E ^^t-':^ t fS=^\ L -T^" t?P fjC: »j- V, i}fi '<^^r,HII University Library The Bentley ballads:a selection of the c 3 1924 013 287 986 Cornell University Library The original of tliis bool< is in \he Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013287986 %^ '^i ■■"m. U EDITED -^L UWM^Kk^ ^ RICHARD BEISTTLEY Publisher in Ordinary TO HER M AJ'fesTY CCraksMnlrMiM C^ J.Brrjwn. souZp. THE BENTLEY BALLADS on THE CHOICE BALLADS, SONGS, &c., CONTRIBUTED TO "BENTLET'S MISCELLANY." EDITED Br DR. PORAN, Anthor of " Lives of the Queens of tlie House of Hauover, " &c. WITH FOUR BALLADS CONTRIBDTED BY THE EDITOE. LONDON ; EICHAED BENTLEY, NEW BUELINGTON STREET. 18§8. I.ONIIOK: BKAEOUBT AST EVANS, PRINTEKS, WniTEFltlABS. PREFACE. In the reign of James I., there was a right merry Dean of Gloucester, who was addicted to the pleasant custom of entertaining many of his reverend brethren at dinner. On one of these occasions, the guests fell into talk as to how the Fathers might best be reconciled on certain points, whereon they differed. "Ah!" said the Dean, " if you will follow me, gentlemen, I wiU show you how the Fathers who differ may be made to agree." The company, therefore, followed their host to his Ubrary, where they saw a droll arrangement of the works of the Fathers in question ; aU the reverend authors being placed in a circle, with a quart of sack by the side of every one of them ! In some such wise as the sack to the Fathers is the book of " Bentley Ballads" offered to the public. If the sack could make the Fathers agree, it is hoped that this Toltmie may help to make their posterity laugh; and that there may be found in it something to gratify the taste, even of the more serious. The Ballads have been selected from a store that is far from being exhausted, and if this IV PREFACE. venture prove fortunate, the Editor may be tempted to dip again. Meanwhile, the bark freighted with its varied cargo, wooes a favouring gale. There is something in it for the scholar, something for the idler, something for those who love to think, something for those who love others to think for them. The grave, the gay, the lively, and the severe, may herein find something of what they lack. There is a trumpet tone for the heroic, and playfulness for gentler spirits, and mirth for those who care for it, and wit for those who admire it, and " delec- table nonsense " for those who can stoop to pick up some trifles added by the Editor. As the Ballads are varied, so are the tones in which they are sung, extending from the roar and dash of the buccaneers, to the tremulous triU of the love-song, and the clashing of wine cups. In short, there is music of every measure : biUows of sound to remind one of Beethoven, tones as awakening as a post- horn galop by Konig, or accents to dance off with the reader, gay and sparkling, like Miss Gilbert's Vandyke Polka. The reader is left to select, and after selection, it is hoped, to ask, like Oliver Twist, for "more;" — if the request be made, ample means are at hand to provide for its prompt gratification. J. DORAN. November 25, 1857. CONTENTS. — ♦ — OLD MORGAN AT PANAMA 1 MABS AND VENUS 12 THE "original" DRAGON 19 RATHER HARD TO TAKE ........ 23 THE TWO WREATHS (J..D.) 27 THE LEGEND OF MANOR HALL 33 there's no mistake in THAT ! 40 THE temptations OF ST. ANTHONY 44 A TALE OF GRAMMARYE 54 THE REUOS OF ST. PIUS 62 OOQUBTEY AND INNOOENOE (j. D.) 66 THE HANDSOME CLEAR-STAROHER 70 ' SAEDANAPALUS 81 RIOHELIEn ; OR, THE CONSPIRACT 87 THE abbot's OAK 93 HAROUN ALRASOHID 109 A TALE OF A CALF ; OR, " DOIHa" A GENBD'aBMB . . .118 AN APOLOGY FOR NOSES 125 THE THREE DAMSELS 130 THE LOVE-MERCHANT 134 VI CONTENTS. Page THE DEATH OP PIERS DE OAYESTON 1*2 THE BBD-BKEAST OF AQUXTANIA . . .... 14T THE OOtTlfTBT SQUIRE .... . .154 THIS WOBLD OF OURS ... 159 A TALE OF TBANSMIQRATION 162 THE NOCTURNAL SUMMONS; OB, THE GOSSIP GHOST . .165 THE MONKS OF OLD 179 THE SABINE FARMER'S SERENADE 182 THE SIGNS OF THE ZODIAC 189 THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS .... ... 191 THE CHRISTENING OF HEK ROTaL HIGHNESS THE PRINCESS ALICE MAUDE 195 HEALTHY LODGINGS; OB, "TAKEJI IN AND DONE FOR" . 198 THE HAUNTED CHAMBER; OR, THE PEDLAR's PANIC . . 203 SONGS AMONG THE FLOWERS (j. D.) : — I. — SPRING AND ITS MEMORIES 222 n. — MAD RHYMES FOR MAY 224 III. — THE LOVER AND THE FLOWERS ... . 226 THE EPICURE ; OB, WOODCOCKS NO GAME ! . . . . 228 DAINTY FARE ; OB, THE DOUBLE DISASTER 237 THE FISH-STREET CATASTROPHE; OR, THE TENDER NEPHEW . 256 THE NORTHERN TOWER 273 A BROAD HINT ; OB, THE HORNS OF A DILEMMA . . .285 MEDITATIONS AT A KITCHEN WINDOW .... . 290 A LEGEND OF REVOLUTION .... . 295 THE OMEN ^11 THE TWINS 318 THE MANXMAN AND HIS VISITOR- 333 CONTENTS. Vll Pane THE CORYPHEE . . . . ... 351 LINES ON THE CABNIVAL AT ROME . . ... 353 GANYMEDE 358 CHOICE ERUIT ; OR, THE BALANCED ACCOUNT . . . . 361 CREATION 371 THE POST-MORTEM EXAMINATION J OR, LIKE MASTER LIKE MAN 376 riTZMOBTE ; OE, THE SON OE THE DEAD WOMAN . . . 385 QENins; OB, THE dog's-mbat dog 391 AD MOLLISSIMAM FUELLAM 6 GBTICA OARUARUM PAMILIA OVIDIUS NA80 LAMENTAIDB 39i TO THE HARD-HEARTED MOLLY CARBW, THE LAMENT OP HER IRISH LOVER .... ... 395 THE SON TO HIS MOTHER . . 402 SONGS AMONG THE WINE-CUPS (j. D.) : — li — THE OLD TIME IN CYMBI . . ... 404 n. — THE TULIP-CUP 405 ni. — TIBAd'b OS THE TEUTONIC TIPPLER .... 407 THE BENTLEY BALLADS. OLD MOKGAN AT PANAMA. I. In the hostel-room we were seated in gloom, old Morgan's trustiest crew ; No mirthful sound, no jest went round, as it erst was wont to do. Wine we had none, and our girls were gone, for the last of our gold was spent ; And some swore an oath, and all were wroth, and stern o'er the table bent ; Till our chief on the board hurl'd down his sword, and spake with his stormy shout, " Hell and the devil ! an' this be revel, we had better arm and out. Let us go and piUage old Panama, We, the mighty Buccaneers !" B Z OLD MORGAN AT PANAMA. II. Straight at the word each girt on his sword, five hundred men and more ; And we clove the sea in our shallops free, till we reach'd the mainland shore. For many a day overland was our way, and our hearts grew weary and low, And many would back on their trodden track, rather than farther go ; But the wish was quell' d, though our hearts rebell'd, br old Morgan's stormy roar, — " The way ye have sped is farther to tread, than the way which lies before." ' So on we march' d upon Panama, We, the mighty Buccaneers ! 'Twas just sunset when our eyes first met the sight of the town of gold ; And down on the sod each knelt to his god, five hundred warriors bold ; Each bared his blade, and we fervent pray'd (for it might be our latest prayer), " Ransom from hell, if in fight we fell, — if we lived, for a booty rare ! " And each as he rose felt a deep repose, and a calm o'er all within ; For he knew right well, whatever befell, his soul was assoil'd from sin. Then down we march'd on old Panama, We, the mighty Buccaneers ! OLD MORGAN AT PANAMA. 3 IT. The town arose to meet us as foes, and in order beheld us come ; — They were three to one, but warriors none, — traders, and such like scum, Unused to wield either sword or shield ; but they plied their new trade well. I am not told how they bought and sold, but they fought like fiends of hell. They fought in despair for their daughters fair, their wives, and their wealth, God wot ! And throughout the night made a gallant fight, — but it matter'd not a jot. For had we not sworn to take Panama, We, the mighty Buccaneers 1 V. O'er dying and dead the morn rose red, and o'er streets of a redder dye ; And in scatter'd spots stood men in knots, who would not yield or fly. With souls of fire they bay'd our ire, and parried the hurl and thrust ; But ere the sun its noon had won they were mingled with the dust. Half of our host in that night wc lost,— but we little for that had care ; We knew right well that each that fell increased the survivor's share Of the plunder we found in old Panama, We, the mighty Buccaneers ! t OLD MOEGAN AT PANAMA. vr. We found bars of gold, and coin untold, and gems which to count were vain ; We had floods of wine, and gMs divine, the dark-eyed girls of Spain. They at first were coy, and baulk'd our joy, and seem'd with their fate downcast, And wept and groan' d, and shriek'd and swoon'd ; but 'twas all the same at last. Our wooing was short, of the warrior's sort, and they thought it rough, no doubt ; But, truth to tell, the end was as well as had it been longer about. And so we revell'd in Panama, We, the mighty Buccaneers ! VII. We lived in revel, sent care to the devil, for two or three weeks or so. When a general thought within us wrought that 'twas getting time to go. So we set to work with dagger and dirk to torture the burghers hoar. And their gold conceal' d compell'd them to yield, and add to our common store. And whenever a fool of the miser school declared he had ne'er a groat, In charity due we melted a few, and pour'd them down his throat. This drink we invented at Panama, We, the mighty Buccaneers ! OLD MORGAN AT PANAMA. 5 Till. When the churls were eased, their bags well squeezed, we gave them our blessing full fain, And we kiss' d our girls with the glossy curls, the dark- eyed girls of Spain ; Our booty we shared, and we all prepared for the way we had to roam, When there rose a dispute as to taking our route by land or by water home. So one half of the band chose to travel by land, the other to travel by sea : Old Morgan's, voice gave the sea the choice, and I follow'd his fortunes free, And hasten'd our leaving old Panama, We, the mighty Buccaneers ! IX. A bark we eqxiipp'd, and our gold we shipp'd, and gat us ready for sea ; Seventy men, and a score and ten, mariners bold were we. Our mates had took leave, on the yester-eve, their way o'er the hills to find. When, as morning's light pierced through the night, we shook her sails to the wind. With a fresh'ning breeze we walk'd the seas, and the land sunk low and low'r ; A dreary dread o'er our hearts there sped we never should see land more — And away we departed from Panama, We, the mighty Buccaneers ! OLD MORGAN AT PANAMA. A. For a day or two we were busy enow in setting ourselves to rights, In fixing eacli berth, our mess, and so forth, and the day's watch and the night's ; But when these were done, over every one came the lack of aught to do, We Hstless talk'd, we listless walk'd, and we pined for excitement new. Oh ! how we did hail any shift in the gale, for it gave us a sail to trim ! We began to repent that we had not bent oui- steps witli our comrades grim. And thus we sail'd on from old Panama, We, the mighty Buccaneers ! XI. Day after day we had stagger'd away, with a steady breeze abeam ; No shift in the gale ; no trimming a sail ; how dull wo were, ye may deem ! We sung old songs till we wearied oiir lungs ; we push'd the flagon about ; And told and re-told tales ever so old, till they fairlv tired us out. There was a shark in the wake of our bai-k took us three days to hook ; And when it was caught we wish'd it was not, for we miss'd the trouble it took. And thus we sail'd on from old Panama, We, the mighty Buccaneers ! OLD MORGAN AT PANAMA. 7 XII. At last it befell, some tempter of hell put gambling in some one's head ; The devil's device, the cards and the dice, broke the stagnant life we led : From mom till night, ay, till next morn's light, we plied the bones right well ; Day after day the rattle of play clatter d through the caraveL How the winners laugh' d, how the losers quaff'd ! 'twas a madness, as it were. It was a thing of shuddering to hark to the losers swear. And thus we sail'd on from old Panama, We, the mighty Buccaneers ! From morn till night, ay, till next morn's light, for weeks the play kept on : 'Twas fearful to see the winners' glee, and the losers haggard and wan ; You well might tell, by their features fell, they would ill brook to be crost ; And one morn there was one, who all night had won jeer'd some who all night had lost. He went to bed — at noon he was dead — I know not from what, nor reck ; But they spake of a mark, livid and dark, about the dead man's neck ! And thus we sail'd on from old Panama, We, the mighty Buccaneers ! 8 OLD MOBGAN AT PANAMA. XIV. This but begun : and those who had won lived a life of anxious dread ; Day after day there was bicker and fray ; and a man now and then struck dead. Old Morgan stem was laugh'd to scom, and it worried his heart, I trow ; Five days of care, and his iron-grey hair was as white as the winter's snow : The losers at last his patience o'erpast, for they drew their sword each one. And cried, with a shout, " Hell take you ! come out, and fight for the gold ye have won — The gold that our blood bought at Panama : We, the mighty Buccaneers ! " XV. We never were slow at a word and a blow, so we cross' d our irons full fain ; And for death and hfe had begun the strife, when old Morgan stopp'd it amain, And thunder'd out with his stormy shout, — " Dogs, ye have had yom* day ! To your berths !" he roar'd. "Who sheathes not his sword. Heaven grant him its grace, I pray ! For I swear, by God, I will cleave him like wood ! " There was one made an angry sign ; Old Morgan heard, and he kept his word ; for he clove him to the chine. So ended Im exploits at Panama : He, the mighty Buccaneer ! OLD MORGAN AT PANAMA. 9 XTI. At this we quail'd, and we hencefortli sail'd, in a smouldering sort of truce ; But our dark brows gloom' d, and we inward fumed for a pretext to giye us loose : When early one morn — "A strange sail astern ! " we heard the look-out-man hail ; And old Morgan shout, " Put the ship about, and crowd every stitch of sail ! " And around went we, surging through the sea at our island wild buck's pace ; In wonderment what old Morgan meant, we near'd to the fated chase — We, the pillagers of old Panama, We, the mighty Buccaneers ! XTII. She went right fast, but we took her at last. 'Twas a little brigantine thing ; With some four men for crew, and a boy or two — a bark built for trafficking ; Besides this crew were three women, too : her freight was salt-fish and oil : For the men on board, they were put to the sword ; the women we spared awhile. And all was surmise what to do with the prize, when old Morgan, calling us aft, Eoar'd, " Ye who have fool'd yourselves out of your gold take possession of yonder craft. And go pillage some other Panama, Ye, the mighty Buccaneers ! 10 OLD MOKGAN AT PANAMA. XVIII. We were reckless and rude, we had been at feud till 'twas war to the very knife ; But it clove each heart when we came to part from comrades in many a strife : Over one and all a gloom seem'd to fall, and in silence they pack'd their gear, Amid curses and sighs, and glistening eyes, and here and there a tear. We gave brooches and things for keepsakes and rings ; and some truck'd the weapons they wore : This Spanish gun was a token from one who had fought me a week before, While we diced for the spoils of old Panama, We, the mighty Buccaneers ! XIX. Their traps all pack'd, there was nothing lack'd, but sharing the women three : The odd one's choice was left to the dice, and she fell to the rich so free ; When the losers 'gan swear the dice were unfair, and brawl' d till our chief gat wild, And, without more ado, cut the woman in two, as Solomon shared the child. Then each of each band shook each old mate's hand, and we parted with hearts full sore ; We all that day watch'd them lessen away. They were never heard of more ! We kept merrily on from old Panama, We, the mighty Buccaneers ! OLD MORGAN AT PANAMA. 11 XX. Their sufferings none know, but ours, I trow, were very, oh ! very sore ; We had storm and gale till our hearts 'gan fail, and then calms, which harass' d us more ; Then many fell sick ; and while all were weak, we rounded the fiery cape ; As I hope for bliss in the life after this, 'twas a miracle our escape ! Then a leak we sprung, and to lighten us, flung all our gold to the element : Our perils are past, and we're here at last, but as penniless as we went. And such was the piUage of Panama By the mighty Buccaneers ! G. E. Ihmait. Morgan, who -was the son of a Welsh farmer, and -who lived to be knighted, set out from Chagres with twelve hundred men, on the 18th of August, 1670. In. ten days he reached Panama, which he at once attacked and destroyed. The Buccaneers left the ruins with a hundred and seventy-five beasts of burden, laden with silver, gold, and other precious articles; and with six J^undred unhappy prisoners, men, women, children, and slaves. — Ed. 12 MAES AND VENUS. One day upon that Trojan plain. Where men in hecatombs were slain, Th' immortal gods (no common sight) Thought fit to mingle in the fight, And found convincing proof that those Who wiU in quarrels interpose Are often doom'd to suffer harm — Venus was wounded in the arm ; Whilst Mars himself, the god of war, Received an ignominious scar. And, fairly beat by Diomed, Fled back to heav'n and kept his bed. That bed (the proof may still be seen) Had long been shareql^with beauty's queen; For, with th' adventure of the cage, Vulcan had vented all his rage,* And, like Italian husbands, he Now wore his horns resignedly. ■* Ovid thus speaks of the result of Yuloan's exposure of his wife's infidelity : " Hoc tihi profectnm, Vuloane, quod ante tegebant, Xiiberius faciunt ut pudor omuis abest ; Saspe tamen demens stultd fecisse fateris, Teque ferunt irse poeuituisse tuse." MARS AND VENUS. 13 Ye modest critics ! spare my song : If gods and goddesses did wrong, And revell'd in illicit love, As poets, sculptors, painters prove. Is mine the fault ? and, if I tell Some tales of scandal that befeU In heathen times, why need my lays On ladies' cheeks more blushes raise. When read (if such my envied lot) In secret boudoir, bower, or grot, Than scenes which, in the blaze of light, They throng to witness ev'ry night 1 Ere you condemn my humble page. Glance for a moment at the stage. Where twirling gods to view expose Their pliant limbs in tighten'd hose. And goddesses of doubtful fame Are by lord chamberlains allow' d, With practised postures, to inflame The passions of a gazing crowd : And if great camels, such as these. Are swallow'd with apparent ease. Oh ! strain not at a gnat like me, Nor deem me lost to decency, When I now venture to declare That Mars and Venus — guilty pair — On the same couch extended lay. And cursed the fortunes of the day. The little Loves, who round them flew, Could only sob to show their feeling, Since they, of course, much better knew 14 MARS AND VENUS. The art of wounding than of healmg, And Cupid's self essay'd in vain To ease his lovely mother's pain : The chaplet that his locks confined He tore indeed her wound to bind ; But from her sympathetic fever He had no nostrum to relieve her, And, thinking that she might assuage That fever, as she did her rage, By talking loud, — her usual fashion Whenever she was in a passion, — He stood, with looks resign'd and grave, Prepared to hear his mother rave, Who thus began : " Ah ! Cupid, why Was I so silly as to try My fortune in the battle-field. Or seek a pond'rous spear to wield, Which only Pallas (hated name !) Of all her sex can wield aright ? What need had I of martial fame. Sought 'midst the dangers of the fight. When beauty's prize, a trophy far More precious than the spoils of war, Was mine abeady, won from those Whom rivalry has made my foes, And who on Trojan plains wovild sate E'en with my blood that ranc'rous hate Which Ida's neighb'ring heights inflame, And not this wound itself can tame 1 Ah ! why did I not bear in mind That Beauty, like th' inconstant wind. MARS AND VENUS. 15 Is always privileged to raise The rage of others to a blaze, Then, luU'd to rest, look calmly on. And see the work of havoc done 1 'Twas well to urge your father. Mars, To mingle in those hated wars ; 'Twas well—" But piteous cries of pain. From him she named, here broke the chain Of her discourse, and seem'd to saj-, " What want of feeling you display ! " So, tiu-ning to her wounded lover, She kindly urged him to discover By whom and where the wound was given, That sent him writhing back to heaven. The god, thus question' d, hung his head, A burning blush of shame o'erspread With sudden flush his pallid cheek, As thus he answer'd : " Dost thou seek To hear a tale of dire disgrace. Which aU those honours must efface, That, hitherto, have made my name Pre-eminent in warlike fame 1 Yet — since 'twas thou who bad'st me go To fight with mortals there below — 'Tis fitting, too, that thou shouldst learn What laiu-els 'twas my fate to earn. At first, in my resistless car, I seem'd indeed the god of war ; The Trojans rallied at my side ; Changed in its hue, the Xanthus' tide Its waters to the ocean bore, 16 MAES AKD VENUS. Empurpled deep in Grecian gore ; And o'er the corpse-impeded field The cry was still, ' They yield !— they yield ! ' But soon, the flying ranks to stay. Thy hated rivals join'd the fray : They nerved, with some accursed chai-m. Each Greek's, but most Tydides' arm, And, Venus, thou first felt the smart Of his Minerva-guided dart. I saw thee wounded, saw thee fly, — I saw the chief triumphantly Tow'rds me his ardent coursers turn, As though from gods alone to earn The highest honours of the fight ; I know not why, but, at the sight — Eternal shame upon my head ! — A panic seized me, and I fled — I fled, like chaff before the wind. And, ah ! my wounds are all — ^behind ! " When thus at length the truth was told, (The shameful truth of his disgrace,) Again, within his mantle's fold. The wounded coward hid his face ; * V/hilst Venus, springing from his side, With looks of scornful anger, cried, * The ancients were seldom guilty of making the actions of their gods inconsistent with their general character and attributes ; hut there seems to have been much of the Captain Bohadil in the mighty god of war, and the instance of cowardice here alluded to is not the only one recorded of him by the poets. In the wars with the Titans he showed a decided "white feather," and suffered himself to be made prisoner. MARS AND VENUS. 17 " And didst thou fly from mortal foe, Nor stay to strike one vengeful blow For her who fondly has believed, By aU thy valorous boasts deceived. That in the god of war she press'd The first of heroes to her breast ? Cupid, my swans and car prepare — To Cyprus we will hasten, where Some youth, as yet unknown to fame. May haply raise another flame ; For Mars may take his leave of Venus, No coward shaU enjoy my love ; And nothing more shall pass between us, — I swear it by my favourite dove." She spake ; and through the realms of air. Before the hiimbled god could dare Upraise his head to urge her stay. Already she had ta'en her way ; And in her Cyprian bower that night, (If ancient scandal teU aright,) Forgetful of her recent wound. In place of Mars another foimd. And to a mortal's close embraces Surrender'd her celestial graces. 'Tis said that Venus, wont to range Both heav'n and earth in search of change. Was not imwilling to discover Some pretext to desert her lover ; Nor do I combat the assertion. But from the cause of her desertion, 18 MARS AND VBlfUS. Whilst you, fair readers, justly rail Against lier morals, I will dare To draw this moral for my tale — " None but the brave deserve the fair 19 THE "ORIGINAL" DRAGON. A. LEGEKI) OF THE CELESIIAIi EHFIRE. Freely translated from an uudeciphered MS. of Con-fuse-us,* and dedicated to Colonel Bolsover (of tlie Horse Marines), by C. J. Davids, Esq. A DESPERATE dragon, of singular size, — (His name was Wing-FariffScratch-Claw-Fum,) — Flew up one day to the top of the skies, While all the spectators with terror were dumb. The vagabond vow'd as he sported his tail, He'd have a s% lark, and some glorious fun : For he'd nonplus the natives that day without fail, By causing a total edijjse of the sun 1 1 He collected a crowd by his impudent boast, (Some decently dress' d — some with hardly a rag on,) Who said that the country was ruin'd and lost. Unless they could compass the death of the dragon. * " Better known to illiterate people a.9 Confucius.'" — 'Washington Ikvinq. + In China (whatever European astronomers may assert to the contrary) an eclipse is caused by a great dragon eating wp the aun. To avert so shocking an outrage, the natives frighten away the monster from his intended Jiot dinner, by giving a morning concert, al fresco; consisting of drums, trumpets, cymbals, gongs, tin-kettles, &c. o2 20 THE "obiginal" deagon. The emperor came with the whole of his court, — (His majesty's name was Bing-Bong-JwnK) — And he said — to delight in such profligate sport, The monster was mad, or disgracefully drunk. He call'd on the army : the troops to a man Declared — ^though they didn't feel frighten'd the least- They never could think it a sensible plan To go within reach of so ugly a beast. So he offer' d his daughter, the lovely Nan^Keen, And a painted pavilion, with many a flag on. To any brave knight who could step in between The solar eclipse and the dare-devil dragon. Presently came a reverend bonze, — • (His name, I'm told, was Long-Chin Joss,) — With a phiz very like the complexion of bronze ; And for suitable words he was quite at a loss. But, he humbly submitted, the orthodox way To succour the sun, and to bother the foe. Was to make a new church-rate without more delay, As the clerical funds were deplorably low. Though he coveted nothing at all for himself, (A virtue he always delighted to brag on,) He thought, if the priesthood could pocket some pelf. It might hasten the doom of this impious dragon. IV. The next that spoke was the court buffoon, — (The name of this buffer was Whim- Wham-Fmi,) — THE "original" dragon. 