NRLF ^v;^ 'lV^ 1 I T THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA CERF LIBRARY PRESENTED BY REBECCA CERF '02 IN THE NAMES OF CHARLOTTE CERF '95 MARCEL E. CERF '97 BARRY CERF '02 u^£'m.^M. r.'-sf^ a»^Es V^ W'" ■ ^^m MM ^^ ^M ^S.^ «^^^^^^^ ^^^^m^ W^m •»^ '^"^^M^^mm imP^^m V 3 L ra2 \ \ THE INGOLDSBY LEGENDS OR MIRTH AND MARVELS BY THOMAS INGOLDSBY, Esq (THE REV. RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM) WITH LLLUSTRATIONS BY CRUIKSHAXK AND LEECH NEW YORK WoRTHiKGToi^ Co., 28 Lafayette Place FIRST 'SER.IES. CONTENTS MOB THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINOTON .... 13 THE NURSE'S STORY-THE HAND OF GLORX ... 61 PATTY MORGAN THE MILKMAID'S STORY—" LOOK AT THE CLOCK" ,61 GREY DOLPHIN .71 THE GHOST .... .... 90 THE CYNOTAPH . . .... 109 MRS. BOTHERBY'S STORY— THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE 117 LEGEND OF HAMILTON TIGHE 155 THE WITCHES' FROLIC \^^ SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D 177 THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS 209 A LAY OF ST. DUN3TAN 215 A LAY OF ST. GENGULPHU3 . . . .227 A LAY OF ST. ODILLE . . , , 239 A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS ... , . 247 THE LADY ROHESIA . . . . 257 THE TRAGEDY . 269 MR. BARNEY MAGUIRE'S ACCOUNT OF THE CORONATION. 275 THE "MONSTRE" BALLOON . .... 279 HON. MR. SUCKLETHUMBKIN'S STORY— THE EXECUTION 283 BOME ACCOUNT OF A NEW PLAY 289 MR. PETERS'S STORY— THE BAGMAN'S DOG ... 801 APPENDIX . . . . S» ivi557914 TO RICHARD BENTLEY, Esq. My Db:a/i Sir, You *vi&ii me to collect into a single volume certain ramb< ling extracts from our family memoranda, many of which have already appeared in the pages of your Miscellany. At the same time you tell me that doubts are entertained in certain quarters as to the authenticity of their details. Now, with respect to their genuineness, the old oak chest, in which the originals are deposited, is not more familiar to my eyes than it is to your own ; and if its contents have any value at all, it consists in the strict veracity of the facts they record. To convince the most incredulous, I can only add, that should business — pleasure is out of the question — ever call them into the neighbourhood of Folkestone, let them take the high roiid from Canterbury to Dover till they reach the eastern ex- tremity of Barbara Downs. Here a beiutiful green lane diverg- ing abruptly to the right, will carry them, through the Oxenden plantations and the unpretending village of Denton, to the foot of a very respectable hill — as hills go in this part of Europe. On reaching its summit let them look straight before theu,— and if among the hangiLg woods wliich crown the opposite side of the valley, they cannot distinguisli an antiquated M mor-house of Elizab<'than architecture, with its gable ends, stone stanchions, and tortuous chimneys rising aVtove the surrounding trees, why — the sooner they procure a pair of Dolland's patent spectacles Ihe better. It prefacb. If, on the contrary, they can noanage to descry i*;, and, pro- ceeding some five or six furlongs through the aveni e, will ring at t\.^ Lodge-gate — they cannot mistake the stone lion with the Ingoldsby escutcheon (Ermiiio, a saltire engrailed Gules) in hii paws, — they will be received with a hearty old English welcome. The papers in question having been written by different par- ties, and at various periods, I have thought it advisable to re- duce the more ancient of them into a comparatively modern phraseology, and to make my collateral ancestor Father John, especially, ' deliver himself like a man of this world ; ' Mr. Ma- guire, indeed, is the only Gentleman who, in his account of the late Coronation, retains his own rich vernacular. As to arrangement, I shall adopt the sentiment expressed by the Constable of Bourbon four centuries ago, tes e Shaku- peare, one which seems to become more fashionable every day, " The Devil take all order 1 1— I'll to the throng I " Believe me to be, My dear Sir, Yours, most indubitably and immeasurably, Thomas Ihooldsdt. T«pp!n|rton Everaitl Jan. ao. 1840. \ PREFACE I'O THE SECOND EDITION. TO RICHARD BENTLEY, Esq^ My Dear Sir, I SHOULD have replied sooner to your letter, but liiat the last three days in January are, as you are aware, always dedicated, at the Hall, to an especial hattue, and the old house is full of shooting-jackets, shot-belts, and "double Joes." Even the women wear percussion caps, and your favourite (?) Rover, who, you may remember, examined the calves of your legs with such suspicious curiosity at Christmas, is as pheasant-mad as if he were a biped, instead of being a genuine four-legged scion of the Blenheim breed. I have managed, however, to avail myself of a lucid interval in the general hallucmation (how tlie rain did come down on Monday !), and as you tell me the excellent friend whom you are in the habit of styling *a Generous and Enlightened Public," has emptied your shelves of the first edition, and " asks for more," why I agi'ce with you, it would be a want of respect to that very respectable personification, when furnishing him with a PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. farther supply, not to endeavour, at least, to amend my faults, which are few, and your own, which are more numerous; I have, therefore, gone to work con amore^ supplying occasionally on my ovvti part a deficient note, or elucidatory Btimza, and on yours knocking out, without remorse, your superfluous i's, and now and then eviscerating your colon. My duty to our illustrious friend thus performed, I have a crow to pluck with him — Why will he persist — as you tell me he does persist — in calling me by all sorts of names but those to which I am entitled by birth and baptism — my " Sponsorial and I'atronymic appellations,** as Dr. Pangloss has it? — Mrs. Malaprop complains, and •Aith justice, of "an assault upon her parts of speech," but to attack one's very existence — to deny that one is a person in esse, and scarcely to admit that one may be a person in posse, is tenfold cruelty ; — " it is pressing to death, whipping, and hanging !" — let me entreat all such likewise to remember that, as Shakspeare beautifully expresses himself elsewhere — ^I give his words as quoted by a very^ worthy Baronet in a neighbouring county, when protesting against a defamatory placard at a general election — "Who steals my purse steals stuflT!— 'Twas mine — tisn't his — nor nobody else's! But he who runs away with my Good Name, Robs me of what does not do him any good, And makes me deuced poorl"* (n order utterly to squabash and demolish every gainsayer • A reading which seems most unaccountably to have escaped the researches of all modem Shakspearians, including the rival editors of the new and illu» trated versiona. PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. yil I had thought, at one time, of asking my old and esteemed friend, Richard Lane, to crush thorn at once witn his magic pencil, and to transmit my features to posterity, where all his works are sure to be "delivered according to the direction ;" but somehow the noble-looking profiles which he has recently executed of the Kemble family put me a little out of conceit with my own, while the undisguised amusement which my " Mephistopheles Eyebrow," as he termed it, afforded him, in the " full face," induced me to lay aside the design. Besides, my dear Sir, since, as has well been observed, " there never was a married man yet who had not somebody remarkably like him walking about towTi," it is a thousand to one but my lineaments might, after all, out of sheer perverseness be ascribed to any body rather than to the real owner. I have therefore sent you, instead thereof, h very fair sketch of Tappington, taken from the Folkestone road (I tore it last night out of Julia Simpkinson's album) ; get Gilks to make a woodcut of it. And now, if any miscreant (I use the word only in its primary and " Pickwickian " sense of " Unbeliever,") ventures to throw any further doubt upon the matter, why, as Jack Cade's friend says in the play, " There are the chimneys in my father's house, and the bricks are alive at this day to testify it!" ** Why, very well then — we hope here be trutiis !" Heaven be with you, my dear Sir ! — I was getting a little »xcited; but you, who are mild as the ni^ik that dews tb» Vlli PREFACE TO THJS SECOND EDITION. soft whisker of the new-weaned kitten, will forgive vm when, wiping away the nascent moisture from my brow, 1 " pull in/' and subscribe myself, Yours quite as much as his own, Thomas Ingoldsby. Tappington Ererard Feb M IR« TOE INGOLDSBY LEGEiYDS. .♦fc—— ~, THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON. ** It is very odd, though ; what can have become of them ?" said Charles Seaforth, as he peeped under the valance of an old-fashioned bedstead, in an old-fashioned apartment of a still more old-fashioned manor-house ; " 't is confoundedly odd, and I can't make it out at all. Why, Barney, where are they ? — and where the d — 1 are you !" No answer was returned to this appeal; and the Lieutenant, who was, in the main, a reasonable person, — > at least as reasonable a person as any young gentleman of twenty-two in " the service" can fairly be expected to be, — cooled when he reflected that his servant could scarcely reply extempore to a summons which it waa impossible he should hear. An application to the bell was the considerate result \ and the footsteps of as tight a lad as ever put pipe-clay to belt sounded along the gallery. " Come in !" said his master. — An ineflfectual attempt upon the door reminded Mr. Seaforth tbst he had locked 14 THE Sl'ECTRE himself in. — " By HeaveD ! this is the oddest thiug of all," said he, as he turned the key and admitted Mr. Maguire into his dormitory. " Barney, where are ray pantaloons ?" " Is it the breeches ?" asked the valet, casting an inquiring eye round the apanment ; — " is it the breeches, sir?" " Yes ; what have you done with ihem V' " Sure then your honour had them on when you went to bed, and it's hereabout they'll be, I'll be bail ;" and Barney lifted a fashionable tunic from a cane-backed arm-chair, proceeding in his examination. But the search was vain : there was the tunic aforesaid, — there was a smart-looking kerseymere waistcoat ; but the mosi important article of all in a gentleman's wardrobe was still wanting. " Where can they be ?" asked the master, with a strong accent on the auxiliary verb. " Sorrow a know I knows," said the man. " It mu8t have been the Devil, then, after all, who has been here and carried them oft'!" cried, Seaforth, staring full into Barney's face. Mr. Maguire was not devoid of the superstition of his countrymen, still he looked as if ho did not quite subscribe to the sequitur. His master read incredulity in his countenance. " Why, I tell you, Barney, I put them there, on that arm-chair, when I got into bed ; and, by Heaven ! I distinctly saw the ghost of the old fellow they told me of, come in at midnight, put on my pantaloons, and walk away with them." " May be so " was the cautious repljt OF TAPPINGTON. 15 " I thought, of course, it was a dream ; but then, — • where the d — 1 ire the breeches ?" The question was more easily asked than answered. Barney renewed his search, while the lieutenant folded his arms, and, baning against the toilet, sunk into a reverie. " After all, it must be some trick of my laughter-loving cousins," said Seaforth. " Ah ! then, the ladies !" chimed in Mr. Maguire, though the observation was not addressed to him ; " and will it be Miss Caroline, or Miss Fanny, that's stole your honour's things ?" " I hardly know what to think of it," pursued the bereaved lieutenant, still speaking in soliloquy, with his eye resting dubiously on the chamber-door. " I locked myself in, that's certain ; and — but there must be some other entrance to the room — pooh ! I remember — the private staircase ; how could I be such a fool ?" and he crossed the chamber to where a low oaken doorcase was dimly visible in a distant corner. He paused before it. Nothing now interfered to screen it fi-om observation ; but it bore tokens of having been at some earlier period concealed by tapestry, remains of which yet clothed the walls on either side of the portal. " This way they must have come," said Seaforth ; " I wish with all my heart I had caught them !" " Och 1 the kittens !" sighed Mr. Barney Maguire. But the mystery was yet as far from being solved as before. True, there was the "other door;" but then that, too, on examination, was even more firmly secured than the one which opened on the gallery, — two heavy bolts on the inside effectually prevented any coup dc 16 THE SP£OTRB main on the lieutenant's bivouac from that quarter. He was more puzzled than ever ; nor did the minutest inspection of the walls and floor throw any light upon the subject: one thing only was clear, — the breeches were gone ! " It is very singular," said the lieutenant. ***** Tappington (generally called Tapton) Everard, is an antiquated but commodious manor-house in the eastern division of the county of Kent. A former proprietor had been High -sheriff in the days of Elizabeth, and many a dark and dismal tradition was yet extant of the licentiousness of his life, and the enormity of his oflences. The Glen, which the keeper's daughter was seen to enter, but never known to quit, still frowns darkly as of yore ; while an ineradicable bloodstain on the oaken stair yet bids defiance to the united energies of soap and sand. But it is with one particular apartment that a deed of more especial atrocity is said to be connected. A stranger guest — so runs the legend — arrived unexpectedly at the mansion of the " Bad Sir Giles." They met in apparent friendship; but the ill-concealed scowl on their master's brow told the domestics that the visit was not a welcome one. The banquet, however, was not spared ; the wine-cup circulat- ed freely, — too freely, perhaps, — for sounds of discord at length reached the ears of even the excluded serving- men as they were doing their best to imitate their betters in the lower hall. Alaimed, some of them ventured to approach the parlour; one, an old and favoured retainer of the house, went so far as to break in upon his master's privacy. Sir Giles, already high m oath, fiercely enjoined his absence, and he retired ; not, OF TAPPINGTON. 17 however, before he had distinctly heard froiii the stranger's lips a menace that " There was that within his pocket which could disprove the knight's right to issue that or any other command within the walls of Tapton." The intrusion, though momentary, seemed to have produced a beneficial effect; the voices of the dispu- tants fell, and the conversation was carried on thence- forth in a more subdued tone, till, as evening closed in, the domestics, when summoned to attend with lights, found not only cordiality restored, but that a still deeper carouse was meditated. Fresh stoups, and from the choicest bins, were produced ; nor was it till at a late, or rather early hour, that the revellers sought their chambers. The one allotted to the stranger occupied the first floor of the eastern angle of the building, and had once been the favourite apartment of Sir Giles himself. Scandal ascribed this preference to the facility which a private staircase, communicating with the grounds, had afforded him, in the old knight's time, of following his wicked courses unchecked by parental observation ; a consideration which ceased to be of weight when the death of his father left him uncontrolled master of his estate and actions. From that period Sir Giles had established himself in what were called the " state apartments ;" and the " oaken chamber" was rarely tenanted, save on occasions of extraordinary festivity, or when the yule log drew an unusually large acces* sion of guests around the Christmas hearth. On this eventful night it was prepared for the un- known visiter, who sought his couch heated and in- 18 THE SPECTRE flamed from his midnight orgies, and in the morning was found in his bed a swollen and blackened corpse. No marks of violence appeared upon the body ; but the livid hue of the lips, and certain dark-coloured spots visible on the skin, aroused suspicions which those who entertained them were too timid to express. Apo- plexy, induced by the excesses of the preceding night, Sir Giles's confidential leech pronounced to be the cause of his sudden dissolution : the body was buried in peace; and though some shook their heads as they witnessed the haste with which the funeral rites were hurried on, none ventured to murmur. Other events arose to distract the attention of the retainers ; men's minds became occupied by the stirring politics of the day, while the near approach of that formidable armada, so vainly arrogating to itself a title which the very ele- ments joined with human valour to disprove, soon inter- fered to weaken, if not obliterate, all remembrance of the nameless stranger who had died within the walls of Tapton Everard. Years rolled on : the " Bad Sir Giles" had himself long since gone to his account, the last, as it was be- lieved, of his immediate line ; though a few of the older tenants were sometimes heard to speak of an elder brother, who had disappeared in early life, and never inherited the estate. Rumours, too, of his having left a son in foreign lands were at one time rife ; but they died away, nothing occurring to support them : the property passed unchallenged to a collateral branch of the family, and the secret, if secret there were, was buried in Denton churchyard, in the lonely grave of the mysterious stranger. One circumstance alone occurred, OF TAPPINGTON. 11 after a long-intervening period, to revive the memor\ of these transactions. Some workmen employed in grubbing an old plantation, for the purpose of raising on its site a modern shrubbery, dug up, in the execu- tion of their task, the mildewed remnants of what seemed to have been once a garment. On more minute inspection enough remained of silken slashes and a coarse embroidery to identify the relics as hav- mg once formed part of a pair of trunk hose ; while a few papers which fell from them, altogether illegible from damp and age, were by the unlearned rustics conveyed to the then owner of the estate. Whether the squire was more successful in deciphei- ing them was never known ; he certainly never alluded to their contents ; and little would have been thought of the matter but for the inconvenient memory of one old woman, who declared she heard her grandfather say that when the "stranger guest" was poisoned, though all the rest of his clothes were there, his breeches, the supposed repository of the supposed documents, could never be found. The master of Tap- ton Everard smiled when he heard Dame Jones's hint of deeds which might impeach the validity of his own title in favour of some unknown descendant of some unknown heir ; and the story was rarely alluded to, save by one or two miracle-mongers, who had heard that others had seen the ghost of old Sir Giles, in his night-cap, issue from the postern, enter the adjoining copse, and wring his shadowy hands in agony, as he seemed to search vainly for something hidden among the evergreens. The stranger's death- room had, of course, been occasionally hauntid from 20 THE SPECTRE the time of his decease; but the periods of visitation had latterly become very rare, — even Mrs. Botherby the housekeeper, being forced to admit that, during hei long sojourn at the manor, she had never " met with anything worse than herself ;" though as the old lady afterwards added upon more mature reflection, "I must say I think I saw the devil oncer Such was the legend attached to Tapton Everard, and such the story which the lively Carohne Ingoldsby detailed to her equally mercurial cousin Charles Sea- forth, lieutenant in the Hon. East India Company's second regiment of Bombay Fencibles, as arm-in-arm they promenaded a gallery decked with some dozen grim-looking ancestral portraits, and, among others, with that of the redoubted Sir Giles himself. The gallant commander had that very morning paid his first visit to the house of his maternal uncle, after an absence of several years passed with his regiment on the arid plains of Hindostan, whence he was now returned on a three years' furlough. He had gone out a boy, — he returned a man ; but the impression made upon his youthful fancy by his favourite cousin remained unimpaired, and to Tapton he directed his steps, even before he sought the home of his widowed mother, — comforting: himself in this breach of filial decorum bv the reflection that, as the manor was so little out of his way, it would be unkind to pass, as it were, the door of his relatives without just looking in for a few hours. But he found his uncle as hospitable and his cousin more charming than ever ; and the looks of one, and the requests of the other, soon precluded the possibility of refusing to lengthen the " few hours " into u feiff CF TAPriNGTON. 2 J days, though the house was at the moment full ot visiters. The Peterses were there from Ramsgate ; and Mr., Mrs., and the two Miss Simpkinsons, from Bath, had come to pass a month with the family ; and Tom Ingoldsby had brought down his college friend, the Honourable Augustus Sucklethumbkin, with his groom and pointers, to take a fortnight's shooting. And then there was Mrs. Ogleton, the rich young widow, with her large black eyes, who, people did say, was setting her cap at the young squire, though Mrs. Botherby did not believe it ; and, above all, there was Mademoiselle Pau- line, hQTfemme de chamhre^ who " mon-Dieu'd " every- thing and everybody, and cried " ^i/e/ korreur/"a.i Mrs. Botherby's cap. In short, to use the last-named and much respected lady's own expression, the house was "choke-full" to the very attics, — all, save the " oaken chamber," which, as the lieutenant expressed a most magnificent disregard of ghosts, was forthwith appropriated to his particular accommodation. Mr. Maguire, meanwhile, was fain to share the apartment of Oliver Dobbs, the squire's own man : a jocular pro- posal of joint occupancy having been at first indignantly rejected by " Mademoiselle," though preferred with the "laste taste in life" of Mr. Barney's most insinuating brogue. ***** " Come, Charles, the urn is absolutely getting cold ; your breakfast will be quite spoiled : what can have made you so idle ? " Such was the morning salutation of Miss Ingoldsby to the militaire as he entered the breakfast-room half an hour after the la+ Sea- forth, as he gazed on these lonely relics of the oldeL time, was betrayed into a momentary forgetfulness of his love and losses : the widow's eye-glass turned from lier ciciahed's whiskers to the mantling ivy : Mrs. Peters wiped her spectacles ; and " her P." supposed the cen- tral tower " had once been the county Jail." The squire was a philosopher, and had been there often before ; so he ordered out the cold tongue and chickens. " Bolsover Priory," said Mr. Simpkinson, with the aii of a connoisseur — " Bolsover Priory was founded in the reign of Henry the Sixth, about the be^' aing of the eleventh century. Hugh de Bolsover haa ^.companied that monarch to the Holy Land, in the expedition under- taken by way of penance for the murder of his young nephews in the Tower. Upon the dissolution of the monasteries, the veteran was enfeoffed in the lands and manor, to which he gave his own name of Bowlsover, or Bee-owls-over, (by corruption Bolsover,) — a Bee in chief, over three Owls, all proper, being the armorial ensigns borne by this distinguished crusader at the siege of Acre." " Ah ! that was Sir Sidney Smith," said Mr. Peters ; *• xVe heard tell of him, and all about Mrs. Partington, and—" "P. be quiet, and don't expose yourself!" sharply interrupted his lady. P. was silenced, and betook himself to the bottled stout. " These lands," continued the antiquary, " were held JQ grand serjeantry by the presentation of three white Dwls and a pot of honey — " " Lassy me ! how nice 1" said Miss Julia. Mr. Peterr ^cked his lips. J 28 THE SPECTRE "Pray give me leave, my dear — owls and honey whenever the king should come a rat-catching into this part of the country." " Rat^catching !" ejaculated the squire, pausing ab- ruptly in the mastication of a drumstick. " To be sure, my dear sir : don't you remember that rats once came under the forest laws — a minor species of venison ? ' Rats and mice, and such small deer,' eh ? — Shakspeare, you know. Our ancestors ate rats ; (" The nasty fellows !" shuddered Miss Julia in a parenthesis) " and owls, you know, are capital mousers " " I've seen a howl," said Mr. Peters ; " there's one in the Sohological Gardens, — a little hook-nosed chap in a wig, — only its feathers and " Poor P. was destined never to finish a speech. " Do be quiet !" cried the authoritative voice, and the would-be naturalist shrank into his shell like a snail in the " Sohological Gardens." " You should read Blount's ' Jocular Tenures,' Mr. Ingoldsby," pursued Simpkinson. " A learned man was Blount ! "Why, sir, his Royal Highness the Duke of York once paid a silver horse-shoe to Lord Ferrers " " I've heard of him," broke m the incorrigible Peters ; " he was hanged at the Old Bailey in a silk rope for shooting Dr. Johnson." The antiquary vouchsafed no notice of the interrup- tion; but, taking a pinch of snufi^, continued his harangue. "A silver horse-shoe, sir, which is due from every ficion of royalty who rides across one of his manors; and if you look into the penny county histories, now publishing by an eminent friend of mine, you will find OF TAPPINGTON. 29 that Langhale in Co. Norf. was held by one Baldwin per salium^ sufflatuin, et pettum ; that is, he was to coma every Christmas into Westminster Hall, there to take a leap, cry hem ! and " " Mr. Simpkinson, a glass of sherry ?" cried Tom Ingoldsby, hastily. " Not any, thank you, sir. This Baldwin, surnamed Le " " Mrs. Ogleton challenges you, sir ; she insists upon it," said Tom still more rapidly ; at the same time filling a glass, and forcing it on the spavant, who, thus arrested in the very crisis of his narrative, received and swallowed the potation as if it had been physic. "What on earth has Miss Simpkinson discovered there ?" continued Tom ; " something of interest. See how fast she is writing." The diversion was effectual ; every one looked towards Miss Simpkinson, who, far too ethereal for " creature comforts," was seated apart on the dilapidated remains of an altar-tomb, committing eagerly to paper something that had strongly impressed her : the air, — the eye " in a fine frenzy rolling," — all betokened that the divine afflatus was come. Her father rose, and stole silently towards her. " What z'a old boar !" muttered young Ingoldsby ; alluding, perhaps, to a slice of brawn which he had just begun to operate upon, but which, from the celerity with which it disappeared, did not seem so very difficult of mastication. But what had become of Seaforth and his fair Caro- line all this while ? Why, it so happened that they had been simultaneously stricken with the picturesque 30 THE SPECTRE appearance of one of those high and pointed arches, which that eminent antiquary, Mr. Horsley Curties, has described in his " Ancient Records" as " a Gothic window of the Saxon order ;" — and then the ivy clustered so thickly and so beautifully on the other side, that they went round to look at that ; — and then their proximity deprived it of half its effect, and so they walked across to a little knoll, a hundred yards off, and in crossing a small ravine, they came to what in Ireland they call "a bad step," and Charles had to carry his cousin over it ; — and then, when they had to come back, she would not give him the trouble again for the world, so they followed a better but more circuitous route, and there were hedges and ditches in the way, and stiles to get over, and gates to get through ; so that an hour or more had elapsed before they were able to rejoin the party. " Lassy me !" said Miss Julia Simpkinson, " how long you have been gone !" And so they had. The remark was a very just as well as a very natural one. They were gone a long while, and a nice cosey chat they had ; and what do you think it was all about, my dear miss ? " " 0, lassy me ! love, no doubt, and the moon, and eyes, and nightingales, and " Stay, stay, my sweet young lady ; do not let the fervour of your feelings run away with you ! I do not pretend to say, indeed, that one or more of these pretty subjects might not have been introduced ; but the most important and leading topic of the conference was — Lieutenant Seafortli's breeches. " Caroline," said Charl is, " I have had some very odd dreams since T have been at Tappington." OF TAPPINGTON. 31 " Drep^ms, have you ?" smiled the young lady, arch- ing her taper neck like a swan in pluming. " Dreams, have you ?" " Ay, dreams, — or dream, perhaps, I should say ; for, though repeated, it was still the same. And what do you imagine was its subject ?" " It is impossible for me to divine," said the tongue ; — " I have not the least difficulty in guessing," said the eye as plainly as ever eye spoke. " T dreamt — of your great grandfather !" There was a change in the glance — "My great grandfather 1" " Yes, the old Sir Giles, or Sir John, you told me about the other day : he walked into my bedroom in his short cloak of murrey-coloured velvet, his long rapier, and his Raleigh-looking hat and feather, just as the picture represents him ; but with one excej)- tion." " And what was that ?" " Why his lower extremities, which were visible, were — those of a skeleton." " Well." " Well, after taking a turn or two about the room, and looking round him with a wistful air, he came to the bed's foot, stared at me in a manner impossible to describe, — and then he — he laid hold of my panta- loons; whipped his long bony legs into them in a twinkling; and, strutting up to the glass, seemed to view himself in it with gi-eat complacency. I tried to speak, but in vain. The effort, however, seemed tc excite his attention ; for, wheeimg about, he showed me the grimmest-looking death's head you can well 82 THE SPECTRE imagine, and with an indescribable grin strutted out of the room." " Absurd ! Charles. How can you talk such non- sense ?" " But, Caroline, — the breeches are really gone." ***** On the following morning, contrary to his usual custom, Seaforth was the first person in the break- fast parlour. As no one else was present, he did precisely what nine young men out of ten so situated would have done ; he walked up to the mantel-piece, established himself upon the rug, and subducting his coat-tails one under each arm, turned towards the fire that portion of the human frame which it is con- sidered equally indecorous to present to a friend or an enemy. A serious, not to say anxious, expression was visible upon his good-humoured countenance, and his mouth was fast buttoning itself up for an incipient whistle, when little Flo, a tiny spaniel of the Blenheim breed, — the pet object of Miss Julia Simpkinson's affec- tions, — bounced out from beneath a sofa, and began to bark at — his pantaloons. They were cleverly " built," of a light grey mixture, a broad stripe of the most vivid scarlet traversing each seam in a perpendicular direction from hip to ankle, — in short, the regimental costume of the Royal Bombay Fencibles. The animal, educated in the country, had never seen such a pair of breeches in her fife — Omne ignotumpro magnijico ! The scarlet streak, inflamed as it was by the reflection of the fire, seemed to act on Flora's nerves as the same colour does on those of bulls and turkeys ; she advanced at ih^pas de charge, and her OF TAPPINGTON. 3w vociferation, like her amazement, ^'as unboimded. A sound kick from the disgusted officer changed its cha- racter, and induced a retreat at the very moment when the mistress of the pugnacious quadruped entered to the rescue. "Lassy me! Flo! what is the matter?" cried the sympathising lady, with a scrutinizing glance levelled at the gentleman. It might as well have lighted on a feather bed. — His air of imperturbable unconsciousness defied ex- amination ; and as he would not, and Flora could not, expound, that injured individual was compelled to pocket up her wrongs. Others of the household soon dropped in, and cliistered round the board dedicated to the most sociable of meals; the urn was paraded "hissing hot," and the cups which "cheer, but not inebriate," steamed redolent of hyson and peko« ; muffins and marmalade, newspapers and Finnan bad- dies, left little room for observation on the character of Charles's warlike " turn-out." At length a look from Caroline, followed by a smile that nearly ripened to a titter, caused him to turn abruptly and address nis neighbour. It was Miss Simpkinson, who, deeply engaged in sipping her tea and turning over her album, seemed, like a female Chronohotonthologos, " immersed in cogibundity of cogitation." An interrogatory on the subject of her studies drew from her the confession that she was at that moment employed in putting the finish- ing touches to a poem inspiied by the romantic shades of Bolsover. The entreaties of the comyany were of course urgent. Mr. Peters, "who liked verses," was especially persevering, and Sappho at length compliant 2* 34 THE SPECTRE After a preparatory hem ! and a glance at the mirroj to ascertain that her look was sufficiently sentimental the poetess began : — " There is a calm, a holy feeling, Vulg-ar minds can never know, O'er the bosom softly stealing,- - Chasten'd grief, delicious woe ! Oh I how sweet at eve regaining Yon lone tower's sequester'd shade- Sadly mute and uncomplaining " — Yow ! — yeongh ! — yeough ! — yow ! — yow ! yelled a hapless sufferer from beneath the table. — It was an unlucky hour for quadrupeds ; and if " every dog will have his day," he could not have selected a more unpro- pitious one than this. Mrs. Ogleton, too, had a pet, — a favourite pug, — whose squab figure, black muzzle, and tortuosity of tail, that curled like a head of celery in a salad-bowl, bespoke his Dutch extraction. Yow ! yow ! yow ! continued the brute, — a chorus in which Flo instantly joined. Sooth to say, pug had more reason to express his dissatisfaction than was given him by the muse of Simpkinson ; the other only barked for company. Scarcely had the poetess got through her first stanza, when Tom Ingoldsby, in the enthusiasm of the moment, became so lost to the material world, that, in his abstraction, he unwarily laid his hand on the cock of the urn. Quivering with emotion, he gave it such an unlucky twist, that the full stream of its scalding contents descended on the gingerbread hide Df the unlucky Cupid. — The confusion was complete ; — the whole economy of the table disarranged; — the ?ompany broke up in most admired disorder ; — anJ OF TAPPINGTON, 35 "Vulgar minds will never know'' anytli'ng more of Miss Simpkinson's ode till they peruse it in some forthcoming Annual. Seaforth profited by the confusion to take the delin- quent who had caused this " stramash " by the arm, and to lead him to the lawn, where he had a word or two foi his private ear. The conference between the young geutlemen was neither brief in its duration nor unim- portant in its result. The subject was what the lawyers call tripartite, embracing the information that Charles Seaforth was over head and ears in love with Tom Ingoldsby's sister ; secondly, that the lady had referred Lim to " papa " for his sanction ; thirdly, and lastly, his nightly visitations, and consequent bereavement. At the two first items Tom smiled auspiciously ; — at the last he bui-st out into an absolute " guffaw." " Steal your breeches ! — Miss Bailey over again, by Jove," shouted Ingoldsby. " But a gentleman, you say, — and Sir Giles too. — I am not sure, Charles, whether I ought not to call you out for aspersing the honour of the family ! " "Laugh as you will, Tom, — be as incredulous as /ou please. One fact is incontestable, — the breeches are gone! Look here — I am reduced to my regi- mentals ; and if these go, to-morrow I must borrow of y )u ! " Rochefoucault says, there is something in the misfor- tunes of our very best friends that does not displease us; — assuredly we can, most of us, laugh at their peuy inconveniences, till called upon to supply them. Tom composed his features on the instant, and replied with more gravity, as well as with an expletive, which, if mv 36 THE SPECTRE Lord Mayor had been witliin hearing, might have cost him five shillings. " There is something very queer in this, after all. The clothes, you say, have positively disappeared. Some- body is playing you a trick ; and, ten to one, your ser- vant has a hand in it. By the way, I heard something yesterday of his kicking up a bobbery in the kitchen, and seeing a ghost, or something of that kind, himself. Depend upon it, Barney is m the plot!" It now struck the Lieutenant at once, that the usually buoyant spirits of his attendant had of late been mate- rially sobered down, his loquacity obviously circum- scribed, and that he, the said Lieutenant, had actually rung his bell three several times that very morning before he could procure his attendance. Mr. Maguire was forthwith summoned, and underwent a close exami- nation. The "bobbery" was easily explained. Mr. Ohver Dobbs had hinted his disapprobation of a flirta- tion carrying on between the gentleman from Munster and the lady from the Rue St. Hon ore. Mademoiselle had boxed Mr. Maguire's ears, and Mr. Maguire had pulled Mademoiselle upon his knee, and the lady had not cried Mon Dieu ! And Mr. OHver Dobbs said it was very wrong ; and Mrs. Botherby said it was " scan- dalous," and what ought not to be done in any moral kitchen ; — and Mr. Maguire had got hold of the Ho- nourable Augustus Sucklethumbkin's powder-flask, and had put large pinches of the best double Dartford into Mr. Dobbs's tobacco-box ; — and Mr. Dobbs's pipe had exploded, and set fire to Mrs. Botherby's Sunday cap ; — and Mr. Maguire had put it out with the slop- basin, " barring the wig ;" — and then they were all so OF TAPPINGTON. 