BALLADS ETC. NOW PUBLISHING, Price is. 6d. per Volume in Half Cloth, with cut or uncut edges; or is. in Paper Cover, THE POCKET EDITION OF W. M. THACKERAY'S WORKS. The following Volumes have already appeared : VANITY FAIR. 2 Vols. THE HISTORY OF PENDENNIS. 2 Vols. BARRY LYNDON : A Little Dinner at Timmins's. i Vol. THE NEWCOMES. 2 Vols. THE HISTORY OF HENRY ESMOND, i Vol. THE VIRGINIANS. 2 Vols. THE ADVENTURES OF PHTT.TP. 2 Vols. THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK, i Vol. THE GREAT HOGGARTY DIAMOND, &c. i Vol. MAJOR GAHAGAN, THE FATAL BOOTS, &c. i Vol. THE YELLOWPLUSH PAPERS, &c. i Vol. THE FTTZ-BOODLE PAPERS, &c. i Vol. THE BOOK OF SNOBS, &c. i Vol. LOVEL THE WIDOWER, &c. I Vol. BALLADS, &c. I Vol. ROUNDABOUT PAPERS, &o. will be ready on September 26th. A further Volume will be issued Monthly until the completion of the edition. LONDON : SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE. BALLADS A LEGEND OF THE RHINE ETC. BY WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY LONDON SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE STACK ANNEX 1587 ADVERTISEMENT. THIS Edition of Mr. Thackeray's BALLADS will be found to include all the verses that are scattered throughout the Author's various writings. CONTENTS. BALLADS. PAGE THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUMJ PART 1 13 ,, ,, PART II 20 ABD-EL-KADER AT TOULON | OR, THE CAGED HAWK . 28 THE KING OF BRENTFORD'S TESTAMENT . . 30 THE WHITE SQUALL. ( Journey from Cornhill to Grand Cairo) . . 37 PEG OF LIMAVADDY. ( The Irish Sketch Book] ... 41 MAY-DAY ODE 47 THE BALLAD OF BOUILLABAISSE $1 THE MAHOGANY TREE 54 THE YANKEE VOLUNTEERS ...... 55 THE PEN AND THE ALBUM 57 MRS. KATHERINE'S LANTERN 60 LUCY'S BIRTHDAY . . , .. . . . . 6l THE CANE-BOTTOM'D CHAIR 62 PISCATOR AND PISCATRIX 63 THE ROSE UPON MY BALCONY. (Vanity Fair) . . . 65 RONSARD TO HIS MISTRESS 66 AT THE CHURCH GATE. (Pendennis) .... 67 THE AGE OF WISDOM. (Rebecca and Rowena] ... 68 SORROWS OF WERTHER 69 A DOE IN THE CITY 69 Vlii CONTENTS. PAGE THE LAST OF MAY 70 "AH, BLEAK AND BARREN WAS THE MOOR." (Vanity Fair) .......... 71 SONG OF THE VIOLET. ( The Adventures of Philip) . . 72 FAIRY DAYS. ( The Fitz-Boodle Papers) .... 72 POCAHONTAS. (The Virginians') 74 FROM POCAHONTAS. ( The Virginians} .... 75 THE LEGEND OF ST. SOPHIA OF KIOFF .... 76 TITMARSH'S CARMEN LILLIENSE 94 JEAMES OF BUCKLEY SQUARE A HELIGY. (Diary of C. Jeames de la Pluche) ....... 97 LINES UPON MY SISTER'S PORTRAIT. (Diary of C. Jeames de la Pluche) . . . ... . . 100 LITTLE BILLEE IOI THE FLYING DUKE IO2 MR. SMITH AND MOSES . . . . . . . 107 THE FRODDYLENT BUTLER 108 THE IDLER Ill THE END OF THE PLAY. (Dr. Birch and his Young Friends) 113 VANITAS VANITATUM . Il6 LOVE SONGS MADE EASY. WHAT MAKES MY HEART TO THRILL AND GLOW . . 121 THE GHAZUL, OR ORIENTAL LOVE-SONG : THE ROCKS 123 THE MERRY BARD 124 THE CA'l'QUE 125 MY NORA 126 TO MARY. (The Book of Snobs) 127 SERENADE. ( The Paris Sketch Book) .... 127 FIFE GERMAN DITTIES. PAGE A TRAGIC STORY 13! THE CHAPLET 132 THE KING ON THE TOWER 133 TO A VERY OLD WOMAN 134 A CREDO. (The Adventures of Philip] .... 134 FOUR IMITATIONS OF BERANGER. LE ROI D'YVETOT 139 THE KING OF YVETOT . . . . . . 140 THE KING OF BRENTFORD 142 LE GRENIER 143 THE GARRET 144 ROGER BONTEMPS 146 JOLLY JACK 148 IMITATION OF HORACE. TO HIS SERVING BOY . . 153 AD MINISTRAM 153 OLD FRIENDS WITH NEW FACES. THE KNIGHTLY GUERDON 157 THE ALMACK'S ADIEU . 158 WHEN THE GLOOM IS ON THE GLEN. (Sketches and Travels in London) . . . . . . . 159 THE RED FLAG. (Sketches and Travels in London) . . 160 DEAR JACK. (Novels by Eminent Hands) . . .161 COMMANDERS OF THE FAITHFUL. (Rebecca and Rowena) 161 WHEN MOONLIKE ORE THE HAZURE SEAS. (Diary of C. Jeames de la Pluche) 162 A 2 X CONTENTS. PAGE KING CANUTE. (Rebecca and Rowena) .... 163 FRIAR'S SONG. ( The Paris Sketch Book) . . . .167 ATRA CURA. (Rebecca and Rowena) . . . .168 REQUIESCAT. (Rebecca and Rowena) . . . .168 THE WILLOW-TREE. ( The Fitz-Boodk Papers) . . 170 THE WILLOW-TREE (ANOTHER VERSION). ( The Fitz-Boodh Papers} 171 LYRA HIBERNICA. THE PIMLICO PAVILION . 177 THE CRYSTAL PALACE 179 MOLONY'S LAMENT ........ 184 MR. MOLONY'S ACCOUNT OF THE BALL GIVEN TO THE NEPAULESE AMBASSADOR BY THE PENINSULAR AND ORIENTAL COMPANY 1 86 THE BATTLE OF LIMERICK * 1 88 LARRY o'TOOLE. (Navels by Eminent Hands) . . .192 THE ROSE OF FLORA. (Memoirs of Barry Lyndon, Esq.) . 192 THE LAST IRISH GRIEVANCE 193 THE BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. THE WOFLE NEW BALLAD OF JANE RONEY AND MARY BROWN ......... 199 THE THREE CHRISTMAS WAITS 2OI LINES ON A LATE HOSPICIOUS EWENT .... 2d6 THE BALLAD OF ELIZA DAVIS 2Og DAMAGES, TWO HUNDRED POUNDS 213 THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY 21$ JACOB HOMNIUM'S HOSS 218 THE SPECULATORS . . . . . . . .223 CONTENTS. XI PAGE A WOEFUL NEW BALLAD OF THE PROTESTANT CON- SPIRACY TO TAKE THE POPE'S LIFE .... 224 THE LAMENTABLE BALLAD OF THE FOUNDLING OF SHOREDITCH 227 THE ORGAN BOY'S APPEAL 231 TIMBUCTOO . 233 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. CHAP. I. SIR LUDWIG OF HOMBOURG 239 II. THE GODESBERGERS 244 III. THE FESTIVAL 249 IV. THE FLIGHT 250 v. THE TRAITOR'S DOOM . . . . < . . 252 VI. THE CONFESSION 257 VII. THE SENTENCE 260 VIII. THE CHILDE OF GODESBERG 261 IX. THE LADY OF WINDECK 270 X. THE BATTLE OF THE BOWMEN . . . .276 XI. THE MARTYR OF LOVE 281 XII. THE CHAMPION 287 XIII. THE MARRIAGE 293 THE DIARY OF C. JEAMES DE LA PLUCHE, ESQ., WITH HIS LETTERS. A LUCKY SPECULATOR 30! THE DIARY 309 JEAMES ON TIME BARGINGS 354 JEAMES ON THE GAUGE QUESTION 357 MR. JEAMES AGAIN 361 BALLADS. THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. AT Paris, hard by the Maine barriers, J-~i- Whoever will choose to repair, Midst a dozen of wooden-legged warriors May haply fall in with old Pierre. On the sunshiny bench of a tavern He sits and he prates of old wars. And moistens his pipe of tobacco With a drink that is named after Mars. The beer makes his tongue run the quicker, And as long as his tap never fails, Thus over his favourite liquor Old Peter will tell his old tales. Says he, " In my life's ninety summers Strange changes and chances I've seen, So here's to all gentlemen drummers That ever have thumped on a skin. ' ' Brought up in the art military For four generations we are ; My ancestors drumm'd for King Harry, The Huguenot lad of Navarre. And as each man in life has his station According as Fortune may fix, While Conde 1 was waving the baton, My grandsire was trolling the sticks. 14 BALLADS. "Ah ! those were the days for commanders ! What glories my grandfather won, Ere bigots, and lacqueys, and panders The fortunes of France had undone ! In Germany, Flanders, and Holland, What foeman resisted us then ? No ; my grandsire was ever victorious, My grandsire and Monsieur Turenne. ' ' He died : and our noble battalions The jade fickle Fortune forsook ; And at Blenheim, in spite of our valiance, The victory lay with Malbrook. The news it was brought to King Louis ; Corbleu ! how His Majesty swore When he heard they had taken my grandsire : And twelve thousand gentlemen more. " At Namur, Ramillies, and Malplaquet Were we posted, on plain or in trench : Malbrook only need to attack it, And away from him scamper'd we French. Cheer up ! 'tis no use to be glum, boys, 'Tis written, since fighting begun, That sometimes we fight and we conquer, And sometimes we fight and we run. "To fight and to run was our fate : . Our fortune and fame had departed. And so perish'd Louis the Great, Old, lonely, and half broken-hearted. His coffin they pelted with mud, His body they tried to lay hands on ; And so having buried King Louis, They loyally served his great-grandson. " God save the beloved King Louis ! (For so he was nicknamed by some), And now came my father to do his King's orders and beat on the drum. THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. My grandsire was dead, but his bones Must have shaken, I'm certain, for joy, To hear daddy drumming the English From the meadows of famed Fontenoy. "So well did he drum in that battle That the enemy show'd us their backs ; Corbleu ! it was pleasant to rattle The sticks and to follow old Saxe ! We next had Soubise as a leader, And as luck hath its changes and fits, At Rossbach, in spite of dad's drumming, 'Tis said we were beaten by Fritz. " And now daddy cross'd the Atlantic, To drum for Montcalm and his men ; Morbleu ! but it makes a man frantic To think we were beaten again ! My daddy he cross'd the wide ocean, My mother brought me on her neck, And we came in the year fifty-seven To guard the good town of Quebec. " In the year fifty-nine came the Britons, Full well I remember the day, They knocked at our gates for admittance, Their vessels were moor'd in our bay. Says our general, " Drive me yon red-coats Away to the sea whence they come ! " So we march'd against Wolfe and his bull-dogs, We marched at the sound of the drum. " I think I can see my poor mammy With me in her hand as she waits, And our regiment, slowly retreating, Pours back through the citadel gates. Dear mammy she looks in their faces, And asks if her husband has come ? He is lying all cold on the glacis, And will never more beat on the drum. I 6 BALLADS. " Come, drink, 'tis no use to be glum, boys ! He died like a soldier in glory ; Here's a glass to the health of all drum-boys, And now I'll commence my own story. Once more did we cross the salt ocean, We came in the year eighty-one ; And the wrongs of my father the drummer Were avenged by the drummer his son. ' ' In Chesapeak Bay we were landed. In vain strove the British to pass : Rochambeau our armies commanded, Our ships they were led by De Grasse. Morbleu ! how I rattled the drumsticks The day we march'd into Yorktown ; Ten thousand of beef-eating British Their weapons we caused to lay down. "Then homewards returning victorious, In peace to our country we came, And were thanked for our glorious actions By Louis, Sixteenth of the name. What drummer on earth could be prouder Than I, while I drumm'd at Versailles To the lovely Court ladies in powder, And lappets, and long satin-tails ? " The princes that day pass'd before us Our countrymen's glory and hope ; Monsieur, who was learned in Horace, D'Artois, who could dance the tight-rope. One night we kept guard for the Queen At Her Majesty's opera-box, While the King, that majestical monarch, Sat filing at home at his locks. "Yes, I drumm'd for the fair Antoinette, And so smiling she look'd and so tender, That our officers, privates, and drummers, All vow'd they would die to defend her. THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. 17 But she cared not for us honest fellows, Who fought and who bled in her wars, She sneer'd at our gallant Rochambeau, And turned Lafayette out of doors. ' ' Ventrebleu ! then I swore a great oath, No more to such tyrants to kneel ; And so, just to keep up my drumming, One day I drumm'd down the Bastille. Ho, landlord ! a stoup of fresh wine. Come, comrades, a bumper we'll try, And drink to the year eighty-nine And the glorious fourth of July ! ' ' Then bravely our cannon it thunder'd As onwards our patriots bore. Our enemies were but a hundred, And we twenty thousand or more. They carried the news to King Louis. He heard it as calm as you please, And, like a majestical monarch, Kept filing his locks and his keys. "We show'd our republican courage, We storm'd and we broke the great gate in, And we murder'd the insolent governor For daring to keep us a-waiting. Lambesc and his squadrons stood by : They never stirr'd finger or thumb. The saucy aristocrats trembled As they heard the republican drum. " Hurrah ! what a storm was a-brewing ! The day of our vengeance was come ! Through scenes of what carnage and ruin Did I beat on the patriot drum ! Let's drink to the famed tenth of August : At midnight I beat the tattoo, And woke up the pikemen of Paris To follow the bold Barbaroux. 1 8 BALLADS. " With pikes, and with shouts, and with torches March'd onwards our dusty battalions, And we girt the tall castle of Louis, A million of tatterdemalions ! We storm'd the fair gardens where tower'd The walls of his heritage splendid. Ah, shame on him, craven and coward, That had not the heart to defend it ! " With the crown of his sires on his head, His nobles and knights by his side, At the foot of his ancestors' palace 'Twere easy, methinks, to have died. But no : when we burst through his barriers, Mid heaps of the dying and dead, In vain through the chambers we sought him He had turn'd like a craven and fled. " You all know the Place de la Concorde? 'Tis hard by the Tuileries wall. Mid terraces, fountains, and statues, There rises an obelisk tall. There rises an obelisk tall, All garaish'd and gilded the base is : Tis surely the gayest of all Our beautiful city's gay places. Around it are gardens and flowers And the Cities of France on their thrones, Each crown'd with his circlet of flowers, Sits watching this biggest of stones ! I love to go sit in the sun there, The flowers and fountains to see, And to think of the deeds that were done there In the glorious year ninety-three. " 'Twas here stood the Altar of Freedom ; And though neither marble nor gilding Was used in those days to adorn Our simple republican building. THE CHROXICLE OF THE DRUM. 19 Corbleu ! but the MERE GUILLOTINE Cared little for splendour or show, So you gave her an axe and a beam, And a plank and a basket or so. "Awful, and proud, and erect, Here sat our republican goddess. Each morning her table we deck'd With dainty aristocrats' bodies. The people each day nocked around As she sat at her meat and her wine : 'Twas always the use of our nation To witness the sovereign dine. "Young, virgins with fair golden tresses, Old silver-hair'd prelates and priests, Dukes, marquises, barons, princesses, Were splendidly served at her feasts. Ventrebleu ! but we pamper'd our ogress With the best that our nation could bring, And dainty she grew in her progress, And called for the head of a King ! " She called for the blood of our King, And straight from his prison we drew him ; And to her with shouting we led him, And took him, and bound him, and slew him. ' The monarchs of Europe against me Have plotted a godless alliance ! I'll fling them the head of King Louis,' She said, ' as my gage of defiance.' " I see him as now, for a moment, Away from his gaolers he broke ; And stood at the foot of the scaffold, And linger'd, and fain would have spoke. 1 Ho, drummer ! quick, silence yon Capet,' Says Santerre, ' with a beat of your drum.' Lustily then did I tap it, And the son of Saint Louis was dumb." PART II. " THE glorious days of September Saw many aristocrats fall ; Twas then that our pikes drank the blood In the beautiful breast of Lamballe. Pardi, 'twas a beautiful lady ! I seldom have look'd on her like ; And I drumm'd for a gallant procession, That marched with her head on a pike. " Let's show the pale head to the Queen, We said she'll remember it well. She looked from the bars of her prison, And shriek'd as she saw it, and fell We set up a shout at her screaming, We laugh'd at the fright she had shown At the sight of the head of her minion How she'd tremble to part with her own ! "We had taken the head of King Capet, We called for the blood of his wife ; Undaunted she came to the scaffold, And bared her fair neck to the knife. As she felt the foul fingers that touch'd her, She shrank, but she deigned not to speak : She look'd with a royal disdain, And died with a blush on her cheek ! " 'Twas thus that our country was saved ; So told us the safety committee ! But psha ! I've the heart of a soldier, All gentleness, mercy, and pity. I loathed to assist at such deeds, And my drum beat its loudest of tunes As we offered to justice offended The blood of the bloody tribunes. Away with such foul recollections ! No more of the axe and the block ; I saw the last fight of the sections, As they fell 'neath our guns at Saint Roch. THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. Young BONAPARTE led us that day ; When he sought the Italian frontier, I follow'd my gallant young captain, I follow'd him many a long year. " We came to an army in rags, Our general was but a boy When we first saw the Austrian flags Flaunt proud in the fields of Savoy. In the glorious year ninety-six, We march'd to the banks of the Po ; I carried my drum and my sticks, And we laid the proud Austrian low. " In triumph we enter'd Milan, We seized on the Mantuan keys ; The troops of the Emperor ran, And the Pope he fell down on his knees. "- Pierre's comrades here call'd a fresh bottle, And clubbing together their wealth, They drank to the Army of Italy, And General Bonaparte's health. The drummer now bared his old breast, And show'd us a plenty of scars, Rude presents that Fortune had made him In fifty victorious wars. "This came when I follow'd bold Kleber 'Twas shot by a Mameluke gun ; And this from an Austrian sabre, When the field of Marengo was won. " My forehead has many deep furrows, But this is the deepest of all : A Brunswicker made it at Jena, Beside the fair river of Saal. This cross, 'twas the Emperor gave it ; (God bless him !) it covers a blow ; I had it at Austerlitz fight, As I beat on my drum in the snow. 22 BALLADS. 1 ' 'Twas thus that we conquer'd and fought ; But wherefore continue the story ? There's never a baby in France But has -heard of our chief and our glory, - But has heard of our chief and our fame, His sorrows and triumphs can tell, How bravely Napoleon conquer'd, How bravely and sadly he fell. " It makes my old heart to beat higher, To think of the deeds that I saw ; I follow'd bold Ney through the fire, And charged at the side of Murat." And so did old Peter continue His story of twenty brave years ; His audience follow'd with comments Rude comments of curses and tears. He told how the Prussians in vain Had died in defence of their land ; His audience laugh'd at the story, And vow'd that their captain was grand I He had fought the red English, he said, In many a battle of Spain ; They cursed the red English, and prayed To meet them and fight them again. He told them how Russia was lost, Had winter not driven them back ; And his company cursed the quick frost, And doubly they cursed the Cossack. He told how the stranger arrived ; They wept at the tale of disgrace ; And they long'd but for one battle more, The stain of their shame to efface. " Our country their hordes overrun, We fled to the fields of Champagne, And fought them, though twenty to one, And beat them again and again ! THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. 2} Our warrior was conquer'd at last ; They bade him his crown to resign ; To fate and his country he yielded The rights of himself and his line. " He came, and among us he stood, Around him we press'd in a throng ; We could not regard him for weeping, Who had led us and loved us so long. ' I have led you for twenty long years, ' Napoleon said ere he went ; ' Wherever was honour I found you, And with you, my sons, am content ! " ' Though Europe against me was arm'd, Your chiefs and my people are true ; I still might have struggled with fortune, And baffled all Europe with you. " ' But France would have suffer'd the while, 'Tis best that I suffer alone ; I go to my place of exile, To write of the deeds we have done. " ' Be true to the king that they give you. We may not embrace ere we part ; But, General, reach me your hand, And press me, I pray, to your heart.' " He call'd for our battle standard ; One kiss to the eagle he gave. ' Dear eagle ! ' he said, ' may this kiss Long sound in the hearts of the brave ! ' 'Twas thus that Napoleon left us ; Our people were weeping and mute, As he passed through the lines of his guard, And our drums beat the notes of salute. ' ' I look'd when the drumming was o'er, I look'd, but our hero was gone ; We were destined to see him once more, When we fought on the Mount of St. John. 24 BALLADS. The Emperor rode through our files ; 'Twas June, and a fair Sunday morn. The lines of our warriors for miles Stretch'd wide through the Waterloo corn. " In thousands we stood on the plain, The red-coats were crowning the height ; ' Go scatter yon English," he said ; 4 We'll sup, lads, at Brussels to-night.' We answer'd his voice with a shout ; Our eagles were bright in the sun ; Our drums and our cannon spoke out, And the thundering battle begun. " One charge to another succeeds. Like waves that a hurricane bears ; All day do our galloping steeds Dash fierce on the enemy's squares. At noon we began the fell onset : We charged up the Englishman's hill ; And madly we charged it at sunset His banners were floating there still. " Go to ! I will tell you no more ; You know how the battle was lost. Ho ! fetch me a beaker of wine, And, comrades, I'll give you a toast, I'll give you a curse on all traitors, Who plotted our Emperor's ruin ; And a curse on those red-coated English, Whose bayonets helped our undoing. " A curse on those British assassins, Who order'd the slaughter of Ney ; A curse on Sir Hudson, who tortured The life of our hero away. A curse on all Russians I hate them On all Prussian and Austrian fry ; And oh ! but I pray we may meet them, And fight them again ere I die." THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. 2$ 'Twas thus old Peter did conclude His chronicle with curses fit. He spoke the tale in accents rude, In ruder verse I copied it. Perhaps the tale a moral bears (All tales in time to this must come), The story of two hundred years Writ on the parchment of a drum. What Peter told with drum and stick, Is endless theme for poet's pen : Is found in endless quartos thick, Enormous books by learned men. And ever since historian writ, And ever since a bard could sing, Doth each exalt with all his wit The noble art of murdering. We love to read the glorious page, How bold Achilles kill'd his foe ; And Turnus, fell'd by Trojans' rage. Went howling to the shades below. How Godfrey led his red-cross knights, How mad Orlando slash'd and slew ; There's not a single bard that writes But doth the glorious theme renew. And while, in fashion picturesque, The poet rhymes of blood and blows, The grave historian at his desk Describes the same in classic prose. Go read the works of Reverend Coxe, You'll duly see recorded there The history of the self-same knocks Here roughly sung by Drummer Pierre. Of battles fierce and warriors big, He writes in phrases dull and slow, And waves his cauliflower wig, And shouts ' ' Saint George for Marlborow ! ' 26 BALLADS. Take Doctor Southey from the shelf, An LL.D. , a peaceful man ; Good Lord, how doth he plume himself Because we beat the Corsican ! From first to last his page is filled With stirring tales how blows were struck. He shows how we the Frenchmen kill'd, And praises God for our good luck. Some hints, 'tis true, of politics The Doctor gives and statesman's art : Pierre only bangs his drum and sticks, And understands the bloody part. He cares not what the cause may be, He is not nice for wrong and right ; But show him where's the enemy, He only asks to drum and fight. They bid him fight, perhaps he wins ; And when he tells the story o'er, The honest savage brags and grins And only longs to fight once more. But luck may change, and valour fail, Our drummer, Peter, meet reverse, And with a moral points his tale The end of all such tales a curse. Last year, my love, it was my hap Behind a grenadier to be, And, but he wore a hairy cap, No taller man, methinks, than me. Prince Albert and the Queen, God wot (Be blessings on the glorious pair !), Before us passed. I saw them not I only saw a cap of hair. Your orthodox historian puts In foremost rank the soldier thus, . The red-coat bully in his boots, That hides the march of men from us. THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. 2J He puts him there in foremost rank, You wonder at his cap of hair : You hear his sabre's cursed clank, His spurs are jingling everywhere. Go to ! I hate him and his trade : Who bade us so to cringe and bend, And all God's peaceful people made To such as him subservient ? Tell me what find we to admire In epaulets and scarlet coats In men, because they load and fire, And know the art of cutting throats ? Ah, gentle, tender lady mine ! The winter wind blows cold and shrill ; Come, fill me one more glass of wine, And give the silly fools their will. And what care we for war and wrack, How kings and heroes rise and fall ? I>ook yonder,* in his coffin black There lies the greatest of them all ! To pluck him down, and keep him up, Died many million human souls. "Tis twelve o'clock and time to sup ; Bid Mary heap the fire with coals. He captured many thousand guns ; He wrote " The Great " before his name ; And dying, only left his sons The recollection of his shame. Though more than half the world was his, He died without a rood his own ; And borrow'd from his enemies Six foot of ground to lie upon. * This ballad was written at Pari.^ at the time of the Second Funeral of Napoleon. 28 BALLADS. He fought a thousand glorious wars, And more than half the world was his ; And somewhere now, in yonder stars, Can tell, mayhap, what greatness is, 1841. ABD-EL-KADER AT TOULON; OR, THE CAGED HAWK. No more, thou lithe and long-winged hawk, of desert life for thee; No more across the sultry sands shall thou go swooping free : Blunt idle talons, idle beak, with spurning of thy -chain, Shatter against thy cage the wing thou ne'er mayst spread again. Long, sitting by their watchfires, shall the Kabyles tell the tale Of thy dash from Ben Halifa on the fat Metidja vale ; How thou swept'st the desert over, bearing down the wild El Riff, From eastern Beni Salah to western Ouad Shelif ; How thy white burnous went streaming, like the storm-rack o'er the sea, When thou rodest in the vanward of the Moorish chivalry ; How thy razzia, was a whirlwind, thy onset a simoom, How thy sword-sweep was the lightning, dealing death from out the gloom ! Nor less quick to slay in battle than in peace to spare and save, Of brave men wisest counsellor, of wise counsellors most brave ; How the eye that flashed destruction could beam gentleness and love ; How lion in thee mated lamb, how eagle mated dove ! Availed not or steel or shot 'gainst that charmed life secure, Till cunning France, in last resource, tossed up the golden lure; And the carrion buzzards round him stooped, faithless, to the cast, And the wild hawk of the desert is caught and caged at last. ABD-EL-KADER AT TOULON. 29 Weep, maidens of Zerifah, above the laden loom ! Scar, chieftains of Al Elmah, your cheeks in grief and gloom ! Sons of the Beni Snazam, throw down the useless lance, And stoop your necks and bare your backs to yoke and scourge of France ! "Twas not in fight they bore him down : he never cried aman \ He never sank his sword before the PRINCE OF FRANGHISTAN ; But with traitors all around him, his star upon the wane, He heard the voice of ALLAH, and he would not strive in vain. They gave him what he asked them : from king to king he spake, As one that plighted word and seal not knoweth how to break : " Let me pass from out my deserts, be't mine own choice where to go ; I brook no fettered life to live, a captive and a show." And they promised, and he trusted them, and proud and calm he came, Upon his black mare riding, girt with his sword of fame. Good steed, good sword, he rendered both unto the Prankish "" throng ; He knew them false and fickle but a Prince's word is strong. How have they kept their promise ? Turned they the vessel's prow Unto Acre, Alexandria, as they have sworn e'en now? Not so : from Oran northwards the white sails gleam and glance, And the wild hawk of the desert is borne away to France ! Where Toulon's white-walled lazaret looks southward o'er the wave, Sits he that trusted in the word a son of Louis gave. O noble faith of noble heart ! And was the warning vain, The text writ by the BOURBON in the blurred black book of Spain ? They have need of thee to gaze on, they have need of thee to grace The triumph of the Prince, to gild the pinchbeck of their race. Words are but wind ; conditions must be construed by GuiZOT ; Dash out thy heart, thou desert hawk, ere thou art made a show ! THE KING OF BRENTFORD'S TESTAMENT. THE noble King of Brentford Was old and very sick, He summon'd his physicians To wait upon him quick : They stepp'd into their coaches And brought their best physick. They cramm'd their gracious master With potion and with pill ; They drench'd him and they bled him : They could not cure his ill. ' ' Go fetch, " says he, " my lawyer ; I'd better make my will." The monarch's Royal mandate The lawyer did obey ; The thought of six-and-eightpence Did make his heart full gay. " What is't," says he, " your Majesty Would wish of me to-day ? " ' ' The doctors have belabour'd me With potion and with pill : My hours of life are counted, man of tape and quill ! Sit down and mend a pen or two ; 1 want to make my will. " O'er all the land of Brentford I'm lord, and eke of Kew : I've three-per-cents and five-per-cents ; My debts are but a few ; And to inherit after me I have but children two. 1 ' Prince Thomas is my eldest son ; A sober prince is he, And from the day we breech'd him Till now he's twenty-three He never caused disquiet To his poor mamma or me. THE KIXG OF BRENTFORD S TESTAMENT. "At school they never flogg'd him ; At college, though not fast, Yet his little-go and great-go He creditably pass'd, And made his year's allowance For eighteen months to last. " He never owed a shilling, Went never drunk to bed, He has not two ideas Within his honest head In all respects he differs From my second son, Prince Ned. " When Tom has half his income Laid by at the year's end, Poor Ned has ne'er a stiver That rightly he may spend, But sponges on a tradesman, Or borrows from a friend. " While Tom his legal studies Most soberly pursues, Poor Ned must pass his mornings A-dawdling with the Muse : While Tom frequents his banker, Young Ned frequents the Jews. " Ned drives about in buggies, Tom sometimes takes a 'bus ; Ah, cruel fate, why made you My children differ thus ? Why make of Tom a dullard, And Ned a. genius?" " You'll cut him with a shilling," Exclaimed the man of wits : " I'll leave my wealth," said Brentford, " Sir Lawyer, as befits, And portion both their fortunes Unto their several wits." BALLADS. " Your Grace knows best," the lawyer said ; " On your commands I wait." " Be silent, sir," says Brentford, ' ' A plague upon your prate ! Come take your pen and paper, And write as I dictate. " The will as Brentford spoke it Was writ and signed and closed ; He bade the lawyer leave him, And turn'd him round and dozed ; And next week in the churchyard The good old King reposed. Tom, dressed in crape and hatband, Of mourners was the chief ; In bitter self-upbraidings Poor Edward showed his grief : Tom hid his fat white countenance In his pocket-handkerchief. Ned's eyes were full of weeping, He falter'd in his walk ; Tom never shed a tear, But onwards he did stalk, As pompous, black, and solemn As any catafalque. And when the bones of Brentford That gentle King and just With bell and book and candle Were duly laid in dust, " Now, gentlemen," says Thomas, " Let business be discussed. " When late our sire beloved Was taken deadly ill, Sir Lawyer, you attended him (I mean to tax your bill) ; And, as you signed and wrote it, I prithee read the will." THE KING OF BRENTFORD'S TESTAMENT. The lawyer wiped his spectacles, And drew the parchment out ; And all the Brentford family Sat eager round about : Poor Ned was somewhat anxious. But Tom had ne'er a doubt. " My son, as I make ready To seek my last long home. Some cares I had for Neddy, But none for thee, my Tom : Sobriety and order You ne'er departed from. " Ned hath a brilliant genius, And thou a plodding brain ; On thee I think with pleasure, On him with doubt and pain." ("You see, good Ned," says Thomas, "What he thought about us twain.") " Though small was your allowance, You saved a little store ; And those who save a little Shall get a plenty more." As the lawyer read this compliment, Tom's eyes were running o'er. " The tortoise and the hare, Tom, Set out at each his pace ; The hare it was the fleeter, The tortoise won the race ; And since the world's beginning This ever was the case. " Ned's genius, blithe and singing, Steps gaily o'er the ground ; As steadily you trudge it, He clears it with a bound ; But dulness has stout legs, Tom, And wind that's wondrous sound. 54 BALLADS. ' ' O'er fruits and flowers alike, Tom, You pass with plodding feet ; You heed not one nor t'other, But onwards go your beat ; While genius stops to loiter With all that he may meet ; ' ' And ever as he wanders, Will have a pretext fine For sleeping in the morning, Or loitering to dine, Or dozing in the shade, Or basking in the shine. " Your little steady eyes, Tom, Though not so bright as those That restless round about him His flashing genius throws, Are excellently suited To look before your nose. "Thank Heaven, then, for the blinkers It placed before your eyes ; The stupidest are strongest, The witty are not wise ; Oh, bless your good stupidity ! It is your dearest prize. " And though my lands are wide, And plenty is my gold, Still better gifts from Nature, My Thomas, do you hold A brain that's thick and heavy, A heart that's dull and cold. "Too dull to feel depression, Too hard to heed distress, Too cold to yield to passion Or silly tenderness. March on your road is open To wealth, Tom, and success. THE KING OF BRENTFORD S TESTAMENT. 35 " Ned sinneth in extravagance, And you in greedy lust." (" I' faith," says Ned, " our father Is less polite than just.") " In you, son Tom, I've confidence, But Ned I cannot trust. 1 ' Wherefore my lease and copyholds, My lands and tenements, My parks, my farms, and orchards, My houses and my rents, My Dutch stock and my Spanish stock, My five and three per cents, " I leave to you, my Thomas " ("What, all?" poor Edward said. "Well, well, I should have spent them, And Tom's a prudent head") " I leave to you, my Thomas, To you IN TRUST for Ned." The wrath and consternation What poet e'er could trace That at this fatal passage Came o'er Prince Tom his face ; The wonder of the company, And honest Ned's amaze ? " Tis surely some mistake," Good-naturedly cries Ned ; The lawyer answered gravely, " 'Tis even as I said ; 'Twas thus his gracious Majesty Ordain'd on his death-bed. ' ' See, here the will is witness'd, And here's his autograph." " In truth, our father's writing," Says Edward, with a laugh ; ' ' But thou shall not be a loser, Tom ; We'll share it half and half." 36 BALLADS. "Alas ! my kind young gentleman, This sharing cannot be ; Tis written in the testament That Brentford spoke to me, ' I do forbid Prince Ned to give Prince Tom a halfpenny. " ' He hath a store of money, But ne'er was known to lend it ; He never helped his brother ; The poor he ne'er befriended ; He hath no need of property Who knows not how to spend it. " ' Poor Edward knows but how to spend, And thrifty Tom to hoard ; Let Thomas be the steward then, And Edward be the lord ; And as the honest labourer Is worthy his reward, " ' I pray Prince Ned, my second son, And my successor dear, To pay to his intendant Five hundred pounds a year ; And to think of his old father, And live and make good cheer." " Such was old Brentford's honest testament. He did devise his moneys for the best. And lies in Brentford church in peaceful rest. Prince Edward lived, and money made and spent ; But his good sire was wrong, it is confess'd, To say his son, young Thomas, never lent. He did. Young Thomas lent at interest, And nobly took his twenty-five per cent. Long time the famous reign of Ned endured O'er Chiswick, Fulham, Brentford, Putney, Kew, But of extravagance he ne'er was cured. And when both died, as mortal men will do, 'Twas commonly reported that the steward Was very much the richer of the two. THE WHITE SQUALL. THE WHITE SQUALL. ON deck, beneath the awning, I dozing lay and yawning ; It was the grey of dawning, Ere yet the sun arose ; And above the funnel's roaring, And the fitful wind's deploring, I heard the cabin snoring With universal nose. I could hear the passengers snorting, I envied their disporting Vainly I was courting The pleasure of a doze ! So I lay, and wondered why light Came not, and watched the twilight, And the glimmer of the skylight, That shot across the deck ; And the binnacle pale and steady, And the dull glimpse of the dead-eye, And the sparks in fiery eddy That whirled from the chimney neck. In our jovial floating prison There was sleep from fore to mizen, And never a star had risen The hazy sky to speck. Strange company we harboured ; We'd a hundred Jews to larboard, Unwashed, uncombed, unbarbered Jews black, and brown, and grey ; With terror it would seize ye, And make your souls uneasy, To see those Rabbis greasy, Who did nought but scratch and pray : Their dirty children puking Their dirty saucepans cooking Their dirty fingers hooking Their swarming fleas away. 38 BALLADS. To starboard, Turks and Greeks Whiskered and brown their cheeks were- Enormous wide their breeks were, Their pipes did puff alway ; Each on his mat allotted In silence smoked and squatted, Whilst round their children trotted In pretty, pleasant play. He can't but smile who traces The smiles on those brown faces, And the pretty prattling graces Of those small heathens gay. And so the hours kept tolling, And through the ocean rolling Went the brave " Iberia" bowling Before the break of day When A SQUALL, upon a sudden, Came o'er the waters scudding ; And the clouds began to gather, And the sea was lashed to lather, And the lowering thunder grumbled, And the lightning jumped and tumbled, And the ship, and all the ocean, Woke up in wild commotion. Then the wind set up a howling, And the poodle dog a yowling, And the cocks began a crowing, And the old cow raised a lowing. As she heard the tempest blowing ; And fowls and geese did cackle. And the cordage and the tackle Began to shriek and crackle ; And the spray dashed o'er the funnels, And down the deck in runnels ; And the rushing water soaks all, From the seamen in the fo'ksal To the stokers whose black faces Peer out of their bed-places ; And the captain he was bawling, And the sailors pulling, hauling, THE WHITE SQ.UALL. And the quarter-deck tarpauling Was shivered in the squalling ; And the passengers awaken, Most pitifully shaken ; And the steward jumps up, and hastens For the necessary basins. Then the" Greeks they groaned and quivered, And they knelt, and moaned, and shivered, 59 As the plunging waters met them, And splashed and overset them ; And they call in their emergence Upon countless saints and virgins ; And their marrowbones are bended, And they think the world is ended. And the Turkish women for'ard Were frightened and behorror'd ; 40 BALLADS. And shrieking and bewildering, The mothers clutched their children ; The men sang " Allah ! Illah ! Mashallah Bismillah ! " As the warring waters doused them And splashed them and soused them, And they called upon the Prophet, And thought but little of it.* Then all the fleas in Jewry Jumped up and bit like fury ; And the progeny of Jacob Did on the main-deck wake up (I wot those greasy Rabbins Would never pay for cabins) ; And each man moaned and jabbered in His filthy Jewish gaberdine, In woe and lamentation, And howling consternation. And the splashing water drenches Their dirty brats and wenches ; And they crawl from bales and benches In a hundred thousand stenches. This was the White Squall famous, Which latterly o'ercame us, And which all will well remember On the 28th September ; When a Prussian captain of Lancers (Those tight-laced, whiskered prancers) Came on the deck astonished, By that wild squall admonished, And wondering cried, " Potztausend ! Wie ist der Sturm jetzt brausend ? " And looked at Captain Lewis, Who calmly stood and blew his Cigar in all the bustle, And scorned the tempest's tussle. And oft we've thought thereafter How he beat the storm to laughter ; PEG OF LIMAVADDY. 41 For well he knew his vessel With that vain wind could wrestle ; And when a wreck we thought her, And doomed ourselves to slaughter, How gaily he fought her, And through the hubbub brought her, And as the tempest caught her, Cried, "GEORGE! SOME BRANDY-AND-WATER ! " And when, its force expended, The harmless storm was ended, And as the sunrise splendid Came blushing o'er the sea, I thought, as day was breaking, My little girls were waking, And smiling, and making A pra*yer at home for me. 1844- PEG OF LIMAVADDY. RIDING from Coleraine (Famed for lovely Kitty), Came a Cockney bound Unto Derry city ; Weary was his soul, Shivering and sad, he Bumped along the road Leads to Limavaddy. Mountains stretch'd around, Gloomy was their tinting, And the horse's hoofs Made a dismal dinting ; Wind upon the heath Howling was and piping, On the heath and bog, . Black with many a snipe in. 42 BALLADS. Mid the bogs of black, Silver pools were flashing, Crows upon their sides Pecking were and splashing. Cockney on the car Closer folds his plaidy, Grumbling at the road Leads to Limavaddy. Through the crashing woods Autumn brawl'd and bluster'd, Tossing round about Leaves the hue of mustard ; Yonder lay Lough Foyle, Which a storm was whipping, Covering with mist Lake, and shores, and shipping. Up and down the hill (Nothing could be bolder), Horse went with a raw Bleeding on his shoulder. " Where are horses changed?" Said I to the laddy Driving on the box : "Sir, at Limavaddy." Limavaddy inn's But a humble bait-house, Where you may procure Whisky and potatoes ; Landlord at the door Gives a smiling welcome To the shivering wights Who to his hotel come. Landlady within Sits and knits a stocking, With a wary foot Baby's cradle rocking. To the chimney nook Having found admittance, PEG OF LIMAVADDY. 43 There I watch a pup Playing with two kittens ; (Playing round the fire, Which of blazing turf is, Roaring to the pot Which bubbles with the murphies.) And the cradled babe Fond the mother nursed it, Singing it a song As she twists the worsted ! Up and down the stair Two more young ones patter (Twins were never seen Dirtier or fatter). Both have mottled legs, Both have snubby noses, Both have Here the host Kindly interposes : ' ' Sure you must be froze With the sleet and hail, sir : So will you have some punch, Or will you have some ale, sir ? Presently a maid Enters with the liquor (Half-a-pint of ale Frothing in a beaker). Gads ! I didn't know What my beating heart meant : Hebe's self, I thought, Entered the apartment. As she came she smiled, And the smile bewitching, On my word and honour, Lighted all the kitchen ! With a curtsey neat Greeting the new comer, Lovely, smiling Peg Offers me the rummer ; 44 BALLADS. But my trembling hand Up the beaker tilted, And the glass of ale Every drop I spilt it : Spilt it every drop (Dames, who read my volumes. Pardon such a word) On my what-d'ye-call-'ems ! Witnessing the sight Of that dire disaster. Out began to laugh Missis, maid, and master ; Such a merry peal 'Specially Miss Peg's was (As the glass of ale Trickling down my legs was), That the joyful sound Of that mingling laughter Echoed in my ears Many a long day after. Such a silver peal ! In the meadows listening, You who've heard the bells Ringing to a christening ; You who ever heard Caradori pretty, Smiling like an angel, Singing " Giovinetti ; " Fancy Peggy's laugh, Sweet, and clear, and cheerful, At my pantaloons With half-a-pint of beer full ! When the laugh was done. Peg, the pretty hussy, Moved about the room Wonderfully busy ; Now she looks to see If the kettle keep hot ; PEG OF LIMAVADDY. Now she rubs the spoons, Now she cleans the teapot ; Now she sets the cups Trimly and secure : Now she scours a pot, And so it was I drew her. 45 Thus it was I drew her Scouring of a kettle (Faith ! her blushing cheeks Redden'd on the metal !) Ah ! but 'tis in vain That I try to sketch it ; 46 BALLADS. The pot perhaps is like, But Peggy's face is wretched. No ! the best of lead And of india-rubber Never could depict That sweet kettle-scrubber ! See her how she moves, Scarce the ground she touches : Airy as a fay, Graceful as a duchess : Bare her rounded arm, Bare her little leg is, Vestris never show'd Ankles like to Peggy's. Braided is her hair, Soft her look and modest, Slim her little waist, Comfortably bodiced. This I do declare, Happy is the laddy Who the heart can share Of Peg of Limavaddy. Married if she were Blest would be the daddy Of the children fair Of Peg of Limavaddy. Beauty is not rare In the land of Paddy, Fair beyond compare Is Peg of Limavaddy. Citizen or Squire, Tory, Whig, or Radi- cal would all desire Peg of Limavaddy. Had I Homer's fire, Or that of Sergeant Taddy, Meetly I'd admire Peg of Limavaddy. MAY-DAY ODE. 47 And till I expire, Or till I grow mad, I Will sing unto my lyre Peg of Limavaddy ! MAY-DAY ODE. BUT yesterday a naked sod, The dandies sneered from Rotten Row, And cantered o'er it to and fro ; And see 'tis done ! As though 'twere by a wizard's rod A blazing arch of lucid glass Leaps like a fountain from the grass To meet the sun ! A quiet green but few days since, With cattle browsing in the shade : And here are lines of bright arcade In order raised ! A palace as for fairy prince, A rare pavilion, such as man Saw never since mankind began, And built and glazed ! A peaceful place it was but now, And lo ! within its shining streets A multitude of nations meets ; A countless throng I see beneath the crystal bow, And Gaul and German, Russ and Turk, Each with his native handiwork And busy tongue. I felt a thrill of love and awe To mark the different garb of each, The changing tongue, the various speech Together blent : 48 BALLADS. A thrill, methinks, like His who saw " All people dwelling upon earth Praising our God with solemn mirth And one consent." High Sovereign, in your Royal state, Captains, and chiefs, and councillors, Before the lofty palace doors Are open set, Hush ! ere you pass the shining gate ; " Hush ! ere the heaving curtain draws, And let the Royal pageant pause A moment yet. People and prince a silence keep ! Bow coronet and kingly crown, Helmet and plume, bow lowly down, The while the priest, Before the splendid portal step (While still the wondrous banquet stays), From Heaven supreme a blessing prays Upon the feast. Then onwards let the triumph march ; Then let the loud artillery roll, And trumpets ring, and joy-bells toll, And pass the gate. Pass underneath the shining arch, 'Neath which the leafy elms are green ; Ascend unto your throne, O Queen ! And take your state. Behold her in her Royal place ; ' A gentle lady ; and the hand That sways the sceptre of this land, How frail and weak ! Soft is the voice, and fair the face : She breathes Amen to prayer and hymn ; No wonder that her eyes are dim, And pale her cheek. MAY-DAY ODE. 49 This moment round her empire's shores The winds of Austral winter sweep, And thousands lie in midnight sleep At rest to-day. Oh ! awful is that crown of yours, Queen of innumerable realms Sitting beneath the budding elms Of English May ! A wondrous sceptre 'tis to bear : Strange mystery of God which set Upon her brow yon coronet, The foremost crown Of all the world, on one so fair ! That chose her to it from her birth, And bade the sons of all the earth To her bow down. The representatives of man Here from the far Antipodes, And from the subject Indian seas, In congress meet ; From Afric and from Hindustan, From Western continent and isle, The envoys of her empire pile Gifts at her feet ; Our brethren cross the Atlantic tides. Loading the gallant decks which once Roared a defiance to our guns, With peaceful store ; Symbol of peace, their vessel rides ! * O'er English waves float Star and Stripe, And firm their friendly anchors gripe The father shore ! From Rhine and Danube, Rhone and Seine, As rivers from their sources gush, The swelling floods of nations rush, And seaward pour : * The U.S. frigate "St. Lawrence." BALLADS. From coast to coast in friendly chain, With countless ships we bridge the straits, And angry ocean separates Europe no more. From Mississippi and from Nile From Baltic, Ganges, Bosphorus, In England's ark assembled thus Are friend and guest. Look down the mighty sunlit aisle, And see the sumptuous banquet set, The brotherhood of nations met Around the feast 1 Along the dazzling colonnade, Far as the straining eye can gaze, Gleam cross and fountain, bell and vase, In vistas bright ; And statues fair of nymph and maid, And steeds and pards and Amazons, Writhing and grappling in the bronze, In endless fight. To deck the glorious roof and dome, To make the Queen a canopy, The peaceful hosts of industry Their standards bear. Yon are the works of Brahmin loom ; On such a web of Persian thread The desert Arab bows his head And cries his prayer. Look yonder where the engines toil : These England's arms of conquest are, The trophies of her bloodless war : Brave weapons these. Victorious over wave and soil, With these she sails, she weaves, she tills, Pierces the everlasting hills, And spans the seas. THE BALLAD OF BOUILLABAISSE. The engine roars upon its race, The shuttle whirrs along the woof, The people hum from floor to roof, With Babel tongue. The fountain in the basin plays. The chanting organ echoes clear, An awful chorus 'tis to hear, A wondrous song ! Swell, organ, swell your trumpet blast, March, Queen and Royal pageant, march By splendid aisle and springing arch Of this fair Hall : And see ! above the fabric vast, God's boundless heaven is bending blue, God's peaceful sunlight's beaming through, And shines o'er all. May 1851. THE BALLAD OF BOUILLABAISSE. A STREET there is in Paris famous, For which no rhyme our language yields, Rue Neuve des Petits Champs its name is The New Street of the Little Fields. And here's an inn, not rich and splendid, But still in comfortable case ; The which in youth I oft attended, To eat a bowl of Bouillabaisse. This Bouillabaisse a noble dish is A sort of soup, or broth, or brew, Or hotchpotch of all sorts of fishes, That Greenwich never could outdo : Green herbs, red peppers, mussels, saffron, Soles, onions, garlic, roach, and dace : All these you eat at TERRA'S tavern In that one dish of Bouillabaisse. 52 BALLADS. Indeed, a rich and savoury stew 'tis ; And true philosophers, methinks, Who love all sorts of natural beauties, Should love good victuals and good drinks. And Cordelier or Benedictine Might gladly, sure, his lot embrace, Nor find a fast-day too afflicting, Which served him up a Bouillabaisse. I wonder if the house still there is ? Yes, here the lamp is, as before ; The smiling red-cheeked tcailllre is Still opening oysters at the door. Is TERRE still alive and able ? I recollect his droll grimace : He'd come and smile before your table, And hope you liked your Bouillabaisse. We enter nothing's changed or older. " How's Monsieur TERRE, waiter, pray?" The waiter stares, and shrugs his shoulder " Monsieur is dead this many a day." " It is the- lot of saint and sinner, So honest TERRE'S run his race." ' ' What will Monsieur require for dinner ? " ' ' Say, do you still cook Bouillabaisse ? " " Oh, oui, Monsieur," 's the waiter's answer ; " Quel vin Monsieur de"sire-t-il ? " " Tell me a good one." " That I can, Sir : The Chambertin with yellow seal " " So TERRE'S gone," I say, and sink in My old accustom'd corner-place ; " He's done with feasting and with drinking, With Burgundy and Bouillabaisse." My old accustom'd corner here is, The table still is in the nook ; Ah ! vanished many a busy year is This well-known chair since last I took. THE BALLAD OF BOUILLABAISSE. 53 When first I saw ye, cari luoghi , I'd scarce a beard upon my face. And now a grizzled, grim old fogy, I sit and wait for Bouillabaisse. Where are you, old companions trusty Of early days here met to dine ? Come, waiter ! quick, a flagon crusty I'll pledge them in the good old wine. The kind old voices and old faces My memory can quick retrace ; Around the board they take their places, And share the wine and Bouillabaisse. There's JACK has made a wondrous marriage ; There's laughing TOM is laughing yet ; There's brave AUGUSTUS drives his carriage ; There's poor old FRED in the Gazette ; On JAMES'S head the grass is growing : Good Lord ! the world has wagged apace Since here we set the claret flowing, And drank, and ate the Bouillabaisse. Ah me ! how quick the days are flitting ! I mind me of a time that's gone, When here I'd sit, as now I'm sitting, In this same place but not alone. A fair young form was nestled near me, A dear dear face looked fondly up, And sweetly spoke and smiled to cheer me There's no one now to share my cup. , I drink it as the Fates ordain it. Come, fill it, and have done with rhymes : Fill up the lonely glass, and drain it In memory of dear old times. Welcome the wine, whate'er the seal is ; And sit you down and say your grace With thankful heart, whate'er the meal is. Here comes the smoking Bouillabaisse ! 54 BALLADS. THE MAHOGANY TREE. CHRISTMAS is here : Winds whistle shrill, Icy and chill, Little care we : Little we fear Weather without, Sheltered about The Mahogany Tree. Once on the boughs Birds of rare plume Sang, in its bloom ; Night-birds are we : Here we carouse, Singing like them, Perched round the stem Of the jolly old tree. Here let us sport, Boys, as we sit ; Laughter and wit Flashing so free. Life is but short- When we are gone, Let them sing on Round the old tree. Evenings we knew, Happy as this ; Faces we miss, Pleasant to see. Kind hearts and true, Gentle and just, Peace to your dust ! We sing round the tree. Care, like a dun, Lurks at the gate : Let the dog wait ; Happy we'll be ! THE YANKEE VOLUNTEERS. 