21 Who carried a salt-box and large wooden spoon, With which, he suggested, the job might be done. Said the jester, " I'll wager my rattle and bells. Your pride, my fine fellow, shall soon have a fall : If you make many more of your horrible yeUs, I know a good method to make you sing small ! " And when he had set all the place in a roar. As his merry conceits led the whimsical wag on, He hinted a plan to get rid of the bore. By putting some salt on the tail of the dragon ! At length appear' d a brisk young knight, — (The far-famed warrior, BarrirBoo-Gong^ — Who threaten'd to burke the big blackguard outright, And have the deed blazon' d in story and song. With an excellent shot from a very long how He damaged the dragon by cracking his crown ; When he fell to the ground (as my documents show) With a smash that was heard many miles out of town. His death was the signal for frolic and spree — They carried the corpse, in a common stage-waggon ; And the hero was crown'd with the leaves of green tea. For saving the sun from the jaws of the dragon. A poet, whose works were all the rage, — (This gentleman's name was Sing-Song-Strum,) — Told the terrible tale on his popular page : (Compared with his verses, my rhymes are but rum !) 22 THE "oeiginal'' dragon. The Royal Society claim'd as their right The spoils of the vanquish' d — his wings, tail, and claws; And a brilliant bravura, describing the fight. Was sung on the stage with imbounded applause. " The valiant Bam-Boo " was a favourite toast. And a topic for future historians to fag on, Which, when it had reach' d to the Middlesex coast. Gave rise to the legend of " George and the Dragon." 23 EATHER HARD TO TAKE. An artist — 'tis not fair to tell Ms name ; But one whom Fortune, in her freakish tricks, Saluted with less smiles than kicks,- More to the painter's honour, and her shame, — Was one day deep engaged on his chef d'ceuvre, (A painting worthy of the Louvre,) Dives and Lazarus the theme, — The subject was his earUest boyish dream ! And, with an eye to colour, breadth, and tone. He painted, skilfully as he was able. The good things on the rich man's table, — Wishing they were, no doubt, upon his own ; When suddenly his hostess — best of creatures ! — Made visible her features, And to this world our artist did awaken : " A gentleman," she said, " from the next street. Had sent a special message in a heat, Wanting a likeness taken." The artist, with a calmness oft the effect Of tidings which we don't expect. Wiped all his brushes carefully and clean, Buttdn'd his coat — a coat which once had been, — 24 BATHER HAED TO TAKE. Put on his hat, and with uncommon stress On the address, Went forth, revolving in his nob How his kind hostess, when he'd got the job, — Even before they paid him for his skill, — Would let him add a little to the bill. He found a family of six or seven, AH grown-up people, seated in a row ; There might be seen upon each face a leaven Of recent, and of decent woe. But that the artist, whose chief cares Were fix'd upon his own affairs, Gazed, with a business eye, to be acquainted Which of the seven wanted to be painted. But a young lady soon our artist greeted, Saying, in words of gentlest music, " Ah ! — Pray, Mr. Thingo'me, be seated, — We want a likeness of our grandpapa.'' Such chances Fortune seldom deigns to bring : The very thing ! How he should like To emulate Vandyke ! Or, rather — ^still more glorious ambition — To paint the head like Titian, A fine old head, with silver sprinkled : A face all seam'd and wrinkled : — The painter's heart 'gan inwardly rejoice ; But, as he ponder'd on that " fine old head," RATHEE HARD TO TAKE. 25 Another uttor'd, in a mournful voice, " But, sir, he's dead ! " The artist was perplex' d — the case was alter' d : Distrust, stirr'd up by doubt, his bosom warps ; " Dead is the gentleman ! " he falter'd ; " But surely, you can let me see the corpse ? An artist but requires a hint : There are the features — give the cheeks a tint — Paint in the eyes — and, though the task's a hard 'un, You'll find the thing, I'll swear. As like as he can, — no, I beg your pardon, — As like as he could stare ! " " Alas ! alas ! " the eldest sister sigh'd. And then she sobb'd and cried, So that 'twas long ere she again could speak, — " We buried him last week ! " The painter heaved a groan : " But, surely, madam. You have a likeness of the dear deceased ; Some youthful face, whose age might be increased 1 " " JSTo, no, — we haven't, sir, no more than Adam ; Not in the least ! " This was the strangest thing that e'er occun-'d ; — " You'll pardon me," the baffled painter cried ; " But, really, I must say, upon my word. You might have sent for me before he died." And then he tiu^'d to the surviving tribe, — " Can you describe 26 RATHEJB HAED TO TAKE. But a few items, features, shape, and hue 1 I'll warrant, I'll still paint the likeness true ! " " Why, yes, we could do that," said one : " let's see ; He had a rather longish nose, like me." "No," said a second; "there you're wrong, His nose was not so very long." " Well, well," pursued the first ; " his eyes Were rather smaller than the common size." " How 1 " cried a third, " how ? — not at all ; Not small — not small ! " "Well, then, an oval face, extremely fine." " Yes," said the eldest son, " like mine." The painter gazed upon him in despair, — The fellow's face was square ! " I have it," cried another, and arose ; " But wait a moment, sir," and out she goes. AVith curiosity the artist bum'd — " What was she gone for 1 " but she soon return' d. , " I knew from what tliei/ said, to expect to gain A likeness of grandpa was quite in vain ; But, not upon that point to dwell, I have got something here will do as well As though alive he for his portrait sat ! " So, saying, with a curtsey low. She from behind, with much parade and show. Presented an old hat ! C. W. THE TWO WEEATHS. It was eve ; and the Bulbtil had just begun His favourite song to the setting sun, And the Rose, the Bulbul's own bright flower, Had waited long for the happy hour When daylight dies in mystic shade, And the Bulbul trills his serenade, While every gentle Rose that's nigh Flutters her leaves in ecstacy, And thinks, as the love-notes flutter along. That there's nothing on earth like her Bulbul's song. It was eve, and the rising Queen of night Threw a silvery hue o'er the soft twilight, And o'er heaven's deep sea of blue above, Like a vessel of light did gently move ; And on her course o'er that sea afar. There twinkled the rays of the single star That shines but for lovers. Its softest smile Fell that night on the loveliest isle That ever mortal eye did see, — Kiss'd by the waters of Araby. 28 THE TWO WKEATHS. It was eve ; — but eve fast fading away ; — ^ The sea round that island as placid lay As one vast mirror of steel so bright, Reflecting the charms of our eastern night, Soft as the slumber of childhood ; — while No breeze fann'd the palms of that spicy isle. Nor shook the sweets from each laden bough, Nor sigh'd o'er beds where wild flowers grow ; — There wanted but some bright eyes, to bless My summer-night's dream of loveliness. The wish I had fondly breathed, scarce fell From my lips, when a voice from th' acacia dell CaU'd aloud on the name of Abdulzyde, And I flew to the gentle Leela's side. She smiled — such smiles are to houris giv'n ! — She look'd like a Peri just lit from heav'n : Her Saba-silk girdle was studded with pearls, Her foot was more light than a dancing girl's From sunny Egypt. No Caubulee Ever sang with such voice of harmony. " See," said the blushing girl, " I've got Two wreaths to deck my own love's brow ; They're not from fragrant Yezd ; — they're not From groves where Shiraz roses grow. This one, look, Abdulzyde, is made Of flowers of golden hue, that never Are known, whate'er their age, to fade, — A type of Love that lives for ever.* * A sempiternal flower, common to the East. THE TWO WREATHS. 29 "Whfle this, — and 'tis the fairest one To look at, but 'twill never last. Springs into life with the bright sun. But, with his rays at eve, so fast Doth all its brightness fade away. And die beneath the rising moon. That aU my care could scarcely stay Its beauty since the parting day, — This type of Love that dies too soon ! " ■'■ She ceased for a while, but again her sweet voice Woke in music once more ; and she ask'd that the choice I should make of a wreath, (here that sweet voice trembled,) Might be one which most nearly my love resembled. She blush'd while speaking, her head sunk low. And as graceful as water-lilies bow. At eve, their tops beneath the stream On whose surface their day has been one glad dream. And who hide all their blushes at coming night, 'Neath their wat'ry veils, from the pale moonlight, t * The Gum Cistus, profuse in blossoming, "exhibits," says Curtis, ' ' a remarkable instance of quickly fading beauty, opening and expand- ing to the morning sun, and, before night, strewing the ground ■with elegant remains of its blossoms. As each succeeding day produces new- blossoms, this deciduous disposition of the petals, common to the genus, is the less to be regretted." The younger Tradescant brought this flower to England in 1656. He introduced it from Spain and Portugal, and they had it from the East. + Pliny mentions this of the Nymphea Lotus, affirming that it retires under water during the night, so far as to be out of reach of the hand. The purple-flowered Hydropeltis of the Nortt American lakes sinks at night to the surface of the water, and sleeps there, expanding its flowers and diverging its anthers at the approach of morning. 30 THE TWO WREATHS. And thus I answer' d, while the maid With either wreath at moments play'd, And look'd, so lovely was she there, Like those bright spirits, the aU fair And yoting Devatas who of yore* Have lived upon the earth before, Then dwelt awhile among those eyes That light om- Prophet's paradise, AVhence, chasten' d from each earthly stain. They're sent to bless this world again. " The wreath, the bright wreath I select for my brow, Is this light Cistus crown With its leaflets of snow. Though frail, though it fade. Though at night it be shorn Of all its sweet flowera. Yet each sunny morn, The stem where they flouj-ish'd And laugh'd in the breeze, Will put forth even fairer And brighter than these. 'Tis, my Leela, a type. Not of Love that has in it A million of sweets '* " The DeTatas are telieyed to be spirits whioli have formerly animated mortal frames, and when the periods during which they have been judged worthy to enjoy bliss in heaven, on account of their -idrtues, have respectively drawn to a close, they must again return to the earth, to undergo probation in new states of existence."— Copi. Lmo, Transactions R. As. Soc. THE TWO WKEATHS. 31 That all die in a minute, But of the one heart, With its feehngs that flower Still brighter and purer For thee every horn- — While this sullen wreath, Though its colours still keep Some few tints they once had. All its scent is asleep ; No sooner its odour O'er morning was shed, Than its sweets, like the love That fades soonest, were fled. 'Tis a type, that chill wreath Of a life without fame. Of a heart that knows little Of Love but the name.'' "Ah hold ! this wreath be thine !" she cried, " I twined it for my Abdulzyde ; And happUy has he reveal'd The iheaning that its leaves conceal' d. But oh ! this other wreath has, too. Its virtues, though despised by thoc. To me it speaks of service true, Of firm unshaken constancy, Of feelings deathless, and of faith Pledged never, throughout life, to falter. Of Love worth living for, that breath Of this cold world could never alter." 32 THE TWO WKEATHS. " And I here swear, this happy night," I said, " to love through good, through ill, And be our fortunes dark or bright, In joy, in woe, to love on still. Through brightness, still with truth ; and when Such nights as this shine out, what pride To roam at eve through sweet Yemen With my own Leela at my side ! " " And if our lives are doom'd to be Not all of sunny, golden hues. Then, like the lovely tamarind tree, That sheathes its fruit from noxious dews Which fall at night, (her careful leaves ' Around the buds are gently twining, WhUe, in the damp of summer eves. Sickly and faint they lie reclining),* Then like that tree, should sorrow wield Her withering arm, or show her form. The arms of Abdulzyde will shield His Leela from the coming storm. He only asks, should clouds arise To darken views that now lie fair And smiling under sunny skies, He need but look in Leela's eyes, To always find a summer there ! " * " 'Tis the cool evening hour ; The Tamarind, from the dew, Sheathes its young fruit, yet green." — Thalaha. This fact was first recorded by the old traveller, Mondelslo. J. D. 33 THE LEGEND OF MANOE HALL. BY THB AUTHOR OK " HEADLONQ HAIL." Old Farmer Wall, of Manor Hall, To market drove his wain : Along the road it went well stowed With sacks of golden grain. His station he took, but in vain did he look For a customer all the mom ; Though the farmers all, save Farmer Wall, They sold off all their com. Then home he went, sore discontent. And many an oath he swore, And he kicked up rows with his children and spouse, When they met him at the door. Next market-day he drove away To the town his loaded wain : The farmers all, save Farmer Wall, They sold off all their grain. 34 THE LEGEND OF MANOR HALL. No bidder he found, and he stood astound At the close of the market-day, When the market was done, and the chapmen were gone Each man his several way. He stalked by his load along the road ; His face with wrath was red : His arms he tossed, like a good man crossed In seeking his daily bread.' His face was red, and fierce was his tread. And with lusty voice cried he, " My com I'U sell to the devil of hell, If he'll my chapman be." These words he spoke just under an oak Seven himdred winters old ; And he straight was aware of a man sitting there On the roots and grassy mould. The roots rose high, o'er the green-sward dry. And the grass around was green. Save just the space of the stranger's place, Where it seemed as fire had been. All scorched was the spot, as gipsy-pot Had swung and bubbled there : The grass was marred, the roots were charred, And the ivy stems were bare. THE LEGEND OF MANOE HALL. 35 The stranger up-sprung : to the farmer he flimg A loud and friendly hail, And he said, " I see well, thou hast corn to sell, And I'll buy it on the nail." The twain in a trice agreed on the price ; The stranger his earnest paid, And with horses and wain to come for the grain His own appointment made. The farmer cracked his whip, and tracked His way right merrily on : He struck up a song as he trudged along, For joy that his job was done. His children fair he danced in the air ; His heart with joy was big ; He kissed his wife ; he seized a knife. He slew a sucking pig. The faggots burned, the porkling tm-ned And crackled before the fire ; And an odour arose that was sweet in the nose Of a passing ghostly friar. He twirled at the pin, he entered in, He sate down at the board ; The pig he blessed, when he saw it well dressed, And the humming ale out-poured. d2 36 THE LEGEND OF MANOK HALL. The friar latighed, the friar quaffed, He chirped like a bird in May ; The farmer told how his com he had sold As he journeyed home that day. The friar he quaffed, but no longer he laughed, He changed from red to pale : " Oh, helpless elf ! 'tis the fiend himself To whom thou hast made thy sale ! " The friar he quaffed, he took a deep draught ; He crossed himself amain : "Oh, slave of pelf ! 'tis the devil himself.^ To whom thou hast sold thy grain ! ." And siire as the day, he'U fetch thee away. With the com which thou hast sold, If thou let him pay o'er one tester more Than thy settled price in gold." The farmer gave vent to a loud lament, The wife to a long outcry ; Their relish for pig and ale was flown ; The friar alone picked every bone, And drained the flagon dry. The friar was gone : the morning dawn Appeared, and the stranger's wain Came to the hoiir, with six-horse power, To fetch the purchased grain. THE LEGEND OP MANOR HALL. 37 The horses were black : on their dewy track Light steam from the ground up-curled ; Long wreaths of smoke from their nostrils broke, And then- tails like torches whirled. More dark and grim, in face and limb, Seemed the stranger than before, As his empty wain, with steeds thrice twain, Drew up to the farmer's door. On the stranger's face was a sly grimace, As he seized the sacks of grain j And, one by one, till left were none. He tossed them on the wain. And slily he leered as his hand up-reared A purse of costly mould. Where, bright and fresh, through a silver mesh, Shone forth the glistering gold. The farmer held out his right hand stout, And drew it back with dread ; For in fancy he heard each warning word The supping friar had said. His eye was set on the silver net ; His thoughts were in fearful strife ; When, sudden as fate, the glittering bait Was snatched by his loving wife. 38 THE LEGEND OP MANOR HALL. And, swift as thought, the stranger caught The farmer his waist around, And at once the twain and the loaded wain Sank through the rifted ground. The gable-end wall of Manor Hall Fell in ruins on the place : That stone-heap old the tale has told To each succeeding race. The wife gaye a cry that rent the sky At her goodman's downward flight : But she held the purse fast, and a glance she cast To see that all was right. 'Twas the fiend's full pay for her goodman gray, And the gold was good and true ; Which made her declare, that " his dealings were fair, To give the devil his due." She wore the black pall for Farmer Wall, From her fond embraces riven : But she won the vows of a younger spouse With the gold which the fiend had given.. Now, farmers, beware what oaths you swear When you cannot sell your com ; Lest, to bid and buy, a stranger be nigh, With hidden tail and horn. THE LEGEND OP MANOR HALL. 39 And, with good heed, the moral a-read, Which is of this tale the pith, — If your corn you sell to the fiend of hell. You may sell yourself therewith. And if hy mishap you fall in the trap. Would you bring the fiend to shame. Lest the tempting prize shoidd dazzle her eyes. Lock up your frugal dame. 40 THERE'S NO MISTAKE IN THAT! " Errors excepted." — BUI of Costs. In public life it is most tme That men are wide awake ; In private matters, doubtless, too. There now is no mistake. Whate'er is thought of, said, or done, Whate'er we would be at. We all take care of Number One, — There's no mistake in that ! The Outs, now long deprived of place. Of course the Ins oppose : The Ins rejoice, while, face to face. Their " ayes " can beat the " noes." " Voluntas " (this their daily song) " Pro ratione stat ; " Which means, "We'll go it, right or wrong !"- There's no mistake in that ! Good Louis Philippe feels, 'tis said. In very doleful plight, Since Frenchmen practise at his head With bullets day and night. thebe's no mistake in that ! 41 For diadems, some play odd tricks ; They're safer in a hat : Few crowns are now worth two-and-si^, — There's no mistake in that ! " No man," (erst said Sir Boyle,) "'tis plain, Unless a bird were he, Can be at once in places twain ; " Of course, much less in three. But, what with railway and balloon, It would surprise the Pat In ten at once to see us soon, — There's no mistake in that ! But what have I with home affairs. Or foreign news, to do 1 I've got enough of private cares, And woes of deepest hue ; My landlord just has called to say (That odious Peter Piatt !) That Friday last was quarter day, — There's no mistake in that ! My banker, too, in language bland. Presents his kind respects. And gives me plain to understand That I have " no effects ; " And then, the matter short to cut, Proceeds to tell me flat. My bill is due, — most soiTy, but — There's no mistake in that ! 42 there's no mistake in that ! Last month my friends at Eottingness (That borough pure and bright) Requested I'd resign, unless I voted black was white. To take the Chiltem Hundreds let, Again I never sat, — The only hundreds I shall get ! — There's no mistake in that ! My health of late has suffered much ; So in came Dr. Grains, My pulse and fees alike to touch, And banish all my pains. Quoth he, returning watch to fob, " We must reduce this fat ; And then, methinks, we'll do your job," — There's no mistake in that ! My tailor, too, his small account Has thrice for payment sent ; I promised him the full amount When I received my rent. In anger to and fro he stalked. And changed his civil chat. And soon of Doe and Roe he talked, — There's no mistake in that ! 'Twas then I wooed the Widow Stokes, Who did not say me " nay ; " And, though I've found her wealth's a hoax, Still I must wed to-day ! there's no mistake in that ! 43 Ah ! would that I had never popped ! But Lawyer Latitat Some hints of " breach of promise " dropped, — There's no mistake in that ! Tkistram Mehrtthodsht. 44 THE TEMPTATIONS OF ST. ANTHONY. " He would have passed a pleasant life of it, in despite of the devil and all his works, if his path had not heen crossed by a heing that causes more perplexity to mortal man than ghosts, goblins, and the whole race of witches put together, and that was — a woman." — Shetch- Booh. St. Anthony sat on a lowly stool, And a book was in his hand ; Never his eye from its page he took, Either to right or left to look, But with steadfast soul, as was his rule. The holy page he scanned. "We will woo," said the imp, "St. Anthony's eyes Off from his holy book : We will go to him all in strange disguise, And tease him with laughter, whoops, and cries, That he upon us may look." The DevU was in the best humour that day That ever his highness was in : And that's why he sent out his imps to play. And he furnished them torches to light their way, Nor stinted them incense to burn as they may, — Sulphur, and pitch, and rosin. THE TEMPTATIONS OF ST. ANTHONY. 