suck Longshanks than Gruikshank^ But,"leaving her spindle-legg'd liege-lord to roam, Staid behind, and suck'd something much better at home,- That it 's quite as absurd To say Edward the Third, In reviving the Garter, afforded a handle For any Court-gossip detraction, or scandal. 340 A LEGEND OF BLEEDING-HEART TASI>. As 'twould be to say, That at Court t'other day, At the fSte which the newspapers say was so gay, His Great Kepresentatiye then stole away Lady Sahsbury's garters as part of the play. — — That as to Prince Hal's being taken to jail. By the London Police, without mainprize or bail. For cuffing a judge, It's a regular fudge ; And that Chief- Justice Gascoigne, it's very well known. Was kiok'd out the moment he came to the throne. — — Then that Richard the Third was a ' marrellous proper mau'- Never kill'd, injured, or wrong'd of a copper, man. — Ne'er wish'd to smother The sons of his brother, — Nor ever stuck Harry the Sixth, who, instead Of being squabash'd, as in Shakspeare we 've read, Caught a bad influenza, and died in his bed. In the Tower, not far from the room where the Guard is (The octagon one that adjoins Suffus Hardy's). — That, in short, all the ' facts ' in the Decern Scriptorea Are nothing at all but sheer humbugging stories." Then if, as he vows, both this country and France in. Historians thus gave themselves up to romancing. Notwithstanding what most of them join in adranCing Respecting Sir Christopher's capering and prancing, 'Twill cause no surprise If we find that his rise Is not to be solely ascribed to his dancing ! The fact is. Sir Christopher, early in life. As all bachelors should do, had taken a wife, A Fanshawe by family, — one of a house Well descended, but boasting less "nobles" than noua; Though e'en as to purse He might have done worse. THE HOnSE-WARMINa. 341 For I find, on perusing hei Grandfather's will, it is Clear she had "good gifts beside possibilities,"* Owohes and rings. And such sort of things, Orellana shares (then the American Stocks), Jewell'd stomachers, coifs, ruffs, silk-stockinga mth clocks, Point-laoe, cambric handkerchiefs, nightcaps, and — socks — (Recondite apparel oontain'd in her box), — Then the height of her breeding And depth of her reading Might captivate any gay youth, and, in leading Him on to "propose," -rell excuse the proceeding; Truth to tell, as to "reading," the Lady was thought to do More than she should, and know more than she ought to do ; Her maid, it was said. Declared that she read 'A custom all staid folks discourage) in bed ; And that often o' nights, Odd noises and sights In her mistress's chamber had giv'n her sad frights, After all in the mansion had put out their lights. And she verily thought that hobgoblins and sprites Were there, kicking up all sorts of devil's delights ; — Miss Alice, in short, was supposed to "collogue " — I Don't much like the word — with the subtle old rogue, I 've heard caB'd by so many names — one of them 's " Bogy "— Indeed 'twas conceived. And by most folks believed, — A thing at which all of her well-wishers griev'd - That should she incline to play such a vagary. Like sage Lady Branxholm, her contempo-rary (Excuse the false quantity, reader I pray). She could turn a knight into a wagon of hay. Or two nice little boys into puppies at play, * " Seven hundred pounds and possil)ilities is good gifts." Sib Hush Evavb. 29* S42 A LEGEND OF BLEEDIITG-HEiRT YAKD. Raison de plus, not a doubt eould exist of her Po w'r to turn "Kit Hatton " into " Sir Chmstopher ; " But -what "mighty magic," or strong "conjuration," Whether loTe-powder, philtre, or otfier potation She used, I confess, I 'm unable to guess, — Much less to express By -what skill and address She "out and contrived" with such signal success. As we Londoners say, to '.' inwiggle " Queen Bess Inasmuch as I lack heart To study the Black Art ; Be that as it ihay, — it's as clear as the sun. That, however she did it, 'twas certainly done ! Now, they're all very well, titles, honour, and rank. Still we can't but admit, if we choose to be fraiuk, There 's no harm in a snug little sum in the Bank ! An old proverb says, ' "Pudding still before praise ! " An adage well known I ' ve no doubt in those days. And George Colman, the Younger, in one of his plays. Makes one of his characters loudly declare That " a Lord without money," — I quote from his "Heii^ At-Law " — " 's but a poor wishy-washy affair ! " — In her subsequent conduct I think we can see a Strong proof the Dame entertain'd some such idea For, once in the palace, We find Lady Alice Again playing tricks with.her Majesty's chalice In the way that the jocose, in Our days, term "^hocussing ;" The liquor she used, as I 've said, she kept close, But whatever it was, she now doubled the dose I (So true is the spying, " We never canjstay, in THE nOUSE-WAEMING. 343 Our pvogreas, when once with the foul fiend we league us." — She " dootor'd" the punch, and she " dootor'd" the negub Taking care not to put in sufficient to flaTour it, Till, at every fresh sip, That moisten'd her Up, The Virgin Queen grew more attaoh'd to her Favourite. " No end " now he commands Of money and lands. And, as George Robins says, when he 's writing ahout honsta> " Messuages, tenements, crofts, tofts, and outhouses," Parks, manors, chases, She " gives and she grants. To him and his heirs, and his uncles and aunts ; " Whatever he wants, he has only to ask it. And all other suitors are "left in the basket," Till Dudley and Eawleigh Began to look squally, While even grave Cecil, the famous Lord Burleigh, Himself, " shook his head," and grew snappish and surly. All this was fine sport, As our authors report. To dame Alice, become a great Lady at Court, Where none than her Ladyship's husband look'd bigger. Who "led the brawls" * still with the same grace and vigour, Though losing a little in slimness and figure ; For eating and drinking all day of the best Of viands well dressed. With " Burgess's Zest," Is apt, by degrees, to enlarge a man's vest ; And, what in Sir Christopher went to increase it, he 'd always been rather inclined to obesity ; —Few men in those times were found to grow thinner With beefsteaks for breakfast and pork-pie for dinner. • The grave Lord Keeper led the brawla, The seals and maces danced before him. — Grat. 344 A LEGEND OF BLEEDING-HEART YARD. Now it's really' a difficult problem to say How long matters miglit have gone on in this way, If it had not unluckily happen'd one day That NiOK, — who, hecause He 'd the gout in his claws And his hoofs — (he 's by no means so young as he was, And is subject of late to a sort of rheumatic a- -ttack that partakes both of gout and sciatica,) — All the night long had twisted and grinn'd. His pains much increased by an easterly wind, ■Which always compels him to hobble and limp. Was strongly advised by his medical Imp To lie by a little, and give over work, For he 'd lately been slaving away like a Turk, On the Guinea-coast, helping to open a brave trade In niggers, with Hawkins *.who founded the slave-trade, So he call'd for his ledger, the constant resource Of your mercantile folk, when they're "not in full force;'' — If a cold or catarrh makes them husky and hoarse. Or a touch of gout keeps them away from "the Bo«asE," They look over their books as a matter of course. Now scarce had Nick turn'd over one page or two. Ere a prominent item attracted his view, A Bill ! — that had now been some days overdue. From one Alice Hatton, nie Panshawe — a name Which you '11 recognise, reader, at once as the same With that borne by Sir Christopher's erudite dame ! The signature — much more prononcie than pink, Seem'd written in blood — but it might be red ink — While the rest of the deed He proceeded to read, * Sir John Hawkins for " his worthye attempts and services," and because ** in the same he had dyvers conflights with the Moryans, and slew and toko ilyTcrs of the same Moryans," received from Elizabeth an honourable augmen- tation to his coat armour, including, for bis crest, " A Demi-Mbor sahle, with Iwit manacles on each arm, or" THE HOUSE-WARMING. 343 iiike ev'ry '!ljill, bond, or ntiquittance " -whose date ia Three hundred years old, ran in Latin, — "Sciaiis ( Diaboli ?) omnes ad guos hcec pervenient — " — But courage, dear Reader, I mean to be lenient, And scorn to inflict on you haJf the " Law-reading " I piok'd up "umquhile" in three days' special pleading. Which cost me — a theme I'll not pause to digress on — Just thirty-three pounds six-and-eightpence a lesson — " As I 'm stout, I '11 be merciful," therefore, and sparing All these technioahties, end by declaring The deed so correct As to make one suspect, (Were it possible any such person could go there) Old Nick had a special attorney below there : 'Twas so fram'd and express'd no tribunal could shake it, And firm as red wax and black ferret could make it. By the roll of his eye As Old Nick put it by. It was clear he had made up his mind what to do In respect of the course he should have to pursue, When his hoof would allow him to put on a shoe ! ! Now although the Lord Keeper held under the crown, houee And land in the country — ho 'd never a Town-house, And, as we have seen, His course always had been. When he wanted a thing, to solicit the Queen, So now, in the hope of a fresh acquisition, He danced off to Oourt with his " Humble Petition," "Please your Majesty's Grace, I have not a place, I can well put my head in, to dine, sup, or sleep ! Youi" Grace's Lord Keeper has nowhere to keep, ' So I beg and intreat. At your Majesty's feet, ii46 A LEGEND OF BLEEDING-nEART YARD. That your Grace will be graciously pleased for to say, With as httle delay As your Majesty may, Where your Majesty's Grace's Lord Keeper's to stay — — And your Grace's Petitioner ever will pray 1 " The Queen, when she heard This petition preferr'd. Gave ear to Sir Christopher's suit at a word ; — ' " Odds Bobs, my good Lord ! " was her gracious reply, - I don't know, not I, Any good reason why A Lord Keeper, like you, should not always be nigh To advise — and devise — and revise — our supply — A House ! we 're surprised that the thing did not strike Cs before — Yes! — of course! — Pray, ^whose house would ycu like! When I do things of this kind, I do them genteelly : A House ? — let me see ! there 's the Bishop of Ely ! A capital mansion, I 'm told, the proud knave is in, Up there in Holborn, just opposite Thavie's Inn — Where the strawberries grow so fine and so big. Which our Grandmother's Uncle tuok'd in like a pig. King Bichard the Third, which you all must have read of — The day, — don't you know ? — he cut Hastings' head off — And mark me, proud prelate ! — I 'm speaking to you. Bishop Heaton! — you need not, my lord, look so bine — Give it up on the instant ! I don't mean to shock you. Or else by — ^! — (The Bishop was shock'd !)— I '11 unfrock you!!" The Queen turns abruptly her back on the group, The courtiers all bow as she passes, and stoop To kiss, as she goes, the hind flounce of her hoop. And Sir Christopher, having thus danced to some tone, Skips away with much ^ee in his best rigadoon ' THE nOUSE-TTARMING. 