55 Drink, every one ; Pile up the coals, Fill the red bowls, Round the old tree ! Drain we the cup. Friend, art afraid ? Spirits are laid In the Red Sea. Mantle it up ; Empty it yet ; Let us forget, Round the old tree. Sorrows, begone ! Life and its ills, Duns and their bills, Bid we to flee. Come with the dawn, Blue-devil sprite, Leave us to-night, Round the old tree. THE YANKEE VOLUNTEERS. " A surgeon of the United States army says, that on inquiring of the Captain of his company, he found that nine-tenths of the men had enlisted on account of some female difficulty." Morning Paper. YE Yankee volunteers ! It makes my bosom bleed When I your story read, Though oft 'tis told one. So in both hemispheres The women are untrue, And cruel in the New, As in the Old one ! What in this company Of sixty sons of Mars, Who march 'neath Stripes and Stars, With fife and horn, 56 BALLADS. Nine-tenths of all we see Along the warlike line Had but one cause to join This Hope Forlorn ? Deserters from the realm Where tyrant Venus reigns, You slipp'd her wicked chains, Fled and outran her. And now, with sword and helm, Together banded are Beneath the Stripe- and Star- Embroider' d banner ! And is it so with all The warriors ranged in line, With lace bedizen'd fine And swords gold-hilted ? Yon lusty corporal, Yon colour-man who gripes The flag of Stars and Stripes Has each been jilted ? Come, each man of this line, The privates strong and tall, " The pioneers and all," The fifer nimble- Lieutenant and Ensign, Captain with epaulets, And Blacky there, who beats The clanging cymbal. O cymbal-beating black, Tell us, as thou canst feel, Was it some Lucy Neal Who caused thy ruin ? O nimble fifing Jack, And drummer making din So deftly on the skin, With thy rat-tat-tooing THE PEN AND THE ALBUM. 57 Confess, ye volunteers, Lieutenant and Ensign, And Captain of the line, As bold as Roman Confess, ye grenadiers, However strong and tall, The Conqueror of you all Is Woman, Woman ! No corselet is so proof But through it from her bow The shafts that she can throw Will pierce and rankle. No champion e'er so tough But 's in the struggle thrown, And tripp'd and trodden down By her slim ankle. Thus always it was ruled : And when a woman smiled, The strong man was a child, The sage a noodle. Alcides was befool'd, And silly Samson shorn, Long long ere you were born, Poor Yankee Doodle ! THE PEN AND THE ALBUM, " I AM Miss Catherine's book," the Album speaks ; " I've lain among your tomes these many weeks ; I'm tired of their old coats and yellow cheeks. " Quick, Pen ! and write a line with a good grace : Come ! draw me off a funny little face ; And, prithee, send me back to Chesham Place." PEN. " I am my master's faithful old Gold Pen ; I've served him three long years, and drawn since then Thousands of funny women and droll men. " O Album ! could I tell you all his ways And thoughts, since I am his, these thousand days, Lord, how your pretty pages I'd amaze ! " " His ways? his thoughts? Just whisper me a few ; Tell me a curious anecdote or two, And write 'em quickly off, good Mordan, do ! " " Since he my faithful service did engage To follow him through his queer pilgrimage, I've drawn and written many a line and page. "Caricatures I scribbled have, and rhymes, And dinner-cards, and picture pantomimes, And merry little children's books at times. " I've writ the foolish fancy of his brain ; The aimless jest that, striking, hath caused pain ; The idle word that he'd wish back again. " I've help'd him to pen many a line for bread ; To joke, with sorrow aching in his head ; And make your laughter when his own heart bled. " I've spoke with men of all degree and sort Peers of the land, and ladies of the Court ; Oh, but I've chronicled a deal of sport ! "Feasts that were ate a thousand days ago, Biddings to wine that long hath ceased to flow, Gay meetings with good fellows long laid low ; THE PEN AND THE ALBUM. 59 "Summons to bridal, banquet, burial, ball, Tradesman's polite reminders of his small Account due Christmas last I've answer'd all. " Poor Diddler's tenth petition for a half- Guinea ; Miss Bunyan's for an autograph ; So I refuse, accept, lament, or laugh, "Condole, congratulate, invite, praise, scoff, Day after day still dipping in my trough, And scribbling pages after pages off. " Day after day the labour's to be done, And sure as come the postman and the sun, The indefatigable ink must run. " Go back, my pretty little gilded tome, To a fair mistress and a pleasant home, Where soft hearts greet us whensoe'er we come ! " Dear friendly eyes, with constant kindness lit, However rude my verse, or poor my wit, Or sad or gay my mood, you welcome it. " Kind lady ! till my last of lines is penn'd, My master's love, grief, laughter, at an end, Whene'er I write your name, may I write friend ! " Not all are so that were so in past years ; Voices, familiar once, no more he hears ; Names, often writ, are blotted out in tears. " So be it : joys will end and tears will dry Album ! my master bids me wish good-bye, He'll send you to your mistress presently. " And thus with thankful heart he closes you : Blessing the happy hour when a friend he knew So gentle, and so generous, and so true. " Nor pass the words as idle phrases by ; Stranger ! I never writ a flattery, Nor sign'd the page that register'd a lie." 6o MRS. KATHERINE'S LANTERN. WRITTEN IN A LADY'S ALBUM. " COMING from a gloomy court, Place of Israelite resort, This old lamp I've brought with me. Madam, on its panes you'll see The initials K and E." " An old lantern brought to me? Ugly, dingy, battered, black !" (Here a lady I suppose Turning up a pretty nose) " Pray, sir, take the old thing back. I've no taste for bric-a-brac." ' ' Please to mark the letters twain " (I'm supposed to speak again) " Graven on the lantern pane. Can you tell me who was she, Mistress of the flowery wreath, And the anagram beneath The mysterious K E. " Full a hundred years are gone Since the little beacon shone From a Venice balcony : There, on summer nights, it hung. And her lovers came and sung To their beautiful K E. " Hush ! in the canal below Don't you hear the splash of oars Underneath the lantern's glow, And a thrilling voice begins To the sound of mandolins ? Begins singing of amore And delire and dolore O the ravishing tenore ! LUCY'S BIRTHDAY. 6l " Lady, do you know the tune? Ah, we all of us have hummed it ! I've an old guitar has thrummed it, Under many a changing moon. Shall I try it ? Do RE MI . . . What is this? Mafoi, the fact is, That my hand is out of practice, And my poor old fiddle cracked is. " And a man I let the truth out, Who's had almost every tooth out, Cannot sing as once he sung, When he was young as you are young, When he was young and lutes were strung, And love-lamps in the casement hung." LUCY'S BIRTHDAY. SEVENTEEN rose-buds in a ring, Thick with sister flowers beset, In a fragrant coronet, Lucy's servants this day bring. Be it the birthday wreath she wears Fresh and fair, and symbolling The young number of her years, The sweet blushes of her spring. Types of youth and love and hope ! Friendly hearts your mistress greet, Be you ever fair and sweet, And grow lovelier as you ope ! Gentle nurseling, fenced about With fond care, and guarded so, Scarce you've heard of storms without, Frosts that bite, or winds that blow I Kindly has your life begun, And we pray that Heaven may send To our floweret a warm sun, A calm summer, a sweet end, 62 BALLADS. And where'er shall be her home, May she decorate the place ; Still expanding into bloom, And developing in grace. THE CANE-BOTTOMED CHAIR. IN tattered old slippers that toast at the bars, And a ragged old jacket perfumed with cigars, Away from the world and its toils and its cares, I've a snug little kingdom up four pair of stairs. To mount to this realm is a toil, to be sure, But the fire there is bright and the air rather pure ; And the view I behold on a sunshiny day Is grand through the chimney-pots over the way. This snug little chamber is cramm'd in all nooks With worthless old knicknacks and silly old books, And foolish old odds and foolish old ends, Crack'd bargains from brokers, cheap keepsakes from friends. Old armour, prints, pictures, pipes, china (all crack'd), Old rickety tables, and chairs broken-backed ; A twopenny treasury, wondrous to see ; What matter? 'tis pleasant to you, friend, and me. No better divan need the Sultan require, Than the creaking old sofa that basks by the fire ; And 'tis wonderful, surely, what music you get From the rickety, ramshackle, wheezy spinet. That praying-rug came from a Turcoman's camp ; By Tiber once twinkled that brazen old lamp ; A Mameluke fierce yonder dagger has drawn : "Tis a murderous knife to toast muffins upon. Long long through the hours, and the night, and the chimes, Here we talk of old books, and old friends, and old times ; As we sit in a fog made of rich Latakie This chamber is pleasant to you, friend, and me. PISCATOR AND PISCATRIX. 63 But of all the cheap treasures that garnish my nest. There's one that I love and I cherish the best : For the finest of couches that's padded with hair I never would change thee, my cane-bottom'd chair. "Tis a bandy-legg'd, high-shoulder'd, worm-eaten seat, With a creaking old back, and twisted old feet ; But since the fair morning when Fanny sat there, I bless thee and love thee, old cane-bottom'd chair. If chairs have but feeling, in holding such charms, A thrill must have pass'd through your wither'd old arms ! I look'd, and I long'd, and I wish'd in despair ; I wish'd myself turn'd to a cane-bottom'd chair. It was but a moment she sat in this place, She'd a scarf on her neck, and a smile on her face ! A smile on her face, and a rose in her hair, And she sat there, and bloom'd in my cane-bottom'd chair. And so I have valued my chair ever since, Like the shrine of a saint, or the throne of a prince ; Saint Fanny, my patroness sweet I declare, The queen of my heart and my cane-bottom'd chair. When the candles burn low, and the company's gone, In the silence of night as I sit here alone I sit here alone, but we yet are a pair My Fanny I see in my cane-bottom'd chair. She comes from the past and revisits my room ; She looks as she then did, all beauty and bloom ; So smiling and tender, so fresh and so fair, And yonder she sits in my cane-bottom'd chair. PISCATOR AND PISCATRIX. LINES WRITTEN TO AN ALBUM PRINT. As on this pictured page I look, This pretty tale of line and hook As though it were a novel-book Amuses and engages : 64 BALLADS. I know them both, the boy and girl ; She is the daughter of the Earl, The lad (that has his hair in curl) My Lord the County's page is. A pleasant place for such a pair ! The fields lie basking in the glare ; No breath of wind the heavy air Of lazy summer quickens. Hard by you see the castle tall ; The village nestles round the wall, As round about the hen its small Young progeny of chickens. It is too hot to pace the keep ; To climb the turret is too steep ; My Lord the Earl is dozing deep, His noonday dinner over : The postern-warder is asleep (Perhaps they've bribed him not to peep) : And so from out the gate they creep, And cross the fields of clover. Their lines into the brook they launch ; He lays his cloak upon a branch, To guarantee his Lady Blanche 's delicate complexion ; He takes his rapier from his haunch, That beardless doughty champion staunch ; He'd drill it through the rival's paunch That question'd his affection ! O heedless pair of sportsmen slack ! You never mark, though trout or jack, Or little foolish stickleback, Your baited snares may capture. What care has she for line and hook? She turns her back upon the brook, Upon her lover's eyes to look In sentimental rapture. THE ROSE UPON MY BALCONY. 65 O loving pair ! as thus I gaze Upon the girl who smiles always, The little hand that ever plays Upon the lover's shoulder ; In looking at your pretty shapes, A sort of envious wish escapes (Such as the Fox had for the Grapes) The Poet your beholder. To be brave, handsome, twenty-two ; With nothing else on earth to do, But all day long to bill and coo : It were a pleasant calling. And had I such a partner sweet ; A tender heart for mine to beat, A gentle hand my clasp to meet ; I'd let the world flow at my feet, And never heed its brawling. THE ROSE UPON MY BALCONY. THE rose upon my balcony the morning air perfuming, Was leafless all the winter time and pining for the spring ; You ask me why her breath is sweet, and why her cheek is blooming : It is because the sun is out and birds begin to sing. The nightingale, whose melody is through the greenwood ringing, Was silent when the boughs were bare and winds were blowing keen: And if, mamma, you ask of me the reason of his singing, It is because the sun is out and all the leaves are green. Thus each performs his part, mamma : the birds have found their voices, The blowing rose a flush, mamma, her bonny cheek to dye ; And there's sunshine in my heart, mamma, which wakens and rejoices, And so I sing and blush, mamma, and that's the reason why. 66 RONSARD TO HIS MISTRESS. ' Quand vous serez bien vieille, au soir a la chandelle, Assise aupres du feu devisant et filant, Direz, chantant mes vers en vous esmerveillant : Ronsard me celebroit du temps que j'^tois belle." SOME winter night, shut snugly in Beside the faggot in the hall, I think I see you sit and spin, Surrounded by your maidens all. Old tales are told, old songs are sung, Old days come back to memory ; You say, ' ' When I was fair and young, A poet sang of me ! " There's not a maiden in your hall, Though tired and sleepy ever so, But wakes, as you my name recall, And longs the history to know. And, as the piteous tale is said, Of lady cold and lover true, Each, musing,* carries it to bed, And sighs and envies you ! " Our lady's old and feeble now," They'll say ; " she once was fresh and fair, And yet she spurn'd her lover's vow, And heartless left him to despair : The lover lies in silent earth, No kindly mate the lady cheers : She sits beside a lonely hearth, With threescore and ten years ! " Ah ! dreary thoughts and dreams are those. But wherefore yield me to despair, While yet the poet's bosom glows, While yet the dame is peerless fair? Sweet lady mine ! while yet 'tis time Requite my passion and my truth, And gather in their blushing prime The roses of your youth ! AT THE CHURCH GATE. 67 AT THE CHURCH GATE. ALTHOUGH I enter not, Yet round about the spot Ofttimes I hover ; And near the sacred gate, With longing eyes I wait, Expectant of her. The Minster bell tolls out Above the city's rout, And noise and humming : They've hush'd the Minster bell : The organ 'gins to swell : She's coming, she's coming ! My lady comes at last, Timid, and stepping fast, And hastening hither, With modest eyes downcast : She comes she's here she's past- May heaven go with her ! Kneel, undisturbed, fair Saint ! Pour out your praise or plaint Meekly and duly ; I will not enter there, To sully your pure prayer With thoughts unruly. But surfer me to pace Round the forbidden place, Lingering a minute Like outcast spirits who wait And see through heaven's gate Angels within it. 68 THE AGE OF WISDOM. Ho, pretty page, with the dimpled chin, That never has known the barber's shear, All your wish is woman to win, This is the way that boys begin, Wait till you come to Forty Year. Curly gold locks cover foolish brains, Billing and cooing is all your cheer ; Sighing and singing of midnight strains, Under Bonnybell's window panes, Wait till you come to Forty Year. Forty times over let Michaelmas pass, Grizzling hair the brain doth clear Then you know a boy is an ass, Then you know the worth of a lass, Once you have come to Forty Year. Pledge me round, I bid ye declare, All good fellows whose beards are grey. Did not the fairest of the fair Common grow and wearisome ere Ever a month was passed away ? The reddest lips that ever have kissed, The brightest eyes that ever have shone, May pray and whisper, and we not list, Or look away, and never be missed, Ere yet ever a month is gone. Gillian!s dead, God rest her bier, How I loved her twenty years syne ! Marian's married, but I sit here Alone and merry at Forty Year, Dipping my nose in the Gascon wine. A DOE IN THE CITY. 69 SORROWS OF WERTHER. WERTHER had a love for Charlotte Such as words could never utter ; Would you know how first he met her? She was cutting bread and butter. Charlotte was a married lady, And a moral man was Werther, And, for all the wealth of Indies, Would do nothing for to hurt her. So he sighed and pined and ogled, And his passion boiled and bubbled, Till he blew his silly brains out, And no more was by it troubled. Charlotte, having seen his body Borne before her on a shutter, Like a well-conducted person. Went on cutting bread and butter. A DOE IN THE CITY. LITTLE KITTY LORIMER, Fair, and young, and witty, What has brought your ladyship Rambling to the City ? All the stags in Capel Court Saw her lightly trip it ; All the lads of Stock Exchange Twigg'd her muff and tippet. With a sweet perplexity, And a mystery pretty, Threading through Threadneedle Street, Trots the little KITTY. 70 BALLADS. What was my astonishment What was my compunction, When she reached the Offices Of the Didland Junction ! Up the Didland stairs she went, To the Didland door, Sir ; Porters, lost in wonderment, Let her pass before, Sir. " Madam," says the old chief Clerk, " Sure we can't admit ye." "Where's the Didland Junction deed? Dauntlessly says KITTY. " If you doubt my honesty, Look at my receipt, Sir." Up then jumps the old chief Clerk, Smiling as he meets her. KITTY at the table sits (Whither the old Clerk leads her), " / deliver this," she says, " As my act and deed, Sir." When I heard these funny words Come from lips so pretty, This, I thought, should surely be Subject for a ditty. What ! are ladies slagging it ? Sure, the more's the pity ; But I've lost my heart to her, Naughty little KITTY. THE LAST OF MAY. IN REPLY TO AN INVITATION DATED ON THE 1ST. BY fate's benevolent award, Should I survive the day, I'll drink a bumper with my lord Upon the last of May. "AH, BLEAK AND BARREN WAS THE MOOR." 71 That I may reach that happy time The kindly gods I pray, For are not ducks and peas in prime Upon the last of May ? At thirty boards, 'twixt now and then, My knife and fork shall play ; But better wine and better men I shall not meet in May. And though, good friend, with whom I dine, Your honest head is grey, And, like this grizzled head of mine, Has seen its last of May ; Yet, with a heart that's ever kind, A gentle spirit gay, t You've spring perennial in your mind, And round you make a May ! "AH, BLEAK AND BARREN WAS THE MOOR." AH ! bleak and barren was the moor, Ah ! loud and piercing was the storm, The cottage roof was sheltered sure, The cottage hearth was bright and warm. An orphan-boy the lattice pass'd, And, as he marked its cheerful glow, Felt doubly keen the midnight blast, And doubly cold the fallen snow. They marked him as he onward press'd, With fainting heart and weary limb ; Kind voices bade him turn and rest, And gentle faces welcomed him. The dawn is up the guest is gone, The cottage hearth is blazing still : Heaven pity all poor wanderers lone ! Hark to the wind upon the hill ! SONG OF THE VIOLET. A HUMBLE flower long time I pined Upon the solitary plain, And trembled at the angry wind, And shrank before the bitter rain. And oh ! twas in a blessed hour A passing wanderer chanced to see, And, pitying the lonely flower, To stoop and gather me. I fear no more the tempest rude, On dreary heath no more I pine, But left my cheerless solitude, To deck the breast of Caroline. Alas ! our days are brief at best, Nor long, I fear, will mine endure. Though sheltered here upon a breast So gentle and so pure. It draws the fragrance from my leaves, It robs me of my sweetest breath, And every time it falls and heaves, It warns me of my coming death. But one I know would glad forego All joys of life to be as I; An hour to rest on that sweet breast, And then, contented, die. FAIRY DAYS. BESIDE the old hall-fire upon my nurse's knee, Of happy fairy days what tales were told to me ! I thought the world was once all peopled with princesses, And my heart would beat to hear their loves and their dis- tresses ; And many a quiet night, in slumber sweet and deep, The pretty fairy people would visit me in sleep. FAIRY DAYS. 73 I saw them in my dreams come flying east and west, With wondrous fairy gifts the new-born babe they bless'd ; One has brought a jewel and one a crown of gold, And one has brought a curse but she is wrinkled and old. The gentle Queen turns pale to hear those words of sin, But the King he only laughs and bids the dance begin. The babe has grown to be the fairest of the land, And rides the forest green a hawk upon her hand, An ambling palfrey white a golden robe and crown : I've seen her in my dreams riding up and down : And heard the ogre laugh as she fell into his snare, At the little tender creature who wept and tore her hair ! But ever when it seemed her need was at the sorest, A prince in shining mail comes prancing through the forest, A waving ostrich-plume a buckler burnished bright ; I've seen him in my dreams good sooth ! a gallant knight. c 2 74 BALLADS. His lips are coral red beneath a dark moustache ; See how he waves his hand and how his blue eyes flash ! "Come forth, thou Paynim knight!" he shouts in accents clear. The giant and the maid both tremble his voice to hear. Saint Mary guard him well ! he draws his falchion keen, The giant and the knight are fighting on the green. I see them in my dreams his blade gives stroke on stroke, The giant pants and reels and tumbles like an oak ! With what a blushing grace he falls upon his knee And takes the lady's hand and whispers, " You are free ! " Ah ! happy childish tales of knight and faerie ! I waken from my dreams but there's ne'er a knight for me ! I waken from my dreams and wish that I could be A child by the old hall-fire upon mynurse's knee ! POCAHONTAS. WEARIED arm and broken sword Wage in vain the desperate fight : Round him press a countless horde, He is but a single knight. Hark ! a cry of triumph shrill Through the wilderness resounds, As, with twenty bleeding wounds, Sinks the warrior, fighting still. Now they heap the fatal pyre, And the torch of death they light ; Ah ! 'tis hard to die of fire ! Who will shield the captive knight? Round the stake with fiendish cry Wheel and dance the savage crowd, Cold the victim's mien, and proud, And his breast is bared to die. FROM POCAHONTAS. 75 Who will shield the fearless heart? Who avert the murderous blade ? From the throng, with sudden start, See there springs an Indian maid. Quick she stands before the knight : " Loose the chain, unbind the ring ; I am daughter of the King, And I claim the Indian right ! " Dauntlessly aside she flings Lifted axe and thirsty knife ; Fondly to his heart she clings, And her bosom guards his life ! In the woods of Powhattan, Still 'tis told by Indian fires, How a daughter of their sires Saved the captive Englishman. FROM POCAHONTAS. RETURNING from the cruel fight How pale a/id faint appears my knight ! He sees me anxious at his side ; ' ' Why seek, my love, your wounds to hide ? Or deem your English girl afraid To emulate the Indian maid?" Be mine my husband's grief to cheer, In peril to be ever near ; Whate'er of ill or woe betide, To bear it clinging at his side ; The poisoned stroke of fate to ward, His bosom with my own to guard : Ah ! could it spare a pang to his, It could not know a purer bliss ! 'Twould gladden as it felt the smart, And thank the hand that flung the dart ! 7 6 BALLADS. THE LEGEND OF ST. SOPHIA OF KIOFF. AN EPIC POEM, IN TWENTY BOOKS. The Poet describes the city and spel- ling of Kiow, Kioff, or Kiova. A THOUSAND years ago, or more, A city filled with burghers stout, And girt with ramparts round about, Stood on the rocky Dnieper shore. In armour bright, by day and night, The sentries they paced to and fro. Well guarded and walled was this town, and called By different names, I'd have you to know ; For if you looks in the g'ography books, In those dictionaries the name it varies, And they write it off Kieff or Kioff, Kiova or Kiow. Its build- ings, public works, and ordinances, religious and civil. Thus guarded without by wall and redoubt, Kiova within was a place of renown, With more advantages than in those dark ages Were commonly known to belong to a town. There were places and squares, and each year four fairs, And regular aldermen and regular lord mayors ; And streets, and alleys, and a bishop's palace ; And a church with clocks for the orthodox With clocks and with spires, as religion desires ; And beadles to whip the bad little boys Over their poor little corduroys, In service-time, when they didn't make a noise ; And a chapter and dean, and a cathedral-green With ancient trees, underneath whose shades Wandered nice young nursery-maids. Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-ding-a-rkig-ding, The bells they made a merry merry ring From the tall tall steeple ; and all the people (Except the Jews) came and filled the pews THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. Poles, Russians, and Germans, To hear the sermons Which HYACINTH preached to those Germans and Poles For the safety of their souls. A worthy priest he was and a stout You've seldom looked on such a one ; For, though he fasted thrice in a week, Yet nevertheless his skin was sleek ; His waist it spanned two yards about, And he weighed a score of stone. 77 The Poet shows how a certain priest dwelt at Kioff, a godly clergy- man, and one that preached rare good s-ermons. How this of body. A worthy priest for fasting and prayer And mortification most deserving, And as for preaching beyond compare : He'd exert his powers for three or four hours With greater pith than Sydney Smith Or the Reverend Edward Irving. And like author of " Plymley's Letters." He was the Prior of Saint Sophia (A Cockney rhyme, but no better I know) Of Saint Sophia, that Church in Kiovv, Built by missionaries I can't tell when ; Who by their discussions converted the Russians, And made them Christian men. Of what con- vent he was prior, and when the convent was built Sainted Sophia (so the legend vows) With special favour did regard this house ; And to uphold her converts' new devotion Her statue (needing but her legs for her ship) Walks of itself across the German Ocean ; And of a sudden perches In this the best of churches, Whither all Kiovites come and pay it grateful worship. Of Saint Sophia of Kioff; and how her statue mira- culously travelled thither. And how Kioff should have been a happy city ; but that Thus with her patron-saints and pious preachers Recorded here in catalogue precise, A goodly city, worthy magistrates, You would have thought in all the Russian states The citizens the happiest of all creatures, The town itself a perfect Paradise. Certain wicked Co: sacks did besiege it, Murdering the citizens, Until they agreed to pay a tribute yearly. How they paid the tribute, and then sud- denly re- fused it, To the wonder of the Cossack envoy. No, alas ! this well-built city Was in a perpetual fidget ; For the Tartars, without pity. Did remorselessly besiege it. Tartars fierce, with swords and sabres, Huns and Turks, and such as these, Envied much their peaceful neighbours By the blue Borysthenes. Down they came, these ruthless Russians, From their steppes, and woods, and fens, For to levy contributions On the peaceful citizens. Winter, Summer, Spring, and Autumn, Down they came to peaceful Kioff, Killed the burghers when they caught 'em, If their lives they would not buy off. Till the city, quite confounded By the ravages they made, Humbly with their chief compounded, And a yearly tribute paid. Which (because their courage lax was) They discharged while they were able : Tolerated thus the tax was, Till it grew intolerable, And the Calmuc envoy sent, As before to take their dues all, Got, to his astonishment, A unanimous refusal ! THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. 79 " Men of Kioff ! " thus courageous Of a mighty Did the stout Lord Mayor harangue them, gallant " Wherefore pay the sneaking wages To the hectoring Russians ? hang them ! "Hark! I hear the awful cry of That the Our forefathers in their graves ; Lord Mayor '"Fight, ye citizens of Kioff! Kioff was not made for slaves. ' " All too long have ye betrayed her ; Exhorting Rouse, ye men and aldermen, the burghers Send the insolent invader longer." Send him starving back again." He spoke and he sat down ; the people of the town, Of their Who were fired with a brave emulation, thanks and Now rose with one accord, and voted thanks unto the heroic re ~ Lord Mayor for his oration : The envoy they dismissed, never placing in his fist They dismiss So much as a single shilling ; the envoy, And all with courage fired, as his Lordship he desired, Irijfal At once set about their drilling. Then every city ward established a guard, Of the City Diurnal and nocturnal : . S 1 ! 3 . 1 "^ v ' z - Militia volunteers, light dragoons, and bombardiers, di-a'^ons With an alderman for colonel. and bombar- diers, and There was muster and roll-calls, and repairing city walls, their com- And filling up of fosses : manders. And the captains and the majors, so gallant and Of the courageous, majors and A-riding about on their hosses. captains ; To be guarded at all hours they built themselves watch- The fortifi- towers, cations and With every tower a man on ; And surely and secure, each from out his embrasure, Looked down the iron cannon ! 8o BALLADS. Of the con- A battle-song was writ for the theatre, where it f "tors an*? WaS SUn with VaSt en ^ r SY the clergy. And rapturous applause ; and besides, the public cause Was supported by the clergy. The pretty ladies' -maids were pinning of cockades, And tying on of sashes ; And dropping gentle tears, while their lovers bluster'd fierce About gunshot and gashes ; Of the ladies. The ladies took the hint, and all day were scraping lint, As became their softer genders ; And got bandages and beds for the limbs and for the heads Of the city's brave defenders. The men, both young and old, felt resolute and bold, And panted hot for glory ; And, fin- Even the tailors 'gan to brag, and embroidered on their ally of the flag> tay r$ ' " AUT WINCERE AUT MORI." Of the Cos- Seeing the city's resolute condition, sack chief, The Cossack chief, too cunning to despise it, tagem S - ra ~ Said to himself, " Not having ammunition Wherewith to batter the place in proper form, Some of these nights I'll carry it by storm, And sudden escalade it or surprise it. And the bur- " Let's see, however, if the cits stand firmish." ghers'_ sillie pj e ro de U p to the city gates ; for answers, rie> Out rushed an eager troop of the town tlite, And straightway did begin a gallant skirmish : The Cossack hereupon did sound retreat, Leaving the victory with the city lancers. What priso- They took two prisoners and as many horses, ners they And the whole town grew quickly so elate With this small victory of their virgin forces, That they did deem their privates and commanders So many Caesars, Pompeys, Alexanders, Napoleons, or Fredericks the Great. THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. Si And puffing with inordinate conceit And how They utterly despised these Cossack thieves ; conceited And thought the ruffians easier to beat they were ' Than porters carpets think, or ushers boys. Meanwhile, a sly spectator of their joys, The Cossack captain giggled in his sleeves. " Whene'er you meet yon stupid city hogs " Of the Cos- (He bade his troops precise this order keep), j ck chief,- " Don't stand a moment run away, you dogs ! " 'Twas done ; and when they met the town battalions, The Cossacks, as if frightened at their valiance, Turned tail, and bolted like so many sheep. They fled, obedient to their captain's order : And how he And now this bloodless siege a month had lasted, feigned a When, viewing the country round, the city warder etreat. (Who, like a faithful weathercock, did perch Upon the steeple of Saint Sophy's church), Sudden his trumpet took, and a mighty blast he blasted. His voice it might be heard through all the streets The warder (He was a warder wondrous strong in lung), proclayms " Victory, victory ! the foe retreats ! " sacks're- ' ' The foe retreats ! " each cries to each he meets ; treat, and " The foe retreats ! " each in his turn repeats. the c ^ le Gods ! how the guns did roar, and how the joy-bells """ rung ! Arming in haste his gallant city lancers, The Mayor, to learn if true the news might be, A league or two out issued with his prancers. The Cossacks (something had given their courage a damper) Hastened their flight, and 'gan like mad to scamper ; Blessed be all the saints, Kiova town was free 1 XI. Now, puffed with pride, the Mayor grew vain, Fought all his battles o'er again ; And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain. 82 BALLADS. 'Tis true he might amuse himself thus, And not be very murderous ; For as of those who to death were done The number was exactly none, His Lordship, in his soul's elation. Did take a bloodless recreation The manner Going home again, he did ordain ' A V6r y s P lendid cold collation For the magistrates and the corporation ; Likewise a grand illumination For the amusement of the nation. That night the theatres were free, The conduits they ran Malvoisie ; Each house that night did beam with light And sound with mirth and jollity : And its But shame, O shame ! not a soul in the town, impiety. N OW the city was safe arid the Cossacks flown, Ever thought of the bountiful saint by whose care The town had been rid of these terrible Turks- Said ever a prayer to that patroness fair For these her wondrous works ! How the Lord Hyacinth waited, the meekest of priors cintlf waited He waited at church with the rest of his friars ; at church, He went there at noon and he waited till ten, and nobody Expecting in vain the Lord Mayor and his men. ther< He waited and waited from mid-day to dark ; But in vain you might search through the whole of the church, Not a layman, alas ! to the city's disgrace. From mid-day to dark showed his nose in the place. The pew- woman, organist, beadle, and clerk, Kept away from their work, and were dancing like mad Away in the streets with the other mad people, Not thinking to pray, but to guzzle and tipple Wherever the drink might be had. How he went Amidst this din and revelry throughout the city roaring, the'm t bld The silver moon rose silently, and high in heaven soaring ; prayer. Prior Hyacinth was fervently upon his knees adoring : THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. 83 ' ' Towards my precious patroness this conduct sure unfair is ; I cannot think, I must confess, what keeps the dignitaries And our good Mayor away, unless some business them contraries." He puts his long white mantle on, and forth the prior sallies (His pious thoughts were bent upon good deeds and not on malice) : Heavens ! how the banquet lights they shone about the Mayor's palace ! About the hall the scullions ran with meats both fresh How the and potted ; grooms and The pages came with cup and can, all for the guests allotted ; Ah, how they jeered that good fat man as up the stairs he trotted ! He entered in the ante-rooms where sat the Mayor's court in ; He found a pack of drunken grooms a-dicing and a- sporting ; The horrid wine and 'bacco fumes, they set the Prior a-snorting ! The Prior thought he'd speak about their sins before he went hence, And lustily began to shout of sin and of repentance ; The rogues, they kicked the Prior out before he'd done a sentence ! And having got no portion small of buffeting and tussling, And the At last he reached the banquet-hall, where sat the mayor, Mayor a-guzzling, And by his side his lady tall, dressed out in white sprig men, being muslin. tipsie, re- Around the table in a ring the guests were drinking [ c hurch. heavy ; They drank the Church, and drank the King, and the Army and the Navy ; In fact they'd toasted everything. The Prior said, "God save ye ! " The Mayor cried, " Bring a silver cup there's one upon the buffet ; And, Prior, have the venison up it's capital rdchauffl. And so, Sir Priest, you've come to sup? And pray you, how's Saint Sophy ? " The Prior's face quite red was grown with horror and with anger ; He flung the proffered goblet down it made a hideous clangour ; And 'gan a-preaching with a frown he was a fierce haranguer. He tried the Mayor and aldermen they all set up a- jeering : He tried the common-councilmen they too began a- sneering : He turned towards the May'ress then, and hoped to get a hearing. He knelt and seized her dinner-dress, made of the muslin snowy, " To church, to church, my sweet mistress ! " he cried : "the way I'll show ye." Alas, the Lady Mayoress fell back as drunk as Chloe ! Out from this dissolute and drunken Court Went the good Prior, his eyes with weeping dim : He tried the people of a meaner sort They too, alas, were bent upon their sport, And not a single soul would follow him ! But all were swigging schnapps and guzzling beer. He found the cits, their daughters, sons, and spouses, Spending the livelong night in fierce carouses : Alas, unthinking of the danger near ! One or two sentinels the ramparts guarded, The rest were sharing in the general feast ; " God wot, our tipsy town is poorly warded ; Sweet Saint Sophia help us i " cried the priest. THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. Alone he entered the cathedral gate, Careful he locked the mighty oaken door ; Within his company of monks did wait, A dozen poor old pious men no more. Oh, but it grieved the gentle Prior sore, To think of those lost souls, given up to drink and fate ! The mighty outer gate well barred and fast, The poor old friars stirred their poor old bones, And pattering swiftly on the damp cold stones, They through the solitary chancel passed. The chancel walls looked black and dim and vast, And rendered, ghost-like, melancholy tones. Onward the fathers sped, till coming nigh a Small iron gate, the which they entered quick at, They locked and double-locked the inner wicket And stood within the chapel of Sophia. Vain were it to describe this sainted place, Vain to describe that celebrated trophy, The venerable statue of Saint Sophy, Which formed its chiefest ornament and grace. Here the good Prior, his personal griefs and sorrows In his extreme devotion quickly merging, At once began to pray with voice sonorous ; The other friars joined in pious chorus, And passed the night in singing, praying, scourging, In honour of Sophia, that sweet virgin. And shut himself into Saint So- phia's chapel with his brethren. Leaving thus the pious priest in Humble penitence and prayer, And the greedy cits a-feasting, Let us to the walls repair. Walking by the sentry-boxes, Underneath the silver moon, Lo ! the sentry boldly cocks his- Boldly cocks his musketoon. The episode of Sneezoff and Katinka. 86 BALLADS. Sneezoff was his designation. Fair-haired boy, for ever pitied : For to take his cruel station, He but now Katinka quitted. Poor in purse were both, but rich in Tender love's delicious plenties ; She a damsel of the kitchen, He a haberdasher's 'prentice. 'Tinka, maiden tender-hearted, Was dissolved in tearful fits, On that fatal night she parted From her darling fair-haired Fritz. Warm her soldier lad she wrapt in Comforter and muffettee ; Called him "general "and "captain," Though a simple private he. " On your bosom wear this plaster, 'Twill defend you from the cold ; In your pipe smoke this canaster- Smuggled 'tis, my love, and old. " All the night, my love, I'll miss you." Thus she spoke ; and from the door Fair-haired Sneezoff made his issue, To return, alas, no more.. He it is who calmly walks his Walk beneath the silver moon ; He it is who boldly cocks his Detonating musketoon. He the bland canaster puffing, As upon his round he paces, Sudden sees a ragamuffin Clambering swiftly up the glacis. " Who goes there?" exclaims the sentry ; " When the sun has once gone down No one ever makes an entry Into this here fortified town ! " THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. Shouted thus the watchful Sneezoff ; But, ere any one replied, Wretched youth ! he fired his piece off, Started, staggered, groaned, and died ! How the sentrie Snee- zoff was sur- prised and slayn. Ah, full well might the sentinel cry, " Who goes there? " But echo was frightened too much to declare. Who goes there ? who goes there ? Can any one swear To the number of sands sur les bords de la mer, Or the whiskers of D'Orsay count down to a hair ? As well might you tell of the sands the amount, Or number each hair in each curl of the Count, As ever proclaim the number and name Of the hundreds and thousands that up the wall came ! Down, down the knaves poured with fire and with sword ! There were thieves from the Danube and rogues from the Don ; There were Turks and Wallacks, and shouting Cossacks ; Of all nations and regions, and tongues and religions Jew, Christian, idolater, Frank, Mussulman : Ah, a horrible sight was Kioff that night ! The gates were all taken no chance e'en of flight ; And with torch and with axe the bloody Cossacks Went hither and thither a-hunting in packs : They slashed and they slew both Christian and Jew Women and children, they slaughtered them too. Some, saving their throats, plunged into the moats, Or the river but oh, they had burned all the boats ! How the Cossacks rushed in suddenly and took the citie. Of the Cos- sack troops. And of their manner of burning, murdering and rav- ishing. But here let us pause for I can't pursue further This scene of rack, ravishment, ruin, and murther. Too well did the cunning old Cossack succeed ! His plan of attack was successful indeed ! The night was his own the town it was gone ; 'Twas a heap still a-burning of timber and stone. One building alone had escaped from the fires, Saint Sophy's fair church, with its steeples and spires. Calm, stately, and white, It stood in the light ; How they burned the whole citie down save th church, 88 BALLADS. Whereof the And as if 'twould defy all the conqueror's power, bells began As if nought had occurred, Might clearly be heard The chimes ringing soberly every half-hour ! XVI. The city was defunct silence succeeded Unto its last fierce agonising yells ; And then it was the conqueror first heeded The sound of these calm bells. How the Furious towards his aides-de-camp he turns, bodethem And (speaking as if Byron's works he knew) burn the church too. " Villains ! " he fiercely cries, " the city burns, Why not the temple too ? Burn me yon church, and murder all within ! ' The Cossacks thundered at the outer door ; How they and of Hya- And Father Hyacinth, who heard the din, (And thought himself and brethren in distress, Deserted by their lady patroness) Did to her statue turn, and thus his woes outpour. cinth, his anger thereat. His prayer to the Saint Sophia. " And is it thus, O falsest of the saints, Thou hearest our complaints ? Tell me, did ever my attachment falter To serve thy altar? Was not thy name, ere ever I did sleep, The last upon my lip ? Was not thy name the very first that broke From me when I awoke ? Have I not tried with fasting, flogging, penance, And mortified countenance For to find favour, Sophy, in thy sight ? And lo ! this night, Forgetful of my prayers and thine own promise, Thou turnest from us ? Lettest the heathen enter in our city, And, without pity, Murder our burghers, seize upon their spouses, Burn down their houses ! THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. 89 Is such a breach of faith to be endured ? See what a lurid Light from the insolent invader's torches Shines on your porches ! E'en now, with thundering battering-ram and hammer And hideous clamour, With axemen, swordsmen, pikemen, billmen, bowmen, The conquering foemen, O Sophy ! beat your gate about your ears. Alas ! and here's A humble company of pious men, Like muttons in a pen, Whose souls shall quickly from their bodies be thrusted, Because in you they trusted. Do you not know the Calmuc chiefs desires KILL ALL THE FRIARS ! And you, of all the saints most false and fickle, Leave us in this abominable pickle. " " RASH HYACINTHUS ! " The statue (Here, to the astonishment of all her backers, suddenlie Saint Sophy, opening wide her wooden jaws, Like to a pair of German walnut-crackers, Began), " I did not think you had been thus, O monk of little faith ! Is it because A rascal scum of filthy Cossack heathen Besiege our town, that you distrust in me, then? Think'st thou that I, who in a former day Did walk across the Sea of Marmora (Not mentioning, for shortness, other seas), That I, who skimmed the broad Borysthcnes, Without so much as wetting of my toes, Am frightened at a set of men like those ? I have a mind to leave you to your fate : Such cowardice as this my scorn inspires." Saint Sophy was here But is inter- Cut short in her words, ru P l d by For at this very moment in tumbled the gate, in of the And with a wild cheer, Cossacks. And a clashing of swords, 90 BALLADS. Swift through the church porches. With a waving of torches, And a shriek and a yell Like the devils of hell, With pike and with axe In rushed the Cossacks, In rushed the Cossacks, crying " MURDER THE FRIARS ! " Of Hya- Ah ! what a thrill felt Hyacinth, cinth, his When he heard that villainous shout Calmuc ! addrefs US Now, thought he, my trial beginneth ; Saints, O give me courage and pluck ! " Courage, boys, 'tis useless to funk ! " Thus unto the friars he began : " Never let it be said that a monk Is not likewise a gentleman. Though the patron saint of the church, Spite of all that we've done and we've pray'd, Leaves us wickedly here in the lurch, Hang it, gentlemen, who's afraid ? " And pre- As thus the gallant Hyacinthus spoke, paration pj e> w j t h an a ; r ^ easy anc j ^ f ree as If the quick coming murder were a joke, Folded his robes around his sides, and took Place under sainted Sophy's legs of oak, Like Caesar at the statue of Pompeius. The monks no leisure had about to look (Each being absorbed in his particular case), Else had they seen with what celestial grace A wooden smile stole o'er the saint's mahogany face. Saint So- " Well done, well done, Hyacinthus, my son ! " phia, her Thus spoke the sainted statue, " Though you doubted me in the hour of need, And spoke of me very rude indeed, You deserve good luck for showing such pluck, And I won't be angry at you." THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. g] The monks bystanding, one and all, She gets o Of this wondrous scene beholders, l j> e p jj ior s To this kind promise listened content, straddl" And couldn't contain their astonishment, back, When Saint Sophia moved and went Down from her wooden pedestal, And twisted her legs, sure as eggs is eggs, Round Hyacinthus's shoulders ! "Ho! forwards," cries Sophy, "there's no time for And bids waiting, The Cossacks are breaking the very last gate in : See, the glare of their torches shines red through the grating ; We've still the back door, and two minutes or more. Now, boys, now or never, we must make for the river, For we only are safe on the opposite shore. Run swiftly to-day, lads, if ever you ran, Put out your best leg, Hyacinthus, my man ; And I'll lay five to two that you carry us through, Only scamper as fast as you can. " run- Away went the priest through the little back door, And light on his shoulders the image he bore : The honest old priest was not punished the least, Though the image was eight feet, and he measured four. Away went the Prior, and the monks at his tail Went snorting, and puffing, and panting full sail ; And just as the last at the back door had passed, In furious hunt behold at the front The Tartars so fierce, with their terrible cheers ; With axes, and halberts, and muskets, and spears, With torches a-flaming the chapel now came in. They tore up the mass-book, they stamped on the psalter, They pulled the gold crucifix down from the altar ; The vestments they burned with their blasphemous fires, And many cried, "Curse on them! where are the friars?" 92 BALLADS. When loaded with plunder, yet seeking for more. One chanced to fling open the little back door, Spied out the friars' white robes and long shadows In the moon, scampering over the meadows, And stopped the Cossacks in the midst of their arsons, And the Tar- By crying out lustily, " THERE GO THE PARSONS ! " tare after With a whoop and a yell, and a scream and a shout, At once the whole murderous body turned out ; And swift as the hawk pounces down on the pigeon, Pursued the poor short-winded men of religion. How the When the sound of that cheering came to the monks' sweated hearing, O Heaven ! how the poor fellows panted and blew ! At fighting not cunning, unaccustomed to running, When the Tartars came up, what the deuce should they do ? "They'll make us all martyrs, those bloodthirsty Tartars ! " Quoth fat Father Peter to fat Father Hugh. The shouts they came clearer, the foe they dreV nearer ; Oh, how the bolts whistled, and how the lights shone ! " I cannot get further, this running is murther ; Come carry me, some one ! " cried big Father John. And even the statue grew frightened : " Od rat you ! " It cried, " Mr. Prior, I wish you'd get on ! " On tugged the good friar, but nigher and nigher Appeared the fierce Russians, with sword and with fire. On tugged the good prior at Saint Sophy's desire, A scramble through bramble, through mud, and through mire, The swift arrows' whizziness causing a dizziness. Nigh done his business, fit to expire, Father Hyacinth tugged, and the monks they tugged after : The foemen pursued with a horrible laughter, And the pur- And hurl'd their long spears round the poor brethren's suers fixed ears thdrTayls? So true, that next day in the coat of each priest, Though never a wound was given, there were found A dozen arrows at least. THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. 93 Now the chase seemed at its worst, How, at the Prior and monks were fit to burst ; ^ at S as Pi Scarce you knew the which was first, Or pursuers or pursued ; When the statue, by Heaven's grace, Suddenly did change the face Of this interesting race, As a saint, sure, only could. For as the jockey who at Epsom rides, When that his steed is spent and punished sore, Diggeth his heels into the courser's sides, And thereby makes him run one or two furlongs more ; Even thus, betwixt the eighth rib and the ninth, The saint rebuked the Prior, that weary creeper ; Fresh strength into his limbs her kicks imparted, One bound he made as gay as when he started. Yes, with his brethren clinging at his cloak, The statue on his shoulders fit to choke One most tremendous bound made Hyacinth, And soused friars, statue, and all, slapdash into the fluvms. Dnieper ! The friars won, and jumped into Borysthenes And when the Russians, in a fiery rank, Panting and fierce, drew up along the shore ; (For here the vain pursuing they forbore, Nor cared they to surpass the river's bank) ; Then, looking from the rocks and rushes dank, A sight they witnessed never seen before, And which, with its accompaniments glorious, Is writ i' the golden book, or liber aureus. Plump in the Dnieper flounced the friar and friends, They dangling round his neck, he fit to choke, When suddenly his most miraculous cloak Over the billowy waves itself extends, Down from his shoulders quietly descends The venerable Sophy's statue of oak ; Which, sitting down upon the cloak so ample, Bids all the brethren follow its example ! And how the Russians saw The statue get off Hya- cinth his back, and sit down with the friars on Hyacinth his cloak. 94 BALLADS. How in this Each at her bidding sat, and sat at ease ; oat n they f The statue 'S an a gracious conversation, sayled away. And (waving to the foe a salutation) Sail'd with her wondering happy protege's Gaily adown the wide Borysthenes, Until they came unto some friendly nation. And when the heathen had at length grown shy of Their conquest, she one day came back again to Kioff. Finis or the THINK NOT, O READER, THAT WE'RE LAUGHING AT end. YOU ; YOU MAY GO TO KlOFF NOW AND SEE THE STATUE ! TITMARSH'S CARMEN LILLIENSE. LII.LE : Sept. 2, 1843. My heart is weary, my peace is gone, How shall I e'er my -woes rez>eal ? I have no money, I lie in pawn, A stranger in. the town of Lille. WITH twenty pounds but three weeks since From Paris forth did Titmarsh wheel, I thought myself as rich a prince As beggar poor I'm now at Lille. Confiding in my ample means In troth, I was a happy chiel ! I passed the gates of Valenciennes, I never thought to come by Lille. I never thought my twenty pounds Some rascal knave would dare to steal ; I gaily passed the Belgic bounds At QuieVrain, twenty miles from Lille. TITMARSH S CARMEN LILLIENSE. 95 To Antwerp town I hastened post, And as I took my evening meal, I felt my pouch, my purse was lost, Heaven ! Why came I not by Lille ? I straightway called for ink and pen, To grandmamma I made appeal ; Meanwhile a loan of guineas ten 1 borrowed from a friend so leaL I got the cash from grandmamma (Her gentle heart my woes could feel), But where I went, and what I saw, What matters ? Here I am at Lille. My heart is weary, my peace is gone, How shall I e'er my woes reveal ? I have no cash, I lie in pawn, A stranger in the town of Lille. To stealing I can never come, To pawn my watch I'm too genteel : Besides, I left my watch at home- How could I pawn it then at Lille ? " La note," at times the guests will say. I turn as white as cold boil'd veal ; I turn and look another way, / dare not ask the bill at Lille. 1 dare not to the landlord say, " Good sir, I cannot pay your bill ; " He thinks I am a Lord Anglais, And is quite proud I stay at Lille. He thinks I am a Lord Anglais, Like Rothschild or Sir Robert Peel, And so he serves me every day The best of meat and drink in Lille. 