45 So ttey came to the Saint in a motley crew, A heterogeneous rout : There were imps of every shape and hue, And some looked black, and some looked blue. And they passed and varied before the view. And twisted themselves about : And had they exhibited thus to you, I think you'd have felt in a bit of a stew, — Or so should myself, I doubt. There were some with feathers, and some with scales. And some with warty skins ; Some had not heads, and some had taUs, And some had claws like iron naUs ; And some had combs and beaks like birds, And yet, like jays, could utter words ; And some had giUs and fins. Some rode on skeleton beasts, arrayed In gold and velvet stuif. With rich tiaras on the head. Like kings and queens among the dead ; While face and bridle-hand, displayed, In hue and substance seemed to cope With maggots in a microscope. And their thin lips, as white as soap, Were colder than enough. And spiders big from the ceiling hung. From every creek and nook : 46 THE TEMPTATIONS OF ST. ANTHONY. They had a crafty, ugly guise, And looked at the Saint with their eight eyes ; And all that mahce could devise Of evil to the good and wise Seemed weUing from their look. Beetles and slow-worms crawled about. And toads did squat demure ; From holes in the wainscoting mice peeped out. Or a sly old rat with his whiskered snout ; And forty-feets, a fuU span long. Danced in and out in an endless throng : There ne'er has been seen such extravagant rout From that time to this,, I'm sure. But the good St. Anthony kept his eyes Fixed on the holy book ; — From it they did not sink nor rise ; Nor sights nor laughter, shouts nor cries, Could win away his look. A quaint imp sat in an earthen pot. In a big-belhed earthen pot sat he : Through holes in the bottom his legs outshot, And holes in the sides his arms had got. And his head came out through the mouth, God wot! A comical sight to see. And he drummed on his belly so fair and round, On his belly so round and fair ; THE TEMPTATIONS OF ST. ANTHONY. i7 And it gave forth a rumbling, mingled sound, 'Twixt a muffled bell and a growling hound, A comical sound to hear : And he sat on the edge of a table-desk. And drummed it with his heels ; And he looked as strange and as pictm-esque As the figures we see in an arabesque, Half hidden in flowers, all painted in fresque, In Gothic vaulted ceils. Then he whooped and hawed, and winked and grinned. And his eyes stood out with glee ; And he said these words, and he sung this song. And his legs and his arms, with their double prong, Keeping time with his tune as it galloped along, StUl on the pot and the table dinned As birth to his song gave he. " Old Tony, my boy ! shut up your book, And learn to be merry and gay ; You sit like a bat in his cloistered nook, Like a round-shoulder' d fool of an owl you look ; But straighten your back from its booby crook, And more sociable be, I pray. " Let us see you laugh, let us hear you sing ; Take a lesson from me, old boy ! Remember that life has a fleeting wing. And then comes Death, that stem old king, So we'd better make sm-e of joy." 4:8 THE TEMPTATIONS OF ST. ANTHONY. But the good St. Anthony bent his eyes Upon the holy book : He heard that song with a laugh arise, But he knew that the imp had a naughty guise, And he did not care to look. Another imp came in a masquerade, Most hke to a monk's attire : But of living bats his cowl was made. Their wings stitched together with spider thread ; And round and about him they fluttered and played; And his eyes shot out from their misty shade Long parallel bars of fire. And his loose teeth chattered like clanking bones, When the gibbet-tree sways in the blast : And with gurgling shakes, and stifled groans, He mocked the good St. Anthony's tones As he muttered his prayer full fast. A rosary of beads was hung by his side, — Oh, gaunt-looking beads were they ! And still, when the good Saint dropped a bead, . He dropped a tooth, and he took good heed To rattle his string, and the bones replied, Like a rattle-snake's tail at play. But the good St. Anthony bent his eyes Upon the holy book ; He heard that mock of groans and sighs, THE TEMPTATIONS OF ST. ANTHONY. 49 And he knew that the thing had an evil guise, And he did not dare to look. Another imp came with a trumpet-snout, That was mouth and nose in one : It had stops like a flute, as you never may doubt, Where his long lean fingers capered about. As he twanged his nasal melodies out. In quaver, and shake, and run. And his head moved forward and backward still On his long and snaky neck ; As he bent his energies all to fill His nosey tube with wind and skill. And he sneezed his octaves out, until 'Twas well-nigh ready to break And close to St. Anthony's ear he came. And piped his music in : And the shriU sound went through the good Saint's frame, With a smart and a sting, like a shred of flame, Or a bee in the ear, — which is much the same, — And he shivered with the din. But the good St. Anthony bent his eyes Upon the holy book ; He heard that snout with its gimlet cries, And he knew that the imp had an evil guise. And he did not dare to look. 50 THE TEMPTATIONS OF ST. ANTHONY. A thing with horny eyes was there, With homy eyes like the dead : And its long sharp nose was all of horn, And its bony cheeks of flesh were shorn, And its ears were like thin cases torn From feet of kine, and its jaws were bare ; And fish-bones grew, instead of hair, Upon its skinless head. Its body was of thin birdy bones. Bound round with a parchment skin ; And when 'twas struck, the hollow tones That circled round like drum-dull gi-oans, Bespoke a void within. Its arm was like a peacock's leg, And the claws were like a bird's : But the creep that went, like a blast of plague, To loose the live flesh from the bones, And wake the good Saint's inward groans. As it clawed his cheek, and pulled his hair, Arid pressed on his eyes in their beating lair, Cannot be told in words. But the good St. Anthony kept his eyes StiU on the holy book ; He felt the clam on his brow arise, And he knew that the thing had a horrid guise, And he did not dare to look. THE TEMPTATIONS OF ST. ANTHONY. SI An imj) came then like a skeleton form Out of a chamel vault : Some clingings of meat had been left by the worm, Some tendons and strings on his legs and arm, And his jaws with gristle were black and deform. But his teeth were as white as salt. And he grinned full many a lifeless grin, And he rattled his bony taU ; His skull was decked with gill and fin, And a spike of bone was on his chin, And his bat-like ears were large and thin, And his eyes were the eyes of a snail. He took his stand at the good Saint's back, And on tiptoe stood a space : Forward he bent, all rotten-black. And he sunk again on his heel, good lack ! And the good Saint uttered some ghostly groans, For the head was caged in the gaunt rib-bones, — A horrible embrace ! And the skull hung o'er with an elvish pry, And cocked down its India-rubber eye To gaze upon his face. Yet the good St. Anthony sunk his eyes Deep in the holy book : He felt the bones, and so was wise To know that the thing had a ghastly guise, And he did not dare to look. e2 52 THE TEMPTATIONS OF ST. ANTHONT. Last came an imp, — ^how unlike the rest ! — A beautiful female form : And her voice was like music, that sleep-oppress'd Sinks on some cradling zephyr's breast ; And whilst with a whisper his cheek she press' d, Her cheek felt soft and warm. When over his shoulder she bent the light Of her soft eyes on to his page. It came like a moonbeam silver bright, And relieved him then with a mUd delight, For the yellow lamp-lustre scorched his sight, That was weak with the mists of age. •• Hey ! the good St. Anthony boggled his eyes Over the holy book : Ho ho ! at the corners they 'gan to rise, For he knew that the thing had a lovely guise. And he could not choose but look. There are many devils that walk this world,- Devils large, and devils small ; Devils so meagre, and devils so stout ; Devils with horns, and devils without ; Sly devils that go with their tails upcurled. Bold devUs that carry them quite unfurled ; Meek devils, and devils that brawl ; Serious devils, and laughing devils ; Imps for churches, and imps for revels ; THE TEMPTATIONS OP ST. ANTHONY. 53 Devils uncouth, and devils polite ; Devils black, and devils white ; Devils foolish, and devils wise ; But a laughing woman, with two bright eyes, Is the worsest devil of all. T. H. S. 54 A TALE OF GRAMMARYE. The Baron came home in his fury and rage, He blew up his Henchman, he blew up his Page ; The Seneschal trembled, the Cook looked pale. As he ordered for supper grilled kidneys and ale. Vain thought ! that griU'd kidneys can give relief. When one's own are inflamed by anger and grief. What was the cause of the Baron's distress ? Why sank his spirits so low 1 — The fair Isabel, when she should have said " Yes," Had given the Baron a " No.'' He ate, and he drank, and he grumbled between : First on the viands he vented his spleen, — The ale was sour, — the kidneys were tough. And tasted of nothing but pepper and snuff ! — The longer he ate, the worse grew affairs. Till he ended by kicking the butler down stairs. All was hushed — 'twas the dead of the night — The tapers were dying away. And the armour bright Glanced in the light Of the pale moon's trembling ray ; A TALE OP GKAMMAEYE. 55 Yet his Lordship sat still, digesting his ire, With his nose on his knees, and his knees in the fire, — All at once he jnmp'd up, resolved to consult his Cornelius Agrippa de rebus occultis. He seized by the handle A bed-room flat candle, And went to a secret nook. Where a chest lay hid With so massive a lid, His knees, as he raised it, shook, Partly, perhaps, from the wine he had drunk, Partly from fuiy, and partly from funk ; For never before had he ventured to look In his Great-Great-Grandfather's conjuring-book. Now Lord Ranulph Fitz-Hugh, As lords frequently do. Thought reading a bore, — ^but his case is quite new ; So he quickly ran through A chapter or two. For without Satan's aid he knew not what to do, — When poking the fire, as the evening grew colder. He saw with alarm, As he raised up his arm, An odd-looking countenance over his shoulder. Firmest rock will sometimes quake. Trustiest blade will sometimes break. Sturdiest heart will sometimes fail. Proudest eye will sometimes quail ; — 56 A TALE OF GRAMMAEYE. No wonder Fitz-Hugh felt uncommonly queer Upon suddenly seeing the Devil so near, Leaning over his chair, peeping into his ear. The stranger first The silence burst, And replied to the Baron's look : — " I would not intrude, But don't think me rude Tf I sniff at that musty old book. Charms were all very well Ere Eeform came to Hell ; But now not an imp cares a fig for a spell. Still I see what you want, And am willing to grant The person and purse of the fair Isabel. Upon certain conditions the maiden is won ; — You may have her at once, if you choose to say 'Done!' " The lady so rare. Her manors so fair. Lord Baron, I give to thee : But when once the sun Five years has run. Lord Baron, thy soul's my fee ! " Oh ! where wert thou, ethereal Sprite 1 Protecting Angel, where ? Sure never before had noble or knight Such need of thy guardian care ! No aid is nigh — 'twas so decreed ; — A TALE OF GRAMMARYE. 57 The recreant Baron at once agreed, And prepared with his blood to sign the deed. With the point of his sword His arm he scored, And mended his pen with his Misericorde ; From his black silk breeches The stranger reaches A lawyer's leathern case. Selects a paper, And snuffing the taper, The Baron these words mote trace : — " Five years after date, I promise to pay My soul to Old Nick, without let or delay, For value received." — " There, my Lord, on my life. Put your name to the bill, and the lady's your wife." * ♦ » * All look'd bright in earth and heaven. And far through the morning skies Had Sol his fiery coursers driven, — That is, it was striking half-past eleven As Isabel opened her eyes. All wondered what made the lady so late, For she came not down till noon, Though she usually rose at a quarter to eight, And went to bed equally soon. But her rest had been broken by troublesome dreams : — She had thought that, in spite of her cries and her screams. Old Nick had borne off, in a chariot of flame. The gallant young Howard of Effinghame. 58 A TALE OP GRAMMABYE. Her eye was so dim, and her cheek so chill, The family doctor declared she was Ul, And muttered dark hints of a draught and a pill. All during breakfast to brood doth she seem O'er some secret woes or wrongs ; For she empties the salt-cellar into the cream. And stirs up her tea with the tongs. But scarce hath she finished her third round of toast, When a knocking is heard by all — " What may that be 1 — 'tis too late for the post, — Too soon for a morning call." After a moment of silence and di'ead, The court-yard rang With the joyful clang Of an armed warrior's tread. Now away and away with fears and alarms, — The lady lies clasped in young Effinghame's arms. She hangs on his neck, and she tells him true. How that troublesome creature. Lord Eanulph Fitz-Hugh, Hath vowed and hath sworn with a terrible curse. That, unless she wUl take him for better for worse, He will work her mickle rue ! " Now, lady love, dismiss thy fear. Should that grim old Baron presume to come here. We'll soon send him home with a flea in his ear ; — And, to cut short the strife. My love ! my Hfe ! Let me send for a parson, and make you my wife !" A TALE OF GRAMMARYE. .59 No banns did they need, no licence require, — They were married that day before dark : The Clergyman came, — a fat little friar, The doctor acted as Clerk. But the nuptial rites were hardly o'er, Scarce had they reached the vestry door, When a knight rushed headlong in ; From his shoes to his shirt He was all over dirt. From his toes to the tip of his chin ; But high on his travel-stained helmet tower'd The lion-crest of the noble Howard. By horrible doubts and fears possest, The bride turned and gaz'd on the bridegroom's breast — No Argent Bend was there ; No Lion bright Of her own ti-ue knight, But his rival's Sable Bear ! The Lady Isabel instantly knew 'Twas a regular hoax of the false Fitz-Hugh ; And loudly the Baron exultingly cried, " Thou art wooed, thou art won, my bonny gay bride ! Nor heaven nor hell can our loves divide ! " This pithy remark was scarcely made, When the Baron beheld, upon turning his head, His Friend in black close by ; He advanced with a smile all placid and bland, Popp'd a small piece of parchment into his hand. And knowingly winked his eye. 60 A TALE OP GEAMMABYB. As the Baron perused. His cheek was suffused With a flush between brick-dust and brown ; While the fair Isabel Fainted, and fell In a still and death-like swoon. Lord Howard roar'd out, till the chapel and vaults Rang with cries for burnt feathers and volatile salts. " Look at the date ! " quoth the queer-looking man, In his own peculiar tone } My word hath been kept, — deny it who can, — And now I am come for mine own." Might he trust his eyes t — Alas ! and alack ! 'Twas a bill ante-dated full five years back ! 'Twas all too true — It was over due — The term had expired ! — he wouldn't "renew," — And the Devil looked black as the Baron looked blue. The Lord Fitz-Hugh Made a great to-do. And especially blew up Old Nick, — " 'Twas a stain," he swore, " On the name he bore To play such a rascally trick !" — " A trick ? " quoth Nick, in a tone rather quick, ' It's one often played upon people who ' tick.' " Blue flames now broke From his mouth as he spoke, They went out, and left an uncommon thick smoke. A TALE OF GRAMMARYE. 61 Which enveloping quite Himself and the Knight, The pair in a moment were clean out of sight. When it wafted away, Where the dickens were they ? Oh ! no one might guess — Oh ! no one might say, — But never, I wis, From that time to this, In haU or in bower, on mountain or plain, Has the Baron been seen, or been heard of again. As for fair Isabel, after two or three sighs. She finally opened her beautiful eyes. She coughed, and she sneezed, And was very well pleased. After being so rumpled, and towzled, and teased. To find when restored from her panic and pain, My Lord Howard had man'ied her over again. MOEAL. Be warned by our story, ye Nobles and Knights, Who 're so much in the habit of " flying of kites ; " And beware how ye meddle again with such Flights : At least, if your energies Creditors cramp, Eemember a Usurer 's always a Scamp, And look well at the Bill, and the Date, and the Stamp : Don't sign in a hurry, whatever you do. Or you '11 go to the Devil, like Baron Fitz-Hugh. DALioir. 62 THE EELICS OF ST. PIUS. — ♦ — Saint Pius was a holy man, And held in detestation The wicked course that others ran, So lived upon starvation. He thought the world so bad a place That decent folks should fly it ; And, dreaming of a life of grace, Determin'd straight to try it. A cavern was his only house. Of limited expansion. And not a solitary mouse Durst venture near his mansion. He told his beads from mom to night. Nor gave a thought to dinner ; And, while his faith absorb'd him quite. He ev'ry day grew thinner. THE RELICS OP ST. PIUS. 63 Vain ev'ry hint by Nature given, His saintship would not mind her ; At length his soul flew back to heaven, And left her bones behind her. Some centuries were gone and past. And all forgot his story, Until a sisterhood at last EeviVd his fame and glorj'. To Eome was sent a handsome fee. And pious letter fitted, Kequesting that his bones might be Without delay transmitted. The holy see with sacred zeal Their relic hoards tum'd over. The skeleton, from head to heel. Of Pius to discover ; And having sought with caution deep, To pious tears aifected. They recognised the blessed heap So anxiously expected. And now the town, that would be made Illustrious beyond measure. Was all alive with gay parade To welcome such a treasure. 64 THE RELICS OF ST. PIUS. The bishop, in his robes of state, Each monk and priest attending. Stood rev'rently within the gate To view the train descending ; The holy train that far had gone To meet the sacred relic, And now with joyous hymns came on. Most like a band angelic. The ntins the splendid robes prepare. Each chain, and flower, and feather ; And now they claim the surgeon's care To join the bones together. The head, the arms, the trunk, he found. And placed in due rotation ; But, when the legs he reach' d, around He stared in consternation ! In vain he twirl'd them both about, Took one and then took t'other, For one turn'd in, and one tum'd out. Still following his brother. Two odd left legs alone he saw. Two left legs ! tis amazing ! " Two left legs ! " cried the nuns, with awe And anxious wonder gazing. THE EELICS OP ST. PIUS. 65 The wonder reach' d. the list'ning crowd, And all the cry repeated ; While some press'd on with laughter loud, And some in fear retreated. The bishop scarce a smUe repress' d, The pilgrims stood astounded ; The mob, with many a gibe and jest. The holy bones surrounded. The abbess and her vestal train. The blest Annunciation, With horror saw the threaten'd stain On Pius' reputation. " Cease, cease ! ungrateful race ! " cried she, " This tumult and derision. And know the truth has been to me Eevealed in a vision ! "The saint who now, enthron'd in heav'n, Bestows on us such glory, Had two left legs by Nature given,* And, lo ! they are before ye ! " Then let us hope he will no more His blessed prayers deny us, While we, with zeal elate, adore The left legs of St. Pius." C. S. L. * As was the case with Jacob Tonson, the publisher.— Ed. 66 COQUETRY AND INNOCENCE. Two nymphs, one day, a compact made (Each from her home had idly stray'd) That both imited would, henceforth, Roam over east, south, west, and north. The one bright as a stimmer-rose When with the sun's warm kiss it glows ; The other like the fragrant flow'r Of what men call the "virgin's bow'r," — Her name was Innocence. The free And tender beauty's — Coquetry. And 'tis my task to tell you whether These fair ones traveU'd long together. When first these maidens sallied out Upon their long and unknown rout. Coquetry swore ('twas to herself) That nothing ever should divide, Though she were offer'd endless pelf. The maiden with her, from her side. iVhile Innocence, — she did not swear. But vainly, foolishly, she thought. That, for herself, no force could tear Her from the compact she had sought. COQUETRY AND INNOCENCE. 67 Thus, ev'n nymphs of fabled birth Are very like our nymphs on earth. ■ I need not tell you, ladies, sure. That Coquetry was always poor : While Innocence possess'd the merit Of being rich, — ^for, to inherit Eiches from one's very birth Is no slight merit, upon earth. You see, then, ev'n from the first, Th' assortment was about the worst That simple Innocence could make. Rich, and with ev'rything at stake. Coquetry's wealth was in the friend With whom to journey through all climes She had engag'd ; — there did it end : Nought could be poorer — save these rhymes. Coquetry, too, was full as wild As the first-bom and fav'rite child Of Ignorance is known to be, — That parentage of misery ! While Innocence wore on her face That inborn charm, that silent grace, Simplicity, her mother wore, Gain'd from her mother long before, Sweet Purity ; her father's state Was soften' d in her gentler gait ; Yet none, e'en there, could fail to see Much of her father, Dignity. f2 '.68 ! COQUBTEY AND INNOCENCE. At first, so well the pair agreed, That Innocence had Httle need EVn to blush, much less to pay Any of her wealth away. So long as Coquetry confin'd Herself to changing simple smiles. Innocence kept close behind, And fear'd no danger from such wiles. E'en when a sigh fell on her ear, She thought there was not much to fear ; And only for the first time trembled When Coquetry, from youthful Bhss, Stole, as he slumber' d, what resembled Something, — very like a kiss. Here was for her pure soul a grief, — Coquetry known to be a thief ! A little ruffled in her mind. Still Innocence kept on her way, Hoping yet better things to find, While things look'd graver ev'ry-day. Thus, Coquetry would sometimes run. With wanton step and eager haste, Where flowers rose blooming in the sun, And laid the sweetest parterres waste. But most she seem'd to take delight (Less like a nymph than evil sprite) In tearing up those pretty flowers, Whose names are most to lovers known Forget-me-nots she'd crush for hours, And trample hosts of hearts-ease down. COQUETRY AND, INNOCENCE. 69 And Innocence, who had to pay For ev'ry whim and foolish trait, Discover' d that she had to rue That Coquetry was cniel too. Thus matters went, till came the day When Coquetry no more could call Upon her gentle friend, to pay For ev'ry chance that could befall. She had, one starry night, sought rest. Her haad reclin'd on Passion's breast ; And when with blushing mom she rose, And went to greet the youthful maid. She miss'd her fiiend, — ^nor could suppose Where the pretty loit'rer stay'd. " She's gone ! " cried an angehc youth, — Coquetry knew that he was Truth ; Who, looking at some maidens shy That timidly were standing by. While Coquetry dissolVd in tears, — " Lend me," he said, '' attentive ears : Oh ! maids who scarce have yet begun Your race upon the world to run. Learn that when Coquetry doth please To gratify her ev'ry sense, The penalty, — each maiden sees, — Is at the cost of Innocence." J. D. 70 THE HANDSOME CLEAIUSTAECHEE. A LESEND 01? THE DATS 01' QUEEN ELIZABETH. We talk of the Goddess of Fashion ; but where Has her Goddesship deigned to be seen ? Though her taste is consulted each day by the "fair, While men of all ages admiringly stare 1 — She can be no one else than The Queen. So, at least, it was erst, when Eliza the Great Of our isle was the pride and the pet ; For though dress fbrm'd small part of her right royal state, And she valued alike her proud foes' love and hate, She was once pleased a fashion to set. Her sole reason for choosing was what ladies give, — 'Twas her pleasure, and that was enough. But, when once it was seen, none without it could live, 'Twould have been all the same if 'twere coarse as a sieve, But the " set " was a fine stiifen'd ruff. 'Twas a sort of a " chevaiix-de-frise"-lodking thing. Such as stiU in her portraits is drawn. Encircling her neck in an odd zig-zag ring ; And the model, perhaps, was a church-cherub's wing. Though 'twas formed of crape, muslin, or lawn. THE HANDSOME CLEAR-STAROHER. 71 Or of gossamer, gauze, tissue, leno, blonde, lace, — If such elegant names were then known For those air-woven textures that aye find a place In the toilet of beauty, and still add a grace When, with taste, they o'er beauties are thrown. But in those days no throwing was ever allow' d, " Negligies " wer'nt admitted at court ; Where, stately and formal, the fair, weU-drest crowd Moved rustling like peacocks or turkeys so proud. And look'd even demiffe at their sport. Some wore gowns thickly 'broider'd like garlands of May ; All wore stomachers hard as a shield, Standing upright and stiff, as in martial array, (Of the march of clear-starching it then was the day,) And aU else but the face was conceal'd. But the ruff ! the white, weU-stiffen'd, well clear-starch' d ruff More than lace, silk, or velvet was prized. " Its edges," they said, "like a saw should be rough ; " And slanderers declare they their handmaids would cuff If it was not well starch' d, gumm'd, or sized. 