347 While poor Bishop Heaton, Who found himself beaten, In serious alarm at the Queen's contumeli nus And menacing tone, at once gave him up Ely House, With every appurtenance thereto belonging,, lucluding the strawberry beds 'twas so strong in ; Politely he bow'd to the gratified minion, And said, " There can be, my good lord, in opinion No difference betwixt yours And' mine as to fixtures. And tables, and chairs — We need no survey'rs — Take them just as you find them, without reservation, Grates, coppers, and all, at your own valuation ! " Well ! the object is gain'd ! A good town-house obtain'd. The next thing to be thought of, is now The "house-warming" party — the when and the Aow— The Court ladies call. One and all, great and small. For an elegant " Spread," and more elegant Bali, So, Sir Christopher, vain as we know of his capering. No sooner had finish'd his painting and papering. Than he sat down and wrote A nice little pink note to every great Lord, whom he knew, and his spouse, ' From our poor place on Holborn-hill (late Ely Hoase). Lord Keeper, and Dame Alice Hatton, request Lord So-and-so's (name, style, or title exprest) Good company on The next eve of St. John, Viz. . Friday week, June 24th, as their guest, To partake of pot-luck, And taste a fit buck. 348 A LEGEND OF BLEEDING-HEART YABD, N.B. Venison on table exactly at 3, Quadrilles in the afternoon. E. S. V. P. For my good Lord of So-and-so, these, and his wife ; Bide ! ride ! for thy life ! for thy life ! for thy life ! " Thus, courtiers were wont to indorse their expresses In Harry the Vlllth's fcne, and also Queen Bess'ff. The Dame, for her part, too, took order that cards Should be sent to the mess-rooms of all the Hussards, The Household troops, Train-bands, and horse and foct Guards, Well, the day for the rout At length came about. And the bells of St. Andrew's rang merrily out. As horse-litter, coach, and pad-nag, with its pillion, (The mode of conveyance then used by "the Million,") All gallant and grand, Defiled from the Strand, Some through Chancery (then an unpaTed and much wetter) Lane, Others through Shoe (which was not a whit better) Lane ; Others through Fewtar's (corrupted to Fetter) Lane ; Some from Cheapside, and St. Mary-le-Bow, From Bishopsgate Street, Dowgate Hill,* and Budge Row They come and they go. Squire and Dame, Belle and Beau, Down Snore Hill (which we haye since whitewash'd to Snow;, All eager to see the magnificent show, And sport what some call " a fantastical toe ;" In silk and in satin, To batten and fatten Ppon the good cheer of Sir Christopher Hatton. A flourish, trumpets ! — sound again ! — He comes, Bold Drake, the chief who made a • Sir Frannis Drake's house, " the Arbour," stood hexo. THE HOtlaE-WABMING. J49 Fine hash of all the pow'rs of Spain, And so serv'd out their Grand Armada ; With him come Frobisher and Hawkins, In yellow ruffs, rosettes, and stockings. Room for my Lord ! — proud Leicester's Earl Retires awhile from courtly cares, ' Who took his wife, poor hapless girl! And pitch'd her neck and heels down stairs. Proving, in hopes to wed a richer, ' If not her "friend," at least her "pitcher." A flourish, trumpets ! strike the drums ! Will Shakspeare, never of his pen sick. Is here — next Doctor Masters comes, Renowu'd afar for curing men sick,— Queen's Sergeant Barham * with his buns And tipstave coif, and wig forensic ; ^He lost, unless^ Sir Richard lies, his Life at the famous "Black Assizes." Room ! Room ! for great Cecil ! — place, place, for his dame 1 — Room! Room! for Southampton — for Sidney, whose name As a Preux Chevalier, in the records of Fame, " Beats Banagher " — e'en now his praises, we all sing em, Knight, poet. Gentleman ! — Room ! for Sage Walsingham 1 Room ! for Lord Hunsdon ! — Sussex 1 — for Rawleigh ! — For Ingoldsbt! ! Oh ! it's enough to appal ye ! Dear me ! how they call ! How they squall ! how they bawl ! This dame has lost her shoe — that one her shawl — My Lord 's got a tumble — my lady a fall ! — Now a Hall! a Hall! A Brawl ! a Brawl ! • Culled by Sir Bichard Baker " The famous Lawyer.* — See his ChrvmeU 30 {50 A LEGEND OF BLEEDINO-HOtJSE YARD. Here 's my Lord Keeper Hatton, so stately and tall 1 Has led out Lady Hunsdon to open the Ball 1 Fiddlers ! Fiddlers ! fiddle away ! * Eesin your catgut ! fiddle and play ! A roundelay ! Fiddle away I Obey ! obey ! — hear what they all say ! Hip ! — Music ! — Nosey! 1 — play up there! — play 1 Never was anything half so gay As Sir Christopher Hatton's grand holiday ! The clock strikes twelve ! — who cares for the clock ? Who cares for Hark ! — What a loud Single-knock I Dear me ! dear me ! Who can it be ? — Why, who can be coming at this time of night, With a knock like that honest folk to affright ! — "Affright?" — yes, affright! — there are many who mock At fear, and in danger stand firm as a rock, Whom the rotir of the battle-field never could shock, Yet quail at the sound of a vile "Single knock! " Hark! — what can the Porter be thinking of? — What! — If the booby has not let him in, I '11 be shot ! — Dear me ! how hot The room 's all at once got ! — And what rings through the roof? — It 's the sound of a hoof! It's some donkey a-coming upstairs at full trot 1 Stay! — the folding -doors open! the leaves arc thrown back, And in dances a tall Figurant — all in biack ! ! Gracious me, what an entrechat ! Oh, what a bound ! Tlj",n with what an a-plomb he comes down to the ground 1 THE HOUSE-WABMINO. 351 Look there ! look there ! Now he 's up in the air ! Now he's here! — now he's there — now he's no one knows where ! — See ! see ! — he's kiok'd over a table and chair ! There they go ! — all the strawberries, flowers, and sweet herbs, Turn'd o'er and o'er, Down on the floor, Ev'ry caper he cuts oversets or disturbs All the "Keen's Seedlings," and "WUmot's Superbs!" There 's a pirouette ! — we 're All a great deal too near ! A ring! — give him room or he'll "shin" you — stand clear! There 's a spring again ! — oh ! 'tis quite frightful ! — oh dear I Uis toe 's broke the top of the glass chandelier ! ! Now he 's down again — look at the congees and bows And talaams which he makes to the Dame of the House, Lady Alice, the noble Lord Treasurer's spouse ! Come, now we shall view A grand pas de deux Perform'd in the very first style by these two — But no ! — she recoils — she could scarce look more pale if Instead of a Beau's 'twas the bow of a Bailiff! — He holds out his hand — she declines it, and draws Ba«k her own — see! — he grasps it with horrid black claws. Like the short, sharp, strong nails of a Polar Bear's paws ! ! Then she " scream'd such a scream ! " Such another, I deem, As, long after, Miss Mary Brown * scream'd in her dream. Wfcll she might ! for 'twas shrewdly remark'd by her Page, A sharp little boy about twelve years of age, * Vide, the celebrated ballad of " Giles ScrogginB." — Cairtaoh^s ed„ 1 Dials, rjmd. 1841 352 A LEGEND OE BLEEDING-HEART TARD. Who was standing closfe by When she utter'd her cry, That the whole of her arm shrWell'd up, and grew dry, While the fingers and thumh of the hand he had got In his clutches became on the instant eed hot ! ! ' Now he whirls and he twirls Through the girls in their curls, And their rouge, and their feathers, and diamonds, and pearls ; Now high, — now low, — Now fast, and now slow. In terrible circumgyration they go ; The flame-oolour'd Belle and her coffee-faced Beau. Up they go once ! and lip they go twice ! — Eound the hall! — round the hall! — and now up they go thrioe Now one grand pirouette, the performance to crown ! Now again they go up ! ! — and they heteb come down ! I ! * * * * » The thunder roars! And the rain it pours! And the lightning comes in through the windows and doors I Then more calling, and bawling. And squalling, and falling. Oh! what a fearful "stramash" they are all inl Out they all sally. The whole corps de ballet—. Some dash down Holborn-hill into the valley. Where stagnates Fleet Ditch at the end of Harp Alley, Some t' other way, with a speed quite amazing, Nor pause to take breath till they get beyond Gray's Inn, In every sense of the word, such a rout of it. Never was made in London or out of it! When they came the next day to examine the scene, There was scarcely a vestige of all that had been ; The beautiful tapestry, blue, red, and green, '.mot i :^Jj> -l. THE HOUSE- WARMING. 35 S Was all blackeu'd and scoroli'd, and look'd dirty and mean. All the orooliery broken, dish, plate, and tureen 1 While those who look'd up could perceive in the roof, One very large hole in the shape of a hoof I Of poor Lady Hatton, it's needless to say, No traces have ever been, found to this day, Or the terrible dancer who wblsk'd her away ; But out in the court-yard — and just in that part Where the pump stands — lay bleeding a lakge Human HeabtI And sundry large stains Of blood and of brains. Which had not been wash'd off notwithstanding the rains, Appear'd on the wood, and the handle and chains. As if somebody's head with a very hard thump. Had been recently knock'd on the top of the pump. That pump is no more ! — that of which you 've just read, — But they 've put a new iron one up in its stead. And still, it is said. At that '■small hour" so dread, When all sober people are cozy in bed. There may sometimes be seen on a moonshiny night, Standing close by the new pump, a Lady in White, Who keeps pumping away with, 'twould seem, all her might. Though never a drop comes her pains to requite ! And hence many passengers now are debarr'd From proceeding at nightfall through Bleeding-Heart Yard I MOKAL. . Fair Ladies attend I And if you've a "friend At Court," don't attempt to bamboozle or trick herl — Don't meddle with negus, or any mix'd iquor ! — Don't dabble in " Magic ! " my story has shown, How wrong 'tis to use any charms but your own I 80* 354 A LEGEND OP BLEEDING UEAKT YARD. Young Gentiemen, too, may, I think, take a hint, Of the same kind, from what I 've here ventured to print, Ail Conjuring 's tad ! they may get in a scrape, Before they 're aware, and •whatever its shape. They may find it no easy affair to escape. It 's not everybody that comes off so well From 'hger-de-main tricks as Mr. Brunei. " ' Don't dance with a Stranger who looks like a Guy, And when dancing don't cut your capers too high ! Depend on 't the fault 's in Your method of waltzing, [f ever you kick out the candles — don't try ! At a ball or a play. Or any soirle, When apeiii souper constitutes the "Apris," If strawb'ries and cream with Champagne form a part. Take care of your Head — and take care of your Heaet If you want a new house For yourself and your spouse, Buy, or biiild one, — and honestly pay, every brick, for it Don't be so green as to go to old Nick for it — — Go to George Robins — he'U find you " a perch," (Dulce Domain's his word,) without robbing the Church 1 The last piece of advice which I 'd have you regard Is, " don't go of a night into Bleeding-Heart Yard," It 's a dark, little, dirty, black, ill-looking square, With queer people about, and unless you take care. You may find when your pocket 's clean'd out and left bare^ That the iron one is not the only "Pump" there 1 THE FORLORN ONE. Ah why those piteous sounds of woe, Ijone wanderer of the dreary night { Thy gushing tears in torrents flow, Thy bosom pants in wild ^.ffright I And thou, within whose iron breast Those frowns austere too truly tell. Mild pity, heaven-descended guest. Hath never, never deigu'd to dwell. ' That rude, uncivil touch forego," Stern despot of a fleeting hour ! Nor "make the angels weep" to know The fond "fantastic tricks" of power i Know'st thou not "mercy is not straiu'd. But droppeth as the gentle dew," And while it blesseth him who gain'd. It blesseth him who gave it, too ! Say, what art thou ? and what is he. Pale victim of despair and pain. Whose streaming eyes and bended knee Sue to thee thus — and sue in vain ? Cold, callous man ! — he scorns to yield, Or aught relax his felon gripe, But answers, "I'm Inspector Field! And this here warment 's prigg'd your wipe.