96 BALLADS. Yet when he looks me in the face I blush as red as cochineal ; And think, did he but know my case, How changed he'd be, my host of Lille. My heart is weary, my peace is gone, How shall I e'er my woes reveal ? I have no money, I lie in pawn, A stranger in the town of Lille. The sun bursts out in furious blaze, I perspirate from head to heel ; I'd like to hire a one-horse chaise How can I, without cash at Lille ? I pass in sunshine burning hot By cafe's where in beer they deal ; I think how pleasant were a pot, A frothing pot of beer of Lille ! What is yon house with walls so thick, All girt around with guard and grille ? O gracious gods ! it makes me sick, It is the frison-house of Lille ! cursed prison strong and barred, It does my very blood congeal ! 1 tremble as I pass the guard, And quit that ugly part of Lille. The church-door beggar whines and prays, I turn away at his appeal : Ah, church-door beggar ! go thy ways ! You're not the poorest man in Lille. My heart is weary, my peace is gone, How shall I e'er my woes reveal ? I have no money, I lie in pawn, A stranger in the town of Lille. TITMARSH'S CARMEN LILLIENSE. 97 Say, shall I to yon Flemish church, And at a Popish altar kneel ? Oh, do not leave me in the lurch, I'll cry, ye patron saints of Lille ! Ye virgins dressed in satin hoops, Ye martyrs slain for mortal weal. Look kindly down ! before you stoops The miserablest man in Lille. And lo ! as I beheld with awe A pictured saint (I swear 'tis real), It smiled, and turned to grandmamma ! It did ! and I had hope in Lille ! 'Twas five o'clock, and I could eat, Although I could not pay my meal : I hasten back into the street Where lies my inn, the best in Lille. What see I on my table stand, A letter with a well-known seal ? "Tis grandmamma's ! I know her hand, "To Mr. M. A. Titmarsh, Lille." I feel a choking in my throat, I pant and stagger, faint and reel ! It is it is a ten-pound note, And I'm no more in pawn at Lille ! [He goes off, by the diligence that evening, and is restored to the bosom of his happy family.] JEAMES OF BUCKLEY SQUARE. A HF.LIGY. COME all ye gents vot cleans the plate, Come all ye ladies maids so fair Vile I a story vill relate Of cruel Jeames of Buckley Square. 98 BALLADS. A tighter lad, it is confest, Neer valked with powder in his air, Or vore a nosegay in his breast, Than andsum Jeames of Buckley Square. O Evns ! it vas the best of sights, Behind his Master's coach and pair, To see our Jeames in red plush tights, A driving hoff from Buckley Square. He vel became his hagwilletts, He cocked his at with such a hair ; His calves and viskers vas such pets, That hall loved Jeames of Buckley Square. He pleased the hupstairs folks as veil, And o ! I vithered vith despair, Missis vould ring the parler bell, And call up Jeames in Buckley Square. Both beer and sperrits he abhord (Sperrits and beer I can't a bear), You would have thought he vas a lord Down in our All in Buckley Square. Last year he visper'd, ' ' Mary Ann, Ven I've an under'd pound to spare, To take a public is my plan, And leave this hojous Buckley Square. " O how my gentle heart did bound, To think that I his name should bear ! " Dear Jeames," says I, " I've twenty pound,' And gev them him in Buckley Square. Our master vas a City gent, His name's in railroads everywhere, And lord, vot lots of letters vent Betwigst his brokers and Buckley Square : My Jeames it was the letters took, And read them all (I think it's fair), And took a leaf from Master's book, As hothers do in Buckley Square. JEAMES OF BUCKLEY SQUARE. 99 Encouraged with my twenty pound, Of which poor / was unavare, He wrote the Companies all round, And signed hisself from Buckley Square. And how John Porter used to grin, As day by day, share after share, Came railvay letters pouring in, " J. Plush, Esquire, in Buckley Square." Our servants' All was in a rage Scrip, stock, curves, gradients, bull and bear, Vith butler, coachman, groom and page, Vas all the talk in Buckley Square. But O ! imagine vot I felt Last Vensday veek as ever were ; I gits a letter, which I spelt " Miss M. A. Hoggins, Buckley Square. " He sent me back my money true He sent me back my lock of air, And said, " My dear, I bid ajew To Mary Hann and Buckley Square. Think not to marry, foolish Hann, With people who your betters are : James Plush is now a gentleman, And you a cook in Buckley Square. ' ' I've thirty thousand guineas won, In six short months, by genus rare ; You little thought what Jeames was on, Poor Mary Hann, in Buckley Square. I've thirty thousand guineas net, Powder and plush I scorn to vear ; And so, Miss Mary Hann, forget For never Jeames of Buckley Square." LINES UPON MY SISTER'S PORTRAIT. BY THE LORD SOUTHDOWN. THE castle towers of Bareacres are fair upon the lea, Where the cliffs of bonny Diddlesex rise up from out the sea: I stood upon the donjon keep and view'd the country o'er, I saw the lands of Bareacres for fifty miles or more. I stood upon the donjon keep it is a sacred place, Where floated for eight hundred years the banner of my race ; Argent, a dexter sinople, and gules an azure field ; There ne'er was nobler cognisance on knightly warrior's shield. The first time England saw the shield 'twas round a Norman neck, On board a ship from Valery, King William was on deck. A Norman lance the colours wore, in Hastings' fatal fray St. Willibald for Bareacres ! 'twas double gules that day ! O Heaven and sweet Saint Willibald ! in many a battle since A loyal-hearted Bareacres has ridden by his Prince ! At Acre with Plantagenet, with Edward at Poictiers, The pennon of the Bareacres was foremost on the spears ! 'Twas pleasant in the battle-shock to hear our war-cry ringing : O grant me, sweet Saint Willibald, to listen to such singing ! Three hundred steel-clad gentlemen, we drove the foe before us. And thirty score of British bows kept twanging to the chorus ! O knights, my noble ancestors ! and shall I never hear Saint Willibald for Bareacres through battle ringing clear ? I'd cut me off this strong right hand a single hour to ride, And strike a blow for Bareacres, my fathers, at your side ! Dash down, dash down yon mandolin, beloved sister mine ! Those blushing lips may never sing the glories of our line : Our ancient castles echo to the clumsy feet of churls, The spinning-jenny houses in the mansion of our Earls. Sing not, sing not, my Angeline ! in days so base and vile, "Twere sinful to be happy, 'twere sacrilege to smile. I'll hie me to my lonely hall, and by its cheerless hob I'll muse on other days, and wish and wish I were A SNOB. LITTLE BILLEE. IOI LITTLE BILLEE* AIR " II y avail un petit navire." THERE were three sailors of Bristol city Who took a boat and went to sea. But first with beef and captain's biscuits And pickled pork they loaded she. There was gorging Jack and guzzling Jimmy, And the youngest he was little Billee. Now when they got as far as the Equator They'd nothing left but one split pea. Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy, " I am extremely hungaree." To gorging Jack says guzzling Jimmy, " We've nothing left, us must eat we." Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy, " With one another we shouldn't agree ! There's little Bill, he's young and tender, We're old and tough, so let's eat he." " Oh ! Billy, we're going to kill and eat you, So undo the button of your chemie." When Bill received this information He used his pocket handkerchie. " First let me say my catechism, Which my poor mammy taught to me." " Make haste, make haste," says guzzling Jimmy, While Jack pulled out his snickersnee. So Billy went up to the main-top gallant mast, And down he fell on his bended knee. He scarce had come to the twelfth commandment When up he jumps. "There's land I see : * As different versions of this popular song have been set to mu ic and sung, no apology is needed for the insertion in these pages of what is considered to be the correct version. BALLADS. " Jerasalem and Madagascar, And North and South Amerikee : There's the British flag a-riding at anchor, With Admiral Napier, K.C.B." So when they got aboard of the Admiral's He hanged fat Jack and flogged Jimmee : But as for little Bill he made him The Captain of a Seventy-three. THE FLYING DUKE. ' ' SAY, whose can yonder chariot be, That thunders on so fast ; And who was he that sat within ? I marked him as he past." " 'Twas Arthur, Duke of Wellington, Who in that chariot sat, All in his martial cloak, and in His proudly-plumed cocked-hat. " " Not Arthur, Duke of Wellington, That poster fierce could be, Nor yet a living nobleman : Some Demon Duke is he." " Twas he to Folkestone he is bound, To town by rail to wend ; Wherefrom to Windsor he must hie, A Council to attend." With whizz and whistle, snort and puff, The Duke is borne to town, Nor stops until near London Bridge The train hath set him down. There waits a Brougham on Wellington To Apsley House he flies, Whereat a messenger in red Doth meet his Grace's eyes. THE FLYING DUKE. 1 How now, thou scarlet messenger ; Thy tidings briefly tell." ' The Queen invites your Grace to dine To-morrow." ' ' Very well. " To Paddington by cab, to Slough By steam away, away ! To Windsor, thence, he goes by fly ; But there he must not stay For that his Grace at Walmer hath A tryst this night to keep ; And he hath warned his serving-men He shall be back to sleep. 104 BALLADS. The Council's o'er ; back posts his Grace, As fast as fast might be. Hurrah ! hurrah ! well speeds the Duke He'll be in time for tea The morrow comes ; again away The noble Duke is gone To. Folkestone, and to London Bridge, And thence to Paddington. "Away, away to Paddington, As fast as ye can drive ; 'Twixt eight and nine the Queen doth dine : Be there by half-past five." Fast have they fled, right fleetly sped, And Paddington is won. "'How, office-swain, about the train?" " 'Tis just this instant gone." "Your Grace, we just have missed the train, It grieveth me to say." " To Apsley House ! " then cried the Duke, " As quickly as you may." The loud halloo of " Go it, you ! " Beneath the gas-light's glare, O'er wood and stone they rattle on, As fast as they can tear. On, on they went, with hue and cry, Until the Duke got home, The axle-trees on fire well nigh, The horses in a foam. Out stepp'd the Duke, serene and cool, And calmly went upstairs, And donn'd the dress, the which, at Court, He generally wears. THE FLYING DUKE. l "Windsor I may not reach in time To make my toilet there ; So thus the hour I will employ, Which I, perforce, must spare. " What is't o'clock?" " Your Grace, near seven. " Then bear me hence again ; And mark me this time take good care You do not miss the train. " Off, off again, the coachman drives, With fury fierce and fell, 'Mid whoop and shout from rabble rout, And oath, and scream, and yell. 106 BALLADS. To right and left a way they cleft Amid the bustling throng ; While, meteor-like, the carriage-lamps Flash'd as they flew along. Hurrah ! Hurrah ! the station's nigh. ' ' What ho, there ! Shout amain ! Here comes the Duke, he's going down ; Give word to stop the train." The engineer and stoker hear ; Duke Arthur takes his place ; Behold him now, on way to Slough, Borne at a whirlwind's pace. "At Slough who stops ?" His Grace out pops, His ticket is resigned. " To Windsor haste, like felon chased, Or I shall be behind." Off bounds the hack, while, far aback, The night-hawk plies his wing ; The race is run, the Castle's won, " Come, this is just the thing." At half-past eight, for Queens don't wait, The noble guests appear In banquet-hall ; and of them all The Duke brings up the rear. MORAL. " 'Tis money," as the proverb says, " That makes the mare to go." The Duke has cash to cut a dash ; Would we could all do so ! MR. SMITH AXD MOSES. IO7 MR. SMITH AND MOSES. A VETERAN gent, just stepped out of a boat, In a tattered old hat and a ragged pea-coat, Appeared at a shop whither many folks run, And that was the Palace of Moses and Son. A respectable dame with the mariner went, Most likely the wife of this veteran gent, And the eyes of the pair were excited with won- der on seeing the mansion of Moses and Son. " I've look'd upon many a palace before, But splendour like this, love, I never yet sor ! " This party exclaimed. ' ' What a great sum of mon- ey it sure must have cost Messrs. Moses and Son ! " In the language of France his good lady replied, " This house is well known through the universe wide ; And you, my dear Philip, to seed having run, Had better refit with E. Moses and Son." E. Moses stepped forth with a bow full of grace, Inviting the couple to enter his place : He thought they were poor but the poor are not done, And the rich are not fleeced by E. Moses and Son. "What clothes can I serve you to-day, my good man? " E. Moses exclaimed : " You shall pay what you can ; The peer or the peasant, we suit every one ; Republicans true are E. Moses and Son." The pea-coated gent at that word made a start, And looked nervously round at the goods of our mart : "A vest, coat, and trousers, as soon as they're done, I want, s'ilvous plait, Messieurs Moses and Spn. " I once was a king, like the monarch of Room, But was forced from my throne and came off in a Br m; And in such a great hurry from P-r-s I run, I forgot my portmanteau, dear Moses and Son." 108 BALLADS. " Dear sir," we exclaimed, "what a lucky escape ! " So one brought the patterns, another the tape ; And while with our patterns his " peepers " we stun, The gent is quick measured by Moses and Son. The clothes when complete we direct in a hurry " Smith, Esquire, at Prince Leopold's, Claremont, in Surrey. The cloth was first-rate, and the fit such a one As only is furnished by Moses and Son. As he paces the valley or roams in the grove, All cry, " What a very respectable cove ! " How changed in appearance from him who late run From Paris to refuge with Moses and Son. Now who was this " veteran gent," sirs, E. Moses, Although he may " guess," yet he never discloses. Do you wish to know more, gents ? if you do, why then run To Aldgate and ask of E. Moses and Son. THE FRODDYLENT BUTLER. MR. PUNCH, SIR, The abuv is the below ritten Pome, on a subjec of grate delicasy, wich as a butler, I feel it a disgrase to the cloth that any man calling hisself a butler, should go for to git wind on false pretences, and such wind (as reported in the papers of Tuesday last), from Richmond ; and in justice to self and feller servants have expressed my feelins in potry, wich as you ave prevously admitted to your entertainin columns pomes by a futman (and also a pleaceman), I think you ave a right to find a plaice for a pome by a butler, wich I beg to subscribe myself your constant reder, JOHN CORKS. 14 Lushington. Place West, BeZgravy. IT'S all of one John George Montresor, And Briggs, Esquire, his master kind ; This retch, all for his privat plesure, Did froddylently order wind. THE FRODDYLENT BUTLER. 109 To Mister Ellis, Richmond, Surrey, Where Briggs, Esquire, he did reside, This wicked John druv in a urry, On June the fust and tenth beside. And then, this mene and shabby feller To Mister Ellis did remark, Briggs ad gone out and took the cellar Kee away across the Park ; And cumpny comeng on a suddent, Ad stayed to dine with Missis B., Whereby in course the butler cooden't Get out the wind without the kee. So Missis B. she would be werry Much obliged if e'd send in Arf a dozen best brown sherry, And single bottel 'Ollans gin. But this was nothink but a story as This wicked butler went and told, Whereby for nothink to get glorious, Wich so he did, and grew more bold. Until, at last grown more audashus, He goes and orders, wat d'ye think ? He goes and orders, goodness grashus, Marsaly, wind no gent can drink. It wasn't for his private drinkin For that he'd Briggses wine enuff But, wen the sherry bins was sinkin He filled 'em with this nasty stough. And Briggs, Esquire, at is own tabel (To rite such things my art offends) Might ave to drink, if he was abul, Marsaly wind, hisself and frends ! But praps John ne'er to tabel brort it, And used it in the negus line ; Or praps the raskal, when he bort it, Knew Briggs was not a judge of wind. IIO BALLADS. At all ewents, all thro' the seson This villin plaid these orrid games. For butlers to commit such treson, I'm sure it is the wust of shames. But masters, tho soft, has there senses, And roges, tho sharp, are cotcht at last ; So Briggs, Esquire, at last commenses To find his wind goes werry fast. Once, when the famly gev a party, Shampain, in course, the bankwet crown'd ; And Briggs, Esquire, so kind and arty, He ordered John to and it round. No wind in general's drunk more quicker, But now his glass no gent would drane ; When Briggs, on tastin, found the licker Was British arf-a-crown Shampain ! That they'd not drink it was no wunder, A dredful look did Briggs assoom, And ordered, with a voice of thunder, The retched butler from the room. Then, rushin edlong to the cellar, Regardless if he broke is shins, He found wot tricks the wicked feller Had been a playin with the binns. Of all his prime old sherry, raelly There wasent none to speke of there, And Mr. Ellis's Marsaly Was in the place the sherry were. Soon after that the wicked feller's Crimes was diskivered clear and clene, By the small akount of Mr. Ellis, For lickers, twenty pound fifteen. And, not content with thus embezzlin His master's wind, the skoundrel had The Richmond tradesmen all been chizzlin, An' a doin' every think that's bad. THE IDLER. Whereby on Toosday, Janwry thirty, As is reported in the Times, He wor ad up for his conduc dirty And dooly punished for his crimes. So masters, who from such base fellers Would keep your wind upon your shelves, This int accept If you ave cellars, Always to mind the kee yourselves. THE IDLER. WITH the London hubbub Over-tired and pestered, I sought out a subbub Where I lay sequestered, Where I lay for three days, From Saturday till Monday, And (per face aut neface) Made the most of Sunday ; Burning of a cAeeroot When I'd had a skinful, Squatting on a tree root, Doubting if 'twas sinful ; As the bells of Kingston Made a pretty clangour, I (forgiving heathen) Heard them not in anger : Heard and rather fancied Their reverberations, As I sat entranced With my meditations. From my Maker's praises Easily I wandered, To pull up His daisies, As I sat and pondered. BALLADS. As I pull'd His daisies Into little pieces, Much I thought of life And how small its ease is : Much I blamed the world For its worldly vanity, As my smoke upcurl'd, Type of its inanity. By world I meant the Town, Mayfair, and its high doings ; Or rather my own set, Its chatterings and cooings ; So I view'd the strife And the sport of London, Doubting if its life Were overdone or undone. Be it slow or rapid, If it wakes or slumbers, Anyhow it's vapid Moonshine from cucumbers. Man is useless too, Be he saint or satyr ; Nothing's new or true, And it doesn't matter. May not I and Jeames Be compared together, I in inking reams, He in blacking leather? Snob and swell are peers ; Snuffer, chewer, whiffer, In a hundred years Wherein shall we differ? Counting on to-morrow's ' ' Oirish. " Whither tendeth He who simply borrows, He who simpler lendeth ; THE END OF THE PLAY. 113 If we give or take, Where remains the profit ? Sold or wide awake, All will go to Tophet. To Tophet shady club Where no one need propose ye, Where Hamlet hints " the rub " Is not select or cosy. In that mixed vulgar place, It doesn't matter who pays, There's no more " Bouillabaisse " And no more fetits soupers. Why then seek to vie With Solomons or Sidneys ? Why care for Strasbourg pie, For punch or devilled kidneys ? Why write " Yellow Plush?" Why should we not wear it ? Wherefore should we blush? Rather grin and bear it. These uprooted daisies Speak of useless trouble ; Cheroots that burn like blazes Show that life's a bubble. Thus musing on our lot, A fogeyfied old sinner, I'm glad to say I got An appetite for dinner. THE END OF THE PLAY. THE play is done ; the curtain drops, Slow falling to the prompter's bell : A moment yet the actor stops, And looks around, to say farewell 114 BALLADS. It is an irksome word and task ; And, when he's laughed and said his say, He shows, as he removes the mask, A face that's anything but gay. One word, ere yet the evening ends, Let's close it with a parting rhyme, And pledge a hand to all young friends, As fits the merry Christmas time.* On life's wide scene you, too, have parts, That Fate ere long shall bid you play : Good night ! with honest gentle hearts A kindly greeting go alway ! Good night ! I'd say, the griefs, the joys, Just hinted in this mimic page, The triumphs and defeats of boys, Are but repeated in our age. I'd say, your woes were not less keen, Your hopes more vain, than those of men ; Your pangs or pleasures of fifteen At forty-five played o'er again. I'd say, we suffer and we strive, Not less nor more as men than boys ; With grizzled beards at forty-five, As erst at twelve in corduroys. And if, in time of sacred youth, We learned at home to love and pray, Pray Heaven that early Love and Truth May never wholly pass away. And in the world, as in the school, I'd say, how fate may change and shift ; The prize be sometimes with the fool, The race not always to the swift. The strong may yield, the good may fall, The great man be a vulgar clown, The knave be lifted over all, The kind cast pitilessly down. * These verses were printed at the end of a Christmas book (1848-9), " Dr. Birch and his Young Friends." THE END OF THE PLAY. Who knows the inscrutable design ? Blessed be He who took and gave ! Why should your mother, Charles, not mine, Be weeping at her darling's grave ? * We bow to Heaven that will'd it so, That darkly rules the fate of all, That sends the respite or the blow, That's free to give, or to recall. This crowns his feast with wine and wit : Who brought him to that mirth and state ? His betters, see, below him sit, Or hunger hopeless at the gate. Who bade the mud from Dives' wheel To spurn the rags of Lazarus ? Come, brother, in that dust we'll kneel, Confessing Heaven that ruled it thus. So each shall mourn, in life's advance, Dear hopes, dear friends, untimely killed ; Shall grieve for many a forfeit chance, And longing passion unfulfilled. Amen ! whatever fate be sent, Pray God the heart may kindly glow, Although the head with cares be bent, And whitened with the winter snow. Come wealth or want, come good or ill, Let young and old accept their part, And bow before the Awful Will, And bear it with an honest heart, Who misses or who wins the prize. Go, lose or conquer as you can ; But if you fail, or if you rise, Be each, pray God, a gentleman. A gentleman, or old or young ! (Bear kindly with my humble lays) ; The sacred chorus first was sung Upon the first of Christmas days : * C. B., ob. 29th November, 1848, set. 42. 11 6 BALLADS. The shepherds heard it overhead The joyful angels raised it then : Glory to Heaven on high, it said, And peace on earth to gentle men. My song, save this, is little worth ; I lay the weary pen aside, And wish you health, and love, and mirth, As fits the solemn Christmas-tide. As fits the holy Christmas birth, Be this, good friends^ oar carol still Be peace on earth, be peace on earth, To men of gentle will. V ANITAS VANITATUM. How spake of old the Royal Seer ! (His text is one I love to treat on.) This life of ours, he said, is sheer Mataiotes Mataioteton. O Student of this gilded Book, Declare, while musing on its pages, If truer words were ever spoke By ancient or by modern sages? The various authors' names but note,* French, Spanish, English, Russians, Germans : And in the volume polyglot, Sure you may read a hundred sermons ! What histories of life are here, More wild than all romancers' stories ; What wondrous transformations queer, What homilies on human glories ! * Between a page by Jules Janin, and a poem by the Turkish Am- bassador, in Madame de R 's album, containing the autographs of kings, princes, poets, marshals, musicians, diplomatists, statesmen, artists, and men of letters of all nations. VANITAS VANITATUM. II 7 What theme for sorrow or for scorn ! What chronicle of Fate's surprises Of adverse fortune nobly borne, Of chances, changes, ruins, rises ! Of thrones upset, and sceptres broke, How strange a record here is written ! Of honours, dealt as if in joke ; Of brave desert unkindly smitten. How low men were, and how they rise ! How high they were, and how they tumble ! vanity of vanities ! laughable, pathetic jumble ! Here between honest Janin's joke And his Turk Excellency's firman, 1 write my name upon the book : 1 write my name and end my sermon. O Vanity of vanities ! How wayward the decrees of Fate are ; How very weak the very wise, How very small the very great are ! What mean these stale moralities, Sir Preacher, from your desk you mumble ? Why rail against the great and wise, And tire us with your ceaseless grumble ? Pray choose us out another text, O man morose and narrow-minded ! Come turn the page I read the next, And then the next, and still I find it. Read here how Wealth aside was thrust, And Folly set in place exalted ; How Princes footed in the dust, While lacqueys in the saddle vaulted. Il8 BALLADS. Though thrice a thousand years are past Since David's son, the sad and splendid, The weary King Ecclesiast, Upon his awful tablets penned it, Methinks the text is never stale, And life is every day renewing Fresh comments on the old old tale Of Folly, Fortune, Glory, Ruin. Hark to the Preacher, preaching still ; He lifts his voice and cries his sermon, Here at St. Peter's on Cornhill, As yonder on the Mount of Hermon : For you and me to heart to take (O dear beloved brother readers) To-day as when the good King spake Beneath the solemn Syrian cedars. LOVE-SONGS MADE EASY. LOVE-SONGS MADE EASY. WHAT MAKES MY HEART TO THRILL AND GLOW. THE MAYFAIR LOVE-SONG. WINTER and summer, night and morn, I languish at this table dark ; My office window has a corn- er looks into St. James's Park. I hear the foot-guards' bugle horn, Their tramp upon parade I mark ; I am a gentleman forlorn, I am a Foreign-Office Clerk. My toils, my pleasures, every one, I find are stale, and dull, and slow ; And yesterday, when work was done, I felt myself so sad and low, I could have seized a sentry's gun My wearied brains out out to blow. What is it makes my blood to run ? What makes my heart to beat and glow ? My notes of hand are burnt, perhaps ? Some one has paid my tailor's bill ? No : every morn the tailor raps ; My I O U's are extant still. I still am prey of debt and dun ; My elder brother's stout and well. What is it makes my blood to run ? What makes my heart to glow and swell ? LOVE-SONGS MADE EASY. I know my chief's distrust and hate ; He says I'm lazy, and I shirk. Ah ! had I genius like the late Right Honourable Edmund Burke ! My chance of all promotion's gone, I know it is, he hates me so, What is it makes my blood to run, And all my heart to swell and glow ? Why, why is all so bright and gay ? There is no change, there is no cause ; My office-time I found to-day Disgusting as it ever was. At three, I went and tried the Clubs, And yawned and saunter' d to and fro ; And now my heart jumps up and throbs, And all my soul is in a glow. At half-past four I had the cab ; I drove as hard as I could go. The London sky was dirty drab, And dirty brown the London snow. THE GHAZUL, OR ORIENTAL LOVE-SONG. 123 And as I rattled in a cant- er down by dear old Bolton Row, A something made my heart to pant, And caused my cheek to flush and glow. What could it be that made me find Old Jawkins pleasant at the Club? Why was it that I laughed and grinned At whist, although I lost the rub ? What was it made me drrnk like mad Thirteen small glasses of Cura9ao ? That made my inmost heart so glad, And every fibre thrill and glow ? She's home again ! she's home, she's home ! Away all cares and griefs and pain ; I knew she would she's back from Rome ; She's home again ! she's home again ! " The family's gone abroad," they said, September last they told me so ; Since then my lonely heart is dead, My blood, I think's forgot to flow. She's home again ! away all care ! O fairest form the world can show ! O beaming eyes ! O golden hair ! O tender voice, that breathes so low ! O gentlest, softest, purest heart ! O joy, O hope ! ' ' My tiger, ho ! " Fitz-Clarence said ; we saw him start He galloped down to Bolton Row. THE GHAZUL, OR ORIENTAL LOVE-SONG. THE ROCKS. I WAS a timid little antelope ; My home was in the rocks, the lonely rocks. I saw the hunters scouring on the plain ; I lived among the rocks, the lonely rocks. 124 LOVE-SONGS MADE EASY. I was a-thirsty in the summer-heat ; I ventured to the tents beneath the rocks. Zuleikah brought me water from the well ; Since then I have been faithless to the rocks. I saw her face reflected in the well ; Her camels since have marched into the rocks. I look to see her image in the well ; I only see my eyes, my own sad eyes. My mother is alone among the rocks. THE MERRY BARD. ZULEIKAH ! The young Agas in the bazaar are slim-waisted and wear yellow slippers. I am old and hideous. One of my eyes is out, and the hairs of my beard are mostly grey. Praise be to Allah ! I am a merry bard. There is a bird upon the terrace of the Emir's chief wife. Praise be to Allah ! He has emeralds on his neck, and a ruby tail. I am a merry bard. He deafens me with his diabolical screaming. THE CA'iCLUE. 12 5 There is a little brown bird in the basket-maker's cage. Praise be to Allah ! He ravishes my soul in the moonlight. I am a merry bard. The peacock is an Aga, but the little bird is a BulbuL I am a little brown Bulbul. Come and listen in the moon- light. Praise be to Allah ! I am a merry bard. THE CAIQUE. YONDER to the kiosk, beside the creek, Paddle the swift cai'que. Thou brawny oarsman with the sunburnt cheek, Quick ! for it soothes my heart to hear the Bulbul speak. Ferry me quickly to the Asian shores, Swift bending to your oars. Beneath the melancholy sycamores, Hark ! what a ravishing note the love-lorn Bulbul pours ! Behold, the boughs seem quivering with delight, The stars themselves more bright, As mid the waving branches out of sight The Lover of the Rose sits singing through the night Under the boughs I sat and listened still, I could not have my fill. " How comes," I said, " such music to his bill? Tell me for whom he sings so beautiful a thrill." "Once I was dumb," then did the Bird disclose, " But looked upon the Rose ; And in the garden where the loved one grows, I straightway did begin sweet music to compose." " O bird of song, there's one in this cai'que The Rose would also seek ; So he might learn like you to love and speak." Then answered me the bird of dusky beak, ' ' The Rose, the Rose of Love blushes on Leilah's cheek. 126 LOVE-SOXGS MADE EASY. MY NORA. BENEATH the gold acacia buds My gentle Nora sits and broods, Far, far away in Boston woods, My gentle Nora ! I see the tear-drop in her e'e, Her bosom's heaving tenderly ; I know I know she thinks of me, My 'darling Nora ! And where am I ? My love, whilst thou Sitt'st sad beneath the acacia bough, Where pearl's on neck, and wreath on brow, I stand, my Nora ! Mid carcanet and coronet, Where joy-lamps shine and flowers are set Where England's chivalry are met, Behold me, Nora ! In this strange scene of revelry, Amidst this gorgeous chivalry, A form I saw was like to thee, My love, my Nora ! She paused amidst her converse glad ; The lady saw that I was sad, She pitied the poor lonely lad, Dost love her, Nora ? In sooth, she is a lovely dame, A lip of red, and eye of flame, And clustering golden locks, the same, As thine, dear Nora ! TO MARY. 127 Her glance is softer than the dawn's, Her foot is lighter than the fawn's, Her breast is whiter than the swan's, Or thine, my Nora ! Oh, gentle breast to pity me ! Oh, lovely La dye Emily ! Till death till death I'll think of thee Of thee and Nora ! TO MARY. I SEEM, in the midst of the crowd, The lightest of all ; My laughter rings cheery and loud In banquet and ball. My lip hath its smiles and its sneers, For all men to see ; But my soul, and my truth, and my tears, Are for thee, are for thee ! Around me they flatter and fawn The young and the old, The fairest are ready to pawn Their hearts for my gold. They sue me I laugh as I spurn The slaves at my knee ; But in faith and in fondness I turn Unto thee, unto thee ! SERENADE. Now the toils of day are over, And the sun hath sunk to rest, Seeking, like a fiery lover, The bosom of the blushing West 128 LOVE-SONGS MADE EASY. The faithful night keeps watch and ward. Raising the moon her silver shield, And summoning the stars to guard The slumbers of my fair Mathilde ! The faithful night ! Now all things lie Hid by her mantle dark and dim, In pious hope I hither hie, And humbly chant mine evening hymn. Thou art my prayer, my saint, my shrine t (For never holy pilgrim kneel'd Or wept at feet more pure than thine), My virgin love,' my sweet Mathilde I FIVE GERMAN DITTIES. FIVE GERMAN DITTIES. A TRAGIC STORY. BY ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO. " 's war Einer, dem's zu Herzen gieng. " THERE lived a sage in days of yore, And he a handsome pigtail wore ; But wondered much and sorrowed more Because it hung behind him. He mused upon this curious case, And swore he'd change the pigtail's place, And have it hanging at his face, Not dangling there behind him. Says he, " The mystery I've found, I'll turn me round," he turned him round ; But still it hung behind him. Then round, and round, and out and in, All day the puzzled sage did spin ; In vain it mattered not a pin, The pigtail hung behind him. And right, and left, and round about, And up and down, and in, and out, He turned ; but still the pigtail stout Hung steadily behind him. 132 FIVE GERMAN DITTIES. And though his efforts never slack, And though he twist, and twirl, and tack, Alas ! still faithful to his back The pigtail hangs behind him, THE CHAPLET. FROM UHLAND. "Es pfluckte Blumlein mannigfalt." A LITTLE girl through field and wood Went plucking flowerets here and there, When suddenly beside her stood A lady wondrous fair. The lovely lady smiled, and laid A wreath upon the maiden's brow : " Wear it ; 'twill blossom soon," she said, "Although 'tis leafless now." The little maiden older grew And wandered forth of moonlight eves, And sighed and loved as maids will do ; When, lo ! her wreath bore leaves. Then was our maid a wife, and hung Upon a joyful bridegroom's bosom ; When from the garland's leaves there sprung Fair store of blossom. And presently a baby fair Upon her gentle breast she reared ; When midst the wreath that bound her hair Rich golden fruit appeared. But when her love lay cold in death, Sunk in the black and silent tomb, All sere and withered was the wreath That wont so bright to bloom. THE KING ON THE TOWER. 133 Yet still the withered wreath she wore ; She wore it at her dying hour ; When, lo ! the wondrous garland bore Both leaf, and fruit, and flower ! THE KING ON THE TOWER. FROM UHLAXD. "Da liegen sie alle, die grauen Hohen. THE cold grey hills they bind me around, The darksome valleys lie sleeping below, But the winds, as they pass o'er all this ground Bring me never a sound of woe. Oh ! for all I have suffered and striven, Care has embittered my cup and my feast ; But here is the night and the dark blue heaven, And my soul shall be at rest. O golden legends writ in the skies ! I turn towards you with longing soul, And list to the awful harmonies Of the Spheres as on they roll. My hair is grey and my sight nigh gone ; My sword it rusteth upon the wall ; Right have I spoken, and right have I done ; When shall I rest me once for all ? O blessed rest ! O royal night ! Wherefore seemeth the time so long Till I see yon stars in their fullest light, And list to their loudest song ? 134 FIVE GERMAN DITTIES. TO A VERY OLD WOMAN. LA MOTTE FOUQU&. "Und Du gingst einst, die Myrt' im Haare.' AND thou wert once a maiden fair, A blushing virgin warm and young : With myrtles wreathed in golden hair, And glossy brow that knew no care Upon a bridegroom's arm you hung. The golden locks are silvered now, The blushing cheek is pale and wan ; The spring may bloom, the autumn glow, All's one in chimney corner thou Sitt'st shivering on. A moment and thou sink'st to rest ! To wake perhaps an angel blest In the bright presence of thy Lord. Oh, weary is life's path to all ! Hard is the strife, and light the fall, But wondrous the reward ! A CREDO. FOR the sole edification Of this decent congregation, Goodly people, by your grant I will sing a holy chant I will sing a holy chant. If the ditty sound but oddly, 'Twas a father, wise and godly, Sang it so long ago- Then sing as Martin Luther sang, As Doctor Martin Luther sang : " Who loves not wine, woman, and song, He is a fool his whole life long ! " I3S He, by custom patriarchal, Loved to see the beaker sparkle ; And he thought the wine improved, Tasted by the lips he loved By the kindly lips he loved. Friends, I wish this custom pious Duly were observed by us, To combine love, song, wine, And sing as Martin Luther sang, As Doctor Martin Luther sang : "Who loves not wine, woman, and song, He is a fool his whole life long ! " Who refuses this our Credo, And who will not sing as we do, Were he holy as John Knox, I'd pronounce him heterodox, I'd pronounce him heterodox, And from out this congregation, With a solemn commination. Banish quick the heretic, Who will not sing as Luther sang, As Doctor Martin Luther sang ; " Who loves not wine, woman, and song, He is a fool his whole life long ! " FOUR IMITATIONS OF BERANGER. FOUR IMITATIONS OF B^RANGER. LB ROI D'YVETOT. T L e"tait un roi d'Yvetot, J- Peu connu dans 1'histoire, Se levant tard, se couchant tot, Dormant fort bien sans gloire, Et couronne' par Jeanneton D'un simple bonnet de coton. Dit-on. Oh ! oh ! oh ! oh ! ah ! ah ! ah ! ah ! Quel bon petit roi c'6tait la ! La, la. II fesait ses quatre repas Dans son palais de chaume, Et sur un ane, pas a pas, Parcourait son royaume. Joyeux, simple, et croyant le bien, Pour toute garde il n'avait rien Qu'un chien. Oh ! oh ! oh ! oh ! ah ! ah ! ah ! ah ! &c. II n'avait de gout ondreux Qu'une soif un peu vive ; Mais, en rendant son peuple heureux, II faut bien qu'un roi vive ; 140 FOUR IMITATIONS OF STRANGER. Lui-meme a table, et sans supp6t, Sur chaque muid levait un pot D'impot. Oh ! oh ! oh ! oh ! ah ! ah ! ah ! ah ! &c. Aux filles de bonnes maisons Comme il avait su plaire, Ses sujets avaient cent raisons De le nommer leur pere : D'ailleurs il ne levait de ban Que pour tirer quatre fois 1'an Au blanc. Oh ! oh ! oh ! oh ! ah ! ah ! ah ! ah ! &c. II n'agrandit point ses e'tats, Fut un voisin commode, Et, modele des potentats, Prit le plaisir pour code. Ce n'est que lorsqu'il expira, Que le peuple qui 1'enterra Pleura. Oh ! oh ! oh ! oh ! ah ! ah ! ah ! ah ! &c. On conserve encor le portrait De ce digne et bon prince ; C'est 1'enseigne d'un cabaret Fameux dans la province. Les jours de f6te, bien souvent, La foule s'e'crie en buvant Devant : Oh ! oh ! oh ! oh ! ah ! ah ! ah ! ah ! &c. THE KING OF YVETQT. THERE was a king of Yvetot, Of whom renown hath little said, Who let all thoughts of glory go, And dawdled half his days abed ; THE KING OF YVETOT. And every night, as night came round, By Jenny with a nightcap crowned, Slept very sound : Sing ho, ho, ho ! and he, he, he ! That's the kind of king for me. , And every day it came to pass, That four lusty meals made he ; And, step by step, upon an ass, Rode abroad, his realms to see ; And wherever he did stir, What think you was his escort, sir ? Why, an old cur. Sing ho, ho, ho ! &c. If e'er he went into excess, "Twas from a somewhat lively thirst ; But he who would his subjects bless, Odd's fish ! must wet his whistle first ; 142 FOUR IMITATIONS OF BER ANGER. And so from every cask they get, Our king did to himself allot At least a pot. ! Sing ho, ho ! &c. To all the ladies of the land, A courteous king, and kind, was he The reason why, you'll understand, They named him Pater Patriae. Each year he called his fighting men, And marched a league from home, and then Marched back again. Sing ho, ho ! &c. Neither by force nor false pretence, He sought to make his kingdom great, And made (O princes, learn from hence) " Live and let live," his rule of state. 'Twas only when he came to die, That his people who stood by, Were known to cry. Sing ho, ho ! &c. The portrait of this best of kings Is extant still, upon a sign That on a village tavern swings, Famed in the country for good wine. The people in their Sunday trim, Filling their glasses to the brim, Look up to him, Singing ha, ha, ha ! and he, he, he ! That's the sort of king for me. THE KING OF BRENTFORD. ANOTHER VERSION. THERE was a king in Brentford, of whom no legends tell, But who, without his glory, could eat and sleep right well. His Polly's cotton nightcap, it was his crown of state, He slept of evenings early, and rose of mornings late. LE GRENIER. 145 All in a fine mud palace, each day he took four meals, And for a guard of honour a dog ran at his heels, Sometimes, to view his kingdoms rode forth this monarch good, And then a prancing jackass he royally bestrode. There were no costly habits with which this king was curst, Except (and where's the harm on't ?) a somewhat lively thirst ; But people must pay taxes, and kings must have their sport, So out of every gallon His Grace he took a quart. He pleased the ladies round him, with manners soft and bland ; With reason good, they named him the father of his land. Each year his mighty armies marched forth in gallant show ; Their enemies were targets, their bullets they were tow. He vexed no quiet neighbour, no useless conquest made, But by the laws of pleasure his peaceful realm he swayed. And in the years he reigned, through all this country wide, There was no cause for weeping save when the good man died. The faithful men of Brentford do still their king deplore, His portrait yet is swinging beside an alehouse door. And topers, tender-hearted, regard his honest phiz, And envy times departed, that knew a reign like his. LE GRENIER. JE viens revoir 1'asile oil ma jeunesse De la misere a subi les Ie9ons. J'avais vingt ans, une folle maitresse, De francs amis et 1'amour des chansons. Bravant le monde et les sots et les sages, Sans avenir, riche de mon printemps, Leste et joyeux je montais six Stages. Dans un grenier qu'on est bien a vingt ans ! C'est un grenier, point ne veux qu'on 1'ignore. La fut mon lit, bien che'tif et bien dur ; L& fut ma table ; et je retrouve encore Trois pieds d'un vers charbonne"s sur le mur. 144 FOUR IMITATIONS OF STRANGER. Apparaissez, plaisirs de raon bel age, Que d'un coup d'aile a fustige's le temps : Vingt fois pour vous j'ai mis ma montre en gage. Dans un grenier qu'on est bien a vingt ans ! Lisette ici doit surtout apparaltre, Vive, jolie, avec un frais chapeau ; Deja sa main a 1'e'troite fengtre Suspend son schal, en guise de rideau. Sa robe aussi va parer ma couchette ; Respecte, Amour, ses plis longs et flottans. J'ai su depuis qui payait sa toilette. Dans un grenier qu'on est bien a vingt ans ! A table un jour, jour de grande richesse, De mes amis les voix brillaient en choeur, Quand jusqu'ici monte un cri d'altegresse : A Marengo Bonaparte est vainqueur. Le canon gronde ; un autre chant commence ; Nous cele'brons tant de fails clatans. Les fois jamais n'envahiront la France. Dans un grenier qu'on est bien a vingt ans ! Quittons ce toil oil ma raison s'enivre. Oh ! qu'ils sont loin ces jours si regrette's ! J'e'changerais ce qu'il me reste a vivre Centre un des mois qu'ici Dieu m'a compte's, Pour rever gloire, amour, plaisir, folie. Pour depenser sa vie en peu d'instans, D'un long espoir pour la voir embellie. Dans un grenier qu'on est bien a vingt ans ! THE GARRET. WITH pensive eyes the little room I view, Where, in my youth, I weathered it so long. With a wild mistress, a staunch friend or two, And a light heart still breaking into song : THE GARRET. 145 Making a mock of life and all its cares, Rich in the glory of my rising sun, Lightly I vaulted up four pair of stairs, In the brave days when I was twenty-one. Yes ; 'tis a garret let him know't who will- There was my bed full hard it was and small ; My table there and I decipher still Half a lame couplet charcoaled on the wall. Ye joys, that Time hath swept with him away, Come to mine eyes, ye dreams of love and fun ; For you I pawned my watch how many a day, In the brave days when I was twenty-one. And see my little Jessy, first of all ; She comes with pouting lips and sparkling eyes : Behold, how roguishly she pins her shawl Across the narrow casement, curtain-wise, Now by the bed her petticoat glides down, And when did woman look the worse in none ? I have heard since who paid for many a gown, In the brave days when I was twenty-one. 146 FOUR IMITATIONS OF STRANGER. One jolly evening, when my friends and I Made happy music with our songs and cheers, A shout of triumph mounted up thus high, And distant cannon opened on our ears : We rise, we join in the triumphant strain, Napoleon conquers Austerlitz is won Tyrants shall never tread us down again, In the brave days when I was twenty-one. Let us begone the place is sad and strange How far, far off, these happy times appear ; All that I have to live I'd gladly change For one such month as I have wasted here To draw long dreams of beauty, love, and power, From founts of hope that never will outrun, And drink all life's quintessence in an hour, Give me the days when I was twenty-one. ROGER-BONTEMPS. Aux gens atrabilaires Pour exemple donn6, En un temps de miseres Roger-Bontemps est n6. Vivre obscur a sa guise, Narguer les m^contens ; Eh, gai ! c'est la devise Du gros Roger-Bontemps. Du chapeau de son pere Coiff< dans les grands jours ; De roses ou de lierre Le rajeunir toujours ; Mettre un manteau de bure, Vieil ami de vingt ans ; Eh, gai ! c'est la parure Du gros Roger-Bontemps. Posse'der dans sa hutte Une table, un vieux lit, Des cartes, une flute, Un broc que Dieu remplit ; ROGER-BONTEMPS. Un portrait de maitresse, Un coffre et rien dedans ; Eh, gai ! c'est la richesse Du gros Roger-Bontemps. Aux enfans de la ville Montrer de petits jeux ; Eire feseur habile De contes graveleux ; 147 Ne parler que de danse Et d'almanachs chantans ; Eh, gai ! c'est la science Du gros Roger-Bontemps. Faute de vins d'elite, Sabler ceux du canton ; PreTerer Marguerite Aux dames du grand ton : 148 FOUR IMITATIONS OF B^RAXGER. De joie et de tendresse Remplir tous ses instans : Eh, gai ! c'est la sagesse Du gros Roger-Bontemps. Dire au ciel : Je me fie, Mon pere, a ta bonte' ; De ma philosophic Pardonne la gait : Que ma saison derniere Soit encore un printemps ; Eh, gai ! c'est la priere Du gros Roger-Bontemps. Vous pauvres, pleins d'envie, Vous riches, d^sireux, Vous, dont le char deVie Apres un cours heureux ; Vous, qui perdrez peut-Stre Des titres 6clatans, Eh, gai ! prenez pour maitre Le gros Roger-Bontemps. JOLLY JACK. WHEN fierce political debate Throughout the isle was storming, And Rads attacked the throne and state, And Tories the reforming, To calm the furious rage of each, And right the land demented, Heaven sent us Jolly Jack, to teach The way to be contented. Jack's bed was straw, 'twas warm and soft, His chair, a three-legged stool : His broken jug was emptied oft, Yet, somehow, always full. JOLLY JACK. His mistress" portrait decked the wall, His mirror had a crack ; Yet, gay and glad, though this was all His wealth, lived Jolly Jack. To give advice to avarice, Teach pride its mean condition, And preach good sense to dull pretence, Was honest Jack's high mission. 149 Our simple statesman found his rule Of moral in the flagon, And held his philosophic school Beneath the "George and Dragon." When village Solons cursed the Lords, And called the malt-tax sinful, Jack heeded not their angry words, But smiled and drank his skinful. I$O FOUR IMITATIONS OF B^RANGER. And when men wasted health and life In search of rank and riches, Jack marked aloof the paltry strife, And wore his threadbare breeches. " I enter not the Church," he said, " But I'll not seek to rob it ! " So worthy Jack Joe Miller read, While others studied Cobbett. His talk it was of feast and fun ; His guide the Almanack ; From youth to age thus gaily run The life of Jolly Jack. And when Jack prayed, as oft he would, He humbly thanked his Maker ; " I am," said he, " O Father good ! Nor Catholic nor Quaker : Give each his creed, let each proclaim His catalogue of curses ; I trust in Thee, and not in them, In Thee and in Thy mercies ! ' ' Forgive me if, 'midst all Thy works, No hint I see of damning ; And think there's faith among the Turks, And hope for e'en the Brahmin. Harmless my mind is, and my mirth, And kindly is my laughter ; I cannot see the smiling earth, And think there's hell hereafter." Jack died ; he left no legacy, Save that his story teaches : Content to peevish poverty ; Humility to riches. Ye scornful great, ye envious small, Come follow in his track ; We all were happier, if we all Would copy JOLLY JACK. IMITATION OF HORACE. IMITATION OF HORACE. TO HIS SERVING BOY. pERSICOS odi, JL Puer, apparatus ; Displicent nexae Philyra coronas : Mitte sectari, Rosa quo locorum Sera moretur. Simplici myrto Nihil allabores, Sedulus, euro : Neque te ministrum Dedecet myrtus, Neque me sub arcta Vite bibentem. AD MINISTRAM. DEAR Lucy, you know what my wish is, I hate all your Frenchified fuss : Your silly entries and made dishes Were never intended for us. No footman in lace and in ruffles Need dangle behind my arm-chair ; And never mind seeking for truffles, Although they be ever so rare. 1J4 IMITATION OF HORACE. But a plain leg of mutton, my Lucy, I prithee get ready at three : Have it smoking, and tender, and juicy, And what better meat can there be ? And when it has feasted the master, 'Twill amply suffice for the maid ; Meanwhile I will smoke my canaster, And tipple my ale in the shade. OLD FRIENDS WITH NEW FACES. OLD FRIENDS WITH NEW FACES. THE KNIGHTLY GUERDON* UNTRUE to my Ulric I never could be, I vow by the saints and the blessed Marie, Since the desolate hour when we stood by the shore, And your dark galley waited to carry you o'er : My faith then I plighted, my love I confess'd, As I gave you the BATTLE-AXE marked with your crest ! When the bold barons met in my father's old hall, Was not Edith the flower of the banquet and ball ? *"WAPPING OLD STAIRS. " Your Molly has never been false, she declares, Since the last time we parted at Wapping Old Stairs ; When I said that I would continue the same, And gave you the 'bacco-box marked with my name. "When I passed a whole fortnight between decks with you, Did I e'er give a kiss, Tom, to one of your crew? To be useful and kind to my Thomas I stay'd, For his trousers I washed, and his grog too I made. " Though you promised last Sunday to walk in the Mall With Susan from Deptford and likewise with Sail, In silence I stood your unkindness to hear, And only upbraided my Tom with a tear. Why should Sail, or should Susan, than me be more prized? For the htart that is true, Tom, should ne'er be despised. Then be constant and kind, nor your Molly forsake ; Still your trousers I'll wash, and your grog too I'll make." 158 OLD FRIENDS WITH NEW FACES. In the festival hour, on the lips of your bride, Was there ever a smile save with THEE at my side? Alone in my turret I loved to sit best, To blazon your BANNER and broider your crest The knights were assembled, the tourney was gay ! Sir Ulric rode first in the warrior-mele'e. In the dire battle-hour, when the tourney was done, And you gave to another the wreath you had won ! Though I never reproached thee, cold cold was my breast. As I thought of that BATTLE-AXE, ah ! and that crest ! But away with remembrance, no more will I pine That others usurped for a time what was mine ! There's a FESTIVAL HOUR for my Ulric and me : Once more, as of old, shall he bend at my knee ; Once more by the side of the knight I love best Shall I blazon his BANNER and broider his crest THE ALMACK'S ADIEU. YOUR Fanny was never false-hearted, And this she protests and she vows, From the triste moment when we parted On the staircase of Devonshire House J I blushed when you asked me to marry, I vowed I would never forget ; And at parting I gave my dear Harry A beautiful vinegarette ! We spent en province all December, And I ne'er condescended to look At Sir Charles, or the rich county member, Or even at that darling old Duke. You were busy with dogs and with horses ; Alone in my chamber I sat, And made you the nicest of purses, And the smartest black satin cravat ! WHEN THE GLOOM IS ON THE GLEN. 1 59 At night with that vile Lady Frances (Je faisais moi tapisserie) You danced every one of the dances, And never once thought of poor me ! Man pauvre petit cceur \ what a shiver I felt as she danced the last set ; And you gave, O man Dieu I to revive her My beautiful vinegarette ! Return, love ! away with coquetting : This flirting disgraces a man ; And ah ! all the while you're forgetting The heart of your poor little Fan ! Reviens ! break away from those Circes, Reviens, for a nice little chat ; And I've made you the sweetest of purses, And a lovely black satin cravat ! WHEN THE GLOOM IS ON THE GLEN. WHEN the moonlight's on the mountain And the gloom is on the glen, At the cross beside the fountain There is one will meet thee then. At the cross beside the fountain, Yes, the cross beside the fountain, There is one will meet thee then ! I have braved, since first we met, love, Many a danger in my course ; But I never can forget, love, That dear fountain, that old cross, Where, her mantle shrouded o'er her For the winds were chilly then First I met my Leonora, When the gloom was on the glen. Many a clime I've ranged since then, love, Many a land I've wandered o'er ; But a valley like that glen, love, Half so dear I never sor ! l6o OLD FRIENDS WITH NEW FACES. Ne'er saw maiden fairer, coyer, Than wert thou, my true love, when In the gloaming first I saw yer, In the gloaming of the glen ! THE RED FLAG. WHERB the quivering lightning flings His arrows from out the clouds, And the howling tempest sings And whistles among the shrouds, 'Tis pleasant, 'tis pleasant to ride Along the foaming brine Wilt be the Rover's bride? Wilt follow him, lady mine? Hurrah ! For the bonny bonny brine. Amidst the storm and rack, You shall see our galley pass, As a serpent, lithe and black, Glides through the waving grass. As the vulture, swift and dark, Down on the ring-dove flies, You shall see the Rover's bark Swoop down upon his prize, Hurrah! For the bonny bonny prize. Over her sides we dash, We gallop across her deck Ha ! there's a ghastly gash On the merchant-captain's neck Well shot, well shot, old Ned ! Well struck, well struck, black James ! Our arms are red, and our foes are dead. And we leave a ship in flames ! Hurrah ! For the bonny bonny flames ! COMMANDERS OF THE FAITHFUL. l6l DEAR JACK. DEAR Jack, this white mug that with Guinness I fill, And drink to the health of Sweet Nan of the Hill, Was once Tommy Tosspot's, as jovial a sot As e'er drew a spigot, or drain'd a full pot In drinking all round 'twas his joy to surpass, And with all merry tipplers he swigg'd off his glass. One morning in summer while seated so snug, In the porch of his garden, discussing his jug, Stern Death, on a sudden, to Tom did appear, And said, " Honest Thomas, come take your last bier. We kneaded his clay in the shape of this can, From which let us drink to the health of my Nan. COMMANDERS OF THE FAITHFUL. THE Pope he is a happy man, His Palace is the Vatican, And there he sits and drains his can : The Pope he is a happy man. I often say when I'm at home, I'd like to be the Pope of Rome. And then there's Sultan Saladin, That Turkish Soldan full of sin ; He has a hundred wives at least, By which his pleasure is increased : I've often wished, I hope no sin, That I were Sultan Saladin. But no, the Pope no wife may choose, And so I would not wear his shoes ; No wine may drink the proud Paynim, And so I'd rather not be him : My wife, my wine, I love, I hope, And would be neither Turk nor Pope. 162 OLD FRIEXDS WITH NEW FACES. WHEN MOONLIKE ORE THE H AZURE SEAS. WHEN moonlike ore the hazure seas In soft effulgence swells, When silver jews and balmy breaze Bend down the Lily's bells ; When calm and deap, the rosy slcap Has lapt your soal in dreems, R Hangeline ! R lady mine ! Dost thou remember Jeames ? KING CANUTE. 