3» •* cantankerous," that Barney had gone to take a wall in the garden ; and then — then Mr. Barney had seen gliost ! ! "A what ? you blockhead ! " asked Tom Ingoldsby. " Sure then, and it's meself will tell your honour tha rights of it," said the Ghost-seer. " Meself and Miss Pauline, sir, — or Miss Pauline and meself, for the ?adie3 come firs', anyhow, — \ve got tired of the hobsfroppyloua skrimmaging among the ould jervants, that didn't know a joke when they seen one : and we went out to look at the comet, that's the rory-bory-alehouse, they calls him in this country, — and we walked upon the lawn, — and divil of any alehouse there was there at all ; and Miss Pauline said it was because of the shrubbery may- be, and why wouldn't we see it better beyonst the trees ? ■ — and so we went to the trees, but sorrow a comet did meself see there, barring a big Ghost instead of it." "A ghost ? And what sort of a ghost, Barney ? " " Och, then, divil a lie Til tell your honour. A tall ould gentleman he was, all in white, with a shovel on the shoulder of him, and a big torch in his fist, — though what he wanted with that it's meself can't tell, for his eyes were like gig-lamps, let alone the moon and the comet, which wasn't there at all ; — and ' Barney,' says he to me, — 'cause why he knew me, — ' Barney,' says he, ' what is it you're doing with the colleen there, Barney ? ' — Divil a word did I say. Miss Pauline screeched, and cried murther in French, and ran ofi" with herself; and of course meself was in a mighty hurry after the lady, and had no time to stop palavering with him any way; Bo I dispersed at once, and the Ghost vanished in >» flame of fire 1 " 38 THE SPECTRE Mr. Miguir^'s account was received with avowed incredulity by botli gentlemen ; but Barney stuck to bis text with unflinching pertinacity. A reference to Ma- demoiselle was suggested, but abandoned, as neither party had a taste for delicate investigations. " I'll tell you what, Seaforth," said Ingoldsby, after Barney had received his dismissal, " that there is a trick here, is evident ; and Barney's vision may possibly be a part of it. Whether he is most knave or fool, you best know. At all events, I will sit up with you to- night, and see if I can convert my ancestor into a visit- ing acquaintance. Meanwhile your finger on your lip!" * % % * % "'Twaa n'tw the very witching time of night, When churchyards yawn, and graves give up their dead." Gladly would I grace my tale with decent horror, and therefore I do beseech the " gentle reader " to believe, that if all the succedatua to this mysterious narrative are not in strict keeping, he will ascribe it only to the disgraceful innovations of modern degeneracy upon the sober and dignified habits of our ancestors. I can introduce him, it is true, into an old and high -roofed chai.ber, its walls covered on three sides with black oalj wainscotting, adorned with carvings of fruit and flowers long anterior to those of Grinling Gibbons ; the fourth side is clothed with a curious remnant of dingy tapestry, once elucidatory of some Scriptural history, but ot which not even Mrs, Botherby could determine. Mr. Simpkinson, who had examined it carefully, inclined to believe the principal figure to be either Bathsheba. oi Daniel in the lions' den ; while Tom Ingoldsby decided OF TAPPINGTON. 39 in favour of the King of Bashan. All, however, was conjecture, tradition being silent on the subject. — A lofty arched portal led into, and a little arched portal led out of, this apartment ; they were opposite each other, and each possessed the security of massy bolts on its interior. The bedstead, too, was not one of yesterday, but manifestly coeval with days ere Seddons waif, and when a good four-post "article" was deemed worthy of bemg a royal bequest. The bed itself, with all the appurtenances of palliasse, mattresses, &c., was of far later date, and looked most incongruously comfortable ; the casements, too, with their little diamond-shaped panes and iron binding, had given way to the modern heterodoxy of the sash-window. Nor was this all that conspired to ruin the costume, and render the room a meet haunt for such " mixed spirits " only as could con- descend to don at the. same time an Elizabethan doublet and Bond-street inexpressibles. With their green morocco slippers on a modern fender, m front of a disgracefully modern grate, sat two young gentlemen, clad in " shawl-pattern " dressing gowns and black silk stocks, much at variance with the high, cane-backed chairs w^hich supported them. A bunch of abomination called a cigar, reeked in the left- hand corner of the mouth of one, and in the right-hand corner of the mouth of the other ; — an arrangement happily adapted for the escape of the noxious fumes up tlie chimney, without that unmerciful " funking " each other, which a less scientific disposition of the w^eed would have induced. A small pembroke table filled up the intervening space between them, sustaining, at each extremity, an elbow and a glass of toddj ; — thus in 40 THE SPECTRE " lonely pensive contemplation " were the two worthiei occupied, when the " iron ton^-ue of midnight had tolled twelve." " Ghost-time's come ! " said Ingoldsby, taking from nis waistcoat pocket a watch like a gold half-crown, and consulting it as though he suspected the turret-clock over the stables of mendacity. " Hush ! " said Charles ; " did I not hear a footstep ? " There was a pause : — there was a footstep — it sounded distinctly — it reached the door — it hesitated, stopped, and — passed on. Tom darted across the room, threw open the door, and became aware of Mrs. Botherby toddling to her chamber at the other end of the gallery, after dosing one of the housemaids with an approved julep from the Countess of Kent's " Choice Manual." " Good night, sir I " said Mrs. Botherby. " Go to the d — 1 1 " said the disappointed ghost- hunter. An hour — two — rolled on, and still no spectral visita- tion ; nor did aught intervene to make night hideous ; and when the turret-clock sounded at length the hour of three, Ingoldsby, whose patience and grog were alike exhausted, sprang from his chair, saying — " This is all infernal nonsense, my good fellow. Deuce of any ghost shall we see to-night ; it's long past the canonical hour. I'm off to bed ; and as to your breeches, I'il insure them for the next twenty-four hours at least, at the price of the buckram." " Certainly. — Oh ! thank'ee ; — to be sure ! " stam- mered Charles, rousing himself from a reverie, ^vhich had degenerated into an absolute snooze. OF TAPPINGTON, 41 " Good niglit, my boy ! Bolt the door behind me • and defy the Pope, the Devil, and the Pretender ! — " Seaforth followed his friend's advice, and the next morning came down to breakfast dressed in the habili- ments of the preceding day. The charm was broken, the demon defeated ; the light greys with the red stripe down the seams were yet in rcrum naturd, and adorned the person of their lawful proprietor. Tom felicitated himself and his partner of the watch on the result of their vigilance ; but there is a rustic adage, which wp,rns us against self-gratulation before we are quite " out of the wood." — Seaforth was yet within its verge. A rap at Tom Ingoldsby's door the following morn- ing startled him as he was shaving : — he cut his chin. " Come in, and be d — d to you 1 " said the martyr, pressing his thumb on the scarified epidermis. — The door opened, and exhibited Mr. Barney Maguire. " Well, Barney, what is it ? " quoth the sufferer, adopting the vernacular of his visitant. " The master, sir " " Well, what does he want ? " " The loanst of a breeches, plase your honour." " Why, you don't mean to tell me — By Heaven, this is too good ! " shouted Tom, bursting into a fit of uncon- trollable laughter. " Why, Barney, you don't mean to say ':he ghost has got them again ? " Mr. Maguire did not respond to the young squire's risibility; the cast of his countenance was decidedly Bcrious. " Faith, then, it's gone they are, sure enough ! Hasn \ 42 THE SPECTRE meself been looking over tlie bed, and under the bed, and in tbe bed, for the matter of that, and di\Tl a ha'p'orth of breeches is there to the fore at all : — I'm bothered entirely ! " " Hark'ee ! Mr. Barney," said Tom, incautiously removing his thumb, and letting a crimson stream " incarnadine the multitudinous " lather that plastered his throat, — " this may be all very well with your master, but you don't humbug me, sir : — tell me in- stantly what have you done with the clothes ?" This abrupt transition from " lively to severe " cer- tainly took Maguire by surprise, and he seemed for an instant as much disconcerted as it is possible to disconcert an Irish gentleman's gentleman. " Me ? is it meself, then, that 's the Ghost to your honour's thinking ? " said he, after a moment's pause, and with a slight shade of indignation in his tones: " is it I would sta]e the master's things, — and what would I do with them ? " "That you best know: — what your purpose is I can't guess, for I don't think you mean to 'stale' them, as you call it ; but that you are concerned in their disappearance, I am satisfied. Confound this blood ! — give me a towel, Barney." Maguire acquitted himself of the commission. "As I've a sowl, your honour," said he solemnly, " little it is meself knows of the matter ; and after what I seen " " What you've seen ? Why, what have you seen 1 — Barney, I don't want to inquire into your flirtations; but don't suppose you can palm off your saucer eye* and gig-lamps upon me !" OF TAPPINGTON. 43 " Then, as sure as your honour 's standing there I BAW him : and why wouldn't I, when Miss Pauline was to the fore as well as meself, and " " Get along with your nonsense, — leave the room, sir!" " But the master ? " said Barney, imploringly ; " and without a breeches ? — sure he'll be catching cowld ! — '* " Take that, rascal ! " replied Ingoldsby, throwing a pair of pantaloons at, rather than to, him ; " but don't suppose, sir, you shall carry on your tricks here with impunity ; recollect there is such a thing as a treadmill, and that my father is a county magis- trate." Barney's eye flashed fire, — he stood erect, and was about to speak ; but, mastering himself, not without an efibrt, he took up the garment, and left the room as perpendicular as a Quaker. ***** " Ingoldsby," said Charles Seaforth, after breakfast, " this is now past a joke ; to-day is the last of my stay ; for, notwithstanding the ties which detain me, common decency obliges me to visit home after so long an absence. I shall come to an immediate explanation with your father on the subject nearest ray heart, and depart while I have a change of dress left. On his answer will my return depend ! in the meantime tell me candidly, — I ask it in all seriousness, and as a friend, — am I not a dupe to your well-known propen- sity to hoaxing ? have you not a hand in " " No, by Heaven ! Seaforth ; I see what you mean : on my honour, I am as mu^li m3'stified as yourself ; and If your servant " 44 THE SPEOTRE " Not he : — if there be a trick, he at least is noi privy to it." " If there be a trick ? Why, Charles, do you think " " I know not what to think, Tom. As surely as you are a living man, so surely did that spectral anatomy visit my room again last night, grin in my face, and walk away with my trousers ; nor was I able to spring from my bed, or break the chain which seemed to bind me to my pillow." "Seaforth!" said Ingoldsby, after a short pause, " I will — but hush ! here are the girls and my father. — I wid carry off the females, and leave you a clear field with the Governor : carry your point with him, and we will talk about your breeches after- wards." Tom's diversion was successful ; he carried oft' the ladies en masse to look at a remarkable specimen of the class Dodecandria Monogyala, — which they could not find ; — while Seaforth marched boldly up to the encounter, " and carried " the Governor's " outworks by a coup de main. I shall not stop to describe the progress of the attack ; suffice it that it was as success- ful as could have been wished, and that Seaforth was referred back again to the lady. The happy lover was off at a tangent ; the botanical party was soon over- taken ; and the arm of Caroline, whom a vain endea- vour to spell out the Linnsean name of a dafFy-dovvn- dilly had detained a little in the rear of the others, y?fli Boon firmly looked in his own. " What was the world to them, Its noise, its nonsense, and its ' breeches' alj ^'' OF TAPPINGTON. 4d Seaforth was in the seventh heaven ; he retirea to hia room that night as happy as if no such thing as a goblin had ever been heard of, and personal chattels were as well fenced in by law as real property. Not so I'om Ingoldsby : the mystery — for mystery there evidently was, — had not only piqued his curiosity, but luffled his temper. The watch of the previous night had been unsuccessful, probably because it was •mdisguised. To-night he would "ensconce himself," — not indeed " behind the arras," — for the little that remained was, as we have seen, nailed to the wall, — but in » small closet which opened from one corner of the loom, and, by leaving the door ajar, would give to its Occupant a view of all that might pass in the apartment. Here did the young Ghost-hunter take up a position, with a good stout sapling under his arm, a fUii half-hour before Seaforth retired for the night. Not even his friend did he let into his con- fidence, fuliy determined that if his plan did not succeed, the failure should be attributed to himself alone. At the usual hour of separation for the night, Tom saw, from his concealment, the Lieutenant enter his room, and, after taking a few turns in it, with an expression so joyous as to betoken that his thoughts were mainly occupied by his approaching happiness, proceed slowly to disrobe himself. The coat, the waistcoat, the black silk stock, were gradually dis- carded ; the gi'een morocco slippers were kicked off, and then — ay, and then — his countenance grew grave ; it seemed to occur to him all at once that this was his last stake, — nay, that the very breeches hf 46 THE SPECTRE had on were not his own, — that to-moriow morning was his last, and that if he lost them A glance showed that his mind was made up ; he replaced the single button he had just subducted, and threw him- self upon the bed in a state of transition, — half chrysalis, half-grub. Wearily did Tom Ingoldsby watch the sleeper by the flickering light of the night-lamp, till the clock, striking one, induced him to increase the narrow opening which he had left for the purpose of observation. The motion, slight as it was, seemed to attract Charles's attention ; for he raised himself suddenly to a sitting posture, listened for a moment, and then stood upright upon the floor. Ingoldsby was on the point of discovering him- self, when, the light flashing full upon his friend's countenance, he perceived that, though his eyes were open, " their sense was shut," — that he was yet under the influence of sleep. Seaforth advanced slowly to the toilet, lit his candle at the lamp that stood on it, then, going back to the bed's foot, appeared to search eagerly for something which he could not find. For a few mo- ments he seemed restless and uneasy, walking round the apartment and examining the chairs, till, coming fully in front of a large swing-glass that flanked the dressing- table, he paused, as if contemplating his figure in it. He now returned towards the bed ; put on his slippers, and, with cautious and stealthy steps, proceeded towards the little arched doorway that opened on the private staircase. As he drew the bolt, Tom Ingoldsby emerged from his hiding-place ; but the sleep-walker heard him not, he proceeded softly down stairs, followed at a due di? OF TAPPINGTON. 47 tance by his friend; opened the door wlirch led out upon the gardens ; and stood at once among the thick- est of the shrubs, which there clustered round the base of a corner turret, and screened the postern from com- mon observation. At this moment Ingoldsby had nearly spoiled all by making a false etep : the sound attracted Seaforth's attention, — he paused and turned; and, as the full moon shed her light directly upon his pale and troubled features, Tom marked, almost with dismay, the fixed and rayless appearance of his eyes : — " There was no speculation in those orbs That he did glare withal." The perfect stillness preserved by his follower seemed to "eassure him ; he turned aside ; and from the midst of a thickset laurustinus, drew forth a gardener's spade, shouldering which he proceeded with greater rapidity mto the midst of the shrubbery. Arrived at a certain point where t) e earth seemed to have been recently dis- turbed, he set himself heartily to the task of digging, till, having thrown up several shovelfuls of mould, he stopped, flung down his tool, and very composedly began to disencumber himself of his pantaloons. Up to this moment Tom had watched him with a wary eye ; he now advanced cautiously, and, as his friend was busily engaged in disentangling himself from his garment, made himself master of the spade. Sea- forth, meanwhile, had accomphshed his purpose: hj stood for a moment with " His streamers waving in the wind,** occupied in carefully rolling up the small-clothes intx) as 48 THE SPECTRK compact a form as possible, and all heedless of the breath of heaven, which might certainly be supposed, at such a moment, and in such a plight, to " visit his frame too roughly." — He was in the act of stooping low to deposit the pantaloons in the grave which he had been digging for them, when Tom Ingoldsby came close behind him, and with the flat side of the spade * * * ^ * The shock was effectual; — never again was Lieu- tenant Seaforth known to act the part of a somnam- bulist. One by one, his breeches, — his trousers, — his pantaloons, — his silk-net tights, — his patent cords, — his showy greys with the broad red stripe of the Bombay Fencibles, were brought to light, — rescued from the grave in which they had been buried like the strata of a Christmas pie ; and, after having been well aired by Mrs. Botherby, became once again eff'ective. The family, the ladies especially, i mghed ; — the Peterses laughed ; — the Simpkinsons laughed ; — Barney Maguire cried " Botheration ! " and Ma'mselle Pauline^ Charles Seaforth, unable to face the quizzing which awaited him on all sides, started off two hours earlier than he had proposed : — he soon returned, however and having, at his father-in-law's request, given up the occupation of Rajah-hunting and shooting nabobs, led his blushing bride to the altar. Mr. Simpkinson from Bath did not attend the cere- mony, being engaged at the Grand Junction Meeting of Scavans, then congregating from all parts of the known world in the city of Dublin. His essay, demvmstrating OF TAPPINGTON. 49 ! that the globe is a great custard, whipped into coagula- tion by whirlwinds, and cooked by electricity, — a little too much baked in the Isle of Portland, and a thought underdone about the Bog of Allan, — was highly spoken of, and narrowly escaped obtaining a Bridgewater prize. Miss Simpkinson and her sister acted as brides- maids on the occasion ; the former wrote an epithala- num, and the latter cried "Lassy me 1" at the clergy- man's wig. Some yeai's have since rolled on ; the union has been crowned with two or three tidy little off- shoots from the family tree, of whom Master Neddy is " grand-papa's darling," and Mary- Anne mamma's par- ticular " Sock." I shall only add, that Mr. and Mrs. Seaforth are li\nng together quite as happily as two good-hearted, good-tempered bodies, very fond of each other, can possibly do : and that, since the day of his marriage, Charles has shown no disposition to jump out of bed, or ramble out of doors o' nights, — though, from his entire devotion to every wish and whim of his young wife, Tom insinuates that the fair Caroline does still occasionally take advantage of it so far as to " slip on the Breeches." It was not till some years after the events just recorded, that Miss Mary-x\nne, the " Pet Sock " before alluded to, was made acquainted with the following piece of family biography. It was communicated to her in strict confidence by Nurse Botherby, a maiden niece of the old lady's, tlien recently promoted from the ranks in the FIRST SERIES. 8 50 THE SPECTRE OF TAPriNGTON. still-room to be second in command in the Nursery department. The story is connected with a dingy wizen-faced por trait in an oval frame, generally known by the name of " Uncle Stephen," though from the style of his cut-velvet it is evident that some generations must have passed away since any living being could have sV:>04i Vi# wards him in that degree of consanguinity. THE NURSE'S STORY. THE HAND OF GLORY. ••Malefica quaedam auguriatrix in Anglia fuit, quam demooes horribilitet •ztraxeiunt, et imponentes super equum terribilem, per aera rapuer ur.t . CUmoresque terribiles (ut ferunt) per quatuor ferme miliana audiebantur." Nuremb. Chron On the lone bleak moor, At the midnight hour, Beneath the Gallows Tree, Hand in hand The Murderers stand By one, by two, by three ! And the Moon that night With a grey, cold light Each baleful object tips; One half of her form Is seen through the storm. The other half's hid in Eclipse. And the cold Wind howls, And the Thunder growls, And the Lightning is broad and bright; And altogether It 's very bad weather, And an unpleasant sort of a night I "Now mount who list, And close by the wrist Sever me quickly the Dead Man's fist I— 52 THE NURSE S STORY. Now climb who dare "Where he swings in air, And pluck me five locks of the Dead Man's hair I " ****** There's an old woman dwells upon Tappington Moor, She hath years on her back at the least fourscore, And some people fancy a great many more ller nose it is hook'd, Her back it is crook'd, Her eyes blear and red : On the top of her head Is a rautcli, and on that A shocking bad hat, Extinguisher-shaped, the brim narrow and flat ! Then, — My Gracious I — her beard ! — it would sadly perplex A spectator at first to distinguish her sex ; Nor, I '11 venture to say, without scrutiny could he Pronounce her, ofF-handed, a Punch or a Judy. Did you see her, in short, that mud-hovel within. With her knees to her nose, and her nose to her chin, Leering up with that queer, indescribable grin, You'd lift up your hands in amazement, and cry, ^ •* — Well I — I never did see such a regular Guyl " And now before That old Woman's door, Where naught that's good may be, Hand in hand The Murderers stand By one, by two, by three 1 Oh I 'tis a horrible sight to view. In that horrible hovel, that horrible crew, By the pale blue glare of that flickering flame, Doing the deed that hath never a name I 'Tis awful to hear Those words of fear I The pray'r mutter'd backwards, and said with a sneer (Matthew Hopkins himself has assured us that when A witch says her pray'rsj she begins with " Amen.**)— THE HAliiD OF GLORY. f)H — Tis awful to see On that Old Woman's knee The dead, slirivell'd hand, as she clasps it with glee And now, with care, The five locks of hair From the skull of the Gentleman dangling up there, With the grease and the fat Of a black Tom Cat iShe hastens to mix, And to twist into wicks. And one on the thumb, and each finger to fix. — (For another receipt the same charm to prepare, Consult Mr. Ainsworth and Fetit Albert.) " Now open lock To the Dead Man's knock I Fly bolt, and bar, and band I^ Nor move, nor swerve Joint, muscle, or nerve, At the spell of the Dead Man's hand ! Sleep all who sleep ! — Wake all who wake I — And be as the Dead for the Dead Man's sake 1 1 " ****** A.11 is silent I all is still. Save the ceaseless moan of the bubbling rill As it wells from the bosom of Tappington Hill ; And in Tappington Hall Great and Small, Gentle and Simple, Squire and Groom, Each one hath sought his separate room, And sleep her dark mantle hath o'er them cast^ For the midnight hour hath long been past 1 All is darksome in earth and sky. Save, from yon casement, narrow and high, A quivering beam On the tiny stream Plays, like some taper's fitful gleanc By one that is watching wearily. 54 THE NURSE S STORY. Within that casement, narrow and high, In his secret lair, where none may spy, Sits one whose brow is wrinkled with care, And the thin grey locks of his failing hair Have left his little bald pate all bare ; For his fiill-bottom'd wig Hangs, bushy and big, On the top of his old-fashion'd, high-back'd chair. Unbraced are his clothes, Ungarter'd his hose. His gown is bedizened with tulip and rose. Flowers of remarkable size and hue, Flowers such as Eden never knew ; — And there, by many a sparkling heap Of the good red gold, The tale is told What powerful spell avails to keep That care-worn man from his needful sleep ! Haply, he deems no eye can see As he gloats on his treasm-e greedily, — The shining store Of glittering ore. The fair Rose-Noble, the bright Moidore, And the broad Double Joe from ayont the sea, — But there's one that watches as well as he ; For, wakeful and sly, In a closet hard by. On his truckle-bed lieth a little Foot-page, A boy who's uncommonly sharp of his age. Like young Master Horner, Who erst in a corner Sat eating his Christmas pie : And, while that Old Gentleman's counting his hoardij, Little Hugh peeps through a crack in tlie boards! ***** There's a voice in the air. There's a step on the stair, The old man starts in his cane-back'd chair; THE HAND OF GLORY. 66 At the first faint sound He gazes around. And holds up his dip of sixteen to the pound. Then half arose From beside his toes His little pug-dog with his little pug nose, But, ere he can vent one inquisitive sniff. That little pug-dog stands stark and stiff. For low, yet clear, Now fall on the ear, — Where once pronounced for ever they dwell,- The unholy words of the Dead Man's spell 1 "Open lock To the Dead Man's knock I Fly bolt, and bar, and band I Nor move, nor swerve Joint, muscle, or nerve. At the spell of the Dead Man's hand ! Sleep all who sleep! — "Wake all who wake I — But be as the Dead for the Dead Man's sake 1 1 " Nor stout oak panel thick-studded with nails. Heavy and harsh the hinges creak. Though they had been oil'd in the course of the week ; The door opens wide as wide may be, And there they stand. That murderous band. Let by the light of that Glorious Hand, By one ! — by two ! — by three I They have pasp'd through the porch, they have pass' thrr'xgh the hall. Where the Porter sat snoring against the wall ; The very snore froze In his very snub nose. You'd have verily deem'd he had snored his last When the Glorious Hand by the side of him past I o6 THE nurse's story. E'en the little wee mouse, as it ran o'er the mat At the top of its speed to escape from the cat. Though half dead with affright, Paused in its flight; And the cat, that was chasing that little wee thing. Lay crouch'd as a statue in act to spring 1 And now they are there, On the head of the stair. And the long crooked whittle is gleaming and bare I — I really don't think any money would bribe Me the horrible scene that ensued to describe, Or the wild, wild glare Of that old man's eye, His dumb despair, And deep agony. The kid from the pen, and the lamb from the fold. Unmoved may the blade of the butcher behold ; They dream not — ah, happier they 1 — that the knife, Though uplifted, can menace their innocent life ; It falls ; — the frail thread of their being is riven, They dread not, suspect not, the blow till 'tis given.— But, oh 1 what a thing 'tis to see and to know That the bare knife is raised in the hand of the foe. Without hope to repel, or to ward off the blow I — — Enough ! — let's pass over as fast as we can The fate of that grey, that unhappy old man 1 But fancy poor Hugh, Aghast at the view, Powerless alike to speak or to do I In vain doth he try To open the eye Tliat is shut, or close that which is clapt to the chink, Though he'd give all the world to be able to wink I— No ! — for all that this world can give or refuse, I would not be now in that little boy's shoes, Oi indeed any garment at all that is Hugh's 1 THE HAND OF GLORY. 5l — 'Tis lucky for him that the chiuk in the wall Ht has peep'd through so long, is so narrow and small I Wailing voices, sounds of woe, Such as follow departing friends, That fatal night round Tappington go, Its long-drawn roofs and its gable ends : Ethereal Spii'its, gentle and good, Aye weep and lament o'er a deed of blood I * * ^ * * Tis early dawn — the morn is grey, And the clouds and the tempest have pass'd away, And all things betoken a very fine day ; But, while the lark her carol is singing. Shrieks and screams are through Tappington ringing I Upstarting all, Great and small, Each one who's found within Tappington Hall, Gentle and Simple, Squire or Groom, All seek at once that old Gentleman's room ; And there, on the floor, Drench'd in its gore, A ghastly corpse lies exposed to the view, Carotid and jugular both cut through! And there, by its side, 'Mid the crimson tide. Kneels a little Foot-page of tenderest years ; Adown his pale cheek the fast-falling tears Are coursing each other round and big, And he's staunching the blood with a full-bottom'd wig Alas I and alack for his staunching! — 'tis plain. As anatomists tell us, that never again Shall life revisit the foully slain. When once they've been cut through the j'jgular vein. » * * * » There's a hue and a cry through the County of Kent, And in chase of the cut-throats a Constable's sent, But no one can tell the man which wav they went. 3* 58 THE nurse's story. There's a little Foot-page with that Constable goes, And a little pug-dog with a little pug-nose. « « « « « In Rochester town At the sign of the Crown, Three phabby-genteel men are just sitting down To a fat stubble-goose, with potatoes down brown ; When a little Foot-page Rushes in, in a rage, Upsetting the apple-sauce, onions, and sage. That little Foot-page takes the first by the throat, And a little pug-dog takes the next by the coat^ And a Constable seizes the one more remote ; And fair rose-nobles and broad moidores. The Waiter pulls out of their pockets by scores. And the Boots and the Chambermaids run in and stare ; And the Constable says, with a dignified air, "You're wanted, Gen'lemen, one and all. For that 'ere precious lark at Tappington Hall 1" There's a black gibbet frowns upon Tappington Moor, Where a former black gibbet has frown'd before ; It is as black as black may be, And murderers there Are dangling in air, By one ! — by two I — by three I There's a horrid old hag in a steeple-crown'd hat. Round her neck they have tied to a hempen cravat A Dead Man's hand, and a dead Tom Cat 1 They have tied up her thumbs, they have tied up her tooa, They have tied up her eyes, they have tied up her limbs ! Into Tappington mill-dam souse she goes With a whoop and a halloo ! — " She swims ! — She swims !" They have dragg'd her to land, And every one's hand, Is grasping a faggot, a billet, or brand. THE HAND OF GLORY. 69 When a queer-looking horseman, drest all in black, Snatches up that old harridan just like a sack To the crupper behind him, puts spurs to his hack. Makes a dash through the crowd, and ia off in a crack »— No one can tell, Though they guess pretty well. Which way that grim rider and old woman go, For all see he's a sort of infernal Ducrow ; And she scream'd so, and cried, "We may fairly decide That the old woman did not much relish her ride I Moral. This truest of stories confirms beyond doubt That truest of adages — " Murder will out !" In vain may the blood-spiller " double " and fly In vain even witchcraft and sorcery try : Although for a time he may 'scape, by-and-by He'll be sure to be caught by a Hugh and a Cry . • One marvel follcws another as naturally as one " shoulder of mutton " is said " to drive another down." A little Welsh girl, who sometimes makes her way from the kitchen into the nursery, after listening with intense interest to this tale, immediately started off at score with the sum and substance of what, in due reverence for such authority, I shall call — PATTY MORGAN THE MILKMAID'S STORl **LOOK AT THE CLOCKl* "Look at the Clock !" quoth Winifred Pryce, As she open'd the door to her husband's knock, Then paus'd to give him a piece of advice, " You nasty Warmint, look at the Clock 1 Is this the "way, you Wretch, every day you Treat her who vow'd to love and obey you ?— Out all night ! Me in a fright ; Staggering home as it's just getting light ! You intoxified brute ! — ^you insensible block I — Look at the Clock !— Do !— Look at the Clock I" Winifred Pryce was tidy and clean, Her gown was a flower'd one, her petticoat green. Her buckles were bright as her milking cans. And her hat was a beaver, and made like a man's ; Her little red eyes were deep set in their socket-holes. Her gown-tail was turn'd up, and tucked throisgh the pocket holes ; A face like a ferret Betoken'd her spirit : To conclude, Mrs. Pryce was not over young. Had very short legs, and a very long tongue. 62 PATTY MORGAN THE MILKMAID's STORY. Now David Pryce Had one daring vice; Remarkably partial to anything nice. Nought that was good to him came amiss, Whether to eat, or to drink, or to kiss I Esi/ccially al'v— If it was not too staie I really believe he'd have emptied a pail ; Not that in Wales They talk of tlieir Ales ; To pronounce the word they make use of iiiAght trouble you, Being spelt with a C, two Rs, and a W. That particular day, As I've heard people say, Mr. David Pryce had been soaking his clay. And amusing himself with his pipe and cheroots, The whole afternoon at the Goat-in-Boots, With a couple more soakers. Thoroughbred smokers, , Both, like himself, prime singers and jokers ; And, long after day had drawn to a close, And the rest of the world was wrapp'd in repose, They were roaring out " Shenkin !" and " Ar hydd y nos;" While David himself to a Sasscmach tune. Sang, " We've drunk down the Sun, boys ! let's drink down ih« Moon ! What have we with day to do ? Mrs. Winifred Pryce, 'twas made for you I" •- At length, when they couldn't well drink any more, Old ' Goat-in-Boots" showed them the door: And then came that knock, And the sensible shock David felt when his wife cried, " Look at the Clock 1" For the hands stood as crooked as crc oked might be, Tlie long at the Twelve, and the short at the Three! That self-same clock had long been a bone Of contention between this Darby and Joan ; 63 And often, among their pother and rout, When this otherwise amiable couple fell out, Pryce would drop a cool hint , With an ominous squint At its case, of an " Uncle " of his, who 'd a "Spout* Tliat horrid word "Spout" No sooner came out. Than Winifred Pryce would turn her about, And with scorn on her lip, And a hand on each hip, " Spout " herself till her nose grew red at the tip, "You thundering Willin, I know you'd be killing Your wife — ay, a dozen of wives, — for a shilling I You may do what you please. You may sell my chemise, (Mrs. P. "was too Avell bred to mention her stock,) But I never will part with my Grandmother's Clock I * Mrs. Pryce's tongue ran long and ran fast ; But patience is apt to wear out at last, And David Pryce in temper was quick. So he stretch'd out his hand, and caught hold of a stick Perhaps in its use he might mean to be lenient^ But walking just then wasn't very convenient, So he threw it, instead. Direct at her head ; It knock'd off her hat ; Down she fell flat; Her ease, perhaps, w^as not much mended by that But whatever it was, — whether rage and pain Produced apoplexy, or bui'st a vein, Or her tumble induced a concussion of brain, I can't say for certain, — but this I can. When, sober'd by fright, to assist her ho ran, Mrs. Winifred Pryce was as dead as Queen Anne 64 PATTY MORGAN TH^ MILKMAID S STORT. The fearful catastrophe Named in my last strophe As acding to grim Death's exploits such a vast trophy, Made a great noise ; and the shocking fatality Ran over, like wild-fire, the whole Principality. And then came Mr. Ap Thomas, the Coroner, With his jury to sit, some dozen or more, on her. Mr. Pryce to commence His " ingenious defence," Made a "powerful appeal" to the jury's "good sense," "The world he must defy Even to justify Any presumption of 'Malice Prepense ;' " — The unlucky lick From the end of his stick He "deplored," — he was "apt to he rather too quick '*- But, really, her prating Was so aggravating : Some trifling correction was just what he meant; — all The rest, he assured them, was " quite accidental I " Then he calls Mr. Jones, Who depones to her tones, And her gestures, and hints about " breaking his boueSb' While Mr. Ap Morgan and Mr. Ap Rhys Declared the Deceased Had styled him "a Beast," And swear they had witness'd, with grief and surprise, The allusions she made to his limbs and his eyes. The jury, in fine, having sat on the body The whole day, discussing the case, and gin toddy, Return'd about half-past eleven at night The following verdict, " We find, Sarve her right ! " Mr. Pryce, Mrs. Winifred Pryce being dead. Felt lonely, and moped ; and one evening he said He would marry Miss Davis at once in her stead. " LOOK AT TliE CLOCk/' 65 Not far from his dwelling, From the vale proudly swelling, Rose a mountain ; its name you'll excuse me from tellinft For the vowels made use of in "Welsh are so few Tliat the A and the E, the I, O, and the U, Have really but little or nothing to do ; And the duty, of course, falls the heavier by far On the L, and the H, and the N,* and the R. Its first syllable "Pen," Is pronounceable ; — then Come two L Ls, and two II Hs, two F Fs, and an N ; About half a score Rs, and some Ws follow, Beating all my best efforts at euphony hollow : But we shan't have to mention it often, so when We do, with your leave, we'll curtail it to "Pen.