* 356 JERRY JARVIS'S Wl|}. A. liEGEND OP THE WEALD OP KENT. " The wig's the thing 1 the wig! the wig I" — Old Song. "Joe," said old Jarvis, looking out of his window- it was his ground-floor back, — "Joe, you seem to be very hot, Joej — and you have got no wig!" "Yes, sir," quoth Joseph, pausing and resting upon his spade, "it's as hot a day as ever I see; but the celery must be got in, or there'll be no autumn crop, and — " "Well, but Joe, the sun's so hot, and it shines so on your bald head, it makes one wink to look at it. You'll have a cowp-de'Soleil, Joe." "Kwhat,s\vt" "No matter; it's very hot working; and if you'll step in doors, I'll give you — " " Thank ye, your honour, a drop of beer will be very acceptable." Joe's countenance brightened amazingly. "Joe, I'll give you — my old wig!" The countenance of Joseph fell, his grey eye had glistened, as a blest vision of double X flitted athwart his fancy; its glance faded again into the old, filmy, gooseberry-coloured hue, as he growled, in a minor key, "A wig, sir!" " Yes, Joe, a wig ! The man who does not study the cumfort of his dependants is an unfeeling scoundrel You shall have my old, worn-out wig." 866 JERRY JARTIS'S WIG. 357 "I hope, sir, you'll give me a drop o' beer to drink your honour's health in, — it is very hot, and — " '■' Come in, Joe, and Mrs. Witherspoon shall give it you." " Heaven bless your honour !" said honest Joe, striking his spade perpendicularly into the earth, and walking with more than usual alacrity towards the close-cut, quickset hedge which separated Mr. Jarvia's garden from the high road. From the quickset hedge aforesaid he now raised, with all due delicacy, a well-worn and somewhat dilapidated jacket, of a stuff by drapers most pseudonym ously termed " everlasting." Alack ! alack ! what is there to which tempus edax rerum will accord that epithet ? — In its high and palmy days it had been all of a piece ; but as its master's eye now fell upon it, the expression of his countenance seemed to say with Octavian, « Those days are gone, Floranthe !" It was now, from frequent patching, a coat not unlike that of the patriarch, one of many colours. Joseph Washford inserted his wrists into the cor- responding orifices of the tattered garment, and with a steadiness of circumgyration, to be acquired only by long and sufficient practice, swung it horizontally over his ears, and settled himself into it. "Confound your old jacket!" cried a voice from the other side the hedge, "keep it down, you rascal! don't you see my horse is frightened at it?" "Sensible beast!" apostrophised Joseph, "I've been frightened at it myself every day for the last two years !" 358 A LEGIND or THE WEALD OP KENT. The gardener cast a rueful glance at its sleeve, and pursued his way to the door of the back kitchen. "Joe," said Mrs. Witherspoon, a fat, comely dame, of about five-and-forty, "Joe, your master is but too good to you ; he is always kind and considerate. Joe, he has desired me to give you his old wig." "And the beer. Ma'am Witherspoon?" said Wash- ford, taking the proffered caxon, and looking at it with an expression somewhat short of rapture; — "and the beer, ma'am?" " The beer, you guzzling wretch ! — what beer ? Master said nothing about no beer. You ungrateful fellow, has not he given you a wig?" " Why, yes. Madam Witherspoon ; but then, you see, his honour said it was very hot, and I'm very dry, and—" "Go to the pump, sot!" said Mrs. Witherspoon, as she slammed the back-door in th^ face of the petitioner. Mrs. Witherspoon was "of the Lady Huntingdon per- suasion," and Honorary Assistant Secretary to the Apple- dore branch of the "Ladies' Grand Junction Water- working Temperance Society." Joe remained for a few moments lost in mental ab- straction ; he looked at the door, he looked at the wig ; iiis first thought was to throw it into the pig-stye,— ^ his corruption rose, but he resisted the impulse ; he got the better of Satan ; the half-formed imprecation died before it reached his lips. He looked disdainfully at the wig ; it had once been a comely jasey, enough, of the colour of over-baked ginger-bread, one of the description com- monly known during the latter half of the last century JERRT JABTIS'S WIO. 359 by the name of a " brown George." The species, it is to be feared, is now extinct, but a few, a very few of the same description might, till very lately, be occasionally seen, — rari nahtes in gurgiie vasto, — the glorious relics of a by-gone day, crowning the cerebellum, of some vene- rated and venerable provost, or judge of assize ; but Mr. Jarvis's wig had one peculiarity ; unlike most of its fel- lows, it had a tail! — "cribbed and confined," indeed, by a shabby piece of faded shalloon. Washford looked at it again ; he shook his bald head ; the wig had certainly seen its best days; still it had about it somewhat of an air of faded gentility, — it was " like ancient Rome, majestic in decay," — and as the small ale was not to be forthcoming, why — after all, an old wig was better than nothing ! Mr. Jeremiah Jarvis, of Appledore, in the Weald ot Kent, was a gentleman by act of parliament; one of that class of gentlemen, who, disdaining the hourgeois- sounding name of " attorn ey-at-law," are, by a legal fic- tion, denominated solicitors. I say by a legal fiction, for surely the general tenor of the intimation received by such as enjoy the advantage of their correspondence, has little in common with the idea usually attached to the term "solicitation." "If you don't pay my bill and costs, I'll send you to jail," is a very energetic entre-aty. There are, it is true, etymologists who derive their style and title from the Latin infinitive " solicitaire," to " make anxious," — in all probability they are right. If this be the true etymology of his title, as it was the main end of his calling, then was Jeremiah Jarvis a worthy exemplar of the genus to which he belonged. 360 A LEGEND or THE WEALD OF KENT. Few persons in his time had created greater solicitude among his Majesty's lieges within the "Weald." He was rich, of course. The best house in the country- town is always the lawyer's, and it generally boasts a green door, stone steps, and a brass knocker. In neither of these appendages to opulence was Jeremiah deficient • but then he was so very rich ; his reputed wealth, indeed passed all the common modes of accounting for its in- crease. True, he was so universal a favourite that every man whose will he made was sure to leave him a legacy; that he was a sort of general assignee to all the bank- ruptcies within twenty miles of Appledore ; was clerk to half the "trusts;" and treasurer to most of the "rates," "funds," and "subscriptions," in that part of the coun- try; that he was land-agent to Lord Mountrhino, and steward to the rich Miss Tabbytale of Smerrididdle Hall ! that he had been guardian (?) to three young profligates who all ran through their property, which, somehow or another, came at last into his hands, "at an equitable valuation." Still his po.ssessions were so considerable, as not to be altogether accounted for, in vulgar esteem, even by these and other honourable modes of accumula- tion ; nor were there wanting those who conscientiously entertained a belief that a certain dark-coloured gentle- man, of indifferent character, known principally by hia predilection for appearing in perpetual mourning, had been through life his great friend and counsellor, and had mainly assisted in the acquirement of hia revenues. That "old Jerry Jarvis had sold himself to the devil" was, indeed, a dogma which it were heresy to doubt io JERRY JARTIS'S ffia. 361 Appledore ; — on this head, at least, there were few Bchismatics in the parish. When the worthy " Solicitor" next looked out of his ground-floor back, he smiled with much complacency at beholding Joe Washford again hard at work — in his wig — the little tail aforesaid oscillating like a pendulum in the breeze. If it be asked what could induce a gen- tleman, whose leading principle seems to have been self- appropriation, to make so magnificent a present, the an- swer is, that Mr. Jarvis might, perhaps, have thought an occasional act of benevolence necessary or politic ; he is not the only person, who, having stolen a ^[uantity of leather, has given away a pair of shoes, pour V amour de Dieu, — perhaps he had other motives. Joe, meanwhile, worked away at the celery-bed ; but •truth obliges us to say, neither with the same degree of vigour or perseverance as had marked the earlier efforts of the morning. His pauses were more frequent; he rested longer on the handle of his spade; while ever and anon his eye would wander from the trench beneath him to an object not unworthy the contemplation, of a natural philosopher. This was an apple-tree. Fairer fruit never tempted Eve, or any of her daugh- ters ; the bending branches groaned beneath their luxu- riant freight, and dropping to earth, seemed to ask the protecting aid of man, either to support or to relieve them. The fine, rich glow of their sunstreaked clusters derived additional loveliness from the level beams of the descending day-star. An anchorite's mouth had watered at the pippins. On the precise graft of the espalier of Eden, " San- 81 362 A LEGEND OP THE TTBALD OP KENT. choniathon, Manetho, and Berosus" are undecided; the best-informed Talmudists, however, have, if vre are to believe Dr. Pinner's German Version, pronounced it a Kibstone pippin, and a Ribstone pippin-tree it was that now attracted the optics, and discomposed the inner man of the thirsty, patient, but perspiring gardener. The heat was still oppressive ; no beer had moistened his lip, though its very name, uttered as it was in the ungracious tones of a Witherspoon, had left behind a longing as in- tense as fruitless. His thirst seemed supernatural, when at this moment his left ear experienced "a slight and tickling sensation," such as we are assured is occasionally produced by an infinitesimal dose in homoeopathy ; a still, small voice — it was as though a daddy-long-legs were whispering in his tympanuin — a small voice seemed to say, " Joe ! — ^take an apple, Joe ! !" Honest Joseph started at the suggestion; the rich crimson of his jolly nose deepened to a purjjle tint in the beams of the setting sun ; his very forehead was in- carnadine. He raised his hand to scratch his ear, — the little tortuous tail had worked its way into it, — he pulled it out by the bit of shalloon, and allayed the itching, then cast his eye wistfully towards themansion where his master was sitting by the open window. Joe pursed up his parched lips into an arid whistle, and with a desperate energy struck his spade once more into the celery-bed. Alack I alack ! what a piece of work is man ! — how short his triumphs ! — how frail his resolutions ! From this fine and very original moral reflection we turn reluctantly to record the sequel. The celery-bed, alluded to as the main scene of Mr. Washford's opera- JEKRY JAETIS'S WIG. 363 rations, was drawn in a rectilinear direction, nearly across [he whole breadth of the parallelogram that comprised the " Kitchen garden." Its northern extremity abutted to the hedge before mentioned, its southern one — woe is me that it should have been so ! — was in fearful vicinity to the Ribstone pippin-tree. One branch, low bowed to earth, seemed ready to discharge its precious burden into the very trench. As Joseph stooped to insert the last plant with his dibble, an apple of more than ordinary beauty bobbed against his knuckles. — "He's taking snufF, Joe," whispered the same small voice; — the tail had twisted itself into its old position. " He is sneezing ! — now, Joe 1 — now!" And, ere the agitated horticul- turist could recover from his surprise and alarm, the fruit was severed, and — in his hand ! " He ! he ! he !" shrilly laughed, or seemed to laugh that accursed little pigtail. — Washford started at once to the perpendicular; — with an