163 I mark thee in the Marble All, Where England's loveliest shine I say the fairest of them hall Is Lady Hangeline. My soul, in desolate eclipse, With recollection teems And then I hask, with weeping lips, Dost thou remember Jeames ? Away ! I may not tell thee hall This soughring heart endures There is a lonely sperrit-call That Sorrow never cures ; There is a little, little Star, That still above me beams ; It is the Star of Hope but ar ! Dost thou remember Jeames ? KING CANUTE. KING CANUTE was weary-hearted ; he had reigned for years a score, Battling, struggling, pushing, fighting, killing much and robbing more ; And he thought upon his actions, walking by the wild sea-shore. 'Twixt the Chancellor and Bishop walked the King with steps sedate, Chamberlains and grooms came after, silver-sticks and gold- sticks great, Chaplains, aides-de-camp, and pages, all the officers of state. Sliding after like a shadow, pausing when he chose to pause, If a frown his face contracted, straight the courtiers dropped their jaws ; If to laugh the King was minded, out they burst in loud hee- haws. 164 OLD FRIENDS WITH NEW FACES. But that day a something vexed him, that was clear to old and young : Thrice his Grace had yawned at table, when his favourite glee- men sung, Once the Queen would have consoled him, but he bade her hold her tongue. "Something ails my gracious master," cried the Keeper of the Seal. "Sure, my Lord, it is the lampreys served to dinner, or the veal?" " Psha ! " exclaimed the angry monarch. "Keeper, 'tis not that I feel. " Tis the heart, and not the dinner, fool, that doth my rest impair : Can a king be great as I am, prithee, and yet know no care ? Oh, I'm sick, and tired, and weary." Some one cried, "The King's arm-chair ! " Then towards the lacqueys turning, quick my Lord the Keeper nodded, Straight the King's great chair was brought him by two foot- men able-bodied ; Languidly he sank into it : it was comfortably wadded. "Leading on my fierce companions," cried he, "over storm and brine, Ihave fought and I have conquered! Where was glory like to mine?" Loudly all the courtiers echoed: "Where is glory like to thine?" " What avail me all my kingdoms ? Weary am I now and old ; Those fair sons I have begotten long to see me dead and cold ; Would I were, and quiet buried underneath the silent mould ! " Oh, remorse, the writhing serpent ! at my bosom tears and bites ; Horrid horrid things I look on, though I put out all the lights ; Ghosts of ghastly recollections troop about my bed at nights. KING CANUTE. 1 6$ "Cities burning, convents blazing, red with sacrilegious fires ; Mothers weeping, virgins screaming vainly for their slaughtered sires." "Such a tender conscience," cries the Bishop, "every one admires. "But for such unpleasant bygones cease, my gracious lord, to search, They're forgotten and forgiven by our Holy Mother Church ; Never, never does she leave her benefactors in the lurch. " Look ! the land is crowned with minsters, which your Grace's bounty raised ; Abbeys filled with holy men, where you and Heaven are daily praised : You, my Lord, to think of dying? on my conscience I'm amazed ! " Nay, I feel," replied King Canute, "that my end is drawing near. "Don't say so," exclaimed the courtiers (striving each to squeeze a tear). "Sure your Grace is strong and lusty, and may live this fifty year." " Live these fifty years ! " the Bishop roared, with actions made to suit. " Are you mad, my good Lord Keeper, thus to speak of King Canute ? Men have lived a thousand years, and sure His Majesty will do't. "Adam, Enoch, Lamech, Cainan, Mahaleel, Methuselah, Lived nine hundred years apiece, and mayn't the King as well as they ? " " Fervently," exclaimed the Keeper, " fervently I trust he may." " He to die?" resumed the Bishop. " He a mortal like to us? Death was not for him intended, though communis omnibus: Keeper, you are irreligious for to talk and cavil thus. l66 OLD FRIENDS WITH NEW FACES. " With his wondrous skill in healing ne'er a doctor can com- pete, Loathsome lepers, if he touch them, start up clean upon their feet; Surely he could raise the dead up, did his Highness think it " Did not once the Jewish captain stay the sun upon the hill, And, the while he slew the foemen, bid the silver moon stand still? So, no doubt, could gracious Canute, if it were his sacred will." "Might I stay the sun above us, good Sir Bishop?" Canute cried ; * Could I bid the silver moon to pause upon her heavenly ride? If the moon obeys my orders, sure I can command the tide. "Will the advancing waves obey me, Bishop, if I make the sign?" Said the Bishop, bowing lowly, " Land and sea, my Lord, are thine." Canute turned towards the ocean "Back!" he said, "thou foaming brine. "From the sacred shore I stand on, I command thee to retreat ; Venture not, thou stormy rebel, to approach thy master's seat : Ocean, be thou still ! I bid thee come not nearer to my feet ! " But the sullen ocean answered with a louder deeper roar, And the rapid waves drew nearer, falling sounding on the shore ; Back the Keeper and the Bishop, back the King and courtiers bore. And he sternly bade them never more to kneel to human clay, But alone to praise and worship That which earth and seas obey; And his golden crown of empire never wore he from that day. King Canute is dead and gone : Parasites exist alway. FRIAR'S SONG. 167 FRIAR'S SONG. SOME love the matin-chimes, which tell The hour of prayer to sinner : But better far's the mid-day bell, Which speaks the hour of dinner ; For when I see a smoking fish, Or capon drown'd in gravy, Or noble haunch on silver dish, Full glad I sing my ave. My pulpit is an alehouse bench, Whereon I sit so jolly ; A smiling rosy country wench My saint and patron holy. I kiss her cheek so red and sleek, I press her ringlets wavy, And in her willing ear I speak A most religious ave. And if I'm blind, yet Heaven is kind, And holy saints forgiving ; For sure he leads a right good life Who thus admires good living. Above, they say, our flesh is air, Our blood celestial ichor : Oh, grant ! mid all the changes there, They may not change our liquor ! 1 68 OLD FRIENDS WITH NEW FACES. ATRA CURA. BEFORE I lost my five poor wits, I mind me of a Romish clerk, Who sang how Care, the phantom dark, Beside the belted horseman sits. Methought I saw the grisly sprite Jump up but now behind my Knight And though he gallop as he may, I mark that cursed monster black Still sits behind his honour's back, Tight squeezing of his heart alway. Like two black Templars sit they there Beside one crupper, Knight and Care. No knight am I with pennoned spear, To prance upon a bold destrere : I will not have black Care prevail Upon my long-eared charger's tail ; For lo, I am a witless fool, And laugh at Grief and ride a mule. REQUIESCAT. UNDER the stone you behold Buried, and coffined, and cold, Lieth Sir Wilfrid the Bold. Always he marched in advance, Warring in Flanders and France, Doughty with sword and with lance. Famous in Saracen fight, Rode in his youth the good knight, Scattering Paynims in flight. REQ.UIESCAT. Brian, the Templar untrue, Fairly in tourney he slew, Saw Hierusalem too. Now he is buried and gone, Lying beneath the grey stone : Where shall you find such a one ? i6 9 Long time his widow deplored, Weeping the fate of her lord, Sadly cut off by the sword. When she was eased of her pain, Came the good Lord Athelstane, When her Ladyship married again. 170 OLD FRIENDS WITH NEW FACES. THE WILLOW-TREE. KNOW ye the willow-tree Whose grey leaves quiver, Whispering gloomily To yon pale river ? Lady, at eventide Wander not near it : They say its branches hide A sad, lost spirit ! Once to the willow-tree A maid came fearful ; Pale seemed her cheek to be, Her blue eye tearful. Soon as she saw the tree, Her step moved fleeter ; No one was there ah me ! No one to meet her ! Quick beat her heart to hear The far bells' chime Toll from the chapel-tower The trysting time : But the red sun went down In golden flame, And though she looked round, Yet no one came ! Presently came the night, Sadly to greet her, Moon in her silver light, Stars in their glitter ; Then sank the moon away Under the billow, Still wept the maid alone There by the willow ! Through the long darkness, By the stream rolling, Hour after hour went on Tolling and tolling. THE WILLOW-TREE. IJl Long was the darkness, Lonely and stilly ; Shrill came the night-wind, Piercing and chilly. Shrill blew the morning breeze, Biting and cold, Bleak peers the grey dawn Over the wold. Bleak over moor and stream Looks the grey dawn, Grey, with dishevelled hair, Still stands the willow there THE MAID is GONE ! Domine, Domine / Sing we a litany, Sing for poor maiden-hearts broken and weary ; Domine, Domine I Sing we a litany, Wail we and weep we a wild Miserere ! THE WILLOW -TREE. ANOTHER VERSION. I. LONG by the willow-trees Vainly they sought her, Wild rang the mother's screams O'er the grey water : ' ' Where is my lovely one ? Where is my daughter ? II. " Rouse thee, Sir Constable- Rouse thee and look ; Fisherman, bring your net, Boatman, your hook. Beat in the lily-beds, Dive in the brook ! " 172 OLD FRIENDS WITH NEW FACES. Vainly the constable Shouted and called her ; Vainly the fisherman Beat the green alder ; Vainly he flung the net, Never it hauled her ! IV. Mother beside the fire Sat, her nightcap in ; Father, in easy chair, Gloomily napping, When at the window-sill Came a light tapping ! v. And a pale countenance Looked through the casement, Loud beat the mother's hear Sick with amazement, And at the vision which Came to surprise her, Shrieked in an agony " Lor ! it's Elizar ! " VI. Yes, 'twas Elizabeth Yes, 'twas their girl ; Pale was her cheek, and her Hair out of curl. " Mother ! " the loving one, Blushing, exclaimed, " Let not your innocent Lizzy be blamed. " Yesterday, going to Aunt Jones's to tea, Mother, dear mother, I Forgot the door-key ! THE WILLOW-TREE. 17} And as the night was cold, And the way steep, Mrs. Jones kept me to Breakfast and sleep." VIII. Whether her Pa and Ma Fully believed her, That we shall never know, Stern they received her ; And for the work of that Cruel, though short, night, Sent her to bed without Tea for a fortnight. IX. MORAL. Hey diddle diddlety, Cat and the Fiddlety, Maidens of England, take caution by she! Let love and suicide Never tempt you aside, And always remember to take the door-key. LYRA HIBERNICA. THE POEMS OF THE MOLONY OF KILBALLYMOLONY. LYRA HIBERNICA. THE POEMS OF THE MOLONY OF KILBALLYMOLONY. THE PIMLICO PA VILION. YE pathrons of janius, Minerva and Vanius, Who sit on Parnassus, that mountain of snow, Descind from your station and make observation Of the Prince's pavilion in sweet Pimlico. This garden, by jakurs, is forty poor acres (The garner he tould me, and sure ought to know) And yet greatly bigger, in size and in figure, Than the Phanix itself, seems the Park Pimlico. O 'tis there that the spoort is, when the Queen and the Court is Walking magnanimous all of a row. Forgetful what state is among the pataties And the pine-apple gardens of sweet Pimlico. There in blossoms odorous the birds sing a chorus Of " God save the Queen " as they hop to and fro ; And you sit on the binches and hark to the finches, Singing melodious in sweet Pimlico. There shuiting their phanthasies, they pluck polyanthuses That round in the gardens resplindently grow, Wid roses and jessimins, and other sweet specimins, Would charm bould Linnayus in sweet Pimlico. 178 LYRA HIBERNICA. You see when you inther, and stand in the cinther, Where the roses, and necturns, and collyflowers blow, A hill so tremindous, it tops the top-windows Of the elegant houses of famed Pimlico. And when you've ascinded that precipice splindid You see on its summit a wondtherful show A lovely Swish building, all painting and gilding, The famous Pavilion of sweet Pimlico. Prince Albert of Flandthers, that Prince of Commandthers (On whom my best blessings hereby I bestow), With goold and vermilion has decked that Pavilion, Where the Queen make take tay in her sweet Pimlico. There's lines from John Milton the chamber all gilt on, And pictures beneath them that's shaped like a bow ; 1 was greatly astounded to think that that Roundhead Should find an admission to famed Pimlico. lovely's each fresco, and most picturesque O ; And while round the chamber astonished I go, 1 think Dan Maclise's it baits all the pieces Surrounding the cottage of famed Pimlico. Eastlake has the chimney (a good one to limn he), And a vargin he paints with a sarpent below ; While bulls, pigs, and panthers, and other enchanthers, Are painted by Landseer in sweet Pimlico. And nature smiles opposite, Stanfield he copies it ; O'er Claude or Poussang sure 'tis he that may crow : But Sir Ross's best failure is small miniature He shouldn't paint frescoes in famed Pimlico. There's Leslie and Uwins has rather small doings ; There's Dyce, as brave masther as England can show ; And the flowers and the sthrawberries, sure he no dauber is, That painted the panels of famed Pimlico. In the pictures from Walther Scott, never a fault there's got, Sure the marble's as natural as thrue Scaglio ; THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 179 And the Chamber Pompayen is sweet to take tay in, And ait butther'd muffins in sweet Pimlico. There's landscapes by Gruner, both solar and lunar, Them two little Doyles, too, deserve a bravo ; Wid de piece by young Townsend (for janius abounds in't) ; And that's why he's shuited to paint Pimlico. That picture of Severn's is worthy of rever'nce, But some I won't mintion is rather so so ; For sweet philosophy, or crumpets and coffee, O where's a Pavilion like sweet Pimlico ? O to praise this Pavilion would puzzle Quintilian, Daymosthenes, Brougham, or young Cicero ; So, heavenly Goddess, d'ye pardon my modesty, And silence, my lyre ! about sweet Pimlico. THE CRYSTAL PALACE. WITH ganial foire Thransfuse me loyre, Ye sacred nympths of Pindus, The whoile I sing That wondthrous thing, The Palace made o' windows ! Say, Paxton, truth, Thou wondthrous youth, What sthroke of art celistial, What power was lint You to invint This combineetion cristial. O would before That Thomas Moore, Likewoise the late Lord Boyron, Thim aigles sthrong Of godlike song, Cast oi on that cast oiron ! l8o LYRA HIBERNICA. And saw thim walls, And glittering halls, Thim rising slendther columns. Which I, poor pote, Could not denote, No, not in twinty vollums. My Muse's words Is like the bird's That roosts beneath the panes there ; Her wings she spoils 'Gainst them bright toiles, And cracks her silly brains there. This Palace tall, This Cristial Hall, Which Imperors might covet, Stands in High Park Like Noah's Ark, A rainbow bint above it. The towers and fanes, In other scaynes, The fame of this will undo, Saint Paul's big doom, Saint Payther's Room, And Dublin's proud Rotundo. 'Tis here that roams, As well becomes Her dignitee and stations, Victoria Great, And houlds in state The Congress of the Nations. Her subjects pours From distant shores, Her Injians and Canajians ; And also we, Her kingdoms three, Attind with our allagiance. THE CRYSTAL PALACE. l8l Here come likewise Her bould allies, Both Asian and Europian ; From East and West They send their best To fill her Coornucopean. I seen (thank Grace !) This wondthrous place (His Noble Honour Misther H. Cole it was That gave the pass, And let me see what is there). With conscious proide I stud insoide And look'd the World's Great Fair in, ^ Until me sight Was dazzled quite, And couldn't see for staring. There's holy saints And window paints, By Maydiayval Pugin ; Alhamborough Jones Did paint the tones, Of yellow and gambouge in. There's fountains there And crosses fair ; There's water-gods with urrns ; There's organs three, To play, d'ye see "God save the Queen," by turrns. There's statues bright Of marble white, Of silver, and of copper ; And some in zinc, And some, I think, That isn't over proper. 1 82 LYRA HIBERNICA. There's staym ingynes, That stands in lines, Enormous and amazing, That squeal and snort Like whales in sport, Or elephants a-grazing. There's carts and gigs, And pins for pigs, There's dibblers and there's harrows, And ploughs like toys For little boys, And iligant wheelbarrows. For thim genteels Who ride on wheels, There's plenty to indulge 'em : There's droskys snug From Paytersbug, And vayhycles from Bulgium. There's cabs on stands And shandthrydanns ; There's waggons from New York here ; There's Lapland sleighs Have cross'd the seas, And jaunting cyars from Cork here. Amazed I pass From glass to glass, Deloighted I survey 'em ; Fresh wondthers grows Before me nose In this sublime Musayum ! Look, here's a fan From far Japan, A sabre from Damasco : There's shawls ye get From far Thibet, And cotton prints from Glasgow. THE CRYSTAL PALACE. I 8} There's German flutes, Marocky boots, And Naples macaronies ; Bohaymia Has sent Bohay ; Polonia her polonies. There's granite flints That's quite imminse, There's sacks of coals and fuels, There's swords and guns, And soap in tuns, And gingerbread and jewels. There's taypots there, And cannons rare ; There's coffins fill'd with roses ; There's canvas tints, Teeth insthrumints, And shuits t>f clothes by MOSES. There's lashins more Of things in store, But thim I don't remimber ; Nor could disclose Did I compose From May time to Novimber ! Ah, JUDY thru ! With eyes so blue, That you were here to view it ! And could I screw But tu pound tu, 'Tis I would thrait you to it ! So let us raise Victoria's praise, And Albert's proud condition, That takes his ayse As he surveys This Cristial Exhibition, 1851. 184 LYRA HIBERNICA. MOLONTS LAMENT. TIM, did you hear of thim Saxons, And read what the peepers report ? They're goan to recal the Liftinant, And shut up the Castle and Coort ! Our desolate counthry of Oireland They're bint, the blagyards, to desthroy. And now having murdthered our counthry, They're goin to kill the Viceroy, Dear boy ; 'Twas he was our proide and our joy ! And will we no longer behould him, Surrounding his carriage in throngs, As he waves his cocked-hat from the windies, And smiles to his bould aid-de-congs ? 1 liked for to see the young haroes, All shoining with sthripes and with stars, A horsing about in the Phaynix, And winking the girls in the cyars, Like Mars, A smokin" their poipes and cigyars. Dear Mitchell exoiled to Bermudies, Your beautiful oilids you'll ope, And there'll be an abondance of croyin' From O' Brine at the Keep of Good Hope, When they read of this news in the peepers, Acrass the Atlantical wave, That the last of the Oirish Liftinints, Of the oisland of Scents has tuck lave. God save The Queen she should betther behave. And what's to become of poor Dame Sthreet, And who'll ait the puffs and the tarts, Whin the Coort of imparial splindor From Doblin's sad city departs ? MOLONY'S LAMENT. 185 And who'll have the fiddlers and pipers, When the deuce of a Coort there remains ? And where'll be the bucks and the ladies, To hire the Coort-shuits and the thrains ? In sthrains, It's thus that ould Erin complains ! There's Counsellor Flanagan's leedy, 'Twas she in the Coort didn't fail, And she wanted a plinty of popplin, For her dthress, and her flounce, and her tail ; She bought it of Misthress O'Grady, Eight shillings a yard tabinet, But now that the Coort is concluded, The divvle a yard will she get ; I bet, Bedad, that she wears the old set. There's Surgeon O'Toole and Miss Leary, They'd daylings at Madam O'Riggs' ; Each year at the dthrawing-room sayson, They mounted the neatest of wigs. When Spring, with its buds and its dasies, Comes out in her beauty and bloom, Thim tu'll never think of new jasies, Becase there is no dthrawing-room, For whom They'd choose the expense to ashume. There's Alderman Toad and his lady, 'Twas they gave the Clart and the Poort, And the poine-apples, turbots, and lobsters, To feast the Lord Liftinint's Coort. But now that the quality's goin, I warnt that the ailing will stop, And you'll get at the Alderman's teeble The devil a bite or a dthrop, Or chop ; And the butcher may shut up his shop. 1 86 LYRA HIBERNICA. Yes, the grooms and the ushers are goin, And his Lordship, the dear honest man, And the Duchess, his eemiable leedy, And Cony, the bould Connellan, And little Lord Hyde and the childthren, And the Chewter and Governess tu ; And the servants are packing their boxes, Oh, murther, but what shall I due Without you ? O Meery, with ois of the blue ! MR. MOLONTS ACCOUNT OF THE BALL GIVEN TO THE NEPAULESE AMBASSADOR BY THE PENINSULAR AND ORIENTAL COMPANY. O WILL ye choose to hear the news, Bedad I cannot pass it o'er : I'll tell you all about the Ball To the Naypaulase Ambassador. Begor ! this fete all balls does bate At which I've worn a pump, and I Must here relate the splendthor great Of th 1 Oriental Company. These men of sinse dispoised expinse, To fete these black Achilleses. "We'll show the blacks," says they, " Almack's, And take the rooms at Willis's." With flags and shawls, for these Nepauls, They hung the rooms of Willis up, And decked the walls, and stairs, and halls, With roses and with lilies up. And Jullien's band it tuck its stand So sweetly in the middle there, And soft bassoons played heavenly chunes, And violins did fiddle there. MR. MOLONY'S ACCOUNT OF THE BALL. 187 And when the Coort was tired of spoort, I'd lave you, boys, to think there was A nate buffet before them set, Where lashins of good dthrink there was. At ten before the ballroom door, His moighty Excellency was, He smoiled and bowed to all the crowd, So gorgeous and immense he was. His dusky shuit, sublime and mute, Into the ddbrway followed him ; And O the noise of the blackguard boys, As they hurrood and hollowed him ! The noble Chair * stud at the stair, And bade the dthrums to thump ; and he Did thus evince, tp that Black Prince, The welcome of his Company. O fair the girls, and rich the curls, And bright the oys you saw there was, And fixed each oye, ye there could spoi, On Gineral Jung Bahawther, was ! This Gineral great then tuck his sate, With all the other ginerals (Bedad his troat, his belt, his coat, All bleezed with precious minerals) ; And as he there, with princely air, Recloinin on his cushion was, All round about his royal chair The squeezin and the pushin was. O Pat, such girls, such Jukes, and Earls, Such fashion and nobilitee ! Just think of Tim, and fancy him Amidst the hoigh gentilitee ! * James Matheson, Esquire, to whom, and the Board of Directors of the Peninsular and Oriental Company, I, Timotheus Molony, late stoker on board the " Iberia," the " Lady Mary Wood," the "Tagus," and the Oriental steamships, humbly dedicate this production of my grateful muse. 1 88 LYRA HIBERNICA. There was Lord De L'Huys, and the Portygeese - Ministher and his lady there, And I reckonised, with much surprise, Our messmate, Bob O'Grady, there ; There was Baroness Brunow, that looked like Juno, And Baroness Rehausen there, And Countess Roullier, that looked peculiar Well, in her robes of gauze in there. There was Lord Crowhurst (I knew him first. When only Mr. Pips he was), And Mick O'Toole, the great big fool, That after supper tipsy was. There was Lord Fingall, and his ladies all, And Lords Killeen and Dufferin," And Paddy Fife, with his fat wife ; I wondther how he could stuff her in. There was Lord Belfast, that by me past, And seemed to ask how should / go there? And the Widow Macrae, and Lord A. Hay, And the Marchioness of Sligo there. Yes, Jukes, and Earls, and diamonds, and pearls, And pretty girls, was spooning there ; And some beside (the rogues !) I spied, Behind the windies, coorting there. Oh there's one I know, bedad, would show As beautiful as any there, And I'd like to hear the pipers blow, And shake a fut with Fanny there ! THE BATTLE OF LIMERICK. YE Genii of the nation, Who look with veneration, And Ireland's desolation onsaysingly deplore ; Ye sons of General Jackson, Who thrample on the Saxon, Attend to the thransaction upon Shannon shore. THE BATTLE OF LIMERICK. 189 When William, Duke of Schumbug, A tyrant and a humbug, With cannon and with thunder on our city bore, Our fortitude and valliance Insthructed his battalions To rispict the galliant Irish upon Shannon shore. Since that capitulation, No city in this nation So grand a reputation could boast before, As Limerick prodigious, That stands with quays and bridges, And the ships up to the windies of the Shannon shore. A chief of ancient line, 'Tis William Smith O' Brine, Reprisints this darling Limerick, this ten years or more : O the Saxons can't endure To see him on tne flure, And thrimble at the Cicero from Shannon shore ! This valiant son of Mars Had been to visit Par's, That land of Revolution, that grcws the tricolor ; And to welcome his returrn From pilgrimages furren, We invited him to tay on the Shannon shore ! Then we summoned to our board Young Meagher of the Sword ; 'Tis he will sheathe that battle-axe in Saxon gore : And Mitchil of Belfast We bade to our repast, To dthrink a dish of coffee on the Shannon shore. Convaniently to hould These patriots so bould, We tuck the opportunity of Tim Doolan's store ; And with ornamints and banners (As becomes gintale good manners) We made the loveliest lay-room upon Shannon shore. 190 LYRA HIBERNICA. "Twould binifit your sowls, To see the butthered rowls, The sugar-tongs and sangwidges and craim galyore, And the muffins and the crumpets, And the band of harps and thrumpets, To celebrate the sworry upon Shannon shore. Sure the Imperor of Bohay Would be proud to dthrink the tay That Misthress Biddy Rooney for O' Brine did pour; And, since the days of Strongbow, There never was such Congo Mitchil dthrank six quarts of it by Shannon shore. But Clarndon and Corry Connellan beheld this sworry With rage and imulation in their black hearts' core ; And they hired a gang of ruffins To interrupt the muffins And the fragrance of the Congo on the Shannon shore. When full of tay and cake, O'Brine began to spake ; But juice a one could hear him, for a sudden roar Of a ragamuffin rout Began to yell and shout, And frighten the propriety of Shannon shore. As Smith O'Brine harangued, They batthered and they banged : Tim Doolan's doors and windies down they tore ; They smashed the lovely windies (Hung with muslin from the Indies), Purshuing of their shindies upon Shannon shore. With throwing of brickbats, Drowned puppies and dead rats, These ruffin democrats themselves did lower ; Tin kettles, rotten eggs, Cabbage-stalks, and wooden legs, They flung among the patriots of Shannon shore. THE BATTLE OF LIMERICK. IJI O the girls began to scrame And upset the milk and crame ; And the honourable gintlemin, they cursed and swore : And Mitchil of Belfast, "Twas he that looked aghast, When they roasted him in effigy by Shannon shore. O the lovely tay was spilt On that day of Ireland's guilt ; Says Jack Mitchil, " I am kilt ! Boys, where's the back door? 'Tis a national disgrace : Let me go and veil me face ; " And he boulted with quick pace from the Shannon shore. ' ' Cut down the bloody horde ! " Says Meagher of the Sword, " This conduct would disgrace any blackamore ;" But the best use^ommy made Of his famous battle blade Was to cut his own stick from the Shannon shore. Immortal Smith O'Brine Was raging like a line ; 'Twould have done your sowl good to have heard him roar ; In his glory he arose, And he rush'd upon his foes, But they hit him on the nose by the Shannon shore. Then the Futt and the Dthragoons In squadthrons and platoons, With their music playing chunes, down upon us bore J And they bate the rattatoo, But the Peelers came in view, And ended the shaloo on the Shannon shore. 192 (tl . LYRA HIBERNICA. LARRY O'TOOLE. YOU'VE all heard of Larry O'Toole. Of the beautiful town of Drumgoole ; He had but one eye, To ogle ye by Oh, murther, but that was a jew'l ! A fool He made of de girls, dis O'Toole. 'Twas he was the boy didn't fail, That tuck down pataties and mail ; He never would shrink From any sthrong dthrink, Was it whisky or Drogheda ale ; I'm bail This Larry would swallow a pail. Oh, many a night at the bowl, With Larry I've sot cheek by jowl ; He's gone to his rest, Where there's dthrink of the best, And so let us give his old sowl A howl, For 'twas he made the noggin to rowl. . THE ROSE OF FLORA. SENT BY A YOUNG GENTLEMAN OF QUALITY TO MISS BR-DY, OF CASTLE BRADY. ON Brady's Tower there grows a flower, It is the loveliest flower that blows, At Castle Brady there lives a lady (And how I love her no one knows) ; Her name is Nora, and the goddess Flora Presents her with this blooming rose. THE LAST IRISH GRIEVANCE. " O Lady Nora," says the goddess Flora, " I've many a rich and bright parterre ; In Brady's towers there's seven more flowers, But you're the fairest lady there : Not all the county, nor Ireland's bounty, Can projuice a treasure that's half so fair ! " What cheek is redder ? sure roses fed her ! Her hair is maregolds, and her eye of blew. Beneath her eyelid, is like the vi'let, That darkly glistens with gentle jew ! The lily's nature is not surely whiter Than Nora's neck is, and her arrums too. "Come, gentle Nora," says the goddess Flora, ' ' My dearest creature, take my advice : There is a poet, full well you know it, Who spends his lifetime in heavy sighs, Young Redmond Barry, 'tis him you'll marry, If rhyme and raisin you'd choose likewise." THE LAST IRISH GRIEVANCE. ON reading of the general indignation occasioned in Ireland by 'the appointment of a Scotch Professor to one of HER MAJESTY'S Godless Colleges, MASTER MOLLOY MOLONY, brother of THADDEUS MOLONY, ESQ., of the Temple, a youth only fifteen years of age, dashed off the following spirited lines : As I think of the insult that's done to this nation, Red tears of rivinge from me faytures I wash, And uphold in this pome, to the world's daytistation, The sleeves that appointed PROFESSOR MAcCosn. I look round me counthree, renowned by exparience, And see midst her childthren, the witty, the wise, Whole hayps of logicians, poles, schollars, grammarians, All ayger for pleeces, all panting to rise ; G 194 LYRA HIBERNICA. I gaze round the world in its utmost diminsion ; LARD JAHN and his minions in Council I ask, Was there ever a Govemment-pleece (with a pinsion) But children of Erin were fit for that task ? What, Erin beloved, is thy fetal condition ? What shame in aych boosom must rankle and burrun, To think that our countree has ne'er a logician In the hour of her deenger will surrev her tumm ! On the logic of Saxons there's little reliance, And, rather from Saxon than gather its rules, I'd stamp under feet the base book of his science, And spit on his chair as he taught in the schools ! THE LAST IRISH GRIEVANCE. 195 O false SIR JOHN KANE ! is it thus that you praych me ? I think all your Queen's Universitees Bosh ; And if you've no neetive Professor to taych me, I scawurn to be learned by the Saxon MACCOSH. There's WISEMAN and CHUME, and His Grace the Lord Primate, That sinds round the box, and the world will subscribe ; Tis they'll build a College that's fit for our climate, And taych me the saycrets I burn to imboibe ! 'Tis there as a Student of Science I'll enther, Fair Fountain of Knowledge, of Joy, and Contint ! SAINT PATHRICK'S sweet Statue shall stand in the centher, And wink his dear oi every day during Lint. And good DOCTOR NEWMAN that praycher unwary, 'Tis he shall preside the Academee School, And quit the gay robe of ST. PHILIP of Neri, To wield the soft rod of ST. LAWRENCE O'TooLE ! BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. THE BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. THE WOFLE NEW BALLAD OF JANE RONEY AND MARY BROWN. AN igstrawnary tail I vill tell you this veek -ix I stood in the Court of A' Beckett the Beak, Vere Mrs. Jane Roney, a vidow, I see, Who charged Mary Brown with a robbin of she. This Mary was pore and in misery once, And she came to Mrs. Roney it's more than twelve monce. She adn't got no bed, nor no dinner nor no tea, And kind Mrs. Roney gave Mary all three. Mrs. Roney kep Mary for ever so many veeks (Her conduct disgusted the best of all Beax), She kep her for nothink, as kind as could be, Never thinkin that this Mary was a traitor to she. " Mrs. Roney, O Mrs. Roney, I feel very ill ; Will you just step to the Doctor's for to fetch me a pill?" " That I will, my pore Mary," Mrs. Roney says she ; And she goes off to the Doctor's as quickly as may be. No sooner on this message Mrs. Roney was sped, Than hup gits vicked Mary, and jumps out a bed ; She hopens all the trunks without never a key She busies all the boxes, and vith them makes free. 200 THE BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. Mrs. Roney's best linning, gownds, petticoats, and close, Her children's little coats and things, her boots, and her hose, She packed them, and she stole "em, and avay vith them did flee. Mrs. Roney's situation you may think vat it vould be ! Of Mary, ungrateful, who had served her this vay, Mrs. Roney heard nothink for a long year and a day. Till last Thursday, in Lambeth, ven whom should she see But this Mary, as had acted so ungrateful to she? She was leaning on the helbo of a worthy young man, They were going to be married, and were walkin hand in hand; And the Church bells was a ringing for Mary and he, And the parson was ready, and a waitin for his fee. When up comes Mrs. Roney, and faces Mary Brown, Who trembles, and castes her eyes upon the ground. She calls a jolly pleaseman, it happens to be me ; " I charge this young woman, Mr. Pleaseman," says she. " Mrs. Roney, o, Mrs. Roney, o, do let me go, I acted most ungrateful I own, and I know, But the marriage bell is a ringin, and the ring you may see, And this young man is a waitin," says Mary says she. " I don't care three fardens for the parson and dark, And the bell may keep ringin from noon day to dark. Mary Brown, Mary Brown, you must come along with me ; And I think this young man is lucky to be free." So, in spite of the tears which bejew'd Mary's cheek, I took that young gurl to A' Beckett the Beak : That exlent Justice demanded her plea But never a suitable said Mary said she. On account of her conduck so base and so vile, That wicked young gurl is committed for trile, And if she's transpawted beyond the salt sea, It's a proper reward for such willians as she. THE THREE CHRISTMAS WAITS. 2< Now you young gurls of Southwark for Mary who veep, From pickin and stealin your ands you must keep, Or it may be my dooty, as it was Thursday veek, To pull you all hup to A' Beckett the Beak. THE THREE CHRISTMAS WAITS. MY name is Pleaceman X ; Last night I was in bed, A dream did me perplex, Which came into my Edd. I dreamed I sor three Waits A playing of their tune, At Pimlico Palace gates, All underneath the moon. One puffed a hold French horn, And one a hold Banjo, And one chap seedy and torn A Hirish pipe did blow. They sadly piped and played, Dexcribing of their fates ; And this was what they said, Those three pore Christmas Waits : "When this black year began, This Eighteen-forty-eight, I was a great great man, And king both vise and great, And Munseer Guizot by me did show As Minister of State. " But Febuwerry came, And brought a rabble rout, And me and my good dame And children did turn out, And us, in spite of all our right, Sent to the right about. THE BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. " I left my native ground, I left my kin and kith, I left my Royal crownd, Vich I couldn't travel vith, And without a pound came to English ground In the name of Mr. Smith. 1 ' Like any anchorite I've lived since I came here, I've kep myself quite quite, I've drank the small small beer, And the vater, you see, disagrees vith me And all my famly dear. " O Tweeleries so dear, O darling Pally Royl, Vas it to finish here That I did trouble and toyl? That all my plans should break in my ands, And should on me recoil ? " My state I fenced about Vith baynicks and vith guns ; My gals I portioned hout, Rich vives I got my sons ; varn't it crule to lose my rule, My money and lands at once ? " And so, vith arp and woice, Both troubled and shagreened, 1 bid you to rejoice, glorious England's Queend ! And never have to veep, like pore Louis-Phileep, Because you out are cleaned. " O Prins, so brave and stout, 1 stand before your gate ; Pray send a trifle hout To me, your pore old Vait ; For nothink could be vuss than it's been along vith us In this year Forty -eight." THE THREE CHRISTMAS WAITS. 203 " Ven this bad year began," The nex man said, saysee, " I vas a Journeyman, A taylor black and free, And my wife went out and chaired about, And my name's the bold Cuffee. " The Queen and Halbert both I swore I would confound, I took a hawfle hoath To drag them to the ground ; And sevral more with me they swore Aginst the British Crownd. " Aginst her Pleacemen all We said we'd try our strenth ; Her scarlick soldiers tall We vow'd we'd lay full lenth : And out we came, in Freedom's name Last Aypril was the tenth. " Three 'undred thousand snobs Came out to stop the vay, Vith sticks vith iron knobs, Or else we'd gained the day. The harmy quite kept out of sight, And so ve vent avay. " Next day the Pleacemen came Rewenge it was their plann And from my good old dame They took her tailor-mann : And the hard hard beak did me bespeak To Newgit in the Wann. " In that etrocious Cort The Jewry did agree ; The Judge did me transport, To go beyond the sea : And so for life, from his dear wife They took poor old Cuffee. 204 THE BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. " O HaTbert, Appy Prince I With children round your knees, Ingraving ansum Prints, And taking hoff your hease ; O think of me, the old Cuffee, Beyond the solt solt seas ! "Although I'm hold and black, My hanguish is most great ; Great Prince, O call me back, And I vill be your Vait ! And never no more vill break the Lor, As I did in 'Forty-eight." The tailer thus did close (A pore old blackymore rogue), When a dismal gent uprose, And spoke with Hirish brogue : "I'm Smith O' Brine, of Royal Line, Descended from Rory Ogue. " When great O'Connle died, That man whom all did trust, That man whom Henglish pride Beheld with such disgust, Then Erin free fixed eyes on me, And swoar I should be fust. '"The glorious Hirish Crown,' Says she, ' it shall be thine : Long time, it's wery well known, You kep it in your line ; That diadem of hemerald gem Is yours, my Smith O' Brine. 1 ' ' Too long the Saxon churl Our land encumbered hath ; Arise, my Prince, my Earl, And brush them from thy path : Rise, mighty Smith, and sveep 'em vith The besom of your wrath." THE THREE CHRISTMAS WAITS. 2O> " Then in my might I rose, My country I surveyed, I saw it filled with foes, I viewed them undismayed ; ' Ha, ha ! ' says I, ' the harvest's high, I'll reap it with my blade.' " My warriors I enrolled, They rallied round their lord ; And cheafs in council old I summoned to the board Wise Doheny and Duffy bold, And Meagher of the Sword. " I stood on Slievenamaun, They came with ptkes and bills ; They gathered in the dawn, Like mist upon the hills, And rushed adown the mountain side Like twenty thousand rills. " Their fortress we assail ; Hurroo ! my boys, hurroo ! The bloody Saxons quail To hear the wild shaloo : Strike, and prevail, proud Innesfail, O' Brine aboo, aboo ! " Our people they defied ; They shot at 'em like savages, Their bloody guns they plied With sanguinary ravages : Hide, blushing Glory, hide That day among the cabbages ! " And so no more I'll say, But ask your Mussy great, And humbly sing and pray, Your Majesty's poor Wait : Your Smith O'Brine in 'Forty-nine Will blush for "Forty-eight." 2O6 THE BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. LINES ON A LATE HOSPICIOUS EWE NT* BY A GENTLEMAN OF THE FOOT-GUARDS (BLUE). I PACED upon my beat With steady step and slow, All huppandownd of Ranelagh Street ; Ran'lagh St. Pimlico. While marching huppandownd Upon that fair May morn, Beold the booming cannings sound, A Royal child is born 1 The Ministers of State Then presnly I sor, They gallops to the Pallis gate, In carridges and for. With anxious looks intent, Before the gate they stop, There comes the good Lord President, And there the Archbishopp. Lord John he next elights ; And who comes here in haste? 'Tis the ero of one underd fights, , The caudle for to taste. Then Mrs. Lily, the nuss, Towards 'them steps with joy ; Says the brave old Duke, " Come tell to us, , Is it a gal or a boy ? " Says Mrs. L. to the Duke, " Your Grace, it is a Prince." And at that nuss's bold rebuke He did both laugh and wince. * The birth of Prince Arthur. LINES ON A LATE HOSPICIOUS EWENT. 207 He vews with pleasant look This pooty flower of May, Then says the wenerable Duke, " Egad, it's my buthday." By memory backards borne, Peraps his thoughts did stray To that old place where he was born Upon the first of May. Perhaps he did recal The ancient towers of Trim ; And County Meath and Dangan Hall They did rewisit him. I phansy of him so His good old thoughts employin' ; Fourscore years and one ago Beside the flowin' Boyne. His father praps he sees, Most musicle of Lords, A playing maddrigles and glees Upon the Arpsicords. Jest phansy this old Ero Upon his mother's knee ! Did ever lady in this land Ave greater sons than she? And I shoudn be surprize While this was in his mind, If a drop there twinkled in his eyes Of unfamiliar brind. To Hapsly Ouse next day Drives up a Broosh and for, A gracious prince sits in that Shay (I mention him with Hor !). 2O8 THE BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. They ring upon the bell, The Porter shows his Ed, (He fought at Vaterloo as Veil, And vears a Veskit red). To see that carriage come, The people round it press : " And is the galliant Duke at ome?" "Your Royal Ighness, yes." He stepps from out the Broosh And in the gate is gone ; And X, although the people push, Says wery kind, " Move hon." The Royal Prince unto The galliant Duke did say, " Dear Duke, my little son and you Was born the self same day. " The Lady of the land, My wife and Sovring dear, It is by her horgust command I wait upon you here. " That lady is as well As can expected be ; And to your Grace she bid me tel This gracious message free. ' ' That offspring of our race, Whom yesterday you see, To show our honour for your Grace, Prince Arthur he shall be. " That name it rhymes to fame ; All Europe knows the sound ; And I couldn't find a better name If you'd give me twenty pound. THE BALLAD OF ELIZA DAVIS. '209 41 King Arthur had his knights That girt his table round, But you have won a hundred fights, Will match 'em, I'll be bound. " You fought with Bonypart, And likewise Tippoo Saib ; I name you then with all my heart The Godsire of this babe." That Prince his leave was took, His hinterview was done, So let us give the good old Duke Good luck of his god-son, And wish him yearns of joy In this our time of Schism, And hope he'll hear the Royal boy His little catechism. And my pooty little Prince That's come our arts to cheer, Let me my loyal powers ewince A welcomin of you ere. And the Poit-Laureat's crownd, I think, in some respex, Egstremely shootable might be found For honest Pleaseman X. THE BALLAD OF ELIZA DAVIS. GALLIANT gents and lovely ladies, List a tail vich late befel, Vich I heard it, bein on duty, At the Pleace Hoffice, Clerkenwell. Praps you know the Fondling Chapel, Vere the little children sings : (Lor ! I likes to hear on Sundies Them there pooty little things !) THE BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. In this street there lived a housemaid, If you particularly ask me where Vy, it vas at four-and-tventy Guilford Street, by Brunsvick Square. Vich her name was Eliza Davis, And she went to fetch the beer : In the street she met a party As was quite surprized to see her. Vich he vas a British Sailor, For to judge him by his look : Tarry jacket, canvass trowsies, Ha-la Mr. T. P. Cooke. Presently this Mann accostes Of this hinnocent young gal " Pray," saysee, " excuse my freedom, You're so like my Sister Sal ! " You're so like my Sister Sally, Both in valk and face and size, Miss, that dang my old lee scuppers, It brings tears into my heyes ! " I'm a mate on board a wessel, I'm a sailor bold and true ; Shiver up my poor old timbers, Let me be a mate for you ! " What's your name, my beauty, tell me?' And she faintly hansers, " Lore, Sir, my name's Eliza Davis, And I live at tventy-four." Hofttimes came this British seaman, This deluded gal to meet ; And at tventy-four was welcome, Tventy-four in Guilford Street. THE BALLAD OF ELIZA DAVIS. And Eliza told her Master (Kinder they than Missuses are), How in marridge he had ast her, Like a galliant Brittish Tar. And he brought his landlady vith him (Vich vas all his hartful plan), And she told how Charley Thompson Reely vas a good young man ; And how she herself had lived in Many years of union sweet Vith a gent she met promiskous, Valking in the public street. And Eliza listened to them, And she thought that soon their bands Vould be published at the Fondlin, Hand the clergyman jine their ands. And he ast about the lodgers (Vich her master let some rooms), Likevise vere they kep their things, and Vere her master kep his spoons. Hand this vicked Charley Thompson Came on Sundy veek to see her ; And he sent Eliza Davis Hout to fetch a pint of beer. Hand while pore Eliza vent to Fetch the beer, dewoid of sin, This etrocious Charley Thompson Let his wile accomplish hin. To the lodgers, their apartments, This abandingd female goes, Prigs their shirts and umberellas ; Prigs their boots, and hats, and clothes. THE BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. Vile the scoundrle Charley Thompson, Lest his wictim should escape, Hocust her vith rum and vater, Like a fiend in burning shape. But a hi was fixt upon 'em Vich these raskles little sore ; Namely, Mr. Hide, the landlord Of the house at tventy-four. He vas valkin in his garden, Just afore he vent to sup ; And on looking up he sor the Lodgers' vinders lighted hup. Hup the stairs the landlord tumbled ; " Something's going .wrong," he said ; And he caught the vicked voman Underneath the lodgers' bed. And he called a brother Pleaseman, Vich vas passing on his beat, Like a true and galliant feller, Hup and down in Guilford Street. And that Pleaseman able-bodied Took this voman to the cell ; To the cell vere she was quodded, In the Close of Clerkenwell. And though vicked Charley Thompson Boulted like a miscrant base, Presently another Pleaseman Took him to the self-same place. And this precious pair of raskles Tuesday last came up for doom ; By the beak they was committed, Vich his name was Mr. Combe. DAMAGES, TWO HUNDRED POUNDS. 21 J Has for poor Eliza Davis, Simple gurl of tventy-four, She, I ope, vill never listen In the streets to sailors moar. But if she must ave a sweet-art (Vich most every gurl expex), Let her take a jolly pleaseman ; Vich his name peraps is X. DAMAGES, TWO HUNDRED POUNDS. SPECIAL Jurymen of England*! who admire your country's laws. And proclaim a British Jury worthy of the realm's applause ; Gaily compliment each other at the issue of a cause Which was tried at Guildford 'sizes this day week as ever was. Unto that august tribunal comes a gentleman in grief (Special was the British Jury, and the Judge, the Baron Chief), Comes a British man and husband asking of the law relief, For his wife was stolen from him he'd have vengeance on the thief. Yes, his wife, the blessed treasure with the which his life was crowned, Wickedly was ravished from him by a hypocrite profound. And he comes before twelve Britons, men for sense and truth renowned, To award him for his damage twenty hundred sterling pound. He by counsel and attorney there at Guildford does appear, Asking damage of the villain who seduced his lady dear : But I can't help asking, though the lady's guilt was all too clear, And though guilty the defendant, wasn't the plaintiff rather queer ? First the lady's mother spoke, and said she'd seen her daughter cry But a fortnight after marriage : early times for piping eye. 214 THE BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. Six months after, things were worse, and the piping eye was black, And this gallant British husband caned his wife upon the back. Three months after they were married, husband pushed her to the door, Told her to be off and leave him, for he wanted her no more. As she would not go, why he went : thrice he left his lady dear ; Left her, too, without a penny, for more than a quarter of a year. Mrs. Frances Duncan knew the parties very well indeed, She had seen him pull his lady's nose and make her lip to bleed ; If he chanced to sit at home not a single word he said : Once she saw him throw the cover of a dish at his lady's head. Sarah Green, another witness, clear did to the jury note How she saw this honest fellow seize his lady by the throat, How he cursed her and abused her, beating her into a fit, Till the pitying next-door neighbours crossed the wall and witnessed it. Next door to this injured Briton Mr. Owers a butcher dwelt ; Mrs. Owers's foolish heart towards this erring dame did melt (Not that she had erred as yet, crime was not developed in her); But being left without a penny, Mrs. Owers supplied her dinner God be merciful to Mrs. Owers, who was merciful to this sinner ! Caroline Naylor was their servant, said they led a wretched life, Saw this most distinguished Briton fling a teacup at his wife ; He went out to balls and pleasures, and never once, in ten months' space, Sat with his wife or spoke her kindly. This was the defen- dant's case. Pollock, C.B., charged the Jury; said the woman's guilt was clear : That was not the point, however, which the jury came to hear ; But the damage to determine which, as it should true appear, This most tender-hearted husband, who so used his lady dear THE KKIGHT AND THE LADY. 21$ Beat her, kicked her, caned her, cursed her, left her starving, year by year, Flung her from him, parted from her, wrung her neck, and boxed her ear What a reasonable damage this afflicted man could claim By the loss of the affections of this guilty graceless dame ? Then the honest British Twelve, to each other turning round, Laid their clever heads together with a wisdom most profound ! And towards his Lordship looking, spoke the foreman wise and sound : " My Lord, we find for this here plaintiff, damages two hundred pound." So, God bless the Special Jury ! pride and joy of English ground, And the happy land of England, where true justice does abound ! British Jurymen and husbands, let us hail this verdict proper? If a British wife offends you, Britons, you've a right to whop her. Though you promised to protect her, though you promised to defend her, You are welcome to neglect her : to the devil you may send her : You may strike her, curse, abuse her ; so declares our law renowned ; And if after this you lose her, why, you're paid two hundred pound. THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY. THERE'S in the Vest a city pleasant To vich King Bladud gev his name, And in that city there's a Crescent Vere dwelt a noble knight of fame. Although that galliant knight is oldish, Although Sir John as grey grey air, Hage has not made his busum coldish, His Art still beats tewodds the Fair ! 2l6 THE BALLABS OF POLICEMAN X. 