'Tis a pity when ladies so pretty allow Themselves to fall into a pet. And, in their own boudoirs to " kick up a row," About things they're to wear, with the what, where, or how. Anger ne'er made a maid pretty yet. 72 THE HANDSOME CLEAE-STAECHER. But, alas ! in those days some few fair ones were frail, And their tempers would sometimes rebel : Though perhaps the great breakfasts of beef-steaks and ale* Might have heated the blood of the maid of our tale, And caused what we've now got to teU. Her name we don't mention, because it may chance That she yet hath relations at court : Suffice it, her beauty was such as romance For all heroines claims, — she could sing, play, and dance A merveille, — ^but to dress was her forte. Or, say, rather her foible ; so when ruifs came in. And good starch rose uncommonly high. She assured her clear-starcher she cared not a pin For the price, but her ruifs must be stiff as block-tin ; And the clear-starcher said she would try. * The following is an extract from an order of King Henry the Eighth for a daily allowance to a maid of honour in 1522. ' ' First. Every morning at brekefast con chyne of beyf at our keehyn, oon chete loff and oon maunchet at our panatrye harr, and a galone of ale at our buttrye barr. ' ' Item. At dyner a pese of beyf, a stroke of roste, and a reward at our said keehyn, a caste of chete brede at our panatrye barr, and a galone of ale at our buttrye barr. "Item. At aftemoone a maunchet of brede at our panatrye barr, and half a galone of ale at our buttrye barr. "Item. At supper a messe of potage, a pese of mutten, and a reward at our said keehyn, a cast of chete brede at our panatrye, and a galone of ale at our buttrye. " Item. At after supper a chete loff, and a maunchet at our panatrye barr, and half a galone of ale at our seller barr." THE HANDSOME CLEAB-STARCHBR. 73 So her iTiiFs were well-starcli'd, dried, and starch'd o'er again, And both cold and hot-ironed, and prest, And plaited, et cetera ; — but all was in vain. For she spake naughty words, and declared it was plain Her " artiste " was a fool like the rest. Then she tried many others ; but all faU'd alike This most whimsical fair one to please. Some pleaded their work-folks had " struck up a strike ; " Some swore that the ruffs' points were stiff as a pike : She declared they were soft as boil'd peas. She was sadly provok'd, and yet dared not rebel Against fashion's imperious decree ; So, when iiext her handmaiden desired her to teU Where hei^ ruifs should be sent, she cried, " Send them toh— , And the d — ^1 may starch them for me." These were velky bad words to escape from the lips Of a lady so handsome and young. But, when passion's our tyrant, morality trips. While the temptu- keeps watch for such sad naughty slips As our maiden had made with her tongue. And scarce had shespoken, when suddenly came An odd sort of " Xat ! tat ! " at her door. 'Twas not loud enough quite for a lord or a dame. Nor yet for her tradesfolk sufficiently tame. She had ne'er heardWch knocking before. 74 THE HANDSOME CLBAE-STAECHBE. And of course she felt curious to Isnow what it meant, So her handmaid immediately ran To the window ; and, when o'er the casement she leant, Exclaim' d, with an air of exceeding content, " A remarkably handsome young man ! " The young man, when shown up, bow'd and smil'd with much grace, And soon, whispering, ventured to say, " Gentle lady, excuse me, but such is my case That indeed we must be quite alone face to face. Do, pray, send your handmaiden away ! " Some signal, no doubt often practised before, Caused her maid through the doorway to glide. While the lady, embarrass' d, look'd down on the floor, And blush'd (perhaps) for a moment, and when that was o'er. Found the handsome young man at her Side. The fine figure and face of that sing-ular beau All comparisons seem'd to defy ; And his dress at all points was completely " the go," Yet there still was a something not quite " comme ilfaut" In the sly wicked glance of his eye. But his manner was humble, and silvery the tone Of his voice, as, in euphonic strair, He said, " Pride of the palace ! well worthy the throne ! If legitimate claim were with beauiy alone. All your rivals' pretensions wers vain ! " THE HANDSOME CLEAR-STARCHBK. 75 Then (as then was the mode) he the lady compared To the sun, moon, and stars, and their light ; Nor the heathen mythology's goddesses spared. Any maiden of our modest days would have stared. And some, perhaps, have run off in a fright. But she hsten'd, and aye as the flatterer spake Smiled, and gracefully flirted her fan. And, much wondering what end to his speech he would make, Sigh'd, and thought, " Though I fear he's a bit of a rake, He is really a charming young man ! " The gallant's peroration at length took a turn That appear'd a most singular whim ; He found fault with her ruff, and declared he could earn Her applause (since he'd travelled clear-starching to learn) If she would but entrust one with him. The request was a strange one. Yet wherefore refuse ? " Well, — ^pray take one ! " she said with a laugh. " Do your best. It may serve your waste time to amuse. But it's really so odd ! Have you learnt to black shoes In your travels 1 or dye an old scarf? " " I have learnt many things," was the stranger's reply, " And you'll soon find I know quite enough To fulfil your commission, for certainly I Can hotpress, et cetera j and so, now, good-bye, TiU I come back again with your rufi;" 7G THE HANDSOME CLEAH-STAECHER. The next drawing-room day our fair maiden began Her court toilet ; but all went so-so. "Ugh!" she cried, " I'm quite frightful, do all that I can! There's nothing so fickle and faithless as man ! What's become of my clear-starching beau ? " " Ah ! my lady ! " said Abigail, plastering her hair, That young fellow has play'd you a trick, And stole " But her mistress cried, " Phoo ! I don't care ! If I could get but only rnie ruff fit to wear, I would don it, though brought by Old Nick." There's a proverb that says, " If you speak of some folks They are sure very soon to appear." And, while Abigail call'd the beau's visit a hoax. And his clear-starching one of young gentlemen's jokes. His odd " Eat ! tat i " proclaim'd he was near. " Then he has not deceived me ! " the lady exclaim' d, " Why don't some of 'em answer the door ? To doubt of his honour you're much to be blamed. But I can't see him thus ! I should feel quite ashamed. He must wait tUl I'm drest. What a bore ! " " Take this box to your mistress, and make my respects," Said the starcher as fierce as a Don, While he strode down the hall, " and observe she neglects Not to put on the ruff as my paper directs, And I'll settle the plaits when 'tis on." THE HANDSOME CLEAE-STAECHER. 77 What that paper contain'd is a mystery still, Since the chronicles only disclose That she said his request she would strictly fulfil, And then smiling, exclaim' d, " What a moderate bill ! Well, he must see all right, I suppose." Then — ^her toilet completed — her pride was immeusu. 'Twas " a love of a ruff ! " she declared. As it compass'd her neck with its firm triple fence. Her sole feehng was self-admiration intense. While her handmaid adm ingly stared, And then cried, " La ! I never saw nothing so nice : What a clever young man that must be ! I suppose, though, he'll charge an extravagant price ? " " No," her lady replied, " 'twas a cunning device ! And he's no common tradesman, you'll see. " The fact is, that he mention'd his charge, and you know That I've now no engagement on hand. At least nothing — quite serious — or likely — and so — After all — ^what's a kiss from a handsome young beau ? WeU — be silent — ^you now understand. " When he comes to inspect that my ruff sets all well. Just step out for a minute or two ; Not much longer, because there's a proverb folks teU, 'Give some people an inch, and they'll soon take an ell.'" " I wish, Miss," said her maid, " I was you." Y» THE HANDSOME CLEAR-STAKCHER. Then with looks so demure as might Cerberus bilk, The young gentleman bow'd himself in. His dress was embroider' d rich velvet and silk, His point-lace and kid-gloves were as white as new milk. And jet-black was the tuft on his chin. " Fairest lady ! " he said, " may I venture to hope That you deign to approve of my work ? This I'll venture to say, that such clear-starch and soap Never stiffen'd a collar for queen, king, or pope, Nor his most sublime-porte-ship the Turk." '' And I've got " (here he smiled) " a particular way. Which I'll show you, of finishing off. Just allow me ! Phoo — nonsense ! You promised to pay — " But the lady drew back, frown' d, and said, "Not now, pray ! " And sent Abigail out by a cough. All that afterwards happen'd is dingy as night, Though her maiden, as maids would of old, Peeep'd and listen' d, at first with a curious delight. Then grew anxious, — and then was thrown into a fright. And this was the story she told. She declared the beau boasted his wonderful knack Of fuU-dressing for banquet and ball ; And that, presently after, she heard a loud smack. And, immediately after, a much louder crack ; Then a shriek that was louder than all. THE HANDSOME CLBAR-STARCHER. 79 To her mistress's aid slie accordingly ran, Wondering much what the matter could be ; Since a simple salute from a handsome young man Never caused such an uproar since kissing began. But no mistress nor beau could she see ! Both were gone ! where and how it was fearful to guess, As a sulphureous odour remain' d. While thick smoke stiU obscured the bay-window's recess, And, with burnt hoof-Uke marks, and a cindery mess. The best carpet was shockingly stain'd. What occurr'd at the window the smoke might conceal, Though the maid often vow'd that she saw What was horrid enough all her blood to congeal, A long black thing that twisted about like an eel. And the tips of two horns, and a claw. But, more certain it is, from that day ne'er again Did that lady at court reappear. Nor amid the beau monde. All inquiries were vain. So, though how they eloped must a mystery remain, What the clear-starcher was, seem'd too clear. Now, ye ladies of England ! young, charming, and fair ! Pray, be wam'd by this maiden's sad fate ! And, whenever strange beaux, gay and handsome, may dare To approach you with flattering speeches, beware Lest their falsehood you rue when too late. 80 THE HANDSOME CLEAR-STAKCHEE. Above all, wliilb your hearts are warm, tender, and young. Let no art of the tempter prevail To extort a rash promise ; since slips of the tongue O'er fair prospects have often a gloomy veil flung. And caused ladies' disasters in rhymes to be strung. As hath chanced to the maid of our tale. 81 SARDANAPALUS. Saedahapalus was Nineveh's king ; And, if all be quite true that the chroniclers sing, Loved his song and his glass, And was given, alas ! Not only to bigamy, Nor even to trigamy. But (I shudder to think on't) to rankest polygamy : For his sweethearts and wives were so vast in amount, They 'd take you a week or two (/idy to count ! One morning his Majesty jumped out of bed. And hitting his valet a rap on the head. By way of a joke, " Salamenes," he said, " Go, proclaim to the court, " 'Tis our wiU to resort, " By way of a lark, " To our palace and park " On the banks of Euphrates, and there, with our wives, " Sing, dance, and get fuddled, for once in our Uves ; " So bid our state-rulers and nobles, d 'ye see, " Hie all to our banquet not later than three, " And prepare for a long night of jollity." — 82 SAEDANAPALUS. " Very good," said the valet ; then eager and hot On his errand, ducked thrice, and was off like a shot. When the court heard these orders, with rapture elate, They adjourned all the business of church, and of state. And hurried off, drest Each man in his best ; While the women, sweet souls. Went with them by shoals, Some in gigs, some in cabs, some on horseback so gay. And some in an omnibus hired for the day. — (If busses in those days were not to be seen, AU I can say is, they ought to have been.) -^ Like a torrent, the throng RoU'd briskly along. Cheering the way with jest, laughter, and song. To the Banq[uetting Hall, where the last of the group Arrived, by good luck, just in time for the soup. The guests set to work in superlative style. And his Majesty, equally busy the while, Encouraged their efforts with many a smile. The High Priest was the iirst, Who seemed ready to burst ; (For the ladies so shy. They swigged on the sly !) But proud of his prowess he scorn'd to give o'er, 'TUl at length with a hiccup he fell on the floor, Shouting out, mid his qualms. That verse in the Psalms, SARD ANAP ALUS. 83 Which saith (but it surely can't mean a whole can !) That " Wine maketh merry the heart of a man." While thus they sate tippling, peers, prelates, and all, And music's sweet voice echoed light through the Hall ; His Majesty rose, Blew his eloquent nose. And exclaiming, by way of exordium, " Here goes ! " Made a speech which produced a prodigious sensation, Greatly, of course, to the King's delectation : One courtier, o'erpower'd by its humour and wit, Held both his fat sides, as if fearing a fit ; While another kept crying, " Oh dear, I shall split !" (So when a great Pubhsher cracks a small joke. His authors at table are ready to choke.) And all, with the lungs of a hurricane, swore They had ne'er heard so droU an oration before, With the single exception of one silly fellow. Who not being, doubtless, sufficiently mellow, Eefused to applaud, or to join in the laughter, And was hang'd for a traitor just ten minutes after. By this time Dan Phoebus in ocean had sunk. And the guests were all getting exceedingly drunk. When, behold ! at the door There was heard a loud roar. And in rush'd a messenger covered with gore. Who bawl'd out, addressing the Head of the State, " If your Majesty pleases, the Foe's at the gate, " And threaten to kick up the Devil's own din, " If you do not surrender, and bid them come in ; 02 84 SAEDANAPALUS. " The mob, too, has risen, " And let out of prison, " With the jailor's own keys (but it's no fault of Min), " Some hundreds of burglars, and fences, and prigs, " Who are playing all sorts of queer antics and rigs ; " Already they've fired up one church for a beacon, — " Hocussed a bishop, and bvirked an archdeacon, " And swear, if you don't give them plenty of grog, '' They'll all become Chartists, and go the whole hog ! " Scarce had he ended, when hark ! with a squall, A second grim herald pops into the HaU, And, " Woe upon woe ! " The desperate foe," Quoth he, " Have forced open the gates of the town, " And are knocking by scores the rich citizens down ; " As I pass'd with bent brow, " By the Law Courts just now, " Lo, sixty attorneys lay smash' d in a row, " Having just taken wing for the regions below, " (When lawyers are dead, none can doubt where they go,) " 'Mid the cheers of each snob, who sung out, as he past, '"So the scamps have gone home to their father at last!'" Oh ! long grew the face of each guest at this tale. The men they tum'd red, and the women turn'd pale ; But redder and paler they tum'd when they heard The more terrible tidings of herald the third ! — In he bounced with a visage as black as a crow's. And a mulberry tinge on the tip of his nose ; SARDANAPALUS. 85 He'd a rent in his breeches, A tergo, the which is (As Smollett has taught us long since to believe *) Not the pleasantest sight for the daughters of Eve ; And he shook like a leaf, as thus hoarsely he spake In the gruff and cacophonous tones of a drake, — " The town 's all on fire, " Hut, palace, and spire " Are blazing as fast as the foe can desire : " Such crashing and smashing, " And sparkling and darkling ! " Such squalling, and bawling, and sprawling, " And jobbing, and robbing, and mobbing ! " Such kicking and licking, and racing and chasing, " Blood-spilhng and killing, and slaughtering and quar- tering ! " You'd swear that Old Nick, with Belphegor his clerk, " And Moloch his cad, were abroad on a lark ! " " Here's a go !" said the King, staring wild like a bogle At these tidings, and wiping his eyes with his fogle ; '• 'Tis vain now to run for " Our hves, for we're done for ; " So, away with base thoughts of submission or flight, " Let's all, my brave boys, die like heroes to-night ; " Raise high in this Hall a grand funeral pile, " Then fire it, and meet our death-doom with a smile ! " He ceased, when a courtier replied in low tone, " If your Majesty pleases, I'd rather live on ; * Vide Miss Tabitha Bramble, in Smollett's "Humplirey Clinker." 86 SABDANAPALUS. " For, although you may think me as dull as a post, " Yet I can't say I've any great taste for a roast ; " 'Tis apt to disorder one's system ; and so, " Good-night to your Majesty — D. I. 0. !" So saying, he made for the door and rush'd out, While quick at his heels rush'd the rest of the rout, Leaving all alone, The King on his throne, With a torch in one hand which he waved all abroad, And a glass in the other, as drunk as a Lord ! That night, from the Hall, late so joyous, there broke, Spreading wild in 'mid air, a vast column of smoke ; While, higher and higher. Blazed up the red fire, As it blazed from Queen Dido's funeral pyre ! — Hark to the crash, as roof, pillar, and wall Bend — ^rock — and down in thunder faU ! Hark to the roar of the flames, as they show Heaven and earth ahke in a glow ! The hollow wind sobs through the ruins, as though 'Twere hymning his dirge who, an hour ago, Was a King in all a King's array ; But now lies, a blackened clod of clay, In that HaU whose splendours have past away, Save in old tradition, for ever and aye ! 87 RICHELIEU J OR, THE CONSPIRACY. Cardinal Richelieu was Premier of France ; He was keen as a fox, and you read at a glance, In Ms pMz so expressive of malice and trick. That he 'd much of the nature ascribed to Old Nick ; If a noble e^er dared to oppose him, instead Of confuting his lordship, he whipped off his head : He fixed his grim paw, Upon church, state, and law. With as much cool assurance as ever you saw ; With his satire's sharp sting He badgered the King, Bullied his brother. Transported his mother, And (what is a far more astonishing case) Not only pronounced him an ass to his face. But made love to his Queen, and because she declined His advances, gave out she was wrong in her mind ! Now the nobles of France, and still more the poor King, Disliked, as was natural, this sort of thing ; The former felt shocked that plebeian beholders Should see a peer's head fly so oft from his shoulders, 00 RICHELIEU ; OR, THE CONSPIRACY. And the latter was constantly kept upon thorns By the Cardinal's wish to endow him with horns ; Thus rankling with spite, A party one night Of noblemen met, and determined outright (So enraged were the crew) First, to murder Richelieu, And, if needful, despatch all his partisans too : Next to league with the foes Of the King, and depose The fat-pated monarch himself, for a fool Rebellion ne'er uses, except as a tool. On the night that Richelieu was thus marked out for slaughter. He chanced to be tippling cold brandy and water With one Joseph, a Capuchin priest — a sly dog, And by no means averse to the comforts of grog, As you saw by his paunch, which seemed proud to reveal How exactly it looked like a fiUet of veal. They laughed and they quaffed, 'till the Capuchin's nose CTwas a thorough-bred snub) grew as red as a rose ; And, whenever it chanced that his patron, Richelieu, Cracked a joke, even though it was not very new ; And pointed his smart eonversational squibs. By a slap on Joe's baok, or a peg in his ribs ; The priest, who was wonderfully shrewd as a schemer. Would bellow with ecstacy, " 'Gad, that 's a screamer 1 " Thus they chatted away, a rare couple well met. And were just tuning up for a pious duet. RICHELIEU ; OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 89 When in rushed a spy, With his wig all awry, And a very equivocal drop in his eye, Who cried (looking blue As he turned to Eichelieu) " Oh, my lord, lack-a-day ! Here 's the devil to pay. For a dozen fierce nobles are coming this way ; One of whom, an old stager, as sharp as a lizard. Has threatened to stick a long knife in your gizzard ; While the rest of the traitors, I say it with pain. Have already sent off a despatch to Spain, To state that his Majesty's ceased to reign. And order the troops all home again.'' When his Eminence heard these tidings, " Go,'' He said, in the blandest of tones, to Joe, " And if you can catch The traitors' despatch, I swear — no matter how rich it be — You shall have, dear Joe, the very next see ! " — {Nota bene, whenever Old Nick is wishing To enjoy the prime sport of parson-fishing, He always, like Richelieu, cunning and quick. Baits with a good fat bishoprick !) No sooner had Joe turned his sanctified back — I hardly need add he was off in a crack — Than up the grand stairs rushed the murderous pack, Whereon the sly Cardinal, tipping the wink To the spy, who was helping himself to some drink 90 KICHBLIEU ; OR, THE CONSPIHACY. At a side-table, said, " Tell 'em I'm dead ! " Then flew to his chamber, and popped into bed. " What, dead ?" roared the traitors. " I stuck him myself, With a knife which I snatched from the back-kitchen shelf," Was the ready reply Of the quick-witted spy, — Who in matters of biisiness ne'er stuck at a lie. " Huzza, then, for office ! " cried one, and cried aU, " The government 's oiirs by the Cardinal's fall," And, so saying, the crew Cut a caper or two. Gave the spy a new four-penny piece and withdrew. Next day all the papers were full of the news. Little dreaming the Cardinal's death was a ruse ; In parhament, too, lots of speeches were made. And poetical tropes by the bushel displayed ; The deceased was compared to Ulysses and Plato, To a star, to a cherub, an eagle, and Cato ; And 'twas gravely proposed by some gents in committee To erect him a statue of gold in the city ; But when an economist, caustic and witty. Asked, " Gentlemen, pray, Who is to pay ? " The committee, as if by galvanic shock jolted. Looked horrified, put on their castors, and bolted ! Meanwhile the shrewd traitors repaired in a bevy, All buoyant with hope, to his Majesty's levee. RICHELIEU ; OE, THE OONSPIEACY. 91 When, lo ! as the King with anxiety feigned, Was beginning to speak of the loss he'd sustained, In strutted Richelieu, And the Capuchin too. Which made each conspirator shake in his shoe ; One whispered a by-stander, looking him through, " By Jove, I can scarcely believe it ! can you 1 " Another cried, " Hang it, I thought 'twas a, do /" And a third muttered faintly, o'ercome by his fear, " Talk of the devil, and he 's sure to appear ! " When the King, who at first hardly trusted his eyes. Had somewhat recovered the shock of surprise. He shook his thick head At the Cardinal, and said. In tones in which something of anger still lurked, " How's this 1 Why, good gracious, I thought you were burked?" " Had such been my fate," quickly answered Richelieu, " Had they made me a subject, the rascally crew, My liege, they'd have soon made another of you. Look here ! " and he pulled out the nobles' despaitch. Who felt that for once they had met their match. And exclaiming, "'Od rot 'em. The scoundrels, I've got 'em ! " Read it out to the King from the top to the bottom. Next morning twelve scaffolds, with axes of steel. Adorned the fore-court of the sprightly Bastile ; And at midnight twelve nobles, by way of a bed. 92 RICHELIEU ; OR, THE CONSPIRACY. Lay snug in twelve coffins, each minus a head — A thing not uncommon with nobles, 'tis said. Priest Joe got his see, And delighted was he. For the bishoprick suited his taste to a T ; And -Richelieu, the stem, imforgiving, and clever. Bullied king, church, and people, more fiercely than ever ! Such the theme which Sir Lytton Has recently hit on. To expand his rare fancy, and feeling, and wit on ; And the moral is this — if, conspiring in flocks, SiUy geese wiU presume to play tricks with a fox, And strive by finesse to get rid of the pest. They must always expect to come off second best ! 93 THE ABBOT'S OAK. A LEGEND OF MONET-HUIOH LANE. "In the parish of Eedgrave, skirting the park, is a narrow bye- road, which has from time immemorial home the name of ' Money- Hntch Lane.' Tradition says that it derived its appellation from a treasure buried in its immediate neighbourhood, at the time of the suppression of the monasteries, one of which, a small offshoot from the great parent stem of St. Edmondsbury, stood in its ficinity. It is added, that though deposited under the guardianship of spell and sigil, it may yet be recoyered by any one who bides the happy minute." — CoUect. for Hist, of Suffolh. The Abbot sat by Ms glimmering lamp, His brow was wrinkled with care, And his anxious look, was fixed on his boolt, With a sad and a mournful air, And ever anon, As the night wore, on, He would slowly sink back in his oaken chair, While his visage betrayed from the aspect it bore. That his studies perplexed him more and more. On that Abbot's brow the furrows were deep, His hair was scant, and white, And his glassy eyes had known tio sleep For many a live-long night. 