enfrenzied grasp he tore the jasey from his head, and, with that in one hand, and his ill-acquired spoil in the other, he rushed distractedly from the garden ! ****** All that night was the humble couch of the once happy gardener haunted with the most fearful visions. Ho was stealing apples, — he was robbing hen-roosts, — he was altering the chalks upon the milk-score,-^— he had purloined three chemises from- a hedge, and he awoke in the very act of cutting the throat of one of Squire Hodge's sheep ! A clammy dew stood upon his temples, — the cold perspiration burst from every pore, — he sprang in terror from the bed i64 A LEGEND OF THE WEALD OF KENT. "Why, Joe, what ails thee, man?" cried the usually incurious Mrs.Washford; " what be the matter with thee? Thee hast done nothing but grunt and growl all t' night long, and now thee dost stare as if thee saw summut. What bees it, Joe?" A long-drawn sigh was her husband's only answer : his eye fell upon the bed. " How the devil came that here?" quoth Joseph, with a sudden recoil: "who put that thing on my pillow ?" " Why, I did, Joseph. Th' ould nightcap is in the wash, and thee didst toss and tumble so, and kick the clothes off, I thought thee mightest catch cowld, so 1 ckpt t' wig atop o' thee head." And there it lay, — the little sinister-looking tail impudently perked up, like an infernal gnomon on a Satanic dial-plate — Larceny and Ovicide shone in every hair of it 1 " The dawa was overcast, the morning lowcr'd And heavily in clouds brought on the daj," when Joseph Washford once more repaired to the scene of his daily labours ; a sort of unpleasant consciousness flushed his countenance, and gave him an uneasy feeling as he opened the garden-gate : for Joe, generally speak- ing, was honest as the skin between his brows; his hand faltered as it pressed the latch. " Pooh, pooh I 'twas but an apple, after all 1" said Joseph. He pushed open the wicket, and found himself beneath the tempting tree. But vain now were all its fascinations ; like fairy gold Boen by the morning light, its charms had faded into very nothingness. Worlds, to say nothing of apples, which, JERRY JAKTIS'S WW. 365 in shape, resemble them, would not have bought him to stretch forth an unhallowed hand again. He went steadily to his work. The day continued cloudy ; huge drops of rain fell at intervals, stamping his bald pate with spots as big as halfpence ; but Joseph worked on. As the day advanced, showers fell thick and frequent; the fresh-turned earth was itself fragrant as a bouquet. — Joseph worked on ; and when at last Jupiter Pluvius descended in all his majesty, soaking the ground into the consistency of a dingy pud- ding, he put on his party-coloured jacket, and strode to- wards his humble home, rejoicing in his renewed inte- grity. " 'Twas but an apple, after all ! Had it been an apple-pie, indeed ! " — " An apple-pie ! " the thought was a dangerous one — too dangerous to dwell on. But Joseph's better Genius was at this time lord of the ascendant; — he dismissed it, and passed on. On arriving at his cottage, an air of bustle and confu- sion prevailed within, much at variance with the peaceful serenity usually observable in its economy. Mrs. Wash- ford was in high dudgeon ; her heels clattered on the red-tiled floor, and she whisked about the house like a parched pea upon a drum-head ; her voice, generally small and low, — "an excellent thing in woman," — was pitched at least an octave above its ordinary level ; she was talking fast and furious. Something had evidently gone wrong. The mystery was soon explained. The " cussed ould twoad of a cat " had got into the dairyj and licked off the cream from the only pan their single BOW had filled that morning ! And there she now lay, 81* S66 A LEGEND OP THE WEALD OP KENT. purring as io scorn. Tib, heretofore the meekest of mousers, the honestest, the least " scaddle " of the feline race, — a eat that one would have sworn might have been trusted with untold fish, — yes, — there was no denying it, -—proofs were too strong against her, — ^yet there she lay, hardened in ber iniquity, coolly licking her whiskers, and reposing quietly upon — what? — Jerry Jarvis's old wig ! I The patience of a Stoic must have yielded ; — it had been too much for the temperament of the Man of Uz. Joseph Washford lifted his hand — that hand which had never yet been raised on Tibby, save to fondle and caress — it now descended on her devoted head in one tremen- dous "dowse." Never was cat so astonished, — so en- raged — all the tiger portion of her nature rose in her soul. Instead of galloping off, hissing and sputtering, with arched back, and tail erectedj as any ordinary Gri- malkin would unquestionably have done under similar circumstances, she paused a moment, — drew back on her haunches, — all her energies seemed concentrated for one prodigious spring; a demoniac fire gleamed in her green and yellow eyeballs, as, bounding upwards, she fixed her talons firmly in each of her assailant's cheeks! — many and many a day after were sadly visible the marks of thpse envenomed claws — then, dashing over his shoulder with an unearthly mew, she leaped through the open casement, and — was seen no more. " The Devil's in the cat ! " was the apostrophe of Mrs. - Margaret Washford. Her husband said nothing, but thrust the old wig into his pocket, and went to bathe his scratches at the pump. Day after day, night after night, 'twas all the same — JEKEY JAETIS'S WIG. 367 4 Joe Washford's life became a burden to him; his naturaV upright and honest mind struggled hard against the frailty of human nature. He was ever restless and uneasy; his frank, open, manly look, that blenched not from the gaze of the spectator, was no more : a sly and sinister expression had usurped the place of it. Mr. Jeremiah Jarvis had little of what the world calls " Taste," still less of Science. Ackerman would have called him a " Snob," and Buckland a " Nincompoop." Of the Horticultural Society, W^fttes, its fruits, and its Middlings, he knew nothing. Little recked he of flowers — save cauliflowers — in these, indeed, he was a connois- seur : to their cultivation and cookery the respective talv-ints of Joe and Madame Witherspoon had long been dedicated; but as for a bouquet! — Hardham's 37 was "the only one fit for a gentleman's nose." And yet, after all, Jerry Jarvis had a good-looking tulip-bed. A female friend of his had married a Dutch merchant; Jerry drew the settlements; the lady paid him by a checque on " Child's," the gentleman by a present of a " box of roots." Jerry put the latter in his garden — he had rather they had been schalots. Not so his neighbour, Jenkinson ; he was a man of 'Taste" and of "Science;" he was an F.R.C.E.B.S., which, as he told the Vicar, implied, "Fellow of the Royal Cathartico-Emetico-Botanical Society," and his autograph in Sir John Prostyface's album stood next to that of the Emperor of all the Eussias. Neighbour Jenkinson fell in love with the pips and petals of "neigh- bour Jarvis's" tulips. There were one or two among them of such brilliant, such surpassing beauty, — the 368 A LEGEND OP THE WEALD OP KENT. "cups" so well formed, — the colours so defined. To be sure, Mr. Jenkinson had enough in his own garden ; but then " Enough," says the philosopher, " always means a little morelhan a man has got." — Alas ! alas ! Jerry Jarvis was never known to bestow^ — his neighbour dared not offer to purchase from so wealthy a man ; and, worse than all, Joe, the gardener, was incorruptible^-ay, but the Wig ? Joseph Washford was working away again in the blaze of the mid-day sun : his head looked like a copper sauce- pan fresh from the brazier's. " Why, where 's your wig, Joseph ? " said the voice of his master from the well-known window; "what have you done with your wig ? " The question was embar- rassing, — its tail had tickled his ear till it had made it Bore ; Joseph had put the wig in his pocket. Mr. Jeremiah Jarvis was indignant; he liked not that his benefits should be ill appreciated by the recipient. — " Hark ye, Joseph Washford," said he, " either wear my wig, or let me have it again ! " There was no mistaking the meaning of his tones; they were resonant of indignation and disgust, of mingled grief and anger, the amalgamation of sentiment naturally produced by " Friendship unreturn'd, And unreguited love." Washford's heart smote him : he felt all that was im- plied in his master's appeal. " It's here, your Honour," said he ; "I had only taken it off because we have had ft smartish shower; but the sky is brightening now.' JERRY JARYIS'S WIG. 369 The wig was replaced, and the little tortuous pigtail wrig gled itself into its accustomed position. At this moment neighbour Jenkinson peeped over the hedge. " Joe Washford ! " said neighbour Jenkinson. " Sir, to you," was the reply. " How beautiful your tulips look after the rain !" ' " Ah ! sir, master sets no great store by them flowers;" returned the gardener. " Indeed ! Then perhaps he would have no objection to part with a few ?" " Why, no ! — I don't think master would like to give them, — or anything else, — away, sir;" — and Washford scratched his ear. '•' Joe 1 ! " — said Mr. Jenkinson — " Joe ! ! " The Sublime, observes Longinus, is often embodied in a monosyllable — "Joel!!" — Mr. Jenkinson said no more ; but a half-crown shone from between his upraised fingers, and its "poor, poor dumb mouth" spoke for him. How Joseph Washford's left ear did itch! — He looked to the ground-floor back — Mr. Jarvis had left the window. Mr. Jenkinson's ground-plot boasted, at daybreak next morning, a splendid Semper Augustus, " which was not so before," and Joseph Washford was led home, much about the same time, in a most extraordinary state of "civilation," from "The Three Jolly Potboys." From that hour he was the Fiend's ! ! * * * * "Facilis descensus AverniJ" says Virgil. "It is only the flrst step that is attended with any diflnculty," says— » 370 A LEGEND OP THE WEALD OP KENT. Bomebody else, — when speaking of the decollated mar- tyr, St. Dennis's walk with his head under his arm. "The First Step ["—Joseph Washford had taken that step ! — he had taken two — three — four steps ; — and now, from a hesitating, creeping, cat-like mode of pro- gression, he had got into a firmer tread — an amble — a positive Vrot ! — He took the family linen "to the wash :" — ^one of Madame Witherspoon's best Holland chemisei was never seen after. Lost? — impossible ! How could, it be lost? — where cauld it be gone to ? — who could have got it ? It was her best — her ver^ best ! — she should know it among a hundred — among a thousand ! — it was marked with a great W in the corner! — Lost? — impossible — She would see!" — Alas! she never did see — the chemise — abiit, erupit, evasit ! — it was "Like the lost Pleiad, seen on earth no morel" — but Joseph Washford's Sunday shirt was seen, finer, and fairer than ever, the pride and dulce decus of the Meeting. The Meeting? — ay, the Meeting. Joe Washford never missed the Appledore Independent Meeting House, whether the service were in the morning or afterfioon, — whether the Rev. Mr.. Slyandry exhorted or made way for the Rev. Mr. Tearbrain. Let who would officiate, there was Joe. As I have said before, he never missed ; — but other people missed — one missed an umbrella, — one a pair of clogs. Farmer Johnson missed his tobacco- box, — Farmer Jackson his greatcoat; — Miss Jackson Tiissed her hymn-book, — a diamond edition, bound in JERRT JARTIS'S WIG. 371 maroon-coloured velvet, with gilt corners and clasps. Everything, in short, was missed — but Joe Washford ; there he sat, grave, sedate, and motionless — all save that restless, troublesome, fidgety little Pigtail