** Well — the moon shone bright Upon " Pen " that night. When Pryce, being quit of his fuss and his fright, Was scaling its side With that sort of a stride A man puts on when walking in search of a bride, Mounting higher and higher, He began to perspire, Till, finding his legs were beginning to tire, And feeling opprest By a pain in his chest. He paus'd, and turn'd round to take breath, and to rest A walk all up hill is apt, we know, To make one, however robust, puflf and blow, So he stopp'd and look'd down on the valley below. O'er fell, and o'er fen. Over mountain and glen. All briglit in the moonshine, his eye roved, and then All the Patriot rose in his soul, and he thought Vpoa Wales, and her glories, and all he 'd been taught 66 Of her Heroes of old. So brave and so bold, — Of her Bards with long beards, and harps mounted in fjold: Of King Edward the First, Of memory accurst ; And the scandalous manner in which he behaved. Killing Poets by dozens. With their uncles and cousins. Of whom not one in fifty had ever been shaved. — Of the Court Ball, at which by a lucky mishap, Owen Tudor fell into Queen Katherine's lap ; And how Mr. Tudor Successfully woo'd her. Till the Dowager put on a new wedding ring, And so made him Father-in law to the King. He thought upon Arthur, and Merlin of yore, On Gryffith ap Conan, and Owen Glendour ; On Pendragon, and Heaven knows how many mor«. He thought of all this, as he gazed, in a trice. And on all things, in short, but the late Mrs. Pryce ; When a lumbering noise from behind made him start» And Rent the blood back in full tide to his heart. Which went pit-a-pat As he cried out " What's that ?" That very queer sound ? Does it come from the ground ? Or the air, — from above, — or below, — or around ?— It is not like Talking, It is not like Walking, It 's not like the clattering of pot or of pan. Or the tramp of a horse, — or the tread of a man, — Or the hum of a crowd, — or the shouting of boys,— It 's really a deuced odd sort of noise I Not unlike a cart's, — but that can't be ; for when Could " all the King's horses and all the King's men,** With Old Nick for a waggoner, drive one up " Pen ?" "look at clock." 67 Pryce, u^ially brimful of valour -when drunk, Now experienced what schoolboys denominate "funk." In vain he look'd back On the whole of the track He had traversed ; a thick cloud, uncommonly black. At this moment obscured the broad disc of the moon, And did not seem likely to pass away soon ; "While clearer and clearer, Twas plain to the hearer, Be the noise what it might, it drew nearer and nearer, And sounded, as Pryce to this moment declares, Very raucli "like a Coffin a-walking up stairs." Mr. Pryce had begun To " make up" for a run. As in such a companion he saw no great fun, WTien a single bright ray Shone out on the way lie had passed, and he saw, with no little dismay, Coming after him, bounding o'er crag and o'er rock. The deceased Mrs. Winifred's "Grandmother's Clock! f" Twas so ! — it had certainly moved from its place, And come, lumbei-ing on thus, to bold him in chase ; j Twas the very same Head, and the very same Case, And nothing was altered at all — but the Face I In that he perceived, with no little surprise, rhe two little winder-holes turned into eyes Blazing with ire. Like two coals of fire ; And the "Name of the Maker" was changed to a Lip, And the Hands to a Nose with a very red tip. No ! — he could not mistake it, — 'twas She to the life I rhe identical face of his poor defunct Wife 1 One glance was enough. Completely " Quant. Sxiff." k& the doctors write down when they send you their "stuft"."— Like a Weather-oock whirled by a vehement pufF, 68 PATir MORGAN THE MILKMAIDS STORY. David turned hitaself round ; Ten feet of ground He elear'd, in his start, at the very first bound ! I 've seen people run at West-End Fair for cheeses— r 've seen Ladies run at Bow Fair for chemises - At Greenwich Fair twenty men run for a hat, And one from a Bailiff much faster than that — At foot-ball I 've seen lads run after the bladder — I 've seen Irish Bricklayers run up a ladder — I 've seen little boys run away from a cane — And I 've seen (that is, read of) good running in Spain ,* But I never did read Of, or witness, such speed As David exerted that evening — Indeed All I ever have heard of boys, women, or men. Falls far short of Pryce, as he ran over " Pen 1 " He now reaches its brow, — He has past it, — and now Having once gained the summit, and managed to cross it, he Rolls down the side with uncouunon velocity ; But, run as he will, Or roll down the hill. That bugbear behind him is after him still ! And close at his heels, not at all to his liking, The terrible clock keeps on ticking and striking, Till, exhausted and sore, He can't run any more, But falls as he reaches Miss Davis's door. And screams when they I'ush out, alarm'd at his knock, " Oh 1 Look at the Clock !— Do !— Look at the Clock 1 1 " Miss Davis look'd up, Miss Davis look'd down. She saw nothing there to alarm her ; — a frown • I-run. is a town said to have been so named from soniethingr of tti sort. " LOOK AT THE CLOCK." 69 Came o'er her white forehead, She said, " It was horrid A man should come knocking at that time of night, And give her Mamma and herself such a fright ; — To squall and to bawl ALout nothing at all !" — She begg'd " he'd not think of repeating his call, His late wife's disaster By no means had past her," She 'd "have him to know she was meat for his Master 1" Then regardless alike of his love and his woes, She turn'd on her heel and she turned up her nose. Poor David in vain Implored to remain, He " dared not," he said, " cross the mountain again." Why the fair was obdurate None knows, — to be sure, it Was said she was setting her cap at the Curate ;— Be that as it may, it is certain the sole hole Pryce found to creep into that night was the Coal-hole ! In that shady retreat With nothing to eat. And with very bruised limbs, and with very sore feet^ All night close he kept ; I can't say he slept ; But he sigh'd, and he sobb'd, and he groan d, and he wept Lamenting his sins. And his two broken shins, Bewailing his fate with contortions and grins, And her he once thought a complete Rara Avin. Consigning to Satan, — viz. cruel Miss Davis 1 Mr. David has since had a " serious call," He never drinks ale, wine, or spirits, at all. And they say he is going to Exeter Hall To make a grand speech, And to preach and to teach 70 PATTY MORGAN THE MILKMAId's STORr. People that " they can't brew their malt liquor too small I* That an ancient Welsh Poet, one Pyndar ap Tudor, Was right in proelaimiog "Ariston mex Upor!" Which means " The pure Element Is for Man's bellj meant !" And that Oin 's but a Snare of Old Kick the deluderl And "still on each evening when pleasure fills up," At the old Goat-in-Boots, with Metlieglin, each cup, Mr. Pryce, if he 's there, Will get into "The Chair," And make all his quondam associates stare liy calling aloud to the Landlady's daughter, "Patty, bring a cigar, and a glass of Spring Water I" The dial he constantly watches ; and wlnm The long hand 's at the "XII," and the short at the " X,* He gets on his legs, Drains his glass to the dregs, Takes his hat and great-coat off their several pegs, With his President's hammer bestows his last knock, And says solemnly — " Gentlemen ! " Look at tue Clock ! ! 1" The succeeding Legend has long been an established favourite with all of us, as containing much of the personal history of one of the greatest ornaments of the family tree. To the wedding between the sole heiress of this redoubted hero and a direct ancestor is it owing that the Lioncels of Shurland hang so lovingly parallel with the Saltire of the Ingoldsbys, and now form as cherished a quartering in their escutcheon as the " dozen white lowses " in the " old coat " of Shallow. GKEY DOLPHIN. A LEGEND OF SHEPPEY. ' AIk won't — won't be ? Then bring me my boots !" said the Baron. Constornation was at its height in the castle of Shur- land — a caitiff had dared to disobey the Baron ! and — the Baron had called for his boots ! A thunderbolt in the great hall had been a bagatelle to it. A few days before, a notable miracle had been wrought in the neighbourhood ; and in those times miracles were not so common as they are now ; — no royal balloons, no steam, no railroads, — while the few Saints who took the trouble to walk with their heads under their arms, or to pull the Devil by the nose, scarcely appeared above once in a century ; so the affair made the greater sensation. The clock had done striking twelve, and the Clerk of Chatham was untrussing his points preparatory to seek- ing his truckle-bed ; a half-emptied tankard of mild ale stood at his elbow, the roasted crab yet floating on its surface. Midnight had surprised the worthy function ary while occupied in discussing it, and with his task f et unaccomplished. He meditated a mighty draft : on€ 72 GREY DOLPHIN. hand was fumbling with his tags, while the other was extended in the act of grasping the jorum, when a knock on the portal, solemn and sonorous, arrested his fingers. It was repeated thrice ere Emmanuel Saddleton had presence of mind sufficient to inqui.r* who sought admit- tance at that untimeous hour. " Open ! open ! good Clerk of St. Bridget's," said a female voice, small, yet distinct aud sweet, — an excel- lent thing in woman. The Clerk arose, crossed to the doorway, and undid the latchet. On the threshold stood a Lady of surpassing beauty : her robes were rich, and large, and full ; and a diadem, sparkling with gems that shed a halo around, crowned her brow : she beckoned the Clerk as he stood in asto- nishment before her. "Emmanuel ! " said the Lady ; and her tones sounded like those of a silver flute. " Emmanuel Saddleton, truss up your points, and follow me ! " The worthy Clerk stared aghast at the vision ; the purple robe, the cymar, the coronet, — above all, the smile ; no, there was no mistaking her ; — it was the blessed St. Bridget herself! And what could have brought the sainted lady out of her warm shrine at such a time of night ? and on such a night? for it was as dark as pitch, and, meta- phorically speaking, " rained cats and dogs." Emmanuel could not speak, so he looked the ques- tion. " No matter for that," said the Saint, answering to his thought. " No matter for that, Emmanuel Saddleton : only follow me, and you'll see ! " A LEGEND OF SHEPPET. 73 The Clerk turned a wistful eye at the corner-cup- board. " Oh ! never mind the lantern, Emmanuel : you'll not want it : but you may bring a mattock and a shovel." As she spoke, the beautiful apparition held up her deli- cate hand. From the tip of each of her long taper fingers issued a lambent flame of such surpassing bril- liancy as would have plunged a whole gas company into despair — it was a " Hand of Glory," * such a one as tradition tells us yet burns in Rochester Castle ever^ St. Mark's Eve. Many are the daring individual?, whc have watched in Gundulph's Tower, hoping to find it, and the treasure a guards ; — but none of them ever did. " This way, Emmanuel ! " and a flame of peculiar radiance streamed from her little finger as it pointed to the pathway leading to the churchyard. Saddleton shouldered his tools, and followed in silence. The cemetery of St. Bridget's was some half-mile distant from the Clerk's domicile, and adjoined a chapel dedicated to that illustrious lady, who, after leading but a so-so life, had died in the odour of sanctity. Em- manuel Saddleton was fat and scant of breath, the mattock was heavy, and the Saint walked too fast for him : he paused to take a second wind at the end of the first furlong. " Emmanuel," said the holy lady, good-humouredly, for she heard him pufling ; " rest awhile, Emmanuel, and I'll tell you what I want with you." • One of the uses to which this mystic chandelier was put, was the pit^ tection of secret treasure. Blow out all the fingers at one puff and you had ♦he money. FIRST SERIES. 4 74 GKEY DOLPHIN. Her auditor wiped his brow with the back of his hand, and looked all attention and obedience. " Emmanuel," continued she, " what did you and Father Fothergill, and the rest of you, mean yesterday by burying that drowned man so close to me? He died in mortal sin, Emmanuel ; no shrift, no unction, no absolution : why, he might as well have been excom- municated. He plagues me with his grinning, and I can't have any peace in my shrine. You must howk him up again, Emmanuel." " To be sure, madam, — my lady, — that is, your holi- ness," stammered Saddleton, trembling at the thought of the task assigned him. " To be sure, your ladyship ; only — that is — " " Emmanuel," said the Saint, " you'll do my bidding ; or it would be better you had ! " and her eye changed from a dove's eye to that of a hawk, and a flash came from it as bright as the one from her little finger. The Clerk shook in his shoes ; and, again dashing the cold perspiration from his brow, followed the footsteps of his mysterious guide. * * * * * The next morning all Chatham was in an uproar. The Clerk of St. Bridget's had found himself at home at daybreak, seated in his own arm-chair, the fire out, and — the tankard of ale out too ! Who had drunk it ? ■ — where had he been ? — how had he got home ? — all was a mystery ! — he remembered " a mass of things, bu* nothing distinctly." All was fog and fantasy. What he could clearly recollect was, that he had dug up the Grinning Sailor, and that the Saint had helped to throw him into the river asfain. All was thenceforth wonde'* A LEGEND OF SHEPPEY. YS merit and devotion. Masses were sung, tapers were kin died, bells were tolled ; the monks of St. Romauld had a solemn procession, the abbot at their head, the sacristan at their tail, and the holy breeches of St. Thomas a 13eck^ in the centre ; — Father Fothergill brewed a XXX puncheon of holy -water. The Rood of Gilling- ham was deserted ; the chapel of Rainham forsaken ; every one who had a soul to be saved, flocked with his oflering to St. Bridget's shrine, and Emmanuel Saddle- ton gathered more fees from the promiscuous piety of" that one week than he had pocketed during the twelve preceding months. Meanwhile the corpse of the ejected reprobate oscil- lated like a pendulum between Sheerness and Gilling- ham Reach. Now borne by the Medway into the Western Sw^ale, — now carried by the refluent tide back to the vicinity of its old quartei-s, — it seemed as though the River god and Neptune were amusing themselves with a game of subaqueous battledore, and had chosen this unfortunate carcass as a marine shuttlecock. For some time the alternation was kept up w^ith great spirit, till Boreas, interfering in the shape of a stiflSsh " Nor'- wester," drifted the bone (and flesh) of contention ashore on the Shurland domain, where it lay in all the majesty of mud. It was soon discovered by the retain- ers, and dragged from its oozy bed, grinning worse than ever. Tidings of the god-send were of cours>e carried instantly to the castle ; for the Baron was a very great man ; and if a dun cow had flown across his property unannounced by the warder, the Baron would have kicked him, the said warder, from the topmost battle- ment into the bottommost ditch, — .n descent of peril, 76 GREY DOLPHIN. and one which " Ludwig the leaper," or the illustrious Trenck himself, might well have shrunk from encoun- tering. " A.n't please your lordship — " said Peter Periwinkle, "1^0, villain! it does not please me !" roared the Baron, His lordship was deeply engaged with a peck of Feversham oysters, — he doated on shellfish, hated inter- ruption at meals, and had not yet despatched more than twenty dozen of the " natives." " ^'here's a body, my lord, washed ashore in the lower creek," said the Seneschal. The Baron was going to throw the shells at his head ; but paused in the act, and said with much dignity, — " Turn out the fellow's pockets !" But the defunct had before been subjected to the double scrutiny of Father Fothergill, and the Clerk of St. Bridget's. It was ill gleaning after such hands; there w^as not a single maravedi. We have already said that Sir Robert de Shurland, Lord of the Isle of Sheppey, and of many a fair manor on the main-land, was a man of worship. He had rights of freewarren, saccage and sockage, cuisage and jambage, fosse and fork, infang theofe and outfang theofe : and all waifs and strays belonged to him in fee simple. " Turn out his pockets ! " said the Knight. "An't please you, my lord, I must say as how they was turned out afore, and the devil a rap's left." " Then bury the blackguard ! " " Please your lordship, he has been buried once." " Then bury him again, and be ! " The BaroD bestowed a benediction. A LEGEND OF SHEPPET. ' 77 ITie Seneschal bowed low as he left the room, and the Baron went on with his oysters. Scarcely ten dozen more had vanished when Peri winkle reappeared. "An't please you, my lord, Father Fothergill says as how that it's the Grinning Sailor, and he won't bury him anyhow." " Oh ! he won't — won't he ? " said the Baron. Can it be wondered at that he called for his boots ? Sir Robert Shurland, Lord of Shurland and Minster, Baron of Sheppey in comitatu Kent, was, as has been before hinted, a very great man. He was also a very little man ; that is, he was relatively great, and rela- tively httle, — or physically little, and metaphorically great, — like Sir Sidney Smith and the late Mr. Bona- parte. To the frame of a dwarf he united the soul of a giant, and the valour of a gamecock. Then, for so small a man, his strength was prodigious ; his fist would fell an ox, and his kick — oh ! his kick was tremendous, and, when he had his boots on, would, — to use an expression of his own, which he had picked up in the holy wars, — would " send a man fi*om Jericho to J une." He was bull-necked and bandy-legged ; his chest was broad and deep, his head large and uncommonly thick, his eyes a little blood-shot, and his nose retrousse with a remarkably red tip. Strictly speaking, the Baron could not be called handsome: but his tout ensemble was singularly impressive : and when he called for his boots, everybody trembled and dreaded the woist. " Periwinkle," said the Baron, as he encased his better .eg, " let the grave be twenty feet deep ! " " Your lordship's command is law." 70 GRKY DOLPHIN. " And, Periwinkle," — Sir Robert stamped liis left hee^ Into its receptacle, — "and, Periwinkle, see that it be wide enough to hold not exceeding two 1 " " Ye — ye — yes, my lord." "And, Periwinkle, tell Father Fothergill I would fain speak with his Reverence." " Ye — ye — yes, my lord." The Baron's beard Avas peaked ; and his mustaches, stiflf and stumpy, projected horizontally like those of a Tom Cat ; he twirled the one, he stroked the other, he drew the buckle of his surcingle a thought tighter, and strode down the great staircase three steps at a stride. The vassals were assembled in the great hall of Shur- land Castle ; every cheek was pale, every tongue was mute : expectation and perplexity v/ere visible on every brow. What would his lordship do ? — Were the recu- sant anybody else, gyves to the heels and hemp to the throat were but too good for him : — but it was Father Fothergill who had said " I won't ; " and though the Baron was a very great man, the Pope was a greater, and the pope was Father Fothergill's great friend — soma people said he was his uncle. Father Fothergill was busy in the refectory trying conclusions with a venison pasty, when he received the summons of his patron to attend him in the chapel cemetery. Of course he lost no time in obeying it, for obedience was the general rule in Shurland Castle. If any body ever said " I won't," it was the exception ; and, like all other exceptions, only proved the rule the stronger. The Father was a friar of the Augustine per- suasion ; a brotherhood which, having been planted in Kent some few centuries earlier, had taken very kindly A LEGEND OF SHEPPET. 79 to the soil, and overspread the county much as hops did some few centuries later. He was plump and portly, a little thick-winded, especially after dinner, — stood five feel four m his sandals, and weighed hard upon eighteen stone. He was moreover a personage of singular piety ; and the iron girdle which, he said, he wore under his cassock to mortify withal, might have been well mistaken for the tire of a cart-wheel. — When he arrived, Sir Robert was pacing up and down by the side of a newly opened grave. " Benedicite ! fair son," — (the Baron was as brown as a cigar,) — " Benedicite ! " said the Chaplain. The Baron was too angry to stand upon compliment. — " Bury me that grinning caitiff there ! " quoth he, pointing to the defunct. " It may not be, fair son," said the Friar ; " he hath perished without absolution." " Bury the body ! " roared Sir Robert. " Water and earth alike reject him," returned the Chaplain ; " holy St. Bridget herself " " Bridget me no Bridgets ! — do me thine office quickly. Sir Shaveling; or, by the Piper that played before Moses ! " The oath was a fearful one ; and whenever the Baron swore to do mischief, he was never known to perjure himself. He was playing with the hilt of his sword. — " Do me thine oflSce, T say. Give him his passport to Heaven ! " "He is already gone to hell ! " stammered the Friar. " Then do you go after him ! " thundered the Lord jf Shurland. His sword half leaped from its scabbard. No ! — the trencliant blade, that had cut Suleiman Ben Malek Ben 80 GREY DOLPHIN. Buckskin from lielmet to cliine, disdainea to daub itseJt with the cerebellum of a miserable monk ; — it leaped back again ; — and as the Chaplain, scared at its flash, turned him in terror, the Baron gave him a kick ! — one kick ! — it was but one ! — but such a one ! Despite its obesity, up flew his holy body in an angle of forty- five degrees ; then, having reached its highest point ol elevation, sunk headlong into the open grave that yawned to receive it. If the reverend gentleman hari possessed such a thing as a neck, he had infallibly broken it ; as he did not, he only dislocated his verte- brae, — but that did quite as well. He was as dead as ditch-water ! " In with the other rascal ! " said the Baron, — and he was obeyed ; for there he stood in his boots. Mat- tock and shovel made short work of it ; twenty feet of superincumbent mould pressed down alike the saint and the sinner. " Now sing a requiem who list ! " said the Baron, and his lordship went back to his oysters. The vassals at Castle Shurland were astounded, or, as the Seneschal Hugh better expressed it, " perfectly con- glomerated," by this event. What ! murder a monk in the odour of sanctity, — and on consecrated ground too ! — They trembled for the health of the Baron's soul. To the unsophisticated many it seemed that matters could not have been much worse had he shot a bishop's coach-horse ; — all looked for some signal judgment. Tlie melancholy catastrophe of their neighbours at Can- terbury was yet rife in their memories : not two centuries had elapsed since those miserable sinners had cut ofi" the tail of the blessed St. Thomas's mule. The tail of the mule, it was well known, had been forthwith aSixed to A LEGEND OF SHErPEY. 81 Jiat of the mayor ; and rumour said it had since been hereditary in the corporation. The least that could be expected was, that Sir Robert should have a friar tacked on to his for the term of his natural life ! Some bolder spirits there were, 'tis true, who viewed the matter in various lights, according to their difterent temperaments and dispositions ; for pe-rfect unanimity existed not even in the good old times. The verderer, roistering Rob Roebuck, swore roundly " 'Twere as good a deed as eat to kick down the chapel as well as the monk." — Hob had stood there in a white sheet for kissing Giles Miller's daughter. On the other hand, Simpkin Agnew, the bell-ringer, doubted if the devil's cellar, which runs under the bottomless abyss, were quite deep enough for the delinquent, and speculated on the probability of a hole being dug in it for his especial accommodation. The philosophers and economists thought, with Saunders McBullock, the Baron's bagpiper, that " a feckless monk more or less was nae great subject for a clamjamphry," especially as " the supply considerably exceeded the demand ;" while Malthouse, the tapster, was arguing to Dame Martin that a murder now and then was a season- able check to population, without wdiich the Isle of Sheppey would in time be devoured, like a mouldy cheese, by inhabitants of its own producing. — ISIean- while, the Baron ate his oysters and thought no more of the matter. But this tranquillity of his lordship was not to last. A couple of Saints had been seriously offended ; and we have all of us read at school that celestial minds are by BO means insensible to the provocations of anger. There were those who expected that St. Bridget would 4* 82 GREY DOLPHIN. come m person, and have the friar up again, as she dia the sailor ; but perhaps her ladyship did not care tc trust herself within the walls of Shurland Castle. To say the truth, it was scarcely a decent house for a female Saint to be seen in. The Baron's gallantries, since he became a widower, had been but too notorious ; and her own reputation was a little blown upon in the earlier days of her earthly pilgrimage : then things were so apt to be misrepresented : in short, she would leave the whole affair to St. Austin, who, being a gentleman, could interfere with propriety, avenge her affront as well as his own, and leave no loop-hole for scandal. St. Austin himself seems to have had his scruples, though their precise nature it would be difficult to determine, for it were idle to suppose him at all afraid of the Baron's boots. Be this as it may, the mode which he adopted was at once prudent and efficacious. As an ecclesiastic, he could not well call the Baron out, — had his boots been out of the question ; — so he resolved to have recourse to the law. Instead of Shurland Castle, therefore, he repaired forthwith to his own magnificent monastery, situate just without the walls of Canterbury, and presented himself in a vision to its abbot. No one who has ever visited that ancient city, can fail to recol- lect the splendid gateway which terminates the vista of St. Paul's street, and stands there yet in all its pristine beauty. The tiny train of miniature artillery which now adorns its battlements is, it is true, an ornament of a later date ; and is said to have been added some centu- ries after by a learned but jealous proprietor, for the purp»-6e of shooting any wiser man than himself who niig> K chance to come that way. Tradition is silent t\s A LEGEND OF SHEPPEV. 83 to any discharge having taken place, nor can the oldest inhabitant of modern days recollect any such occur- rence.* Here it was, in a handsome chamber, imme- diately over the lofty archway, that the Superior of the monastery lay buried in a brief slumber snatched from his accustomed vigils. His mitre — for he was a Mitred Abbot, and had a seat in parliament — rested on a table, beside him ; near it stood a silver flagon of Gascony wine, ready, no doubt, for the pious uses of the morrow. Fast- ing and watching had made him more than usually somnolent, than which nothing could have been better for the purpose of the Saint, who now appeared to him radiant in all the colours of the rainbow. " Anselm ! " — said the beatific vision, — " Anselni ! are you not a pretty fellow to lie snoring there, when your brethren are being knocked at head, and Mother Church hei-self is menaced ! — It is a sin and a shame, Anselm ! " " What's the matter ? — Who are you ? " cried the Abbot, rubbing his eyes, which the celestial splendour of his visitor had set a-winking. '^ Ave Maria ! St. Austin him'self ! — Speak, Beatissime ! what would you with the humblest of your votaries ?" " Anselm !" said the saint, " a brother of our order, whose soul Heaven assoilzie ! hath been foully murdered. He hath been ignominiously kicked to the death, Anselm ; and there he lieth cheek-by-jowl with a wretched carcass, which our sister Bridget has turned out of her cemetery for unseemly grinning. — Arouse thee, Anselm !" * Since the appearance of the first edition of this Legend " the guns" ittve been dismounted. Rumour hints at some alarm on the part of Ih* lowo Council. 84 GREY DOLPHIN. " Ay, so please you, SancHssime /" said the Abbot ' " I will order forthwith that thirty masses be said, thirtj Paters, and thirty Aves.^^ " Thirty fools' heads !" interrupted his patron, who was a little peppery. '' I will send for bell, book, and candle — " " Send for an inkhorn, Anselm. — Write me now a letter to his Holiness the Pope in good round terms, and another to the Coroner, and another to the Sheriff, and seize me the never-enough-to-be anathematised villain wdio hath done this deed ! Hang him as high as Haman, Anselm ! — up with him ! — down with his dwelling-place, root and branch, hearthstone and roof- tree, — down with it all, and sow the site with salt and sawdust !" St. Austin, it will be perceived, was a radical reformer. " Mai-ry will I," quoth the Abbot, warming with the Saint's eloquence ; " ay, marry will I, and that instanter. But there is one thing you have forgotten, most Beati- fied — the name of the culprit." " Robert de Shurland." " The Lord of Sheppey ! Bless me ! " said the Abbot, crossing himself, " won't that be rather incon- venient ? Sir Robert is a bold baron, and a powerful ; ■ — blows will come and go, and crowns will be cracked, and " " What is that to you, since yours will not be of the number ?" " Very true, Beatissime ! — I will don me with speed, dnd do your bidding." " Do so. Anselm l^fail not to hano^ the baron, bum A LEGEND OF SHEPPEY. 85 his castle, confiscate his estate, and buy me two large wax candles for my own particular shrine out of your share of the property." With this solemn injunction the vision began to fade. " One thing more !" cried the Abbot, grasping his rosary. " What is that ?" asked the Saint. " Beate Augustine^ ora pro nobis /" " Of course I shall," said St. Austin. " Pax vohiscum .'" — and Abbot Anselm was left alone. Within an hour all Canterbury was in commotion. A friar had been murdered, — two friars — ten — twenty ; a whole convent had been assaulted, — sacked, — burnt, — all the monks had been killed, and all the nuns had been kissed ! — Murder ! — fire ! — Sacrilege ! Never was a city in such an uproar. From St. George's gate to St. Dunstan's suburb, from the Donjon to the borough of Staplegate, all was noise and hubbub. " Where was it ?"— " When was it ? "— " How was it ?" The mayor caught up his chain, the Aldermen donned their furred gowns, the Town-clerk put on his spectacles. " Who was he ?"— " What was he ? "— " Where was he ?"— he should be hanged, — he should be burned, — he should be broiled, — he should be fried, — he should be scraped to death with red-hot oyster shells ! " Who was he ? " — " What was his name ?" The Abbot's Apparitor drew forth his roll and read aloud : — " Sir Robert de Shurland, Knight banneret, Baron of Shurland and Minster, and Lord of Shep- The Mayor put his chain in his pocket, the Aldermen took ofi" their gowns, the Town-clerk put his pen behind 86 GREY DOLPHIN. his ear. — It was a county business altogether: — tht Sheriff had better call out the posse comitatus. While saints and sinners were thus leaguing against him, the Baron de Shurland was quietly eating his breakfast. He had passed a tranquil night, undisturbed by dreams of cowl or capuchin ; nor was his appetite more affected than his conscience. On the contrary, he sat rather longer over his meal than usual; luncheon- time came, and he was ready as ever for his oysters: but scarcely had Dame Martin opened his first half-dozen when the warder's horn was heard from the barbican. "Who the devil's that ?" said Sir Robert. " I'm not at home, Periwinkle. I hate to be disturbed at meals, and I won't be at home to anybody." " An't please your lordship," answered the Seneschal, ** Paul Prior hath given notice that there is a body ^" "Another body!" roared the Baron. "Am I to be everlastingly plagued with bodies ? No time allowed me to swallow a morsel. Throw it into the moat !" " So please you, my lord, it is a body of horse — and — and Paul says there is a still larger body of foot behind it ; and he thinks, my lord, — that is, he does not know, but he thinks — and we all think, my lord, that they are coming to — to besiege the castle !" " Besiege the castle ! Who ? What ? What for ?" " Paul says, my lord, that he can see the banner of St. Austin, and the bleeding heart of Hamo de Creve- coeur, the Abbot's chief vassal ; — and there is John de North wood, the sheriff, with his red-cross engrailed ; and Hever, and Leybourne, and Heaven knows how many more ; and they are all coming on as fast as ever they ■can." A LEGEND OF SHEPPKY. 8? ** I'e^i^vinkle," said the Baron, " up with the draw- bridge ; down with the portcullis ; bring me a cup of canary, and my nightcap. I won't be bothered with them. I shall go to bed." " To bed, my lord ?" cried Periwinkle, with a look that seemed to say, " He's crazy !" At this moment the shrill tones of a trumpet were heard to sound thrice from the champaign. It was the signal for parley : the Baron changed his mind ; instead of going to bed he went to the ramparts. " Well, rapscallions ! and what now ! " said the Baron. A herald, two pui-suivants, and a trumpeter, occupied the foreground of the scene ; behind them, some three hundred paces off, upon a rising ground, was drawn up in battle array the main body of the ecclesiastical forces. " Hear you, Robert de Shurland, Knight, Baron of Shurland and Minster, and Lord of 8heppey, and know all men by these presents, that I do hereby attach you, the said Robert, of murder and sacrilege, now, or of late, done and committed by you, the said Robert, contrary to the peace of our Sovereign Lord the King, his crown and dignity : and I do hereby require and charge you the said Robert, to forthwith surrender and give up your own proper person, toge- ther with the castle of Shurland aforesaid, in order that the same may be duly dealt with according to law. And here standeth John de Northwood, Esquire, good man and true, sheriff of this his Majesty's most loyal county of Kent, to enforce the same, if need be, with liis posse comitatus — " 88 GREY DOLPHIN. " His what ?" said the Baron. " His posse comiiatus, and " " Go to Bath !" said the Baron. A defiance so contemptuous roused the ire of the adverse commanders. A volley of missiles rattled about the Baron's ears. Nightcaps avail little against contusions. He left the walls, and returned to the great hall. " Let them pelt away," quoth the Baron : " there are no windows to break, and they can't get in." — So he took his afternoon nap, and the siege went on. Towards evening his lordship awoke, and grew tired of the din. Guy Pearson, too, had got a black eye from a brick-bat, and the assailants were clambering over the outer wall. So the Baron called for his Sunday hau- berk of Milan steel, and his great two-handed sword with the terrible name : — it was the fashion in feudal times to give names to swords : King Arthur's was christened Excalibar ; the Baron called his Tickletoby, and whenever he took it in hand it was no joke. " Up with the portcullis ! down with the bridge !" said Sir Robert ; and out he sallied, followed by the elite of his retainers. Then there was a pretty to-do. Heads flew one way — arms and legs another; round went Tickletoby ; and, wherever it alighted, down came horse and man : the Baron excelled himself that day. All that he had done in Palestine faded in the comparison ; lie had fought for fun there, but now it was for life and lands. Away went John de North wood; away went William of Hever, and Roger of Ley bourne. Hamo de Crevecoeur, with the church vassals and the banner of St. Austin, had been gone some time. The siege wa? A LEGEND OF SHEPPEY. 