94: THE abbot's oak. His lips so thin had let nothing in Save brown bread, and water untempered by gin, During his sojourn there ; His hopes of succeeding at all with his reading Seemed to rest on his firmly abstaining from feeding, And sticking like wax to his chair. One would think, from the pains which he took with his diet, he Meant to establish a Temperance Society. His fasting, in short, equalled that of those mighties, St. Eonald, Dun Scotus, and Simon Stylites — No wonder his look On that black-letter book Had a sad and a mournful air. But oh ! what pleasure now gleams from his eyes, As he gazes around his cell ! The Abbot springs up in delight and surpi-ise, " I have it, I have it, I have it ! " he cries, " I have found out the mystic spell ! " — 'Twas a wonderful thing for so aged a man To hop, skip, and jump, and to run as he ran, But something had tickled him sore. He just stayed to sing Out, for some one to bring His best suit of robes, and his crosier and ring, While his mitre, which hung by a peg on the door. In his hurry he popped on the hind side before, And then, though 'twas barely dawn of day, He summoned a council without delay. THE abbot's oak. 95 With a hint that he'd something important to say, And commenced his address in the following way : — " Unaccustom'd, my brethren, as I am to speaking, To keep you long waiting is not my intention ; m merely observe, that the charm I've been seeking I've found out at length in a book I won't mention. — Yes, my brethren, I have found Where to hide our riches vast, Buried deep in holy ground, I've found the spell that binds them fast. The proud, the profane. Will search aU in vain, If they hunt for them over and over again. One day in the year Was tarnish' d, I fear, By some tri&mg fatuic pas in our Patron's career ; That's the time, and that's the hour. When fails our Saint's protecting power, Gallant hearts and steady hands Then, and then only, may burst the bands. Our treasures may win, if their patience but let's them ; As for Harry the Eighth, I'm— "—he cough'd— "if he gets them. And now, my brethren, aU to bed ; We'll consider our early matins as said ; And if by good luck into any one's head A better device or more feasible plan To bother that corpulent horrid old man, And that rascally renegade Cromwell, than this come ; 96 THE abbot's, oak. The morning will show it, Then let me know it. I'm sleepy just now — so good night — Pax vohiscum ! " It's pretty well known in what way the Eighth Harry, When wearied of Catherine, he wanted to marry Miss Boleyn, — ^he'd other points also to carry, — Applied to the Pope for his aid ; Which not being granted As soon as he wanted, The hot-headed monarch right solemnly said, For btJls and anathemas feeling no dread. That the Pope might go To Jericho, — And, instead of saluting his Holiness' toes. He'd pull without scruple his Holiness' nose ; — That way he brought the affair to a close. Things being thus. Without any fuss He kicks out the monks from their pleasant locations ; To their broad lands he sends His most intimate friends. And bestows their domains on his needy relations ; And, sad to relate. As we are bound to confess it is, . Pockets their plate For his private necessities : And whenever his Majesty finds a fresh dun arise. Gives him a cheque on the abbeys and nunneries. So you'll not be surprised that the very next morning. As the Abbot his person was gravely adorning. THE abbot's oak. 97 A note by express Put all notions of dress • Instanter to flight by its terrible warning. I say by exj)ress, Though you'll probably guess That no gentlemen deck'd in gold, scarlet, and blue. Walked round in those days, as at present they do, Charging eightpence for billets which shouldn't cost two — (The reason they say for folks writing so few). But a change, we are told, will be made in a trice, And epistles of all sorts be brought to one price, Despite the predictions of Mr. Spring Rice. We shall not for any Pay more than a penny, No matter how great the dimensions or distanca An excellent plan for the public ; for then 'tis his Own fault if any one spurns such assistance, Nor writes every day to his fellow-apprentices All laud to Hill For this leveUing biU, Which wUl make, by the aid of the Whigs, its abettors, The General Post a Republic of Letters.* As it's everywhere voted remarkably rude Into other folks' secrets to peep and intrude, My Muse, for the present, shall so play the prude, As not to let out What this note was about. Or what it was stagger'd an Abbot so stout. " The change alluded to took place on January 10, 1840. — Ed. 98 THE abbot's oak. The result's all we caxe to make public in this story, And to that we've a right, as mere matter of history. On the night of that iU-omen'd day A band of Monks pursued their way From the postern-gate of that Abbey grey, To the churchyard damp and drear, They bore three " hutches," — In Suffolk such is The word they use, as lately I've read In Johnson, for boxes in which folks make bread. The aged men totter'd with toil and with pain. As to carry their burthen they strove might and main. The Abbot marched first in that slow-going train. The Sexton brought up the rear. Near a newly-made vault They came to a halt, With no unequivocal symptoms of pleasure. Then each ponderous box, With its three patent locks. They buried, and filled up the hole at their leisui'e. They planted above in a magical figure Five acorns as big as five walnuts, or bigger. Then the torches' fitful glare Fell on the Abbot's silvery hair, (I allude to his beard — ^his head was bare,) As he read from a book, what perhaps was a prayer ; But whether 'twas Sanscrit, Chinese or Hindoo, I believe not a soul of his auditors knew. And it matters but little to me or to you. But you '11 find in swarms, SimUar forms. THE abbot's oak. 9£> ■ If you read Sandivogis', A leam'd old fogie's Dissertation " De Goblinis, Ghostis, et Bogis.'' " 'Tis done— 'tis done," Cried the Abbot ; " now run — We need some refection. And, hark ! it strikes one ! Oui; treasure here placed beyond human reach is, And safe as if stored in St. Benedict's breeches. King Harry may come ; but he '11 ne'er, in good sooth, pick Up enough plate for a decent-sized toothpick." 'Tis said the course of true love never Yet ran smooth ; in fact, if ever It does so run. It 's very soon done. Like ladies, they say. Who have their own way. It dwindles as snow on a very warm day ; And, although unromantic may seem the admission, Dies from the want of well-timed opposition. But so mournful a fate Seems not to await The lovers whose griefs I 'm about to relate. A noble pair. One wondrous fair. One manly, tail, and debonair. Are whispering their vows in the evening air. h2 100 THE abbot's oak. Vain, vain, Hapless twain ! The Lady of Bottesdale ne'er may be Mate to a squire of low degree ! Ralph of Redgrave is stout and true, Ralph of Redgrave is six feet two As he stands in his stockings without a shoe ; But, like TuUy, his family's rather new, — And, what is far worse, Ralph's private purse By no means is heavy, but quite the reverse, — Two failings which make an indiiferent catch For a lady of title in want of a match. That lady's papa is stingy and close ; As for his features — one look is a dose. He is ugly and old, Unfeeling and cold. With a pencJuznt for nothing but bank-notes or gold. His estates, too, are mortgaged or sold ; for the fact is, his Youth had been spent in most dissolute practices. Gaming, and drinking, Cockfighting, and winking At ladies, without ever dreaming or thinking His means were all gone, and his credit fast sinking ; While he'd now to " come down '' with a pretty smart fine For sundry exploits in the Jacobite line ; — A mode by which Tories in those days were pepper' d. As you'll find if you read Mr. Ainsworth's " Jack Sheppard ;" All these things induced him to aid the advances (Not being the person to throw away chances) THE abbot's oak. 101 Of a wealthy old lord to his fair daughter Frances, Which he thought no bad spec, to recruit his finances. Slowly and sadly the lovers were walking, On their hardships, and some other odd matters talking ; The lady had said That rather than wed An old noodle just ready to take to his bed, She 'd perish outright, Were it only to spite Her father for taking such things in his head. Ralph then swore he Wotdd die before he Allowed any man. Baron, Viscount, or Earl, To walk oif to church with his own darling girl. But, meanwhile, as dying was rather a bore, he Would first tell the lady a singular story. He said, — " At Preston's bloody fray, As night closed o'er the well-fought day. An aged man sore wounded lay. And just as two troopers were ready to twist. The old gentleman's neck, with one blow of his fist He, Balph, strongly hinted they'd better desist. Then the old man smiled a remarkable smUe. And clasping that same stout fist the while, Acknowledged his kindness, and swore, too, that 'dem it' he- Would serve him in turn at his direst extremity. That, last night, which must still more remarkable seem, That remarkable man had appeared in a dream, And had bid him, without any nonsense or joke. 102 THE abbot's oak. Wrap himself up snug and warm in his cloak, And meet him at twelve by the " Abbot's old oak." Meanwhile the clouds were collecting on high, Darker and darker grew the sky, And a rain-drop moistened that lady's eye As big as a half-crown piece. The lady she sighed, perchance for a coach. Threw on her lover one glance of reproach, And one on her satin pelisse. At this moment, when what to do neither could tell. Page appeared, bearing a brown silk umbrella. I don't mean a page Of this civihzed age. In a very tight jacket, with very short tails. Studded all over with brass-headed nails ; But an orthodox page, who, on bended knee. Said, " Miss, be so good as to come and make tea." Ealph instantly rose ; One kiss ere he goes — The page most discreetly is blowing his nose, — And, before you can thrice on John Robinson call, Ralph has cleared with a bound that garden wall. With no less speed He has mounted his steed, — A noble beast of bone and breed. Of sinewy limb. Compact, yet shm, "Warranted free from vice and from whim." Meanwhile the rain was beginning to soak THE abbot's oak. 103 Tiirough a very bad shift for a Macintosh cloak, Which — a regular do, — When only half new, Ealph had bought some time back from a parrot-nosed Jew, Trusting his word, with no further thought or proof. For it's being a patent-wove, London-made waterproof, — A fact, by the way, which most forcibly shows men How sharp they must look when they deal with old clothes- men. Little reck'd Ralph of the wind and the rain, On his inmost heart was preying that pain Which man may know once, but can ne'er know again ; That bitterest throe Of deepest woe. To feel he was loved, and was loved in vaiu. Now fiercer grew the tempest's force. And the whirlwind eddied round rider and horse. As onward they urged then- headlong course. O'er bank, brook, and briar. O'er streamlet and brake. By the red lightning's fire Their wild way they take. A country so awkward to go such a pace on Might have pozed Captain Beecher, Dan Seffert, or Mason. At once a flash, livid and clear, Shows a moss-grown ruin mouldering near ; The horseman stays his steed's career. 104 THE abbot's oak. And slowly breasts the steep. As slowly climbs that ancient mound, His courser spurns the holy ground, Where the dead of other days around Lie clasped in stony sleep. And mark against the luiid sky An oak uprears its form on high, And flings its branches free ; A thousand storms have o'er it broke, But well hath it stood the tempest stroke, — It is, it is the Abbot's oak, It is the trysting-tree. An hour hath passed, an hour hath flown, Ralph stands by the tree, but he stands alone. Till, surmising his dream is a regular hoax. He " confounds," with much energy " Abbots and oaks. And old gentlemen dying from Highlanders' strokes," Then enters a shed, which, though rather a cool house, Might serve at less need To hold him and his steed, — As it formerly served the old monks for a tool-house. Another hour was past and gone, Another day was stealing on. When Ralph, who was shaking With cold, thought of taking A nap, and was just between sleeping and waking, Was roused by his horse, who stood trembling and shaking. He opens his eyes. To raise himself tries. But a weight seems to press on his arms, chest, and thighs, THE abbot's oak. 105 Like a lifeless log he helplessly lies — Then conceive his amazement, alarm, and surprise, When, on every side, In its ancient pride, He sees an old monastery slowly arise ; Chapel and haU, Buttress and wall, Ivied spire, and turret tall. Grow on his vision one and all. Airy and thin. At first they begin To fall into outline, and slowly fill in ; At length in their proper proportions they fix. And assume an appearance exactly " like bricks." From the postern-gate of that Abbey gi-ey A band of monks pursue their way Till they come to the Abbot's oak. Ralph sees an eye he before has known, — 'Tis the eye of their leader, — fixed on his own ! It is, it is, The identical phiz Of his friend, or one precisely like his ! These words from his thin lips broke : — " This the time, and this the hour. Fails the Saint's protecting power. Gallant heart and steady hand. Now may burst the charmed band — Now: — " Here the knell Of an Abbey beU, On the ear of the wondering listener fell ; 106 THE abbot's oak. As if the sound, His limbs unbound, His strength, so strangely lost, is found ! Howling fled the wild Nightmare, As Ralph leaped forth from his secret lair, And gained at a bound the open air ; — He gazed around, but nothing was there ! Nothing save the roofless aisle. Nothing save the mouldering pile. Which looked, in the deepening shade half hid. As old and as ugly as ever it did. The storm had passed by. And the moon on high Beamed steadily forth from, the deep-blue sky. One single ray through the branches broke, It fell at the foot of the " Abbot's old oak." Still in Ealph's ear the words were ringing The words he had heard the old gentleman singing, " This the time, and this the hour," He felt that the tide at last was come, now or Never, to lead him to fortune and power. Of his trusty blade He very soon made An apology — ^poor one I grant — for a spade. And proceeded to work, though new at the trade, With hearty good will, where the roots seemed decayed. With labour and toil He turned up the soil. While he thought — THE abbot's oak. 107 As he ouglit — On that adage which taught " Persevei-ance, and patience, and plenty of oil ; " Tm, wearied grown, Muscle and bone, His sword broke short on a broad flag stone. In Eedgrave church the bells are ringing ; To Redgrave church a youth is bringing His bride, preceded by httle boys singing, — A custom considered the regular thing in Times past, but gone out in these latter days. When a pair may get married in fifty queer ways. In Redgrave church blush bridesmaids seven, One had turned faint, or they would have blushed even ; In Redgrave church a bride is given In face of man, in face of Heaven. In her sunshine of youth, in her beauty's pride The lady of Bottesdale stands that bride ; And Ralph of Redgrave stands by her side ; But no longer drest In homely vest. Coat, waistcoat and breeches, are all of the best ; His look so noble, his air so free. Proclaim a squire of high degree ; The lace on his garments is richly gilt, His elegant sword has a golden hUt, His "tile " in the very last fashion is built. 108 THE abbot's oak. His Eamillie wig Is burly and big, And a ring with a sparkling diamond his hand is on, Exactly as Eichardson paints Sir Charles Grandison. Nobody knows Or can even suppose, How Ealph of Eedgrave got such fine clothes ; For little Ned Snip, the tailor's boy said, — And a 'cuter blade was not in the trade, — That his master's bill had been long ago paid. Ah ! little, I ween, deem these simple folks. Who on Ealph's appearance are cracking their jokes, How much may be gained by a person who pOkes, At the right hour, under the right sort of oaks. Daiioit. 109 HAROUN" ALRASCHID. O'er the gorgeous room a luxurious gloom, Like the glow of a summer's eve, hung ; From its basin of stone, with rose-leaves bestrown, The fountain its coolness flung ; Perfumes wondrously rare fill'd the eunuch-fann'd air, And on gem-studded carpets around The poets sung forth tales of glory or mirth To their instruments' eloquent sound ; On a throne framed of gold sat their monarch the bold. With coffers of coin by his side, And to each, as he sung, lavish handfuls he flung, TiU each in his gratitude cried, " Long, long live great Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old !" Disturbing the feast, from the Rome of the East An embassage audience craves ; And Haroun, smiling bland, cries, dismissing the band, "We will look on the face of our slaves !" Then the eunuchs who wait on their Cahph in state Lead the messenger Lords of the Greek. 110 HAEOTJN ALEASCHID. Proud and martial their mien, proud and martial their sheen, But they bow to the Arab right meek ; And with heads bending down, though their brows, wear a frown, They ask if he audience bestow. " Yea, dogs of the Greek, we await ye, so speak ! — Have ye brought us the tribute you owe ? Or what lack ye of Haroim Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old?" Then the Greek spake loud, " To Alraschid the Proud This message our monarch doth send : While ye play'd 'gainst a Queen, ye could mate her, I ween — She could ill with thy pieces contend ; But Irene is dead, and a Pawn in her stead Holds her power and place on the board : By Nicephorus stem is the purple now worn. And no longer he owns thee for lord. If tribute ye claim, I am bade in his name This to tell thee, King of the World, With these, not with gold, pays Nicephorus bold !" — And a bundle of sword-blades he hurl'd At the feet of stem Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old. Dark as death was his look, and his every limb shook. As the Caliph glared round on the foe — HAEOUN ALRASCHID. Ill "View my answer !" he roar'd, and unsheathing his sword, Clove the bundle of falchions right through. " Tell my slave, the Greek hound, that Haroun the Eenown'd, Ere the sun that now sets rise again, Will be far on the road to his wretched abode, With many a myriad of men. No reply will he send, either spoken or penn'd ; But by Allah, and Abram otu- sire. He shall read a reply on the earth, in the sky, Writ in bloodshed, and famine, and fire ! Now begone !" thundered Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old. As the sun dropt in night by the murky torch- light. There was gathering of horse and of man : Tartai-, Gourd, Bishareen, Persian, swart Bedoween, And the mighty of far Khorasan — Of aU tongues, of aU lands, and in numberless bands. Round the Prophet's green banner they crowd. They are form'd in array, they are up and away. Like the locusts' calamitous cloud ; But rapine or spoil, tUl they reach the Greek soil. Is forbidden, however assail' d. A poor widow, whose fold a Courd robb'd, her tale told. And he was that instant impaled By the stem wrath of Haroun Abaschid, the Caliph of Babylon old ! 112 HAEOUN ALRASCHID. On o'er valley and hill, river, plain, onwards still, Fleet and fell as the desert-wind, on ! Where was green grass before, when that host had pass'd o'er. Every vestige of verdure was gone ! On o'er valley and hill, desert, river, on still, With the speed of the wild ass or deer, The dust of their tread, o'er the atmosphere spread, Hung for miles like a cloud in their rear. On o'er vaUey and hiU, desert, river, on still. Till afar booms the ocean's hoarse roar. And amid the night's gloom are seen tower, temple, dome — Heraclea, that sits by the shore ! The doom'd city of Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old. There was mirth at its height in thy mansions that night, Heraclea, that sits by the sea ! Thy damsels' soft smiles breathed their loveliest wiles. And the banquet was wild in its glee ! For Zoe the fair, proud Nicephorus' heir. That night was betrothed to her mate, To Theseus the Bold, of lUyria old, And the blood of the Island-kings great. When lo ! wild and lorn, and with robes travel-torn. And with features that paUidly glared, They the Arab had spirrn'd from Damascus return'd, Kush'd in, and the coming declared Of the armies of Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old. HAEOUN ALRASCHID. 113 A faint tumult afar, the first breathing of war, Multitudinous floats on the gale ; The lelie shout shrill, and the toss'd cymbals peal, And the trumpet's long desolate wail. The horse-tramp of swarms, and the clangour of arms. And the murmur of nations of men. Oh woe, woe, and woe, Heraclea shall know — She shall fall, and shall rise not again ; The spiders' dusk looms shall alone hang her rooms. The green grass shall grow in her ways. Her daughters shall wail, and her warriors shall quail, And herself be a sign of amaze, Through the vengeance of Haroun Abaschid, the Cahph of Babylon old. 'Tis the dawn of the sun, and the morn-prayer is done. And the murderous onset is made ; The Christian and foe they are at it, I trow, Fearfully plying the blade. Each after each roUs on to the breach, Like the slumberless roll of the sea. Bank rolling on rank rush the foe on the Frank, Breathless, in desperate glee ; The Greek's quenchless fire, the Mussiilman's ire Has hurled over rampart and wall. And 'tis all one wild hell of blades slaughtering fell, Where fiercest and fellest o'er all Work'd the falchion of Haroun Abaschid, the Caliph of Babylon old. 114 HAEOUN ALBASCHID. But day rose on day, yet Nioephorus grey, And Theseus, Ms daughter's betrothed, With warrior-like sleight kept the town in despite, Of the Moslem insidted and loathed. Morn rose after morn on the leaguers outworn, TiU the Caliph with rage tore his beard ; And, terribly wroth, sware a terrible oath — An oath which the boldest ev'n fear'd. So his mighty Emirs gat around their compeers. And picked for the onslaught a few. Oh ! that onslaught was dread, — every Moslem struck dead ! But, however, young Theseus they slew, And that gladdened fierce Haxoun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old. Heraclea, that night in thy palaces bright There was anguish and bitterest grief "He is gone ! he is dead ! " were the words that they said. Though the stunn'd heart refused its belief; Wild and far spreads the moan, from the hut, from the throne, Striking every one breathless with fear. " Oh ! Theseus the bold, thou art stark, — ^thou art cold, — Thou art young to be laid on the bier." One alone makes no moan, but with features like stone. In an ecstacy haggard of woe. Sits tearless and lorn, with dry eyeballs that burn. HAEOUN ALRASCHID. 115 And fitful her lips mutter low Dread threatenings against Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old. The next mom on the wall, first and fiercest of aU, The distraction of grief cast aside, In her lord's arms arrayed, Zoe plies the death- blade, — Ay, and, marry, right terribly plied. Her lovely arm fair, to the shoulder is bare, And nerved with a giant-like power Where her deadly sword sweeps fall the miglity in heaps ; Where she does but appear the foe cower. Rank on rank they rush on, — ^rank on rank are struck down, Till the ditch is choked up with the dead. The vulture and crow, and the wild dog, I trow, Made a dreadful repast that night as they fed On the liegemen of Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old. This was not to last. — The stern Moslem, downcast, Retrieved the next morning their might ; For Alraschid the bold, and the Barmecide old. Had proclaimed through the camp in the night. That whoso should win the first footing within The city that bearded their power. Should have for his prize the fierce girl with black eyes. And ten thousand zecchines as her dower. i2 116 HAKOUJJf ALEASCHID. It spurred them right weU ; and they battled and fell, Like hons, with long hunger wild. Ere that day set the sun Heraclea was won, And Mcephorus bold, and his child. Were captives to Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old. To his slave, the Greek hound, roared Haroun the Renowned, When before him Nicephorus came, " Though the pawn went to queen, 'tis checkmated, I ween. Thou'rt as bold as unskilled in the game. Now, Infidel, say, wherefore should I not slay The wretch that my vengeance hath sought?" — " I am faint, — I am weak, — and I thirst," quoth the Greek, " Give me drink." At his bidding 'tis brought ; He took it ; but shrank, lest 'twere poison he drank. " Thou art safe till the goblet be quaffed ! " Cried Haroun. The Greek heard, took the foe at his word. Dashed down on the pavement the draught, And claimed mercy of Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old. Haroun never broke word or oath that he spoke, So he granted the captive his life. And then bade his slaves bear stately Zoe the fair, To the warrior who won her in strife ; But the royal maid cried in the wrath of her pride. HABOCN ALRASCHID. 