attached to his wig, which nothing could keep quiet, or prevent from tickling and interfering with Miss Thompson's curls, as she sat, back to back with Joe, in the adjoining pew After the third Sunday, Nancy Thompson eloped with the tall recruiting sergeant of the Oonnaught Rangers. The summer passed away, — autumn came and went, — and Christmas, jolly Christmas, that period of which we are accustomed to utter the mournful truism, it " comes but once a-year," was at hand. It was a fine bracing morning; the sun was just beginning to throw a brighter tint upon the Quaker-coloured ravine of Orle- stone-hill, when a medical gentleman, returning to the quiet little village of Ham Street, that lies at its foot, from a farmhouse at Kingsnorth, rode briskly down the declivity. After several hours of patient attention, Mr. Money- penny had succeeded in introducing to the notice of seven little expectant brothers and sisters a "remarkably fine child," and was now hurrying home in the sweet hope of a comfortable "snooze" for a couple of hours before the announcement of tea and muffins should arouse him to fresh exertion. The road at this particular spot had, even then, been cut deep below the surface of the soil, for the purpose of diminishing the abruptness of the descent, and, as either side of the superincumbent banks was clothed with a thick mantle of tangled copsewood, the passage, even by day, was sufficiently obscure, the S72 A LEGEND OF THE WEALD OP KENT. level beams of the rising or setting-sun, as they happened to enfilade the gorge, alone illuminating its recesses. A long stream of rosy light was just beginning to make its way through the vista, and Mr. Moneypenny's nose had scarcely caught and reflected its kindred ray, when the sturdiest and most active cob that ever rejoiced in the appellation of a " Suffolk Punch," brought herself up in mid career upon her haunches, and that with a sudden- ness which had almost induced her rider to describe that beautiful mathematical figure, the parabola, between her ears. Peggy — her name was Peggy — stood stock-still, snorting like a stranded grampus, and alike insensible to the gentle hints afforded her by hand and heel. "Teh! — tch I — get along, Peggy!" half exclaimed, half whistled the equestrian. If ever steed said in its heart, " I '11 be shot if I do !" it was Peggy at that mo- ment. She planted her forelegs deep in the sandy soil, raised her stump of a tail to an elevation approaching the horizontal, protruded her nose like a pointer at a covey, and with expanded nostril continued to snuffle most egregiously. Mr. Geoffrey Gambado, the illustrious " Master of the Horse to the Doge of Venice,'' tells us, in his far-famed treatise on the Art Equestrian, that the most embarras- sing position in which a rider can be placed is, when Jif wishes to go one way, and his horse is determined to go another. There is, to be sure, a tertium quid, which, though it "splits the difference," scarcely obviates the inconvenience ; this is when the parties compromise the matter by not going any way at all — to this compromise Peggy, and her (soi-disant) master were now reduced; JERRT JARTIS'S WW. 378 they had fairly joined issue. " Budge \" quoth the doctor — "Budge not!" quoth the fiend, — for nothing short of a fiend could, of a surety, inspire Peggy at such a time with such unwonted obstinacy. — Moneypenny whipped and spurred — Peggy plunged, and reared, and kicked, and for several minutes to a superficial observer the termination of the contest might have appeared un- certain ; but your profound thinker sees at a glance that, however the scales may appear to vibrate, when the ques- tion between the sexes is one of perseverance, it is quite a lost case for the masculine gender. Peggy beat the doctor "all to sticks," and when he was fairly tired of goading and thumping, maintained her position as firmly as ever. It is of no great use, and not particularly agreeable, to sit still, on a cold frosty morning in January, upon the outside of a brute that will neither go forwards nor backwards — so Mr. Moneypenny got oflF, and muttering curses both " loud " and " deep " between his chattering teeth, " progressed," as near as the utmost extremity of the extended bridle would allow him, to peep among the weeds and brushwood that flanked the road, in order to discover, if possible, what it was that so exclusively at tracted the instinctive attention of his Bucephalus. His curiosity was not long at fault; the sunbeam glanced partially upon some object ruddier even than itself — it was a scarlet waistcoat, the wearer of which, overcome perchance by Christmas compotation, seemed to have selected for his " thrice driven bed of down," the thickest clump of the tallest and most imposing nettles, 32 374 A LEGEND OF THE WEALD OF EENT. thereon to doze away the narcotic effects of superabundant juniper. This, at least, was Mr. Moneypenny's belief, or he would scarcely have uttered, at the highest pitch of his contralto, " What are you doing there, you drunken rascal ? frightening my horse !" — We have already hinted, if not absolutely asserted, that Peggy was a mare ; but this was no time for verbal criticism. — " Get up, I say, — get up, and go home, you scoundrel !" — But the "scoun- drel" and "drunken rascal" answered not; he moved not, nor could the prolonged shouting of the appellant, aided by significant explosions from a double-thonged whip, succeed in elicitiog a reply. No motion indicated that the recumbent figure, whose outline alone was visi- ble, was a living and a breathing man ! The clear, shrill tones of a ploughboy's whistle sounded at this moment from the bottom of the hill, where the broad and green , expanse of Eomney Marsh stretches - away from its foot for many a mile, and now gleamed through the mists of morning, dotted and enamelled with its thousand flocks. In a few minutes his tiny figure was seen " slouching" up the ascent, easting a most dis- proportionate and ogre-like shadow before him. "Come here. Jack," quoth the doctor, — "come here, boy, lay hold of this bridle, and mind that my horse does not run away." Peggy threw up her head, and snorted disdain of the insinuation, — she had not the slightest intention of doing any such thing. Mr. Moneypenny meanwhile, disencumbered of his restive nag, proceeded by manual application to aruusb JERRT JAETIS'S WIQ. 375 the sleeper. Alas ! the Seven of Bphesus might si»oner have been awakened from their century of somnoleuoy. His ■wa.a that " dreamless sleep that knows no waking ;" his cares in this world were over. Vainly did Money- penny practise his own constant precept, " To be well shaken I" — there lay before him the lifeless body of a Murdered Man ! The corpse lay stretched upon its back, partially con- cealed, as we have before said, by the nettles which had sprung up among the stumps of the half-grubbed under- wood ; the throat was fearfully lacerated, and the dark, deep, arterial dye of the coagulated blood showed that the carotid had been severed. There was little to denote the existence of any struggle ; but as the day brightened, the sandy soil of the road exhibited an impression as of a body that had fallen on its plastic surface, and had been dragged to its present position, while fresh horse-shoe prints seemed to intimate that either the assassin or his victim had been mounted. The pockets of the deceased were turned out, and empty; a hat and heavy-loaded whip lay at no great distance from the body. " But what have we here ? " quoth Dr. Moneypenny ; "what is it that the poor fellow holds so tightly in his hand?" That hand had manifestly clutched some article with all the spasmodic energy of a dying grasp — It was an OLD wia ! ! " Those who aie fortunate enough to have seen a , inque Port court-house may possibly divine what that 876 A LEGEND OF THE TTEALD OF KENT. useful and most necessary edifice was some eighty years ago. Many of them seem to have undergone liUle alter- ation, and are, in general, of a composite order of archi- tecture, a fanciful arrangement of brick and timber, with what Johnson would have styled " interstices, reticulated, and decussated between intersections" of lath and plaster. Its less euphonious designation in the "Weald" is a " noggin." One half the basement story is usually of the more solid material, the other, open to the street, — from which it is separated only by a row of dingy columns, supporting a portion of the superstructure, — is paved with tiles, and sometimes does duty as a market- place, while, in its centre, flanking the board staircase that leads to the sessions-house above, stands an ominous- looking machine, of heavy perforated wood, clasped within whose stern embrace " the rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep" off occasionally the drowsiness produced by con- vivial excess, in a most undignified position, an inconve- nience much increased at times by some mischievous urchin, who, after abstracting the shoes of the helpless detenu, amuses himself by tickling the soles of his feet. ' It was in such a place, or rather in the Court-room above, that in the year 1761, a hale, robust man, some- what past the middle age, with a very bald pate, save where a continued tuft of coarse, wiry hair, stretching from above each ear, swelled out into a greyish-looking bush upon the occiput, held up his hand before a grave and enlightened assemblage of Dymohurch jurymen. He stood arraigned for that offence most heinous in the sight of God and man, the deliberate and cold-blooded butchery of an unoffending, unprepared fellow-creature, JEERT JAKTIS'S WIG. 377 —homicidium quod nulla vidente, nulla auscultante, clam perpetratur. The victim was one Humphry Bourne, a reputable grazier of Ivyehurch, worthy and well to do, though, perchance, a thought too apt to indulge on a markets day, when "a score of ewes" had brought in a reason- able profit. Some such cause had detained him longer than usual at an Ashford cattle-show; he had left the town late, and alone; early in the following morning his horse was found standing at its own stable-door, the saddle turned round beneath its belly, and much about the time that the corpse of its unfortunate master was discovered some four miles off, by our friend the pbar- niacopolist. That poor Bourne had been robbed and murdered, there could be no question. Who, then, was the perpetrator of the atrocious deed? — The unwillitig hand almost refuses to trace the name of — Joseph Washford. Yet so it was. Mr. Jeremiah Jarvis was himself the coroner for that division of the county of Kent known by the name of " The Lath of Scraye." He had no* sat two minutes on the body before he recognised his quondam property, and started at beholding in the grasp of the victim, as torn in the death-struggle from the murderer's head, his own old Wia, — his own perkj little pigtail, tied up with a piece of shabby shalloon, now wriggling and quivering, as in salutation of its an- cient master. The silver buckles of the murdered man were found in Joe Washford's shoes, — broad pieces were found in Joe Washford's pockets, — Joe Washford had 32* 578 A LEGEND OP THE WEALD OF KENT. himself been found, when the hue-and-cry was up, hid in a corn-rig at no great distance from the scene of slaugh- ter, his pruning-knife red with the evidence of his crime — " the gray hairs yet stuck to the heft ! " For their humane administration of the laws, the lieges of this portion of the realm have long been cele- - brated. Here it was that merciful verdict was recorded in the case of the old lady accused of larceny, " We find her Not Guilty, and hope she will never do so any more I" Here it was that the more experienced culprit, when