89 raised, and the Lord of Sheppey was left alone in his glory. But, brave as the Baron undoubtedly was, and total as had been the defeat of his enemies, it cannot be sup- posed that La S toccata would be allowed to carry it away thus. It has before been hinted that Abbot An- selm had written to the Pope, and Boniface the Eighth piqued himself on his punctuality as a correspondent in all matters connected with church discipline. He sent back an answer by return of post ; and by it all Chris- tian people were strictly enjoined to aid in exterminat- ing the offender, on pain of the greater excommunica- tion in this world, and a million of years of purgatory in the next. But then, again, Boniface the Eighth was rather at a discount in England just then. He had affi'onted Ix)ngshanks, as the loyal lieges had nicknamed their monarch ; and Longshanks had been rather sharp upon the clergy in consequence. If the Baron de Shur- land could but get the King's pardon for what, in his cooler moments, he admitted to be a peccadillo, he might sniff at the Pope, and bid him " do his devil- most." Fortune, who, as the poet says, delights to favour the bold, stood his friend on this occasion. Edward had been, for some time, collecting a large force on the coast of Kent, to carry on his French wars for the recovery of Guienne ; he was expected shortly to review it in person; but, then, the troops lay principally in cantonments about the mouth of the Thames, and hia Majesty was to come down by water. What was to be done? — the royal barge was in sight, and John de North wood and Hamo de Crevecoeur had broken up all 90 GREY DOLPHIN. tlie boats to boil their camp-kettles. A truly great mind is never without resources. " Bring me my boots !" said the Baron. They brought him his boots, and his dapple-grey steed along with them. Such a courser ! all blood and bone, short-backed, broad-chested, and, — but that he was a little ewe-necked, — faultless in form and figure. The Baron sprang upon his back, and dashed at once into the river. The barge which carried Edward Longshanks and his fortunes had by this time nearly reached the Nore ; the stream was broad and the current strong, but Sir Robert and his steed were almost as broad, and a great deal stronger. After breasting the tide gallantly for a couple of miles, the Knight was near enough to hail the steersman. " What have we got here ?" said the King. " It's a mermaid," said one. " It's a grampus," said another. "It's the devil," said a third. But they were all wrong ; it was only Robert de Shurland. " Grammercy," quoth the King, "that fellow was never born to be drowned 1 " It has been said before that the Baron had fought in the Holy wars ; in fact, he had accompanied Long- shanks, when only heir apparent, in his expedition twenty-five years before, although his name is unac- countably omitted by Sir Harris Nicolas in his list of crusaders. He had been present at Acre when Amirand of Joppa stabbed the prince with a poisoned dagger, and had lent Princess Eleanor his own tooth-brush after she had sucked out the venom from the wound. He had slain certain Saracens, conterted himself with his A LEGEXD OF SHEPPEY. 91 own plunder, and never dunned the commissariat foi arrears of pay. Of coui-se he ranked high in Edward'^ good graces, and had received the honour of knight- hood at his hands on the field of battle. In one so circumstanced it cannot be supposed that such a trifle as the killing of a trowzy friar would be much resented, even had he not taken so bold a mea- sure to obtain his pardon. His petition was granted, of course, as soon as asked ; and so it would have been had the indictment drawn up by the Canterbury town clerk, viz. " That he the said Robert de Shurland, &c. had then and there, with several, to wit, one thousand pairs of boots, given sundry, to wit, two thousand kicks, and therewith and thereby killed divers, to wit, ten thousand, Austin friars," been true to the letter. Thrice did the gallant grey circumnavigate the barge, while Robert de Winchelsey, the chancellor, and arch- bishop to boot, was making out, albeit with great reluc- tance, the royal pardon. The interval was sufficiently | long to enable His Majesty, who, gracious us he was, had always an eye to business, just to hint that the gra- titude he felt towards the Baron was not unmixed with a lively sense of services to come ; and that, if life were now spared him, common decency must obhge him to make himself useful. Before the archbishop, who had scalded his fingers with the wax in affixing the great seal, had time to take them out of his mouth, all was settled, and the Baron de Shurland had pledged him- self to be forthwith in readiness, cum suis, to accom- pany his liege lord to Guienne. With the royal pardon secured in his vest, boldly did bis lordship turn again to the shore ; and as boldly did 92 GREY DOLPHIN. his courser oppose his breadth of chest to the stream, It was a work of no common difficulty or danger ; a steed of less " metal and bone " had long since sunk in the effort: as it was, the Baron's boots were full of water, and Grey Dolphin's chamfrain more than once dipped beneath the wave. The convulsive snorts of the noble animal showed his distress; each instant they became more loud and frequent ; when his hoof touched the strand, and " the horse and his rider " stood once again in safety on the shore. Rapidly dismounting, the Baron was loosening the girths of his demi-pique, to give the panting animal breath, when he was aware of as ugly an old woman as he had ever clapped eyes upon, peeping at him under the horse's belly. " Make much of your steed, Robert Shurland ! Make much of your steed ! " cried the hag, shaking at him her long and bony finger. " Groom to the hide and corn to the manger ! He has saved your life, Robert Shurland, for the nonce ; but he shall yet be the means of your losing it, for all that ! " The Baron started : " What's that you say, you old ? " He ran round by his horse's tail ; — the wo- man was gone 1 The Baron paused ; his great soul was not to be shaken by triiies ; he looked around him, and solemnly ejaculated the word "Humbug!" — then slinging the bridle across his arm, walked slowly on in the direction of the castle. The appearance, and still more, the disappearance of the crone, had however made an impression ; every step he took he became more thoughtful. "'T would be A LEGEND OF SHEPPET. 93 deuced provoking though, if he should break my neck after all." He turned, and gazed at Dolphin with the scrutinizing eye of a veterinary surgeon. " I'll be shot if he is not groggy ! " said the Baron. With his lordship, like another great Commander, " Once to be in doubt, was once to be resolved : " it would never do to go to the wars on a rickety prad. He dropped the rein, drew forth Tickletoby, and as the enfranchised Dolphin, good easy horse, stretched out his ewe-neck to the herbage, struck off his head at a single blow. " There, you lying old beldame ! " said the Baron ; " now take him away to the knacker's." ***** Three years were come and gone. King Edward's French wars were over ; both parties, having fought till they came to a stand-still, shook hands ; and the quarrel, as usual, was patched up by a royal marriage. This happy event gave his Majesty leisure to turn his atten- tion to Scotland, where things, through the intervention of William Wallace, were looking rather queerish. As his reconciliation with Philip now allowed of his fight- ing the Scotch in peace and quietness, the monarch lost no time in marching his long legs across the border, and the short ones of the Baron followed him of course. At Falkirk, Tickletoby was in great request ; and, in the year following, we find a contemporary poet hint- ing at his master's prowess under the walls of Caer- laverock, ©btc cus fu actifmfnp? Jli beau Bobcrt Ue Sfjurlant) laf iant seoft sur le ri)e\)al "Me s mb wt Ijume I c someille 94 GRKY DOLPHIN A quatrain which Mr. Simpkinson transhites, '* With them was marching The good Robert de Shurland, Who, when seated on horseback, Does not resemble a man asleep ! " So thoroughly awake, indeed, does he seem to hjivy proved himself, that the bard subsequently exclaims, in an extasy of admiration, Sf fe estofe unc pucelette Sp Ii tionrir crur rt cots €:ant est tie hi bous l( rrcors ♦' If I were a young maiden, I would give my heart and person, So great is his lame ! " Fortunately the poet was a tough old monk of Exeter since such a present to a nobleman, now in his grand climacteric, would hardly have been worth the carriage With the reduction of this stronghold of the Maxwells seem to have concluded the Baron's military services ; as on the very first day of the fourteenth century we find him once more landed on his native shore, and marching, with such of his retainers as the wars ha-i left him, towards the hospitable shelter of Shurland Castle. It was then, upon that very beach, some hun- dred yards distant from high-water mark, that his eye fell upon something like an ugly old woman in a red cloak ! She was seated on what seemed to be a larg*, stone, in an interesting attitude, with her elbows resting upon her knees, and her chin upon her thumbs. The Baron started : the remembrance of his interview with a similar personage in the same place, some thro€ A LEGEND OF BHEFPEV. 05 years since, flashed upon his recollection, ile rushed towards the spot, but the form was gone ;— notliing remained but the seat it had appeared to occupy. This, on examination, turned out to be no stone, but the whitened skull of a dead horse ! — A tender remem brance of the deceased Grey Dolphin shot a momentary pang into the Baron's bosom ; he drew the back of his hand across his face ; the thought of the hag's predic- tion in an instant rose, and banished all softer emotions. In utter contempt of his own weakness, yet with a tremour that deprived his redoubtable kick of half its wonted force, he spurned the relic with his foot. One word alone issued from his lips, elucidatory of what was passing in his mind, — it long remained imprinted on the memory of his faithful followers, — that word was " Gammon ! " The skull bounded across the beach till it reached the very margin of the stream ; — one instant more and it would be engulfed for ever. At that moment a loud " Ha ! ha ! ha ! " was distinctly heard by the whole train to issue fi'om its bleached and toothless jaws : it sank beneath the flood in a horse l^ugh ! Meanwhile Sir Robert de Shurland felt an odd sort of sensation in his right foot. His boots had suffered in the wars. Great pains had been taken for their preser- vation. They had been "soled" and "heeled" more than once; — had they been " goloshed," their owner might have defied Fate ! Well has it been said that " there is no such thing as a trifle." A nobleman's life depended upon a question of ninepence ! The Baron marched on ; the uneasiness in his foot increased. He plucked off" his boot ; — a horse's tooth was sticking in his great toe ' 06 GREY DOLPHIN. The result may be anticipated. Lame as he was, his lordship, with characteristic decision, would hobble oc to Shurland ; his walk increased the inflammation ; a flagon of aqua vitoe did not mend matters. He was in a high fever ; he took to his bed. Next morning the toe presented the appearance of a Bedfordshire carrot ; by dinner-time it had deepened to beet-root ; and when Bargrave, the leech, at last sliced it off", the gangrene was too confirmed to admit of remedy. Dame Martin thought it high time to send for Miss Margaret, who, ever since her mother's death, had been living with her maternal aunt, the abbess, in the Ursuline convent at Greenwich. The young lady came, and with her came one Master Ingoldsby, her cousin-german by the mother's side ; but the Baron was too far gone in the dead- thaw to recognise either. He died as he lived, uncon- quered and unconquerable. His last words were — " Tell the old hag she may go to ." Whither remains a secret. He expired without fully articulating the place of her destination. But, who and what ivas the crone who prophesied the catastroplie ? Ay, " that is the mystery of this won- derful history." — Some say it was Dame Fothergill, the late confessor's mamma ; others, St. Bridget herself ; others thought it was nobody at all, but only a phantom conjured up by conscience. As we do not know, we dechne giving an opinion. And what became of the Clerk of Chatham ? — Mr. Simpkinson avers that he lived to a good old age, and was at last hanged by Jack Cade, with his inkhorn about his neck, for " setting boys copies." In support of this he adduces his name "Emmanuel," and refers tc A LEGEND OF SHEPPET. 97 the historian Shakspeare. Mr. Peters, on the contrary, considers this to be what he calls one of Mr. Sinipkin- son's " Anacreonisms/' inasmuch as, at the introduction of Mr. Cade's reform measure, the Clerk, if alive, would have been hard upon two hundred years old. The probability is, that the unfortunate alluded to was his great-grand son. Margaret Shurland in due course became Margaret Ingoldsby, her portrait still hangs in the gallery at Tap- pington. The features are handsome, but shrewish, be- traying, as it were, a touch of the old Baron's tempera- ment ; but we never could learn that she actually kicked her husband. She brought him a very pretty fortune in chains, owches, and Saracen ear-rings ; the barony, being a male fief, reverted to the Crown. In the abbey-church at Minster may yet be seen the tomb of a recumbent warrior, clad in the chain-mail of the 13th century.* His hands are clasped in prayer; his legs, crossed in that position so prized by Templars in ancient, and tailors in modern, days, bespeak him a soldier of the faith in Palestine. Close behind his dex- ter calf lies sculptured in bold relief a horse's head ; and a respectable elderly lady, as she shews the monu- ment, fails not to read her auditors a fine moral lesson I on the sin of ingratitude, or to claim a sympathising tear to the memory of poor " Grey Dolphin !" ♦ Subsequent to the first .ippearance of the foregoing narrative, the tomb alluded to has been opened during the course of certain repairs which the church has undergone. Mr. Simpkinson, who was present at the ex- humation of the body within, and has enriched his collection with three of its grinders, says the bones of one of the great toes were wanting. He speaks in terms of great admiration at the thickness of the skulL, and is of opinion that the skeleton is that of a great patriot much addicted to Lundy- Sriot. It is on my own personal reminiscences that I draw tor the following story ; the scene of its leading event was most familiar to me in early life. If the principal actor in it be yet living, he must have reached a very advanced age. He was often at the Hall, in my infancy, on professional visits. It is, however, only from those who "prated of his whereabouts" that I learned the history of his adventure with 99 THE GHOST. There stands a City, — neither large nor small. Its air and situation sweet and pretty ; It matters very little — if at all — Whether its denizens are dull or witty, Whether the ladies there are short or tall. Brunettes or blondes, only, there stands a city I- Perhaps 'tis also requisite to minute That there's a Castle and a Cobbler in it. A fair Cathedral, too, the story goes, And kings and heroes lie entomb'd within her ; There pious Saints in marble pomp repose, Whose shrines are worn by knees of many a Sinner ; There, too, full many an Aldermauic nose Roll'd its loud diapason after dinner ; And there stood high the holy sconce of Becket, — ^TiU four assassins came from France to crack it The Castle was a huge and antique mound, I*roof against all th' artillery of the quiver, Ere those abominable guns were found To send cold lead through gallant warrior's liver. It stands upon a gently rising ground. Sloping down gradually to the river. Resembling (to compare great things with smaller) A well-scooped, mouldy Stilton cheese, — ^but taller. The Keep, I find, 's been sadly alter'd lately, And, 'stead of mail-clad knights, of honour jealous, In martial panoply so grand and stately, Ite walls are filled with 'woney-making fellows. 100 THE OUOST. And stuiF'J, unless I *m misinformed gi-eatly, "With leaden pipes, and coke, and coals, and bellows j In short, so great a change has come to pass, "Tis now a manufactory of Gas. But to my tale. — Before this profanation, And ere its ancient glories were cut short all, A poor hard-working Cobbler took his station In a small house, just opposite the portal ; His birth, his parentage, and education, I know but little of — a strange, oy declares she could never obtain any satisfactory elucida^ tion. Not that tradition is silent on the subject, — quite the contrary ; it is the abundance, not paucity, of the materials she supplies, and the consequent embarrass- ment of selection, that makes the difficulty. Some have averred that the Leech, whose character, as ha? been before hinted, was more than threadbare, employed his time in teaching her the mode of administering certain noxious compounds, the unconscious partaker whereof would pine and die so slowly and gradually as to defy suspicion. Others there were who affirmed that x>ucifer himself was then and there raised in propria pet'mnd, with all his personal attributes of horn and hoof. In support of this assertion, they adduce the testi- mony of the aforesaid buxom housemaid, who protested that the Hall smelt that evening like a manufactory of matches. All, however, seemed to agree that the con- fabulation, whether human or infernal, was conducted with profound secresy, and protracted to a considerable length ; that its object, as far as could be divined, meant anything but good to the head of the family ; that the lady, moreover, was heartily tired of her husband ; and that, in the event of his removal by disease or casualty. Master Erasmus Buckthorne, albeit a great philosophist, would have no violent objection to " throw physic to the dogs," and exchange his laboratory for the estate of Marston, its live stock included. Some, too, have inferred that to him did Madam Isabel seriously incline ; while others have thought, indue -^-d perhaps by subse- quent events, that she was merel/ using him for he? 126 MRS. botherby's story. purposes ; that one Jose, a tall, bright-eyed, hook* nosed striphng from her native land, was a personage not unlikely to put a spoke in the doctor's wheel ; and that should such a chance arise, the Sage, wise as he was, would after all run no slight risk of being " bamboozled." Master Jose was a youth well-favoured, and comely to look upon. His office was that of page to the dame ; an office which, after long remaining in abeyance, has been of late years revived, as may well be seen in the persons of sundry smart hobbledehoys, now constantly to 5e met with on staircases and in boudoirs, clad, for the most part, in garments fitted tightly to the shape, the (ower moiety adorned with a broad stripe of crimson or silver lace, and the upper with what the first Wit of our times has described as " a favourable eruption of buttons." The precise duties of this employment have never, as far as we have heard, been accurately defined. The perfuming a handkerchief, the combing a lap-dog, and the occasional presentation of a sippet-shaped billet- doux, are, and always have been, among them ; but these a young gentleman standing five foot ten, and aged nineteen " last grass," might well be supposed to have outgrown. Jose, however, kept his place, perhaps because he was not fit for any other. To the confer- ences between his mistrees and physician he had not been admitted ; his post was to keep watch and ward in the ante-room ; and, when the interview was con- cluded, he attended the lady and her visitor as far as the court-yard, where he held, with all due respect, the stirrup for the latter, as he once more resumed his position on the lack of Punch. Who was it that savs "little pitchers have large THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 127 eai-s ?" Some deep metaphysician of the potteries, who miglit have added that they have also quick eyes, and sometimes silent tongues. There was a little meta- phorical piece of crockery of this class, who, screened by a huge elbow-chair, had sat a quiet and unobserved spectator of the whole proceedings between her mamma and Master Erasmus Buckthorne. This was Miss Marian Marsh, a rosy-cheeked laughter-loving imp of some six years old ; but one who could be mute as a mouse when the fit was on her. A handsome and highly polished cabinet of the darkest ebony occupied a recess at one end of the apartment ; this had long been a great subject of speculation to little Miss. Uer curiosity, however, had always been repelled ; nor had all her coaxing ever won her an inspection of the thou- sand and one pretty things which its recesses no doubt contained. On this occasion it was unlocked, and ! Marian was about to rush forward in eager anticipation of a peep at its interior, when, child as she was, the reflection struck her that she would stand a better chance of carrying her point by remaining perdue. Fortune for once favoured her : she crouched closer than before, and saw her mother take something from one of the drawers, which she handed over to the Leech. Strange mutterings followed, and words whose sounds were foreign to her youthful ears. Had she been older, their import, perhaps, might have been equally unknown. After a while there was a pause ; and then the lady, as in answer to a requisition from the gentleman, placed in his hand a something which she took from her toilet. The transaction, whatever its nature, seemed now to be complete, and the article wa* 12S MRS. botherby's story. carefully replaced in the drawer from wliich it bad been taken. A long, and apparently interesting, conversa* tion then took place between the parties, carried on in a low tone. At its termination, Mistress Marsh and Master Erasmus Buckthorne quitted the boudoir toge- ther. But the cabinet ! — ay, that was left unfastened * the folding-doors still remained invitingly expanded, the bunch of keys dangling from the lock. In an instant the spoiled child was in a chair; the drawer so recently closed, yielded at once to her* hand, and her hurried researches were rewarded by the prettiest little waxen doll imaginable. It was a first-rate prize, and Miss lost no time in appropriating it to herself Long before Madame Marsh had returned to her Sanctum^ Marian was seated under a laurustinus in the garden, nursing her new baby with the most affec- tionate solicitude. ***** " Susan, look here ; see what a nasty scratch I have got upon my hand," said the young lady, when routed out at length from her hiding place to her noontide meal. " Yes, Miss, this is always the way with you ! mend, mend, mend, — nothing but mend ! Scrambling about among the bushes, and tearing your clothes to rags. "What with you, fNnd with madam's farthingales and kirtles, a poor bow^r-maiden has a fine time of it!" " But I have not torn my clothes, Susan, and it was not the bushes ; it was the doll : only see what a great ugly pin I have pulled out of it ! and look, here is Rnother ! " As she spoke, Marian drew forth one of ♦iiose extended pieces of black pointed wire, with which, THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 12i> in the days of toupees and pompoons, our foremothers were wont to secure their fly-caps and head-gear frono he impertinent assaults of " Zephyrus and the Little Breezes." " And pray, Miss, where did you get this pretty doll, as you call it ?" asked Susan, turning over the puppet, and viewing it with a scrutinizing eye. '' Mamma gave it me," said the child. — This was a fib: "Indeed!" quoth the girl thoughtfully; and then, in half soliloquy, and a lower key, " Well ! I wish I may die if it doesn't look like master ! — But come to your dinner. Miss ! Hark ! the hell is striking One P^ Meanwhile Master Thomas Marsh, and his man Ralph, were threading the devious paths, then, as now, most pseudonymously dignified with the name of roads, that wound between Marston-Hall and the frontier of Romney Marsh. Their progress was comparatively slow ; for though the brown mare was as good a road- ster as man might back, and the gelding no mean nag of his hands, yet the tracts, rarely traversed save by the rude wains of the day, miry in the " bottoms," an^ covered with loose and rolHng stones on the highe. grounds, rendered barely passable the perpetual alter- nation of hill and valley. The master rode on in pain, and the man in listless- ness ; although the intercourse between two individuals so situated was much less restrained in those days than might suit the refinement of a later age, little passed approximating to conversation beyond an occasional and half-stifled groan from the one, or a vacant whistle from the other. An hour's riding had brought them 6* 130 MRS. BOTHERRy's STORY. among the woods of Acryse ; and they were about tc descend one of those green and leafy lanes, rendered by matted and overarching branches alike impervious to shower or sunbeam, when a sudden and violent spasm seized on Master Marsh, and nearly caused him to fall from his horse. With some difficulty he succeeded in dismounting, and seating himself by the road side. Here he remained for a full half hour in great apparent agony ; the cold sweat rolled in large round drops adown his clammy forehead, a universal shivering palsied every limb, his eye-balls appeared to be starting from their sockets, and to his attached, though dull and heavy serving-man, he seemed as one struggling in the pangs of impending dissolution. His groans rose thick and frequent ; and the alarmed Ralph was hesi- tating between his disinclination to leave him, and his desire to procure such assistance as one of the few cot- tages, rarely sprinkled in that wild country, might afford, when, after a long-drawn sigli, his master's features as suddenly relaxed ; he declared himself better, the pang had passed away, and, to use his own expression, he, " felt as if a knife had been drawn from out his very heart." With Ralph's assistance, after a while, he again reached his saddle ; and, though still ill at ease from a deep-seated and gnawing pain, which ceased not, as he averred, to torment him, the violence of the paroxysm was spent, and it returned no more. Master and man pursued their way with increased ipeed, as, emerging from the wooded defiles, they at length neared the coast; then, leaving the romantic castle of Saltwood, with its neighbouring town of Hitlie, a little on their left, they proceeded along the THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 131 ancient paved causeway, and, crossing the old Roman road, or Watling, plunged again into the woods that stretched between Lympne and Ostenh anger. The sun rode high in the heavens, and its meridian Maze was powerfully felt by man and horse, when, again quitting their leafy covert, the travellers debouched on the open plain of Aldington Frith, a wide tract of unenclosed country stretchmg down to the very bordoi'S of "the Marsh "itself. Here it w^as, in the neighbouring chapelry, the site of which may yet be traced by the curious antiquary, that Elizabeth Barton, the " Holy Maid of Kent," had, something less than a hundred years previous to the period of our narrative, commenced that series of super- natural pranks which eventually procured for her head an unenvied elevation upon London Bridge ; and thougii the parish had since enjoyed the benefit of the incum- bency of Master Erasmus's illustrious and enlightened Namesake, still, truth to tell, some of the old leaven was even yet supposed to be at work. The place had, in fact, an ill name ; and, though Popish miracles had ceased to electrify its denizens, spells and charms, operating by a no less wondrous agency, were said to have taken their place. Warlocks, and other unholy subjects of Satan, were reported to make its wild recesses their favourite rendezvous, and that to an extent which eventually attracted the notice of no less a per- sonage than the sagacious Matthew Hopkins himself, Witchfinder-General to the British government. A great portion of the Frith, or Fright, as the name was then, and is still pronounced, had formerly been a Chase, with rights of Free-warren, &c., appertaining to 132 the Archbishops of the Province. Since the Reforma- tion, however, it had been disparked; and when Master Thomas Marsh, and his man Ralph, entered upon its confines, the open greensward exhibited a Hvely scene, sufficiently explanatory of certain sounds that had already reached their ears while yet within the sylvan screen which concealed their origin. It was Fair-day : booths, stalls, and all the rude para- 2)hernalia of an assembly that then met as much for the purposes of traffic as festivity, were scattered i irre- gularly over the turf; pedlars, with their packs, horse- croupers, pig-merchants, itinerant venders of crockery and cutlery, wandered promiscuously among the min- gled groups, exposing their several wares and commo- dities, and soliciting custom. On one side was the gaudy riband, making its mute appeal to rustic gal- lantry; on the other the delicious brandy-ball and alluring loUipop, compounded after the most approved receipt in the " True Gentlew^oman's Garland," and " raising the waters " in the mouth ^f many an expec- tant urchin. Nor were rural sports wanting to those whom plea sure, rather than business, had drawn from their humble homes. Here was the tall and slippery pole, glittering in its grease, and crowned with the ample cheese, that mocked the hopes of the discomfited climber. There the fugitive pippin, swimming in water not of the purest, and bobbing from the expanded lips of the juvenile Tan* talus. In this quarter the ear was pierced by squeaks from some beleaguered porker, whisking his well-soaped tail from the grasp of one already in fancy his captor In that, the eye rested, with undisguised delight, upop THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. las the grimaces of grinning candidates for the honours of the horse-collar. All was fun, frolic, courtship, junket- ing, and jollity. Maid Marian, indeed, with her lieges, Robin Hood, Scarlet, and little John, was wanting ; Friar Tuck was absent ; even the Hobby-horse had disappeared ; but the agile Morrice-dancers yet were there, and jingled their bells merrily among stalls well stored with ginger- bread, tops, whips, whistles, and all those noisy instru- ments of domestic torture in which scenes like these are even now so fertile. Had I a foe whom I held at dead- liest feud, I would entice his favourite child to a Fair, and buy him a Whistle and a Penny-trumpet. In one corner of the green, a httle apart from the thickest of the throng, stood a small square stage, nearly level with the chins of the spectators, whose repeated bursts of laughter seemed to intimate the presence of something more than usually amusing. The platform was divided into two unequal portions ; the smaller of which, surrounded by curtains of a coarse canvass, veiled from the eyes of the profane the penetralia of this moveable temple of Esculapius, for such it was. Within its interior, and secure from vulgar curiosity, the Quack-salver had hitherto kept himself ensconced ; occupied, no doubt, in the preparation and arrangement of that wonderful panacea which was hereafter to shed the blessings of health among the admiring crowd. Meanwhile his attendant Jack-pudding was busily era- ployed on the proscenium^ doing his best to attract attention by a practical facetiousness which took won- derfully with the spectators, interspersing it with the melodious notes of a huge cow's horn. The fellow'i 134 MRS. BOTHERBY'S STORY. costume varied but little in character from that in wlik^fi the late (alas ! that we should have to write the word — late !) Mr. Joseph Grimaldi was accustomed to pre- sent himself before " a generous and enlightened public ;" the principal difference consisted in this, that the upper •garment was a long white tunic of a coarse linen, sur- mounted by a caricature of the ruff then fast falling into disuse, and was secured from the throat downwards by a single row of broad white metal buttons ; and his legs were cased in loose wide trousers of the same material ; while his sleeves, prolongued to a most disproportionate extent, descended far below the fingers, and acted as flappers in the somersets and caracoles, with which he diversified and enlivened his antics. Consummate im- pudence, not altogether unmixed with a certain &\y humour, sparkled in his eye through the chalk and ochre with which his features were plentifully bedaubed: and especially displayed itself in a succession of jokes, the coarseness of which did not seem to detract from their merit in the eyes of his applauding audience. He was in the midst of a long and animated harangue explanatory of his masters high pretensions ; he had informed his gaping auditors that the latter was the seventh son of a seventh son, and of course, as they very well knew, an Unborn Doctor ; that to this happy accident of birth he added the advantao-e of most o extensive travel ; that in search after science he had not only perambulated the whole of this world, but had trespassed on the boundaries of the next: that the depths of the Ocean and the bowels of the Earth were alike familiar to him ; that besides salves and cataplasms of sovereign virtue, by combining sundry mosses, ga- THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. ISo thered many thousand fathoms below the surface of the sea, with certain unknown drugs found in an undis- covered ishmd, and boihng the whole in the lava of Vesuvius, he had succeeded in producing his celebrated balsam of Crackapanoko, the never-failing remedy for all human disorders, and which, with a proper trial allowed, would go near to reanimate the dead. " Draw near ! " continued the worthy, " draw near, my masters ! and you, my good mistresses, draw near, every one of you. Fear not high and haughty carriage; though greater than King or Kaiser, yet is the mighty Aldro- vando milder than mother's milk ; flint to the proud, to the humble he is as melting as wax ; he asks not your disorders, he sees them himself at a glance — nay, with- out a glance ; he tells your ailments with his eyes shut ! — Draw near ! di'aw near ! the more incurable the better ! List to the illustrious Doctor AldrovandOj firet Physician to Prester John, Leech to the Grand Llama, and Hakim in Ordinary to Mustapha ^luley Bey ! " " Hath your master ever a charm for the toothache, an't please you ?" asked an elderly countryman, whose swollen cheek bespoke his interest in the question. " A charm ! — a thousand, and every one of them infallible. Toothache, quotha ! I had hoped you had come with every bone in your body fractured or out of joint. A toothache ! — propound a tester, master o' mine — we ask not more for such trifles : do my bidding, and thy jaws, even with the word, shall cease to trouble thee." The clown, fumbling a while in a deep leathern purse, at length produced a sixpence, which he tendered to the jester. " Now to thy master, and bring me the cLann forthwith." 