'Twas two years sins, this knight so splendid, Peraps fateagued with Bath's routines, To Paris towne his phootsteps bended In sutch of gayer folks and scans. His and was free, his means was easy, A nobler, finer gent than he Ne'er drove about the Shons-Eleesy, Or paced the Roo de Rivolee. A brougham and pair Sir John prowided, In which abroad he loved to ride ; But ar ! he most of all enjyed it, When some one helse was sittin' inside ! That " some one helse " a lovely dame was, Dear ladies, you will heasy tell Countess Grabrowski her sweet name was, A noble title, ard to spell. THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY. 21 J This faymus Countess ad a daughter Of lovely form and tender art ; A nobleman in marridge sought her, By name the Baron of Saint Bart. Their pashn touched the noble Sir John, It was so pewer and profound ; Lady Grabrowski he did urge on With Hyming's wreeth their loves to crownd. " O, come to Bath, to Lansdowne Crescent," Says kind Sir John, "and live with me ; The living there's uncommon pleasant I'm sure you'll find the hair agree. "O, come to Bath, my fair Grabrowski, And bring your charming girl," sezee ; ' ' The Barring here shall have the ouse-key, Vith breakfast, dinner, lunch, and tea. "And when they've passed an appy winter, Their opes and loves no more we'll bar ; The marridge-vow they'll enter inter, And I at church will be their Par." To Bath they went to Lansdowne Crescent, Where good Sir John he did provide No end of teas and balls incessant, And hosses both to drive and ride. He was so Ospitably busy, When Miss was late, he'd make so bold Upstairs to call out, " Missy, Missy, Come down, the coffy's getting cold ! " But Oh ! 'tis sadd to think such bounties Should meet with such return as this ; O Barring of Saint Bart, O Countess Grabrowski, and O cruel Miss ! 2l8 THE BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. He married you at Bath's fair Habby, Saint Bart he treated like a son And wasn't it uncommon shabby To do what you have went and done ! My trembling And amost refewses To write the charge which Sir John swore, Of which the Countess he ecuses, Her daughter and her son-in-lore. My Mews quite blushes as she sings of The fatle charge which now I quote : He says Miss took his two best rings off, And pawned 'em for a tenpun note. " Is this the child of honest parince, To make away with folks' best things ? Is this, pray, like the wives of Barrins, To go and prig a gentleman's rings ? " Thus thought Sir John, by anger wrought on, And to rewenge his injured cause, He brought them hup to Mr. Broughton, Last Vensday veek as ever waws. If guiltless, how she have been slandered ! If guilty, wengeance will not fail : Meanwhile the lady is remanded And gev three hundred pouns in bail. JACOB HOMNIUM'S HOSS. A NEW PALLICE COURT CHAUNT. ONE sees in Viteall Yard, Vere pleacemen do resort, A wenerable hinstitute, 'Tis called the Pallis Court. A gent as got his i on it, I think 'twill make some sport. JACOB HOMNIUM'S HOSS, 219 The natur of this Court My hindignation riles ; A few fat legal spiders Here set & spin their viles ; To rob the town theyr privlege is, In a hayrea of twelve miles. The Judge of this year Court Is a mellitary beak, He knows no more of Lor Than praps he does of Greek, . And prowides hisself a deputy Because he cannot speak. Four counsel in this Court Misnamed of Justice sits ; These lawyers owes their places to Their money, not their wits ; And there's six attornies under them, As here their living gits. These lawyers, six and four, Was a livin at their ease, A sendin of their writs abowt, And droring in the fees, When there erose a cirkimstance As is like to make a breeze. THE BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. It now is some monce since A gent both good and trew Possest an ansum oss vith vich He didn know what to do ; Peraps he did not like the oss, Peraps he was a scru. This gentleman his oss At Tattersall's did lodge ; There came a wulgar oss-dealer, This gentleman's name did fodge, And took the oss from Tattersall's : Wasn that a artful dodge ? One day this gentleman's groom This willain did spy out, A mounted on this oss A ridin him about ; " Get out of that there oss, you rogue," Speaks up the groom so stout. The thief was cruel whex'd To find himself so pinn'd ; The oss began to whinny, The honest groom he grinn'd ; And the raskle thief got off the oss And cut avay like vind. And phansy with what joy The master did regard His dearly bluvd lost oss again Trot in the stable yard ! Who was this master good Of whomb I makes these rhymes ? His name is Jacob Homnium, Exquire ; And if I'd committed crimes, Good Lord ! I wouldn't ave that mann Attack me in the Times I JACOB HOMNIUM'S HOSS. Now shortly after the groomb His master's oss did take up, There came a livery-man This gentleman to wake up ; And he handed in a little bill, Which hangered Mr. Jacob. For two pound seventeen This livery-man eplied, For the keep of Mr. Jacob's oss, Which the thief had took to ride. " Do you see anythink green in me ? " Mr. Jacob Homnium cried. ".Because a raskle chews My oss away to robb, And goes tick at your Mews For seven-and-fifty bobb. Shall / be call'd to pay ? It is A iniquitious Jobb." Thus Mr. Jacob cut The conwasation short ; The livery-man went ome, Detummingd to ave sport, And summingsd Jacob Homnium, Exquire, Into the Pallis Court. Pore Jacob went to Court, A Counsel for to fix, And choose a barrister out of the four, An attorney of the six : And there he sor these men of Lor, And watch'd 'em at their tricks. The dreadful day of trile In the Pallis Court did come ; The lawyers said their say, The Judge look'd wery glum, And then the British Jury cast Pore Jacob Hom-ni-um. THE BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. a weary day was that For Jacob to go through ; The debt was two seventeen (Which he no mor owed than you) And then there was the plaintives costs, Eleven pound six and two. And then there was his own, Which the lawyers they did fix At the wery moderit figgar Of ten pound one and six. Now Evins bless the Pallis Court, And all its bold ver-dicks ! 1 cannot settingly tell If Jacob swaw and cust, At aving for to pay this sumb ; But I should think he must, And av drawn a cheque for 24, 45. 8d. With most igstreme disgust. O Pallis Court, you move My pitty most profound. A most emusing sport You thought it, I'll be boun/d, To saddle hup a three-pound debt With two-and-twenty pound. Good sport it is to you To grind the honest pore, To pay their just or unjust debts With eight hundred per cent, for Lor ; Make haste and get your costes in, They will not last much mor ! Come down from that tribewn, Thou shameless and Unjust ; Thou Swindle, picking pockets in The name of Truth august : Come down, thou hoary Blasphemy, For die thou shall and must. THE SPECULATORS. 22 J And go it, Jacob Homnium, And ply your iron pen, And rise up, Sir John Jervis, And shut me up that den ; That sty for fattening lawyers in On the bones of honest men. PLEACEMAN X. THE SPECULATORS. THE night was stormy and dark, The town was shut up in sleep : Only those were abroad who were out on a lark, Or these who'd no beds to keep. I pass'd through the lonely street, The wind did sing and blow ; I could hear the policeman's feet Clapping to and fro. There stood a potato-man In the midst of all the wet ; He stood with his 'tato can In the lonely Haymarket. Two gents of dismal mien, And dank and greasy rags, Came out of a shop for gin, Swaggering over the flags : Swaggering over the stones, These shabby bucks did walk ; And I went and followed those seedy ones, And listened to their talk. Was I sober or awake ? Could I believe my ears ? Those dismal beggars spake Of nothing but railroad shares. I wondered more and more : Says one " Good friend of mine, How many shares have you wrote for, In the Diddlesex Junction line ? " "I wrote for twenty," says Jim, "But they wouldn't give me one ; " His comrade straight rebuked him For the folly he had done : " O Jim, you are unawares Of the ways of this bad town ; / always write for five hundred shares, And then they put me down. 224 THE BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. "And yet you got no shares," Says Jim, "for all your boast ! " "I -would have wrote," says Jack, " but where Was the penny to pay the post ? " "I lost, for I couldn't pay That first instalment up; But here's taters smoking hot I say, Let's stop, my boy, and sup." And at this simple feast The while they did regale, I drew each ragged capitalist Down on my left thumb-nail. Their talk did me perplex, All night I tumbled and tost, And thought of railroad specs, And how money was won and lost. " Bless railroads everywhere," I said, " and the world's ad- vance ; Bless every railroad share In Italy, Ireland, France ; For never a beggar need now despair, And every rogue has a chance." A WOEFUL NEW BALLAD OF THE PROTESTANT CONSPIRACY TO TAKE THE POPE'S LIFE. BY A GENTLEMAN WHO HAS BEEN ON THE SPOT. COME all ye Christian people, unto my tale give ear ; "Tis about a base consperracy, as quickly shall appear ! 'Twill make your hair to bristle up, and your eyes to start and glow, When of this dread consperracy you honest folks shall know. The news of this consperracy and villianous attempt, I read it in a newspaper, from Italy it was sent : It was sent from lovely Italy, where the olives they do grow, And our Holy Father lives, yes, yes, while his name it is No NO. And 'tis there our English noblemen goes that is Puseyites no longer, Because they finds the ancient faith both better is and stronger. A WOEFUL NEW BALLAD. 22 > And 'tis there I knelt beside my Lord when he kiss'd the POPE his toe, And hung his neck with chains at Saint Peter's Vinculo. And 'tis there the splendid churches is, and the fountains play- ing grand, And the palace of PRINCE TORLONIA, likewise the Vatican ; And there's the stairs where the bagpipe-men and the piffararys blow. And it's there I drove my Lady and Lord in the Park of Pincio. And 'tis there our splendid churches is in all their pride and glory, Saint Peter's famous Basilisk and Saint Mary's Maggiory ; And them benighted Prodestants, on Sunday they must go Outside the town to the preaching-shop by the gate of Popolo. Now in this town of famous Room, as I dessay you have heard, There is scarcely any gentleman as hasn't got a beard. And ever since the world began it was ordained so, That there should always barbers be wheresumever beards do grow. And as it always has been so since the world it did begin, The POPE, our Holy Potentate, has a beard upon his chin ; And every morning regular when cocks begin to crow, There comes a certing party to wait on POPE PlO. There comes a certing gintleman with razier, soap, and lather. A shaving most respectfully the POPE, our Holy Father. And now the dread conspiracy I'll quickly to you show, Which them sanguinary Prodestants did form against NoNO. Them sanguinary Prodestants, which I abore and hate, Assembled in the preaching-shop by the Flaminian gate ; And they took counsel with their selves to deal a deadly blow Against our gentle Father, the Holy POPE Pio. Exhibiting a wickedness which I never heerd or read of; What do you think them Prodestants wished ? to cut the good POPE'S head off! And to the kind POPE'S Air-dresser the Prodestant Clark did go, And proposed him to decapitate the innocent Plb. H 226 THE BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. " What hever can be easier," said this Clerk this Man of Sin, "When you are called to hoperate on His Holiness's chin, Than just to give the razier a little slip just so ? And there's an end, dear barber, of innocent PlO ! " This wicked conversation it chanced was overerd By an Italian lady ; she heard it every word : Which by birth she was a Marchioness, in service forced to go With the parson of the preaching-shop at the gate of Popolo. When the lady heard the news, as duty did obleege, As fast as her legs could carry her she ran to the Poleegc. " O Polegia," says she (for they pronounts it so), " They're going for to masskyer our Holy POPE Pio. " The ebomminable Englishmen, the Parsing and his Clark, His Holiness's Air-dresser devised it in the dark ! And I would recommend you in prison for to throw These villians would esassinate the Holy POPE Pio ! " And for saving of His Holiness and his trebble crownd I humbly hope your Worships will give me a few pound ; Because I was a Marchioness many years ago, Before I came to service at the gate of Popolo." That sackreligious Air-dresser, the Parson and his man, Wouldn't, though ask'd continyally, own their wicked plan And so the kind Authoraties let those villians go That was plotting of the murder of the good Pio NONO. Now isn't this safishnt proof, ye gentlemen at home, How wicked is them Prodestants, and how good our Pope at Rome : So let us drink confusion to LORD JOHN and LORD MINTO, And a health unto His Eminence, and good Pio NONO. THE FOUNDLING OF SHOREDITCH. 227 THE LAMENTABLE BALLAD OF THE FOUNDLING OF SHOREDITCH. COME all ye Christian people, and listen to my tail, It is all about a doctor was travelling by the rail, By the Heastern Counties Railway (vich the shares I don't desire), From Ixworth town in Suffolk, vich his name did not transpire. A travelling from Bury this Doctor was employed With a gentleman, a friend of his, vich his name was Captain Loyd, And on reaching Marks Tey Ration, that is next beyond Colchest- er, a lady entered in to them most elegantly dressed. She entered into the Carriage all with a tottering step, And a pooty little Bayby upon her bussum slep ; The gentlemen received her with kindness and siwillaty, Pitying this lady for her illness and debillaty. She had a fust-class ticket, this lovely lady said ; Because it was so lonesome she took a secknd instead. Better to travel by secknd class, than sit alone in the fust, And the pooty little Baby upon her breast she nust A seein of her cryin, and shiverin and pail, To her spoke this surging, the Ero of my tail ; Saysee " You look unwell, ma'am ; I'll elp you if I can, And you may tell your case to me, for I'm a meddicle man." " Thank you, sir," the lady said, " I only look so pale, Because I ain't accustom'd to travelling on the Rale ; I shall be better presnly, when I've ad some rest : " And that pooty little Baby she squeeged it to her breast. So in conwersation the journey they beguiled, Capting Loyd and the meddicle man, and the lady and the child, Till the warious stations along the line was passed, For even the Heastern Counties' trains must come in at last. 228 THE BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. When at Shoreditch tumminus at lenth stopped the train, This kind meddicle gentleman proposed his aid again. " Thank you, sir," the lady said, "for your kyindness dear ; My carridge and my osses is probibbly come here. " Will you old this baby, please, vilst I step and see? " The Doctor was a famly man : "That I will," says he. Then the little child she kist, kist it very gently, Vich was sucking his little fist, sleeping innocently. With a sigh from her art, as though she would have bust it, Then she gave the Doctor the child wery kind he nust it : Hup then the lady jumped hoff the bench she sat from, Tumbled down the carridge steps and ran along the platforn THE FOUNDLING OF SHOREDITCH. 229 Vile hall the other passengers vent upon their vays, The Capting and the Doctor sat there in a maze ; Some vent in a Homminibus, some vent in a Cabby, The Capting and the Doctor vaited vith the babby. There they sat looking queer, for an hour or more, But their feller passinger neather on "em sore : Never, never back again did that lady come To that pooty sleeping Hinfnt a suckin of his Thum ! "What could this pore Doctor do, bein treated thus, When the darling Baby woke, cryin for its nuss ? Off he drove to a female friend, vich she was both kind and mild, And igsplained to her the circumstance of this year little child. That kind lady took the child instantly in her lap, And made it very comfortable by giving it some pap ; And when she took its close off, what d'you think she found ? A couple of ten pun notes sewn up, in its little gownd ! Also in its little close, was a note which did conwey That this little baby's parents lived in a handsome way, And for its Headucation they reglarly would pay, And sirtingly like gentlefolks would claim the child one day, If the Christian people who'd charge of it would say, Per adwertisement in the Times, where the baby lay. Pity of this bayby many people took, It had such pooty ways and such a pooty look ; And there came a lady forrard (I wish that I could see Any kind lady as would do as much for me ; And I wish with all my art, some night in my night gownd, I could find a note stitched for ten or twenty pound) There came a lady forrard, that most honorable did say, She'd adopt this little baby, which her parents cast away. While the Doctor pondered on this hoffer fair, Comes a letter from Devonshire, from a party there, Hordering the Doctor, at its Mar's desire, To send the little Infant back to Devonshire. 230 THE BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. Lost in apoplexity, this pore meddicle man, Like a sensable gentleman, to the Justice ran ; Which his name was Mr. Hammill, a honorable beak, That takes his seat in Worship Street four times a week. " O Justice ! " says the Doctor, " instrugt me what to do. I've come up from the country, to throw myself on you ; My patients have no doctor to tend them in their ills (There they are in Suffolk without their draffts and pills !). " I've come up from the country, to know how I'll dispose Of this pore little baby, and the twenty pun note, and the close, And I want to go back to Suffolk, dear Justice, if you please, And my patients wants their Doctor, and their Doctor wants his feez." Up spoke Mr. Hammill, sittin at his desk, " This year application does me much perplesk ; What I do adwise you, is to leave this babby In the Parish where it was left by its mother shabby." The Doctor from his Worship sadly did depart He might have left the baby, but he hadn't got the heart To go for to leave that Hinnocent, has the laws allows, To the tender mussies of the Union House. Mother, who left this little one on a stranger's knee, Think how cruel you have been, and how good was he ! Think, if you've been guilty, innocent was she ; And do not take unkindly this little word of me : Heaven be merciful to us all, sinners as we be ! THE ORGAN-BOY S APPEAL. THE ORGAN-DOTS APPEAL. "WESTMINSTER POLICE COURT. POLICEMAN X brought a paper of doggerel verses to the MAGISTRATE, which had been thrust into his hands, X said, by an Italian boy, who ran away immediately afterwards. "The MAGISTRATE, after perusing the lines, looked hard at X, and said he did not think they were written by an Italian. ' ' X, blushing, said he thought the paper read in court last week, and which frightened so the old gentleman to whom it was addressed, was also not of Italian origin. O SIGNOR BRODERIP, you are a wickid ole man, You wexis us little horgin-boys whenever you can : How dare you talk of Justice, and go for to seek To pussicute us horgin-boys, you senguinary Beek ? Though you set in Vestminster surrounded by your crushers, Harrogint and habsolute like the Hortacrat of hall the Rushers, Yet there is a better vurld I'd have you for to know, Likewise a place vere the henimies of horgin-boys will go. O you vickid HEROD without any pity ! London vithout horgin-boys vood be a dismal city. Sweet SAINT CICILY who first taught horgin-pipes to blow Soften the heart of this Magistrit that haggerywates us so ! Good Italian gentlemen, fatherly and kind, Brings us over to London here our horgins for to grind ; Sends us out vith little vite mice and guinea-pigs also A poppin of the Veasel and a Jumpin of JIM CROW. And as us young horgin-boys is grateful in our turn We gives to these kind gentlemen hall the money we earn, Because that they vood vop us as wery wel we know Unless we brought our burnings back to them as loves us so. 232 THE BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. O MR. BRODERIP ! wery much I'm surprise, Ven you take your valks abroad where can be your eyes? If a Beak had a heart then you'd compryend Us pore little horgin-boys was the poor man's friend. Don't you see the shildren in the droring-rooms Clapping of their little ands when they year our toons ? On their mothers' bussums don't you see the babbies crow And down to us dear horgin-boys lots of apence throw ? Don't you see the ousemaids (pooty FOLLIES and MARIES), Ven ve bring our urdigurdis, smiling from the hairies ? Then they come out vith a slice o' cole puddn or a bit o' bacon or so And give it us young horgin-boys for lunch afore we go. Have you ever seen the Hirish children sport When our velcome music-box brings sunshine in the Court ? To these little paupers who can never pay Surely all good horgin-boys, for GOD'S love, will play. Has for those proud gentlemen, like a serting B k (Vich I von't be pussonal and therefore vil not speak), That flings their parler-vinders hup ven ve begin to play And cusses us and swears at us in such a wiolent way, Instedd of their abewsing and calling hout Poleece, Let em send out JOHN to us vith sixpence or a shillin apiece. Then like good young horgin-boys avay from there we'll go, Blessing sweet SAINT CICILY that taught our pipes to blow. TIMBUCTOO. 2 ,, TIMBUCTOO. To the Editor of " The Snob." SIR, Though your name be " Snob," I trust you will not refuse this tiny "Poem of a Gownsman," which was unluckily not finished on the day appointed for delivery of the several copies of verses on Timbuctoo. I thought, Sir, it would be a pity that such a poem should be lost to the world ; and conceiving The Snob to be the most widely circulated periodical in Europe, I have taken the liberty of submitting it for insertion or appro- bation. I am, Sir, yours, &c., &c., c. T. TIMBUCTOO.* IN Africa (a quarter of the world) The situa- Men's skins are black, their hair is crisp and curl'd ; tioa. And somewhere there, unknown to public view, A mighty city lies, called Timbuctoo. There stalks the tiger, there the lion roars 5 The natural Who sometimes eats the luckless blackamoors ; history. Line i and 2. See Guthrie's Geography. The site of Timbuctoo is doubtful ; the Author has neatly expressed this in the Poem, at the same time giving us some slight hints relative to its situation. Line 5. So Horace, leonum arida nutrix. * This parody probably represents Mr. Thackeray's first appearance in print. In the year 1829, when only eighteen years of age, he was chiefly concerned in starling a short-lived Cambridge undergraduate magazine entitled The Snob. He is believed to have been responsible for a considerable proportion of the contents, which are not of any particular merit, but with the exception of this parody of a Cambridge Prize Pc.em (on the subject, as will be remembered, for which Tennyson gained the Chancellor's Medal), it is not possible to be certain which contributions were from his pen, though there are several epigrammatic verses and some letters full of misspelling and Malapropisms, from Dorothea Julia Ramsbottom, which are almost unmistakably his. H 2 234 TIMBUCTOO. All that he leaves of them the monster throws To jackals, vultures, dogs, cats, kites, and crows. His hunger thus the forest monarch gluts, And then lies down 'neath trees called cocoa-nuts. The lion Quick issue out, with musket, torch, and brand, hunt. The sturdy blackamoors, a dusky band ! The beast is found, pop goes the musketoons, The lion falls, covered with horrid wounds. Their lives At home their lives in pleasure always flow, at home. But many have a different lot to know ! Abroad. They're often caught, and sold as slaves, alas ! Reflections Thus men from highest joy to sorrow pass. on the fore- Yet though thy monarchs and thy nobles boil Rack and molasses in Jamaica's isle ! Desolate Afric ! thou art lovely yet ! ! One heart yet beats which ne'er shall thee forget. Line 8. Thus Apollo #\d>pia r Otuvolffi re iracr Line 5-10. How skilfully introduced are the animal and vegetable productions of Africa ! It is worthy to remark the various garments in which the Poet hath clothed the Lion. He is called ist, the Lion ; 2nd, the Monster (for he is very large) ; and 3rd, the Forest Monarch, which he undoubtedly is. Line 11-14. The Author confesses himself under peculiar obligations to Denham's and Clapperton's Travels, as they suggested to him the spirited description contained in these lines. Line 13. "Pop goes the musketoons." A learned friend suggested "Bang," as a stronger expression; but, as African gunpowder is notoriously bad, the Author thought " Pop" the better word. Line 15-18. A concise but affecting description is here given of the domestic habits of the people, the infamous manner in which they are entrapped and sold as slaves is described, and the whole ends with an appropriate moral sentiment. The Poem might here finish, but the spirit of the bard penetrates the veil of futurity, and from it cuts off a bright piece for the hitherto unfortunate Africans, as the following beautiful lines amply exemplify. It may perhaps be remarked that the Author has here "changed his hand ; " he answers that it was his intention so to do. Before it was his endeavour to be elegant and concise, TIMBUCTOO. 235 What though thy maidens are a blackish brown, Does virtue dwell in whiter breasts alone ? Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no ! 25 It shall not, must not, cannot, e'er be so. The day shall come when Albion's self shall feel Stern Afric's wrath, and writhe 'neath Afric's steel. I see her tribes the hill of glory mount, And sell their sugars on their own account ; 30 While round her throne the prostrate nations come, Sue for her rice, and barter for her rum. 32 it is now his wish to be enthusiastic and magnificent. He trusts the Reader will perceive the aptness with which he hath changed his style : when he narrated facts he was calm, when he enters on prophecy he is fervid. ^ The enthusiasm which he feels is beautifully expressed in lines 25, 26. He thinks he has very successfully imitated in the last six lines the best manner of Mr. Pope, and in lines 19-26 the pathetic elegance of the Author of Australasia and Athens. The Author cannot conclude without declaring that his aim in writing this Poem will be fully accomplished, if he can infuse in the breasts of Englishmen a sense of the danger in which they lie. Yes Africa ! If he can awaken one particle of sympathy for thy sorrows, of love for thy land, of admiration for thy virtue, he shall sink into the grave with the proud consciousness that he has raised esteem, where before there was contempt, and has kindled the flame of hope, on the smouldering ashes of Despair ! A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. CHAPTER I. 5V Ludivig of-.Hombourg. IT was in the good old days of chivalry, when every mountain that bathes its shadow in the Rhine had its castle : not inhabited, as now, by a few rats and owls, nor covered with moss and wall- flowers, and funguses, and creeping ivy. No, no ! where the ivy now clusters there grew strong portcullis and bars of steel : where the wallflower now quivers on the rampart there were silken banners embroidered with wonderful heraldry ; men-at- arms marched where now you shall only see a bank of moss or a hideous black champignon ; and in place of the rats and owlets, I warrant me there were ladies and knights to revel in the great halls, and to feast, and to dance, and to make love there. They are passed away : those old knights and ladies : their golden hair first changed to silver, and then the silver dropped off and disappeared for ever ; their elegant legs, so slim and active in the dance, became swollen and gouty, and then, from being swollen and gouty, dwindled down to bare bone-shanks ; the roses left their cheeks, and then their cheeks disappeared, and left their skulls, and then their skulls powdered into dust, and all sign of them was gone. And as it was with them, so shall it be with us. Ho, seneschal ; fill me a cup of liquor ! put sugar in it, good fellow yea, and a little hot water ; a very little, for my soul is sad, as I think of those days and knights of old. They, too, have revelled and feasted, and where are they? gone? nay, not altogether gone ; for doth not the eye catch glimpses of them as they walk yonder in the grey limbo of 240 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. romance, shining faintly in their coats of steel, wandering by the side of long-haired ladies, with long-tailed gowns that little pages carry ? Yes ! one sees them : the poet sees them still in the far-off Cloudland, and hears the ring of their clarions as they hasten to battle or tourney and the dim echoes of their lutes chanting of love and fair ladies ! Gracious privilege of poesy ! It is as the Dervish's collyrium to the eyes, and causes them to see treasures that to the sight of donkeys are invisible. Blessed treasures of fancy ! I would not change ye no, not for many donkey-loads of gold. . . . Fill again, jolly seneschal, thou brave wag ; chalk me up the produce on the hostel door surely the spirits of old are mixed up in the wondrous liquor, and gentle visions of bygone princes and princesses look blandly down on us from the cloudy perfume of the pipe. Do you know in what year the fairies left the Rhine ; long before Murray's ' ' Guide-Book " was wrote long before squat steamboats, with snorting funnels, came paddling down the stream. Do you not SIR LUDWIG OF HOiMBOURG. 24! know that once upon a time the appearance of eleven thousand British virgins was considered at Cologne as a wonder? Now there come twenty thousand such annually, accompanied by their ladies' maids. But of them we will say no more let us back to those who went before them. Many many hundred thousand years ago, and at the exact period when chivalry was in full bloom, there occurred a little history upon the banks of the Rhine, which has been already written in a book, and hence must be positively true. 'Tis a story of knights and ladies of love and battle, and virtue rewarded ; a story of princes and noble lords, moreover : the best of company. Gentles, an ye will, ye shall hear it. Fair dames and damsels, may your loves be as happy as those of the heroine of this romaunt. On the cold and rainy evening of Thursday, the 26th of October, in the year previously indicated, such travellers as might have chanced to be abroad in that bitter night, might have remarked a fellow-wayfarer journeying on the road from Oberwinter to Godesberg. He was a man not tall in stature, but of the most athletic proportions, and Time, which had browned and furrowed his cheek and sprinkled his locks with grey, declared pretty clearly that He must have been acquainted with the warrior for some fifty good years. He was armed in mail, and rode a powerful and active battle-horse, which (though the way the pair had come that day was long and weary indeed) yet supported the warrior, his armour and luggage, with seeming ease. As it was in a friend's country, the knight did not think fit to wear his heavy destrier, or helmet, which hung at his saddle-bow over his portmanteau. Both were marked with the coronet of a count ; and from the crown which surmounted the helmet, rose the crest of his knightly race, an arm proper lifting a naked sword. At his right hand, and convenient to the warrior's grasp, hung his mangonel or mace a terrific weapon which had shattered the brains of many a turbaned soldan ; while over his broad and ample chest there fell the triangular shield of the period, whereon were emblazoned his arms argent, a gules wavy, on a saltire reversed of the second : the latter device was awarded for a daring exploit before Ascalon, by the Emperor Maximilian, and a reference to the German Peerage of that day, or a knowledge of high families which every gentleman 242 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. then possessed, would have sufficed to show at once that the rider we have described was of the noble house of Hombourg. It was, in fact, the gallant knight Sir Ludwig of Hombourg : his rank as a count, and chamberlain of the Emperor of Austria, was marked by the cap of maintenance with the peacock's feather which he wore (when not armed for battle), and his princely blood was denoted by the oiled silk umbrella which he carried (a very meet protection against the pitiless storm), and which, as it is known, in the middle ages, none but princes were justified in using. A bag, fastened with a brazen padlock, and made of the costly produce of the Persian looms (then extremely rare in Europe), told that he had travelled in Eastern climes. This, too, was evident from the inscription writ on card or parchment, and sewed on the bag. It first ran, "Count Ludwig de Hombourg, Jerusalem ; " but the name of the Holy City had been dashed out with the pen, and that of " Godes- berg " substituted. So far indeed had the cavalier travelled ! and it is needless to state that the bag in question contained such remaining articles of the toilet as the high-born noble deemed unnecessary to place in his valise. " By Saint Bugo of Katzenellenbogen ! " said the good knight, shivering, " 'tis colder here than at Damascus ! Marry, I am so hungry I could eat one of Saladin's camels. Shall I be at Godesberg in time for dinner?" And taking out his horologe (which hung in a small side-pocket of his embroidered surcoat), the crusader consoled himself by finding that it was but seven of the night, and that he would reach Godesberg ere the warder had sounded the second gong. His opinion was borne out by the result. His good steed, which could trot at a pinch fourteen leagues in the hour, brought him to this famous castle, just as the warder was giving the first welcome signal which told that the princely family of Count Karl, Margrave of Godesberg, were about to prepare for their usual repast at eight o'clock. Crowds of pages and horsekeepers were in the court, when, the portcullis being raised, and amidst the respectful salutes of the sentinels, the most ancient friend of the house of Godesberg entered into its castle-yard. The under-butler stepped forward to take his bridle-rein. "Welcome, Sir Count, from the Holy Land!" exclaimed the faithful old man. "Welcome, Sir Count, from the Holy Land ! " cried the rest of the servants in the hall. SIR LUDWIG OF HOMBOURG. 243 A stable was speedily found for the Count's horse, Streilhengst, and it was not before the gallant soldier had seen that true animal well cared for, that he entered the castle itself, and was conducted to his chamber. Wax candles burning bright on the mantel, flowers in china vases, every variety of soap, and a flask of the precious essence manufactured at the neighbouring city of Cologne, were displayed on his toilet-table ; a cheering fire "crackled on the hearth," and showed that the good knight's coming had been looked and cared for. The serving- maidens bringing him hot water for his ablutions, smiling asked, " Would he have his couch warmed at eve?" One might have been sure from their blushes that the tough old soldier made an arch reply. The family tonsor came to know whether the noble Count had need of his skill. " By Saint Bugo," said the knight, as seated in an easy settle by theftre, the tonsor rid his chin of its stubbly growth, and lightly passed the tongs and pomatum through "the sable silver" of his hair, " By Saint Bugo, this is better than my dungeon at Grand Cairo. How is my godson Otto, master barber ; and the Lady Countess, his mother ; and the noble Count Karl, my dear brother-in-arms ? " "They are well," said the tonsor, with a sigh. " By Saint Bugo, I'm glad on't ; but why that sigh?" "Things are not as they have been with my good lord," answered the hairdresser, " ever since Count Gottfried's arrival." " He here ! " roared Sir Ludwig. " Good never came where Gottfried was ! " and the while he donned a pair of silken hose, that showed admirably the proportions of his lower limbs, and exchanged his coat of mail for the spotless vest and black surcoat collared with velvet of Genoa, which was the fitting costume for "knight in ladye's bower," the knight entered into a conversation with the barber, who explained to him, with the usual garrulousness of his tribe, what was the present position of the noble family of Godesberg. This will be narrated in the next chapter. 244 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. CHAPTER II. Tbe Godesbergers, 'Tis needless to state that the gallant warrior Ludwig of Horn- bourg found in the bosom of his friend's family a cordial wel- come. The brother-in-arms of the Margrave Karl, he was the esteemed friend of the Margravine, the exalted and beautiful Theodora of Boppum, and (albeit no theologian, and although the first princes of Christendom coveted such an honour) he was selected to stand as sponsor for the Margrave's son Otto, the only child of his house. It was now seventeen years since the Count and Countess had been united ; and although Heaven had not blessed their couch with more than one child, it may be said of that one that it was a prize, and that surely never lighted on the earth a more delightful vision. When Count Ludwig, hastening to the holy wars, had quitted his beloved godchild he had left him a boy ; he now found him, as the latter rushed into his arms, grown to be one of the finest young men in Germany : tall and excessively graceful in proportion, with the blush of health mantling upon his cheek, that was likewise adorned with the first down of manhood, and with magnificent golden ringlets, such as a Rowland might envy, curling over his brow and his shoulders. His eyes alternately beamed with the fire of daring, or melted with the moist glance of benevolence. Well might a mother be proud of such a boy. Well might the brave Ludwig exclaim, as he clasped the youth to his breast, " By Saint Bugo of Katzenellenbogen, Otto, thou art fit to be one of Coeur de Lion's grenadiers ! " and it was the fact : the " Childe " of Godesberg measured six feet three. He was habited for the evening meal in the costly though simple attire of the nobleman of the period and his costume a good deal resembled that of the old knight whose toilet we have just described ; with the difference of colour, however. Thepourpoint worn by young Otto of Godesberg was of blue, handsomely decorated with buttons of carved and embossed gold ; his haut-de-chausses , or leggings, were of the stuff of Nanquin, then brought by the Lombard argosies at an immense price from China. The neighbouring country of Holland had THE GODESBERGERS. 245 supplied his wrists and bosom with the most costly laces ; and thus attired, with an opera-hat placed on one side of his head, ornamented with a single flower (that brilliant one, the tulip), the boy rushed into his godfather's dressing-room, and warned him that the banquet was ready. It was indeed: a frown had gathered on the dark brows of the Lady Theodora, and her bosom heaved with an emotion akin to indignation ; for she feared lest the soups in the refectory and the splendid fish now smoking there were getting cold : she feared not for herself, but for her lord's sake. " Godesberg," whispered she to Count Ludwig, as trembling on his arm they descended from the drawing-room, " Godesberg is sadly changed of late." "By Saint Bugo ! " said the burly knight, starting, "these are the very words the barber spaRe." The lady heaved a sigh, and placed herself before the soup- tureen. For some time the good Knight Ludwig of Hombourg was too much occupied in ladling out the force-meat balls and rich calves' head of which the delicious pottage was formed (in ladling them out, did we say? ay, marry, and in eating them, too) to look at his brother-in-arms at the bottom of the table, where he sat with his son on his left hand, and the Baron Gottfried on his right. The Margrave was indeed changed. " By Saint Bugo," whispered Ludwig to the Countess, "your husband is as surly as a bear that hath been wounded o' the head." Tears falling into her soup-plate were her only reply. The soup, the turbot, the haunch of mutton, Count Ludwig remarked that the Margrave sent all away untasted. "The boteler will serve ye with wine, Hombourg," said the Margrave gloomily from the end of the table. Not even an invitation to drink : how different was this from the old times ! But when, in compliance with this order, the boteler pro- ceeded to hand round the mantling vintage of the Cape to the assembled party, and to fill young Otto's goblet (which the latter held up with the eagerness of youth), the Margrave's rage knew no bounds. He rushed at his son ; he dashed the wine-cup over his spotless vest ; and giving him three or four heavy blows which would have knocked down a bonassus, but only caused the young Childe to blush: " You take wine!" roared out the Margrave; "you dare to help yourself! Who 346 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. the d-v-1 gave you leave to help yourself?" and the terrible blows were reiterated over the delicate ears of the boy. " Ludwig ! Ludwig ! " shrieked the Margravine. " Hold your prate, madam." roared the Prince. " By Saint Buffo, mayn't a father beat his own child?" "His OWN CHILD!" repeated the Margrave with a burst, almost a shriek, of indescribable agony. ' ' Ah, what did I say?" Sir Ludwig looked about him in amaze; Sir Gottfried (at the Margrave's right hand) smiled ghastlily; the young Otto was too much agitated by the recent conflict to wear any expression but that of extreme discomfiture; but the poor Margravine turned her head aside and blushed, red almost as the lobster which flanked the turbot before her. In those rude old times, 'tis known such table quarrels were by no means unusual amongst gallant knights ; and Ludwig, who had oft seen the Margrave cast a leg of mutton at an offending servitor, or empty a sauce-boat in the direction of the Margravine, thought this was but one of the usual outbreaks of his worthy though irascible friend, and wisely determined to change the converse. "How is my friend," said he, "the good knight, Sir Hildebrandt?" ' ' By Saint Buffo, this is too much ! " screamed the Margrave, and actually rushed from the room. "By Saint Bugo," said his friend, "gallant knights, gentle sirs, what ails my good Lord Margrave ? " " Perhaps his nose bleeds," said Gottfried, with a sneer. "Ah, my kind friend," said the Margravine, with uncon- trollable emotion, " I fear some of you have passed from the frying-pan into the fire." And making the signal of departure to the ladies, they rose and retired to coffee in the drawing- room. The Margrave presently came back again, somewhat more collected than he had been. "Otto," he said sternly, "go join the ladies : it becomes not a young boy to remain in the company of gallant knights after dinner." The noble Childe with manifest unwillingness quitted the room, and the Mar- grave, taking his lady's place at the head of the table, whis- pered to Sir Ludwig, " Hildebrandt will be here to-night to an evening party, given in honour of your return from Pales- THE GODESBERGERS. 247 tine. My good friend my trae friend my old companion in arms, Sir Gottfried ! you had best see that the fiddlers be not drunk, and that the crumpets be gotten ready." Sir Gottfried, obsequiously taking his patron's hint, bowed and left the room. " You shall know all soon, dear Ludwig," said the Margrave, with a heartrending look. "You marked Gottfried, who left the room anon ? " "I did." "You look incredulous concerning his worth ; but I tell thee, Ludwig, that yonder Gottfried is a good fellow, and my fast friend. Why should he not be? He is my near relation, heir to my property : should I " (here the Margrave's countenance assumed its former expression of excruciating agony), ' ' should I have no son." "But I never saw the boy in better health," replied Sir Ludwig. "Nevertheless, ha! ha! it may chance that I shall soon have no son." The Margrave had crushed many a cup of wine during dinner, and Sir Ludwig thought naturally that his gallant friend had drunken rather deeply. He proceeded in this respect to imitate him; for the stern soldier of those days neither shrunk before the Paynim nor the punch-bowl : and many a rousing night had our crusader enjoyed in Syria with lion-hearted Richard ; with his coadjutor, Godfrey of Bouillon ; nay, with the dauntless Saladin himself. "You knew Gottfried in Palestine?" asked the Margrave. "I did." "Why did ye not greet him then, as ancient comrades should, with the warm grasp of friendship ? It is not because Sir Gottfried is poor? You know well that he is of race as noble as thine own, my early friend ! " "I care not for his race nor for his poverty," replied the blunt crusader. "What says the Minnesinger? Marry, 'the rank is but the stamp of the guinea; the man is the gold.' And I tell thee, Karl of Godesberg, that yonder Gottfried is base metal." " By Saint Buffo, thou beliest him, dear Ludwig.' "By Saint Bugo, dear Karl, I say sooth. The fellow was known i' the camp of the crusaders disreputably known. Era 248 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. he joined us in Palestine, he had sojourned in Constantinople, and learned the arts of the Greek. He is a cogger of dice, I tell thee a chanter of horseflesh. He won five thousand marks from bluff Richard of England the night before the storming of Ascalon, and I caught him with false trumps in his pocket. He warranted a bay mare to Conrad of Mont Serrat, and the rogue had fired her." " Ha ! mean ye that Sir Gottfried is a leg?" cried Sir Karl, knitting his brows. " Now, by my blessed patron, Saint Buffo of Bonn, had any other but Ludwig of Hombourg so said, I would have cloven him from skull to chine." " By Saint Bugo of Katzenellenbogen, I will prove my words on Sir Gottfried's body not on thine, old brother-in-arms. And to do the knave justice, he is a good lance. Holy Bugo ! but he did good service at Acre ! But his character was such that, spite of his bravery, he was dismissed the army ; nor even allowed to sell his captain's commission." "I have heard of it," said the Margrave; "Gottfried hath told me of it. 'Twas about some silly quarrel over the wine-cup a mere silly jape, believe me. Hugo de Brodenel would have no black bottle on the board. Gottfried was wroth, and, to say sooth, flung the black bottle at the Count's head. Hence his dismission and abrupt return. But you know not," continued the Margrave, with a heavy sigh, "of what use that worthy Gottfried has been to me. He has uncloaked a traitor to me." " Not yet," answered Hombourg satirically. " By Saint Buffo ! a deep-dyed dastard ! a dangerous damn- able traitor ! a nest of traitors. Hildebrandt is a traitor Otto is a traitor and Theodora (O Heaven !) she she is another." The old Prince burst into tears at the word, and was almost choked with emotion. " What means this passion, dear friend?" cried Sir Ludwig, seriously alarmed. " Mark, Ludwig ! mark Hildebrandt and Theodora together : mark Hildebrandt and Otto together. Like, like I tell thee as two peas. O holy saints, that I should be born to suffer this ! to have all my affections wrenched out of my bosom, and to be left alone in my old age ! But, hark ! the guests are arriving. An ye will not empty another flask of claret, let us join the ladyes i' the withdrawing chamber. When there, mark Hilde- brandt and Otto >" THE FESTIVAL. 249 CHAPTER III. Tie Festival. THE festival was indeed begun. Coming on horseback, or in their caroches, knights and ladies of the highest rank were assem- bled in the grand saloon of Godesberg, which was splendidly illuminated to receive them. Servitors, in rich liveries (they were attired in doublets of the sky-blue broadcloth of Ypres, and hose of the richest yellow sammit the colours of the house of Godesberg), bore about various refreshments on trays of silver cakes, baked in the oven, and swimming in melted butter ; manchets of bread, smeared with the same delicious condiment, and carved so thin that you might "have expected them to take wing and fly to the ceiling ; coffee, introduced by Peter the Hermit, after his excursion into Arabia, and tea such as only Bohemia could produce, circulated amidst the festive throng, and were eagerly devoured by the guests. The Margrave's gloom was unheeded by them how little indeed is the smiling crowd aware of the pangs that are lurking in the breasts of those who bid them to the feast ! The Margravine was pale ; but woman knows how to deceive ; she was more than ordinarily courteous to her friends, and laughed, though the laugh was hollow ; and talked, though the talk was loathsome to her. "The two are together," said the Margrave, clutching his friend's shoulder. ' ' Now look ! ' ' Sir Ludwig turned towards a quadrille, and there, sure enough, were Sir Hildebrandt and young Otto standing side by side in the dance. Two eggs were not more like ! The reason of the Margrave's horrid suspicion at once flashed across his friend's mind. " Tis clear as the staff of a pike," said the poor Margrave mournfully. ' ' Come, brother, away from the scene ; let us go play a game at cribbage ! " and retiring to the Margravine's boudoir, the two warriors sat down to the game. But though 'tis an interesting one, and though the Margrave won, yet he could not keep his attention on the cards : so agi- tated was his mind by the dreadful secret which weighed upon it. In the midst of their play, the obsequious Gottfried came to whisper a word in his patron's ear, which threw the latter 250 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. into such a fury, that apoplexy was apprehended by the two lookers-on. But the Margrave mastered his emotion. "At what time, did you say ? " said he to Gottfried. " At daybreak, at the outer gate." "I will be there." "And so will I too," thought Count Ludwig, the good Knight of Hombourg. CHAPTER IV. The Flight. How often does man, proud man, make calculations for the future, and think he can bend stern fate to his will ! Alas, we are but creatures in its hands ! How many a slip between the lip and the lifted wine-cup ! How often, though seemingly with a choice of couches to repose upon, do we find ourselves dashed to earth ; and then we are fain to say the grapes are sour, because we cannot attain them ; or worse, to yield to anger in consequence of our own fault. Sir Ludwig, the Hombourger, was not at the outer gate at daybreak. He slept until ten of the clock. The previous night's pota- tions had been heavy, the day's journey had been long and rough. The knight slept as a soldier would, to whom a feather bed is a rarity, and who wakes not till he hears the blast of the He looked up as he woke. At his bedside sat the Margrave. He had been there for hours watching his slumbering comrade. Watching? no, not watching, but awake by his side, brooding over thoughts unutterably bitter over feelings inexpressibly wretched. " What's o'clock ?" was the first natural exclamation of the Hombourger. " I believe it is five o'clock," said his friend. It was ten. It might have been twelve, two, half-past four, twenty minutes to six, the Margrave would still have said, "/ believe it is five o'clock." The wretched take no count of time : it flies with unequal pinions, indeed, for them. " Is breakfast over?" inquired the crusader. THE FLIGHT. 