called upon to plead with the customary, though some- what superfluous, inquiry, as to "how he would be tried?" substituted for the usual reply " By God and my coun- try," that of " By your worship and a Dymohurch Jury." Here it was — but enough ! — not even a Dymchurch jury could resist such evidence, even though the gallows (t. e. the expense of erecting one) stared them, as well as the criminal, in the face. The very pig-tail alone I — ever at his ear! — a clearer case of suadente Diabolo never was made out. Had there been a doubt, its very conduct in the Court-house would have settled the ques- tion. The Kev. Joel Ingoldsby, umquhile chaplain to the Komney Bench, has left upon record that when ex- hibited in evidence, together with the blood-stained knife, its twistings, its caperings, its gleeful evolutions, quite "flabbergasted" the jury, and threw all beholders into a consternation. It was remarked, too, by many in the Court, that the Forensic Wig of the Eecorder himself was, on that trying occasion, palpably agitated, and that its three depending, learned-looting tails lost curl at once, ind slunk beneath the obscurity of the powdered collar JERRY JARTIS'S WIG. 379 just as the boldest dog recoils from a rabid animal of its own species, however small and insignificant. Why prolong the painful scene? — Joe Washford waa tried — Joe Washford was convicted — Joe Washford was hanged ! , The fearful black gibbet, on which his body clanked in its chains to the midnight winds, frowns no more upon Orlestone Hill; it has sunk beneath the encroaching hand of civilization; but there it might be seen late in the last century, an awful warning to all bald-pated gen- tlemen how they wear, or accept, the old wig of a Special Attorney, Timeo Danails at dona ferentesi Such gifts, as we have seen, may lead to a " Morbid Delu- sion, the climax of which is Murder I" The fate of the Wig itself is somewhat doubtful ; no- body seems to have recollected, with any degree of pre- cision, what became of it. Mr. Ingoldsby " had heard " that, when thrown into the fire by the Court-keeper, after whizzing, and fizzling, and performing all sorts of super- natural antics and contortions, it at length whirled up the chimney with a bang that was taken for the explosion of one of the Feversham powder-mills, twenty miles off; while others insinuate that in the "Great Storm" which took place on the night when Mr. Jeremiah Jarvis went to his " long home," — wherever that may happen to be, — and the whole of "The Marsh" appeared as one broad sheet of flame, something that looked very like a Fiery Wig — perhaps a miniature Comet — it had unquestion- ably a tail — was seen careering in the blaze, — and seem- ing to " ride on the whirlwind and direct the storm " UNSOPHISTICATED WISHES. « BY MISS JEMIMA INGOLDSBT. AGED riFTEKN- (Communicated 6y her Qmsin Tom.) Oh ! how I should like in a Coach to ride, Like the Sheriffs I saw upon Lord Mayor's day, With a Coachman and little Postilion. astride On the back of the leader, a prancing bay! And then behind it, oh ! I should glory To see the tall serring-men standing upright. Like the two who attend Mister Moutefiore, (Sir Moses I should say) for now he 's a Knight. And then the liveries, I know it is rude to Find fault — but I'll hint as he can't see me blush. That I 'd not have the things I can only allude to Either orange in hue or constructed of plnsh ; But their coats and their waistcoats and hats are delightful, Their charming silk stockings — I vow and declare Our John's ginger gaiters so wrinkled and frightful, I never again shall be able to bear. Oh ! how I should like to have diamonds and rubies, And large plume of feathers and flowers in my hair! My gracious ! to think how our Tom and those boobies, Jack Smith and his friend Mister Thompson, would fitarer Then how I should like to drive to Guildhall, And to see the nobility flocking in shoals. With their two-guinea tickets to dance at the ball Which the Lord Mayor give,s for the relief of the Poles. (380J CNSOPHISTICATED WISHES. 381 And to look at the gas bo uncommonly pretty, And the stars and the armour all just as they were, The day that the Queen came in state to the city To dine with the whole Corporation and Mayor. Oh ! how I should like to see Jane and Letitia, Miss Jones and the two Misses Frump sitting still, While dear Ensign Brown, of the West Kent Militia, Solicits my hand for the " Supper" Quadrille. With his fine white teeth and his cheek like a rose. And his black cravat and his diamond pin, And the nice little mustache under his nose, And the dear Utile tuft on the tip of his chin. And how I should like some fine morning to ride In my coach, and my white satin shoes and gown. To St. James's Church, with a Beau by my side. And I shouldn't much care if his name was Btove. The foregoing pages complete the Series of Poems, &c., published under the name of Thomas Ingoldsby; of these, "The Legend of Languedoc," "The Bucca- neer's Curse," "The House-warming," "The Lay of St. Romwold," and "The Brothers of BircMngton," ap- peared in the New Monthly Magazine, the remainder in Bentley's Miscellany. ' The following articles, which are added for reasons stated elsewhere, though prior in point of date, are by the same author, and with few exceptions, of a similar character with his better known effusions. The first three are versions of dramas produced : "Hermann," at the English Opera House ; " Willmm Rufus," we believe, at Drury Lane ; and "Marie Mignot," at the Haymarket Theatre. The concluding lines are those alluded to in the Memoir, as having been the last that fell from Mr. Barham's pen, and which were written during one of those weary nights of watchfulness occasioned by his disease. (382) MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. HERMANN; OR, THE BROKEN SPEAR An Emperor famous in coimcil and camp, Has a son wlio turns out a remarkable scamp ; Takes to dicing and drinking, And d — mning and sinking, And carries off maids, wives, and widows, like winking ! Since the days of Arminius, his namesake, than Hermann There never was seen a more profligate German. He escapes from the City ; And joins some banditti, Insensible quite to remorse, fear, and pity ; Joins in all their carousals, and revels, and robberies, And in kicking up all sorts of shindies and bobberies. Well, hearing one day. His associates say That a bridal procession was coming their way, Inflamed with desire, he Breaks into a priory. And kicking out every man Jack of a friar, he Upsets in a twinkling the mass-books and hassocks. And dresses his rogueg in the clergyman's cassocks. The new-5iarried folks Taken in by this hoax, Mister Hermann grows frisky and full of his jokes : To the serious chagrin of her late happy suitor, Catching hold of the Bride, he attempts to salute her, 383 384 HERMANN; OR, Now HeaTen knows what Had become of the lot, It's Turtle to Tripe they'd have all gone to pot — If a dumb Lady, one - Of her friends, had not run To her aid, and, quite scandalised, stopp'd all his fun ! Just conceive what a caper He cut, when her taper Long fingers scrawl'd this upon whitey-brown paper, (At the instant he seized, and before he had kiss'd her) — "Ha' done. Mister Hermann! for shame! it's your sister!" His hair stands on end, — he desists from his tricks, And remains in " a pretty particular fix." As he knows Sir John NichoU Still keeps rods in pickle, Offences of this kind severely to tickle, At so near an escape from his court and its sentence. His eyes fill with tears, and his breast with repentance! So, picking and stealing, And unrighteous dealing, or aH sorts, he outs, from this laudable feeling : Of wickedness weary, With many a tear, he Now takes a French leave of the vile CondoUieri: And the next thing we hear of this penitent villain. He' is begging in rags in the suburbs of Milan. Half-starved, meagre, and pale, His energies fail, When his sister comes in with a pot of mUd ale; But, though tatter'd his jerkins. His heart is whole, — workings Of conscience debar him from "Barclay and Perkins." "I'll drink," exclaims he, " Nothing stronger than tea, And that but the worst and the weakest Bohea, THE BROKEN SPEAR. 385 Till I've done — from my past scenes of folly a far actor- Some feat shall redeem both my wardrohe and character." At signs of remorse so decided and visible, Nought can equal the joy of his fair sister Isabel, And the Dumb Lady too, Who runs off to a Jew, And buys Mm a coat of mail spick and span new, In the hope that his prowess dnd deeds as a Knight Will keep his late larcenies quite out of sight. By the greatest good luck, his old friends the banditS Choose this moment to make an attack on the city 1 Now you all know the way Heroes hack, hew, and slay. When once they get fairly mix'd up in a fray : Hermann joins in the mSWe, Pounds this to a jelly. Runs that through the back, and a third through the belly, Till many a broken bone, bruised rib, and flat head, Make his ci-devant friends curse the hour that he ratted. Amid so many blows, Of course, you '11 suppose He must get a black eye, or, at least, bloody nose ; " Take that! " cried a bandit, and struck, while he spoke it. His spear in his breast, and, in pulling it out, broke it Hermann fainted away. When, as breathless he lay, A rascal claim'd all the renown of the day ; A recreant, cowardly, white-liver'd knight. Who had skulk'd in a furze-bush the whole of the fight. But the Dumb Lady soon Put some gin in a spoon, And half strangles poor Hermann, who wakes from Ms swoon. And exhibits his wound, when the head of the spear Pits its handle, and makes his identity clear. The murder thus out, Hermann 's flied and thanked, Vfhi! From the National School below ! They are resolved to play truant to-day. Their primer and slate they have cast away. And away, away, they go ! " Hey boys ! hey boys ! up go we 1 Who so merry as we three ? " The reek of that most infernal pit, Where sinful souls are stewing, Kises so black, that in viewing it, A thousand to one but you 'd ask with surprisA, As its murky columns meet your eyes, ," Pray is Old Nick a-brewing ? " Thither these three little Devils repair, And mount by steam to the uppermost air- They have got hold of a wajidering star. That happen'd to come within hail, , swiftly they ghde ! As they merrily ride All a cook-stride Of that Comet's tail. Oh the pranks ! Oh the pranks ! The merry pranks, the mad pranks. These wicked urchins play ! They kiss'd the Virgin and fill'd her with dread. They popp'd the Scorpion into her bed ; They broke the pitcher of poor A guarius, They stole the arrows of Sagittarius, And they skimm'd the Milky Way. (391) 392 THE TRUANTS. They fiU'd the Scales with sulphur full, They halloed the Dog-Star on at the BuU, And pleased themselves mth the noise. They set the Lion On poor Orion; They shaved all the hair Off the Lesser Bear! They kick'd the shins Of the Oemimi Twins — Those heavenly Siamese Boys!— NevOT was such confusion and wrack, As they produced in the Zodiac! — "Huzza! Huzza! Away ! Away 1 Let us go down to the ear& and play I Now we go up, up, up, Now we go down, down, down, Now we go backwards, and forwards. Now we go round, round, round ! " Thus they gambol, and scramble, and tear, Tin at last they arrive at the nethermost air. And pray now what were these Devilets call'df These three little Fiends so gay ! One was Cob ! Another was Mob ! Tne last and the least was young Chittabobl Queer little devils were they ! Oob was the strongest, Mob was the wrongest, Chittalob's tail was the finest and longest 1 Three more frolicksome Imps, I ween, Beelzebub's self hath seldom seen. Over Mountain, over Fell, Glassy Fountain, mossy Dell, The truants. 