136 MRS. BOTHERBY'S STORTf " Nay, honest man ; to disturb the wiglity Aldro vando on such slight occasion were pity of mj life areed my counsel aright, and I will warrant thee fv)r the nonce. Hie thee home, friend ; infuse this powaer in cold spring-water, fill thy mouth with the mixture, and sit upon thy fire till it boils I" " Out on thee for a pestilent knave !" cried the cozened countryman ; but the roar of merriment around bespoke the by-standers well pleased with the jape put upon him. He retired, venting his spleen in audible murmurs ; and the mountebank, finding the feelings of the mob enlisted on his side, waxed more impudent every instant, filling up the intervals between his fool- eries with sundry capers and contortions, and discordant notes from the cow's horn. " Draw near, draw near, my masters ! Here have ye a remedy for every evil under the sun, moral, phy- sical, natural, and supernatural ! Hath any man a termagant wife ? — here is that will tame her presently ! Hath any one a smoky chimney ? — here is an incon- tinent cure !" To the first infliction no man ventured to plead guilty, though there were those standing by who thought their neighbours might have profited withal. For the last named recipe started forth at least a dozen candidates. With the greatest gravity imaginable, Pierrot, having pocketed their groats, delivered to each a small packet, curiously folded and closely sealed, con raining, as he averred, directions which, if truly observed, would preclude any chimney from smoking for a whole year. They whose curiosity led them to dive into the mystery, found that a sprig of mountain ash, culled hy THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 137 moonliglit, was the cliariu recommended, coupled, how- ever, with the proviso that no fire should be lighted on the hearth during its exercise. The frequent bursts of merriment proceeding from this quarter, at length attracted the attention of Master Marsh, whose line of road necessarily brought him near this end of the fair ; he drew bit in front of the stage just as its noisy occupant, having laid aside his formida- ble horn, was drawing still more largely on tlie amaze- ment of "the public" by a feat of especial -wonder, — he was eating fire ! Curiosity mingled with astonishment was at its height ; and feehngs not unallied to alarm were beginning to manifest themselves, among the softer sex especially, as they gazed on the flames that issued from the mouth of the \iving volcano. All eyes, indeed, were fixed upon the fire-eater, with an intentness that left no room for observing another worthy who had now emerged upon the scene. This was, however, no less a personage than the Deus ex machind, — the illustrious Aldrovando himself Short in stature and spare in form, the sage had somewhat increased the former by a steeple-crowned hat, adorned with a cock's feather; while the thick shoulder-padding of a quilted doublet, surmounted by a falling band, added a little to his personal importance in point of breadth. His habit was composed through out of black serge, relieved with scarlet slashes in the sleeves and trunks ; red was the feather in his hat, red were the roses in his shoes, which rejoiced moreover in a pair of red heels. The lining of a short cloak of fadec velvet, that hung transversely over his left shoulder, w? also red. Indeed, from all that we could ever see or hea i:}8 MRS. BOTHERBYS STORY. this agreeable alternation of red and black appears lo- be 1.he mixture of colours most approved at the court ol Beelzebub, and the one most generally adopted by his friends and favourites. His features were sharp and shrewd, and a fire sparkled in his keen grey eye, much at variance with the wrinkles that ran their irregular furrows above his prominent and bushy brows. Ha had advanced slowly from behind his screen while the attention of the multitude was absorbed by the pyro- technics of Mr. Merryman, and, stationing himself at the extreme corner of the stage, stood quietly leaning on a crutch-handle walking-staff of blackest ebony, his glance steadily fixed on the face of Marsh, from whose countenance the amusement he had insensibly begun to derive had not succeeded in removing all traces of bodily pain. For a while the latter was unobservant of the inqui- sitorial survey with which he was regarded ; the eyes of the parties, however, at length met. The brown mare had a fine shoulder ; she stood pretty nearly six- teen hands. Marsh himself, though slightly bowed by ill health and the " coming autumn " of life, was full six feet in height. His elevation giving him an unob- structed view over the heads of the pedestrians, he hai naturally fallen into the rear of the assembly, which brouojht him close to the diminutive Doctor, with whose face, despite the red heels, his own was about upon a level. " And what makes Master Marsh here ? — what sees he in the mummeries of a miserable buffoon to divert him when his life is in jeopardy ?" said a shrill cracked yoice that sounded as in his very ear. It was the Doctor who spoke. THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 139 "Knowest tliou me, friend?" said Marsli, scanning with awakened interest the figure of his questioner : " I call thee not to mind ; and yet — stay, where have we met ?" " It skills not to declare," was the answer ; " suffice it we have met, — in other climes perchance, — and now meet happily again — happily at least for thee." " Why truly the trick of thy countenance reminds me of somewhat I have seen before ; where or when I know not: but what wouldst thou with me?" " Nay, rather what wouldst thou here, Thomas Marsh ? What wouldst thou on the Frith of Alding- ton ? — is it a score or two of paltry sheep ? or is it som.ething nearer to thy heart ?" Marsh started as the last words were pronounced with more than common significance : a pang shot through him at the moment, and the vinegar aspect of the charlatan seemed to relax into a smile half compassionate, half sardonic. " Gramraercy," quoth Marsh, after a long-draw u breath, " what knowest thou of me, fellow, or of my concerns ? What knowest thou ^" " This know I, Master Thomas Marsli," said the stranger gravely, " that thy life is even now perilled, evil practices are against thee ; but no matter, thou art quit for the nonce — other hands than mine ^ -e saved thee! Thy pains are over. Hark! the clock strikes One /" As he spoke, a single toll from the bell-tower of Belsington came, wafted by the western breeze, over the thick-set and lofty oaks which inter- vened between the Frith and what had been once a priory. Doctor Aldrovando turned as the sound 140 MRS. botherby's sroRY. came floating on the wind, and was moving, as if half in anger, towards the other side of the stage, where the mountebank, his fires extinct, was now disgorging to the admiring crowd yard after yard of gaudy- coloured riband. " Stay ! Nay, prithee stay !" cried Marsh eagerly, " I was wrong ; in faith I was. A change, and that a sudden and most marvellous, hath indeed come over me ; I am free ; I breathe again ; I feel as though a load of years had been removed ; and — is it possible ? — hast thou done this ?" " Thomas Marsh !" said the doctor, pausing, and turning for the moment on his heel, " I have not : I repeat, that other and more innocent hands than mine have done this deed. Nevertheless, heed my counsel well ! Thou art parlously encompassed ; I, and I only, have the means of relieving thee. Follow thy courses ; pursue thy journey ; but as thou valuest life and more than life, be at the foot of yonder woody knoll what time the rising moon throws her first beam upon the bare and blighted summit that towers above its trees." He crossed abruptly to the opposite quarter of the scaffolding, and was in an instant deeply engaged in listening to those whom the cow's horn had attracted, and in prescribing for their real or fancied ailments. Vain were all Marsh's efforts again to attract his notice ; it was evident that he studiously avoided him ; and when, after an hour or more spent in useless endeavour, he saw the object of his anxiety seclude Jiimself once more within his canvass screen, he rodfl slowly and thoughtfully off the field. THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 141 What should he do ? Was the man a mere quack 1 %ii impostor ? — His name thus obtained ? — that might be easily done. But then, his secret griefs : the doctor's knowledge of them ; their cure ; for he felt that his pains were gone, his healthful feehngs restored ! True ; Aldrovando, if that were his name, had dis- claimed all co-operation in his recovery : but he knew, or he at least announced it. Nay, more ; he had hinted that he was yet in jeopardy ; that practices — and the chord sounded strangely in unison with one that had before vibrated within him — that practices were in ope- ration against his life ! It was enough ! He would keep tryst with the Conjurer, if conjurer he were; and, at least, ascertain who and what he was, and how he had become acquainted with his own person and secret afflictions. When the late Mr. Pitt was determined to keep out Bonaparte, and prevent his gaining a settlement in the county of Kent, among other ingenious devices adopted for that purpose, he caused to be constructed what was then, and has ever since been, conventionally termed a " Military Canal." This is a not very practicable ditch, some thirty feet wnde, and nearly nine feet deep — in the middle, — extending from the town and port of Hithe to within a mile of the town and port of Rye, a distance of about twenty miles ; and forming as it were, the cord of a bow, the arc of which constitutes that remote fifth quarter of the globe spoken of by travellers. Trivial objections to the plan were made at the time by cavillers ; and an old gentleman of the neighbourhood, who proposed as a cheap substitute, to put down his own cocked -hat upon a pole, was deserv 142 MRS. botherbt's story. edly pooh-pooh'd down ; in fact, the job, though rather an expensive one, was found to answer remark- ably well. The French managed, indeed, to scramble over the Rhine, and the Rhone, and other insignificant currents; but they never did, nor could, pass Mr. Pitt's " Military Canal." At no great distance from the centre of this cord rises abruptly a sort of woody promontory, in shape almost conical; its sides covered with thick underwood, above which is seen a bare and brown summit rising like an Alp in miniature. The "defence of the nation" not being then in existence, Master Marsh met with no obstruction in reachins; this place of appointment long before the time prescribed. So much, indeed, was his mind occupied by his adven- ture and extraordinary cure, that his original design had been abandoned, and Master Cobbe remained unvisited. A rude hostel in the neighbourhood furnished enter- tainment for man and horse ; and here, a full hour before the rising of the moon, he left Ralph and the other beasts, proceeding to his rendezvous on foot and alone. "You are punctual, Master Marsh," squeaked th(. shrill voice of the doctor, issuing from the thicket as the first silvery gleam trembled on the aspens above. "'Ti? well : now follow me and in silence." The first part of the command Marsh hesitated not to obey ; the second was more difficult of observance. " Who and what are you ? Whither are you lead- hig me ? " burst not unnaturally from his lips ; but all question was at once cut shoH by the peremptory tone? of his guide. "Hush! I say; your finger on ]'our lip, th^r-j ht THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 143 Dawks abroad : follow me, and that silently and quickly. The little man turned as he spoke, and led the way through a scarcely perceptible path, or track, which wound among the underwood. The lapse of a few minutes brought them to the door of a low building, so hidden by the surrounding trees that few would have suspected its existence. It was a cottage of rather extraordinary dimensions, but consisting of only one floor. No smoke rose from its soHtary chimney; no cheering ray streamed from its single window, which was, however, secured by a shutter of such thickness as to preclude the possibility of any stray beam issuing from within. The exact size of the building it was, in that uncertain light, difficult to distinguish, a portion of it seeming buried in the wood behind. The door gave way on the application of a key, and Marsh followed his conductor resolutely, but cautiously, along a narrow passage, feebly lighted by a small taper that winked and twinkled at its farther extremity. The Doctor, as he approached, raised it from the ground, and, opening au adjoining door, ushered his guest into the room beyond. It was a large and oddly furnished apartment, insuffi- ciently lighted by an iron lamp that hung from the roof, and scarcely illumined the walls and angles, which seemed to be composed of some dark-cok'Ured wood. On one side, however. Master Marsh could discover an article bearing strong resembance to a coffin ; on the other was a large oval mirror in an ebony frame, and in the midst of the floor was described, in red chalk, a double circle, about six feet in diameter, its inner verge inscribed with sundry hieroglyphics, agreeably relieved at intervals with an alternation of skulls and cross bones. 144 MRS. BOTHERBYS STORY. In the very centre was deposited one skull of such sur passing size and thickness as would have filled the soui of a Spurzheim or De Ville with wonderment. A large book, a naked sword, an hour glass, a chafing dish, and a black cat, completed the list of moveables ; with the exception of a couple of tapers which stood on each side of the mirror, and which the strange gentleman now proceeded to light from the one in his hand. As they flared up with what Marsh thought a most unnatural brilliancy, he perceived, reflected in the glass behind, a dial suspended over the coffin-like article already men- tioned ; the hand was fast verging towards the hour of nine. The eyes of the little Doctor seemed riveted on the horologe. " Now strip thee. Master Marsh, and that quickly : untruss, I say ! discard thy boots, doff" doublet and hose, and place thyself incontinent in yonder bath." The visiter cast his eyes again upon the formidable- looking article, and perceived that it was nearly filled with water. A cold bath, at such an hour and under such auspices, was anything but inviting : he hesitated, and turned his eyes alternately on the Doctor and the Black Cat. " Trifle not the time, man, an you be wise," said the former : " Passion of my heart ! let but yon minute- hand reach the hour, and tho'i not immersed, thy life were not worth a pin's fee ! " The Black Cat gave vent to a single Mew, — a most unnatural sound for a mouser, — it seemed as it were mewed through a cow's horn. " Quick, Master Marsh ! uncase, or you perish ! ** repeated his strange host, throwing as he spoke a hand THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 145 fill of some dingy-looking powders into the brasier, " Behold the attack is begun ! " A thick cloud rose from the embers ; a cold shivering shook the astonished Yeoman ; sharp pricking pains penetrated his ankles and tho palms of his hands, and, as the smoke cleared away, he distinctly saw and recognised in the mirror the boudoir of Marston Hall. The doors of the well-known ebony cabinet were closed; but fixed against them,»and standing out in Btronor relief from the contrast afi"orded by the sable background, was a waxen image — of himself ! It appeared to be secured, and sustained in an upright posture, by large black pins driven through the feet and palms, the latter of which were extended in a cruciform position. To the right and left stood his wife and Jose ; in the middle, with his back towards him, was a figure which he had no difficulty in recognising as that of the Leech of Folkestone. The latter had just succeeded in fastening the dexter hand of the image, and was now in the act of drawing a broad and keen-edged sabre from its sheath. The Black Cat mewed again. " Haste or you die ! " said the Doctor, — Marsh looked at the dial ; it wanted but four minutes of nine : he felt that the crisis of his fate was come. Off" went his heavy boots ; doublet to the right, galligaskins to the left ; never was man more swiftly disrobed : in two minutes, to use an Indian expression, " he was all face ! " in another he was on his back, and up to his chin, in a bath which smelt strongly as of brimstone and garlic. " Heed well the clock !" cried the Conjuror : " with the first stroke of Nine plunge thy head beneath the nRST SERIES. 7 146 MRS. bothekby's story. water, suflfer not a hair above the surface ; plunge deeply or thou art lost T' The little man had seated himself in the centre of the circle upon the large skull, elevating his legs at an angle of forty-five degrees. In this position he spun round with a velocity to be equalled only by that of a tee-totum, the red roses on his insteps seeming to describe a circle of fire. The best buckskins that ever mounted at Melton h^d soon yielded to such rotatory friction — but he spun on — the Cat mewed, bats and obscene birds fluttered over head ; Erasmus was seen to raise his weapon, the clock struck ! — and Marsh, who had " ducked" at the instant, popped up his head again, spitting and sputtering, half-choked with the infernal solution, which had insinuated itself into his mouth, and ears, and nose. All disgust at his nauseous dip, was, however, at once removed, when, casting his eyes on the glass, he saw the consternation of the party whose persons it exhibited. Erasmus had evidently made his blow and failed ; the figure was unmutilated ; the hilt remained in the hand of the striker, while the shivered blade lay in shining fragments on the floor. The Conjuror ceased his spinning, and brought him- Belf to an anchor; the Black Cat purred, — its purring seemed strangely mixed with the self-satisfied chuckle of a human being. — "Where had Marsh heard something like it before ? He was rising from his unsavoury couch, when a motion from the little man checked him. " Rest where you are, Thomas Marsh ; so far all goes well, but the danger is not yet over !" He looked again, and per- ceived that the shadowy triumvirate were in deep and THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 14*? eager consultation ; the fragments of the shattered weapon appeared to undergo a close scrutiny. The result was clearly unsatisfactory ; the lips of the parties moved rapidly, and much gesticulation might be observed, but no sound fel. upon the ear. The hand of the dial had nearly reached the quarter: at once the parties separated : and Buckthorne stood again before the figure, his hand armed with a long and sharp- pointed misericorde, a dagger little in use of late, but such as, a century before, often performed the part of a modern oyster-knife, in tickling the osteology of a dis- mounted cavalier through . the shelly defences of liis plate armour. Again he raised his arm. " Duck !" roared the Doctor, spinning away upon his cephalic pivot : — the black Cat cocked his tail, and seemed to mew the word " Duck !" — Down went Master Marsh's head ; — one of his hands had unluckily been resting on the edge of the bath : he drew it hastily in, but not alto- gether scathless ; the stump of a rusty nail, projecting from the margin of the bath, had caught and slightly grazed it. The pain was more acute than is usually produced by such trivial accidents ; and Marsh, on once more raising his head, beheld the dagger of the Leech sticking in the little finger of the wax figure, which it had seemingly nailed to the cabinet door. " By my truly, a scape o' the narrowest !" quoth the Conjuror : " the next course, dive you not the readier, there is no more life in you than in a pickled herring. — What ! courage. Master Marsh : but be heedful ; an they miss again, let them bide the issue !" He drew his hand athwart his brow as he spoke and dashed off the perspiration, which the violence of hia 148 MRS. BOTHERBY S STORY. exercise liad drawn from every pore. Black Tom sprang upon the edge of tlie batli, and stared full in tlie face of the bather : his sea-green eyes were lambent with unholy fire, but their marvellous obliquity of vision was not to be mistaken ; the very countenance, loo ! — Could it be ? — the features were feline, but their expres- sion was that of the Jack Pudding ! Was the Mounte- bank a Cat? — or the Cat a Mountebank? — it was all a mystery ; — and Heaven knows how long Marsh might liave continued staring at Grimalkin, had not his atten- tion been again called by Aldrovando to the magic mirror. Great dissatisfaction, not to say dismay, seemed now to pervade the conspirators ; Dame Isabel was closely inspecting the figure's wounded hand, while Jose was aiding the pharmacopolist to charge a huge petronel with powder and bullets. The load was a heavy one ; but Erasmus seemed determined this time to make sure of his object. Somewhat of trepidation might be observed in his manner as he rammed down the balls, and his withered cheek appeared to have acquired an increase of paleness ; but amazement rather than fear was the prevailing symptom, and his countenance betrayed no jot of irresolution. As the clock was about to chime half-past nine, he planted himself with a firm foot in front of the image, waved his unoccupied hand with a cautionary gesture to his companions, and, as they hastily retired on either side, brought the muzzle of his weapon within half a foot of his mark. As the shadowy form was about to draw the trigger. Marsh again plunged his head beneath the surface ; and the wund of an explosion, as of fire-arms, mingled with the THE LEECH OP FOLKESTONE. 149 rush of water that poured into his ears. His immersion was but momentary, yet did, he feel as though half suffocated : he sprang from the bath, and, as his eye fell on the mirror, he saw, — or thought he saw, — the Leech of Folkestone lying dead on the floor of his wife's boudoir, his head shattered to pieces, and his hand still grasping the stock of a bursten petronel. He saw no more ; his head swam, his senses reeled, the whole room was turning round, and, as he feL to the ground, the last impressions to which he was con- scious were the chucklings of a hoarse laughter, and the mewings of a Tom Cat ! Master Marsh was found the next morning by hia bewildered serving-man, stretched before the door of the humble hostel at which he sojourned. His clothes were somewhat torn and much bemired ! and deeply did honest Ralph marvel that one so staid and grave as Master Marsh of Marston should thus have played the roisterer, missing, perchance, a profitable bargain for the drunken orgies of midnight wassail, or the endearments of some rustic light-o'-love. Tenfold was his astonish- ment increased when, after retracing in silence their journey of the preceding day, the Hall, on their arrival about noon, was found in a state of uttermost confusion. No wife stood there to greet with the smile of bland affection her returning spouse ; no page to hold his stirrup, or receive his gloves, his hat, and riding-rod. — The doors were open, the rooms in most admired disorder; men and maidens peeping, hurrying hither and thither, and popping in and out, like rabbits in a warren. — The lady of the mansion was nowhere to l>e found. 160 MRS. botherby's stort. Jose, too, had disappeared ; the latter had been last seen riding furiously towards Folkestone early in the preceding afternoon ; to a question from Hodge Gar- dener he had hastily answered, that he bore a missive of moment from his mistress. The lean apprentice of Erasmus Buckthorne declared that the page had sum- moned his master, in haste, about six of the clock, and that they had rode forth together, as he verily believed, on their way back to the Hall, where he had supposed Master Buckthorne's services to be suddenly required on some pressing emergency. Since that time he had seen nought of either of them : the grey cob, however, had returned late at night, masterless, with his girths loose, and the saddle turned upside down. Nor was Master Erasmus Buckthorne ever seen again. Strict search was made through the neighbourhood, but without success ; and it was at length presumed that he must, for reasons which nobody could divine, have absconded, together with Jose and his faithless mistress. The latter had carried off with her the strong box, divers articles of valuable plate, and jewels of price. Her boudoir appeared to have be^n completely ransacked ; the cabinet and drawers stood open and empty; the very carpet, a luxury then newly introduced into Eng- land, was gone. Marsh, however, could trace no vestige of the visionary scene which he affirmed to have been last night presented to his eyes. Much did the neighbours marvel at his story: — some thought him mad ; others, that he was merely indulging in that privilege to which, as a traveller, he had a right indefeasible. Trusty Ralph said nothing, but shrugged his shoulders ; and, falling into the rear, THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 151 imitated tlie act on of raising a wine-cup to his lips, An opinion, indeed, soon prevailed, that Master Thomas Marsh had gotten, in common parlance, exceedingly drunk on the preceding evening, and had dreamt all that he so circumstantially related. This belief acquired additional credit when they, whom curiosity induced to visit the woody knoll of Aldington Mount, declared that they could find no building such as that described, nor any cottage near ; save one, indeed, a low-roofed hovel, once a house of public entertainment, but now half in ruins. The " Old Cat and Fiddle " — so was the tene- ment called — had been long uninhabited ; yet still ex- hibited the remains of a broken sign, on which the keen observer might decipher something like a rude portrait of the animal from which it derived its name. It was also supposed still to afford an occasional asylum to the smugglers of the coast, but no trace of any visit from sage or mountebank could be detected ; nor was the wise Aldrovando, whom many remembered to have seen at the fair, ever found again on all that country side. Of the runaways, nothing was ever certainly known. A boat, the property of an old fisherman who plied his trade on the outskirts of the town, had been seen to quit the bay that night ; and there were those who de- clared that she had more hands on board than Garden and his son, her usual complement ; but, as a gale came on, and the frail bark was eventually found keel upwards on the Goodwin Sands, it was presumed that she had struck on that fatal quicksand in the dark, and that all on board had perished. Little Marian, whom her profligate mother had 152 abandoned, grew up to be a fine girl, ard a handsome. Slie became, moreover, heiress to Marston Hail, and brought the estate into the Ingoldsby family by her mari-iage with one of its scions. Thus far Mrs. Botherby. It is a little singular that, on pulling down the old Hall in my grandfather's time, a human skeleton waa discovered among the rubbish : under what particular part of the building, I could never with any accuracy ascertain ; but it was found enveloped in a tattered cloth, that seemed to have been once a carpet, and which fell to pieces almost immediately on being ex- posed to the air. The bones were perfect, but those of one hand were wanting ; and the skull, perhaps from the labourer's pick-axe, had received considerable injury ; the worm-eaten stock of an old-fashioned pistol lay near, together with a rusty piece of iron which a work- man, more sagacious than his fellows, pronounced a portion of the lock, but nothing was found which the utmost stretch of human ingenuity could twist into a barrel. The portrait of the fair Marian hangs yet in the Gallery of Tappington ; and near it is another, of a young man in the prime of life, whom Mrs. Botherby affirms to be that of her father. It exhibits a mild and rather melancholy countenance, with a high forehead, and the peaked beard and moustaches of the seventeenth century. The signet-finger of the left hand is gone, and appears, on close inspection, to have been painted out by some later artist ; possibly in compliment to the tradition, which, teste Botherhy^ records that of Mr. Marsh to i^ave gangrened, and to have undergone ftn- THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. ittO putation at ihe knuckle-joiut. If really the resemblance of the gentleman alluded to, it must have been taken at some period antecedent to his marriage. There is neither date nor painter's name ; but, a little above the head, on the dexter side of the picture, is an escutcheon, bearing " Quarterly, Gules and Argent, in the first quarter a horse's head of the second ;" beneath it are the words " ^tatis sucb 26." On the opposite side is a mark, which Mr. Simpkinson declares to be that of a Merchant of the Staple, and pretends to discover, in the monogram comprised in it, all the characters which compose the name of TEOMAS MABSH, ol MARSTON. Respect for the feelings of an honourable fjimily, — ■ nearly connected with the Ingoldsbys, — has induced me to veil the real " sponsorial and patronymic appel- lations " of my next hero under a sobriquet interfering neither with rhyme nor rhythm.* I shall merely add that every incident in the story bears, on the face of it, the stamp of veracity, and that many " persons of honour" in the county of Berks who well recollected Sir George Rooke's expedition against Gibraltar, would, if .they were now alive, gladly bear testimony to the truth of every syllable. * Pack o' nonsense ! — Every body as belongs to him is dead and gone — and every body knows that the poor young gentleman's real name wasn't Sobriquet at all, but Hampden Pye, Esq., and that one of his uncles— or cousins — used to make verses about the king and the queen, and had a sack of money for doing it every year; — and that's his picture in the blue coat and little gold-laced cocked hat, that hangs on the stairs over the door of the passage that leads to the bhie room. — Sobnquct 7 — but there! — The Squire wrote it after dinner ! Elizabeth Botherbv. 155 LEGEND OF HAMILTON TIGHE. The Captain is walking his quarter-deck, "With a troubled brow and a bended neck ; One eye is down through the hatchway cast, The other turns up to the truck on the raast • Yet none of the crew may venture to hint " Our Skipper hath gotten a sinister squint I ** The Captain again the letter hath read Which the bum-boat woman brought out to Spithead — Still, since the good ship sail'd away, He reads that letter three times a-day ; Yet the writing is broad and fair to see. As a Skipper may read in his degree. And the seal is as black, and as broad, and as flat, , As his own cockade in his own cock'd hat : He reads, and he says, as he walks to and fro, " Curse the old woman — she bothers me so I " He pauses now, for the topmen hail — " On the larboard quarter a sail ! a sail ! " Tliat grim old Captain he turns him quick. And bawls through his trumpet for Hairy-faced IMck. " The breeze is blowing — ^huzza ! huzza 1 The breeze is blowing — away ! away I The breeze is blowing — a race ! a race ! The breeze is blowing — we near the chase I Blood will flow, and bullets will fly, — Oh where will be then young Hamilton Tighe 1 ** — " On the foeman's deck, where a man should be. "With his sword in hie hand, and his foe at his knee. Cockswain or boatswain, or reefer may try, But the first man on board will be Hamilton Tighe 1' » * * * 156 LEGEND OP Hairj-faced Dick hath a swarthy hue, Between a ginger-bread-nut and a Jew, And his pigtail is long, and bushy, and thick, Like a pump-handle stuck on the end of a stick Hairy -traced Dick understands his trade; He stands by the breech of a long carronad^ The linstock glows in his bony hand. Waiting thai grim old Skipper's command. " The bullets are flying — ^huzza 1 huzza I The bullets are flying — away 1 away I " — The brawny boarders mount by the chains. And are over their buckles in blood and in brains: On the foeman's deck, where a man should be, Young Hamilton Tighe "Waves his cutlass high. And Capitaine Crapaud bends low at his knee. Hairy-faced Dick, linstock in hand, Is waiting that grim-looking Skipper's command : — A wink comes sly From that sinister eye — Hairy-faced Dick at once lets fly, And knocks off the head of yonng Hamilton Tighe! There's a lady sits lonely in bower and hall, Her pages and handmaidens come at her call : " Now, haste ye, my handmaidens, haste and see How he sits there and glow'rs with his head on his knee The maidens smile, and, her thoughts to destroy. They bring her a little, pale, mealy-faced boy; And the mealy-faced boy says, *' Mother dear, Now Hamilton's dead, I've a thousand a year I " The lady has donn'd her mantle and hood, She is bound for shrift at St, Mary's Rood ; — " Oh ! the taper shall burn, and the bell sha?" toll. And the mass shall be said for my step-son' iO^\ And the tablet fair shall be hung on hig> . Orate pro animd Hamilton llghe I " HAMILTON TIGHE. 167 Her coach and four Draws up to the door With her groom, and her footman, and half a score mor<» The Lady steps into her coach alone, And they hear her sigh, and they hear her groan ; Tliey close the door, and they turn the pin. But there^s One rides with her that never stepped in I All the way there and all the way back, The harness strains, and the coach-springs crack. The horses snort, and plunge, and kick. Till the coachman thinks he is driving Old Nick ; And the grooms and the footmen wonder, and say, " What makes the old coach so heavy to-day ?" But the mealy-faced boy peeps in, and sees A man sitting there with his head on his knees ! Tis ever the same, — in hall or in bower, Wherever the place, whatever the hour, That Lady mutters, and talks to the air. And her eye is fixed on an empty chair ; But the mealy-faced boy still whispers with dread, "She talks to a man with never a head ! " ***** There's an old Yellow Admiral living at Bath, As gray as a badger, as thin as a lath ; And his very queer eyes have such very queer leera, They seem to be trying to peep at his ears ; That old Yellow Admiral goes to the Rooms, And he plays long whist, but he frets and he fumes, For all his Knaves stand upside down. And the Jack of Clnbs does nothing but frown; And the Kings, and the Aces, and all the best trump* Get into the hands of the other old frumps ; While, close to his partner, a man he sees Counting the tricks with his head on his knees. In Ratcliffe Highway there's an old marine store, And a pxeat black doll hangs out at the dcor; Ther^i are rusty locks and dusty bags, And tnusty phials, and fusty raga, 158 LEGiSND OF HAMILTON TIGHE. And a lusty old woman, call'd Thirsty Nan, And her crusty old husband's a Hairy-faced man ! That Hairy -faced man is sallow and wan. And his great thick pigtail is witliered and gone ; And he cries, "Take away that lubberly chap That sits there and grins with his head in his lap I " And the neighbours say, as they see him look sick, " What a rum old covey is Hairy-faced Dick I " That Admiral, Lady, and Hairy-faced man May say what they please, and may do what they caa But one thing seems remarkably clear, — They may die to-morrow, or live till next year, — But wherever they live, or whenever they die. They'll never get quit of young Hamilton Tighe. The When, — the Where, — and the How, — of the succeeding narrative speak for themselves. It may be proper, however, to observe, that the ruins here alluded to, and improperly termed " the Abbey," are not those of Bolsover, described in a preceding page, but the remains of a Preceptory once belonging to the Knights Templars, situate near Swynfield, Swinkefield, or, as it is now generally spell and pronounced, Swingfield, Minnis, a rouo-h tract of common land now undergoing the process of enclosure, and adjoining the woods and arable lands of Tappington, at the distance of some two miles from the Hall, to the South-eastern windows of which the time-worn walls in question, as seen over the int«r- vening coppices, present a picturesque and striking object 159 THE WITCHES' FROLIC. Scene, the "Snuggery" at Tappington- — Grandpapa ir. 4 high-backed cane-bottoined elbow-chair of carved walnut-tree, dozing ; kiS nose at ai angle of forty-five degrees, — his thumbs slowly perform the rotatorj motion described by lexicographers as "twiddling." — The "Hope of the family" astride on a walking-stick, with burnt-cork niustachios, and a pheasant's tail pinned in his cap, solaceth himself with martial music. — Roused by a strain of surpassing dissonance, Grandpapa loquitur.] Come hither, come hither, my little boy Ned I Come hither unto my knee— I cannot away with that horrible din, That sixpenny drum, and that trumpet of tin. Oh, better to wander frank and free Through the Fair of good Saint Bartlemy, Than list to such awful minstrelsie. Now lay, little Ned, those nuisances by, And I'll rede ye a lay of Gramraarye. \3randpapa riseth, yawneth like the crater of an extinct volcano, pro ceedeth slowly to the window, and apostrojjhizeth the Abbey in th« distance.] I love thy tower, Grey ruin, I joy thy form to see, Though reft of all. Cell, cloister, and hall. Nothing is left save a tottering Avail That awfully grand and darkly dull. Threatened to fall and demolish my skull. As, ages ago, I wander'd along Careless thy grass-grown courts among. In sky-blue jacket, and trowsors laced. The latter uncommonly short in the waiitt 160 THE witches' frolic. Thoa art dearer to me, thou Ruin grey, Than the Squire's verandah over the way ; And fairer, I weftn. The ivy sheen That thy mouldering turret binds, Thau the Alderman's house about half a mile off, With the green Venetian blinds. Full many a tale would my Grandam tell. In many a bygone day, Of darksome deeds, which of old befell In thee, thou Ruin grey 1 A.nd I the readiest ear would lend. And stare like frighten'd pig ! While my Grandfather's hair would have stood up on end, Had he not worn a wig. One tale I remember of mickle dread — Now lithe and listen, my little boy Ned I ***** Thou mayest have read, my little boy Ned, Though thy mother thine idlesse blames. In Doctor Goldsmith's history book. Of a gentleman called King James, In quilted doublet, and great trunk breeches. Who held in abhorrence Tobacco and Witches. Well, — in King James's golden days, — For the days were golden then, — They cr aid not be less, for good Queen Bess Had died, aged three score and ten. And her days we know. Were all of them so ; "While the Court poets sung, and the Court gallants a wore That the days were as golden still as before. Some people, 'tis true, a troublesome few, Who historical points would unsettle, Have lately thrown out a sort of a doubt Of the genuine ring of the metal ; THE witches' frolic. 