2)1 "Ask the butler," said the Margrave, nodding his head .wildly, rolling his eyes wildly, smiling wildly. "Gracious Bugo ! " said the Knight of Hombourg, "what has ailed thee, my friend? It is ten o'clock by my horologe. Your regular hour is nine. You are not no, by heavens ! you are not shaved ! You wear the tights and silken hose of last evening's banquet. Your collar is all rumpled 'tis that of yesterday. You have not been to bed I What has chanced, brother of mine : what has chanced ? " "A common chance, Louis of Hombourg," said the Mar- grave : "one that chances every day. A false woman, a false friend, a broken heart. This has chanced. I have not been to bed." "What mean ye?" cried Count Ludwig, deeply affected. "A false friend? / am not a fatee friend. A false woman? Surely the lovely Theodora, your wife " " I have no wife, Louis, now ; I have no wife and no son." In accents broken by grief, the Margrave explained what had occurred. Gottfried's information was but too correct. There was a cause for the likeness between Otto and Sir Hildebrandt : a fatal cause ! Hildebrandt and Theodora had met at dawn at the outer gate. The Margrave had seen them. They walked along together ; they embraced. Ah ! how the husband's, the father's, feelings were harrowed at that em- brace ! They parted ; and then the Margrave, coming forward, coldly signified to his lady that she was to retire to a convent for life, and gave orders that the boy should be sent too, to take the vows at a monastery. Both sentences had been executed. Otto, in a boat, and guarded by a company of his father's men-at-arms, was on the river going towards Cologne, to the Monastery of Saint Buffo there. The Lady Theodora, under the guard of Sir Gottfried and an attendant, were on their way to the convent of Non- nenwerth, which many of our readers have seen the beauti- ful Green Island Convent, laved by the bright waters of the Rhine ! "What road did Gottfried take?" asked the Knight of Hombourg, grinding his teeth. " You cannot overtake him," said the Margrave. " My good 252 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. Gottfried, he is my only comfort now : he is my kinsman, and shall be my heir. He will be back anon." " Will he so ?" thought Sir Ludwig. " I will ask him a few questions ere he return." And springing from his couch, he began forthwith to put on his usual morning dress of com- plete armour ; and, after a hasty ablution, donned, not his cap of maintenance, but his helmet of battle. He rang the bell violently. "A cup of coffee, straight," said he to the servitor who answered the summons ; "bid the cook pack me a sausage and bread in paper, and the groom saddle Streithengst : we have far to ride." The various orders were obeyed. The horse was brought ; the refreshments disposed of ; the clattering steps of the de- parting steed were heard in the courtyard ; but the Margrave took no notice of his friend, and sat, plunged in silent grief, quite motionless by the empty bedside. CHAPTER V. The Traitor's Doom. THE Hombourger led his horse down the winding path which conducts from the hill and castle of Godesberg into the beautiful green plain below. Who has not seen that lovely plain, and who that has seen it has not loved it ? A thousand sunny vine- yards and cornfields stretch around in peaceful luxuriance ; the mighty Rhine floats by it in silver magnificence, and on the opposite bank rise the seven mountains robed in majestic purple, the monarchs of the royal scene. A pleasing poet, Lord Byron, in describing this very scene, has mentioned that " peasant girls, with dark blue eyes, and hands that offer cake and wine," are perpetually crowding round the traveller in this delicious district, and proffering to him their rustic presents. This was no doubt the case in former days, when the noble bard wrote his elegant poems in the happy ancient days ! when maidens were as yet generous, and men kindly ! Now the degenerate peasantry of the district are much THE TRAITORS DOOM. 2$J more inclined to ask than to give, and their blue eyes seem to have disappeared with their generosity. But as it was a long time ago that the events of our story occurred, 'tis probable that the good Knight Ludwig of Hom- bourg was greeted upon his path by this fascinating peasantry ; though we know not how he accepted their welcome. He continued his ride across the flat green country until he came to Rolandseck, whence he could command the Island of Non- nenwerth (that lies in the Rhine opposite that place), and all who went to it or passed from it. Over the entrance of a little cavern in one of the rocks hang- ing above the Rhine-stream at Rolandseck, and covered with odoriferous cactuses and silvery magnolias, the traveller of the present day may perceive a rude broken image of a saint : that image represented the venerable Saint Buffo of Bonn, the patron of the Margrave ; and Sir Ludwig, kneeling on the greensward, and reciting a censer, an ave, and a couple of acolytes before it, felt encouraged to think that the deed he meditated was about to be performed under the very eyes of his friend's sanctified patron. His devotion done (and the knight of those days was as pious as he was brave), Sir Ludwig, the gallant Hombourger, exclaimed with a loud voice " Ho ! hermit ! holy hermit, art thou in thy cell? " "Who calls the poor servant of Heaven and Saint Buffo?" exclaimed a voice from the cavern ; and presently, from beneath the wreaths of geranium and magnolia, appeared an intensely venerable, ancient, and majestic head 'twas that, we need not say, of Saint Buffo's solitary. A silver beard hanging to his knees gave his person an appearance of great respectability ; his body was robed in simple brown serge, and girt with a knotted cord : his ancient feet were only defended from the prickles and stones by the rudest sandals, and his bald and polished head was bare. " Holy hermit," said the knight, in a grave voice, " make ready thy ministry,, for there is some one about to die." "Where, son?" " Here, father." " Is he here, now ? " "Perhaps," said the stout warrior, crossing himself; "but not so if right prevail." At this moment he caught sight of a ferry-boat putting off from Nonnenwerth, with a knight on 254 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. board. Ludwig knew at once, by the sinople reversed and the truncated gules on his surcoat, that it was Sir Gottfried of Godesberg. " Be ready, father," said the good knight, pointing towards the advancing boat ; and waving his hand by way of respect to the reverend hermit, without a further word, he vaulted into his saddle, and rode back for a few score of paces ; when he wheeled round, and remained steady. His great lance and pennon rose in the air. His armour glistened in the sun ; the chest and head of his battle-horse were similarly covered with steel. As Sir Gottfried, likewise armed and mounted (for his horse had been left at the ferry hard by), advanced up the road, he almost started at the figure before him a glistening tower of steel. " Are you the lord of this pass, Sir Knight? " said Sir Gott- fried haughtily, " or do you hold it against all comers, in honour of your lady-love ? " " I am not the lord of this pass. I do not hold it against all comers. I hold it but against one, and he is a liar and a traitor." "As the matter concerns me not, I pray you let me pass," said Gottfried. "The matter does concern thee, Gottfried of Godesberg. Liar and traitor ! art thou coward, too?" " Holy Saint Buffo ; 'tis a fight !" exclaimed the old hermit (who, too, had been a gallant warrior in his day) ; and like the old war-horse that hears the trumpet's sound, and spite of his clerical profession, he prepared to look on at the combat with no ordinary eagerness, and sat down on the overhanging ledge of the rock, lighting his pipe, and affecting unconcern, but in reality most deeply interested in the event which was about to ensue. As soon as the word " coward "had been pronounced by Sir Ludwig, his opponent, uttering a curse far too horrible to be inscribed here, had wheeled back his powerful piebald, and brought his lance to the rest. "Ha! Beause"ant!" cried he. " Allah humdillah !" 'Twas the battle-cry in Palestine of the irresistible Knights Hospitallers. " Look to thyself, Sir Knight, and for mercy from Heaven. / will give thee none." "A Bugo for Katzenellenbogen ! " exclaimed Sir Ludwig THE TRAITOR'S DOOM. 255 piously : that, too, was the well-known war-cry of his princely race. "I will give the signal," said the old hermit, waving his pipe. "Knights, are you ready? One, two, three. Los!" (Let go.) At the signal, the two steeds tore up the ground like whirl- winds ; the two knights, two flashing perpendicular masses of steel, rapidly converged ; the two lances met upon the two shields of either, and shivered, splintered, shattered into ten hundred thousand pieces, which whirled through the air here and there, among the rocks, or in the trees, or in the river. The two horses fell back trembling on their haunches, where they remained for half a minute or so. ' ' Holy Buffo ! a brave stroke ! " said the old hermit. " Marry, but a splinter well-nigh took off my nose ! " The honest hermit waved his pipe in delight, not perceiving that one of the splinters had carried off the head of it, and rendered his favourite amuse- ment impossible. "Ha! they are to it again! O my! how they go to with their great swords ! Well stricken, grey ! Well parried, piebald ! Ha, that was a slicer ! Go it, piebald ! 2)6 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. go it, grey ! go it, grey ! go it, pie Peccavi ! peccavi ! " said the old man, here suddenly closing his eyes, and falling down on his knees. ' ' I forgot I was a man of peace. " And the next moment, uttering a hasty matin, he sprang down the ledge of rock, and was by the side of the combatants. The battle was over. Good knight as Sir Gottfried was, his strength and skill had not been able to overcome Sir Ludwig the Hombourger, with RIGHT on his side. He was bleeding at every point of his armour : he had been run through the body- several times, and a cut in tierce, delivered with tremendous dexterity, had cloven the crown of his helmet of Damascus steel, and passing through the cerebellum and sensorium, had split his nose almost in twain. His mouth foaming his face almost green his eyes full of blood his brains spattered over his forehead, and several of his teeth knocked out, the discomfited warrior presented a ghastly spectacle, as, reeling under the effects of the last tremendous blow which the Knight of Hombourg dealt, Sir Gottfried fell heavily from the saddle of his piebald charger ; the frightened animal whisked his tail wildly with a shriek and a snort, plunged out his hind legs, trampling for one moment upon the feet of the prostrate Gottfried, thereby causing him to shriek with agony, and then galloped away riderless. Away ! ay, away ! away amid the green vineyards and golden cornfields ; away up the steep mountains, where he frightened the eagles in their eyries ; away down the clattering ravines, where the flashing cataracts tumble ; away through the dark pine-forests, where the hungry wolves are howling ; away over the dreary wolds, where the wild wind walks alone ; away through the plashing quagmires, where the will-o'-the-wisp slunk frightened among the reeds ; away through light and darkness, storm and sunshine ; away by tower and town, high road and hamlet. Once a turnpike-man would have detained him ; but, ha ! ha ! he charged the pike, and cleared it at a bound. Once the Cologne Diligence stopped the way : he charged the Diligence, he knocked off the cap of the conductor on the roof, and yet galloped, wildly, madly, furiously, irre- sistibly on ! Brave horse ! gallant steed ! snorting child of Araby ! On went the horse, over mountains, rivers, turnpikes, apple-women ; and never stopped until he reached a livery-stable in Cologne where his master was accustomed to put him up. THE CONFESSION. 2)7 CHAPTER VI. The Confession. BUT we have forgotten, meanwhile, the prostrate individual. Having examined the wounds in his side, legs, head, and throat, the old hermit (a skilful leech) knelt down by the side of the vanquished one and said, " Sir Knight, it is my painful duty to state to you that you are in an exceedingly dangerous condition, and will not probably survive. " ' ' Say you so, Sir Priest ? then 'tis time I make my con- fession. Hearken you, Priest, and you, Sir Knight, whoever you be." Sir Ludwig (who, much affected by the scene, had been tying his horse up to a tree) lifted his visor and said, "Gottfried of Godesberg ! I am the friend of thy kinsman, Margrave Karl, whose happiness thou rTast ruined ; I am the friend of his chaste and virtuous lady, whose fair fame thou hast belied ; I am the godfather of young Count Otto, whose heritage thou wouldst have appropriated. Therefore I met thee in deadly fight, and overcame these, and have well-nigh finished thee. Speak on." " I have done all this," said the dying man, " and here, in my last hour, repent me. The Lady Theodora is a spotless lady ; the youthful Otto the true son of his father Sir Hildebrandt is not his father, but his uncle." " Gracious Buffo ! " " Celestial Bugo ! " here said the hermit and the Knight of Hombourg simultaneously, clasping their hands. " Yes, his uncle; but with the bar-sinister in his "scutcheon. Hence he could never be acknowledged by the family ; hence, too, the Lady Theodora's spotless purity (though the young people had been brought up together) could never be brought to own the relationship." " May I repeat your confession?" asked the hermit. "With the greatest pleasure in life: carry my confession to the Margrave, and pray him give me pardon. Were there a notary-public present," slowly gasped the knight, the film of dissolution glazing over his eyes, " I would ask you two gentlemen to witness it. I would gladly sign the deposition I 2)8 A LEGEND OF THE RHIXE. that is, if I could wr-wr-wr-wr-ite ! " A faint shuddering smile a quiver, a gasp, a gurgle the blood gushed from his mouth in black volumes. . . . " He will never sin more," said the hermit solemnly. " May Heaven assoilzie him ! " said Sir Ludwig. " Hermit, he was a gallant knight. He died with harness on his back, and with truth on his lips : Ludwig of Hombourg would ask no other death. ..." An hour afterwards the principal servants at the Castle of Godesberg were rather surprised to see the noble Lord Louis trot into the courtyard of the castle, with a companion on the crupper of his saddle. 'Twas the venerable Hermit of Roland- seek, who, for the sake of greater celerity, had adopted this undignified conveyance, and whose appearance and little dumpy legs might well create hilarity among the " pampered menials " who are always found lounging about the houses of the great. He skipped off the saddle with considerable lightness, however ; and Sir Ludwig, taking the reverend man by the arm, and frowning the jeering servitors into awe, bade one of them lead him to the presence of His Highness the Margrave. "What has chanced ?" said the inquisitive servitor. "The riderless horse of Sir Gottfried was seen to gallop by the outer wall anon. The Margrave's Grace has never quitted your Lord- ship's chariiber, and sits as one distraught." " Hold thy prate, knave, and lead us on ! " And so saying, the Knight and his Reverence moved into the well-known apartment, where, according to the servitor's description, the wretched Margrave sat like a stone. Ludwig took one of the kind broken-hearted man's hands, the hermit seized the other, and began (but, on account of his great age, with a prolixity which we shall not endeavour to imitate) to narrate the events which we have already described. Let the dear reader fancy, the while his Reverence speaks, the glazed eyes of the Margrave gradually lighting up with attention ; the flush of joy which mantles in his countenance the start the throb the almost delirious outburst of hysteric exulta- tion with which, when the whole truth was made known, he clasped the two messengers of glad tidings to his breast, with an energy that almost choked the aged recluse ! " Ride, ride this instant to the Margravine say I have wronged her, that it is all right, that she may come back that I forgive her THE CONFESSION. 2 $9 that I apologise, if you will " and a secretary forthwith de- spatched a note to that effect, which was carried off by a fleet messenger. ' ' Now write to the Superior of the monastery at Cologne, and bid him send me back my boy, my darling, my Otto my Otto of roses ! " said the fond father, making the first play upon words he had ever attempted in his life. But what will not paternal love effect ? The secretary (smiling at the joke) wrote another letter, and another fleet messenger was despatched on another horse. "And now," said Sir Ludwig playfully, "let us to lunch. Holy hermit, are you for a snack ? " The hermit could not say nay on an occasion so festive, and the three gentles seated themselves to a plenteous repast ; for which the remains of the feast of yesterday offered, it need not be said, ample means. " They will be home by dinner-time," said the exulting father. "Ludwig! reverend hermit! we will carry on till then." And the cup passed gaily round, and the laugh and jest circulated, while the three happy friends sat confidently awaiting the return of the Margravine and her son. But alas ! said we not rightly at the commencement of a former chapter, that betwixt the lip and the raised wine-cup there is often many a spill ? that our hopes are high, and often, too often, vain? About three hours after the departure of the first messenger, he returned, and with an exceedingly long face knelt down and presented to the Margrave a billet to the following effect : "CONVENT OF NONNENWERTH : Friday Afternoon. " SIR, I have submitted too long to your ill-usage, and am disposed to bear it no more. I will no longer be made the butt of your ribald satire, and the object of your coarse abuse. Last week you threatened me with your cane ! On Tuesday last you threw a wine-decanter at me, which hit the butler, it is true, but the intention was evident. This morning, in the presence of all the servants, you called me by the most vile abominable name, which Heaven forbid I should repeat ! You dismissed me from your house under a false accusation. You sent me to this odious convent to be immured for life. Be it so ! I will not come back, because, forsooth, you relent. Anything is better than a residence with a wicked, coarse, violent, intoxicated, brutal 260 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. monster like yourself. I remain here for ever, and blush to be obliged to sign myself " THEODORA VON GODESBERG. " P. S. I hope you do not intend to keep all my best gowns, jewels, and wearing apparel ; and make no doubt you dismissed me from your house in order to make way for some vile hussy, whose eyes I would like to tear out. "T. V. G." CHAPTER VII. The Sentence. THIS singular document, illustrative of the passions of women at all times, and particularly of the manners of the early ages, struck dismay into the heart of the Margrave. "Are her Ladyship's insinuations correct ?" asked the hermit, in a severe tone. " To correct a wife with a cane is a venial, I may say a justifiable practice ; but to fling a bottle at her is ruin both to the liquor and to her." " But she sent a carving-knife at me first," said the heart- broken husband. " O jealousy, cursed jealousy, why, why did I ever listen to thy green and yellow tongue ? ' " They quarrelled ; but they loved each other sincerely," whispered Sir Ludwig to the hermit ; who began to deliver forthwith a lecture upon family discord and marital authority, which would have sent his two hearers to sleep, but for the arrival of the second messenger, whom the Margrave had despatched to Cologne for his son. This herald wore a still longer face than that of his comrade who preceded him. " Where is my darling? " roared the agonised parent. " Have ye brought him with ye ? " " N no," said the man, hesitating. " I will flog the knave soundly when he comes," cried the father, vainly endeavouring, under an appearance of sternness, to hide his inward emotion and tenderness. "Please, your Highness," said the -messenger, making a desperate effort, " Count Otto is not at the convent." ' ' Know ye, knave, where he is ? " THE CHILDE OF GODESBERG. 26 1 The swain solemnly said, " I do. He is there." He pointed as he spake to the broad Rhine, that was seen from the case- ment, lighted up by the magnificent hues of sunset. "There! How mean ye there?" gasped the Margrave, wrought to a pitch of nervous fury. " Alas ! my good lord, when he was in the boat which was to conduct him to the convent, he he jumped suddenly from it, and is dr-dr-owned." ' ' Carry that knave out and hang him ! " said the Margrave, with a calmness more dreadful than any outburst of rage. " Let every man of the boat's crew be blown from the mouth of the cannon on the tower except the coxswain, and let him be" What was to be done with the coxswain, no one knows ; for at that moment, and overcome by his emotion, the Margrave sank down lifeless on the flpor. CHAPTER VIII. The Cbilde of Godesberg. IT must be clear to the dullest intellect (if amongst our readers we dare venture to presume that a dull intellect should be found) that the cause of the Margrave's fainting fit, described in the last chapter, was a groundless apprehension on the part of that too solicitous and credulous nobleman regarding the fate of his beloved child. No, young Otto was not drowned. Was ever hero of romantic story done to death so early in the tale ? Young Otto was not drowned. Had such been the case, the Lord Margrave would infallibly have died at the close of the last chapter ; and a few gloomy sentences at its close would have denoted how the lovely Lady Theodora became insane in the convent, and how Sir Ludwig determined, upon the demise of the old hermit (consequent upon the shock of hearing the news), to retire to the vacant hermitage, and assume the robe, the beard, the mortifications of the late venerable and solitary ecclesiastic. Otto was not drowned, and all those personages of our history are consequently alive and well. The boat containing the amazed young Count for he knew 262 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. not the cause of his father's anger, and hence rebelled against the unjust sentence which the Margrave had uttered had not rowed many miles, when the gallant boy rallied from his temporary surprise and despondency, and determined not to be a slave in any convent of any order ; determined to make a desperate effort for escape. At a moment when the men were pulling hard against the tide, and Kuno, the coxswain, was looking carefully to steer the barge between some dangerous rocks and quicksands, which are frequently met with in the majestic though dangerous river, Otto gave a sudden spring from the boat, and with one single flounce was in the boiling, frothing, swirling eddy of the stream. Fancy the agony of the crew at the disappearance of their young lord ! All loved him ; all would have given their lives for him ; but as they did not know how to swim, of course they declined to make any useless plunges in search of him, and stood on their oars in mute wonder and grief. Once, his fair head and golden ringlets were seen to arise from the water ; twice, puffing and panting, it appeared for an instant again ; thrice, it rose but for one single moment : it was the last chance, and it sunk, sunk, sunk. Knowing the reception they would meet with from their liege lord, the men naturally did not go home to Godesberg, but, putting in at the first creek on the opposite bank, fled into the Duke of Nassau's territory ; where, as they have little to do with our tale, we will leave them. But they little knew how expert a swimmer was young Otto. He had disappeared, it is true : but why? because he had dived. He calculated that his conductors would consider him drowned, and the desire of liberty lending him wings (or we had rather say fins, in this instance), the gallant boy swam on beneath the water, never lifting his head for a single moment between Godesberg and Cologne the distance being twenty-five or thirty miles. Escaping from observation, he landed on the Deutz side of the river, repaired to a comfortable and quiet hostel there, saying he had had an accident from a boat, and thus account- ing for the moisture of his habiliments, and while these were drying before a fire in his chamber, went snugly to bed, where he mused, not without amaze, on the strange events of the day. "This morning," thought he, " a noble, and heir to a princely estate this evening an outcast, with but a few bank-notes THE CHILDE OF GODESBERG. 263 which my mamma luckily gave me on my birthday. What a strange entry into life is this for a young man of my family ! Well, I have courage and resolution : my first attempt in life has been a gallant and successful one ; other dangers will be conquered by similar bravery." And recommending himself, his unhappy mother, and his mistaken father to the care of their patron saint, Saint Buffo, the gallant-hearted boy fell presently into such a sleep, as only the young, the healthy, the innocent, and the extremely fatigued, can enjoy. The fatigues of the day (and very few men but would be fatigued after swimming well-nigh thirty miles under water) caused young Otto to sleep so profoundly, that he did not re- mark how, after Friday's sunset, as a natural consequence, Saturday's Phoebus illumined the world, ay, and sunk at his appointed hour. The serving-maidens of the hostel, peeping in, marked him sleeping, and blessing him for a pretty youth, tripped lightly from the chamber ; the boots tried haply twice or thrice to call him (as boots will fain), but the lovely boy, giving another snore, turned on his side, and was quite un- conscious of the interruption. In a word, the youth slept for six-and-thirty hours at an elongation ; and the Sunday sun was shining, and the bells of the hundred churches of Cologne were clinking and tolling in pious festivity, and the burghers and burgheresses of the town were trooping to vespers and morning service when Otto awoke. As he donned his clothes of the richest Genoa velvet, the astonished boy could not at first account for his difficulty in putting them on. "Marry," said he, "these breeches that my blessed mother " (tears filled his fine eyes as he thought of her) ' ' that my blessed mother had made long on purpose, are now ten inches too short for me. Whir-r-r ! my coat cracks i' the back, as in vain I try to buckle it round me ; and the sleeves reach no farther than my elbows ! What is this mystery ? Am I grown fat and tall in a single night ? Ah ! ah ! ah ! ah ! I have it." The young and good-humoured Childe laughed merrily. He bethought him of the reason of his mistake : his garments had shrunk from being five-and-twenty miles under water. But one remedy presented itself to his mind ; and that we need not say was to purchase new ones. Inquiring the way to the most genteel ready-made-clothes' establishment in the 264 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. city of Cologne, and finding it was kept in the Minoriten Strasse, by an ancestor of the celebrated Moses of London, the noble Childe hied him towards the emporium ; but you may be sure did not neglect to perform his religious duties by the way. Entering the cathedral, he made straight for the shrine of St. Buffo, and, hiding himself behind a pillar there (fearing he might be recognised by the Archbishop, or any of his father's numerous friends in Cologne), he proceeded with his devotions, as was the practice of the young nobles of the age. But though exceedingly intent upon the service, yet his eye could not refrain from wandering a little round about him, and he remarked with surprise that the whole church was filled with archers; and he remembered, too, that he had seen in the streets numerous other bands of men similarly attired in green. On asking at the cathedral porch the cause of this assemblage, one of the green ones said (in a jape), " Marry, youngster, you must be green, not to know that we are all bound to the castle of his Grace Duke Adolf of Cleves, who gives an archery meeting once a year, and prizes for which we toxophilites muster strong." Otto, whose course hitherto had been undetermined, now immediately settled what to do. He straightway repaired to the ready-made emporium of Herr Moses, and bidding that gentleman furnish him with an archer's complete dress, Moses speedily selected a suit from his vast stock, which fitted the youth to a /, and we need not say was sold at an exceedingly moderate price. So attired (and bidding Herr Moses a cordial farewell), young Otto was a gorgeous, a noble, a soul-inspiring boy to gaze on. A coat and breeches of the most brilliant pea- green, ornamented with a profusion of brass buttons, and fitting him with exquisite tightness, showed off a figure unrivalled for slim symmetry. His feet were covered with peaked buskins of buff leather, and a belt round his slender waist, of the same material, held his knife, his tobacco-pipe and pouch, and his long shining dirk ; which, though the adventurous youth had as yet only employed it to fashion wicket-bails, or to cut bread and cheese, he was now quite ready to use against the enemy. His personal attractions were enhanced by a neat white hat, flung carelessly and fearlessly on one side of his open smiling countenance ; and his lovely hair, curling in ten thousand yellow THE CHILDE OF GODESBERG. 265 ringlets, fell over his shoulder like golden epaulettes, and down his back as far as the waist-buttons of his coat. I warrant me, many a lovely Colnerinn looked after the handsome Childe with anxiety, and dreamed that night of Cupid under the guise of " a bonny boy in green." So accoutred, the youth's next thought was, that he must supply himself with a bow. This he speedily purchased at the most fashionable bowyer's, and of the best material and make. It was of ivory, trimmed with pink ribbon, and the cord of silk. An elegant quiver, beautifully painted and embroidered, was slung across his back, with a dozen of the finest arrows, tipped with steel of Damascus, formed of the branches of the famous Upas-tree of Java, and feathered with the wings of the ortolan. These purchases being completed (together with that of a. knapsack, dressing-case, change, &c. ), our young adven- turer asked where was the hostel at which the archers were wont to assemble ? and being informed that it was at the sign of the "Golden Stag," hied him to that house of entertain- ment, where, by calling for quantities of liquor and beer, he speedily made the acquaintance and acquired the goodwill of a company of his future comrades, who happened to be sitting in the coffee-room. After they had eaten and drunken for all, Otto said, ad- dressing them, "When go ye forth, gentles? I am a stranger here, bound as you to the archery meeting of Duke Adolf. An ye will admit a youth into your company, 'twill gladden me upon my lonely way ? " The archers replied, " You seem so young and jolly, and you spend your gold so very like a gentleman, that we'll receive you in our band with pleasure. Be ready, for we start at half- past two ! " At that hour accordingly the whole joyous com- pany prepared to move, and Otto not a little increased his popularity among them by stepping out and having a conference with the landlord, which caused the latter to come into the room where the archers were assembled previous to departure, and to say, "Gentlemen, the bill is settled!" words never ungrateful to an archer yet : no, marry, nor to a man of any other calling that I wot of. They marched joyously for several leagues, singing and joking, and telling of a thousand feats of love and chase and war. While thus engaged, some one remarked to Otto, that I 2 266 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. he was not dressed in the regular uniform, having no feathers in his hat. " I dare say I will find a feather," said the lad, smiling. Then another gibed because his bow was new. "See that you can use your old one as well, Master Wolf- gang," said the undisturbed youth. His answers, his bearing, his generosity, his beauty, and his wit, inspired all his new toxophilite friends with interest and curiosity, and they longed to see whether his skill with the bow corresponded with their secret sympathies for him. An occasion for manifesting this skill did not fail to present itself soon as indeed it seldom does to such a hero of romance as young Otto was. Fate seems to watch over such : events occur to them just in the nick of time ; they rescue virgins just as ogres are on the point of devouring them ; they manage to be present at Court and interesting ceremonies, and to see the most interesting people at the most interesting moment ; directly an adventure is necessary for them, that adventure occurs : and I, for my part, have often wondered with delight (and never could penetrate the mystery of the subject) at the way in which that humblest of romance heroes, Signer Clown, when he wants anything in the Pantomime, straightway finds it to his hand. How is it that, suppose he wishes to dress himself up like a woman for instance, that minute a coalheaver walks in with a shovel-hat that answers for a bonnet : at the very next instant a butcher's lad passing with a string of sausages and a bundle of bladders unconsciously helps Master Clown to a necklace and a tournure, and so on through the whole toilet? Depend upon it there is something we do not wot of in that mysterious overcoming of circumstances by great individuals :_ that apt and wondrous conjuncture of the Hour and the Man ; and so, for my part, when I heard the above remark of one of the archers, that Otto had never a feather in his bonnet, I felt sure that a heron would spring up in the next sentence to supply him with an aigrette. And such indeed was the fact : rising out of a morass by which the archers were passing, a gallant heron, arching his neck, swelling his crest, placing his legs behind him, and his beak and red eyes against the wind, rose slowly, and offered the fairest mark in the world. "Shoot, Otto," said one of the archers. "You would not THE CHILDE OF GODESBERG. 267 shoot just now at a crow because it was a foul bird, nor at a hawk because it was a noble bird ; bring us down yon heron : it flies slowly." But Otto was busy that moment tying his shoestring, and Rudolf, the third best of the archers, shot at the bird and missed it. "Shoot, Otto," said Wolfgang, a youth who had taken a liking to the young archer: "the bird is getting further and further." But Otto was busy that moment whittling a willow-twig he had just cut. Max, the second best archer, shot and missed. "Then," said Wolfgang, "I must try myself: a plague on you, young springald^. you have lost a noble chance ! " Wolfgang prepared himself with all his care, and shot at the bird. "It is out of distance," said he, "and a murrain on the bird ! " Otto, who by this time had done whittling his willow-stick (having carved a capital caricature of Wolfgang upon it), flung the twig down and said carelessly, ' ' Out of distance ! Pshaw ! We have two minutes yet," and fell to asking riddles and cutting jokes; to the which none of the archers listened, as they were all engaged, their noses in air, watching the retreating bird. " Where shall I hit him?" said Otto. 'Go to," said Rudolf, "thou canst see no limb of him: he is no bigger than a flea." ' ' Here goes for his right eye ! " said Otto ; and stepping forward in the English manner (which his godfather having learnt in Palestine, had taught him), he brought his bow- string to his ear, took a good aim, allowing for the wind, and calculating the parabola to a nicety. Whizz ! his arrow went off. He took up the willow-twig again and began carving a head of Rudolf at the other end, chatting and laughing, and singing a ballad the while. The archers, after standing a long time looking skywards with their noses in the air, at last brought them down from the perpendicular to the horizontal position, and said, "Pooh, this lad is a humbug ! The arrow's lost ; let's go ! " "Heads!" cried Otto, laughing. A speck was seen rapidly 268 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. descending from the heavens ; it grew to be as big as a crown-piece, then as a partridge, then as a tea-kettle, and flop ! down fell a magnificent heron to the ground, flooring poor Max in its fall. "Take the arrow out of his eye, Wolfgang," said Otto, without looking at the bird : ' ' wipe it and put it back into my quiver." The arrow indeed was there, having penetrated right through the pupil. "Are you in league with Der Freischiitz?" said Rudolf, quite amazed. Otto laughingly whistled the " Huntsman's Chorus," and said, "No, my friend. It was a lucky shot: only a lucky shot. I was taught shooting, look you, in the fashion of merry England, where the archers are archers indeed." And so he cut off the heron's wing for a plume for his hat ; and the archers walked on, much amazed, and saying, "What a wonderful country that merry England must be ! " Far from feeling any envy at their comrade's success, the jolly archers recognised his superiority with pleasure; and Wolfgang and Rudolf especially held out their hands to the younker, and besought the honour of his friendship. They continued their walk all day, and when night fell made choice of a good hostel you may be sure, where over beer, punch, champagne, and every luxury, they drank to the health of the Duke of Cleves, and indeed each other's healths all round. Next day they resumed their march, and continued it without interruption, except to take in a supply of victuals here and there (and it was found on these occasions that Otto, young as he was, could eat four times as much as the oldest archer present, and drink to correspond) ; and these continued refreshments having given them more than ordinary strength, they determined on making rather a long march of it, and did not halt till after nightfall at the gates of the little town of Windeck. What was to be done? the town gates were shut. " Is there no hostel, no castle where we can sleep?" asked Otto of the sentinel at the gate. "I am so hungry that in lack of better food I think I could eat my grandmamma." The sentinel laughed at this hyperbolical expression of hunger, and said, ' ' You had best go sleep at the Castle of THE CHILDE OF GODESBERG. 269 Windeck yonder ; " adding, with a peculiarly knowing look, " Nobody will disturb you there." At that moment the moon broke out from a cloud, and showed on a hill hard by a castle indeed but the skeleton of a castle. The roof was gone, the windows were dismantled, the towers were tumbling, and the cold moonlight pierced it through and through. One end of the building was, however, still covered in, and stood looking still more frowning, vast, and gloomy, even than the other part of the edifice. "There is a lodging, certainly," said Otto to the sentinel, who pointed towards the castle with his bartizan; "but tell me, good fellow, what are we to do for a supper ? " " Oh, the castellan of Windeck will entertain you," said the man-at-arms with a grin, and marched up the embrasure ; the while the archers, taking counsel among themselves, debated whether or not they should take up their quarters in the gloomy and deserted edifice. "We shall get nothing but an owl for supper there," said young Otto. ' ' Marry, lads, let us storm the town ; we are thirty gallant fellows, and I have heard the garrison is not more than three hundred. " But the rest of the party thought such a way of getting supper was not a very cheap one, and, grovelling knaves, preferred rather to sleep ignobly and without victuals, than dare the assault with Otto, and die, or conquer something comfortable. One and all then made their way towards the castle. They entered its vast and silent halls, frightening the owls and bats that fled before them with hideous hootings and flappings of wings, and passing by a multiplicity of mouldy stairs, dank reeking roofs, and rickety corridors, at last came to an apart- ment which, dismal and dismantled as it was, appeared to be in rather better condition than the neighbouring chambers, and they therefore selected it as their place of rest for the night. They then tossed up which should mount guard. The first two hours of watch fell to Otto, who was to be succeeded by his young though humble friend Wolfgang ; and, accordingly, the Childe of Godesberg, drawing his dirk, began to pace upon his weary round ; while his comrades, by various gradations of snoring, told how profoundly they slept, spite of their lack of supper. 'Tis needless to Say what were the thoughts of the noble 27O A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. Childe as he performed his two hours' watch; what gushing memories poured into his full soul; what "sweet and bitter" recollections of home inspired his throbbing heart ; and what manly aspirations after fame buoyed him up. "Youth is ever confident," says the bard. Happy happy season ! The moonlit hours passed by on silver wings, the twinkling stars looked friendly down upon him. Confiding in their youthful sentinel, sound slept the valorous toxophilites, as up and down, and there and back again, marched on the noble Childe. At length his repeater told him, much to his satisfaction, that it was half- past eleven, the hour when his watch was to cease ; and so, giving a playful kick to the slumbering Wolfgang, that good- humoured fellow sprung up from his lair, and, drawing his sword, proceeded to relieve Otto. The latter laid him down for warmth's sake on the very spot which his comrade had left, and for some time could not sleep. Realities and visions then began to mingle in his mind till he scarce knew which was which. He dozed for a minute ; then he woke with a start ; then he went off again ; then woke up again. In one of these half-sleeping moments he thought he saw a figure, as of a woman in white, gliding into the room, and beckoning Wolfgang from it. He looked again. Wolfgang was gone. At that moment twelve o'clock clanged from the town, and Otto started up. CHAPTER IX. The Lady of Windeck. As the bell with iron tongue called midnight, Wolfgang the Archer, pacing on his watch, beheld before him a pale female figure. He did not know whence she came : but there suddenly she stood close to him. Her blue, clear, glassy eyes were fixed upon him. Her form was of faultless beauty ; her face pale as the marble of the fairy statue, ere yet the sculptor's love had given it life. A smile played upon her features, but it was no warmer than the reflection of a moonbeam on a lake ; and yet it was wondrous beautiful. A fascination stole over the senses of young Wolfgang. He stared at the lovely apparition with THE LADY OF WINDECK. 37! fixed eyes and distended jaws. She looked at him with ineffable archness. She lifted one beautifully rounded alabaster arm, and made a sign as if to beckon him towards her. Did Wolf- gang the young and lusty Wolfgang follow ? Ask the iron whether it follows the magnet? ask the pointer whether it pursues the partridge through the stubble ? ask the youth whether the lollypop-shop does not attract him? Wolfgang did follow. An antique door opened, as if by magic. There was no light, and yet they saw quite plain ; they passed through the innumerable ancient chambers, and yet they did not wake any of the owls and bats roosting there. We know not through how many apartments the young couple passed ; but at last they came to one where a feast was prepared ; and on an antique table, covered with massive silver, covers were laid for two. The lady took *iier place at one end of the table, and with her sweetest nod beckoned Wolfgang to the other seat. He took it; The table was small, and their knees met. He felt as cold in his legs as if he were kneeling against an ice-well. " Gallant archer," said she, "you must be hungry after your day's march. What supper will you have? Shall it be a delicate lobster salad ? or a dish of elegant tripe and onions ? or a slice of boar's-head and truffles ? or a Welsh rabbit a la cave au cidre ? or a beefsteak and shallot ? or a couple of rognons a la brochette? Speak, brave bowyer: you have but to order." As there was nothing on the table but a covered silver dish, Wolfgang thought that the lady who proposed such a multi- plicity of delicacies to him was only laughing at him ; so he determined to try her with something extremely rare. " Fair Princess," he said, " I should like very much a pork- chop and some mashed potatoes." She lifted the cover : there was such a pork-chop as Simpson never served, with a dish of mashed potatoes that would have formed at least six portions in our degenerate days in Rupert Street. When he had helped himself to these delicacies, the lady put the cover on the dish again, and watched him eating with interest. He was for some time too much occupied with his own food to remark that his companion did not eat a morsel ; but big as it was, his chop was soon gone ; the shining silver 2J2 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. of his plate was scraped quite clean with his knife, and, heaving a great sigh, he confessed a humble desire for something to drink. " Call for what you like, sweet sir," said the lady, lifting up a silver filigree bottle, with an india-rubber cork, ornamented with gold. " Then," said Master Wolfgang for the fellow's tastes were, in sooth, very humble "I call for half-and-half." According to his wish, a pint of that delicious beverage was poured from the bottle, foaming, into his beaker. Having emptied this at a draught, and declared that on his conscience it was the best tap he ever knew in his life, the young man felt his appetite renewed ; and it is impossible to say how many different dishes he called for. Only enchantment, he was afterwards heard to declare (though none of his friends believed him), could have given him the appetite he possessed on that extraordinary night. He called for another pork- chop and potatoes, then for pickled salmon ; then he thought he would try a devilled turkey wing. "I adore the devil," said he. "So do I," said the pale lady, with unwonted animation; and the dish was served straightway. It was succeeded by black-puddings, tripe, toasted cheese, and what was most remarkable every one of the dishes which he desired came from under the same silver cover : which circumstance, when he had partaken of about fourteen different articles, he began to find rather mysterious. " Oh," said the pale lady, with a smile, " the mystery is easily accounted for : the servants hear you, and the kitchen is below" But this did not account for the manner in which more half-and- half, bitter ale, punch (both gin and rum), and even oil and vinegar, which he took with cucumber to his salmon, came out of the self-same bottle from which the lady had first poured out his pint of half-and-half. "There are more things in heaven and earth, Voracio," said his arch entertainer, when he put this question to her, " than are dreamt of in your philosophy : " and, sooth to say, the archer was by this time in such a state, that he did not find anything wonderful more. ' ' Are you happy, dear youth ? " said the lady, as, after his collation, he sank back in his chair. THE LADY OF WINDECK. 273 " Oh miss, ain't I ! " was his interrogative and yet affirmative reply. "Should you like such a supper every night, Wolfgang?" continued the pale one. "Why, no," said he; "no, not exactly; not every night: some nights I should like oysters." " Dear youth," said she, "be but mine, and you may have them all the year round ! " The unhappy boy was too far gone to suspect anything, otherwise this extraordinary speech would have told him that he was in suspicious company. A person who can offer oysters all the year round can live to no good purpose. " Shall I sing you a song, dear archer? " said the lady. " Sweet love ! " said he, now much excited, " strike up and I will join the chorus." She took down her mandolin, and commenced a ditty. 'Twas a sweet and wild one. It told how a lady of high lineage cast her eyes on a peasant page ; it told how naught could her love assuage, her suitor's wealth and her father's rage : it told how the youth did his foes engage ; and at length they went off in the Gretna stage, the high-born dame and the peasant page. Wolfgang beat time, waggled his head, sung woefully out of tune as the song proceeded ; and if he had not been too intoxicated with love and other excitement, he would have remarked how the pictures on the wall, as the lady sang, began to waggle their heads too, and nod and grin to the music. The song ended. " I am the lady of high lineage : Archer, will you be the peasant page?" " I'll follow you to the devil ! " said Wolfgang. " Come," replied the lady, glaring wildly on him, "come to the chapel ; we'll be married this minute ! " She held out her hand Wolfgang took it. It was cold, damp, deadly cold ; and on they went to the chapel. As they passed out, the two pictures over the wall, of a gentle- man and lady, tripped lightly out of their frames, skipped noise- lessly down to the ground, and making the retreating couple a profound curtsey and bow, took the places which they had left at the table. Meanwhile the young couple passed on towards the chapel, threading innumerable passages, and passing through chambers of great extent. As they came along, all the portraits on the 274 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. wall stepped out of their frames to follow them. One ancestor, of whom there was only a bust, frowned in the greatest rage, because, having no legs, his pedestal would not move ; and several sticking-plaster profiles of the former Lords of Windeck looked quite black at being, for similar reasons, compelled to keep their places. However, there was a goodly procession formed behind Wolfgang and his bride ; and by the time they reached the church, they had near a hundred followers. The church was splendidly illuminated ; the old banners of the old knights glittered as they do at Drury Lane. The organ set up of itself to play the "Bridesmaids' Chorus." The choir- chairs were filled with people in black. " Come, love," said the pale lady. " I don't see the parson," exclaimed Wolfgang, spite of him- self rather alarmed. "Oh, the parson! that's the easiest thing in the world ! I say, bishop ! ' said the lady, stooping down. Stooping down and to what? Why, upon my word and honour, to a great brass plate on the floor, over which they were passing, and on which was engraven the figure of a bishop and a very ugly bishop, too with crosier and mitre, and lifted finger, on which sparkled the episcopal ring. ' ' Do, my dear lord, come and marry us," said the lady, with a levity which shocked the feelings of her bridegroom. The bishop got up ; and directly he rose, a dean, who was sleeping under a large slate near him, came bowing and cringing up to him ; while a canon of the cathedral (whose name was Schidnischmidt) began grinning and making fun at the pair. The ceremony was begun, and As the -clock struck twelve, young Otto bounded up, and remarked the absence of his companion Wolfgang. The idea he had had, that his friend disappeared in company with a white-robed female, struck him more and more. " I will follow them," said he ; and, calling to the next on the watch (old Snozo, who was right unwilling to forego his sleep), he rushed away by the door through which he had seen Wolfgang and his temptress take their way. That he did not find them was not his fault. The castle was vast, the chamber dark. There were a thousand doors, and THE LADY OF WINDECK. 275 what wonder that, after he had once lost sight of them, the intrepid Childe should not be able to follow in their steps ? As might be expected, he took the wrong door, and wandered for at least three hours about the dark enormous solitary castle, calling out Wolfgang's name to the careless and indifferent echoes, knocking his young shins against the ruins scattered in the darkness, but still with a spirit entirely undaunted, and a firm resolution to aid his absent comrade. Brave Otto ! thy exertions were rewarded at last ! For he lighted at length upon the very apartment where Wolfgang had partaken of supper, and where the old couple who had been in the picture-frames, and turned out to be the lady's father and mother, were now sitting at the table. " Well, Bertha has got a husband at last," said the lady. ' ' After waiting fous hundred and fifty-three years for one, it was quite time," said the gentleman. (He was dressed in powder and a pigtail, quite in the old fashion.) "The husband is no great things," continued the lady, taking snuff. "A low fellow, my dear; a butcher's son, I believe.. Did you see how the wretch ate at supper ? To think my daughter should have to marry an archer ! " "There are archers and archers," said the old man. "Some archers are snobs, as your Ladyship states ; some, on the con- trary, are gentlemen by birth, at least, though not by breeding. Witness young Otto, the Landgrave of Godesberg's son, who is listening at the door like a lacquey, and whom I intend to run through the" ' ' Law, Baron ! " said the lady. "I will, though," replied the Baron, drawing an immense sword, and glaring round at Otto ; but though at the sight of that sword and that scowl a less valorous youth would have taken to his heels, the undaunted Childe advanced at once into the apartment. He wore round his neck a relic of Saint Buffo (the tip of the saint's ear, which had been cut off at Constan- tinople). "Fiends! I command you to retreat!" said he, holding up this sacred charm, which his mamma had fastened on him ; and at the sight of it, with an unearthly yell the ghosts of the Baron and the Baroness sprang back into their picture- frames, as clown goes through a clock in a pantomime. He rushed through the open door by which the unlucky Wolfgang had passed with his demoniacal bride, and went on 276 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. and on through the vast gloomy chambers lighted by the ghastly moonshine : the noise of the organ in the chapel, the lights in the kaleidoscopic windows, directed him towards that edifice. He rushed to the door : 'twas barred ! He knocked : the beadles were deaf. He applied his inestimable relic to the lock, and whizz ! crash ! clang ! bang ! whang ! the gate flew open ! the organ went off in a fugue the lights quivered over the tapers, and then went off towards the ceiling the ghosts assembled rushed away with a skurry and a scream the bride howled, and vanished the fat bishop waddled back under his brass plate the dean flounced down into his family vault and the canon Schidnischmidt, who was making a joke, as usual, on the bishop, was obliged to stop at the very point of his epigram, and to disappear into the void whence he came. Otto fell fainting at the porch, while Wolfgang tumbled life- less down at the altar-steps ; and in this situation the archers, when they arrived, found the two youths. They were resusci- tated, as we scarce need say ; but when, in incoherent accents, they came to tell their wondrous tale, some sceptics among the archers said ' ' Pooh ! they were intoxicated ! " while others, nodding their older heads, exclaimed " They have seen the Lady of Windeck!" and recalled the stories of many other young men, who, inveigled by her devilish arts, had not been so lucky as Wolfgang, and had disappeared for ever ! This adventure bound Wolfgang heart and soul to his gallant preserver ; and the archers it being now morning, and the cocks crowing lustily round about pursued their way without further delay to the castle of the noble patron of toxophilites, the gallant Duke of Cleves. CHAPTER X. The Battle of the Bowmen. ALTHOUGH there lay an immense number of castles and abbeys between Windeck and Cleves, for every one of which the guide- books have a legend and a ghost, who might, with the com- monest stretch of ingenuity, be made to waylay our adventurers on the road ; yet, as the journey would be thus almost inter- minable, let us cut it short by saying that the travellers reached THE. BATTLE OF THE BOWMEN. 