117 She would die ere her hand should be given, Or the nuptial caress should be lavished to bless Such a foe to her house and to Heaven. Her entreaties they spumed, and her menace they scorned ; But, resolute, spite of their power. All food she denied, and by self-famine died ; And her father went mad from that hour. Thus triumph'd stem Haroun Akaschid, the Caliph of Babylon old ! G. E. Inuan. 118 A TALE OF A CALF; OB, "doing" a gensd'abme. Most folks witli virtuous indignation Would "flare-up" at the imputation, (However weU-deserved the same,) Upon their fair and honest fame, Of trickery, and double-dealing. And such-like covert acts of stealing, Which don't amount to downright robbery, At which you could "kick up a bobbery," But just sail near enough the wind To leave the impression on your mind That you've been regularly " done," Of which few persons see the fim. Yet, somehow, these same honest people Their principle in practice keep ill ; For, though they'd talk of hostile meeting, And mayhap treat you to a beating, If you but hinted they were cheating. And, rather than defraud their neighbour. Would undergo twelve months' hard labour They think it quite a different thing To chouse our Sovereign Lord the King ; A TALE OF A CALF. 119 Or rather, now-a-days, I mean Her Gracious Majesty the Queen. That is, in fact, they reckon smuggling A very clever kind of juggling ; And, that they may the better do it, aye Exert their utmost ingenuity. And, certes, 'tis some consolation To soften down one's indignation At being hurried to that 6ore Of travellers, the custom-house. And there watched as by cat a mouse. While they your luggage are unpacking, And every trunk and bag ransacking. Turning your chattels topsy-turvy, And treating them in way most scurvy, To search if 'midst the various particles There lie hid any smuggled articles. I say you feel a satisfaction, As if you'd done a worthy action. To know that, spite of all their prying. They've missed, in some snug corner lying. No end of gloves, or Brussels lace. Or satins, as may be the case, Things which you've fetched across the Channel, . (Whose billows often make a man ill !) With sundry other odds and ends. As presents to your lady friends ; AU specimens of foreign finery. That ne'er were wrought by home machinery. And should, in consequence, pay duty 'Ere they adorn a native beauty. 120 A TALE OF A CALP. Well, I was going to tell a story To illustrate the case before ye, That somehow men are all inclined, If but occasion they can find, To cheat the royal revenue. Nor, as they are enjoined to do, Give custom to whom custom's due ; No matter whence those customs rise, From tolls, or taxes, or excise. " Be't known to all men by these presents," That, to raise money from the peasants, And other traders, who bring down Their country wares to seU in town. There stands in every road in France A irwreau (^octroi, in advance Of each town's suburbs, where they levy A toll proportionally heavy On every article that passes ; On pigs, and sheep, and fowls, and asses. On vin du pays, corn, and brandy, And other things which they command ye : And deuced sharp those gensd'armes look That none escape, by hook or crook, From " forking out " the full amount. For every item of the account ; And they must sure be " artful dodgers " Who can evade such prying codgers ; Though many " try it on," and so A few succeed, as I shall show. It happened that (no matter where It might be, Dieppe or St. Omer,) A TALE OF A CALF. 121 An honest butcher went one day A call professional to pay To some old farmer near the town, Whose grazing-stock held high renown, And purchase for his week's supply. Unless he found the price too high, A well-fed calf, or some such beast. On which his customers to feast. One was selected from the lot. Which Jean said was the best he'd got. And asked, of course, a longish price, Which Pierre refused him in a trice. Saying, he asked too much by half For such a " morceau " of a calf. On this they set to work, and grumbled, And haggled, " sacre'd," swore, and stumbled Upon some rather awkward names, Which added fuel to the flames, And might perchance have led to murther, Had they proceeded any further. But luckily a Frenchman's quarrel. As Johnny Grapaud does but spar Ul, After a wordy contest ends. In general in making friends — " Eh bien," the former says at last. After this little Ireeze was past, " Though on the price we can't agree. You're a good customer to me. And so for once, to make things pleasant, I'll make you of the calf a present ; But, mind you, Pierre, on one condition. 122 A TALE OF A CALF. Which is, despite the prohibition, That, while to town the beast conveying, You pass the octroi without paying." "Done ! " cries the butcher ; " come, I'll take it. Since you are wilhng thus to stake it ; And that gensd'arme, or any such man. If I don't chouse him, I'm a Dutchman ! But will you be so good as lend me That dog of yours there to attend me ? " His willingness did Jean express. Though Pierre's intent he could not guess ; So, without asking his permission. After some growls and opposition, He cramm'd the dog into a sack. And trudg'd off with him on his back, Giving him now and then a licking. To stop his howling and his kicking, Until at last the brute lay quiet. And didn't dare to make a riot. The octroi reach' d, he never stay'd. But look'd as if he wish'd to evade The keeper's eye, and hasten'd onward. Directing still his progress townward. Old Cerbenis, as he expected, A something from his look suspected. Which made him think all was not right ; So, in a manner most polite. He forthwith called the gemman back. And ask'd him what was in his sack. "Je vous assure. Monsieur, ce n'est rien," Says Pierre, " qu'ime pauvre b^te de chien, A TALE OP A CALF. 123 Dont un de mes amis m'a fait Le cadeau — voila tout ce que c'est ! " " Tell that to the marines," says t'other ; " So, come, let's see, without more bother. What you've got in that sack. I'll wager It's no dog. I'm too old a stager To humbug thus, you may depend on't ; And I must know, — so there's an end on't ! " Pierre made a well-feign' d opposition Before he deign'd to make submission, Grumbling that, if he oped the sack, The dog would cut him, and run back. And he should have his toil and trouble, By running after him, made double. Finding, at length, remonstrance vain, (Just what he wish'd, his end to gain,) He quietly untied the string. And so contrived that one good spring Set free the dog, who, not admiring His narrow berth, with speed untiring. And Pierre's loud voice his terror heightening, Bolted off home like " butter'd lightning." " I told you how 'twould be," says Pierre ; " It's fit to make a bishop swear ! " So growling forth, as if in spite. Some words " unfit for ears polite," He started off, as in pursuit Of his emancipated brute ; While Cerberus, thinking it good fun, Laugh'd at the mischief he had done. Returning to his friend's abode. 124 A TALE Ot A CALF. A little way along the road, Pierre didn't stop the dog to search, Which thus had left him in the lurch. Because, as you may take for granted. The dog was not the thing he wanted ; But this time, as was his intent. He bagg'd the calf, and oif he went. The gensd'arme seeing him once more With the same sack he had before. Of coiu-se concluded 'twas the dog. And onwards suffer'd Pierre to jog. Observing archly, as he pass'd. He saw he'd caught the dog at last. And hoped Monsieur was none the worse After his unexpected " course." Pierre answer'd nothing,, but within Himself thought, " Let them laugh that win ; '' For, after cheating this old stager. He gain'd his calf, and won his wager. A. K. W. 125 AN APOLOGY FOR NOSES. We read in Romance, Poem, Novel, and Play, Be the subject mysterious, tragic, or gay. In Forget-me-not, Keepsake, and aU other Annuals, Voyages, Essays, Tales, Handbooks, and Manuals, Of soul-piercing eye, Of brow fair and high. Of locks that with ravens' jet plumage may vie. Of cheeks that disclose Warmer blush than the rose, — But tell me what poet has sung of the Nose ? 'Tis a cutting disgrace To each weU-moulded face. Its best feature by scornful neglect to abase : Ye, who write verse or prose. Will make thousands of foes. If ye foUow the fashion in slighting the nose. As in eyes folks are apt to prefer black or blue, As in hair a rich aubum's a popular hue. As a maidenly blush is more charming to view Than the lovehest flow'r that in garden ere grew, 126 AN APOLOGY FOE NOSES. As the lips should appear for a warm kiss to sue, As the breath should be sweeter than rose wash'd with dew, So the nose, to be perfect, (for tho' 'tis true, no man Can be perfect, his nose may,) should surely be Roman. There are noses of aU sorts, — pugs, aquilines, crooks. Cocks, Grecians, Dutch tea-pots, snubs, hat-pegs, and hooks, — Nay, the list, I dare say, would admit of extension, As the genus depends on the form and dimension ; And seldom, if ever, (I perhaps may add never,) Will you find two alike, tho' for years you endeavour ; Tho' a man search, unfetter'd by hind'rance or trammel, he Need not expect to see two in a family. By many 'tis said That a mind may be read By a critical glimpse at the bumps on the head, While others maintain That as daylight 'tis plain. There's a method more easy such knowledge to gain ; They profess all your habits and feelings to trace. If you'U only allow them to look in your face. Again, who does not from experience know. Men are seldom admired if their foreheads are low 1 A fine open brow is imagined to be A mirror wherein the whole heart we can see. How often do poets say, we may descry A proud haughty soul in a dark flashing eye 1 While a glance soft and tender (as who cannot prove ?) Expresses confiding affection and love. AN APOLOGY FOE NOSES. 127 Ye bards, hide your heads — now a champion is come To redress the wrong'd noses of Greece and of Rome, And, defying the boasted success of Phrenology, Will establish a science, and caU it JSTose-ology ! Now each learn'd M.D. WiU doubtless agree, On the virtues of analysation, with me ; Nor will any oppose (When the facts I disclose) My project of thus analysing the nose ; Tho,' — if I would convince either siUy or sensible, — A few facts (or fictions) are quite indispensable. Imprimis — a nose, be its form what it may. Should be decently large, (or, as some people say, A nose you could find in a bottle of hay,) Not hke those you may see in the street any day. But something more out of the usual way, Like (if weU I remember) the nose of Lord Grey, Or his, whose proud home you may pause to survey, If towards Hyde-Park-Comer you happen to stray ; (And here, I may venture a tribute to pay Of respect to the nose, which in many a fray Secured the brave leader's victorious sway, In spite of Soult, Marmont, Massona, and Ney ;) 'Tis a fact, tho' a hero in mind and in body. If a man has a small nose he looks a Tom Noddy. I've hinted before, (And none but a bore 128 AN APOLOGY FOR NOSES. Says a thing more than once, so enough on that score,) What shape I like best ; But I never professed To lay down the law as regards others, lest My readers might fancy my motives were sinister. And trust me no more than they would a Prime Minister. Now I think every man Should give " sops in the pan " To the fair-sex, when he conscientiously can ; So in this present case. With the very best grace I own that, to set off a feminine face Peeping 'neath a smart cap, with an edging of lace, A Grecian nose is by no means out of place ; But stop there, my dears, Lucy, EUen, and Jacqueline, It's no use your teasing, I can't bear an aquiline. Paul Bedford, Paul Bedford, 'twould Ul become me To omit a poor tribute of homage to thee. E'en now in my mind's eye I see thee once more. Like a dignified lion beginning to roar ; While the sound of thy voice thro' each startled ear And Echo, half frightened, repeats " Jolly Nose ! " Ah, Paul ! only think, Tho' men now-a-days shrink From a song lest by chance it should tempt 'em to drink, It was not so with thee. As a proof of which, see (Tho' so many are sold — out of print it may be — ) AN APOLOGY FOR NOSES. 129 Thy portrait in eveiy music depdt, Exclusively publish'd by D'Almaine and Co. For thy chant is a triumph o'er duU melancholy, And thy very phiz proves that the nose must be jolly. Search History's page From the earliest age, Trace the portraits of warrior, poet, and sage ; Or, to solve your doubts, seek Any statue antique, It matters not whether 'tis Eoman or Greek, For its nose to the truth of my doctrine will speak : 'Tis a prominent feature in worthies like Plato, Or Socrates, Seneca, Csesar, or Cato ; But you'll find snubs predominate (Reader, I'm serious,) In every bust that exists of Tiberius. Besides, the mere name Could formerly claim For its lucky possessor no small share of fame. As in his case, whose writings I once was quite pat in, (And should be now, but I've forgotten my Latin, Tho' I've left school some time, 'tis with shame that I ?ay so,) I once was so fond of Ovidius Naso ! Look closely, and then contradict, if you can, That the Nose is, and must be, a type of the Man. CnAKLES Hebvey. 130 THE THREE DAMSELS. Three damsels look'd down from the castle tower That frown'd o'er the winding vale, Where, borne on his steed of matchless breed, Rode their sire in knightly mail. " And welcome, Sir Father ! and welcome," they cried, " To thy daughters, who long for thy coming have sigh'd ! Oh, say, what gifts dost thou bring 1 " " On thee thy fond father hath thought to-day, My fair girl in yellow drest ; For dear to thy heart is the toilet's art, And jewels and gems please thee best. So take thou this chain of ruddy gold ; I won it in fight from a gallant bold, And that gallant bold I slew ! " The damsel hath flung that glittering chain Her swan-like heck around ; And she sought put the spot where the gallant slain All drench'd in his gore she found. " Oh, shame, that a knight like a knave should lie The scorn and the scoff of each vulgar eye ! Hath my loved one no resting-place 1 " THE THEEB DAMSELS. 131 And his ghastly corpse hi her arms she bore To the ground that the priests had blest ; And she imirmiu''d a prayer as she laid him there In the tomb where her fathers rest. And close round her neck the chain she drew TiU the last breath of life from her bosom flew, And she shmiber'd by him she loved ! Two damsels look'd down from the castle tower That frown'd o'er the winding vale, Where, borne on his steed of matchless breed, Kode their sire in knightly mail. " And welcome, Sir Father ! and welcome," they cried, " To thy daughters, who long for thy coming have sigh'd ! Oh, say, what gifts dost thou bring ?" " On thee thy fond father hath thought to-day, My fair girl that in green art drest ; For dearly thou lovest to greenwood to stray. And the chase ever joys thee best. Then take thou this javehn, my venturous child ; I won it in fight from the hunter wild. And the hunter wild I slew !" The javelin she took from her father's hand, Then roam'd to the greenwood away ; But the horn that she wound gave a dirge-Uke sound, 'Stead of hunter's roundelay : And she saw 'neath a willow-tree's mournful shade The youth of her heart in deep sleep laid, — ■ The deep, deep sleep of death ! k2 132 THE THREE DAMSELS. " Oh, true to the faith that I plighted, I come To our trysting-place, loved one, to thee !" And quick in her heart hath she buried the dart, And sunk her beneath the tree. And o'er the two fond ones sweet flow'rets spring, And the birds of the forest at summer-tide sing The lovers' Itdlaby ! One damsel look'd down from the castle tower That frown'd o'er the winding vale. Where, borne on his steed of matchless breed, Rode her sire in knightly mail. " And welcome, Sir Father ! and welcome," she cried, " To thy daughter, who long for thy coming hath sigh'd ! Oh, say, what gift dost thou bring ?" " Nay, think not thy sire hath forgotten thee. My fair girl that in white art drest ; For dearer than gems are the soft flowers to thee. And the gardens e'er joy thee best. From the gardener so skill' d, for my darling one. This flow'ret, than silver- far fairer, I won. And the gardener so skill'd I slew !" " And hast thou then slain that gardener so skill'd, — That gardener so skill'd hast thou slain ? My flowers did he rear with a father's care — Now they never will bloom again ! And he swore to his loved one, no fairer flower E'er blush'd 'midst the beauties of Flora's bower Than the flow'ret he nurtured for me !" THE THREE DAMSELS. 133 Then next to her bosom so gentle she laid The flow'ret her father had given ; And forth to the garden she dolefully stray' d, — That garden her home and her heaven ! There a small mound freshly raised she descried, And the lilies, like moiimers, were drooping beside ; And she sunk on that freshly-raised mound ! " Oh, could I but do as my sisters have done, — But die as my sisters have died ! — But my delicate flower to wound hath no power, And death at its hands is denied ! " Like the flower that she gazed on, so wan and pale. Did she breathe out her life to the passing gale ; — Like her flower did she fade and die ! 134 THE LOVE-MEECHANT. It was not until after I had written the following fable that the similarity of its point to that of the beautiful song, " Who 'U buy my love-knota ? " occurred to me. I am aware that my case may be thought to resemble his, who, when accused of having borrowed his thoughts from the immortal Bard of Avon, replied, " It is no fault of mine that Shakspeai-e and myself should have had the same ideas." Nevertheless, I venture to assert that my humble muse is not more indebted to that of the " Modem Anaoreon " for the conception of this fable, than is the midnight lamp for its glimmering rays to the glorious orb of day. It was entirely suggested by a "fresco" painting, still existing on the walls of a house in Pompeii ; and if my readers could have watched, as I did, the process of removing the envious ' ' lapilli " which had concealed it for so many ages, they would, I think, allow for the impression it was likely to produce, and acquit me of plagiarism. The painting represents the figure of an old man, with a long white beard and flowing garments. Before him stands a large cage, or basket, containing several imprisoned "amorini," one of whom he has raised from it, and is holding forth by the wings, to attract the atten- tion of a group of females. On the foreground lie a pair of compasses, and a mathematical figure described on a tablet. O'bb Cupid and his quiver'd band Chronos, who seem'd in beard a sage. Had gain'd a most complete command, — Thanks to philosophy — or age ; For 'twas a subject of debate To which he owed his tranquil state. THE LOVE-MEECHANT. 135 The old assign'd the former cause, The young insisted on the latter, And quite denied "that Wisdom's laws Had help'd the dotard in the matter." But though one passion was assuaged In Chronos' breast, another raged. And gain'd unlimited control (Spite of the virtue rules confer) Over the calculating soul Of that self-styled philosopher. This stiunbling-block was love of gold, (A vice well suited to the old,) Which led him to conclude " 'twas vain To triumph where he could not gain ; " And, after some slight hesitation As to such mode of speculation. Induced him to seU oflF the prizes — Loves of all characters and sizes. Which he by some strange arts had won From Venus and her fav'rite son. Nor did the miser Chronos stop, As moderns would, to paint his shop ; No brazen plate announced his trade. But, o'er the baskets he display'd, On a rude board, which served as well, He simply chalk' d up " Loves to seU ! " Now Loves, though always in demand. Had ne'er been kept as " stock in hand," Or shown for public sale before : 136 THE LOVE-MERCHANT. (I write of very ancient days — ) So, when our sage produced his store, The chronicle I quote from says. That "there ensued a perfect race Amongst the ladies of the place ; That old and young, the gay, the staid, Each wife, each mother, and each maid. With one accord were seen to start. And crowd and jostle round the mart. If not to buy, at least to stare Upon this novel sort of ware." I hear some blooming reader say, " What had the old to do there, pray ? * But I declare, by those bright eyes. Although the fact may raise surprise, E'en grandmammas were seen among That motley and excited throng ! At their tenth " lustrum " men may cease * * Horace seems to have thought fifty a very proper age for retiring from the field of amorous warfere. "Desiue, duloium Mater saeva Cupidinum, Oi/rca, lustra decern flectere mollibus Jam durum imperils." In a preTious ode he had already declared his intention of reposing on Ms laurels, " Vixi puellia nuper idoneus, Et militavi non sine gloria ; Nunc arma, defuuotumque bello Barbiton hie panes habehit, Lsevnm mariuie qui Veneris latu Custodit." THE LOVE-MBECHANT. 137 To listen to fair Venus' call, May oifer up their prayers for peace, Suspend their trophies on her " wall," And with some quiet, dull employment,' Replace love's turbulent enjoyment. But, — ^when they once have raised on high The scarlet flag of gallantry, — Women will still prolong the war. In spite of wrinkle and of scar ! Nay, frown not, fair one, for 'tis trae — Though, mark, I do not -write of you. Goddess of Courtesy forfend That aught by me should e'er be penn'd 'Gainst one whose charms of form and face Yield only to her mental grace ! I write (perhaps my rnuse is rash) Of those to whom, like Lady , A certain character is given, But who contrive to be " received," Because the mates they fit for heaven Are either patient or — deceived : And I assert as my conviction. Without much fear of contradiction, That stich will oft defer the age For quitting Love's seductive " stage," Till Death, whose " management is certain," Cuts shoi-t the " farce," and " drops the curtain." But let us turn from this digression To Chronos in his new profession. 138 THE LOVE-MERCHANT. That cunning rogue, who knew how best He should consult his interest, Determined that his sale should be A " Ladies' sale " exclusively ; And, thinking that to flattery's art Their strings^ alike of purse and heart Would soonest yield, display' d his skill To gain his customers' good will — He held his Cupids high in air, To move the pity of " the fair," And raised his profits " cent per cent," By many a weU-turn'd compliment. " First, I declare," the sage began, * " That I'll not serve one single man Until each lady in the crowd. Who may to purchase be inclined. Has been, with due respect, allow'd To choose a Cupid to her mind. Then hasten, lovely dames, nor fear To meet with disappointment here ; For my capacious cages hold Loves for the young and for the old. Loves for the beauteous and the plain ! Though, pardon me, I see 'twere vain 'Mongst those assembled here to seek A plain or e'en a wrinkled cheek. Yet, though you're young and handsome all, Love comes not always at your call ; Or if it does, you do not find Your lovers always to your mind. THE LOVE-MERCHANT. 139 Then haste with confidence to me, And take what suits you best — for see ! These pretty captives do but wait Your choice to free them from the state Of thraldom into which they 're thrown By me for your dear sakes alone." As thus he spoke a cage he shook, When, such was the imploring look Of each poor pris'ner, as in turn He flutter'd to the close-barr'd side. That every heart began to yearn ; And, whilst the poorer deeply sigh'd To think that poverty's control Must check the promptings of the soul, — The richer dames, who could afibrd To feel, approach' d with one accord, And each, with mingled blush and smile, Eequested that from durance vile The little Love she most approved Should to her keeping be removed. 