161 But who can believe to a monarch so wise People would dare tell a parcel of lies ! — "Well, then, in good King James's days, — Golden or not does not matter a jot, — Yon Paiin a sort of a roof had got ; For though, repairs lacking, its walls had been cracking Since Harry the Eighth sent its people a-packing, Though joists, and floors, And windows, and doors Had all disappear'd, yet pillars by scores Remain'd, and still propp'd up a ceiling or two, While the belfry was almost as good as new ; You are not to suppose matters look'd just so In the Ruin some two hundred years ago. Just in that farthermost angle, where There ar^i still the remains of a ^vdnding-stair, One turret especially high in air Uprear'd its tall gaunt form ; As if defying the power of Fate, or The hand of " Time the Innovator ;" And though to the pitiless storm Its weaker brethren all around Bowing, in ruin had strew'd the ground, Alone it stood, while its fellows lay strew'd, Like a four-bottle man in a company " screw'd," Not firm on his legs, but by no means subdued. One night — 'twas in sixteen hundred and six, — I like when I can, Ned, the date to fix, — The month was May, Though I can't well say At this distance of time the particular day — Bnt oil ! tliat night, that horrible night! —Folks ever afterwards said with affright That they never had seen such a terrible sight. 162 THE WITCHES FROLIC. The Sun had gone down fiery red ; And if that evening he laid his head In Thetis's lap beneath the seas, He must have scalded the goddess's knee& He left behind him a lurid track Of blood-red light upon clouds so black, That Warren and Hunt, with the whole of tl eir crew, Could scarcely have given them a darker hue. There came a shrill and a whistling sound, Above, beneath, beside, and around. Yet leaf ne'er moved on tree I So that some people thought old Belzebub must Have been lock'd out of doors, and was blowing the dust From the pipe of his street-door key. And then a hollow moaning Mast Came, sounding more dismally still than the last ; And the lightning flash'd and the thunder growl'd. And louder and louder the tempest howl'd. And the rain came down in such sheets as would stagger a Bard for a simile short of Niagara, Rob Gilpin "was a citizen;'* But though of some "renown,** Of no great "credit" in his own. Or any other town. He was a wild and roving lad. For ever in the alehouse boozing; Or romping, — which is quite as bad,— With female friends of his own choosing. And Rob this very day had made, Not dreaming such a storm was brewing, An assignation with Miss Slade, — Their trysting-place that same grey Ruin. But Gertrude Slade became afraid, And to keep her appointment unwilling THE witches' frolic. 108 Wlien she spied the rain on her window-pane In drops as big as a shilling ; She put off her hat and her mantle again,— " He'll never expect me in all this rain ! " But little he recks of the fears of the sex. Or that maiden false to her tryst could be, He had stood there a good half hour Ere yet had commenced that perilous shower, Alone by the trystingtreel Robin looks east, Robin looks west, But he sees not her whom he loves the best; Robin looks up, and Robin looks down. But no one comes from the neighbouring town The storm came at last, — ^loud roar'd the blast, And the shades of evening fell thick and fast; The tempest grew ; and the straggling yew, His leafy umbrella, was wet through and through Rob was half dead with cold and fright, When he spies in the Ruins a twinkling light — A hep, two skips, and a jump, and straight Rob stands within that postern gate. And there were gossips sitting there. By one, by two, by three : Two were an old ill-favour'd pair , But the third was young, and passing fair. With laughing eyes, and with coal-black hair A dainty quean was she I Rob would have given his ears to sip But a single salute from her cherry lip. As they sat in that old and haunted room. In each one's hand was a huge birch broom. On each one's head was a steeple-crown'd hat, On each one's knee was a coal-black cat ; 164 THE witches' frolic. Each had a kirtle of Liucoln green- It was, I trow, a fearsome scene. "Now riddle me, riddle me right, Madge Gray, What foot unhallow'd wends this way ? Goody Price, Goody Price, now areed me aright, Who roams the old Ruins this di-earysome night P Then up and spake that sonsie quean. And she spake both loud and clear ; " Oh, be it for weal, or be it for woe, Enter friend, or enter foe, Rob Gilpin is welcome here ! — ** Now tread we a measure 1 a hall I a hall I Now tread we a measure," quoth she — The heart of Robin Beat thick and throbbing — "Roving Bob, tread a measure with me I " "Ay, lassie I" quoth Rob, as her hand he gripes, "Though Satan himself were blowing the pipes. * Now around they go, and around, and around. With hop-skip-and-jump, and frolicsome bound. Such sailing and gliding. Such sinking and sliding, Such lofty curvetting, And grand pirouetting ; Ned, you would swear that Monsieur Gilbert And Miss Taglioni were capering there 1 And oh ! such awful music ! — ne'er Fell sounds so uncanny on mortal ear, There were the tones of a dying man's groans Mix'd with the rattling of dead men's bones: Had you heard the shrieks, and the squeals and iHwi squ<(%afc You'd not have forgotten the sound for weeks. And around, and around, and around they go. Heel to heel, and toe to toe, THE WITCH "JS' FROLIC. 165 Prance aud caper, curvet acd wheel. Toe to toe, and heel to heel. "'Tis merry, 'tis merry. Cummers, T trow. To dance thus beneath the nightshade bough I ** " Goody Price, Goody Price, now riddle me right, Where may we sup this frolicsome night I " "Mine host of the Dragon hath mutton and veal ! The Squire hath partridge, and widgeon, and teal; But old Sir Thopas hath daintier cheer, A pasty made of the good red deer, A huge grouse pie, and a fine Florentine, A fat roast goose, and a turkey and chine." — " Madge Gray, Madge Gray, Now tell me, I pray, Where's the best wassail bowl to our roundelay!" " — ^There is ale in the cellars of Tappington Hall, But the Squire* is a churl, and his drink is small; Mine host of the Dragon Hath many a flaggon Of double ale, lamb's wool, and eau de vie. But Sir Thopas the Vicar, Hath costlier liquor, — A butt of the choicest Malvoisie He doth not lack Canary or sack ; And a good pint stoop of Clary wine Smacks merrily off with a Turkey and Chine l** " Now away I and away ! without delay. Hey Cocholorum ! my Broomstick gay ! • Stephen Ingoldsby, suraamed " The Niggard," second cousin and suo eessor to *'The Bad Sir Giles." (Visitation of Kent, 16G6.) For an ncconnt of his murder by burglars, aud their subsequent execution, see Dodsley'B " Remarkable Trials," «fec. London. 17T0, vol. 11. p. 2G4, ex thv volume, Art. " Hand of Glory." 166 THE witches' frolic. We must be back ere the dawn of the day , Hej up the chimney I away! away I" — Old Goody Price Mounts in a trice, In showing her legs she is not over nice ; Old Goody Jones, All skin and bones. Follows " like winking." — Away go the cronee^ Knees and nose in a line with the toes, Sitting their brooms like so many Ducrows ; Latest and last The damsel pass'd. One glance of her coal-black eye she cast ; She laugh'd with glee loud laughters three, "Dost fear, Rob Gilpin, to ride with me?" — Oh, never might man unseath'd espy One single glance from that coal-black eye. — Away she flew 1 — Without more ado Rob seizes and mounts on a broomstick too, " Hey ! up the chimney, lass I Hey after you I* It's a very fine thing, on a fine day in June, To ride through the air in a Nassau Balloon ; But you'll find very soon, if you aim at the Moon In a carriage like that, you're a bit of a *' Spoon," For the largest can't fly Above twenty miles high. And you're not half way then on your journey, nor nigh , While no man alive Could ever contrive, Mr. Green has declared, to get higher than five. And the soundest Philosophers hold that, perhaps. If you reach'd twenty miles your balloon woidd cona;)8e, Or pass by such action The sphere of attraction, Getting into the track of some Comet — Good-lack I Tis a thousand to one tha^, you'd never come back ; THE witches' frolic. 167 And the boldest of raortals a danger like that must fear Rashly protruding beyond our own atmosphere. No, no ; when I try A trip to the sky, I shan't go in that thing of yours, Mr. Gye, Though Messieurs Monk Mason, and Spencer, and Beazly AH join in saying it travels so easily. No ; there's nothing so good As a pony of wood — Not hke that which, of late, they stuck up on the gate At the end of the Park, which caused so much debate, And gave so much trouble to make it stand straight, — But a regular Broomstick— you'll find that the favourite- Above all, when, like Robin, you haven't to pay for it. — Stay — really I dread — I am losing the thread Of my tale ; and it's time you should be in your bed. So lithe now, and listen, my little boy Nedl ******* The Vicarage walls are lofty and thick. And the copings are stone, and the sides are brick, The casements are narrow, and bolted and barrM, And the stout oak door is heavy and hard ; Moreover, by way of additional guard, A great big dog runs loose in the yard. And a horse-shoe is nail'd on the threshold sill, — To keep out aught that savours of ill, — But, alack 1 the chimney-pot's open still I — That great big dog begins to quail, Between his hind-legs he drops his tail. Crouch'd on the ground, the terrified hound Gives vent to a very odd sort of a sound ; It Js n<^t a bark, loud, open, and free, As an honest old watch-dog's bark should be ; It is not a yelp, it is not a growl, But a something between a whine and a howl And, hark ! — a sound from the wirdow high 1 68 THE witches' fkolic, Kesponds to the watch-dog's pitiful cry : It is not a moan, It is not a groan : It comes from a nose, — ^but is not what a ncse Produces in healthy and sound repose. Yet Sir Thopas the Vicar is fast asleep, And his respirations are heavy and deep 1 He snores, 'tis true, but he snores no more As he's aye been accustom'd to snore before, And as men of his kidney are wont to snore ;— (Sir Thopas's weight is sixteen stone four;) He draws his breath like a man distress'd By pain or grief, or like one oppress'd By some ugly old Incubus perch'd on his breast. A something seems To disturb his dreams, And thrice on his ear, distinct and clear, Falls a voice as of somebody whispering near, lu still small accents, faint and few, "Hey down the chimney-pot! — Hey after you 1" Throughout the Vicarage, near and far, There is no lack of bolt or of bar ; There are plenty of locks To closet and box. Yet the pantry wicket is standing ajar I And the little low door, through which you must go, Down some half-dozen steps, to the cellar below, Is also unfastened, though no one may know, By so much as a guess, how it comes to be so ; Foi wicket and door, The evening before, "Were both of them lock'd, and the key safely placed On the bunch that hangs down from the Ilousekefpcp waist. Oh I 'twas a jovial sight to view In that snug little cellar that frolicsome crew I THE WITCBES' FROLIC. 109 Old Goody Price Had got something nice, A turkey poult larded with bacon and spice ; — Old Goody Jones "Would touch nought that had bones,— She might just as well mumble a parcel of stones. Goody Jones, in sooth, hath got never a tooth. And a New-College pudding of marrow and plums [s the dish of all others that suiteth her gums. Madge Gray was picking The breast of a chicken. Her coal-black eye, with its glance so sly, Was fixed on Rob Gilpin himself sitting by With his heart full of lore, and his mouth full of pie Grouse pie, with hare In the middle, is fare Which, duly concocted with science and care, Doctor Kitchener says, is beyond all compare ; And a tenderer leveret Robin had never ate ; 80, in after times, oft he was wont to asseverate. •*Now pledge we the wine-cup! — a health! a health 1 Sweet are the pleasures obtained by stealth 1 Fill up ! fill up ! — the brim of the cup Is the part that aye holdeth the tootlisomest sup! Here's to thee, Goody Price ! — Goody Jones, to thee I— To thee. Roving Rob ! and again to me ! Many a sip, never a slip Come to us four 'twixt the cup and the lip I" The cups pass quick. The toasts fly thick, Rob tries in vain out their meaning to pick, But hears the words "Scratch," and "Old Bogey," and "Niok More familiar grown, Now he stands up alone. Volunteering to givo them a toast of his own. FIRST SERIES. 8 1*10 THE T^iTCHES' FROLIC. " A bumper of wine 1 Fill thine ! Fill mine 1 Here's a health to old Noah who planted the Vine 1" Oh then what sneezing, What coughing and wheezing, Ensued in a way that was not over pleasing 1 Goody Price, Goody Jones, and the pretty Madge Gray^ All seem'd as their liquor had gone the wrong way But the best of the joke was, the moment he spoke Those words which the party seem'd almost to choke, As by mentioning Noah some spell had been broke, Every soul in the house at that instant awoke ! And, hearing the din from barrel and bin, Drew at once the conclusion that thieves had got in. Up jump'd the Cook and caught hold of her spit: Up jump'd the Groom and took bridle and bit ; Up jump'd the Gardener and shoulder'd his spade : Up jump'd the Scullion, — the Footman, — the Maid ; (The two last, by the way, occasioned some scandal. By appearing together with only one candle, Which gave for unpleasant surmises some handle ;) Up jump'd the Swineherd, — and up jump'd the big boy, A nondescript under him, acting as Pig-boy ; Butler, Housekeeper, Coachman — from bottom to top Everybody jump'd up without parley or stop, With the weapon which first in their way chanced to drop, Whip, warming-pan, wig-block, mug, musket, and mop. Last of all doth appear. With some symptoms of fear, Sir Thopas in person to bring up the rear. In a mix'd kind of costume half Pontijicalibus, Half what scholars denominate Pure Naturalibiis ; Nay, the truth to express. As you '11 easily guess, They have none of them time to attend much to dress: THjffi WirCHES' FROLIC. 1*71 But He, or She, As the case may be, He or She seizes what He or She pleases, Trunk-hosen or kirtles, and shirts or chemise"*. And thus one and all, great and small, short ant'' taU^ Muster at once in the Vicarage-hall, With upstanding locks, starting eyes, shorten'a breath Like the folks in the Gallery Scene in Macbetli, When Macduff is announcing their Sovereign's death. And hark ! — what accents clear and strong, To the listening throng came floating along 1 Tis Robin encoring himself in a song — "Very good song! very well sung I Jolly companions every one 1" On, on to the cellar ! away 1 away ! On, on, to the cellar without more delay ! The whole posse rush onwards in battle array — Conceive the dismay of tlie party so gay. Old Goody Jones, Goody Price, and Madge Grcj. When the door bursting wide, they descried the allied Troops, prepared for the onslaught, roll in like a tide, And the spits, and the tongs, and the pokers b<^side 1— ** Boot and saddle's the word ! mount, Cummcs, and rii ' Alarm was ne'er caused more strong and indigcLous By cats among rats, or a hawk in a pigeon-house ; Quick from the view ^.way they all flew. With a yell, and a scrt^ech, and a halliballoo, "Hey up the chimney ! Hey after you 1" — Tlie Volscians themselves made an exit less speedy From Corioli, "flutter'd like doves" by Macready. They are gone, — save one Robin alone ! Robin, whose high state of civilization Precludes all idea of aerostatiou. 172 THE witches' frolic. And who now has no notion Of more locomotion Than suffices to kick, with much zeal and devotion, Right and left at the party, who pounced on their victim, And maul'd hin:, and kick'd him, and lick'd him, and prick'd mm. As thej bore him away scarce aware what was done, And believing it all but a part of the fun, Hie — hiccoughing out the same strain he'd begun, •' Jol — -jolly companions every one 1" ****** 1ft Morning gray Scarce bursts into day Ere at Tappington Hall there's the deuce to pay ; The tables and chairs are all placed in array In the old oak-parlour, and in and out Domestics and neighbours, a motley rout. Are walking, and whispering, and standing aboai • And the Squire is there In his large arm-chair. Leaning back with a grave magisterial air ; In the front of a seat a Huge volume, called Fleta, And Bracton, a tome of an old-fashion'd look, And Coke upon Lyttleton, then a new book ; And he moistens his lips With occasional sips From a luscious sack-posset that smiles in a tankard Close by on a side-table — not that he drank hard. But because at that day, I hardly need say, The Hong Merchants had not yet invented How Quo, Nor as yet would you see Souchong or Bohea At the tables of persons of any degree ; How our ancestors managed to do without tea I must fairly confess is a mystery to me ; Yet your Lydgates and Chaucers Had no cups and saucers ; THE WITCHES FROLIC. 173 Their breakfast, in fact, and the best they could get. Was a sort of a dejeuner a la fourchette ; Instead of our slops They had cutlets and chops, And sack-possets, and ale in stoups, tankards, au Ix-Iirv*^ i(, 11m'. men! ('ir<'re abstracted and reserved. The eye of affection is not slow to detect any symptom of uneasiness in Ji quarter dear to it. I spoke to liim, questioned him on the subject : his answer was evasive, and I said no more. My motlier too, however, had marked the same appearance of melanclioly, and pressed him more strongly. He at length admitted that his spirits were depressed, and that their depression was caused by the necessity of an early, though but a temporary, separation. His uncle, and only friend, he said, had long insisted on his sj»ending some months on the Continent, with the view of completing his profes- sional education, at i that the time was now fjust approacliing when it would be necessary for him to commence his journey. A look made the iiupiiry wliich my tongue refused to utter. ' Yes, dearest Mary,' was his reply, *I have communicated our attachment to him, partially at least: and though T dare not say that the intimation was received as I could have wished, yet 192 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OP I have, perhaps, on the whole, no fair reason to be dis- Batisfied with his reply. " ' The completion of my studies, and my settlement in the world, must, my uncle told me, be the first con- sideration ; when these material points were achieved, he should not interfere with any arrangement that might be found essential to my happiness ; at the same time he has positively refused to sanction any engage- ment at present, which may, he says, have a tendency to divert my attention from those pursuits, on the due prosecution of which my future situation in life must depend. A compromise between love and duty was eventually wrung from me, though reluctantly ; I have pledged myself to proceed immediately to my destination abroad, with a full understanding that on my return, a twelvemonth hence, no obstacle shall be thrown in the way of what are, I trust, our mutual wishes.' "'I will not attempt to describe the feehngs with which I received this communication, nor will it be ne- cessary to say anything of what passed at the few inter- views which took place before Francis quitted X , The evening immediately previous to that of his depar- ture he passed in this house, and, before we separated, renewed his protestations of an unchangeable affection, requiring a similar assurance from me in return. I did not hesitate to make it. ' Be satisfied, my dear Francis,' said I, * that no diminution in the regard I have avowed can ever take place, and though absent in body, my heart and soul will still be with you.' — ' Swear this,' he cried, with a suddenness and energy which surprised, and rather startled me ; * promise that you will be with me in spirit, at least, when I am far away.' I gave him THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 193 my hand, but that was not sufficient. ' One of these dark shining ringlets, my dear Mary,' said he, ' as a pledge that you will not forget your vow !' I suflfered him to take the scissors from my work-box and to sever a lock of my Lair, which he placed in his bosom. — The next day he was pursuing his journey, and the waves vere already bearing him from England. " ' I had letters from him repeatedly during the first three months of his absence ; they spoke of his health, his prospects, and of his love, but by degrees the inter- vals between each arrival became longer, and I fancied I perceived some falling off from that warmth of ex- pression which had at first characterized his commu- nications. " ' One night I had retired to rest rather later than usual, having sat by the bedside, comparing his last brief note with some of his earlier letters, and was endeavouring to convince myself that my apprehensions of his fickleness were unfounded, when an ulidefinable sensation of restlessness and anxiety seized upon me. I cannot compare it to anything I had ever experienced before ; my pulse fluttered, ray heart beat with a quick- ness and violence which alarmed me, and a strange tremor shook my whole frame. I retired hastily to bed, in hopes of getting rid of so unpleasant a sensation, but in vain ; a vague apprehension of I knew not what occupied my mind, and vainly did I endeavour to shake it ofi". I can compare my feelings to nothing but those which we sometimes experience when about to under- take a long and unpleasant journey, leaving those we love behind us. More than once did I raise myself in ray bed and listen, fancying that I heard myself called, FIRST SERIES. P 194 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OV and on each of these occasions the fluttering of my heart increased. Twice I was on the point of calHng to my sister, who then slept in an adjoining room, but she had gone to bed indisposed, and an unwillingness to dis- turb either her or my mother checked me ; the large clock in the room below at this moment began to strike the hour of twelve. I distinctly heard its vibrations, but ere its sounds had ceased, a burning heat, as if a hot iron had been applied to my temple, was succeeded by a dizziness, — a swoon, — a total loss of consciousness as to where or in what situation I was. " ' A pain, violent, sharp, and piercing, as though my whole frame were lacerated by some keen-edged weapon, roused me from this stupor, — but where was I ? Every- thing was strange around me — a shadowy dimness ren- dered every object indistinct and uncertain ; methought, however, that I was seated in a large, antique, high- backed chair, several of which were near, their tall black carved-frames and seats interwoven with a lattice-work of cane. The apartment in which I sat was one of moderate dimensions, and from its sloping roof, seemed to be the upper story of the edifice, a fact confirmed by the moon shining without, in full eff'ulgence, on a huge round tower, which its light rendered plainly visible through the open casement, and the summit of which appeared but little superior in elevation to the room 1 occupied. Rather to the right, and in the distance, the spire of some cathedral or lofty church was visible, while sundry gable-ends, and tops of houses, told me I was in the midst of a populous but unknown city. "'The apartment itself had something strange in its appearance •, and, in the character of its furniture and THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 196 appartenances, bore little or no resemblance to any I had ever seen before. The fire-place was large and wide, with a pair of what are sometimes called andirons, betokening that wood was the principal, if not the only fuel consumed within its recess ; a fierce fire wa« now blazing in it, the light from which rendered visible the remotest parts of the chamber. Over a lofty old- fashioned mantelpiece, carved heavily in imitation of fruits and flowers, hung the half-length portrait of a gentleman in a dark-coloured foreign habit, with a peaked beard and mustaches, one hand resting upon a table, the other supporting a sort of haton^ or short military staft', the summit of which was surmounted by a silver falcon. Several antique chairs, similar in appear- ance to those already mentioned, surrounded a massive oaken table, the length of which much exceeded its width. At the lower end of this piece of furniture stood the chair I occupied ; on the upper, was placed a small chafing dish filled with burning coals, and darting forth occasionally long flashes of various-coloured fire, the bril- liance of which made itself visible, even above the strong illumination emitted from the chimney. Two huge, black, japanned cabinets, with clawed feet, reflecting from their polished surfaces the eftulgence of the flame, were placed one on each side the casement-window to which I have alluded, and with a few shelves loaded with books, many of which were also strewed in disorder on the floor, completed the list of the furniture in the apartment. Some strange-looking instruments, o^ unknown form and purpose, lay on the table near the chafing-dish, on the other side of which a miniature por- trait of myself hung, reflected by a small cval mirror in 196 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF a dark-coloured frame, while a large open volume, traced with Strang 3 characters of the colour of blood, lay in front ; a goblet, containing a few drops of liquid of the same ensanguined hue, was by its side. "•But of the objects which I have endeavoured to describe, none arrested my attention so forcibly as two others. These were the figures of two young men, in the prime of life, only sepai-ated from me by the table, They were dressed alike, each in a long flowing gown, made of some sad coloured stuff, and confined at the waist by a crimson girdle ; one of them, the shorter of the two, was occupied in feeding the embei's of the chafing-dish with a resinous powder, which produced and maintained a brilliant but flickering blaze, to the action of which his companion was exposing a long lock of dark chestnut hair, that shrank and shrivelled as it approached the flame. But, God ! — that hair ! — and the form of him who held it! that face ! those features ! — not for one instant could I entertain a doubt — it was He ! Francis ! — the lock he grasped was mine, the very pledge of affection I had given him, and still, as it par- tially encountered the fire, a burning heat seemed to scorch the temple from which it had been taken, con- veying a torturing sensation that affected my very brain. " ' How shall I proceed ? — but no, it is impossible, — not even to you, sir, can I — dare I — recount the proceed- ings of that unhallowed night of horror and of shame. Were my life extended to a term commensurate with that of the Patriarchs of old, never could its detestable, its damning pollutions be effaced from my remembrance; and oh 1 above all, never could I forget the diabolical glee which sparkled ir the eyes of my fiendish tormen- THE LATE HENrtY HARRIS, D.D. 19? tors, as they witnessed the worse than useless struggles of their miserable victim. Oh ! why was it not permitted me to take refuge in unconsciousness — nay, in death itself from the abominations of which I was compelled to be, not only a witness, but a partaker ? But it is enough, sir ; I will not further shock your nature by dwelHng longer on a scene, the full horrors of which, words, if J even dared employ any, would be inadequate to express ; suflBce it to say, that after being subjected to it, how long I knew not, but certainly for more than an hour, a noise from below seemed to alarm my persecutors ; a pause ensued, — the lights were extinguished, — and, as the sound of a footstep ascending a staircase became more distinct, my forehead felt again the excruciating sensation of heat, while the embers, kindling into a momentary flame, betrayed another portion of the ring- let consuming in the blaze. Fresh agonies succeeded, not less severe, and of a similar description to those which had seized upon me at first ; oblivion again fol- lowed, and on being at length restored to cionsciousness, I found myself as you see me now, faint and exhausted, weakened in every limb, and every fibre quivering with agitation. — My groans soon brought my sister to my aid; it was long before I could summon resolution to confide, even to her, the dreadful secret, and when I had done so, her strongest eflbrts were not wanting to per- suade me that I had been labouring under a severe attack of nightmare. I ceased to argue, but I was not con- vinced : the whole scene was then too present, too awfully real, to permit me to doubt the character of the transaction ; and if, when a few days had elapsed, the hopelessness of imparting to others the conviction I 198 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF entertained myself, produced in me an apparent acquie* cence with their opinion, I have never been the less satisfied that no cause reducible to the known laws of nature occasioned my sufterings on that hellish evening. Whether that firm belief might have eventually yielded to time, — whether I might at length have been brought to consider all that had passed, and the circumstances which I could never cease to remember, as a mere phan- tasm, the offspring of a heated imagination acting upon an enfeebled body, I know not — last night, however, would in any case have dispelled the flattering illusion ■ — last night — last night was the whole horrible scene acted over again. The place — the actors — the whole infernal apparatus were the same ; — the same insults, the Bame torments, the same brutalities — all were renewed, save that the period of my agony was not so prolonged. I became sensible to an incision in ray arm, though the hand that made it was not visible ; at the same moment my persecutors paused; they were manifestly discon- certed, and the companion of him, whose name shall never more pass my lips, muttered something to his abettor in evident agitation ; the formula of an oath of horrible import was dictated to me in terms fearfully distinct. I refused it unhesitatingly ; again and again was it proposed, with menaces I tremble to think on — but I refused ; the same sound was heard — interruption was evidently apprehended, — the same ceremony was hastily repeated, and I again found myself released, lying on my own bed, with my mother and my sister weep- ing over me. — God ! O God ! when and how is this to end ? — "When will my spirit be left in peace ?— Where, or wi^^^h whom shall I find refuge ? ' THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 199 ** It is impossible to convey any adequate idea of the emotions with which this unhappy girl's narrative affected me. It must not be supposed that her story was delivered in the same continuous and uninterrupted strain in which I have transcribed its substance. On the contrary, it was not without frequent intervals, of lonjjer or shorter duration, that her account was brouorht to a conclusion : indeed, many passages of her strange dream were not without the greatest difficulty and re- luctance communicated at all. — My task was no easy one; never, in the course of a long life spent in the active duties of my Christian calling, — never had I been summoned to such a conference before ! "To the half-avowed, and paUiated, confession of committed guilt, I had often listened, and pointed out the only road to secure its forgiveness. I had succeeded in cheering the spirit of despondency, and sometimes even in calming the ravings of despair ; but here I had a different enemy to combat, an ineradicable prejudice to encounter, evidently backed by no common share of superstition, and confirmed by the mental weakness at- tendant upon severe bodily pain. To argue the suffers out of an opinion so rooted was a hopeless attempt. I did, however, essay it : I spoke to her of the strong and mysterious connection maintained between our waking images and those which haunt us in our dreams, and more especially duiing that morbid oppression com- monly called nightmare. I was even enabled to adduce myself as a strong, and living, instance of the excess to which fancy sometimes carries her freaks on tnese occa- sions ; while by an odd coincidence, the impression made upon my own mind, which I adduced as an example, 200 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF bore no slight resemblance to her own. I stated tc her, that on my recovery from the fit of epilepsy, which had attacked me about two years since, just before my grandson Frederick left Oxford, it was with the greatest difiiculty I could persuade myself that I had not visited him, during the interval, in his rooms at Brazenose, and even conversed both with himself and his friend W , seated in his arm-chair, and gazing through the window full upon the statue of Cain, as it stands in the centre of the quadrangle. I told her of the pain I underwent both at the commencement and termination of my attack, — of the extreme lassitude that succeeded ; but my eflbrts were all in vain : she listened to me, indeed, with an interest almost breathless, especially when I informed her of my having actually experienced the very burning sensation in the brain alluded to, no doubt a strong attendant symptom of this peculiar affection, and a proof of the identity of the complaint ; but I could plainly perceive that I failed entirely in shaking the rooted opinion which possessed her, that her spirit had, by some nefarious and unhallowed means, been ac- tually subtracted for a time from its oaithly tenement " ***** The next extract which I shall give from my old friend's memoranda is dated August 24th, more than a week subsequent to his first visit at Mrs. Graham's. He appears, from liis papers, to have visited the poor young woman more than once during the interval, and to have afforded her those spiritual consolfitions which no one was more capable of communicating. Hia patient, for so in a religious sense she may well be termed, had been sinking under the agitation she had THE LATE HENRT HARRIS, D.D. 201 exj>erienced ; and the constant dread she was under of similar sufiferings, operated so strongly on a frame al- ready enervated, that life at length seemed to hang oiJy by a thread. His papers go on to say, " I have just seen poor Mary Graham, — I fear for the last time. Nature is evidently quite worn out ; she is aware that she is dying, and looks forward to the ter- mination of her existence here, not only with resigna- tion, but with joy. It is clear that her dream, or what she persists in calling her ' subtraction,' has much to do with this. For the last few days her behaviour has been altered ; she has avoided conversing on the sub- ject of her delusion, and seems to wish that I should consider her as a convert to my view of her case. This may, perhaps, be partly owing to the flippancies of her medical attendant upon the subject, for Mr. I has, somehow or other, got an inkling that she has been much agitated by a dream, and thinks to laugh oflf the impression, — in my opinion injudiciously ; but though a skilful, and a kind-hearted, he is a young man, and of a disposition, perhaps, rather 'oo mercurial for the chamber of a nervous invalid. Her manner has since been much more reserved to both of us : in my case, probably because she suspects me of betraying her secret." ***** " August 26th. — Mary Graham is yet alive, but sinking fast ; her cordiality towards me has returned since her sister confessed yesterday that she had, herself, told Mr. I that his patient's mind ' had been afiect- ed by a terrible vision.' I am evidently restored to her confidence.