277 Cleves without any further accident, and found the place thronged with visitors for the meeting next day. And here it would be easy to describe the company which arrived, and make display of antiquarian lore. Now we would represent a cavalcade of knights arriving, with their pages carrying their shining helms of gold, and the stout esquires, bearers of lance and banner. Anon would arrive a fat abbot on his ambling pad, surrounded by the white-robed companions of his convent. Here should come the gleemen and jongleurs, the minstrels, the mountebanks, the parti-coloured gipsies, the dark-eyed, nut-brown Zigeunerinnen ; then a troop of peasants chanting Rhine-songs, and leading in their ox-drawn carts the peach-cheeked girls from the vine-lands. Next we would depict the litters blazoned with armorial bearings, from between the broidered curtains of which peeped out the swan-like necks and the haughty faces of the blonde ladies of the castles. But for these descriptions we have not space ; and the reader is referred to the account of the tournament in the ingenious novel of " Ivanhoe," where the above phenomena are described at length.. Suffice it to say, that Otto and his companions arrived at the town of Cleves, and, hastening to a hostel, reposed themselves after the day's march, and prepared them for the encounter of the morrow. That morrow came : and as the sports were to begin early r Otto and his comrades hastened to the field, armed with their best bows and arrows, you may be sure, and eager to distinguish themselves ; as were the multitude of other archers assembled. They were from all neighbouring countries crowds of English, as you may fancy, armed with Murray's Guide-books, troops of chattering Frenchmen, Frankfort Jews with roulette-tables, and Tyrolese, with gloves and trinkets all hied towards the field where the butts were set up, and the archery practice was to be held. The Childe and his brother-archers were, it need not be said, early on the ground. But what words of mine can describe the young gentleman's emotion when, preceded by a band of trumpets, bagpipes, ophicleides, and other wind instruments, the Prince of Cleves appeared with the Princess Helen, his daughter? And ah! what expressions of my humble pen can do justice to the beauty of that young lady ? Fancy every charm which decorates the person, every virtue which ornaments the mind, every accom- 278 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. plishment which renders charming mind and charming person doubly charming, and then you will have but a faint and feeble idea of the beauties of Her Highness the Princess Helen. Fancy a complexion such as they say (I know not with what justice) Rowland's Kalydor imparts to the users of that cosmetic ; fancy teeth to which orient pearls are like Wallsend coals ; eyes, which were so blue, tender, and bright, that while they ran you through with their lustre, they healed you with their kindness ; a neck and waist so ravishingly slender and graceful, that the least that is said about them the better ; a foot which fell upon the flowers no heavier than a dewdrop and this charming person set off by the most elegant toilet that ever milliner devised ! The lovely Helen's hair (which was as black as the finest varnish for boots) was so long, that it was borne on a cushion several yards behind her by the maidens of her train ; and a hat, set off with moss-roses, sunflowers, bugles, birds-of- paradise, gold lace, and pink ribbon, gave her a distingud air, which Would have set the editor of the Morning Post mad with love. It had exactly the same effect upon the noble Childe of Godesberg, as leaning on his ivory bow, with his legs crossed, he stood and gazed on her, as Cupid gazed on Psyche. Their eyes met : it was all over with both of them. A blush came at one and the same minute budding to the cheek of either. A simultaneous throb beat in those young hearts ! They loved each other for ever from that instant. Otto still stood, cross- legged, enraptured, leaning on his ivory bow ; but Helen, calling to a maiden for her pocket-handkerchief, blew her beautiful Grecian nose in order to hide her agitation. Bless ye, bless ye, pretty ones ! I am old now ; but not so old but that I kindle at the tale of love. Theresa MacWhirter too has lived and loved. Heigho ! Who is yon chief that stands behind the truck whereon are seated the Princess and the stout old lord her father ? Who is he whose hair is of the carroty hue whose eyes, across a snubby bunch of a nose, are perpetually scowling at each other ; who has a hump-back, and a hideous mouth, surrounded with bristles, and crammed full of jutting yellow odious teeth? Although he wears a sky-blue doublet laced with silver, it only serves to render his vulgar punchy figure doubly ridiculous ; although his nether garment is of salmon-coloured velvet, it only draws the THE BATTLE OF THE BOWMEN. 279 more attention to his legs, which are disgustingly crooked and bandy. A rose-coloured hat, with towering pea-green ostrich- plumes, looks absurd on his bull-head ; and though it is time of peace, the wretch is armed with a multiplicity of daggers, knives, yataghans, dirks, sabres, and scimitars, which testify his truculent and bloody disposition. Tis the terrible Rowski de Donnerblitz, Margrave of Eulenschreckenstein. Report says he is a suitor for the hand of the lovely Helen. He addresses various speeches of gallantry to her, and grins hideously as he thrusts his disgust- ing head over her lily shoulder. But she turns away from him ! turns and shudders ay, as she would at a black dose ! Otto stands gazing still, and leaning on his bow. " What is the prize ? " asks one archer of another. There are two prizes a velvet cap, embroidered by the hand of the Princess, and a chain of massive gold, of enormous value. Both lie on cushions before her. " I know which I shall choose, when I win the first prize," says a swarthy, savage, and bandy-legged archer, who bears the owl gules on a black shield, the cognisance of the Lord Rowski de Donnerblitz. " Which, fellow?" says Otto, turning fiercely upon him. " The chain, to be sure ! " says the leering archer. " You do not suppose I am such a flat as to choose that velvet gimcrack there?" Otto laughed in scorn, and began to prepare his bow. The trumpets sounding proclaimed that the sports were about to commence. Is it necessary to describe them ? No : that has already been done in the novel of " Ivanhoe " before mentioned. Fancy the archers clad in Lincoln green, all coming forward in turn, and firing at the targets. Some hit, some missed ; those that missed were fain to retire amidst the jeers of the multitudinous spectators. Those that hit began new trials of skill ; but it was easy to see, from the first, that the battle lay between Squintoff (the Rowski archer) and the young hero with the golden hair and the ivory bow. Squintoff s fame as a marksman was known throughout Europe; but who was his young competitor? Ah! there was one heart in the assembly that beat most anxiously to know. Twas Helen's. The crowning trial arrived. The bull's-eye of the target, set up at three-quarters of a mile distance from the archers, was so small, that it required a very clever man indeed to see, much more 280 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. to hit it ; and as Squintoff was selecting his arrow for the final trial, the Rovvski flung a purse of gold towards his archer, saying " Squintoff, an ye win the prize, the purse is thine." " I may as well pocket it at once, your honour," said the bowman, with a sneer at Otto. " This young chick, who has been lucky as yet, will hardly hit such a mark as that." And, taking his aim, Squintoff discharged his arrow right into the very middle of the bull's-eye. " Can you mend that, young springald ? " said he, as a shout rent the air at his success, as Helen turned pale to think that the champion of her secret heart was likely to be overcome, and as Squintoff, pocketing the Rowski's money, turned to the noble boy of Godesberg. " Has anybody got a pea?" asked the lad. Everybody laughed at his droll request ; and an old woman, who was selling porridge in the crowd, handed him the vegetable which he demanded. It was a dry and yellow pea. Otto, stepping up to the target, caused Squintoff to extract his arrow from the bull's-eye, and placed in the orifice made by the steel point of the shaft, the pea whfch he had received from the old woman. He then came back to his place. As he prepared to shoot, Helen was so overcome by emotion, that 'twas thought she would have fainted. Never, never had she seen a being so beautiful as the young hero now before her. He looked almost divine. He flung back his long clusters of hair from his bright eyes and tall forehead ; the blush of health mantled on his cheek, from which the barber's weapon had never shorn the down. He took his bow, and one of his most elegant arrows, and poising himself lightly on his right leg, he flung himself forward, raising his left leg on a level with his ear. He looked like Apollo, as he stood balancing himself there. He discharged his dart from the thrumming bowstring : it clove the blue air whizz ! " He has split the pea .'" said the Princess, and fainted. The Rowski, with one eye, hurled an indignant look at the boy, while with the other he levelled (if aught so crooked can be said to level anything) a furious glance at his archer. The archer swore a sulky oath. "He is the better man ! " said he. " I suppose, young chap, you take the gold chain ? " "The gold chain!" said Otto. " Prefer a gold chain to a cap worked by that august hand ? Never ! " And advancing THE MARTYR OF LOVE. 28 1 to the balcony where the Princess, who now came to herself, was sitting, he kneeled down before her, and received the velvet cap ; which, blushing as scarlet as the cap itself, the Princess Helen placed on his golden ringlets. Once more their eyes met their hearts thrilled. They had never spoken, but they knew they loved each other for ever. "Wilt thou take service with the Rowski of Donnerblitz?" said that individual to the youth. "Thou shall be captain of my archers in place of yon blundering nincompoop, whom thou hast overcome." "Yon blundering nincompoop is a skilful and gallant archer," replied Otto haughtily ; ' ' and I will not take service with the Rowski of Donnerblitz." "Wilt thouenter the household of the Prince of Cleves?" said the father of Hekn, laughing, and not a little amused at the haughtiness of the humble archer. " I would die for the Duke of Cleves and his family ," said Otto, bowing low. He laid a particular and a tender emphasis on the word family. Helen knew what he meant. She was the family. In fact, her mother was no more, and her papa had no other offspring. "What is thy name, good fellow," said the Prince, " that my steward may enrol thee ? " " Sir," said Otto, again blushing, " I am OTTO THE ARCHER." CHAPTER XI. The Martyr of Love. THE archers who had travelled in company with young Otto, gave a handsome dinner in compliment to the success of our hero ; at which his friend distinguished himself as usual in the eating and drinking department. Squintoff, the Rowski bow- man, declined to attend ; so great was the envy of the brute at the youthful hero's superiority. As for Otto himself, he sat on the right hand of the chairman ; but it was remarked that he could not eat. Gentle reader of my page ! thou knowest why full well. He was too much in love to have any appetite ; for though I myself, when labouring under that passion, never 282 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. found my consumption of victuals diminish, yet remember our Otto was a hero of romance, and they never are hungry when they're in love. The next day, the young gentleman proceeded to enrol him- self in the corps of Archers of the Prince of Cleves, and with him came his attached squire, who vowed he never would leave him. As Otto threw aside his own elegant dress, and donned the livery of the House of Cleves, the noble Childe sighed not a little. 'Twas a splendid uniform 'tis true, but still it was a livery, and one of his proud spirit ill bears another's cognisances. "They are the colours of the Princess, however," said he, consoling himself; "and what suffering would I not undergo for her?" 'As for Wolfgang, the squire, it may well be supposed that the good-natured low-born fellow had nonsuch scruples ; but he was glad enough to exchange for the pink hose, the yellow jacket, the pea-green cloak, and orange-tawny hat, with which the Duke's steward supplied him, the homely patched doublet of green which he had worn for years past. " Look at yon two archers," said the Prince of Cleves to his guest the Rowski of Donnerblitz, as they were strolling on the battlements after dinner, smoking their cigars as usual. His Highness pointed to our two young friends, who were mounting guard for the first time. ' ' See yon two bowmen mark their bearing ! One is the youth who beat thy Squintoff, and t'other, an I mistake not, won the third prize at the butts. Both wear the same uniform the colours of my house yet, wouldst not swear that the one was but a churl, and the other a noble gentleman ? " "Which looks like the nobleman?" said the Rowski, as black as thunder. " Which? why, young Otto, to be sure," said the Princess Helen eagerly. The young lady was following the pair; -but under pretence of disliking the odour of the cigar, she had refused the Rowski's proffered arm, and was loitering behind with her parasol. Her interposition in favour of her young protdgd only made the black and jealous Rowski more ill-humoured. ' ' How long is it, Sir Prince of Cleves," said he, " that the churls who wear your livery permit themselves to wear the ornaments of noble knights? Who but a noble dare wear ringlets such as yon springald's? Ho, archer!" roared he, "come hither, fellow." THE MARTYR OF LOVE. 283 And Otto stood before him. As he came, and presenting arms stood respectfully before the Prince and his savage guest, he looked for one moment at the lovely Helen their eyes met, their hearts beat simultaneously : and, quick, two little blushes appeared in the cheek of either. I have seen one ship at sea answering another's signal so. While they are so regarding each other, let us just remind our readers of the great estimation in which the hair was held in the North. Only nobles were permitted to wear it long. When a man disgraced himself, a shaving was sure to follow. Penalties were inflicted upon villains or vassals who sported ringlets. See the works of Aurelius Tonsor ; Hirsutus de Nobi- litate Capillari ; Rolandus de Oleo Macassari ; Schnurrbart ; Frisirische Alterthumskunde, &c. " We must have thftse ringlets of thine cut, good fellow," said the Duke of Cleves good-naturedly, but wishing to spare the feelings of his gallant recruit. " Tis against the regulation cut of my archer guard." " Cut off my hair ! " cried Otto, agonised. " Ay, and thine ears with it, yokel," roared Donnerblitz. " Peace, noble Eulenschreokenstein," said the Duke with dig- nity : "let the Duke of Cleves deal as he will with his own men- at-arms. And you, young sir, unloose the grip of thy dagger." Otto, indeed, had convulsively grasped his snickersnee, with intent to plunge it into the heart of the Rowski ; but his politer feelings overcame him. " The Count need not fear, my Lord," said he : "a lady is present." And he took off his orange-tawny cap and bowed low. Ah ! what a pang shot through the heart of Helen, as she thought that those lovely ringlets must be shorn from that beautiful head ! Otto's mind was, too, in commotion. His feelings as a gentleman let us add, his pride as a man, for who is not, let us ask, proud of a good head of hair? waged war within his soul. He expostulated with the Prince. " It was never in my contemplation," he said, "on taking service, to undergo the operation of hair-cutting. " "Thou art free to go or stay, Sir Archer," said the Prince pettishly. "I will have no churls imitating noblemen in my service : I will bandy no conditions with archers of my guard." "My resolve is taken," said Otto, irritated too in his turn, "I will" 284 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. "What?" cried Helen, breathless with intense agitation. , "I will stay," answered Otto. The poor girl almost fainted with joy. The Rowski frowned with demoniac fury, and grinding his teeth and cursing in the horrible German jargon, stalked away. " So be it," said the Prince of Cleves, taking his daughter's arm "and here comes Snipwitz, my barber, who shall do the business for you." With this the Prince too moved on, feeling in his heart not a little compassion for the lad ; for Adolf of Cleves had been handsome in his youth, and distin- guished for the ornament of which he was now depriving his archer. Snipwitz led the poor lad into a side-room, and there in a word operated upon him. The golden curls fair curls that his mother had so often played with ! fell under the shears and round the lad's knees, until he looked as if he was sitting in a bath of sunbeams. When the frightful act had been performed, Olio, who entered the little chamber in the tower ringleted like Apollo, issued from it as cropped as a charity-boy. See how melancholy he looks, now that the operation is over ! And no wonder. He was thinking what would be Helen's opinion of him, now that one of his chief personal ornaments was gone. "Will she know me? " thought he ; " will she love me after this hideous mutilation ? " Yielding to these gloomy thoughts, and, indeed, rather un- willing to be seen by his comrades, now that he was so dis- figured, the young gentleman had hidden himself behind one of the buttresses of the wall, a prey to natural despondency ; when he saw something which instantly restored him to good spirits. He saw the lovely Helen coming towards the chamber where the odious barber had performed upon him coming forward timidly, looking round her anxiously, blushing with delightful agitation, and presently seeing, as she thought, the coast clear, she entered the apartment. She stooped down, and ah ! what was Otto's joy when he saw her pick up a beauti- ful golden lock of his hair, press it to her lips, and then hide it in her bosom ! No carnation ever blushed so redly as Helen did when she came out after performing this feat. Then she hurried straightway to her own apartments in the castle, and Otto, whose first impulse was to come out from his hiding-place, and, falling at her feet, call heaven and earth to witness to his THE MARTYR OF LOVE. 28) passion, with difficulty restrained his feelings and let her pass : but the love-stricken young hero was so delighted with this evident proof of reciprocated attachment, that all regret at losing his ringlets at once left him, and he vowed he would sacrifice not only his hair, but his head, if need were, to do her service. That very afternoon, no small bustle and conversation took place in the castle, on account of the sudden departure of the Rowski of Eulenschreckenstein, with all his train and equipage. He went away in the greatest wrath, it was said, after a long and loud conversation with the Prince. As that potentate conducted his guest to the gate, walking rather demurely and shamefacedly by his side, as he gathered his attendants in the court, and there mounted his charger, the Rowski ordered bis trumpets to sound, and scornfully flung a largesse of gold among the servitors and men-at-arms of the House of Cleves, who were marshalled in the court. "Farewell, Sir Prince," said he to his host : "I quit you now suddenly ; but remember, it is not my last visit to the Castle of Cleves." And ordering his band to play " See the Conquering Hero comes," he clattered away through the drawbridge. The Princess Helen was not present at his departure ; and the venerable Prince of Cleves looked rather moody and chapfallen when his guest left him. He visited all the castle defences pretty accurately that night, and inquired of his officers the state of the ammunition, pro- visions, &c. He said nothing ; but the Princess Helen's maid did: and everybody knew that the Rowski had made his proposals, had been rejected, and, getting up in a violent fury, had called for his people, and sworn by his great gods that he would not enter the castle again until he rode over the breach, lance in hand, the conqueror of Cleves and all belonging to it. No little consternation was spread through the garrison at the news : for everybody knew the Rowski to be one of the most intrepid and powerful soldiers in all Germany one of the most skilful generals. Generous to extravagance to his own followers, he was ruthless to the enemy : a hundred stories were told of the dreadful barbarities exercised by him in several towns and castles which he had captured and sacked. And poor Helen had the pain of thinking, that in consequence of her refusal she was dooming all the men, women, and children of the principality to indiscriminate and horrible slaughter. 286 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. The dreadful surmises regarding a war received in a few days dreadful confirmation. It was noon, and the worthy Prince of Cleves was taking 1 his dinner (though the honest warrior had had little appetite for that meal for some time past), when trumpets were heard at the gate ; and presently the herald of the Rowski of Donnerblitz, clad in a tabard on which the arms of the Count were blazoned, entered the dining-hall. A page bore a steel gauntlet on a cushion ; Bleu Sanglier had his hat on his head. The Prince of Cleves put on his own, as the herald came up to the chair of state where the sovereign sat. " Silence for Bleu Sanglier," cried the Prince gravely. " Say your say, Sir Herald. " "In the name of the high and mighty Rowski, Prince of Donnerblitz, Margrave of Eulenschreckenstein, Count of Kro- tenwald, Schnauzestadt, and Galgenhiigel, Hereditary Grand Corkscrew of the Holy Roman Empire to you, Adolf the Twenty-third, Prince of Cleves, I, Bleu Sanglier, bring war and defiance. Alone, and lance to lance, or twenty to twenty in field or in fort, on plain or on mountain, the noble Rowski defies you. Here, or wherever he shall meet you he proclaims war to the death between you and him. In token whereof, here is his glove. " And taking the steel glove from the page, Blue Boar flung it clanging on the marble floor. The Princess Helen turned deadly pale : but the Prince, with a good assurance, flung down his own glove, calling upon some one to raise the Rowski's : which Otto accordingly took up and presented to him, on his knee. " Boteler, fill my goblet," said the Prince to that functionary, who, clothed in tight black hose, with a white kerchief, and a napkin on his dexter arm, stood obsequiously by his master's chair. The goblet was filled with Malvoisie : it held about three quarts ; a precious golden hanap carved by the cunning artificer, Benvenuto the Florentine. " Drink, Bleu Sanglier," said the Prince, " and put the goblet in thy bosom. Wear this chain, furthermore, for my sake." And so saying, Prince Adolf flung a precious chain of emeralds round the herald's neck. "An invitation to battle was ever a welcome call to Adolf of Cleves. " So saying, and bidding his people take good care of Bleu Sanglier's retinue, the Prince left the hall with his daughter. All were marvelling at his dignity, courage, and generosity. THE CHAMPION. 287 But, though affecting unconcern, the mind of Prince Adolf was far from tranquil. He was no longer the stalwart knight who, in the reign of Stanislaus Augustus, had, with his naked fist, beaten a lion to death in three minutes : and alone had kept the postern of Peterwaradin for two hours against seven hundred Turkish janissaries, who were assailing it. Those deeds which had made the heir of Cleves famous were done thirty years syne. A free liver since he had come into his principality, and of a lazy turn, he had neglected the athletic exercises which had made him in youth so famous a champion, and indolence had borne its usual fruits. He tried his old battle-sword that famous blade with which, in Palestine, he had cut an elephant-driver in two pieces, and split asunder the skull of the elephant ^which he rode. Adolf of Cleves could scarcely now lift the weapon over his head. He tried his armour. It was too tight for him. And the old soldier burst into tears when he found he could not buckle it. Such a man was not fit to encounter the terrible Rowski in single combat. Nor could he hope to make head against him for any time in the field. The Prince's territories were small ; his vassals proverbially lazy and peaceable ; his treasury empty. The dis- mallest prospects were before him : and he passed a sleepless night writing to his friends for succour, and calculating with his secretary the small amount of the resources which he could bring to aid him against his advancing and powerful enemy. Helen's pillow that evening was also unvisited by slumber. She lay awake thinking of Otto, thinking of the danger and the ruin her refusal to marry had brought upon her dear papa. Otto, too, slept not : but his waking thoughts were brilliant and heroic: the noble Childe thought how he should defend the Princess, and win los and honour in the ensuing combat. CHAPTER XII. The Champion. AND now the noble Cleves began in good earnest to prepare his castle for the threatened siege. He gathered in all the available cattle round the property, and the pigs round many miles ; and a dreadful slaughter of horned and snouted animals 288 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. took place, the whole castle resounding with the lowing of the oxen and the squeaks of the gruntlings, destined to provide food for the garrison. These, when slain (her gentle spirit, of course, would not allow of her witnessing that disagreeable operation), the lovely Helen, with the assistance of her maidens, carefully salted and pickled. Corn was brought in in great quantities, the Prince paying for the same when he had money, giving bills when he could get credit, or occasionally, marry, sending out a few stout men-at-arms to forage, who brought in wheat without money or credit either. The charming Princess, amidst the intervals of her labours, went about encouraging the garrison, who vowed to a man they would die for a single sweet smile of hers ; and in order to make their inevitable sufferings as easy as possible to the gallant fellows, she and the apothe- caries got ready a plenty of efficacious simples, and scraped a vast quantity of lint to bind their warriors' wounds withal. All the fortifications were strengthened ; the fosses carefully filled with spikes and water ; large stones placed over the gates, con- venient to tumble on the heads of the assaulting parties ; and cauldrons prepared, with furnaces to melt up pitch, brimstone, boiling oil, &c. , wherewith hospitably to receive them. Having the keenest eye in the whole garrison, young Otto was placed on the topmost tower, to watch for the expected coming of the beleaguering host. They were seen only too soon. Long ranks of shining spears were seen glittering in the distance, and the army of the Rowski soon made its appearance in battle's magnificently stern array. The tents of the renowned chief and his numerous warriors were pitched out of arrow-shot of the castle, but in fearful proximity ; and when his army had taken up its position, an officer with a flag of truce and a trumpet was seen advancing to the castle gate. It was the same herald who had previously borne his master's defiance to the Prince of Cleves. He came once more to the castle gate, and there proclaimed that the noble Count of Eulenschreckenstein was in arms without, ready to do battle with the Prince of Cleves, or his champion ; that he would remain in arms for three days, ready for combat. If no man met him at the end of that period, he would deliver an assault, and would give quarter to no single soul in the garrison. So saying, the herald nailed his lord's gauntlet on the castle gate. As before, the Prince flung him over another THE CHAMPION. 289 glove from the wall ; though how he was to defend himself from such a warrior, or get a champion, or resist the pitiless assault that must follow, the troubled old nobleman knew not in the least. The Princess Helen passed the night in the chapel, vowing tons of wax candles to all the patron saints of the House of Cleves, if they would raise her up a defender. But how did the noble girl's heart sink how were her notions of the purity of man shaken within her gentle bosom, by the dread intelligence which reached her the next morning, after the defiance of the Rowski ! At roll-call it was discovered that he on whom she principally relied he whom her fond heart had singled out as her champion, had proved faithless ! Otto, the degenerate Otto, had fled ! His comrade, Wolf- gang, had gone with him. A rope was found dangling from the casement of their chamber, and they must have swum the moat and passed over to the enemy in the darkness of the previous night. "A pretty lad was this fair-spoken archer of thine ! " said the Prince her father to her ; ' ' and a pretty kettle of fish hast thou cooked for the fondest of fathers." She retired weeping to her apartment. Never before had that young heart felt so wretched. That morning, at nine o'clock, as they were going to break- fast, the Rowski's trumpets sounded. Clad in complete armour, and mounted on his enormous piebald charger, he came out of his pavilion, and rode slowly up and down in front of the castle. He was ready there to meet a champion. Three times each day did the odious trumpet sound the same notes of defiance. Thrice daily did the steel-clad Rowski come forth challenging the combat. The first day passed, and there was no answer to his summons. The second day came and went, but no champion had risen to defend. The taunt of his shrill clarion remained without answer; and the sun went down upon the wretchedest father and daughter in all the land of Christendom. The trumpets sounded an hour after sunrise, an hour after noon, and an hour before sunset. The third day came, but with it brought no hope. The first and second summons met no response. At five o'clock the old Prince called his daughter and blessed her. "I go to meet this Rowski," said he. "It may be we shall meet no more, my Helen my child the K 290 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. innocent cause of all this grief. If I shall fall to-night the Rowski's victim, 'twill be that life is nothing without honour." And so saying, he put into her hands a dagger, and bade her sheathe it in her own breast so soon as the terrible champion had carried the castle by storm. This Helen most faithfully promised to do ; and her aged father retired to his armoury, and donned his ancient war-worn corselet. It had borne the shock of a thousand lances ere this, but it was now so tight as almost to choke the knightly wearer. The last trumpet sounded tantara ! tantara ! its shrill call rang over the wide plains, and the wide plains gave back no answer. Again ! but when its notes died away, there was only a mournful, an awful silence. "Farewell, my child," said the Prince, bulkily lifting himself into his battle-saddle. " Remember the dagger. Hark ! the trumpet sounds for the third time. Open, warders ! Sound, trumpeters ! and good Saint Bendigo guard the right." But Puffendorff, the trumpeter, had not leisure to lift the trumpet to his lips : when, hark 1 from without there came another note of another clarion ! a distant note at first, then swelling fuller. Presently, in brilliant variations, the full rich notes of the "Huntsman's Chorus" came clearly over the breeze : and a thousand voices of the crowd gazing over the gate exclaimed, " A champion ! a champion ! " And, indeed, a champion had come. Issuing from the forest came a knight and squire : the knight gracefully cantering an elegant cream-coloured Arabian of prodigious power the squire mounted on an unpretending grey cob ; which, neverthe- less, was an animal of considerable strength and sinew. It was the squire who blew the trumpet, through the bars of his helmet ; the knight's visor was completely down. A small prince's coronet of gold, from which rose three pink ostrich-feathers, marked the warrior's rank : his blank shield bore no cognisance. As gracefully poising his lance he rode into the green space where the Rowski's tents were pitched, the hearts of all present beat with anxiety, and the poor Prince of Cleves, especially, had considerable doubts about his new champion. "So slim a figure as that can never compete with Donnerblitz," said he moodily, to his daughter ; "but whoever he be, the fellow puts a good face on it, and rides like a man. See, he has touched THE CHAMPION. 29! the Rowski's shield with the point of his lance! By Saint Bendigo, a perilous venture ! " The unknown knight had indeed defied the Rowski to the death, as the Prince of Cleves remarked from the battlement where he and his daughter stood to witness the combat ; and so, having defied his enemy, the Incognito galloped round under the castle wall, bowing elegantly to the lovely Princess there, and then took his ground and waited for the foe. His armour blazed in the sunshine as he sat there, motionless, on his cream-coloured steed. He looked like one of those fairy knights one has read of one of those celestial champions who decided so many victories before the invention of gunpowder. The Rowski's horse was speedily brought to the door of his pavilion ; and that redoubted warrior, blazing in a suit of magnificent brass arnfour, clattered into his saddle. Long waves of blood-red feathers bristled over his helmet, which was further ornamented by two huge horns of the aurochs. His lance was painted white and red, and he whirled the prodigious beam in the air and caught it with savage glee. He laughed when he saw the slim form of his antagonist ; and his soul rejoiced to meet the coming battle. He dug his spurs into the enormous horse he rode : the enormous horse snorted, and squealed, too, with fierce pleasure. He jerked and curvetted him with a brutal playfulness, and after a few minutes' turning and wheeling, during which everybody had leisure to admire the perfection of his equitation, he cantered round to a point exactly opposite his enemy, and pulled up his impatient charger. The old Prince on the battlement was so eager for the combat, that he seemed quite to forget the danger which menaced him- self, should his slim champion be discomfited by the tremendous Knight of Donnerblitz. " Go it !" said he, flinging his truncheon into the ditch ; and at the word, the two warriors rushed with whirling rapidity at each other. And now ensued a combat so terrible, that a weak female hand, like that of her who pens this tale of chivalry, can never hope to do justice to the terrific theme. You have seen two engines on the Great Western line rush past each other with a pealing scream ? So rapidly did the two warriors gallop towards one another ; the feathers of either streamed yards behind their backs as they converged. Their shock as they met was as that of two cannon-balls ; the mighty horses trembled and reeled 292 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. with the concussion ; the lance aimed at the Rowski's helmet bore off the coronet, the horns, the helmet itself, and hurled them to an incredible distance : a piece of the Rowski's left ear was carried off on the point of the nameless warrior's weapon. How had he fared? His adversary's weapon had glanced harmless along the blank surface of his polished buckler : and the victory so far was with him. The expression of the Rowski's face, as, bareheaded, he glared on his enemy with fierce bloodshot eyeballs, was one worthy of a demon. The imprecatory expressions which he made use of can never be copied by a feminine pen. His opponent magnanimously declined to take advantage of the opportunity thus offered him of finishing the combat by splitting his opponent's skull with his curtal-axe, and, riding back to his starting-place, bent his lance's point to the ground, in token that he would wait until the Count of Eulenschrecken- stein was helmeted afresh. "Blessed Bendigo ! " cried the Prince, "thou art a gallant lance : but why didst not rap the Schelm's brain out?" ' ' Bring me a fresh helmet ! " yelled the Rowski. Another casque was brought to him by his trembling squire. As soon as he had braced it, he drew his great flashing sword from his side, and rushed at his enemy, roaring hoarsely his cry of battle. The unknown knight's sword was unsheathed in a moment, and at the next the two blades were clanking together the dreadful music of the combat ! The Donnerblitz wielded his with his usual savageness and activity. It whirled round his adversary's head with frightful rapidity. Now it carried away a feather of his plume ; now it shore off a leaf of his coronet. The flail of the thresher does not fall more swiftly upon the corn. For many minutes it was the Unknown's only task to defend himself from the tremendous activity of the enemy. But even the Rowski's strength would slacken after exertion. The blows began to fall less thick anon, and the point of the unknown knight began to make dreadful play. It found and penetrated every joint of the Donnerblitz armour. Now it nicked him in the shoulder, where the vambrace was buckled to the corselet ; now it bored a shrewd hole under the light brassart, and blood followed ; now, with fatal dexterity, it darted through the visor, and came back to the recover deeply tinged with blood. THE MARRIAGE. 293 A scream of rage followed the last thrust ; and no wonder : it had penetrated the Rowski's left eye. His blood was trickling through a dozen orifices ; he was almost choking in his helmet with loss of breath, and loss of blood, and rage. Gasping with fury, he drew back his horse, flung his great sword at his opponent's head, and once more plunged at him, wielding his curtal-axe. Then you should have seen the unknown knight employing the same dreadful weapon ! Hitherto he had been on his de- fence ; now he began the attack ; and the gleaming axe whirred in his hand like a reed, but descended like a thunderbolt ! " Yield ! yield ! Sir Rowski," shouted he, in a calm clear voice. A blow dealt madly at his head was the reply. 'Twas the last blow that the Count of Eulenschreckenstein ever struck in battle ! The curse wai on his lips as the crushing steel de- scended into his brain, and split it in two. He rolled like a log from his horse : his enemy's knee was in a moment on his chest, and the dagger of mercy at his throat, as the knight once more called upon him to yield. But there was no answer from within the helmet. When it was withdrawn, the teeth were crunched together; the mouth that should have spoken, grinned a ghastly silence : one eye still glared with hate and fury, but it was glazed with the film of death ! The red orb of the sun was just then dipping into the Rhine. The unknown knight, vaulting once more into his saddle, made a graceful obeisance to the Prince of Cleves and his daughter, without a word, and galloped back into the forest, whence he had issued an hour before sunset. CHAPTER XIII. The Marriage. THE consternation which ensued on the death of the Rowski speedily sent all his camp-followers, army, &c. , to the right- about. They struck their tents at the first news of his discom- fiture ; and each man laying hold of what he could, the whole of the gallant force which had marched under his banner in the morning had disappeared ere the sun rose. 294 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. On that night, as it may be imagined, the gates of the Castle of Cleves were not shut. Everybody was free to come in. Wine-butts were broached in all the courts ; the pickled meat prepared in such lots for the siege was distributed among the people, who crowded to congratulate their beloved sovereign on his victory ; and the Prince, as was customary with that good man, who never lost an opportunity of giving a dinner-party, had a splendid entertainment made ready for the upper classes, the whole concluding with a tasteful display of fireworks. In the midst of these entertainments, our old friend the Count of Hombourg arrived at the castle. The stalwart old warrior swore by Saint Bugo that he was grieved the killing of the Rowski had been taken out of his hand. The laughing Cleves vowed by Saint Bendigo, Hombourg could never have finished off his enemy so satisfactorily as the unknown knight had just done. But who was he? was the question which now agitated the bosom of these two old nobles. How to find him how to re- ward the champion and restorer of the honour and happiness of Cleves? They agreed over supper that he should be sought for everywhere. Beadles were sent round the principal cities within fifty miles, and the description of the knight advertised in the Journal de Francfort and the Allgemeine Zeitung. The hand of the Princess Helen was solemnly offered to him in these advertisements, with the reversion of the Prince of Cleves's splendid though somewhat dilapidated property. " But we don't know him, my dear papa," faintly ejaculated that young lady. " Some impostor may come in a suit of plain armour, and pretend that he was the champion who overcame the Rowski (a prince who had his faults certainly, but whose attachment for me I can never forget) ; and how are you to say whether he is the real knight or not? There are so many deceivers in this world," added the Princess, in tears, " that one can't be too cautious now." The fact is, that she was thinking of the desertion of Otto in the morning ; by which instance of faithlessness her heart was well-nigh broken. As for that youth and his comrade Wolfgang, to the astonish- ment of everybody at their impudence, they came to the archers' mess that night, as if nothing had happened ; got their supper, partaking both of meat and drink most plentifully ; fell asleep when their comrades began to describe the events of the day, and the admirable achievements of the unknown warrior ; and, THE MARRIAGE. 295 turning into their hammocks, did not appear on parade in the morning until twenty minutes after the names were called. When the Prince of Cleves heard of the return of these deserters he was in a towering passion. "Where were you, fellows," shouted he, "during the time my castle was at its utmost need?" Otto replied, "We were out on particular business." "Does a soldier leave his post on the day of battle, sir?" ex- claimed the Prince. "You know the reward of such Death! and death you merit But you are a soldier only of yester- day, and yesterday's victory has made me merciful. Hanged you shall not be, as you merit only flogged both of you. Parade the men, Colonel Tickelstern, after breakfast, and give these scoundrels five hundred apiece." You should have sefen how young Otto bounded, when this information was thus abruptly conveyed to him. "Flog mef" cried he. ' ' Flog Otto of " " Not so, my father," said the Princess Helen, who had been standing by during the conversation, and who had looked at Otto all the while with the most ineffable scorn. "Not so: although these persons have forgotten their duty " (she laid a particularly sarcastic emphasis on the word persons), ' ' we have had no need of their services, and have luckily found others more faithful. You promised your daughter a boon, papa : it is the pardon of these two persons. Let them go, and quit a service they have disgraced : a mistress that is, a master they have deceived." " Drum 'em out of the castle, Tickelstern ; strip their uniforms from their backs, and never let me hear of the scoundrels again." So saying, the old Prince angrily turned on his heel to breakfast, leaving the two young men to the fun and derision of their surrounding comrades. The noble Count of Hombourg, who was taking his usual airing on the ramparts before breakfast, came up at this junc- ture, and asked what was the row ? Otto blushed when he saw him, and turned away rapidly ; but the Count, too, catching a glimpse of him, with a hundred exclamations of joyful surprise seized upon the lad, hugged him to his manly breast, kissed him most affectionately, and almost burst into tears as he embraced him. For, in sooth, the good Count had thought his godson long ere this at the bottom of the silver Rhine. 296 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. The Prince of Cleves, who had come to the breakfast-parlour window (to invite his guest to enter, as the tea was made), beheld this strange scene from the window, as did the lovely tea-maker likewise, with breathless and beautiful agitation. The old Count and the archer strolled up and down the battle- ments in deep conversation. By the gestures of surprise and delight exhibited by the former, 'twas easy to see the young archer was conveying some very strange and pleasing news to him ; though the nature of the conversation was not allowed to transpire. "A godson of mine," said the noble Count, when interro- gated over his muffins. " I know his family ; worthy people ; sad scapegrace ; ran away ; parents longing for him ; glad you did not flog him ; devil to pay," and so forth. The Count was a man of few words, and told his tale in this brief artless manner. But why, at its conclusion, did the gentle Helen leave the room, her eyes filled with tears ? She left the room once more to kiss a certain lock of yellow hair she had pilfered. A dazzling delicious thought, a strange wild hope, arose in her soul ! When she appeared again, she made some side-handed inquiries regarding Otto (with that gentle artifice oft employed by women) ; but he was gone. He and his companion were gone. The Count of Hombourg had likewise taken his depart- ure, under pretext of particular business. How lonely the vast castle seemed to Helen, now that he was no longer there. Ths transactions of the last few days ; the beautiful archer-boy ; the offer from the Rowski (always an event in a young lady's life) ; the siege of the castle ; the death of her truculent admirer : all seemed like a fevered dream to her : all was passed away, and had left no trace behind. No trace ? yes ! one : a little insignificant lock of golden hair, over which the young creature wept so much that she put it out of curl ; passing hours and hours in the summer-house where the operation had been per- formed. On the second day (it is my belief she would have gone into a consumption and died of languor, if the event had been delayed a day longer) a messenger, with a trumpet, brought a letter in haste to the Prince of Cleves, who was, as usual, taking refresh- ment. "To the high and mighty Prince," &c., the letter ran. "The champion who had the honour of engaging on Wednes- day last with his late Excellency the Rowski of Donnerblitz, THE MARRIAGE. 297 presents his compliments to H.S.H. the Prince of Cleves. Through the medium of the public prints the C. has been made acquainted with the flattering proposal of His Serene Highness relative to a union between himself (the Champion) and Her Serene Highness the Princess Helen of Cleves. The Champion accepts with pleasure that polite invitation, and will have the honour of waiting upon the Prince and Princess of Cleves about half-an-hour after the receipt of this letter." " Tol lol de rol, girl," shouted the Prince with heartfelt joy. (Have you not remarked, dear friend, how often in novel-books, and on the stage, joy is announced by the above burst of insen- sate monosyllables?) "Tol lol de rol. Don thy best kirtle, child ; thy husband will be here anon." And Helen retired to arrange her toilet for this awful event in the life of a young woman. When she rettirned, attired to welcome her defender, her young cheek was as pale as the white satin slip and orange sprigs she wore. She was scarce seated on the dai's by her father's side, when a huge flourish of trumpets from without proclaimed the arrival of the Champion. Helen felt quite sick : a draught of ether was necessary to restore her tranquillity. The great door was flung open. He entered, the same tall warrior, slim and beautiful, blazing in shining steel. He approached the Prince's throne, supported on each side by a friend likewise in armour. He knelt gracefully on one knee. " I come," said he, in a voice trembling with emotion, "to claim, as per advertisement, the hand of the lovely Lady Helen." And he held out a copy of the Allgemeine Zeitung as he spoke. "Art thou noble, Sir Knight?" asked the Prince of Cleves. "As noble as yourself," answered the kneeling steel. " Who answers for thee?" " I, Karl, Margrave of Godesberg, his father ! " said the knight on the right hand, lifting up his visor. " And I Ludwig, Count of Hombourg, his godfather ! " said the knight on the left, doing likewise. The kneeling knight lifted up his visor now, and looked on Helen. " I knew it -was," said she, and fainted as she saw Otto the Archer. But she was soon brought to, gentles, as I have small need to tell ye. In a very few days after, a great marriage took K 2 398 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. place at Cleves, under the patronage of Saint Bugo, Saint Buffo, and Saint Bendigo. After the marriage ceremony, the happiest and handsomest pair in the world drove off in a chaise-and-four, to pass the honeymoon at Kissingen. The Lady Theodora, whom we left locked up in her convent a long while since, was prevailed upon to come back to Godesberg, where she was reconciled to her husband. Jealous of her daughter-in-law, she idolised her son, and spoiled all her little grandchildren. And so all are happy, and my simple tale is done. I read it in an old old book, in a mouldy old circulating library. 'Twas written in the French tongue, by the noble Alexandre Dumas ; but 'tis probable that he stole it from some other, and that the other had filched it from a former tale- teller. For nothing is new under the sun. Things die and are reproduced only. And so it is that the forgotten tale of the great Dumas reappears under the signature of THERESA MACWHIRTEH. WHISTLEBINKIE, N.B. : December i. THE DIARY OF C. JEAMES DE LA PLUCHE, ESQ. WITH HIS LETTERS. THE DIARY OF C. JEAMES DE LA PLUCHE, ESQ. A LUCKY SPECULATOR. /"* ONSIDERABLE sensation has been excited in the upper \~* and lower circles in the West End, by a startling piece of good fortune which has befallen James Plush, Esq. , lately foot- man in a respected family in Berkeley Square. " One day last week, Mr. James waited upon his master, who is a banker in the City ; and after a little blushing and hesitation, said he had saved a little money in service, was anxious 40 retire, and to invest his savings to advantage. " His master (we believe we may mention, without offending delicacy, the well-known name of Sir George Flimsy, of the house of Flimsy, Diddler, and Flash) smilingly asked Mr. James what was the amount of his savings, wondering considerably how, out of an income of thirty guineas the main part of which he spent in bouquets, silk stockings, and perfumery Mr. Plush could have managed to lay by anything. " Mr. Plush, with some hesitation, said he had been speculat- ing in railroads, and stated his winnings to have been thirty thousand pounds. He had commenced his speculations with twenty, borrowed from a fellow-servant. He had dated his letters from the house in Berkeley Square, and humbly begged pardon of his master for not having instructed the Railway 302 A LUCKY SPECULATOR. Secretaries who answered his applications to apply at the area- bell. " Sir George, who was at breakfast, instantly rose, and shook Mr. P. by the hand ; Lady Flimsy begged him to be seated, and partake of the breakfast which he had laid on the table ; and has subsequently invited him to her grand dejeuner at Richmond, where it was observed that Miss Emily Flimsy, her beautiful and accomplished seventh daughter, paid the lucky gentleman marked attention. ' ' We hear it stated that Mr. P. is of a very ancient family (Hugo de la Pluche came over with the Conqueror) ; and the new brougham which he has started bears the ancient coat of his race. " He has taken apartments in the Albany, and is a director of thirty-three railroads. He proposes to stand for Parlia- ment at the next general election on decidedly Conservative principles, which have always been the politics of his family. " Report says, that even in his humble capacity Miss Emily Flimsy had remarked his high demeanour. Well, ' none but the brave,' say we, ' deserve the fair. 1 " Morning Paper. This announcement will explain the following lines, which have been put into our box* with a West End post-mark. If, as we believe, they are written by the young woman from whom the Millionaire borrowed the sum on which he raised his fortune, what heart will not melt with sympathy at her tafle, and pity the sorrows which she expresses in such artless language ? If it be not too late ; if wealth have not rendered its possessor callous; if poor Maryanne be still alive; we trust, we trust, Mr. Plush will do her justice. * Th^ ]etter box of Mr. Punch, in whose columns these papers were first published. A LUCKY SPECULATOR. 