'Twas for the sage no easy matter, Amidst so great a din and clatter. To hear and satisfy the claim Preferr'd by each aspiring dame ; Yet so much patience he display'd In carrying on his novel trade, That, ere the shades of evening fell, He'd not a Cupid left to sell. And not alone did men complain 140 THE LOVE-MEECHANT. Of having tarried there in vain ; But (since his wares had all been sold At heavy prices to the old, Or matrons " of a certain age," The next his notice to engage) Full many a disappointed maid, Who her last drachma would have paid For e'en a feather from the wing Of such a pretty flutt'ring thing. Went home in anger and despair To dream of joys she could not share. The miser chuckled when alone To see such piles of wealth his own — At thoughts of having taken in The richest ladies 6f the place His wrinkles gather'd to a grin, And tears of joy taedew'd his face. But still one thought would dash his pleasure- The dread of losing such a treasm'e ; And whilst an extra cruse of oil Was burnt in counting out his spoil. His door that night was doubly barr'd, The dearly-cherish'd wealth to guard. Nor was the sage's caution vain ; For with the morning came a crowd That sought admittance to obtain. With angry voices shrill and loud. Together crying out — " You old Curmudgeon, give us back our gold ; For all our Loves have flown away ! " — THE LOVE-MERCHANT. 141 " I never told you they would stay," Said Chronos, peeping safely o'er A broken panel in his door : — " The Loves that ladies deign to buy Have wings expressly made to fly ! I cannot now refund their price ; But for your money take advice, And, to insure affection true, Seek not for love — ^let love seek you ! " W. B. Le Gros. 142 THE DEATH OF PIERS DE GAVESTON.* " Now, by my soul, he dies ! Sir Knights, I'ye sworn ere I depart, That Arden's black hound shall have blood, his teeth shall grind his heai-t ! The scornful stripling who has dared to beard me to my face, — By Heaven, it makes me almost mad to brook such foul disgrace ! " Fiercely, and with impassion'd voice, the Earl of Warwick spoke, And the deep tones through the lofty hall a murmuring echo woke ; The three knights sat in thoughtful mood, and by their half-drawn breath. It seem'd as if their minds were one, and their resolve was death ! * Piers de Gaveston, although guilty of many follies, was the victim of gross treachery. Confiding in a treaty, by which his life was to have been spared, he became the dupe of Lords Warwick, Arundel, Hereford, &c., whose knightly honour had been pledged for its fulfil- ment. Guy de Beauohamp, Earl of Warwick, in conjunction with the others, conveyed him to his own castle, and thence to Blacklow Hill, a mile distant, where he was beheaded. THE DEATH OP PIEES DE GAVBSTOIT. 143 Then rose Earl Arundel, " Methinks Gaveston's fate is seal'd, But there are things of grave import, I ween, should be reveal'd ; My Lord of Beauchamp ! lead us forth, that we ourselves may see How well the dainty Gascon and thy prison-hold agree." On the mattress of a gloomy cell, in Warwick's ancient keep, Lay a gallant form, and comely clad, whose eyes were closed in sleep ; The locks fell loosely o'er a brow that seem'd surpassing- fair. And features that had lovely been, but for their haughty air. A smile was on his pallid cheek, a sneer his proud lip wore, — Was he thinking of some courtly fete he mingled in once more 1 Dark thoughts have veil'd that smile in shade, his hands are clench' d — he raves ! " Ye part me from my royal liege, — down, down, false abject slaves ! " He waken' d with a start — ^his naked arm had touch' d the steel That bound him to the stony floor, on which was plaeed his meal, 144 THE DEATH OF PIEKS DE GAVESTOX. Eich leaven, with the choicest fruits and wines ; but all in vain, For they were spread beyond his reach, to mock his burning brain ! The door creak'd harshly on its hinge, and then 'twas open'd wide, And Gaveston beheld the knights advance, with stately pride ; Their visors scarce conceal'd the ire that from their dark eyes bum'd, But, unabash'd, each fiery glance the prisoner calm retum'd. " Methought ye would not wait for me to linger o'er yon food. The vulture spurns the carrion cold, and slacks its thirst with blood ! Come on, bold traitors to your king ! wreak all your rage on me. And murd'ring him who scorns ye all, complete your treachery ! " Then loudly laugh'd Earl Hereford — " Ay, call upon your king, And see if Edward to thine aid his myrmidons wiU bring. The childish monai-ch is, like thee, a suppliant for life. And soon the grave will hold ye both, and with it England's strife ! " THE DEATH OF PIERS DE GAVBSTON. 145 The words came to the captive's soiil wing'd as a pois'nous dart, The head bow'd low to hide a tear, a chiU came o'er his heart ! The shuddering frame too plainly told the fears for which 'twas moved ; They were not for himself, but for the master he had loved ! '' What, whining now ! " Lord Beauchamp cried. " Right glad I am 'tis thus ; The cub, in thinking of its sire, forgets to bark at us. What say ye, lords, to this rare sport ? The singing-bird is mute, No more to strain o'er wassail cups, or sing to lady's lute ! " As a flash of lightning shoots athwart the gloomy folds of night, Or a tiger glaring on his prey, the youth survey'd the knight : — " It boots thy bravery to taunt a captive in thy cell ; But were I with thee in the field, it might not suit so weU ! " " By my father's sword," the Earl replied, " one brief hour shall not pass Before ye view the field ye crave, and mingle with its grass ! 146 THE DEATH OF PIEES DB GAVESTON. And even in death these towers of mine shall gaze upon thee BtUl. Mount ! mount ! my men, and lead him forth : he dies on Blacklow Hill ! " The torches shed a fitful gleam, as fast they spread along. And the night-winds, ruffled by the tramp, pour'd forth a dirge-like song. No time for prayer — the neck was bent — the blade hung glittering o'er — " My king ! " he murmur'd as it fell, — and Gaveston was no more ! Oh ! lonely is that place of blood ; a huge cross marks the site Where fell dishonour stain'd the shields long gain'd in valiant fight. Ye who may gaze with awe-struck soul on that unhallow'd spot. Mar not the sleep of death! — let all his frailties be forgot! William Johks. 147 THE RED-BREAST OF AQUITANIA. AH HUMBLE BALLiD. "Are not two sparrows sold for a- farthing 1 yet not one of them shall fall to the ground without yow Father.'" — St. Matthew, x. 29. ' ' Gallos ab Aquitanis GARDMif A flumen." — ^.TnLius C^SAU. " Sermons in stones, and good in everything." — Shakspeke. ' ' Genius, left to shiver On the hank, 'tis said, Died of that cold river." — Tom Mooke. River trip from Thou- louse to Bourdeaux. Thermome- ter at "0. Snow 1^ foot deep. Use of wooden shoes. Oh, 'twas bitter cold As our steam-boat roll'd Down the pathway old Of the deep Gaeonnb,- And the peasant lank, While his sabot sank In the snow-clad bank, Saw it roll on, on. T" Oascoa farmer hieth to his cot- tage, and drinketh a flaggoone. And he hied him home To his toit de chawme ; And for those who roam On the broad bleak flood 148 THE EED-BREAST OF AQUITANIA. Cared he ? Not a thought ; For his beldame brought His wine-flask fraught With the grape's red blood. Hewarmeth his cold shins at a wooden fire. Good b'ye to him. And the -wood-block blaze Fed his vacant gaze As we trod the maze Of the river down. Soon we left behind On the frozen wind All farther mind Of that vacant clown. Y« Father meeteth a stray ac- quaintance in a small bird. But there came anon, As we journey'd on Down the deep Gaeonne, An acquaintancy, Which we deem'd, I count, Of more high amount, For it oped the fount Of sweet sympathy. Noty" famous alba- tross of that aiucient ma- riner olde Coleridge, but a poore robin. 'Twas a stranger drest In a downy vest, 'Twas a wee Eed-breast, CNoi a,n " Albatross") THE RED-BREAST OP AQUITANIA. 149 But a wanderer meek, Who fain would seek O'er the bosom bleak Of that flood to cross. y« sparrow crossing y» river mak- eth hys half- way house of the fire- ship. And we watch'd him oft As he soar'd aloft On his pinions soft, Poor wee weak thing, And we soon could mark That he sought our bark, As a resting ark For his weary wing. Delusive hope. Y" fire-ship runneth 10 knots an hour: 'tis no go for y" sparrow. But the bark, fire-fed. On her pathway sped, And shot far arhead Of the tiny bird. And quicker in the van Her swift wheels ran, As the quickening fan Of his winglets stirr'd. T" byrde is led a wildo goose chace adown y river. Vain, vain pursuit ! Toil without fruit ! For his forked foot Shall not anchor there. 150 THE EED-BBBAST OF AQUITANIA. Tho' the boat meanwhile Down the stream beguile For a bootless mile The poor child of air ! Symptomes of fatigue. 'Tis melan- cliolie to fall between 2 stools. And 'twas plain at last He was flagging fast, That his hour had past In that eifort vain ; Far from either bank, Sans a saving plank, Slow, slow he sank, Nor uprose again. Mortof J birde. And the cheerless wave Just one ripple gave As it oped him a grave In its bosom cold. And he sank alone, With a feeble moan, • In that deep Gaeonne, And then all was told. Y" old man at y« helm weepeth for a Sonne lost in y bay of Biscaye. But our pilot grey Wiped a tear away ; In the broad Biscaye He had lost his boy ! THE RED-BEBAST OF AQUITANIA. 151 And that sight brought back On its furrow'd track The remember'd wreck Of long perish' d joy ! CondoleancQ of y" ladyes ; eke of 1 chasseur d'infanterie Ughre. And the tear half hid In soft Beauty's lid Stole forth unhid For that red-breast bird ; And the feeling crept, — For a Waeeior wept ; And the silence kept Found no fitting word. Olde Father Proutte sadly moralizetli aneut y* birde. But / mused alone, For I thought of one Whom I well had known In my earlier days. Of a gentle mind, Of a soul refined. Of deserts design'd For the Palm of Praise. T" Streame ofLyfe. A younge mau of fayre promise. And well would it seem That o'er Life's dark stream. Easy task for Him In his flight of Fame, 152 THE BED-BREAST OF AQUITANIA. Was the Skyward Path, O'er the billow's wrath, That for Genius hath Ever been the same. Hys earlie flyght across y« sti'eame. XT. And I saw him soar From the morning shore. While his fresh wings bore Him athwart the tide. Soon with powers unspent As he forward went, His wings he had bent On the sought-for side. A newe ob- ject calleth • his eye from y" maine chaunce. But while thus he flew, Lo ! a vision new Caught his wayward view With a semblance fair. And that new-found wooer Could, alas ! allure From his pathway sure The bright child of air. Instabilitie " of purpose a fatall evyl in lyfe. XVII. For he turn'd aside. And adowu the tide For a brief hour plied His yet unspent force, THE RED-BREAST OF AQUITANIA. 153 And to gain that goal Gave the powers of soul, Which, unwasted, whole. Had achieved his course. This is y morall of Father ProTit's humble ballade, A bright Spirit, young, Unwept, unsung, Sank thus among The drifts of the stream ; Not a record left, — Of renown bereft. By thy cruel theft, DELUSIVE DREAM ! L'ENVOT TO W. H. AINSWORTH, ESQ. WHILOMB, ADTHOK OF THE ADMIKABIE " OEIOHIOIT," SUBSEQUENT CHKONIOLEK OF " JAOK SHEPPARD." which he wrotte by waxlight in the hostel de Oascoigne at Bourdeaux, 6 Jan. 1841. Thus sadly I thought As that bird unsought The remembrance brought Of thy bright day ; And I penn'd full soon This Dirge, while the moon Op the broad Garonne Shed her wintry ray. Fathek Pnoni. 154 THE COUNTRY SQUIRE. AH ANOIEKT LEGEND, SHOWIKS HOW THE FAIK HELD EVEKT OOTOBEK AT HOTTINGHAM WAS EIEST CALLED HOTTINGHAM GOOSE PAIR. In a small pretty village in Nottinghamshire There formerly lived a respectable squire, Who possess'd an estate from inonmbranoes clear, _ And an income enjoy' d of a thousand a year. The coimtry he loved : he was fond of the chace, And now and then enter'd a horse at a race ; He exceU'd all his friends in amusements athletic ; And his manner of living was far from ascetic. A wife he had taken "for better, for worse," Whose temper had proved an intolerant curse ; And 'twas clear to perceive this unfortunate wife Was the torment, vexation, and plague of his life. Her face it was fair ; — ^but a beautiful skin May sometimes conceal a bad temper within ; And those who are anxious to fix their affections, Should always look further than lovely complexions. THE COUNTRY SQUIEE. 155 Nine years pass'd away, and, to add to his grief, No infantile prattle e'er brought him rehef ; When at length, to his great and unspeakable joy, He the father became of a fine little boy. The father grew proud of his juvenile heir, A sweet little cherub with dark eyes and hair ; And yet, strange to say, his paternal anxiety Soon debarr'd him the bhss of his darling's society. For he thought (and with truth), to his termagant wife Might be justly ascribed all the woes of his life. " Had I ne'er seen a woman," he often would sigh, " What squire in the county so happy as I ! " In a forest retired, some mUes far away, (Whether Sherwood or not the traditions don't say,) Om- hero possess'd an Arcadian retreat, A snug little hunting-box, rural and neat. Strange fancies men have — it was here he design' d To watch o'er the dawn of his son's youthful mind ; Where, only approach'd by the masculine gender, No room should be left him for feelings more tender. To further his plans, he procured coadjutors In two very excellent pains-taking tutors ; Who agreed, for the sake of two hundred a year. His son to instruct, and immure themselves here. 156 THE COUNTRY SQUIRE. The boy was intelligent, active, and bright, And took in his studies uncommon delight. And his tutors declared him " a pleasure to teach," So docile, so good, so obedient to each. No juvenile follies distracted his mind. No visions of bright eyes, or damsels unkind. And those fair demi-sisterly beings so gay. Yclept pretty cousins, ne'er popp'd in his way. Time sped quickly on, years succeeded to years. Yet brought no abatement of fatherly fears. Till at length this remarkably singular son Could number of years that had pass'd twenty-one. The autumn was come ; 'twas the end of October, When summer's gay tints change to liv'ries more sober ; And, the 3rd of this month, it is known far and near. There's a large fair at Nottingham held every year. Now the father had settled his promising son Should his studies conclude when he reach'd twenty-one ; And a view of the world was the only thing needed To prove how his singular schemes had succeeded. He fix'd on this fair as the place of debut ; — Strange resolve ! — ^when to keep the fair out of his view Had been his most anxious endeavours through life, And a bone of contention 'twixt him and his wife THE COUNTRY SQUIRE. 157 This point by his firmness he'd constantly carried, (The only one gain'd ever since he was married,) And he went with a heart beating high with emotion. To laimch his young son on life's turbulent ocean. As they enter'd the fair a young maiden tripp'd by. With a cheek like the rose, and a bright laughing eye : " Oh ! father, what's that 1 " cried the youth with delight, As this vision of loveliness burst on his sight. " Oh, that," cried the cautious and poHtic squire, Who did not the youth's ardent glances admire, " Is only a thing call'd a Goose, my dear son, — We shall see many more ere our visit is done." Blooming damsels now pass'd with their butter and cheese, Whose beauty might even an anchorite please : " Merely geese ! " said the squire ; " don't mind them, my dear, There are many things better worth looking at here." As onwards they pass'd, every step brought to view Some spectacle equally curious and new ; And the joy of the youth hardly knew any boimds At the rope-dancers, tumblers, and merry go-rounds. Now it's known to all young damsels and swains That an excellent custom at these times obtains, When each to his friends is expected to make Some little donation to keep for his sake. 158 THE COUNTRY SQUIEE. And thus, when the tour of the fail- was completed, The father resolved that the boy should be treated ; So, pausing an instant, he said, " My dear son, A new era to-day in your life has begun : " Though the plans I've adopted to some may seem strange, You have never induced me to wish for a change ; And each day that passes dehghts me to find Fresh proofs of a sensible well-order' d mind. " And now, in remembrance of Nottingham Fair, As a proof of your father's affection and care, Of all this bright scene, and the gaieties in it. Choose whatever you like, it is yours from this minute." " Choose whatever I like ! " cried the youthful recluse, " Oh, thank you, dear father, — ^then give me a Goose ! ! " Geis. 159 THIS WORLD OF OURS. This world of ours, if free from sin, Oh ! would it not be fair ? Sunshine above, and flowers beneath, And beauty everywhere ! The air, the earth, the waters teem With living things at play ; Glad Nature from an hundred throats Pours her rejoicing lay. Each balmy breeze that wanders by Whispers some angel tone ; And the clear foimtains have a voice Of music all their own. Even the leaves of forest trees, Moved by the zephyr's wing. Make a low murmur of content To little birds that sing. The busy bees o'er garden-flowers A holy song attune, Joining, with never-tiring mirth. The minstrelsy of June : 160 THIS WOELD OF OUES. And the great waves upon the deep, Leaping, like giants free, Add, in their hollow monotone. The chorus of the sea. There's beauty in the summer sky. When from his ocean bed. Like a strong man refresh'd by sleep. The Sun uplifts his head ; — And when behind the western rooks At eventide he goes, How beauteous are the crimson clouds That curtain his repose ! Are not the grassy valleys fair, Deck'd in their spring array 1 And the high hills with forest clad, How beautiful are they ! Look on the sea, that girdle vast. Wherewith the earth is bound ! Even in Fancy's wildest dreams Can aught more grand be found ? Oh ! 'twere indeed a radiant world, A paradise complete, — So redolent of lovely things. So fiU'd with voices sweet, — ' If Sin had not in evil hour Enter'd this pleasant clime. Yielding them over unto Death, — Sad consequence of crime ! THIS WOBLD OF OUES. 161 Hence is it that the choicest flow'rs Fall by a swift decay, And hopes to which we fondly cling Pass suddenly away ; Yet, 'mid all trials of our life. This blessed thought is giyen. Earth is not our abiding place, — Man's native clime is Heaven ! W. G. J. Barker. 162 A TALE OF TRANSMIGRATION. ADDKK33ED BT A MOTH TO A VEKY EEAUTIEnL TOTJITe LADY. MoBTAL, of material finer Than thy sisterhood of clay ! Hearken to me, purest china ! While I " hum " a mournful lay. List ! it is a dismal duty, And take warning from my fate ; I was once a famous beauty, Courted by the rich and great. Yes — ^but start not — ^these antennse Once were fingers of a hand, Sought in wedlock, too, by many Lords and nobles of the land. Though now hateful to beholders!, And a scouted creature grown, I had once a neck and shoulders Quite as charming as your own. A TALE OP TRANSMIGRATION. 163 Though SO lovely, still my carnal Heart was fiU'd with foUy full : Hasten to the loathsome chamel- House, and gaze upon my skuU. There observe a gentle rising, Like an island of the sea, Its dimensions are surprising, 'Tis the bump of vanity. Love of dress and approbation Was a fatal snare to me ; It has hurl'd me from my station, And has left me — what you see. Many lovers was my passion : I beheld a youthful one, Handsome, — and the height of fashion. And I mark'd him for my own. Sadly now my soul confesses That I play'd a cruel part : Yes ; I favour'd his addresses, And he loved with all his heart. Would I could those days recover ! Days for ever pass'd and gone. When he was a humble lover, And I treated him with scorn ! H 2 164 A TALE OF TEANSMIGBATION. I, without a spark of feeling, Mark'd the anguish of his soul, By well-bred surprise revealing Heart as icy as the pole. Death, however, cut me off — in Anger at my sinning ; and, Though my bones are in the coffin, StiU, in spirit, here I stand ! Once I sat in silk and ermine ; ^aked now I creep the floor ; Siting with my sister vermin What I only wore before ! Mothers,, who have babes to dandle, 1 Let not flirting be their, aims ; I am doom'd to court a candle, Penalty for courting " Flames ! " Watch me as I wildly hover. And my dissolution mark ; I, who never pitied lover. Meet no pity from " a spark ! " F. Looker. 165 THE NOCTUKNAL SUMMONS; OB, THE GOSSIP GHOST. A FACT. " Tu& quod nihil refert ne cnres." How vast the number of mankind who fail T'obey the wholesome rule which I've selected, And, as a sign or frontispiece, erected. To indicate the tenor of my tale. Whate'er your sex ; whate'er your state of life ; Bachelor, husband, widow, maid, or wife : Whate'er yoiu- rank — ^peer, knight, esquire, or yeoman ; Duchess, your ladyship, or plain good woman : Whether you move 'midst equipages garish. Flattery and smiles, Qr barrows, slang, and grins : whether the name, Ta'en from the Calendar to grace your parish, Be James or Giles ; In one particular 'tis still the same : Namely, that, when ye congregate, Whate'er the nature of yoiir cheer ; Choice viands, served on costly plate, Tea and turn-out, or gin and beer ; 166 THE NOCTURNAL SUMMONS. No sooner have ye got together, Saluted and abused the weather, Than some curst babbler of the throng Lets fly that venom'd shaft, her tongue. And food for conversation lends By spleen-fraught strictures on her friends. Yes, in the first, each slice of scandal bitter Is welcom'd by an universal titter. While, in the second, they take aim. With the same bolt, at minor game : As, " Did you see om* neighbour, Mrs. Dray, On board the Margate steam-yacht t'other day ? How she was dress'd ! her head deck'd out with curls As long and jetty as her gawky girl's ; When everybody knows her locks Are red, by nature, as a fox ; And, now the progress of old Time has spread Some parsnips 'mongst the carrots of her head, 'Tis speckled like an old cock-pheasant's feather. Or salt and cayenne-pepper mix'd together : " If in the third, a sordid set To pass a jolly night are met ; To bolt their hot cow-heel and tripe. And smoke, en tour, the smutty pipe ; Some beldams, still for censure ripe. Enjoy no greater solace from their labours Than dealing condemnation on their neighbours ; And every moment of cessation From ribald singing and potation, THE NOCTURNAL SUMMONS. 167 Is fiU'd with boisterous oaths and jeering, Upoi; their cronies out of hearing : As, yfho fought booty in the milling ring ; And who was hang'd when who deserved to swing ; With many a voUey of pestiferous stuiF And spite, Wliich ink poetic is not black enough To write. Yet, to my cockney readers, be it known. That not in the metropolis alone Exists the inquisitorial emulation For scrutinising other folks' affairs ; No — every town and village in the nation Boasts its arch gossip, whose domestic cares Are half forgotten in the task Of daUy running forth to ask. Of every human snake within her reach. The morning's news, and to extort from each Some rumour'd hint, or vague suspicion. Already in its third edition, Whose honey'd poison may regale The gaping ears Of such compeers As may be strangers to the tale. All this I own is mere assertion, And dogmatism is my aversion ; Therefore, (as holders-forth extemporaneous Say, when, from wandering to discourse extraneous. They feel themselves perplext. And cannot justly on their subject pop. 168 THE NOCTURNAL SUMMONS. But hem and ha, and make an awkward stop,) " Returning to my text !" The theatre whereon the farce was play'd, Which now demands the efforts of my muse, Was a small village, in a fertile glade, Near the romantic stream of northern Ouse. At a crude guess, There might be fifty houses in the cluster. Few more or less ; Whose population, at its greatest muster. Did but half fill the ivy-mantled church, Shaded by stately trees of yew and birch, Whither they every Sunday went ; Haply some pious few to vent The fervent prayer ; a greater number To pass an hour in tranquil slumber ; Many to meet their sweethearts there. And greet them with a loving stare, Like hungry cats surveying lumps of 'butter, To wink and smile Across the aisle. And look the passion, which they dared not utter ; While others sat the service out As culprits bear a flogging-bout, So anxious were they for its end, That they might meet, shake hands, and spend An hour in cBatter. Amongst the latter, Was Miss'Griselda Wahehnina Gaunt ; A waning fan-, who could, with justice, vaunt THE NOCTURNAL SUMMONS. 