-r-SLe asked me this morning, with much 9* 202 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF earnestness, * "What I believed to be the state of departed spirits during the interval between dissolution and the final day of account ! — And whether I thought they would be safe, in another world, from the influence of wicked persons employing an agency moie than human V — Poor child ! — One cannot mistake the pre- vailing bias of her mind. — Poor child !" ***** "August 27tli. — It is nearly over; she is sinking rapidly, but quietly and without pain. I have just administered to her the sacred elements of which her mother partook. Elizabeth declined doing the same ; she cannot, she says, yet bring herself to forgive the villain who has destroyed her sister. It is singular that she, a young woman of good plain sense in ordinary matters, should so easily adopt, and so pertinaciously retain, a superstition so puerile and ridiculous. This must be matter of future conversation between us ; at present, with the form of the dying girl before her eyes, it were vain to argue with her. The mother, I find, has written to young Somers, stating the dangerous situation of his aflianced wife; indignant, as she justly is, at his long silence ; it is fortunate that she has no knowledge of the suspicions entertained by her daugh- .^er. I have seen her letter, it is addressed to Mr. Francis Somers, in the Hogewoeri, at Leyden, — a fellow-student then of Frederick's. I must remember to enquire if he IB acquainted with this young man." ***** Mary Graham, it appears, died the same night. Before her departure, she repeated to my friend the singular story she had before told him, without an> THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 203 material variation from the detail she had formerly given. To the las she persisted in believing that hei unworthy lover had practised upon her by forbidden arts. She once more described the apartment with great minuteness, and even the person of Francis's alleged companion, who was, she said, about the middle height, hard featured, with a rather remarkable scar upon his left cheek, extending in a transverse direction from below the eye to the nose. Several pages of my reverend friend's manuscript are filled with reflections upon this excr.iordinary confession, which, joined with its melancholy termination, seems to have produced no common eftect upon him. He alludes to more than one subsequent discussion with the surviving sister, and piques himself on having made some progress in con- vincing her of the folly of her theory respecting the origin and nature of the illness itself. His memoranda on this, and other subjects, are con- tinued till about the middle of September, when a break ensues, occasioned, no doubt, by the unwelcome news of his grandson's dangerous state, which induced him to set out forthwith for Holland. His arrival at Leyden was, as I have already said, too late. Frederick S had expired, after thirty hours' intense suflfering, from a wound received in a duel with a brother student. The cause of the quarrel was variously related ; but, accord- ing to his landlord's version, it had originated in some silly dispute about a dream of his antagonist's, who had been the challenger. Such, at least, was the account given to him, as he said, by Frederick's friena and fel low-lodger, W , who had acted as second on the occasion, thus acquitting himself of an obligation of the 204 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF same kind due to the deceased, whose services he had put in requisition about a year before on a similar occa- sion, when he had himself been severely wounded in the face. From the same authority I learned that my pooi friend was much affected on finding; that his arrival had been deferred too long. Every attention was shown him by the proprietor of the house, a respectable trades- man, and a chamber was ] vepared for his accommoda- tion ; the books, and few effects of his deceased grand- son were delivered over to him, duly inventoried, and, late as it was in the evening when he reached Leyden, he insisted upon being conducted immediately to the apartments which Frederick had occupied, there to indulge the first ebullitions of his sorrow, before he retired to his own. Madame Muller accordingly led the way to an upper room, which, being situated at the top of the house, had been, from its privacy and distance from the street, selected by Frederick as his study. The Doctor entered, and taking ' the lamp from his conduc- tress motioned to be left alone. His implied wish was of course complied with : and nearly two hours had elapsed before his kind-hearted hostess reascended, in the hope of prevailing upon him to return with her, and partake of that refreshment which he had in the first instance peremptorily declined. Her application for admission was unnoticed : — she repeated it more than once, without success ; then, becoming somewhat alarmed at the continued silence, opened the door and perceived her new inmate stretched on the floor in a fainting fit. Restoratives were instantly administered, aud prompt medical aid succeeded at length in restoring THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 20ft liira to consciousness. But his mind had leceived a shock from which, during the few weeks he survived, he never entirely recovered. His thoughts wandered perpetually : and though, from the very slight acquaint- ance which his hosts had with the English language, ihe greater part of what fell from him remained un- known, yet enough was understood to induce them to believe that something more than the mere death of his grandson had contributed thus to paralyze his faculties. When his situation was first discovered, a small miniature was found tightly grasped in his right hand. It had been the property of Frederick, and had mor€ than once been seen by the Miillers in his possession. To this the patient made continued reference, and would not suflfer it one moment from his sight : it was in his hand when he expired. At my request it was produced to me. The portrait was that of a young woman, in an English morning dress, whose pleasing and regular fea- tures, with their mild and somewhat pensive expression, were not, I thought, altogether unknown to me. Her age was apparently about twenty. A profusion of dark chestnut hair was aiTanged in the Madonna style, above a brow of unsullied whiteness, a single ringlet depend- ing on the left side. A glossy lock of the same colour, and evidently belonging to the original, appeared be- neath a small crystal, inlaid in the back of the picture, which was plainly set in gold, and bore in a cipher the letters M. G. with the date 18 — . From the inspection of this portrait, I could at that time collect nothing, nor from that of the Doctor himself, which also I found the next morning in Frederick's desk, accompanied by 206 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF ,wo separate portions of hair. One of them was a lock, •hort, and deeply tinged with grey, and had been taken, i have httle donbt, from the head of my old friend him- self; the other corresponded in colour and appearance with, that at the back of the miniature. It was not till a few days had elapsed, and I had seen the worthy Doctor's remains quietly consigned to the narrow house, that, while arranging his papers previous to my intended return upon the morrow, I encountered the narrative I have already transcribed. The name of the unfortu- nate young woman connected with it forcibly arrested my attention. I recollected it immediately as one be- longing to a parishioner of my own, and at once recog- nised the original of the female portrait as its owner. I rose not from the perusal of his very singular state- ment till I had gone through the whole of it. It was late, — and the rays of the single lamp by which I was reading did but very faintly illumine the remoter parts of the room in which I sat. The brilliancy of an unclouded November moon, then some twelve nights old, and shining full into the apartment, did much towards remedying the defect. My thoughts filled with the melancholy details I had read, I rose and walked to the window. The beautiful planet rode high in the fir- mament, and gave to the snowy roofs of the houses, and pendant icicles, all the sparkling radiance of cluster- ing gems. The stillness of the scene harmonized well with the state of my feelings. I threw open the case- ment and looked abr^^ad. Far below me, the waters of the principal canal shone like a broad mirror in the moonlight. To the left rose the Burgh t, a huge round tower of remarkable appearance, pierced with em bra- THE LATB HENRY HARRIS^ P.D. 207 sures at its summit; while a little to the right, and in the distance, the spire and pinnacles of the Cathedral of Leyden rose in all their majesty, presenting a coup iVanl of surpassing though simple beauty. To a spec- tator of calm, unoccupied mind, the scene would have been delightful. On me it acted with an electric eftect. I turned hastily to survey the apartment in which I had been sitting. It was the one designated as the study of the late Frederick S . The sides of the room wer« , covered with dark wainscot; the spacious fireplace oppo- site to me, with its polished andi-ons, was surmounted by a large old-fashioned mantelpiece, heavily carved in the Dutch style with fruits and flowers ; above it frowned a portrait, in a Vandyke dress, with a peaked beard and mustaches ; one hand of the figure rested on a table, while the other bore a marshal's staff", surmounted by a silver falcon ! and — either my imagination, already heated by the scene, deceived me, — or a smile as of malicious triumph curled the lip and glared in the cold leaden eye that seemed fixed upon my own. The heavy, antique, cane-backed chairs, — the large oaken table, — • the book-shelves, the scattered volumes — all, all were there ; while, to complete the picture, to my right and left, as half-breathless I leaned my back against the casement, rose, on each side, a tall, dark, ebony cabinet, in whose polished sides the single lamp upon the table shone reflected as in a mirror. ***** What am I to think? — Can it be that the story 1 have been reading was written by my poor friend here, and under the influence of delirium ? — Impossible 1 Besides they all assure me, that from the fatal night of 208 THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS. his arrival he never left his bed — p^ver put pen to paper His very directions to have me summoned from Eng- land were verbally given, during one of those few and brief intervals in which reason seemed partially to resume her sway. Can it then be possible that ? W ? where is he, who alone may be able to throw light on this horrible mystery ? — No one knows. He absconded, it seems, immediately after the duel. No trace of him exists, nor, after repeated and anxious in- quiries, can I find that any student has ever been known in the University of Leyden by the name of Francis Somers. " There are more things in heaven and earth Than ai-e dreamt of in your philosophy." Father John Ingoldsby, to whose papers I am largely mdebted for the Saintly records which follow, waa brought up by his father, a cadet of the family, in the Romish faith, and was educated at Douai for the church. Besides the manuscripts now at Tappington, he was the author of two controversial treatises on the connection between the Papal Hierarchy and the Nine of Dia- monds. From his well-known loyalty, evinced by secret ser- vices to t«he Royal cause during the Protectorate, he was excepted by name out of the acts against the Papists, became superintendent of the Queen Dowager's chapel at Somerset House, and enjoyed a small pension until his death, which took place in the third year of Queen Anne (1704), at the mature age of ninety-six. He was an ecclesiastic of great learning and piety, but THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS. 209 frcm the stiflf and antiquated phraseology which he adopted, I have thought it necessary to modernize it a Uttle : this will account for certain anachronisms that have unavoidably crept in ; the substance of his nar ratives has, however, throughout, been strictly adhered to. His hair-shirt, almost as good as new, is stiU preserved at Tappington, — but nobody ever wears it. THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS. •'Tunc miser CJorvus adeo conscientiae stimulis compunctus fuit, et exe« cratio eum lantopere excarneficavit, ut exinde tabescere inciperet, maciem contraheret, omuem cibum aversaretur, nee ampliua crocitaret ; pennaa praeterea ei defluebant, et alia pendulis omnes facetias intermisit, et tain macer apparuit ut umnes ejus miserescent." • * • "Tunc abbas sacerdotibus mandavit ut rursus furem absolverent; quo facto, Corvus, omnibus mirantibus, propediem convaluit, et pristinam sa Qitatem recuperavit." Dt must. Ord. CisUre The Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal's chair 1 Bishop and abbot, and prior were there ; Many a monk, and many a friar, Many a knight, and many a squire, With a great many more of lesser degree, — In sooth a goodly company ; And they served the Lord Primate on bended knee Never, I ween, "Was a prouder seen. Read of in books, or dreamt of in dreams, Than the Cardinal Lord Archbishop of Rheimal 210 THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS. In and out Through the motley rout, That little Jackdaw kept hopping about; Here and there, Like a dog in a fair, Over comfits and eates, And dishes and plates, Cowl and cope, and rochet and pall ! Mitre and crosier ! he hopp'd upon all With a saucy air. He perch'd on the chair Where, in state, the great Lord Cardinal sat In the great Lord Cardinal's great red hat ; And he peer'd in the face Of his Lordship's Grace, With a satisfied look, as if he would say, **We Two are the greatest folks here to-day! ** And the priests, with awe, As such freaks they saw. Said, "The Devil must be in that little Jackdaw! I ** The feast was over, the board was clear'd The flawns and the custards had all disappear'd. And six little Singing-boys,— dear little souls In nice clean faces, and nice white stoles, Came, in order due, Two by two, Marching that grand refectory through I A nice little boy held a golden ewer, Emboss'd and fill'd with water, as pure As any that flows between Rheims and ISTamur, Which a nice little boy stood ready to catch In a fine golden hand-basin made to match. Two nice little boys rather more grown, Carried lavender-water and eau de Cologne ; And a nice little boy had a nice cake of soapy Worthy of washing the hands of the Pope, On* little boy more A napkin bore. THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS. 2n Of the best white diaper, fringed with pink, And a Cardinal's Hat mark'd in "permanent ink." The great Lord Cardinal turns at the sight Of these nice little boys dress'd all in white ; From his finger he draws His costly turquoise : And, not thinking at all about little Jackdaws, Deposits it straight By the side of his plate, While the nice little boys on his Eminence wait; Till, when nobody's dreaming of any such thing; That little Jackdaw hops off with the ring 1 * ^ « * There's a cry and a shout, And a deuce of a rout, And nobody seems to know what they're about, But the monks have their pockets all turn'd inside out; The friars are kneeling, An-l hunting and feeling The carpet, the floor, and the walls, and the ceiling. The Cardinal drew Off each plum-color'd shoe. And left his red stockings exposed to the view ; He peeps, and he feels In the toes and the heels They turn up the dishes, — they turn up the plates^— They take up the poker and poke out the gratei^ — They turn up the rugs, They examine the mugs :^ But, no 1 — no such thing ;— They can't find the ring 1 And the Abbot declared that, " when nobody twigg'd it, Some rascal or other had popp'd in, and prigg'd it 1 ** The Cardinal rose with a dignified look. He called for his candle, his bell, and his book ! In holy anger, and pious grie^ He solemnly cursed that rascally thief I 212 THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS. He cursed him at boanl, he cursed him in bed ; From the sole of his foot to the crown of his head* He cursed him in sleeping, that every night He should dream of the devil, and wake in a fright* He cursed liim in eating, he cursed him in drinking, , He cursed him in coughing, in sneezing, in winking, He cursed him in sitting, in standing, in lying ; He cursed him in walking, in riding, in flying, He cursed him living, he cursed him dying 1 — Never was heard such a terrible curse 1 But what gave rise To no little sui'prise, Nobody seemed one penny the worse 1 The day was gone, The night came on. The Monks and the Friars they search'd till dawn ; When the Sacristan saw, On crumpled claw. Come limping a poor little lame Jackdaw 1 No longer gay. As on yesterday ; His feathers all seem'd to be turn'd the wrong way , — His pinions droop' d — he could hardly stand, — His head was as bald as the palm of your hand ; His eye so dim. So wasted each limb. That, heedless of grammar, they all cried, "That himI— That's the scamp that has done this scandalous thing That's the thief that has got my Lord Cardinal's King 1 * The poor little Jackdaw, When the monks he saw. Feebly gave vent to the ghost of a caw; And turn'd his bald head, as much as to say, ** Pray be so good as to walk this way 1 " Slower and slower He limp'd on before. Till they came to the back ^f the belfry-door. THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS. 213 "Where the first thing they saw, Midst the sticks and the straw, Was the binq^ in the nest of that little Jackdaw ! Then the great Lord Cardinal call'd for his book, And off that terrible curse he took ; The mute expression Served in lieu of confession, And, being thus coupled with full restitution. The Jackdaw got plenary absolution! — When those words were heard. That poor little bird Was so changed in a moment, 'twas really absurd : He grew sleek, and fat ; In addition to that, A fresh crop of feathers came thick as a matl His tail waggled more Even than before ; But no longer it wagg'd with an impudent air. No longer he perch'd on the Cardinal's chair. He hopp'd now about With a gait devout ; At Matins, at Vespers, he never was out ; And, so far from any more pilfering deeds, He always seem'd telling the Confessor's beads. If any one lied, — or if any one swore, — Or slumber'd in pray'r-time and happen'd to snore. That good Jackdaw Would give a great " Caw 1 " As much as to say, " Don't do so any more ! " While many reraark'd, as his manners they saw, That they " never had known such a pious Jackdaw ! " He long lived the pride Of that country side. And at last in the odor of sanctity died ; When, as words were too faint His merits to paint. The Conclave determined to make him a Saint 214 THE JACKDAW OP RHEIMS. And on newly made Saints and Popes as you know It's the custom, at Rome, new names to bestow, So they canonized him by the name of Jem Crow 1 215 A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. ' tUtfls t)ols ct)fltie Bunstan teas fiopne In s* ^ere of out HortiE ix. f)onjtEti U xxv. tl)at tgmc rfflnsnjje In tMs lontie Efnjje att)elston, * * * '♦^i&'Dnn It so tois tljat Sagnt jBunstan toa« toerj ol praofr tban uscU tjc to toorlte (u flolTJsmitl)es tocrfec toitj) Jfs otonc Ijantifs for to esc|)ctoe gtielnes.** Golden Legend, St. Dunstan stood in his ivied tower, Alembic, crucible, all were there ; Wlien in came Nick to play him a trick, In guise of a damsel passing fair. Every one knows How the story goes : He took up the tongs and caught hold of his nose. But I beg that you won't for a moment suppose That I mean to go through, in detail, to you A story at least as trite as it's true ; Nor do I intend An instant to spend On the tale, how he treated his monarch and triend, Wlien, bolting away to a chamber remote, Inconceivably bored by his Witen-gemote, Edwy left them all joking. And drinking, and smoking. So iipsily grand, they'd stand nonsense from no Kin^ But sent the Archbishop Their Sovereign to fish up, With a hint that perchance on his crown he might feel tap Unles3 he came back straight and took oflF his heel-taps. 216 A LAY OF ST. DDNSTAN. You must not be plagued with the same story twice^ And perhaps have seen tbi« one, by W. Dyce, At the Royal Academy, "Vcry well done, And mark'd in the catalogue Four, seven, one. You might there view the Saint, who in sable array 'd is, Coercing the Monarch away from the Ladies ; His right hand has hold of his Majesty's jerkin, His left shews the door, and he seems to say, " Sir King, Your most faithful Commons won't hear of your shirking 1 Quit your tea, and return to your Barclai and Perkyn, Or, by Jingo,* ere morning, no longer alive, a Sad victim you'll lie to your love for Elgiva I " No farther to treat Of this ungallant feat. What I mean to do now is succinctly to paint One particular fact in the life of the Saint, Which somehow, for want of due care, I presume, Has escaped the researches of Rapin and Hume, In recounting a miracle, both of them men, who a Great deal fall short of Jacques Bishop of Genoa, An Historian who likes deeds like these to record — See his Aurca Legenda, by ffiil'gnhjn ^e ZiS^orlie. St. Dunstan stood again in his tower, Alembic, crucible, all complete ; He had been standing a good half hour. And now he utter'd the words of power. And call'd to his broomstick to bring him a seat* The words of po'wer! — and what be they To which e'en Broomsticks bow and obey ? — Why, — 'twere uncommonly hard to say, As the prelate I named has recorded none of them, • St. Jingo, or Gengo (Gengulphus), sometimes styled " The Living /ingo," from the great tenaciousness of vitality exhibited by his severed members. See his Legend, as recorded hereafter in the present volume. A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. 21? What they may be, But I know they are three, And ABRACADABRA, I take it, is one of them: For Fin told that most Cabalists use that identical Word, written thus, in what they call " a Peutaclc." However that be, You '11 doubtless agree It signifies little to you or to me, A"^ not being dabblers in Grammarye; Still, it must be confess'd, for a Saint to repeat Such language aloud is scarcely discreet; For, as Solomon hints to folks given to chatter, " A bird of the air may carry the matter ;" And in sooth, From my youth I remember a truth Insisted on much in my earlier years, To wit, " Little Pitchers have very long ears I" Now, just such a " Pitcher " as those I allude to Was outside the door, which his " ears " appeared glued to FIRST SERIES. 10 218 A LAY OF ST. DUNblAJS. Peter, the Lay-brother, meagre and thin. Five feet one in his sandal shoon, While the saint thought him sleeping; Was listening and peeping, And watching his master the whole afternoon* This Peter the Saint had pick'd out from his fellowsj To look to his fire, and to blow with the bellows. To put on the Wall's-Ends and Lambtons whenever L« Chose to indulge in a little orfevrerie ; — Of course you have read, That St, Dunstan was bred A Goldsmith, and never quite gave up the trade 1 The Company — richest in Loudon, 'tis said — Acknowledge him still as their Patron and Head; Nor is it so long Since a capital song In his praise — now recorded their archives among — Delighted the noble and dignified throng Of their guests, who, the newspapers told the whole town. With cheers "pledged the wine-cup to Dunstan's renown," When Lord Lyndhurst, The Duke, and Sir Robert^ were dining At the Hall some time since with the Prime Warden Twin ing.— — I am sadly digressing — a fault which sometimes One can hardly avoid in these gossiping rhymes— A slight deviation's forgiven ! but then this is Too long, I fear, for a decent parenthesis, So I'll rein up my Pegasus sharp, and retreat, or You'll think Fve forgotten the Lay brother Peter, Whom the Saint, as I said. Kept to turn down his bed. Dress his palfreys and cobs. And do other odd jobs, — As reducing to writing Whatever he might, in The course of the day or the night, be inditing. And cleaning the plate of his mitre with whiting ; A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. 219 Performing, in short, all those duties and oflficcB Abbots exact from Lay-brothers and Novices. It occurs to me here You'll perhaps think it queer That St Dunstan should have such a personage near. When he'd only to say Those words, — be what they may, — And his Broomstick at once his commands would obey,— That's true but the fact is *Twas rarely his practice Such aid to resort to, or such means apply. Unless he'd some "dignified knot" to untie, Adopting, though sometimes, as now, he'd reversed it, Old Horace's maxim " Nee Broomstick ijitersit." — — Peter, the Lay-brother, meagre and thin, Heard all the Saint was saying within ; Peter, the Lay-brother, sallow and si)are, Peep'd through the key-hole, and — what saw he there I— Why, — A Broomstick bringixg a rush-bottom'd chaib. What Shakspeare observes in his play of King John, Is undoubtedly right, That " ofttimes the sight Of means to do ill deeds will make ill deeds done." Here's Peter, the Lay-brother, pale-faced and meagre, A good sort of man, only rather too eager To listen to Avhat other people are saying, When he ought to be minding his business or praying, Gets into a scrape, — and an awkward one too, — As you'll find, if you've patience enough to go through The whole of the story I'm laying before ye, — Entirely from having " the means " in his view Of doing a thing which he ought not to do ! Still rings in his ear. Distinct and clear. 220 A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. Abracadabra! that word of fear And the two which I never yet happen'd to hear. Still doth he spy, With Fancy's eye, The Broomstick at work, and the Saint standing by ; And he chuckles, and says to himself with glee, '* Alia 1 that Broomstick shall work for me I " Hark! — that swell O'er flood and o'er fell, Mountain, and dingle, and moss-covered delU List ! — 'tis the soimd of the Compline bell, And St. Dunstan is quitting liis ivied cell ; Peter, I wot. Is off like a shot, Or a little dog scalded by something that's hot, For he hears his Master approaching the spot Where he'd listened so long, though he knew he ouglit not Peter reniember'd his Master's frown — He trembled — ^he'd not have been caught for a crown ; Howe'er you may laugh. He had rather, by half. Have run up to the top of the tower and jump'd down. ***** The Compline hour is past and gone, Evening service is over and done ; The monks repair To their frugal fare, A snug little supper of something light And digestible, ere they retire for the night. For in Saxon times, in respect to their cheer, St. Austin's Rule was by no means severe, But allowed, from the Beverley Roll 'twould appear. Bread and cheese, and spring onions, and sound table-beer And even green peas, wnen they were not too dear ; Not like the rule of La Trappe, whose chief merit is Said to consist in its greater austerities ; And whose monks, if I rig-htly remember their laws, A LAY OP ST. DUNSTAN. 22 J Ne'er are suffer'd to speak, Think only in Greek, And subsist, as the Bears do, by sucking their paw& Astonish'd I ara The gay Baron Geramb, With his head sav'ring more of the Lion than Lamb, Could e'er be pursuaded to join such a set — I Extend the remark to Signor Ambrogetti.— For a monk of La Trappe is as thin as a rat, While an Austin Friar was jolly and fat ; Though, of course, the fare to which I allude. With as good table-beer as ever was brew'd. Was all " caviare to the multitude," Extending alone to the clergy, together in Hall assembled, — and not to Lay-brethren. St Dunstan himself sits there at his post, On what they say is Called a Dais. O'erlooking the whole of his clerical host. And eating poach'd eggs with spinach and toast; Five Lay-brothers stand behind his chair. But where is the sixth ?— Where's Peter !— Ay, WHERE ? Tib an evening in June, And a little half moon, A brighter no fond lover ever set eyes on. Gleaming and beaming, And dancing the stream in, Has made her appearance above the horizon ; Just such a half moon as you see, in a play, On the turban of Mustapha Muley Bey, Or the fair Turk who weds with the " Noble Lord Bateman ; * — Fide plate in George Cruickshank's memoirs of that great man. She shines on a turret remote and lone, A tiuret with ivy and moss overgrown. And h'chens that thrive on the cold dank stone • 222 A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. Such a tower as a poet of no mean calibre I once knew and loved, poor, dear Reginald Heber, Assigns to oblivion* — a den for a She bear ; "Within it are found, Strew'd above and around. On the hearth, on the table, the shelves, and the ground, All sorts of instruments, all sorts of tools. To name which, and their uses, would puzzle the Schools And make very wise people look very like fools ; Pincers and hooks, And black-letter books, All sorts of pokers, and all sorts of tongs, And all sorts of hammers, and all that belongs To Goldsmith's work, chemistry, alchymy, — all. In short that a Sage, In that erudite age. Could require, was at hand, or at least within calL In the midst of the room lies a Broomstick ! — and there A lay-brother sits in a rush-bottom'd chair 1 Abracadabra, that fearful word. And the two which, I said, I have never yet heard. Are utter'd. — 'Tis done I Peter, full of his fun, Cries, " Broomstick ! you lubberly son of a gun ! Bring ale 1 — bring a flagon — a hogshead — a tun I 'Tis the same thing to you ; I have nothing to do ; *nd, 'fore George, I '11 sit here, and I'll drink till ali b blae No doubt you've remark'd how uncommonly quick A Newfoundland puppy runs after a stick, Brings it back to his master, and gives it him — Well, So potent the spell. The Broomstick perceived it was vain to rebel, • And cold oblivion, midst the ruin laid, Folds her dank wing beteath the ivy shade. Palestiiid. A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. 223 So ran off like that puppy ; — some cellar was near. For in less than ten seconds 'twas back with the beer Peter seizes the flagon ; but ere he can suck Its contents, or enjoy what he thinks his good luck, The Broomstick comes in with a tub in a truck ; Continues to run At the rate it begun. And, au pied de lettre, next brings in a tunl A fresh one succeeds, then a third, then another. Discomfiting much the astounded Lay -brother ; "Who, had he possess'd fifty pitchers or stoupa, They all had been too few ; for, arranging in groups The barrels, the Broomstick next started the hoops ; The ale deluged the floor, But, still, through the door, ^aid Broomstick kept bolting, and bringing in more. E'en Macbeth to Macduff Would have cried " Hold I enough I ** If half as well drench'd with such " perilous stuff," And, Peter, who did not expect such a rough visit. Cried lustily, "Stop 1— That will do, Broomstick I— /Sfw^tri^/" But ah, well-a-day I The Devil, they say, "Tis easier at all times to raise than to lay. Again and again Peter roar'd out in vain His Abracadabra, and t' other words twain : — As well might one try A pack in full cry To check, and call off from their headlong career, By bawling out " Yoicks ! " with one's hand at on^ 6 etr. The longer he roar'd and the louder and quicker, Thft faster the Broomstick was bringing in liquor. The poor Lay-brother knew Not on earth what to do- ll* caught hoM of the Broomstick and snajit it in twrw — 224 A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. Worse and worse ! — Like a dart Each part made a start, And he found he'd been adding mor^ fuel to fire, For both now came loaded with Meux's entire ; Combe's, Delafield's, Ilanbury's, Truman's — no stopping — Goding's, Charenton's, Whitbread's continue to drop in. With Hodson's pale ale, from the Sun Brewhouse, Wapping The firms differ'd then, but I can't put a tax on Mj memory to say what their names were in Saxon. To be sure the best beer Of all did not appear For I've said 'twas in June, and so late in the year The " Trinity Audit Ale" is not come-at-able, — As Tve found to my great grief when dining at that table Now extremely alarm'd, Peter scream'd without ceasing, For a flood of brown-stout he was up to his knees in. Which, thanks to the Broomstick, continued increasiog • He fear'd he'd be drown'd. And he yell'd till tlie sound Of his voice, wing'd by terror, at last reach'd the ear Of St Dunstan himself, who had finish'd his beer, And had put off his mitre, dalmatic, and shoes, And was just stepping into his bed for a snooze. His Holiness paused when he heard such a clatter ; He could not conceive what on earth was the matter. Slipping on a few things, for the sake of decorum. He issued forthwith from his Sanctum sanctorum, And calling a few of the lay-brothers near him, Who were not yet in bed, and who happen'd to hear him. At once led the way, Without farther delay, To the tower where he'd been in the course of the day. Poor Peter I — alas ! though St Dunstan was quick, There were two there before him — Grim Death, and Old Nick I- A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. 22; When they opeu'd the door out the malt-liquor flow'd. Just as when the great Vat burst in Tot'n'am Court Road ; The Lay-brothers nearest were up to their necks In an instant, and swimming in strong double X; "VMiile Peter, who, spite of himself now had drank hard. After floating awhile, like a toast in a tankard, To the bottom had sunk. And was spied by a monk, ytone-dead, like poor Clarence, half drown'd and half dnmk In vain did St. Dunstan exclaim, " Vade retro Strongbeerum ! — discede a Lay-fratre Petro /" Queer Latiu, you'll say, That pnefix of " Lay,'' And Strongbeerum I — I own they'd have call'd me a block head if At school I had ventured to use such a Vocative Tis a barbarous word, and to me it's a query If you'll find it in Patrick, Morell, or Moreri ; But, the fact is, the Snint was uncommonly flurried, And apt to be loose in his Latin when hurried ; The Brown-stout, however, obeys to the letter^ Quite as well as if talk'd to, in Latin much better, By a grave Cambridge Johnian, • Or graver Oxonian, Whose language, we all know, is quite Ciceronian. It retires from the corpse, which is left high and dry , But, in vain do they snuff and hot towels apply. And other means used by the faculty try. When once a man's dead There's no more to be said ; Peter's " Beer with an e" was his " Bier with an il f* By way of a moral, permit me to pop in The following maxims : — Beware of eaves-dropping I — Don't make use of language that isn't well scann'd I — Don't meddle with matters you don't understand! — 10* 226 A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. Above all, what I'd wish to impress on both sexes Is, — Keep clear of Broomsticks, Old Nick, and three XXXs. In Goldsmith's Hall there's a handsome glass-case, And in it a stone figure, found i>n the place, When, thinking the old Hall no longer a pleasant one. They pull'd it all down, and erected the present one. If you look, you'll perceive that this stone figure twists A thing like a broomstick in one of its fists. It's so injured by time, you can't make out a feature ; But it is not St. Dunstan, — so doubtless it's Peter. Gengulphus, or, as he is usually styled in this coun try, " Jingo," was perhaps more in the mouths of the "general" than any other Saint, on occasions of adjura- tion (see note, page 216). Mr. Simpkinson from Bath had kindly transmitted me a portion of a primitive ballad, which has escaped the researches of Ritson and Ellis, but is yet replete with beauties of no common order. I an* happy to say that, since these Legenda first appeared, I have recovered the whole of it. — Vide infra. ' % jFrankljn'js tjogsie Itptlr obtr a st^lt, fluti 1)25 name toas litttl Bjnso B bDitf) a i— i tojtl) an N,— N IxDBtf) a (fit— (5 faoDt^ an ©,— ^\)t;a rairir tinx littU Brngcr ! 