393 Eocty Island, barren Strand, Over Ocean, over Land ; With frisk and bound, and sqneaks and sqnallb, Heels over head, and head over heels ; With curlings and twistings, and twirls and wheeleriea, Down they drop at the gate of the TuilUriea. Courtiers were bowing and making legs, While Charley le Rot was bolting eggs : "Mob" says Cob, "Chittabob," says Mob, " Come here, you young Devil, we 're in for a job!" Up jumps Cob to the Monarch's ear, " Charley, my jolly boy, never fear; If you mind all their jaw About Charter and Law, You might just as well still be the Count d'Artoiti No such thing. Show 'em you're King, Tip 'em an Ordinance, that's the thing!" Charley dined, Took his pen and sign'd ; Then Mob kick'd over his throne from behind! " Huzza! Huzza! we may scamper now! For here we have kick'd ud a jolly good row 1' " " Over the water and over the Sea, And over the water vrith Charlie ;" Now they came skipping and grinning with glet, Not pausing to chaff or to parley, Over, over, On to Dover ; On fun intent. All through Kent These mischievous devils so merrily went. 394 THE TRUANTS. Over hill and oyer dale, Sunken hollow, lofty ridge, Frowning cliff, and smiling vale, Down to the foot of Westminster-bridge. "HoUo," says Cob, " There's the Duke and Sir Bob I After 'em Chittabob, after 'em Mob." Mob flung gravel, and Chittabob pebbles, His Grace o 'd them both for a couple of rebels!- His feelings were hurt. By the stones and the dirt — In went he, In an ecstasy And blew up the nobles of high degree. "Mr. Brougham, Mr. Hume, May fret and may fume — And so may all you whom I see in this room ; Come weal, come woe, come calm, come storm ^ I'll see you all — bless' d — ere I give you reform l" " Bravo !" says Chittabob, " That's your sort. Come along, schoolfellows, here 's more sport. Look there ! look there ! There 's the great Lord May'r 1 With the gravest of Deputies close to his chair; With Hobler, his Clerk! Just the thing for a larh ; Huzzah ! huzzah ! boys, follow me now ; Here we may kiek up another good row." Here they are. Swift as a star. They shoot in mid air, over Temple Barl Tom Macaulay beheld the flight, 01 these three little dusky sons of night. THE TRUANTS. 390 And his heart swell'd -with joy and elation — " Oh, see !" quoth he, " Those Niggtrlings three, Who have just got emancipation !" Lo'rd Key took fright: At the very first sight, The whole Court of Aldermen wheel'd to the right; Some ran from Chiitabob — more from Mob, Che great locum tenens jump'd up upon Cob, Who roar'd and ran With the Alderman To the Home Office, piok-a-back — catch 'em who canl " Stay at home — here 's a plot. And I can 't tell you what, If you don't I '11 be shot. But you 'U all go to pot." All, little he ween'd, while the groundho thus ran over, "Twas a Cob he bestrode — not his white horse from Hanover. Back they came galloping through the Strand, When Joseph Lancaster, stick in hand, Popp'd up his head before 'em. Well we know, That honest old Joe, Is a sort .of High Master down beiow. And teaches the Imps deaoriiiti. Satan had started him ojl' in a crack. To flog these three little runaways back. Fear each assails ; Every one quails ; "Oh dear! how he'll tickle our little black tails! Have done, have done. Here 's that son of a gun. Old Joe, come after us, — run, bo^s, run." 396 TBE POPLAR. Off ran Cob, OS ran Mob, Ana off in a fright ran young Chittxtbob, Joe caught Chittabob just by the tail, And Cob by his crumpled horn ; Bitterly then did these Imps bewail. That ever they were born ! Mob got away, But none to this day, Know exactly whither he went; Some say he 's been seen about Blaoifriars-briilge And some say he 's down in Kent. But where'er he may roam, He has not ventured home. Since the day the three took wing. And many suppose, He has changed his clothes ; And now goes by the name of " Swing," THE POPLAR. At, here stands the Poplar, so tall and so stately. On whose tender rind — 'twas a little one then — We carved her initials ; though not very lately We think in the year eighteen hundred and ten. Tes, here is the G which proclaim'd Georgiana : Our heart's empress then; see, 'tis grown all askew; And it 's not without grief we perforce entertain a Conviction, it now looks much more like a Q. This should be the great D too, that once stood for Dobbin, Her lov'd patronymic — ah ! can it be so ? Its once fair proportions, time, too has been robbing; A D! — we'll be J)erd if it isn't an 0! MT LETTEES. 397 Alas ! how the soiil sentimental it vexes, That thns on our labours stem Chronos should frown ; Should change our soft liquids to izzards and Xes, And turn true-love's alphabet aU upside down? MY LETTERS. "liitera scripta manet." — Old Saw, Anothek mizzling, drizzling day ! Of clearing up there 's no appearance ; So I '11 sit down without delay. And here, at least, I '11 make a clearance Dh ne'er " on such a day as this," Would Dido with her woes oppressfed Have woo'd ^neas back to bliss. Or Troilus gone to hunt for Cressid ! No, they 'd have stay'd at home, like me, And popp'd their toes upon the fender. And drunk a quiet cup of tea : — On days like this one can't be tender. So, Molly, draw that basket nigher. And put my desk upon the table — Bring that Portfolio — stir the fire — Now off as fast as you are able ! First here 's a card from Mrs. Grimes, " A ball ! " — she knows that I 'm no dancer - That woman 's ask'd me fifty times. And yet I never send an answer. 34 398 ut lettebs. "Deab Jack, — Just lend me twenty pounds, Till Monday next, when I '11 return it. Yours truly, Henkt Gibes." Why Z— ds ! I've seen the man but twice — here, burn it. One. from my Cousin Sophy Daw — Full of Aunt Margery's distresses ; " The Cat has kitten'd in ' the draw,' And ruin'd two bran-new silk dresses." From Sam, "The Chancellor's motto,"-^nay Confound his puns, he knows I hate 'em ; "Pro Rege, Lege, Grege," — Ay, " For King read Mob ! " Brougham's old erratum. From Seraphina Price — "At two" — " Till then I can't, my dearest John, stir ; " Two more because I did not go, Beginning "Wretch" and "Faithless Monster!" "Dbae Sib, — " This morning Mrs. ,P Who 's doing quite as well as may be, Presented me at half-past three Precisely, with another baby. " We '11 name it John, and know with pleasure Tou 'U stand " — Five guineas more, confound it ■ I wish they 'd call it Nebuchadnezzar, Or thrown it in the Thames and drown'd it. What have we next ? A civil Dun : " John Brown would take it as a favour "— Another, and a surlier one, "I can't put up with sich behaviour." MT LETTERS. 399 •'Bin SO long Btandimg," — " quite tired out," — " Must sit down to insist on payment," " Called ten times," — Here 's a fuss about A few coats, waistcoats, and small raiment! For once I'U send an answer, and in- form Mr. Snip he needn't " call" so ; But when his bill 's as " tired of standing" As he is, beg 'twill " sit down also." This from my rich old .Uncle Ned, Thanking me for my annual present ; And saying he last Tuesday wed His cook-maid, MoUy — vastly pleasant 1 An iU-spelt note from Tom at school. Begging I '11 let him learn the fiddle ; Another from that precious fool. Miss Pyefinoh, with a stupid riddle. " D 'y e give it up ? " Indeed I do ! Confound these antiquated minxes ; I won't play " Billy Black " to a " Blue," Or OJdipus to such old sphinxes. A note sent up from Kent to show me, left with my bailiff, Peter King ; " I'U bum them precious stacks down, blow met " Tours most sincerely, "Captain Swinq." Four begging letters with petitions. One from my sister Jane, to pray, I'll " execute a few commissions In Bond Street, " when I go that way," " And buy at Pearsal's in the City Twelve skeins of silk for netting purses : Colour no matter, so it 's pretty ; — Two hundred pens " — two hundred curses I 400 Mr LETTERS. From Mistress Jones : "My little Billy Goes up his Bihooling to begin, Will you just step to Piccadilly, And meet him when the coach comes in J " And then, perhaps, you will as well, see The poor dear fellow safe to school At Dr. Smith's in Little Chelsea!" Heaven send he flog the little fool ! From Lady Snooks : " Dear Sir, you know You promised me laSt woek a Bebus-; A something smart and apropos, For toy new Album ! " — Aid me, Phoebus ! " My first is followed by my second ; Yet should my first my second see, A dire mishap it would be reokon'd, And sadly shock'd my first would be. " Were I but what my whole implies, Aad pass'd by chance across your portal: You'd cry ' Can I believe my eyes ? ' I never saw so queer a mortal ! ' ' ' For then my head would not be on. My arms their shoulders must abandon ; My very body would be gone, I should not have a leg to stand on." Come, that's dispatch'd — what follows? — Stiqr " Reform demanded by the nation ; Vote for Tagrag and Bobtail ! " Ay, By Jove a blessed Reformation ! Jack, clap the saddle upon Rose — Or no 1 — the filly — she 's the fleeter ; The devil take the rain — here goes, I'm off — a plumper for Sir Peter I NEW-MADE HONOUR. (imitated erom martial.) • k Fkibhd I met some half hour since — " Good-morrow, Jadk J " quoth I ; The new-made Knight, like any Prince Frown'd, nodded, and pass'd hy ; When up came Jem — " Sir John, your Slav,) I" "Ah, James, we dine at eight — Fail not — (low tows the supple knaTe) Don't make my lady wait." The King can do no wrong ? As I 'm a sinner. He 's spoilt an honest tradesman and my dinner. THE CONFESSION. Thekb 's somewhat on my breast, father, There 's somewhat on my breast I The livelong day I sigh, father, And at night I cannot rest. I cannot take my rest, father, Though I would fain do so ; A weary weight oppresseth me — This weary weight of woe 1 'Tis not the lack of gold, father. Nor want of worldly gear ; My lands are broad, and fair to see, My friends are kind and dear. 34* 401 402 My kin Are leal and true, father, They mourn to see my grief; But oh ! 'tis not a kinsman's hand Can give my heart relief 1 'Tis not that Janet's false, father, 'Tis not that she 's unkind ; Tho' busy flatterers swarm around^ I know her constant mind. 'Tis not ha- coldness, father, That chills my labouring breast^ It 's that confounded cucumber I've eat, and can't digest. SONG. There sits a bird on yonder tree. More fond than Cushat Dove ; Thore sits a bird on yonder tree, And sings to me of love. Oh! stoop thee from thine eyrie doTmt And nestle thee near my heart. For the moments fly, And the hour is nigh, When thou and I must part. My love 1 When thou and I must part. In yonder covert lurks a Fawn, The pride of the sylvan scene ; In yonder covert lurks a Fawn. And I am his only queen ; 403 Oh ! bound from thy secret lair. For the sun is below the west ; No mortal eye May our meeting spy, For all are closed in rest, My love ! Each eye is closed in rest. Oh, sweet is the breath of mom I When the sun's first beams appear; Oh ! sweet is the shepherd's strain. When it dies on the listening ear ; And sweet the soft voice which speaks The Wanderer's welcome home ; But sweeter far By yon pale, mild star, With our true Lo,ve thus to roam, My dear! With our own true Love to roam ! EPIGRAM. Bkave L , so says a knight of the pen, " Has exposed himself much at the head of his men," Aa his men ran away without waiting to fight, To expose himself there 's to be first in the flight. Had it not been as well, when he saw his men quail, To have stay'd and exposed himself more at their tail? Or say, is it fair, m this noblest of quarrels. To suffer the chief to engross all the- laurels ? No ! his men, so the muse to all Europe shall sing. Have exptfeed themselves fully as much as their Idn^ EPIGRAM. EHEU FUGACES. What Horace says is, Ehm fugaces Anni labuntur, Postume, Postume I Tears glide away, and are lost to me, lost to me 1 Ifow, when the folks in the dance sport their merrytoes, Taglionis and Ellslers, DuTernays and Ceritos, Sighing, I murmur, " mihi prceteritos!" SONG. 