169 Of gentle breeding : all her youth had been Wasted within a city's bustling scene. But, as butchers, sometimes, with their delicate meat, Eesolved on a price far beyond its just merit. Maintain their demand until, no longer sweet. They're compeU'd to seek out some sly spot to inter it. So, she'd set such high price, In the hey-day of life, on her precious virginity. That no honorificabilitudinity Or wealth could suffice To content her, though many a suitor had tried All the engines of courtship to make her his bride. Till, finding her charms were no longer available. Her cherish'd commodity grown quite unsaleable. She sought, in our hamlet, a rural retreat. And, in a small cottage, sequester'd and neat. Adjoining the wall of the httle churchyard. O'er aU the concerns of her neighbours kept guard : For, in the village, not a pig could squeak. Or cock could crow But she would know The cause, e'en though she sought it for a week : No rustic urchin could play truant, But in an hour or two she knew on't : No fuddled churl could beat his wife, But she woidd meddle in the strife : No poor old mumbling dame coidd lose An aching tooth, But she would ferret out the news ; And/konce apprised, the scent she'd follow, 170 THE NOCTURNAL SUMMONS. To know the truth, And ask around, Until she found Who took it out, and if 'twas sound or hollow No fight, or game of quarter-staff Was hid from her ; no foal, or calf. Or brood of puppies could be born, But she would know it ere next morn ; When she would, ceaselessly, inquire Till she could reach A perfect knowledge of the sire And dam of each. No villager, female or male, Could drink an extra pint of ale, Or pass an hour in rustic frolic : No washer-wench could have the colic : No lad could break a school-mate's head : No woman could be brought to bed : No load to market could be carried : No clown be sent to goal, or married : No fishing-punt could be capsised. Treating its inmates with a ducking ; No peasant's brat could be baptised. Cut its first tooth, or leave off sucking ; Fall sick, or die ; But she would pry, Until her craving sense auricular Had been full-fed with each particular. This penchant, and her tongue censorious, Had made our heroine so notorious THE NOCTURNAL SUMMONS. 171 Amongst the country rabble, That, to prevent of breath the useless waste, And make her epithet imply her taste, They caU'd her Grizzy Gabble, Which neat appellative, so aptly suited For brevity And levity, Had long time for her name been substituted. E'en now I ventured to express. That every hamlet doth possess Some glib-mouth'd wench who rules the roast In mag; I also may make bold to state. That every village, small or great, 'Mongst its inhabitants, can boast Its wag ! Some witty bumpkin who delights in joke ; For feats of fun and mischief ever ripe ; Who, o'er his evening goblet, loves to smoke. Alternately, his neighbour and his pipe : And so could this — ^perhaps as queer a wight As ever wrought by day, or drank by night. He long had known that, when, perchance. Miss Grizzy Was busy. And could not 'mongst her neighbours prance To chat, she most intently listen' d. Hour after hour, to the church-steeple ; And, every time she heard a bell. Whether for chime, or peal, or knell. 172 THE NOCTDENAL SUMMONS.' For some one married, dead, or christen' d ; That she might learn the news ere other people. She made no pause, However cold the day, for cloak or hat ; But darted off, as nimble as a cat. To know the cause : So that the sexton ne'er could ope The belfry door, and pull a rope, But, in an instant, Grizzy's clatter Saluted him with "What's the matter?" One autumn night, damp, chill, and dark, Our mellow, laughter-loving spark Betook him to the sexton's cot, Just when the simple man had got His solid supper spread upon the table. And, looking as demure as he was able, Tum'd up his eyes, and shook his head. Saying, " Lord bless us, Master Sexton ! Heaven only knows who'U be the next un ! Would you believe it ? Grizzy Gabble's dead ! And I was sent to you to tell That you must go and toll the beU, Late as it is, without delay ! " This said, th' informant walk'd away. The knave of spades, astounded, left his fork Stuck in a mound of fat, cold pickled pork ; Threw down his knife, Gazed at his wife, Utter'd a pious exclamation, THE NOCTURNAL SUMMONS. 173 And hasten'd to his avocation ; Namely, to run ('twas but across the road) To church, to toll The fleeting soul Of the dead gossip to its long abode. Grizzy, although the sexton thought her dead As Hecuba or Priam, Was just that moment getting into bed. In as good health as I am : Her night-gown on — one foot just placed betwixt The sheets, when straight, the bell's first sotmd Striking her ear, she, doubtingly, look'd round. And, for a moment, stood like one transfixt. She listen' d, and another dong Convinced her she had not been wrong ; When, such her speed and eagerness, She huddled on scarce half her dress. Lest, if delay' d, some neighbour should obtain The news before her ; But, slipshod, seized upon the counterpane. And threw it o'er her. Then sallied forth, resolved to ask The reason of the sexton's task. Meantime, old " Dust to dust " pursued His dreary work. In pensive, melancholy mood j Between each jerk. In these sage terms soliloquising : "Well, Grizzys sudden death's surprising! 174 THE NOCTURNAL SUMMONS. She wur a queer un ! 'cod, if she wur living, 'Tis just the time That she would climb The belfiy stairs ! Her loss won't cause much grieving ! I'm devilish glad her earthly prattling's o'er, And I shall ne'er be pester'd by her more ! " .While he the last, half utter'd word Was speaking. He dropt the rope, and thought he heard A creaking ; When, turning promptly round. He at his elbow found His constant catechist, enrobed in white •„ ' His blood ran cold, his hair stood bolt upright : He bounded, from the spot, and roar'd aloud, " Oh, heavens ! I'm lost ! 'Tis Grizzy's ghost, Eisen from the dead, and walking in her shroud ! " No answer to her loud demands he utter'd. But ran and tumbled down the steeple stairs. While, ever and anon, he faltering mutter' d, A mingled exorcism — half oaths, half prayers. Grizzy, astonish'd at his flight. Unconscious of his cause of fright, Hotly pm-sued, her question bawling ; He, sometimes running, sometimes sprawling, Had just arrived without the chtu-ch. When she appear'd beneath the porch : Again her piercing voice, assailing THE NOCTURNAL SUMMONS. 175 His tingling ears Enhanced his fears : Onward he ran the tomb-stones scaling, Deaf to Miss Gabble's loud appeals^ Who closely follow'd at his heels. An open grave lay in his way, Dug by himself that very day. But, in his fear, no longer recollected ; Thither, by chance, his footsteps were directed, Just when the dreaded Grizzy's oiitstretch'd hand Had seized his coat, And her wide throat Sent forth its shrillest tones to make him stand. 'Twas now too late her harpy hold to quit, For down they fell, Headlong, pell mell. He haUooing, She following. O'er the loose earth, into the yawning pit. Nor did their hap end thus : The spiteful Fates So managed that their prone descending pates Met, with such stunning contact, at the bottom. That, if a score of grenadiers had shot 'em. They scarcely could more motionless have laid them. Than the rude shock {pro tempore) had made them. Meantime, a straggling villager, by chance Passing, half drunk, The churchyard's bound. 176 THE NOCTURNAL SUMMONS. Of Grizzy and the sexton caugHt a glance, Just as they sunk Into the ground. Away he scamper' d, like a bedlamite, Making a most outrageous knocking At many a door, On which, his friends around him flocking. He roundly swore He'd seen two ghosts, one black and t'other white. During this space, the wag who had convey'd Of Grizzy's death the counterfeit narration. Behind the churchyard wall had snugly laid. To watch his wily project's consummafion ; Now, creeping from his lurking-place. He smooth'd his laughter-wrinkled face. And, rushing in among The terror-stricken throng, Vow'd that the clown who gave th' alarm was wrong ; Declared that he had also been Ocular witness of the scene. And that, in lieu of apparitions. Sent to confirm their superstitions. The forms which met their neighbour's view, (He'd stake his life upon't) were two Infernal Iwheas corpus knaves Come down from town to rob the graves, " So if," said he, " you have the least regard, For aU your dear -relations' bones, Prepare yourselves with sticks and stones, And^^foUow instantly to our church-yard ! " THE NOCTURNAL SUMMONS. 177 Away the crew, Like lightning, flew. Seizing such rustic arms as chance provided ; Sickles and flails, And broken pales ; Then softly t'wards the cemetery glided. Their chuckling leader pointed out The weU-mark'd grave, and made a stand ; Then whistled, and his little band Press'd on, and compass'd it about. Just as the vital spark, so long supprest. Became rekindled in the gossip's breast, And, starting from her hideous dream. She utter'd a terrific scream. Which half aroused the sexton's slumb'ring senses. Who, still supposing that he lay Beneath some spell, began to pray Forgiveness for his manifold offences. In such repentant, piteous terms, That all the crowd, sans mercy or reflection, Proclaim'd them ministers of resurrection. Come to defraud the village-worms, And swore, by all their fathers' graves around, That, back to back, the culprits should be bound. And lodged within the village cage Without delay. — Just in this stage The matter pended, when the peasants' wives, Alarm'd by Grizzy's shriek, And anxious for their darling hubbies' lives. Resolved the truth to seek ; So, snatching each a lantern or a torch. 178 THE KOCTUENAL SUMMONS. They moved, a flaring phalanx, t'wards the church ; Mix'd with the gaping group, and threw a light Upon this strange adventure of the night. Reader, imagine, if you can, (For, if I should attempt to paint The scene, the likeness would be faint,) What wonder through the circle ran, When, to their sober senses, 'twas made clear That, 'stead of thieves, the pair they strove to seize Were their old sexton, stiU half dead with fear. And Grizzy Gabble in her night-chemise ! After some score of minutes spent In explanation And gratulation, AU parties to their pillows went ; But, from that moment Grkzy Gahhle's face Has ne'er been seen mthin the county's space ! 179 THE MONKS OF OLD. Laud ye tke monks ! They were not men of a creed austere, Who frown'd on mirth, and forbade good cheer ; But joyous oft were the brotherhood, In the depths of their sylvan solitude. The ruin'd abbey hath many a tale Of their gay conceits and deep wassail ; The huge hearth, left to the wreck of time. Hath echoed of erst the minstrel's chime ; The caves, despoil'd of their goodly store. Have groan'd 'neath their weight in days of yore ! Laud ye the monks ! The wand'rer was their welcome guest, The weary found in their grey walls rest ; The poor man came, and they scorn'd him not, For rank and wealth were alike forgot ; The peasant sat at the plenteous board With the pilgrim knight and the feudal lord ; The feast was spread, and the foaming bowl Grave freshen'd life to the thirsty soul ; Eound it pass'd, from the prince to the hind. The fathers adding their greeting kind ! 180 THE MONKS OF OLD. Laud ye the monks ! Many a blazon'd scroll doth prove The pains they took in their work of love ; Many a missal our thoughts engage With scenes and deeds of a bygone age ; Many a hallowing minster still Attests the marvels of olden skill ! The broken shaft, or the altar razed, The mould'ring fane, where our sires have praised, Are beautiful, even amidst decay, Blessing the men who have pass'd away ! Laud ye the monks ! For they were friends of the poor and weak. The proud man came to their footstool meek, And many an acre broad and good Was the forfeit paid for his curbless mood : — The penance hard, and the peasant's ban. Would make him think of his feUow-man ; The mass and dirge for his parting soul Would wring for the needy a welcome dole. The cowl bow'd not to the noble's crest. But kings would yield to the priest's behest ! Laud ye the monks ! Tranquil and sweet was monastic life. Free from the leaven of worldly strife ; The desolate found a shelter there, A home secure from the shafts of care ! Many a heart with sorrow riven Would learn to dream of a shadeless heaven ! THE MONKS OF OLD. 181 And plenty smiled where the convent rose, The herald of love and deep repose ; The only spot where the arts gave forth The hope of a glorious age to earth ! William Jones. 182 THE SABINE FARMER'S SERENADE. BEIlfa A KEWIT KEOOTEKED FEAGMEHT OF A LATIN OPEHA. Erat turbida nox Horli, secundS, mane Quando proruit vox Carmen in hoc inane ; Viri misera mens Meditabatnr hymen, Hino puellse flens Stabat obsidens limen ; Semel tantwm die Eris nostra Lalage ; Ne recuses sic Dulds Julia Callage. II. Planctibus airrem far, Venere tu formosior ; Die, hos muros per, Tuo favore potior ! Voce beatum fac ; En, dum dormis, vigilo, Nocte obambulans hdc Domum planctu stridulo. 183 'Twas on a windy night, At two o'clock in the morning, An Irish lad so tight. All wind and weather scorning, At Judy Callaghan's door, Sitting upon the palings, His love-tale he did pour. And this was part of his wailings ; Only say YmCll he Mrs. Brallaghan ; DonH say nay, Charming Judy Callaghan. II. Oh ! list to what I say. Charms you've got like Venus ; Own your love you may, There's but the wall between us. You lie fast asleep Snug in bed and snoring ; Bound the house I creep. Your hard heart imploring. 184 THE SABINE FARMER'S SERENADE. Semel tantum die Eris nostra Lalage ; Ne recuses sic, Dulds Julia Callage. III. Est mihi prsegnans sus, Et porcellis stabulum ; Villula, grex, et rus ' Ad vaccarum pabulum ; Feriis cerneres me Splendido vestimento, Tunc, heus ! qvkax henh te Veherem in jumento ! " Semel tantum die Eris nostra Lalagb ; Ne recuses sic, Dulcis Julia Callage. IV. Vis poma terras ? sum Uno dives jugere ; Vis lac et mella,' ciim BaocM succo/ sugere % Vis aquse-vitse vim ? * Plumoso somnum sacoulo ? ° Vis ut paratus sim Vel amiulo vel baculo ? ' Semel tantum die Eris nostra Lalage ; Ne recuses sic, Dulds Julia Callage. THE SABINE FAEMER's SEEENABE. 185 Only say You'll luiae Mr. Brallaghan ; Dorit say nay, Charming Jvdy GaUaghan. HI. I've got a pig and a sow, I've got a sty to sleep 'em ; A calf and a brindled cow, And a cabin too, to keep 'em ; Sunday hat and coat, An old grey mare to ride on. Saddle and bridle to boot. Which you may ride astride on. Only say You! II he Mrs. Brallaghan ; DorUt say nay, Gliarming Judy GaUaghan. IV. I've got an acre of ground, I've got it set with praties ; I've got of 'baccy a pound, I've got some tea for the ladies ; I've got the ring to wed. Some whisky to make us gaily ; I've got a feather-bed And a handsome new shilelagh. Only say You'll have Mr. Brallaghan ; Don't say nay, Gharming Judy Gallaghan. 186 THE SABINE FARMER'S SERENADE. V. Litteris operam das ; Luoido fulges ociilo ; Dotes insuper quas Nummi sunt in loculo. Novi quod apta sis '* Ad procreandam sobolem ! Possides (nesciat quis ?) I Linguam satis mobilem." Semel tantmn die JSris nostra Lalage ; N^e recuses sic, Bulcis Julia Callage. TI. Conjux utinam tu Fieres, lepidum cor, mi ! Halitum perdimus, heu, Te sopor urget. Dormi ! Ingruit imber trux — Jam sub tecto pellitur Is quem crastina lux i" Eeferet hiic fideliter. Semel tandem die Mris nostra Lalage ; N^e recuses sic, Dulds Julia Callage. Father Prodi. THE SABINE farmer's SERENADE. 187 You've got a charming eye, You've got some spelling and reading ; You've got, and so have I, A taste for genteel breeding ; You're rich, and fair, and young, As everybody's knowing ; You've got a decent tongue Whene'er 'tis set a-going. Only say Tcm'll be Mrs. Brallaghan ; Dofit say nay, Gharming Judy Gallaghan. TI. For a wife till death I am willing to take ye ; But, och ! I waste my breath, The devil himself can't wake ye. 'Tis just beginning to rain. So I'll get under cover ; To-morrow I'U come again, And be your constant lover. Only say YouHl he Mrs. Brallaghan ; Bc/dt say nay, Charming Jvdy Gallaglian.* * The above English lines are a portion of a ballad by the late Tom Hudson, grocer, publican, and Tocaliat. — Ed. 188 THE SABINE PARMBES SERENADE. NOTUL*. NoTUIi. ]. 1° in voce rtis. Nonne potius legendum jm, scUioet, ad vacca- rmipabvXwm? De hoc yare apud Sabinos agricolas oonsule Scrip- tores de re rusticd passim. Ita Bentleais, Jus imo antiquissimum, at dis- plicet vox sequivoca ; jus etenim a mess of pottage aliquando audit, ex. gr. Omne suum fratri Jacob jas ven- didit Esau, Et Jacob fratri jus dedit omne suum. Itaque, pace Bentleii, stet lectio prior. — Provt. NOTUL. 2. Veherem in jumento. Curri- culo-ne ! an pone sedentem in equi dorso ? dorsaliter plane. Quid enim dicit Horatius de nxore sic vecta ? Nonne ' ' Post eguitem, sedet atra cara " i — Porson. NoiHL. 3. Lac et mella. MetaplioricS pro tea : muliebris est coinpotatio Grsecis nou ignota, teste Ana- creonte, — 0EHN, Beav eeaivriv, ©€A(V \eyeiy eraipai, ic. t. A, £roii,gham. NOTCL. 4. Baechi succo. Duplex apud poetas antiquiores babebatur bu- jusce nominis numen, Yineam regebat prius ; posterius cuidam berb% exoticie pr^erat quae tobacco audit. Succus utrique optimus, — Coleridge. NOTHL. 5. Aqum-vitce mm, Anglo-Hyber- nicS, "apower of wMshy," urxvs, scilicet, vox pergrseca. — Pan: NOTHL. 6. Plumoso sacco. Plnmarum congeries oertS ad somnos invitan- dos satis apta ; at mihi per mul- tos annos laneus iste saccus, Ang. woolsack, fuit apprimfe ad dormi- endum idoneus. Lites etiam de land ut aiwni caprind, soporiferaa per annos xxx. exeroui. Quot et quam prjeolara somnia ! — Eldon. NoTUL. 7. Investitura "jper armvlum et haculum" satis nota. Vide P. Marca de Concord. Sacerdotii et Imperii : et Hildebrandi Pont. Max. buUarium. — Provt. Eacnlo certe dignissim. pontif. — Maginn. NoTHL. 8. Apta sis. Quomodo norerit? Vide Proverb. Solomonis cap. xxx. V. 19. Nisi forsan tales fuerint puellse Sabinorum quales impu- dens iste balatro Connelius menti- tur esse nostrates. — BUmjield. NoTUL. 9. Li/iiguam mobilem. Prius enu- merat futuraa conjugis bona immo- iilia, postea transit ad molilia, Angliod, chattel property. Prse- clarus ordo sententiarum ! — Ca/r. Wetherall. NoiDL. 10. All asio ad disticbon Maronlanum, " Noote pluit tota,, redeunt spec- tacula manV — Prowt. K. T. \. 189 THE SIGNS OF THE ZODIAC. A OASTKOHOMIOAL OHAHT. Sunt Aries, Taurus, Cancer, Leo, Scorpio, Virgo, liibraque et Arcitcnens, Gemini, Oaper, Amphora, Pisces. I. Of a tavern the Sun every month takes " the run," And a dozen each year wait his wishes ; One month with old Prout he takes share of a trout, And puts up at the sign of the fishes. K 'Tis an old-fashion'd inn, but more quiet within Than the bull y or the lion JJ — both boisterous ; And few would fain dwell at the scokpion Til. -hotel, Or THE CRAB as . . But this last is an oyster-house. At the sign of the scales ii fuUer measure prevails ; At THE BAM T the repast may be richer ; Old Goethe oft wrote at the sign of the goat, vf Tho' at times he'd drop in at the pitcher ; xz And those who have stay'd at the sign of the maid, n)j In desirable quarters have tarried ; While some for their sins must put up with the twins, n Having had the mishap to get married. 190 THE SIGNS OF THE ZODIAC. But THE FISHES K Combine in one mystical sign A moral right apt for the banquet ; And a practical hint, which I ne'er saw in print, Yet a Rochefoucault maxim I rank it : If a secret I'd hide, or a project confide. To a comrade's good faith and devotion, Oh ! the friend whom I'd wish, though he drank like a, fish, Should be mute as the tribes of the ocean. 191 THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS. Across the ocean's troubled breast Tbe base-bom Norman came, To win for Ms helm a kingly crest, For his sons a kingly name ; And in his warlike band. Came flashing fair and free, The brightest swords of his father's land, With the pomp of its chivalry. What doth the foe on England's field ? Why seeks he England's throne ? Has she no chiefs her arms to wield, No warrior of her own ? But Id ! in regal pride Stem Harold comes again, With the waving folds of his banner dyed In the blood of the hostile Dane. The song — the prayer — the feast were o'er. The stars in Heaven were pale. And many a brow was bared once more To meet the morning gale. 192 THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS. At lengtli the sun's bright ray Tinged the wide east with gold. And the misty veil of the morning grey Away from his forehead roU'd. And all along each crowded track His burning glance was thrown, Till the polish'd armour sent him back A lustre like his own. Still flash' d his silver sheen Along the serried lines, Where the deadly wood of spears was seen To rise like forest-PiNBS. In either host was silence deep, Save the falchion's casual ring, When a sound arose like the first dread sweep Of the distant tempest's wing ; Then burst the clamour out, Still madd'ning more and more. Till the air grew troubled with the shout. As it is at the thunder's roar. And the war was roused by that fearful cry. And the hosts rushed wildly on. Like clouds that sweep o'er the gloomy sky When summer days are gone. Swift as the lightning's flame The furious horseman pass'd. And the rattling showers of arrows came Like hailstones on the blast. THE BATTLE OP HASTINGS. 193 The island phalanx firmly trod On paths all red with gore ; For the blood of their bravest stain'd the sod They proudly spum'd before. But close and closer still They plied them blow for blow, TiU the deadly stroke of the Saxon bill Cut loose the Norman bow. And the stubborn foemen turn'd to flee, With the Saxons on their rear, Like hounds when they lightly cross the lea To spring on the fallow-deer. Each war-axe gleaming bright Made havoc in its sway ; ^ut, in the mingled chase and flight They lost their firm array. From a mounted band of the Norman's best A vengeful cry arose, Their lances long were in the rest. And they dash'd upon their foes On, on, in wild career ; Alas for England, then. When the furious thrust of the horsemen's spear Bore back the Kentish men. They bore thein back, that desp'rate band. Despite of helm or shield ; And the corslet bright and the gory brand Lay strew'd on the battle-field. 194 THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS. Fierce flash'd the Norman's steel, Though soil'd by many a stain, And the iron-tread of his courser's heel Crush'd down the prostrate slain. But still for life the Saxons ply, In hope, or in despair ; And their frantic leader's rallying-cry Eings in the noontide air. He toils ; but toils in vain ! The fatal arrow flies, The iron point has pierced his brain. The island-monarch dies. The fight is o'er, and wide are spread The sounds of the dismal tale ; And many a heart has quail'd with dread, And many a cheek is pale. The victor's fears are past. The golden spoil is won, And England's tears are flowing fast, In grief for England's son. Alexakdee MoDougah. 195 THE CHRISTENING OF HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCESS ALICE MAUDE. JLefrain. Molly, my dear, did you ever hear The likes of me from Cork to Dover ? The girls aU love me far and near, They're mad ia love with " Pat the Rover.'' Molly Machree, you didn't see The Pbincbss Aillebn's royal christening ; You'll hear it every word from me. If you'll be only after listening. To see the mighty grand affair The Quality got invitations ; And wasn't I myself just there, With half-a-dozen blood relations ? Molly, my dear, &c. What lots of Ladies curtsied in, And Peers aU powdhered free an aisy ! Miss Biddy Maginn, and Bryan O'Lynn, Katty Neil, and bould Corporal Casey. 196 THE CHRISTENING OF HER ROYAL HIGHNESS Lord Clarendine, and Lord Glandine, Each buckled to a Maid of Honour, The Queen of Spain, and Lord Castlemaine ; The Queen of France, and King O'Connor, Molly, my dear, &c. There was no lack, you may be sure. Of writers, and of rhetoricians. Of Whigs and Tories, rich and poor. Priests, patriots, and politicians. The next came in was Father Prout, With a fine otdd dame from the Tunbridge waters. And Dan O'ConneU, bould and stout, ^ Led in Eebecca and her Daughters. Molly, my dear, (fee. Some came in pairs, some came in chairs. From foreign parts, and parts adjacent ! "Ochone ! I'm alone !" says the Widow Malone, " Is there nobody here to do the daycent 1" There was Peggy O'Hara, from Cunnemara, And who her beau was I couldn't tell, sir ; But the Duke of Buccleuch danced with MoUy Carew, And Paddy from Cork with Fanny EUsler ! Molly, my dear,