9Cl)Tis ^xn\i\^l$vi, %rixs, i^t trctotitr goob\ nd she brought a foot-pan, with hot water and bran. To comfort his " poor dear," travel-worn feet. * Evi SaKpvat Yf^o,^^> r — latMofSBtM^if T ? A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. 240 There is Simon the Deacon hath pulse in store, With beans and lettuces fair to see ; His lenten fare now let me share, I pray thee, Lord Abbot, in charitie 1 ** — " Though Simon the Deacon hath pulso in store, To our patron Saint foul shame it were Should wayworn guest, with toil oppress' d. Meet in his abbey such churlish fare. ' There is Peter the Prior, and Francis the Friar, And Roger the Monk sliall our convives be ; Small scandal I ween shall then be seen ; They are a goodly companie ! " The Abbot hath donn'd his mitre and ring, His rich dalmatic, and maniple fine ; And the choristers sing, as the lay-brothers bring To the board a magnificent turkey and chine. The turkey and chine, they are done to a nicety Liver, and gizzard, and '1 are there ; Ne'er mote Lord Abbot pronounce Benedicite Over more luscious or delicate fare. But no pious stave he, no Pater or Ave Pronounced, as he gazed on that maiden's face • She ask'd him for stuffing, she ask'd him for grav* She ask'd him for gizzard ; — but not for Grace! Yet gaily the Lord Abbot smiled, and press'd. And the blood-red -wine in the wine-cup fill'd ; And he help'd his guest to a bit of the breast, And he sent the drumsticks down to be grill'd. There was no lack of old Sherris sack, » Of Hippocras fine, or of Malmsey bright ; And aye, as he drain'd off his cup with a smack, He grew less pious and more polite. 11* 250 A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. She pledged him once, and she pledged him twice, And she drank as Ladj ought not to di'ink ; And he press'd her hand 'neath the table thrice, And he wink'd as Abbot ought not to wink. And Peter the Prior, and Francis the Friar, Sat each with a napkin under his chin ; But Roger the Monk got excessively drunk, So they put him to bed and they tuck'd him in 1 The lay-brothers gazed on each other, amazed ; And Simon the Deacon, with grief and surprise, As he peep'd through the key-hole, could scarce fancy real The scene he beheld, or believe his own eyes. In his ear was ringing the Lord Abbot singing, — He could not distinguish the words very plain, But 'twas all about "Cole," and "jolly old Soul," And "Fiddlers," and "Punch," and things quite as profane Even Porter Paul, at the sound of mch revelling, With fervour himself began to blesis ; For he thought he must somehow have let the De"vil in, — And perhaps was not very much out in his guess. The Accusing Buyers* "flew up to Heaven's Chancery," Blushing like scarlet with shame and concern ; The Archangel took down his tale, and in answer he Wept — (See the works of the late Mr. Sterne). Indeed, it is said, a less taking both were in When, after a lapse of a great many years. They book'd Uncle Toby five shillings for swearing. And blotted the fine out again with their tears I • The Prince of Peripatetic Informers ami terror of Staj?e Coachmen, when such things were. Alacli.! alack the Raiiroadd have ruined hia " vested interest." A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. 251 But St Nicholas' agony who may paint ? His senses at first were wcll-nigli gone ; Tlie beatified Saint was ready to faint \VTien he saw in his Abbey such sad goings on I For never, I ween, had such doings been seen There before, from the time that most excellent Prine« Earl Baldwin of Flanders, and other Commanders, Had built and endowed it some centuries since. — But hark! — 'tis a sound from the outermost gate I A startling sound from a powerful blow. — Who knocks so late ? — it is half after eight By the clock, — and the clock's five minutes too slow. Never, perhaps, had such loud double raps Been heard in St Nicholas' Abbey before; All agreed "it was shocking to keep people knocking," But none seera'd inclined to " answer the door." Now a louder bang through the cloisters rang. And the gate on its hinges wide open flew; And all were aware of a Palmer there, "With his cockle, hat staff, and his sandal shot- Many a furrow, and many a frown By toil and time on his brow were traced ; And his long loose gown was of ginger brown. And his rosary dangled below his waist Now seldom, I ween, is such costume seen. Except at a stage-play or masquerade ; But who doth not know it was rather the go With Pilgrims and Saints in the second Crusade t With noiseless stride did that Palmer glide Across thai oaken floor ; And he made them all jump, he gave such a thump Against the Refectory door I ^iid A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. Wide open it flew, and plain to the view The Lord Abliot they all mote see ; In his hand was a cup, and he lifted it up, "Here's the Pope's good health with three 1 " Rang in their ears three deafening cheers, " Huzza 1 huzza! huzza!" And ou'- of the party said, "Go it, my hearty! " Waen outspake the Pilgrim grey — ** A boon. Lord Abbot ! a booi 1 a boon 1 Worn is my foot and empty my scrip ; And nothing to speak of since yesterday nooD Of food. Lord Abbot, hath passed my lij.. "And I am come from a far countree, And have visited many a holy slirine ; And long have I trod the sacred sod AVhere the Saints do rest in Palestine! " " An thou art come from a far countree. And if thou in Paynim lands hast been. Now rede me aright the most wonderful siglit, Thou Palmer grey, that thine eyes have seen. • Arcde me aright the most wonderful sight^ Grey Palmer, that ever thine eyes did see, A.nd a manchette of bread, and a good warm be gold; And how Mr. Green was beginuiug to scold 282 iHE Because Mr. Mason would trj to lay hold Of the moon, and had verj near overboard roH'd I And there they'll be seen — ^they'll be all to be seen 1 The great-coats, the cofFee-pot, mugs, and tureen I "With the tight-rope, and fire-works, and dancing between If the weather should only prove fair and serene, And there, on a beautiful transparent screen. In the middle you'll see a large picture of Green, Mr. Hollond on one side, who hired the machine, Mr. Mason on t'other, describing the scene ; And Fame, on one leg, in the air, like a queen. With three wreaths and a trumpet, will over them lean While Envy, in serpents and black bombazin. Looks on from below with an air of chagrin 1 Then they'll play up a tune in the Royal Saloon, And the people will dance by the light of the moon, And keep up the ball till the next day at noon ; And the peer and the peasant, the lord and the loon The haughty grandee, and the low picaroon, The six-foot life-guardsman, and little gossoon, Will all join in three cheers for the " Monstre " Balloon. It is much to be regretted that I have not as yet been able to discover more than a single specimen of my friend " Sucklethumbkin's " Muse. The event it alludes to, probably the euthanasia of the late Mr. Greenacre, will scarcely have yet faded from the recollection of an admiring public. Although, with the usual diffidence of a man of fashion, Augustus has " sunk " the fact of his own presence on that interesting occasion, I have every reason to believe, that, in describing the party at the auherge hereafter mentioned, he might have said, with a brother Exquisite, " Quorum pars magna fui^ 283 BON. MR. SUCKLETHUMBKIN'S STOKY. THE EXECUTION. A SPORTING ANECDOTE. Mf Lord Tomnoddy got up one day ; It was half after two, He had nothing to do, So his Lordship rang for his cabriolet Tiger Tim Was clean of limb, His boots were polish'd, his jacket was trim ; With a very smart tie in his smart cravat, And a smart cockade on the top of his hat ; Tallest of boys, or shortest of men. He stood in his stockings just four foot ten ; And he ask'd, as he held the door on the swing, "Pray, did your Lordship please to ring?" My Lord Tomnoddy he raised his head. And thus to Tiger Tim he said, " Malibran's dead, Duveraay's fled, Taglioni has not yet arrived in her stead; Tiger Tim, come tell me true, What may a Nobleman find to doT — *284 HON. MR. SUCKLETUCMBKIN S STORY. Tim look'd up, and Tim look'd down, He paused, and he put on a thoughtful frown, And he held up his hat, and he peep'd in the crown ; He bit his lip, and he scratch'd his head, He let go the handle, and thus he said, As the door, released, behind him bang'd : "A n't please jou, my Lord, there's a man to be hang'd." My Lord Tomnoddy jump'd up at the news, "Run to M 'Fuze, And Lieutenarit Tregooze, And run to Sir Carnaby Jenks, of the Blues. Rope-dancers a rcore I've seen before — Madame Sacchi, Antonio, and Master Black-more : But to see a man swing At the end of a string. With his neck in a noose, will be quite a new thing !* My Lord Tomnoddy stept into his cab- Dark rifle green, with a lining of drab ; Through street, and through square, His high-trotting mare. Like one of Ducrow's, goes pawing the air, Adown Piccadilly and Waterloo Place Went the high-trotting mare at a very quick pace; She produced some alarm. But did no great harm, Save frightening a nurse with a child on her arm, Spattering with clay Two urchins at play, Knocking down — very much to the sweeper's dismav^ • An old woman who wouldn't get out of the way, And upsetting a stall Fear Exeter Hall, Which made all the pious Church-Mission folks sou«U But eastward afar. Through Temple Bar, My Lord Tomnoddy I Was apt to lose temper when tortur'd by jealousy. Still speaking quite gruff, He goes off in a huff; Lady A., who is now what some call "up to snuff," Straight determines to patch Up a clandestine match Brtween the Sea-Captain she dreads like Old Scratch, And Miss, — whom she does not think any great catch 296 SOME ACCOUNT OF A NEW PLAT. For Ashdale ; — ^besides, he won't kick up such shindies Were she once fairly married and off to the Indies. ACT m. Miss Violet takes from the Countess her tone ; She agrees to meet Norman " by moonlight alone,** And slip off to his bark, " The night being dark," Though " the moon," the Sea-Captain says, rises in Heaven ■* One hour before midnight," i. e. at eleven. From which speech I infer, — ^Though perhaps I may err — That, though weatherwise, doubtless, midst surges and surt he When " capering on shore " was by no means a Murphy He starts off, however, at sunset, to reach An old chapel in ruins, that stands on the beach. Where the Priest is to bring, as he's promised by letter, • Paper to prove his name, "birthright^" *herl SOME ACCOUNT OP A NJ:W PLAT. 291 His Pa*8 wedded Spouse, — She questions his vovi, Aiid threatens to have him turn'd out of the house- He still perseveres, Till in spite of her fears, She admits he's the son she had cast off for years, And he gives her the papers all "blister'd with tears,** When Ashdale, who chances his nose in to poke Takes his hat and his cloak, Just as if in a joke, Determined to put in his wheel a new spoke, And slips off thus disguised, when he sees by the dial it *8 time for the rendesvous fixed with Miss Violet.^ — Captain Norman, who, after all, feels rather sore At his mother's reserve, vows to see her no more, Rings the bell for the servant to open the door, And leaves his Mamma in a fit on the floor. Now comes the catastrophe ! — Ashdale, who's wrapt in rhe cloak, with the hat and the plume of the Captain, Leads Violet down through the grounds to the chapel Where Gaussen's conceal'd — he springs forward to grapple The man he's erroneously led to suppose Captain Norman himself, by the cut of his clothes. In the midst of their strife And just as the knife Of the Pirate is raised to deprive him of life. The Captain comes forward, drawn there by the squeab Of the Lady, and, knocking Giles head over heels, Fractures his " nob," Saves the hangman a job, And executes justice most strictly, the rather, Twas the spot where that rascal had murder'd his father. Then in comes the mother, "Who finding one brother Had the instant before saved the life of the other 13* 298 SOME ACCOUNT OF A NEW PLAY. Explains the whole case. Ashdale puts a good face On the matter ; and, since he's obliged to give place, Yields his coronet up with a pretty good grace ; Norman vows he won't have it — the kinsmen embrace,— And the Captain, the first in this generous race, To remove every handle For gossip and scandal, Sets the whole of the papers alight with the candle ; An arrangement takes j)lace — on the very same night, all Is settled and done, and the points the most vital Are, N. takes the personals ; — A., in requital, Keeps the whole real property, Mansion, and Title. — V. falls to the share of the Captain, and tries a Sea-voyage, as a Bride, in the " Royal Eliza." Both are pleased with the part they acquire as joint heirs, And old Maurice Beevor is bundled down stairs 1 The public, perhaps, with the drama might quarrel If deprived of all epilogue, prologue, and moral ; This may serve for all three then : — " Young Ladies of prop< rty, Let Lady A.'s history serve as a stopper t'ye ; Don't wed with low people beneath your degree, And if you've a baby, don't send it to seal "Young Noblemen I shun every thing like a brawl ; And be sure when you dine out, or go to a ball, Don't take the best hat that you find in the hall, And leave one m its stead that's worth nothing at all ! "Old Knights, don't give bribes! — above all, never urge a man To steal people's things, or to stick an old Clergyman' "And you, ye Sea-Captains! wJio've nothing to Jo SOME ACCOUNT OP A NEW PLAY. 299 But to run round the world, hght, and drink till all's blue. And tell us tough yarns, and then swear they are true, Reflect, notwithstanding your sea-faring life, That you can't get on well long, without you've a wife; So get one at once, treat her kindly and gently, Write a Nautical novel, — and send it to Bentley * 300 Ii has been already hinted that Mr. Peters had been a •* traveller " in his day. The only story which his lady would ever allow " her P." to finish — he began as many as would furnish an additional volume to the " Thou- sand and One Nights " — is the last I shall offer. The subject, I fear me, is not over new, but will remind my friends '^Or lomething better tbey have seen before.'* 801 MR. PETERS'S STORY. THE bagman's dog. Stant littore Puppiea I— Vi»«iL. It was a litter, a litter of fire, Four are drowned and one left alive, He was thought worthy alone to survive , And the Bagman resolved upon bringing him up, To eat of his bread, and to drink of his cup, He was such a dear little cock-tail'd pup I The Bagman taught him many a trick ; He would carry, and fetch, and run after a stick, Could well understand The word of command. And appear to doze With a crust on his nose Till the Bagman permissively waved his hand : Then to throw up and catch it he never would fail, As he sat up on end, on his little cock-tail. Never was puppy so bien instruit, Or possess'd of such natural talent as he ; And as he grew older, Every beholder Agreed he grew handsomer, sleeker, and bolder. — Time, however his wheels we may clog, "Wends steadily still with onward jog. And the cock'd-tail'd puppy's a curly-tail'd dog 802 MR. PBIKRS'S STORY. When, just at the time He was reaching his prime, And all thought he'd be turning out something sublim^ One unlucky day, How, no one could say, Whether some noft liaison induced him to etray, Or some kidnappmg vagabond coax'd hliii away, He was lost to the view, Like the morning dew ; — He had been, and was not — that's all that they knew I And the Bagman storm'd, and the Bagman swore As never a Bagman had sworn before ; But storming or swearing but little avails To recover lost dogs with great curly tails. — lu a large paved court, close by Billiter Square, Stands a mansion, old, but in thorough Vepair, The only thing strange, from the general air Of its size and appearance, is how it got there ; In front is a short semicircular stair Of stone steps, — some half score, — Then you reach the ground floor. With a shell -pattern'd architrave over the door. It is spacious, and seems to be built on the plan Of a Gentleman's house in the reign of Queen Anne; Which is odd, for, although, As we very well know. Under Tndors and Stuarts the City could show Many Noblemen's seats above Bridge and below. Yet that fashion soon after induced them to go From St Michael Cornhill, and St. Mary-le-Bow, To St. James, and St. George, and St. Anne in Soha— Be this as it may, — at the date I assign To my tale, — that's about Seventeen Sixty Nine, — This mansion, now rather upon the decline. Had less dignified owners, — belonging in fine. To Turner, Dry, Weipersyde, Rogers, and Pyne— > A respectable House in the Manchester line. THE BAGMAN*S DOO. 303 There were a score Of Bagraen, and more. Who had travell'd full oft for the firm before ; But just at this period they wanted to send Some person on whom they could safely depend — A trustworthy body, half agent, half friend — On some mercantile matter as far as Ostend ; And the person they pitch'd on v as Anthony Blogg, A grave, steady man, not addicted to grog, — Tlie Bagman, in short, who had lost this great dog. ***** " The Sea 1 the Sea 1 the open Sea !— That is the place where we ail wish to be, Rolling about on it merrily I " — So all sing and say By night and by day. In the hovdoir, the street, at the concert, and play, In a sort of coxcombical roundelay ; — You may roam through the City, ti-ansversely or straight, from \Vhitechapel turnpike to Cuniberland gate, And every young Lady who thrums a guitar, Ev'ry raustachio'd Shopman who smokes a cigar, With affected devotion. Promulgates his notion, Of being a " Rover " and " child of the Ocean " — Whate'er their age, sex, or condition may be. They all of them long for the " Wide, Wide Sea 1 " But however they dote. Only set them afloat In any craft bigger at all than a boat, Take them down to the Nore, And you'll see that, before The " Wessel " they " Woyage " in has made half her way Between Shell-Xess Point a"d the pier at Heme Bay, Let the wind meet the tide in the slightest degree. They'll be all of them heartily siok of " the Sea I " 304 MR. PETERS'S STORY. I've stood in Margate, on a bridge of size Inferior far to that described bj Byron, "Wliere " palaces and pris'ns on each hand rise, — " — That too's a stone one, this is made of iron — And little donkey-boys your steps environ, Each proffering for your choice his tiny hack, Vaunting its excellence ; and, should you hire one, For sixpence, will he urge, with frequent thwack, The much-enduring beast to Buenos Ayres — and back. And there, on many a raw and gusty day, I've stood, and turn'd my gaze upon the pier, And seen the crews, that did embark so gay That self same morn, now disembark so queer , Then to myself I've sigh'd and said, " Oh dear ! Who would believe yon sickly-looking man's a London Jack Tar, — a Clieapside Buccaneer ! — " But hold, my Muse 1 — for this terrific stanza Is all too stiffly grand for our Extravaganza. * * * * « "So now we'll go up, up, up. And now we'll go down, down, down, And now we'll go backwards and forwards, And now we'll go roun', roun', roun'." — — I hope you've sufficient discernment to see, Gentle Reader, that here the discarding the d Is a fault which you must not attribute to me ; Thus my Nurse cut it off, when, " with counterfeit glee," She sung, as she danced me about on her knee, In the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and three :— All I mean to say is, that the Muse is now free From the self-imposed trammels put on by her betters, And no longer like Filch, midst the felons and debtors At Drury Lane, dances her hornpipe in fetters. Resuming her track, At once she goes back To our hero, the Bagman — Alas 1 and Alack I THE bagman's dog. 305 Poor Anthony Blogg Is as sick as a dog, 3pite of sundry unwonted potations of grog, By the time the Dutch packet is fairly at sea, With the sands called the Goodwin's a league on her Ue. And now, my good friends, I've a fine opportunity To obfuscate you all by sea terms with impunity. And talking of " caulking," And " quarter-deck walking," "Fore and aft," And "abaft," •'Hookers," "barkeys," and "craft," (At which Mr. Poole has so wickedly laught,) Of binnacles, — bilboes, — the boom call'd the spanker,— Thfc best bower cable, — the jib, — and sheet anchor ; Of lower-deck guns, — and of broadsides and chases. Of tafFrails and topsails, and splicing main-braces. And " Shiver my timbers ! " and other odd phrases Employ'd by old pilots with hard-featured faces ; — Of the expletives seafaring Gentlemen use. The allusions they make to the eyes of their crews; How the Sailors, too, swear. How they cherish their hair. And what very long pigtails a great many wear. — But, Reader, I scorn it — the fact is, I fear, To be candid, I can't make these matters so clear As Marryat, or Cooper, or Captain Chamier, Or Sir E. I.ytton Bulwer, who brought up the rear Of the "Nauticals," just at the end of the year Eighteen thirty-nine — (how Time flies! — Oh, dearl) — With a well written preface to make it appear That his play, the " Sea-Captain," 's by no means small beer There 1 — " brought up the rear " — ^you see there's a mistake Which none of the authors I've mentioned would make, I ought to have said, that he " sail'd in their wake." — So I'll merely observe, as the water grew rougher The more my poor hero continued to suflfer. Till the Sailors themselves cried, in phy "Poor Buffer!'*' 306 MR. PETERS'S STOKF. Still rougher it grew, And still harder it blew, And the thunder kick'd up such a halliballoo, That even the Skipper began to look blue ; While the crew, who were few, Look'd very queer, too. And seem'd not to know what exactly to do, And they who'd the charge of them wrote in the logs, •'Wind jN\ E. — blows a hurricane — rains cats and dogs." In short it soon grew to a tempest as rude as That Shakspeare describes near the "still vext Bermudas,"*" When the winds, in their sport. Drove aside from its port The King's ship, with the whole Neapolitan Court, And swamp'd it to give "the King's Son, Ferdinand," a Soft moment or two v/ith the La She help'd him to lean, and she help'd him to fat, And it look'd like Hare— but it might have been Cat The little garcons, too, strove to express Their sympathy towards the " Child of distress ** With a great deal of juvenile YTeuah politesse ; THE BAGMAN S DOQ. 311 But the Bagman bluff Continued to "stuflf" Of the fat, and the lean, and the tender and tough. Till thej thought he would never cry "Hold, enough 1" And the old woman's tones became far less agreeable^ Sounding like peste ! and sacre ! and diable ! I Ve seen an old saw, which is well worth repeating; That says, " (Gtooli ^■s.im.%t You'll find it so printed by ^aiton, or SSjnkjjll, And a very good proverb it is to my thinking. Blogg thought so too ; — As he finish'd his stew, His ear caught the sound of the word " Morbleu 1 " Pronounced by the old woman under her breath. Kow, not knowing what she could mean by " Blue Death 1* He conceived she referr'd to a delicate brewing "SThich is almost synonymous, — namely, "Blue Ruia" So he pursed up his lip to a smile, and with glee, In his cocknef/d accent, responded " Oh, Vee ! " Which made her understand he Was asking for brandy ; So she turn'd to the cupboard, and, having some handy, Produced, rightly deeming he would not object to it. An orbicidar bulb with a very long neck to it; In fact you perceive her mistake was the same as his. Each of them " reasoning right from ^vrong premises ; " — — And here by the way, Allow me to say. Kind Reader, you sometimes permit me to stray — Tis strange the French prove, when they take to aspersing So inferior to us in the science of cursing: Kick a Frenchman down stairs, How absurdly he swears 1 And how odd 'tis to hear him, when beat to a jelly. Roar out in a passion, "Blue Death! " and "Blue Belly I 312 MR. PETERS'S STORY. "To return to our sheep" from this little digression:— Blogg's features assumed a complacent expression As he emptied his glass, and she gave him a fresh one; Too little he heeded How fast they succeeded, Perhaps you or I might have done, though, as he did ; For when once Madam Fortune deals out her hard rapa> It's amazing to think How one " cottons " to Drink 1 At such times, of all things in nature perhaps, There's not one that is half so seducing as Schnapi. Mr. Blogg, beside being uncommonly dry. Was, like most other Bagmen, remarkably shy, — " Did not like to deny " — " Felt obliged to comply " Every time that she ask'd him to " wet t'other eye ; " For 'twas worthy remark that she spared not the stoup, Though before she had seem'd so to grudge him the soup At length the fumes rose To his brain ; and his nose Gave hints of a strong disposition to doze, And a yearning to seek "horizontal repose." — His queer-looking host, Who, firm at his post, During all the long meal had continued to toast That garment 'twere rude to Do more than allude to. Perceived, from his breathing and nodding, the views Of his guest were directed to " taking a snooze : " So he caught up a lamp in his huge dirty paw, With (as Blogg used to tell it) "Ifounseer, swivvy maw!* And " marshall'd " him so "The way he should go," Upstairs to an attic, large, gloomy, and low, Without table or chair, Or a moveable there. Save an old-fashion'd bedstead, much out of repair, That etood at the end most remov'd from the stair.— THE BAOMANS DOG. 315 "With a grin and a shrug The host points to the rug, Just as mv;ch as to say, "There! — I think you *U be snog Puts the light on the floor, Walks to the door, Makes a formal Salaam, and is then seen no more ; When just as the ear lost the sound of his tread. To the Bagman's surprise, and, at first, to his dread. The great curly-tail'd Dog crept from under the bed I — — It's a very nice thing when a man's in a fright, And thinks matters all wrong, to find matters all right ; As, for instance, when going home late-ish at night Through a Churchyard, and seeing a thing all in white, Which, of course, one is led to consider a Sprite, To find that the Ghost Is merely a post, Or a miller, or chalky-faced donkey at most ; Or, when taking a walk as the evenings begin To close, or, as some people call it, "draw in," And some undefined form, " looming large " through haze. Presents itself, right in your path, to your gaze, Inducing a dread Of a knock on the head. Or a sever'd carotid, to find that, instead Of one of those rufilans who murder and fleece men It's your uncle, or one of the " Rural Policemen ; " — Then tho blood flows again Through artery and vein : You're delighted with what just before gave you pain , You laugh at your fears — and your friend in the fog Meets a welcome as cordial as Anthony Blogg Now bestow'd on his friend — the great curly-tailed Dog For the Dog leap'd up, and his paws found a place On each side his neck in a canine embrace. And he lick'd Blogg's hands, and he lick'd his faoe, FIRST SERIES. 14 314 MR. PETERS'S STORY. And ho waggled his tail as much as to say * Mr. Blogg, we've foregather'd before to-day I ** And the Bagman saw, as he now sprang up, What, beyond all doubt, He might have found out Before, had he not been so eager to sup, *Twas Sancho ! — the Dog he had reared from a pup — The Dog who when sinking had seized his hair, — The Dog who had saved, and conducted him there, — The Dog he had lost out of Billiter Square 1 ! It's passing sweet, An absolute treat. When friends, long sever'd by distance, meet, — With what warmth and affection each other they grid Especially too, as we very well know. If there seems any chance of a little cadeau, A " Present from Brighton," or " Token," to show, In the shape of a work-box, ring, bracelet, or so. That our friends don't forget us, although they may go To Ramsgate, or Rome, or Fernando Po. If some little advantage seems likely to start, From a fifty-pound note to a two-penny tart, It's surprising to see how it softens the heart. And you'll find those whose hopes from the other af« strongest, Use, in common, endearments the thickest and longest* But, it was not so here ; For, although it is clear, Wher abroad, and we have not a single friend near. E'en a eur that will love us becomes very dear. And the balance of interest 'twixt him and the Dog Of course was inclining to Anthony Blogg, Yet he, first of all, ceased To encourage the beast, Perhaps thinking " Enough is a good as a feast ; ** And besides, as we've said, being sleepy and mellow, He grew tired of patting, and crying "Poor fellow * THE bagman's dog. 316 So his smile by degrees harden'd into a frown. And his " Tliat's a good dog 1 " into '* Down, Sanchol down!* But nothing could stop his mute fav'riie's caressing, Who, in fact, seem'd resolved to prevent his undressing, Using paws, tail, and head, As if he had said, "Most beloved of masters, pray, don't go to bed ; You had much better sit up, and pat me instead I " Nay, at last, when determined to take some repose, Blogg threw himself down on the outside the clothes, Spite of all he could do. The Dog jump'd up too, And kept him awake with his very cold nose ; Scratching and whining. And moaning and pining. Till Blogg really believed he must have some design in Thus breaking his rest ; above all, when at length Tlie dog scratch'd him off from the bed by sheer strength Kvtremely annoy'd by the "tarnation whop," as it 's call'd in Kentuek, on its head and its opposite, Blogg show'd fight; When he saw, by the light Of the flickering candle, that had not yet quite Burnt down in the socket, though not over bright, Certain dark-colour'd stains, as of blood newly spilt, Reveal'd by the dog's having scratched off the quilt Which hinted a story of horror and guilt 1 — 'Twas " no mistake," — He was " wide awake " In an instant ; for, when only decently drunk. Nothing sobers a man so completely as " funk." And hark ! — what's that ! — Tliey have got jnto chat In the kitchen below — what the deuce are they at -• 816 MR. FBTERS'S STORY. There's the ugly old Fisherman scolding his wife — And she 1 — by the Pope ! she's whetting a knife 1 — At each twist Of her wrist, And her great mutton fist, The edge of the weapon sounds shriller and louder I — The fierce kitchen fire Had not made Blogg perspire Half so much, or a dose of the best James's powder. — It ceases — all's silent 1 — and now, I declare There's somebody crawls up that rickety stair. * * * * « The horrid old ruffian comes, eat-like, creeping; — He opens the door just sufficient to peep in, And sees, as he fancies, the Bagman sleeping I For Blogg, when he'd once ascertain'd that there was some "Precious mischief" on foot had resolv'd to play 'Possum ; — Down he went, legs and head, Flat on the bed, Apparently sleeping as sound as the dead ; While, though none who look'd at him would think such fl thing, Every nerve in his frame was braced up for a spring. Then, just as the villain Crept, stealthily still, in. And you'd not have in^ur'd his guest's life for a shilling. As the knife gleam'd on high, bright and sharp as a razor, Blogg, starting upright, "tipped " the fellow "a facer;** — ^Down went man and weapon. — Of all sorts of blowa> From what Mr. Jackson reports, I suppose There are few that surpass a flush hit on the nose. Now, had I the pen of old Ossian or Homer, (Though each of these names some pronounce a misnomer, And say the first person Was call'd James M'Pherson, While, as to the second, they stoutly declare He waa no one knows who, and born no one knows where,) THE bagman's dog. 317 Or had I the quill of Pierce Egan, a writer Acknowledged the best theoretical fighter For the last twenty years. By the lively young Peers, Who, doffing their coronets, collars, and ermine, treat Boxers to "Max," at the One Tun in Jermyn Street; — — I say, could I borrow these Gentlemen's Muses, More skill'd than my meek one in "fibbings" and bruises, I'd describe now to you As " prime a Set-to," And " regular turn-up," as ever you knew ; Not inferior in " bottom " to aught you have read of Since Cribb, years ago, half knock'd Molyneoj^ head off. But my dainty Urania says, "Such things are shocking 1" Lace mittens She loves. Detesting "The Gloves;" And turning, with air most disdainfully mocking, From Melpomene's buskin, adopts the silk stocking So, as far as I can see, I must leave you to " fancy " The thumps and the bumps, and the ups and the dov/ns, And the taps, and the slaps, and the raps on the crowns. That pass'd twixt the Husband, V(ife, Bagman, and Dog, As Blogg roU'd over th«^m, and they roU'd over Blogg ; While what's called " Tlie Claret " Flew over the garret : Merely- stating the fact, As each other they whack'd. The Dog his old master most gallantly baek'd ; Making both the garqons, who came running in, sheer oft. With "Hippolyte's " thumb, and " Alphonse's" left ear ofif Next, making a stoop on The buffeung group on The floor, rent in tatters the old woman's _;wpon ; Then the old man turn'd up, and a fresh bite of Sancho'a Tore out the whole seat of his striped Calimancoe*.— Really, which way This desperate fray 318 MR. PETERS'S STORY. Might have ended at last, I'm not able to say, The dog keeping thus the assassins at bav : But a few fresh arrivals decided the day ; For bounce went the door, In came half a score Of the passengers, sailors, and one or two more Who had aided the party in gaining the shore I It's a great many years ago — mine then were few — Since I spent a short time in the old Courageux ; — I think that they say She had been, in her day, A First-rate, — but was then what they term a Easee, — And they took me on board in the Downs, where she lay (Captain Wilkinson held the command by the way.) In her I pick'd up, on that single occasion. The little I know that concerns Navigation, And obtained, inter alia, some vague information Of a practice which often, in cases of robbing. Is adopted on shij^board — I think it's call'd " Cobbing." How it's managed exactly I really can't say, But I think that a Boot-jack is brought into play — That is, if I'm right ; — it exceeds my ability To tell how 'tis done ; But the system is one Of which Sancho's exploit would increase the facility. And, from all I can learn, I'd much rather be robb'd Of the little I have in my purse, than be " cobb'd ;" That's mere matter of taste : But the Frenchman was placed — I mean the old scoimdrel whose actions we've traced — In such a position, that, on this unmasking. His consent was the last thing the men thought of asking. The old woman, too. Was obliged to go through, With her boys, the rough discipline used by the crew. Who, before they lot one of the set see the back of them, ** Cobb'd " the whole oarty, — ay, " every man Jack of thenL." THE baoman's Doa. 319 Moral. And now, Gentle Reader, before that I saj Farewell for the present, and wish you good day, Attend to the moral I draw from my lay 1 — If ever you travel, like Anthony Blogg, Be wary of strangers ! — don't take too much grog ! — And don't fall asleep, if you should, like a hog I— Above all — carry with you a curly-tail'd Dog ' Lastly, don't act like Blogg, who, I say it with blirehiDjr, Sold Sancho next month for two guineas at Flushing ; But still on these words of the Bard keep a fix'd eye, Ingratum si dlxeris, omnia dixti 1 ! 1 X' Envoye. I felt so disgusted with Blogg, from sheer shame of hin^ I never once thought to enquire what became of him It y&u want to know, Reader, the way I opine To achieve your design, — — Mind, it's no wish of mine, — la, — ^a penny will do't,) — by addressing a line To Turner, Dry, Weipersyde, Rogers^ and Pyii« 82U A P P E N D I A. * Since penning this stanza, a learn'd Antiquary Has put my poor Muse in no trifling quandary. By writing an essay to prove that he knows a Spot which, in truth, is The real " Bermoothes," 1q the Mediterranean, — now called Lampedosa; — For proofs, having made, as he further alleges, stif An entry was found in the old Parish Register, The which at his instance the excellent Vicar ex- tracted : viz. " Caliban, base son of Sycorax." — He had rather, by half, Have found Prospero's "Staff;" But 'twas useless to dig, for the want of a pick or axe.- Colonel Pasley, however, 'tis everywhere said. Now he's blown up the old Royal George at Spithead, And the great cliff at Dover, of which we've all read. Takes his whole apparatus, and goes out to look And see if he can't try and blow up "the Book.' —Gentle Reader farewell ! — If I add one more lice, •* Hell be, in all likelihood, blowing up mine I • See page 3Ww GENERAL LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA— BERKELEY RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED This book is due on the last date stamped below, or on the date to which renewed. Renewed books are subject to immediate recall. USSR'S «^i |RGCC».m 2 76 21-100m-l,'54(1887sl6)476 U.C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES ^ coaeaesoiT g-^^^^m^. m^^. Holmes M Co, 704 Missiou S