'Tis sweet to think the pure ethereal being, Whose mortal form reposes with the dead, Still hovers round unseen, yet not unseeing' Benignly smiling o'er" the mourner's bed I She comes in dreams, a thing of light and lightness ; I hear her voice, in still, small accents, tell Of realms of bliss, and never-fading brightness, ; Where those who loyNl on earth, together dwell. Ah ! yet a while, blest shade, thy flight delaying, The kindred soul, with mystic converse cheer ; To her rapt gaze, in visions bland displaying. The unearthly glories of thy happier sphere ! Yet, yet remain ! till freed hke thee, delighted, She spurns the thraldom of enoumb'ring clay ; Then as on earth, in tenderest love united. Together seek the realms of endless day I 404 AS I LAY A-THYJVKYN3E. THE LAST LINES OF THOMAS INGOLDSBY. As I laye a-ftynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, Mcrrie sang the Birde as she sat upon the spraye ; There came a noble Knyghte, With his hanberke shynynge brighte, And his gallant heart was lyghte, Free and gaye ; As I lay a-thynkynge, he rode upon his waye. As I lay a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge. Sadly sang the Birde as she sat upon the tree 1 There seem'd a crimson plain. Where a gallant Knyghte lay slayne. And a steed with broken rein Ran free, A.S I laye a-thyukynge, most pitiful to see ! As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, Merrie sang the Birde as she sat upon the boughe; A lovely mayde came bye, And a gentil youth was nyghe. And he breathed many a syghe. And a Towe ; As I laye a-thynkynge, her hearte was gladsome now As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, Sadly sang the Birde as she sat upon the thome ; - No more a youth was there, But a Maiden rent her haire. And cried in sad despaire, "ThatI wasbornsi" As I laye a-thynkynge, she perished fnrlorne. 406 406 AS I LATE A-THYNKTNGE. As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, Jweetly sang the Birde as she sat upon the briar ; There came a loTely child e, And his face was meek and mild. Yet joyously he smiled On his sire ; As I laye a-thynkynge, a Cherub mote admire. But I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, And sadly sang the Birde as it perched upon a bier ; That joyous smile was gone, And the-face was white and wan. As the downe upon the Swan Doth appear. As I laye a-thynkynge — oh ! bitter flow'd the tear I As I laye a-thynkynge, the golden sun was sinking, merrie sang that Birde, as it gUtter'd on her breast With a thousand gorgeous dyes. While soaring to the skies," 'Mid the stars she seem'd to rise, As to her nest ; As I laye a-thynkynge, her meaning was exprest :— " Follow, follow me away. It boots not to delay," — 'TwaB so she seem'd to saye, "Heee is kestI" fU9 IIND, PoE's Life, Poems and Essays. " Memorial " — Library Edition, Containing a very full and exhaustive Memoir by John H. Ingram — Sketches of the Poet's Life and Character by Geo. R. GrBAHAM, N. P. WrLiiis, and James Bxjssell Lowei,Ii— a full ac- count of the Deatlvand Monumental proceedings, Addresses, letters. Poems, etc., at Baltimore. The most complete coUeotion of Poe's Poems yet made; the remarkable Prose Poem, "Eureka," and the essays on the "Poetic Principle," " The Rationale of Verse," and "The Philosophy of Composition;" a fine Steel Portrait, and Autograph of Poe; his " Fordham Cottage," "the Monument," fac-stmile Letter and Poem, and other Illustrations. "The object of this Memorial Volume being to do the fullest justice to the memory of Poe, the recent Memoir and Vindication by Mr. John H. Ingram has been included; in it, many of the disparaging statements in the previous accounts of Poe's life are controverted, errors of date and fact corrected, and a kind and charitable construction put upon a career that from within and without was beset by many ills and discouragements. ' " Be to his faults a little blind, Be to his virtues very .kind." A handsome Crown 8vo Volume, 450 pages, carefully printed on. fine toned paper. Bound in Extra Cloth, black and gold stamped $2.25 Half Calf —Library Style 4.00 FuU Turkey Antique , 5.00 PoE's Selected "Works. Household Edition. Including Poetical and Prose writings, and comprising a choice selection of the " Mastei-pieoes of his inimitable genius "—Poems— Sketches— Essays-Tales of Mystery and Imagination, etc. About 700 pages, 12mo, Cloth 82.00 Sent on receipt of price charges prepaid by A. C. ARMSTRONG & SON, 714 Broadway, N. Y. POE'S SELECT WORKS. HOUSEHOLD EDITION OP EDGAR A. POE'S WORKS. Uniform with "Bryant," "LongfeUow," ^'Whittier," etc. A choice selection of the masterpieces of Poe's inimitable genius; Poems; Tales of Mystery and Imagination; Sketches; Essays, etc. Prefaced by an ENTIRELY NEW LIFE OF POE, R. H. STODDARD. and a portrait. 850 pages, 13m.o, cloth, $3.00; half calf, $4.00 ; Turkey morocco or tree calf, gilt edges, $5.00. This selection from Poe's works present his genius in the three -fold form of poet, romancer, and critic. They include all the poems upon which his reputation rests, a selection from his tales, which are among the most remarkable in American litera- ture, illustrating, as they do, his curious power of ratiocination, and concludes with a selection from his most important critical articles — studies of some of his eminent cotemporaries, which the shifting literary opinions of the time have not yet antiquated. From these examples of his prose and poetry the reader wiU obtain a clear idea of the character and extent of his genius, and of his claims to be remembered among the writers of "the nineteenth century. A. C. ARMSTRONG & SON, 714 Broadway, New York. POE'S COMPLETE WORKS. A HANDSOME LIBEAEY EDITION OW THB Complete Works Off EDGAR ALLAN POE, In Four Volumes, Grown 8vo. Contamlng every well-authentioated prose story, article, or poem that the poet himBelf deemed worthy of preservation, a f uU and ex- haustive memoir hy John H. Ingram; sketches of his life and char- acter hy Geo. E. Gkaham, N. P. Willis, and James Extsbell Lowell; an account of the Death, and the Monumental proceedings upon the occasion of the re-burial at Baltimore in 1875, with all the addresses, letters, poems, etc., attending It. A fine Steel PortraM of Foe, with autograph— his Fordham Cottage— Monument— fao-simile Letters and Poems, and other illustrations. "These volumes — Poe's legacy to the world, of the fruits of his higher and better life — his cherished and .miperishable writings, should have their place in the library of every American." *' Needless to say that these volumes will be found rich in intellectual excitements, and abounding in brilliant specimens of vigorous, beautiful and suggestive composition. All that remains to us of a man whose remariiable genius it would be folly to deny."— iV. T. TrUrura. 4vols., crown 8vo, cloth $ 7.50 HalfoaU 15.00 Sent on receipt of price, charges prepaid, by A. C. ARMSTRONG & SON, 714 Broadway, New York. POE'S PROSE TALES. A COLLECTION OF THE FAMOUS PEOSE STOEIES or EDG-AR ALLAN POE, Cabinet Edition. Complete in Two Volumes. Large 16mo, about 800 pages each. " Of the marvelous character of these Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque it is no longer necessary to speak— since they now hold a chief place in the history of American writing, and are famed the world over as the product of the most subtile and per- plexing genius that has arisen in American Literature." 2 Vols., 16mo, Cloth, GUt Top S3.00 A Cheapeb Edition (Selections), 3 Vols., 12mo, Paper Covers 50 cts. per Vol. > < FOE'S UFE AND FOEIUS. Uniform witin his " Prose Stories.** THE LIFE AB"D POEMS ov Edgar Allan Poe. Cabinet Edition, 1 Vol., 16mo, Containing aU the Poems, a Steel Portrait and Autograph, the "Fordham Cottage" and other Illustrations, a new Memoir of the Poet by Eugene L. Didier, and an Introductory letter by Sa bah Helen Whitman. 16mo, Cloth, Gilt Top $1.50 Half Calf, $3.00. Full Morocco, $4.00. (l. C. ARMSTRONG & SON, 714 Broadway, New York. WILSON'S NOCTES AMBROSIAN^. The Noctes Ambrosianse, by Professor Wilson, J. G. Lockhart, James Hogg and Dr. Maginn. A revised edition, with steel Portrait, and Memoirs of the authors, and the entire works copiously annotated by R. Shelton Mackenzie, D.C.L. 5 vols., crown 8vo. " Briefly, the ' Noctes A.inbroeianEe ' constitute the most tmiqne and piquant collection of original literature, in the English, and indeed, in any language. Their very power and wonderful variety, malting them inimitable, will prohahly constitute a sufficient reason why no future attempt should he made in a like department." " The pages of • Blackwood ' which, for fifty years have glowed with the brightest gems of British literature, can boast no prouder names than Wilson, Lockhart, Hogg and Maginn, whose writings are lustrous with genius." *' And here we have the immortal * remains ' of the dear old man, in six handsome volumes, edited by a loving disciple (Dr. R. Shelton Mackenzie), and pubUshed in a style worthy of the work." — X^ew York Evening Post. " Christophee North." A Memoir of Prof. "Wilson, from Family Papers and Other Sources. By his Daughter, Mrs. Gordon. Uniform with the "Noctes Am- l)rosiana3." With eight illustrations in wood, and a new steel portrait (the last one) of Wilson at the age of 60. 1 vol. Crown 8vo, cloth $1.50 Halt calf 3.00 Uniform sets of "Noctes" and "North," 6 vols, in box, cloth, $9.00 ; hall calf, $18.00. For sale at principal Bookstores, and mailed Iiy PubUshera on receipt of price. A. C. ARMSTRONG & SON, 714 Broadway, New York. LAS cAsus's napoleon: MEMOIRS OF THE LIFE, EXILE, AND CONYERSATIONS, OF THE EMPEROR NAPOLEON. BT THE COUNT DE LAS OASES. 4 vols., 12mo, eloth, with eight Portraits on steel, two Maps, and ten Illustrations. " A work wMcli for minuteness of detail, keenness of descrip- tion and interesting information in regard to one of the greatest soldiers that ever lived, is not surpassed, if equaled. The author, favored as he was with constant companionship of the Emperor, for years, possessed peculiar advantages for collecting materials for such a work. " "The earlier American editions of these fascinating Memoirs have long been out of print. Of all the works relating to Napo- leon by his personal friends and associates, this is the best and most important." 4 vols. 12moi cloth $5.00 " " lialfoalf 10^ Sent on receipt of price, charges 'prepaid, by A. C. ARMSTRONG & SON, 714 Broadway, New York. O'MEARA'8 NAPOLEON. NAPOLEON IN EXILE ; OR, A YOICE FROM ST. HELENA. Being the opinions and eeflbctions of Napoleon, on the MOST IMPOBTANT EVENTS IN HIS LiPB AND GOVBKN- MBNT, IN HIS OWN WOBDS. By BAEET E. O'MEAEA, HIS X-ATE SURGEON. With a Portrait of Napoleon, after the celebrated Picture of Dela- roche, and a view of St. Helena, both beauti- fullv engraved on steel. "Nothing can exceed the graphic truthfulness with which these volumes record the words and habits of Napoleon at St. He- lena, and its pages are endowed with a charm far transcending that of romance." "Every one who desires to obtain a thorough knowledge of the character of Napoleon, should possess himself of this book of O'Meara's." " It is something indeed to know Napoleon's opinion of the men and events of the thirty-years preceding his fall, and his com- ments throw more light upon history than anything we have read. " " The two volumes before us are worthy supplements to any history of France." 3 vols. 12moi cloth $2.60 " " talfcalf 6.00 Sent on receipt of price, charges prepaid, by A. C. ARMSTRONG & SON, 714 Broadway, New York.