303 "JEAMES OF BUCKLEY SQUARE. "A HELIGY. " Come all ye gents vot cleans the plate, Come all ye ladies maids so fair Vile I a story vill relate Of cruel Jeames of Buckley Square. A tighter lad, it is confest, Neer valked with powder in his air, Or vore a nosegay in his breast, Than andsum Jeames of Buckley Square. ' ' O Evns ! it vas the best of sights, Behind his Master's coach and pair, To see our Jeames in red plush tights, A driving hoff from Buckley Square. He vel became his hagwilletts, He cocked his at with such a hair ; His calves and viskers vas such pets, That hall loved Jeames of Buckley Square. " He pleased the hup-stairs folks as veil, And o ! I vithered with despair, Missis vould ring the parler bell, And call up Jeames in Buckley Square. Both beer and sperrits he abhord (Sperrits and beer I can't a bear), You would have thought he vas a lord Down in our All in Buckley Square. " Last year he visper'd, ' Mary Ann, Ven I've an under'd pound to spare, To take a public is my plan, And leave this hojous Buckley Square.' O how my gentle heart did bound, To think that I his name should bear, 304 A LUCKY SPECULATOR. ' Dear Jeames,' says I, ' I've twenty pound, And gev them him in Buckley Square. ' ' Our master vas a City gent, His name's in railroads everywhere, And lord, vot lots of letters vent Betwigst his brokers and Buckley Square ! My Jeames it was the letters took, And read them all (I think it's fair), And took a leaf from Master's book, As hothers do in Buckley Square. " Encouraged with my twenty pound, Of which poor / was unavare, He wrote the Companies all round, And signed hisself from Buckley Square. And how John Porter used to grin, As day by day, share after share, Came railvay letters pouring in, ' J. Plush, Esquire, in Buckley Square.' " Our servants' All was in a rage Scrip, stock, curves, gradients, bull and Vith butler, coachman, groom and page, Vas all the talk in Buckley Square. But O ! imagine vot I felt Last Vensday veek as ever were ; I gits a letter, which I spelt, ' Miss M. A. Hoggins, Buckley Square. " He sent me back my money true He sent me back my lock of air, And said, ' My dear, I bid ajew To Mary Hann and Buckley Square. Think not to marry, foolish Hann, With people who your betters are ; James Plush is now a gentleman, And you a cook in Buckley Square. A LETTER FROM " JEAMES." 305 " ' I've thirty thousand guineas won, In six short months, by genus rare ; You little thought what Jeames was on, Poor Mary Hann, in Buckley Square. I've thirty thousand guineas net, Powder and plush I scorn to vear ; And so, Miss Mary Hann, forget For hever Jeames, of Buckley Square. ' " The rest of the MS. is illegible, being literally washed away in a flood of tears. A LETTER FROM "JEAMES, OF BUCKLEY SQUARE." "ALBANY, LETTER X. August 10, 1845. " SIR, Has a reglar suscriber to your emusing paper, I beg leaf to state that I should never have done so, had I supposed that it was your abbit to igspose the mistaries of privit life, and to hinjer the delligit feelings of umble individyouals like myself, who have no ideer of being made the subject of news- paper criticism. " I elude, Sir, to the unjustafiable use which has been made of my name in your Journal, where both my muccantile spec- lations and the hinmost pashns of my art have been brot forrards in a ridicklus way for the public emusemint. "What call, Sir, has the public to inquire into the suckm- stansies of my engagements with Miss Mary Hann Oggins, or to meddle with their rupsher ? Why am I to be maid the hob- jick of your redicule in a doggril ballit impewted to her? I say impewted, because, in my time at least, Mary Hann could only sign her + mark (has I've hoften witnist it for her when she paid hin at the Savings Bank), and has for sacrificing to the Mewses and making poatry, she was as hincapible as Mr. Wakley himself. 306 A LETTER FROM " JEAMES." ' ' With respect to the ballit, my baleaf is, that it is wrote by a footman in a low famly, a pore retch who attempted to rivle me in my affections to Mary Hann a feller not five foot six, and with no more calves to his legs than a donkey who was always a-ritin (having been a doctor's boy) and who I nockt down with a pint of porter (as he well recklex) at the 3 Tuns Jerming Street, for daring to try to make a but of me. He has signed Miss H's name to his nonsince and lies : and you lay yourself hopen to a haction for lible for insulting them in your paper. "It is false that I have treated Miss H. hill in hany way. That I borrowed aolb of her is trew. But she confesses I paid it back. Can hall people say as much of the money they've lent or borrowed ? No. And I not only paid it back, but giv her the andsomest pres'nts : which I never should have eluded to, but for this attack. Fust, a silver thimble (which I found in Missus's work-box;) secknd, a vollom of Byrom's poems; third, I halways brought her a glas of Curasore, when we ad a party, of which she was remarkable fond. I treated her to Hashley s twice (and halways a srimp or a hoyster by the way), and a thowsnd deligit attentions, which I sapose count for nothink. ' ' Has for marridge. Haltered suckmstancies rendered it himpossable. I was gone into a new spear of life mingling with my native aristoxy. I breathe no sallible of blame against Miss H. , but his a hilliterit cookmaid fit to set at a fashnable table? Do young fellers of rank genrally marry out of the Kitching? If we cast our i's upon a low-born gal, I needn say it's only a tempory distraction, pore fa ssy le tong. So much for her claims upon me. Has for that beest of a Doctor's boy he's unwuthy the notas of a Gentleman. "That I've one thirty thousand Ib, and praps more, I dont deny. Ow much has the Kilossus of Railroads one, I should like to know, and what was his cappitle? I hentered the market with 2olb, specklated Jewdicious, and ham what I ham. So may you be (if you have 2olb, and praps you haven't) So may you be : if you choose to go in & win. " I for my part am jusly prowd of my suxess, and coufd give you a hundred instances of my gratatude. For igsample, the fust pair of bosses I bought (and a better pair of steppers I dafy you to see in hany eurracle) I crisn'd Hull and Selby, in grateful A LETTER FROM "jEAMES." 307 elusion to my transackshns in that railroad. My riding Cob I called very unhaptly my Dublin and Galway. He came down with me the other day, and I've jest sold him at discount. "At fust with prudence and modration I only kep two grooms for my stables, one of whom lickwise waited on me at table. I have now a confidenshle servant, a vally de shamber He curls my air ; inspex my accounts, and hansers my hinvitations to dinner. I call this Vally my Trent Vally, for it was the prophit I got from that exlent line, which injuiced me to ingage him. ' ' Besides my North British Plate and Breakfast equipidge I have two handsom suvvices for dinner the goold plate for Sundays, and the silver for common use. When I ave a great party, ' Trent," I say t my man, ' we will have the London and Bummingham plate to-day (the goold), or else the Manchester and Leeds (the silver). I bought them after realising on the abuf lines, and if people suppose that the companys made me a presnt of the plate, how can I help it ? ' ' In the sam way I say, ' Trent, bring us a bottle of Bristol and Hexeter ! ' or, ' Put some Heastern Counties in hice ! ' He knows what I mean ; it's the wines I bought upon the hospicious tummination of my connexshn with those two rail- roads. "So strong, indeed, as this abbit become, that being asked to stand Godfather to the youngest Miss Diddle last weak, I had her christened (provisionally) Rosamell from the French line of which I am Director ; and only the other day, finding myself rayther unwell, ' Doctor,' says I to Sir Jeames Clark, ' 'Ive sent to consult you because my Midlands are out of horder ; and I want you to send them up to a premium. ' The Doctor lafd, and I beleave told the story subsquintly at Buckinum P-ll-s. " But I will trouble you no father. My sole objict in writing has been to clear my carrater to show that I came by my money in a honrable way : that I'm not ashaymd of the manner in which I gayned it, and ham indeed grateful for my good fortune. ' ' To conclude, I have ad my pedigree maid out at the Erald Hoffis (I don't mean the Morning Erald), and have took for my arms a Stagg. You are cornet in stating that I am of 308 A LETTER FROM " JEAMES." faancient Normin famly. This is more than Peal can say, to whomb I applied for a barnetcy ; but the primmier being of low igstraction, natrally stickles for his horder. Consultative though I be, / may change my opinions before the next Election, when I intend to hoffer myself as a Candydick for Parlymint. ' ' Meanwhile, I have the honor to be, Sir, ' ' Your most obeajnt Survnt, "FlTZ-jAMES DE LA PLUCHE." THE DIARY. ONE day in the panic week, our friend Jeames called at our office, evidently in great perturbation of mind and dis- order of dress. He had no flower in his button-hole ; his yellow kid gloves were certainly two days old. He had not above three of the ten chains he usually sports, and his great coarse knotty-knuckled old hands were deprived of some dozen of the rubies, emeralds, and other cameos with which, since his elevation to fortune, the poor fellow has thought fit to adorn himself. "How's scrip, Mr. Jeames?" said we pleasantly, greeting our esteemed contributor. "Scrip be ," replied he, with an expression we cannot repeat, and a look of agony it is impossible to describe in print, and walked about the parlour whistling, humming, rattling his keys and coppers, and showing other signs of agitation. At last, "Mr. Punch," says he, after a moment's hesitation, ' ' I wish to speak to you on a pint of businiss. I wish to be paid for my contribewtions to your paper. Suckmstances is altered with me. I I in a word, can you lend me /. for the account?" He named the sum. It was one so great that we don't care to mention it here ; but on receiving a cheque for the amount (on Messrs. Pump and Aldgate, our bankers) tears came into the honest fellow's eyes. He squeezed our hand until he nearly wrung it off, and shouting to a cab, he plunged into it at our office-door, and was off to the City. Returning to our study, we found he had left on our table an open pocket-book, of the contents of which (for the sake of safety) we took an inventory. It contained three tavern-bills, 3IO THE DIARY OF paid ; a tailor's ditto, unsettled ; forty-nine allotments in different companies, twenty-six thousand seven hundred shares in all, of which the market value we take, on an average, to be ^ discount ; and in an old bit of paper tied with pink riband a lock of chestnut hair, with the initials M. A. H. In the diary of the pocket-book was a journal, jotted down by the proprietor from time to time. At first the entries are insignificant: as, for instance: " yd January Our beer in the Suvnts' Hall so precious small at this Christmas time that I reely muss give warning, & wood, but for my dear Mary Hann." " February 7 That broot Screw, the Butler, wanted to kis her, but my dear Mary Hann boxt his hold hears, & served him right. / datest Screw," and so forth. Then the diary relates to Stock Exchange operations, until we come to the time when, having achieved his successes, Mr. James quitted Berkeley Square and his livery, and began his life as a speculator and a gentleman upon town. It is from the latter part of his diary that we make the following EXTRAX : "Wen I anounced in the Servnts All my axeshn of forting, and that by the exasize of my own talince and ingianiuty I had reerlized a summ of 20,000 Ib. (it was only 5, but what's the use of a mann depreshiating the qualaty of his own mackyrel ?) wen I enounced my abrup intention to cut you should have scan the sensation among hall the people ! Cook wanted to know whether I woodn like a sweatbred, or the slise of the breast of a Cold Tucky. Screw, the butler (womb I always detested as a hinsalant hoverbaring beest), begged me to walk into the Hupper Servnts All, and try a glass of Shuperior Shatto Margo. Heven Visp, the coachmin, eld out his and, & said, ' Jeames, I hopes theres no quarraling betwigst you & me, & I'll stand a pot of beer with pleasure.' ' ' The sickofnts ! that wery Cook had split on me to the Housekeeper ony last week (catchin me priggin some cold tuttle soop, of which I'm remarkable fond). Has for the butler, I always ebomminated him for his precious snears and imperence to all us Gents who woar livry (he never would sit in our parlour, fasooth, nor drink out of our mugs) ; and in regard of Visp C. JEAMES DE LA PLUCHE. 31 1 why, it was ony the day before the wulgar beest hoffered to file me, and thretnd to give me a good iding if I refused. ' Gentle- men and ladies,' says I, as haughty as may be, ' there's nothink that I want for that I can't go for to buy with my hown money, and take at my lodgins in the Halbany, letter Hex ; if I'm ungry I've no need to refresh myself in the hitching.' And so saying, I took a dignified ajew of these minnial domestics ; and ascend- ing to my epartment in the 4 pair back, brushed the powder out of my air, and taking off those hojous livries for hever, put on a new soot, made for me by Cullin of St. Jeames Street, and which fitted my manly figger as tight as whacks. ' ' There was one pusson in the house with womb I was rayther anxious to evoid a persnal leave-taking Mary Hann Oggins, I mean for my art is natural tender, and I can't abide seeing a pore gal in pane. I'd gien her previous the infamation of my departure doing the ansom thing by her at the same time paying her back 2olb. , which she'd lent me 6 months before : and paying her back not only the interest, but I gave her an andsome pair of scissars and a silver thimbil, by way of boanus. ' Mary Hann,' says I, ' suckimstancies has haltered our rellatif positions in life. I quit the Servnts Hall for ever (for has for your marrying a person in my rank, that, my dear, is hall gammin), and so I wish you a good-by, my good gal, and if you want to better yourself, halways refer to me." "Mary Hann didn't hanser my speech (which I think was remarkable kind), but looked at me in the face quite wild like, and bust into somethink betwigst a laugh & a cry, and fell down with her ed on the kitching dresser, where she lay until her young Missis rang the dressing-room bell. Would you bleave it? She left the thimbil & things, & my check for zolb. ios., on the tabil when she went to hanser the bell. And now I heard her sobbing and vimpering in her own room nex but one to mine, vith the dore open, peraps expecting I should come in and say good-by. But, as soon as I was dressed, I cut down- stairs, hony desiring Frederick my fellow-servnt, to fetch me a cabb, and requesting permission to take leaf of my lady & the famly before my departure." ' ' How Miss Hemly did hogle me to be sure ! Her Ladyship told me what a sweet gal she was hamiable, fond of poetry, 312 THE DIARY OF plays the gitter. Then she basked me if I liked blond bewties and haubin hair. Haubin, indeed ! I don't like carrits ! as it must be confest Miss Hemly's his and has for a blond buty, she has pink I's like a Halbino, and her face looks as if it were dipt in a brann mash. How she squeeged my & as she went away ! "Mary Hann now has haubin air, and a cumplexion like roses and hivory, and I's as blew as Evin. ' ' I gev Frederick two and six for fet'chin the cabb been resolved to hact the gentleman in hall things. How he stared ! " " 2$th. I am now director of forty-seven hadvantageous lines, and have past hall day in the Citty. Although I've hate or nine new soots of close, and Mr. Cullin fits me heligant; yet I fansy they hall reckonise me. Conshns whispers to me, ' Jeams, you'r hony a footman in disguise hafter all."' "28^. Been to the Hopra. Music tol lol. That Lablash is "& wopper at singing. I coodn make out why some people called out ' Bravo,' some ' Bravar,' and some ' Bravee." ' Bravee, Lablash,' says I, at which heverybody laft. "I'm in my new stall. I've had new ctishings put in, and my harms in goold on the back. I'm dressed hall in black, excep a gold waistcoat and dimind studds in the embriderd busom of my shameese. I wear a Camallia Jiponiky in my button-ole, and have a double-barreld opera-glas, so big, that I make Timmins, my secnd man, bring it in the other cabb. "What an igstronry exabishn that Pawdy Carter is! If those four gals are faries, Tellioni is sutnly the fairy Queend. She can do all that they can do, and somethink they can't. There's an indiscrible grace about her, and Carlotty, my sweet Carlotty, she sets my art in flams. " Ow that Miss Hemly was noddin and winkin at me out of their box on the fourth tear? " What linx i's she must av. As if I could mount up there ! "P.S. Talking of mounting hup! the St. Helena's walked up 4 per cent, this very day. C. JEAMES DE LA PLUCHE. 313 "2nd July. Rode my bay oss Desperation in the park. There was me, Lord George Ringwood (Lord Cinqbars' son), Lord Ballybunnion, Honorable Capting Trap, & sevral bother young swells. Sir John's carridge there in coarse. Miss Hemly lets fall her booky as I pass, and I'm obleged to get hoff and pick it hup, & get splashed up to the his. The gettin on hossback agin is halways the juice & hall. Just as I was hon, Desperation begins a porring the hair with his 4 feet, and sinks down so on his anches, that I'm blest if I didn't slip hoff agin over his tail ; at which Ballybunnion & the bother chaps rord with lafter. ' ' As Bally has istates in Queen's County, I've put him on the St. Helena direction. We call it the 'Great St. Helena Napoleon Junction,' from Jamestown to Longwood. The French are taking it hup heagerly." "6th July. Dined to-day at the London Tavin with one of the Welsh bords of Direction I'm hon. The Cwrwmwrw & Plmwyddlywm, with tunnils through Snowding and Plinlim- ming. "Great nashnallity of course. Ap Shinkin in the chair, Ap Llwydd in the vice ; Welsh mutton for dinner ; Welsh iron knives and forks; Welsh rabbit after dinner; and a Welsh harper, be hanged to him : he went strummint on his hojous hinstrument, and played a toon piguliarly disagreeble to me. " It was Pore Mary Hann. The clarrit holmost choaked me as I tried it, and I very nearly wep myself as I thought of her bewtifle blue i's. Why ham I always thinkin about that gal ? Sasiety is sasiety, it's lors is irresistabl. Has a man of rank I can't marry a serving-made. What would Cinqbars and Bally- bunnion say? "P.S. I don't like the way that Cinqbars has of borroing money, & halways making me pay the bill. Seven pound six at the ' Shipp,' Grinnidge, which I dont't grudge it, for Derby- shire's brown Ock is the best in Urup ; nine pound three at the ' Trafflygar,' and seventeen pound sixteen and nine at the ' Star and Garter,' Richmond, with the Countess St. Emilion & the 314 THE DIARY OF Baroness Frontignac. Not one word of French could I speak, and in consquince had nothink to do but to make myself halmost sick with heating hices and desert, while the hothers were chattering and parlyvooing. " Ha ! I remember going to Grinnidge once with Mary Hann, when we were more happy (after a walk in the park, where we ad one gingy-beer betwigst us), more appy with tea and a simple srimp than with hall this splender ! " " July 24. My first-floor apartmince in the Halbiny is now kimpletely and chasely furnished the droring-room with yellow salting and silver for the chairs and sophies hemrall green tabbinet curlings with pink velvet and goold borders & fringes ; a light blue Haxminster Carpit, embroydered with tulips ; tables, secritaires, cunsoles, &c. , as handsome as goold can make ihem, and candleslicks and shandalers of the purest Hormolew. "The Dining-room furnilure is all hoak, British Hoak ; round igspanding table, like a trick in a Pantimime, iccomma- daling any number from 8 to 2410 which it is my wish to restrict my parties. Curlings crimsing damask, Chairs crimsing myrocky. Portricks of my favorite great men decorals the wall namely, the Duke of Wellington. There's four of his Grace. For I've remarked thai if you wish lo pass for a man of weight and considdration you should holways praise and quote him. I have a valluble one lickwise of my Queend, and 2 of Prince Halbert has a Field Martial and halso as a privat Gent. I despise the vulgar snears that are daily hullered aginst that Igsolted Pollentat. Belwigxl Ihe Prins & the Duke hangs me, in ihe Uniform of Ihe Cinqbar Malitia, of which Cinqbars has made me Capting. " The Libery is nol yet done. " But the Bedd-roomb is the Jem of the whole. If you could but see il ! such a Bedworr ! Ive a Shyval Dressing Glass feslooned with Walanseens Lace, and lighted up of evenings with rose-coloured tapers. Goold dressing-case and twilet of Dresding Cheny. My bed white and gold wilh curlings of C. JEAMES DE LA PLUCHE. 315 pink and silver brocayd held up a top by a goold Qpid who seems always a smilin angillicly hon me, has I lay with my Ed on my piller hall sarounded with the finest Mechlin. I have a own man, a yuth under him, 2 groombs, and a fimmale for the House. I've 7 osses : in cors if I hunt this winter I must increase my ixtablishment. ' ' N. B. Heverythink looking well in the City. Saint Helenas, 12 pm. ; Madagascars, 9! ; Saffron Hill and Rookery Junction, 24; and the new lines in prospick equily incour- aging." " People phansy it's hafl gaiety and pleasure the life of us fashnabble gents about townd But I can tell 'em it's not hall goold that glitters. They dont know our momints of hagony, hour ours of studdy and reflecshun. They little think when they see Jeames de la Pluche, Exquire, worling round in a wake at Halmax with Lady Hann, or lazaly stepping a kidrill with Lady Jane, poring helegant nothinx into the Countess's hear at dinner, or gallopin his hoss Desperation hover the exorcisin ground in the Park, they little think that leader of the long, seaminkly so reckliss, is a careworn mann ! and yet so it is. " Imprymus. I've been ableged to get up all the ecom- plishments at double quick, & to apply myself with treemenjuous energy. " First, in horder to give myself a hideer of what a gentle- man reely is, I've read the novvle of ' Pelham ' six times, and am to go through it 4 times mor. " I practis ridin and the acquirement of 'a steady and & a sure seat across Country ' assijuously 4 times a week, at the Hippydrum Riding Grounds. Many's the tumbil I've ad, and the aking boans I've suffered from, though I was grinnin in the Park or laffin at the Opra. ' ' Every morning from 6 till 9, the innabitance of Halbany may have been surprised to hear the sounds of music ishuing from the apartmince of Jeames de la Pluche, Exquire, Letter Hex. It's my dancing-master. From six to nine we have walces and polkies at nine 'mangtiang & depotment,' as he 316 THE DIARY OF calls it ; & the manner of hentering a room, complimenting the ost and ostess & compotting yourself at table. At nine I henter from my dressing-room (has to a party), I make my bow my master (he's a Marquis in France, and ad misfortins, being connected with young Lewy Nepoleum) reseaves me I had- wance speak abowt the weather & the toppix of the day in an elegant & cussory manner. Brekfst is enounced by Fitzwarren, my mann we precede to the festive bord complimence is igschanged with the manner of drinking wind, adressing your neighbour, employing your napking & finger-glas, &c. And then we fall to brekfst, when I prommiss you the Marquis don't eat like a commoner. He says I'm gettn on very well soon I shall be able to inwite people to brekfst, like Mr. Mills, my rivle in Halbany ; Mr. Macauly (who wrote that sweet book of ballets, ' The Lays of Hancient Rum ') ; & the great Mr. Rodgers himself." " The above was wrote some weeks back. I have given brekfsts sins then, reglar Deshunys. I have ad Earls and Ycounts Barnits as many as I chose : and the pick of the Railway world, of which I form a member. Last Sunday was a grand Fate. I had the Elect of my friends : the display was sumptious ; the company reshershy. Everything that Dellixy could suggest was provided by Gunter. I had a Countiss on my right & (the Countess of Wigglesbury, that loveliest and most dashing of Staggs, who may be called the Railway Queend, as my friend George H is the Railway King) on my left the Lady Blanche Bluenose, Prince Towrowski, the great Sir Huddlestone Fuddlestone from the North, and a skoar of the fust of the fashn. I was in my gloary the dear Countess and Lady Blanche was dying with laffing at my joax and fun I was keeping the whole table in a roar when there came a ring at my door-bell, and sudnly Fitzwarren, my man, henters with an air of constanation. ' Theres somebody at the door,' says he, in a visper. " 'Oh, it's that dear Lady Hemily,' says I, 'and that lazy raskle of a husband of hers. Trot them in, Fitzwarren ' (for you see, by this time I had adopted quite the manners and hease of C. JEAMES DE LA PLUCHE. 317 the arristox7). And so, going out, with a look of wonder he returned presently enouncing Mr. & Mrs. Blodder. " I turned gashly pail. The table the guests the Countiss Towrouski, and the rest, weald round & round before my hagitated I's. It was my Grandmother and Huncle Bill. She is a washerwoman at Healing Common, and he he keeps a wegetable donkey-cart. " Y, Y hadn't John, the tiger, igscluded them? He had tried. But the unconscious, though worthy creeters, adwanced in spite of him, Huncle Bill bringing in the old lady grinning qn his harm. " Phansy my feelinx." " Immagin when these unfortnat members of my famly hentered the room : you may phansy the ixtonnishment of the nobil company presnt. Old Grann looked round the room quite estounded by its horientle splender, and huncle Bill (pulling off his phantail, & seluting the company as respeckfly as his wulgar natur would alow) says ' Crikey, Jeames, you've got a better birth here than you ad where you were in the plush and powder line." 'Try a few of them plovers hegs, sir,' I says, whishing, I'm asheamed to say, that somethink would choke huncle B ; 'and I hope, mam, now you've ad the kindniss to wisit me, a little refreshment won't be out of your way. ' ' ' This I said, detummind to put a good fase on the matter ; and because in herly times I'd reseaved a great deal of kindniss from the hold lady, which I should be a roag to forgit. She paid for my schooling ; she got up my fine linning gratis ; shes given me many & many a Ib; and manys the time in appy appy days when me and Maryhann has taken tea. But never mind that. 'Mam,' says I, 'you must be tired hafter your walk. ' "'Walk? Nonsince, Jeames,' says she; 'it's Sunday, & I came in, in the cart.' ' Black or green tea, maam?' says Fitz- warren, intarupting her. And I will say the feller showed his nouce & good breeding in this difficklt momink ! for he'd 318 THE DIARY OF halready silenced huncle Bill, whose mouth was now full of muffinx, am, Blowny sausag, Perrigole pie, and other dellixies. " 'Wouldn't you like a little somethink in your tea, Mam,' says that sly wagg Cinq bars. ' He knows what I likes,' replies the hawfle hold Lady, pinting to me (which I knew it very well, having often seen her take a glass of hojous gin along with her Bohee), and so I was ableeged to border Fitzwarren to bring round the licures, and to help my unfortnit rellatif to a bumper of Ollands. She tost it hoff to the elth of the company, giving a smack with her lipps after she'd emtied the glas, which very nearly caused me to phaint with hagny. But, luckaly for me, she didn't igspose herself much farther: for when Cinqbars was pressing her to take another glas, I cried out, ' Don't, my Lord,' on which old Grann hearing him edressed by his title, cried out, ' A Lord ! o law ! ' and got up and made him a cutsy, and coodnt be peswaded to speak another word. The presents of the noble gent heavidently made her uneezy. "The Countiss on my right and had shownt symtms of ixtream disgust at the beayviour of my relations, and having called for her carridge, got up to leave the room, with the most dignified hair. I, of coarse, rose to conduct her to her weakle. Ah, what a contrast it was ! There it stood, with stars and garters hall hover the pannels ; the footmin in peach- coloured tites ; the bosses worth 3 hundred a-piece ; and there stood the horrid linnen-cart, with ' Mary Blodder, Laundress, Ealing, Middlesex,' wrote on the bord, and waiting till my abandind old parint should come out. ' ' Cinqbars insisted upon helping her in. Sir Huddlestone Fuddlestone, the great barnet from the North, who, great as he is, is as stewpid as a howl, looked on, hardly trusting his goggle I's as they witnessed the sean. But little lively good naterd Lady Kitty Quickset, who was going away with the Countiss, held her little & out of the carridge to me and said, ' Mr. De la Pluche, you are a much better man than I took you to be. Though her Ladyship is horrified, & though your Grandmother did take gin for breakfast, don't give her up. No one ever came to harm yet for honoring their father & mother. ' ' ' And this was a sort of consolation to me, and I observed that all the good fellers thought none the wuss of me. Cinqbars said I was a trump for sticking up for the old washer-woman ; C. JEAMES DE LA PLUCHE. 519 Lord George Gills said she should have his linning ; and so they cut their joax, and I let them. But it was a great releaf to my mind when the cart drove hoff. " There was one pint which my Grandmother observed, and which, I muss say, I thought lickwise : ' Ho, Jeames, 1 says she, ' hall those fine ladies in sattns and velvets is very well, but there's not one of em can hold a candle to Mary Hann.' " ' ' Railway Spec is going on phamusly. You should see how polite they bar at my bankers now ! Sir Paul Pump Aldgate, & Company. They bow me out of the bank parlor as if I was a Nybobb. Every body say? I'm worth half a millium. The number of lines they're putting me upon, is inkumseavable. I've put Fitzwarren, my man, upon several. Reginald Fitz- warren, Esquire, looks splendid in a perspectus : and the raskle owns that he has made two thowsnd. " How the ladies, & men too, foller and flatter me ! If I go into Lady Binsis hopra box, she makes room for me, who ever is there, and cries out, ' O do make room for that dear creature ! ' And she complyments me on my taste in musick, or my new Broom-oss, or the phansy of my weskit, and always ends by asking me for some shares. Old Lord Bareacres, as stiff as a poaker, as prowd as Loosyfer, as poor as Joab even he condy- sends to be sivvle to the great De la Pluche, and begged me at Harthur's, lately, in his sollom pompus way, ' to faver him with five minutes' conversation. ' I knew what was coming applica- tion for shares put him down on my private list. Wouldn't mind the Scrag End Junction passing through Bareacres hoped I'd come down and shoot there. " I gave the old humbugg a few shares out of my own pocket. ' There, old Pride,' says I, ' I like to see you down on your knees to a footman. There, old Pompossaty! Take fifty pound ; I like to see you come cringing and begging for it.' Whenever I see him in a very public place, I take my change for my money. I digg him in the ribbs, or slap his padded old shoulders. I call him, ' Bareacres, my old buck ! ' and I see him wince. It does my art good. " I'm in low sperits. A disagreeable insadent has just occurred. 32O THE DIARY OF Lady Pump, the banker's wife, asked me to dinner. I sat on her right, of course, with an uncommon gal ner me, with whom I was getting on in my fassanating way full of lacy ally (as the Marquis says) and easy plesntry. Old Pump, from the end of the table, asked me to drink shampane ; and on turning to tak the glass I saw Charles Wackles (with womb I'd been imployed at Colonel Spurrier's house) grinning over his shoulder at the butler. "The beest reckonised me. Has I was putting on my palto in the hall, he came up again : ' How dy doo, Jeames ? ' says he, in a findish visper. ' Just come out here, Chawles,' says I, ' I've a word for you, my old boy.' So I beckoned him into Portland Place, with my pus in my hand, as if I was going to give him a sovaring. " ' I think you said "Jeames," Chawles,' says I, 'and grind at me at dinner ? ' " ' Why, sir,' says he, ' we're old friends, you know.' " 'Take that for old friendship then,' says I, and I gave him just one on the noas, which sent him down on the pavemint as if he'd been shot. And mounting myjesticly into my cabb, I left the rest of the grinning scoundrills to pick him up, & droav to the Clubb.' " Have this day kimpleated a little efair with my friend George, Earl Bareacres, which I trust will be to the advantidge both of self & that noble gent. Adjining the Bareacre proppaty is a small piece of land of about 100 acres, called Squallop Hill, igseeding advantageous for the cultivation of sheep, which have been found to have a pickewlear fine flaviour from the natur of the grass, tyme, heather, and other hodarefarus plants which grows on that mounting in the places where the rox and stones don't prevent them. Thistles here is also remarkable fine, and the land is also devided hoff by luxurient Stone Hedges much more usefle and ickonomicle than your quickset or any of that rubbishing sort of timber : indeed the sile is of that fine natur, that timber refuses to grow there altogether. I gave Bareacres 5o/. an acre for this land (the igsact premium of my St. Helena C. JEAMES DE LA PLUCHE. 321 Shares) a very handsom price for land which never yielded two shillings an acre ; and very convenient to his Lordship I know, who had a bill coming due at his Bankers which he had given them. James de la Pluche, Esquire, is thus for the fust time a landed propriator or rayther, I should say, is about to reshume the rank & dignity in the country which his Hancestors so long occupied." " I have caused one of our inginears to make me a plann of the Squallop Estate, Diddlesexshire, the property of &c. &c., bordered on the North by Lord Bareacres's Country ; on the West by Sir Granby Growler ; on the South by the Motion. An Arkytect & Survare, a young feller of great emagination, womb we have employed to make a survey of the Great Caffrarian line, has built me a beautiful Villar (on pap$r), Plushton Hall, Diddlesex, the seat of I. de la P. , Esquire. The house is reprasented a hand- some Itallian Structer, imbusmd in woods, and circumwented by beautiful gardings. Theres a lake in front with boatsful of nobil- laty and musitions floting on its placid sufface and a curricle is a driving up to the grand hentrance, and me in it, with Mrs., or perhaps Lady Hangelana de la Pluche. I speak adwisedly. / may be going to form a noble kinexion. I may be (by marridge) going to unight my family once more with Harrystoxy, from which misfortn has for some sentries separated us. I have dreams of that sort. "I've scan sevral times in a dalitifle vishn a serting Erl, standing in a hattitude of bennydiction, and rattafying my union with a serting butifle young lady, his daughter. Phansy Mr. or Sir Jeames and Lady Hangelina de la Pluche ! Ho ! what will the old washy woman, my grandmother, say? She may sell her mangle then, and shall too by my honour as a Gent." "As for Squallop Hill, its not to be emadgind that I was going to give 5000 Ib. for a bleak mounting like that, unless I had some ideer in vew. Ham I not a Director of the Grand Diddlesex ? Don't Squallop lie amediately betwigst Old Bone House, Single Gloster, and Scrag End, through which cities our line passes ? I will have 400,000 Ib. for that mounting, or my 322 THE DIARY OF name is not Jeames. I have arranged a little barging too for my friend the Erl. The line will pass through a hangle of Bareacre Park. He shall have a good compensation I promis you ; and then I shall get back the 3000 I lent him. His banker's account, I fear, is in a horrid state." [The Diary now for several days contains particulars of no interest to the public: Memoranda of City dinners meetings of Directors fashionable parties in which Mr. Jeames figures, and nearly always by the side of his new friend, Lord Bareacres, whose " pompossaty," as pre- viously described, seems to have almost entirely subsided.] We then come to the folloing : "With a prowd and thankfle Art, I copy off this morning's Gyzett the folloing news : " ' Commission signed by the Lord Lieutenant of the County of Diddlesex. " ' JAMES AUGUSTUS DE LA PLUCHE, Esquire, to be Deputy Lieutenant." " " ' North Diddlesex Regiment of Yeomanry Cavalry. " ' James Augustus de la Pluche, Esquire, to be Captain, vice Blowhard, promoted.'" "And his it so? Ham I indeed a landed propriator a Deppaty Leftnant a Capting ? May I hatend the Cort of my Sovring ! and dror a sayber in my country's defens ? I wish the French wood land, and me at the head of my squadring on my hoss Desparation. How I'd extonish 'em ! How the gals will stare when they see me in youniform ! How Mary Hann would but nonsince ! I'm halways thinking of that pore gal. She's left Sir John's. She couldn't abear to stay after I went, I've heerd say. I hope she's got a good place. Any summ of money that would sett her up in bisniss, or make her comfarable, I'd come down with like a mann. I told my granmother so, who C. JEAMES DE LA PLUCHE. 323 sees her, and rode down to Healing on porpose on Desparation to leave a five Ib noat in an anvylope. But she's sent it back, sealed with a thimbill." " Tuesday. Reseavd the following letter from Lord B , rellatiff to my presntation at Cort and the Youniform I shall wear on that hospicious seramony : " ' MY DEAR DE LA PLUCHE, "'I think you had better be presented as a Deputy Lieu- tenant. As for the Diddlesex Yeomanry, I hardly know what the uniform is now. The last time we were out was in 1803, when the Prince of Wales reviewed us, and when we wore French grey jackets, leathers, red morocco boots, crimson pelisses, brass helmets with leopard-skin and a white plume, and the regu!ation pig-tail of eighteen inches. That dress will hardly answer at present, and must be modified, of course. We were called the White Feathers, in those days. For my part, I decidedly re- commend the Deputy Lieutenant. " ' I shall be happy to present you at the Leve'e and at the Drawing-room. Lady Bareacres will be in town for the I3th, with Angelina, who will be presented on that day. My wife has heard much of you, and is anxious to make your acquaintance. " ' All my people are backward with their rents : for Heaven's sake, my dear fellow, lend me five hundred and oblige 1 ' ' Yours, very gratefully, " ' BAREACRES.' " Note. Bareacres may press me about the Depity Leftnant ; but I'm for the cavvlery." ' ' Jewly will always be a sacrid anniwussary with me. It was in that month that I became persnally ecquaintid with my Prins and my gracious Sovarink. 324 THE DIARY OF "Long before the hospitious event acurd, you may imadgin that my busm was in no triffling flutter. Sleaplis of nights, I past them thinking of the great ewent or if igsosted natur did clothes my highlids the eyedear of my waking thoughts pevaded my slummers. Corts, Erls, presntations, Goldstix, gracious Sovarinx mengling in my dreembs unceasnly. I blush to say it (for humin prisumpshn never surely igseeded that of my wicked wickid vishn), one night I actially dremt that Her R. H. the Princess Hallis was grown up, and that there was a Cabinit Counsel to detummin whether her & was to be bestoad on me or the Prins of Sax-Muffinhausen-Pumpenstein, a young Prooshn or Germing zion of nobillaty. I ask umly parding for this hordacious ideer. " I said, in my fommer remarx, that I had detummined to be presented to the notus of my reveared Sovaring in a melintary coschewm. The Court-shoots in which Sivillians attend a Levy are so uncomming like the the livries (ojous wud ! I 8 to put it down) I used to wear before entering sosiaty, that I couldn't abide the notium of wearing one. My detummination was fumly fixt to apeer as a Yominry Cavilry Hoffiser, in the galleant youniform of the North Diddlesex Huzzas. " Has that redgmint had not been out sins 1803, I thought myself quite hotherized to make such halterations in the youni- form as shuited the presnt time and my metured and elygint taste. Pig-tales was out of the question. Tites I was detum- mined to mintain. My legg is praps the finist pint about me, and I was risolved not to hide it under a booshle. "I phixt on scarlet tites, then, imbridered with goold, as I have seen Widdicomb wear them at Hashleys when me and Mary Hann used to go there. Ninety-six guineas worth of rich goold lace and cord did I have myhandering hall hover those shoperb inagspressables. "Yellow marocky Heshn boots, red eels, goold spurs and goold lassies as bigg as belpulls. "Jackit French gray and silver oringe fasings & cuphs, according to the old patn ; belt, green and goold, tight round my pusn, & settin hoff the cemetry of my figgar not disadvin- tajusly. "A huzza paleese of pupple velvit & sable fir. A sayber of Demaskus steal, and a sabertash (in which I kep my Odi- clone and imbridered pocket ankercher), kimpleat my acoo- C. JEAMES DE LA PLUCHE. 325 terments, which, without vannaty, was, I flatter myself, uneak. ' ' But the crownding triumph was my hat. I couldnt wear a cock At. The huzzahs dont use 'em. I wouldnt wear the hojous old brass Elmet & Leppardskin. I choas a hat which is dear to the memry of hevery Brittn ; an at which was in- wented by my Feeld Marshle and adord Prins ; an At which vulgar prejidis & Joaking has in vane etempted to run down. I chose the HALBERT AT. I didn't tell Bareacres of this egsabishn of loilty , intending to surprise him. The white ploom of the West Diddlesex Yomingry I fixt on the topp of this Shacko, where it spread hout like a shaving-brush. "You may be sure that befor the fatle day arrived, I didnt niglect to practus my part Vtell ; and had sevral rehustles, as they say. ' ' This was the way. I used to dress myself in my full togs. I made Fitzwarren, my boddy servant, stand at the dor, and figger as the Lord in Waiting. I put Mrs. Bloker, my laundress, in my grand harm chair to reprasent the horgust pusn of my Sovring ; Frederick, my secknd man, standing on her left, in the hattatude of an illustrus Prins Consort. Hall the Candles were lighted. ' Captain de la Pluche, presented by Herl Bare- acres,' Fitzwarren, my man, igsclaimed, as adwancing I made obasins to the Thrown. Nealin on one nee, I cast a glans of unhuttarable loilty towards the British Crownd, then stepping gracefully hup (my Dimas^us Simiter -would git betwigst my ligs, in so doink, which at fust was wery disagreeble) rising hup grasefly, I say, I flung a look of manly but respeckfl hommitch lords my Prins, and then ellygntly ritreated backards out of the Roil Presents. I kep my 4 suvnts hup for 4 hours at this gaym the night before my presntation, and yet I was the fust to be hup with the sunrice. I coodnt sleep that night. By abowt six o'clock in the morning I was drest in my full uniform ; and I didnt know how to pass the interveaning hours. " ' My Granmother hasnt seen me in full phigg,' says I. ' It will rejoice that pore old sole to behold one of her race so suxesfle in life. Has I ave read in the novle of " Kennleworth," that the Herl goes down in Cort dress and extoneshes Hamy Robsart, I will go down in all my splender and astownd my old washy- woman of a Granmother. ' To make this detummination ; to border my Broom ; to knock down Frederick the groomb for 326 THE DIARY OF delaying to bring it ; was with me the wuck of a momint. The next sor as galliant a cavyleer as hever rode in a cabb, skowering the road to Healing. " I arrived at the well-known cottich. My huncle was habsent with the cart ; but the dor of the humble eboad stood hopen, and I passed through the little garding where the close was hanging out to dry. My snowy ploom was ableeged to bend under the lowly porch, as I hentered the apartmint. " There was a smell of tea there there's always a smell of tea there the old lady was at her Bohee as usual. I advanced lords her ; but ha ! phansy my extonishment when I sor Mary Hann! " I halmost faintid with himction. ' Ho, Jeames ! ' (she has said to me subsquintly) ' mortial mann never looked so bewtifle as you did when you arrived on the day of the Levy. You were no longer mortial, you were diwine ! ' "R! what little Justas the Hartist has done to my mannly etractions in the groce carriketure he's made of me." " Nothing, perhaps, ever created so great a sensashun as my hentrance to St. Jeames's, on the day of the Levy. The Tuckisii Hambasdor himself was not so much remarked as my shuperb turn out. As a Millentary man, and a North Diddlesex Huzza, I was resolved to come to the ground on hossback. I had Desparation phigd out as a charger, and got 4 Melentery dresses from Oily- well Street, in which I drest my 2 men (Fitzwarren, hout of livry, woodnt stand it) and 2 fellers from Rimles, where my hosses stand at livry. I rode up St Jeames's Street, with my 4 Hady- congs the people huzzaying the gals waving their handker- chers, as if I were a Foring Prins hall the winders crowdid to see me pass. "The guard must have taken me for a Hempror at least, when I came, for the drums beat, and the guard turned out and seluted me with presented harms. "What a momink of triumth it was ! I sprung myjestickly from Desperation. I gav the rains to one of my horderlies, and, salewting the crowd, I past into the presnts of my Most Gracious Mrs. "You, peraps, may igspect that I should narrait at lenth the C. JEAMES DE LA PLUCHE. 327 suckmstanzas of my hawjince with the British Crown. But I am not one who would gratafy imputtnint curaiosaty. Rispect for our reckonized instatewtions is my fust quallaty. I, for one, will dye rallying round my Thrown. "Suffise it to say, when I stood in the Horgust Presnts, when I sor on the right & of my Himperial Sovring that Most Gracious Prins, to admire womb has been the chief Objick of my life, my busum was seased with an imotium which my Penn rifevvses to dixcribe my trembling knees halmost rifused their hoffis I reckleck nothing mor until I was found phainting in the harms of the Lord Chamberling. Sir Robert Peal apnd to be standing by (I knew our wuthy Primmier by Punch's picturs of him, igspecially his ligs), and he was conwussing with a man of womb I shall say nothink, blit that he is a Hero of a hundred files, and hevery fite he fit he one. Nead I say that I elude to Harthur of Wellingting? I introjuiced myself to these Jents, and intend to improve the equaintance, and peraps ast Guvmint for a Barnetcy. " But there was another pusn womb on this droring-room I fust had the inagspressable dalite to beold. This was that Star of fashing, that Sinecure of neighbouring i's, as Milting observes, the ecomplisht Lady Hangelina Thistlewood, daughter of my exlent frend, John George Godfrey de Bullion Thistlewood, Earl of Bareacres, Baron Southdown, in the Peeridge of the United Kingdom, Baron Haggismore, in Scotland, K.T. , Lord Left- nant of the county of Diddlesex, &c. &c. This young lady was with her Noble Ma, when I was kinducted tords her. And surely never lighted on this hearth a more delightfle vishn. In that gallixy of Bewty the Lady Hangelina was the fairest Star in that reath of Loveliness the sweetest Rosebud ! Pore Mary Hann, my Art's young affeckshns had been senterd on thee ; but like water through a sivv, her immidge disapeared in a momink, and left me intransd in the presnts of Hangelina. " Lady Bareacres made me a myjestick bow a grand and hawfle pusnage her Ladyship is, with a Roming Nose, and an enawmus ploom of Hostridge phethers ; the fare Hangelina smiled with a sweetness perfickly bewhildring, and said, ' O, Mr. De la Pluche, I'm so delighted to make your acquaintance. I have often heard of you. ' " ' Who,' says I, ' has mentioned my insiggnificknt igsistance to the fair Lady Hangelina? kel bonure igstrame poor mwaw !' 328 THE DIARY OF (For you see I've not studdied ' Pelham ' for nothink, and have lunt a few French phraces, without which no Gent of fashn speaks now.) " ' O,' replies my Lady, ' it was papa first ; and then a very very old friend of yours. ' " 'Whose name is,' says I, pusht on by my stoopid curaw- saty " ' Hoggins Mary Ann Hoggins ' ansurred my Lady (laffing phit to splitt her little sides). "She is my maid, Mr. De la Pluche, and I'm afraid you are a very sad sad person.' "'A mere baggytell,' says I. 'In fommer days I was equainted with that young woman : but haltered suckmstancies have sepparated us for hever, and mong cure is irratreevably perdew elsewhere.' " ' Do tell me all about it. Who is it? When was it? We are all dying to know.' " ' Since about two minnits, and the Ladys name begins with a Ha' says I, looking her tendarly in the face, and conjring up hall the fassanations of my smile. " ' Mr. De la Pluche,' here said a gentleman in whiskers and mistaches standing by, ' hadn't you better take your spurs out of the Countess of Bareacres's train ? ' ' Never mind mamma's train ' (said Lady Hangelina) : ' this is the great Mr. De la Pluche, who is to make all our fortunes yours too. Mr. De la Pluche, let me present you to Captain George Silvertop.' The Capting bent just one jint of his back very slitely ; I retund his stare with equill hottiness. ' Go and see for Lady Bareacres's carridge, George,' says his Lordship; and vispers to me, ' a cousin of ours a poor relation. ' So I took no notis of the feller when he came back, nor in my subsquint visits to Hill Street, where it seems a knife and fork was laid reglar for this shabby Capting." " Thusday Night. O Hangelina, Hangelina, my pashn for you hogments daily ! I've bean with her two the Hopra. I sent her a bewtifle Camellia Jyponiky from Covn Carding, with a request she would wear it in her raving Air. I woar another C. JEAMES DE LA PLUCHE. 329 in my butnole. Evns, what was my sattusfackshn as I leant hover her chair, and igsammined the house with my gtas ! "She was as sulky and silent as pawsble, however would scarcely speek ; although I kijoled her with a thowsnd little plesntries. I spose it was because that wulgar raskle Silvertop wood stay in the box. As if he didn' know (Lady B's as deaf as a poast and counts for nothink) that people sometimes like a tatytaty." " Friday. I was sleeples all night. I gave went to my feel- ings in the folloring lines thefe's a hair out of Balfe's Hopera that she's fond of. I edapted them to that mellady. ' ' She was in the droring-room alone with Lady B. She was wobbling at the pyanna as I hentered. I flung the convasation upon mewsick ; said I sung myself (I've ad lesns lately of Signor Twankydillo) ; and, on her rekwesting me to faver her with somethink, I bust out with my pom : ' WHEN MOONLIKE ORE THE HAZURE SEAS. " ' When moonlike ore the hazure seas In soft effulgence swells, When silver jews and balmy breaze Bend down the Lily's bells ; When calm and deap, the rosy sleap Has lapt your soal in dreems, R Hangeline ! R lady mine ! Dost thou remember Jeames ? " ' I mark thee in the Marble All, Where Englands loveliest shine I say the fairest of them hall Is Lady Hangeline. My soul, in desolate eclipse, With recollection teems And then I hask, with weeping lips, Dost thou remember Jeames ? 33O THE DIARY OF " ' Away ! I may not tell thee hall This soughring heart endures There is a lonely sperrit-call That Sorrow never cures ; There is a little little Star, That still above me beams ; It is the Star of Hope but ar ! Dost thou remember Jeames ? ' ' ' When I came to the last words, ' Dost thou remember Je-e-e-ams ? ' I threw such an igspresshn of unuttrable tenderniss into the shake at the hend, that Hangelina could bare it no more. A bust of uncumtrollable emotium seized her. She put her ankercher to her face and left the room. I heard her laffing and sobbing histerickly in the bedwor. ' ' O Hangelina My adord one, My Arts joy ! " . . . ' ' Bareacres, me, the ladies of the famly, with their sweet Southdown, B's eldest son, and George Silvertop, the shabby Capting (who seems to git leaf from his ridgmint whenhever he likes), have beene down into Diddlesex for a few days, enjying the spawts of the feald there. " Never having done much in the gunning line (since when a hinnasent boy, me and Jim Cox used to go out at Healing, and shoot sparrers in the Edges with a pistle) I was reyther dowtfle as to my suxes as a shot, and practusd for some days at a stoughd bird in a shooting gallery, which a chap histed up and down with a string. I sugseaded in itting the hannimle pretty well. I bought Awker's ' Shooting-Guide,' two double guns at Mant- ings, and salected from the French prints of fashn the most gawjus and ellygant sportting ebillyment. A lite blue velvet and goold cap, woar very much on one hear, a cravatt of yaller & green imbroidered sailing, a weskil of Ihe McGrigger plaid, & a jackel of Ihe McWhirter tartn (with large molherapurl bulns, engraved wilh coaches and osses, and sporling subjix), high lealher gaylers, and marocky shooling shoes, was Ihe simple hellymence of my coslewm, and I flaller myself sel hoff my C. JEAMES DE -LA PLUCHE. 3 5 I figger in rayther a fayverable way. I took down none of my own pusnal istablishmint except Fitzwarren, my hone mann, and my grooms, with Desparation and my curricle osses, and the Fourgong containing my dressing-case and close. " I was hevery where introjuiced in the county as the great Railroad Cappitlist, who was to make Diddlesex the most prawsperous districk of the hempire. The squires prest forrards to welcome the new comer amongst 'em ; and we had a Hagri- cultural Mealing of the Bareacres tenantry, where I made a speech droring tears from heavery i. It was in compliment to a layborer who had brought up sixteen children, and lived sixty years on the istate on seven bobb a week. I am not prowd, though I know my station. I shook hands with that mann in lavinder kidd gloves. I told hiirl that the purshuit of hagriculture was the noblist hockupations of humannaty : I spoke of the yoming of Hengland, who (under the command of my han- cisters) had conquered at Hadjincourt & Cressy ; and I gave him a pair of new velveteen inagspressables, with two-and-six in each pocket, as a reward for three score years of labor. Fitz- warren, my man, brought them forrards on a salting cushing. Has I sat down defning chears selewted Ihe horalor ; the band struck up ' The Good Old English Gentleman.' I looked to the ladies galry ; my Hangelina waived her ankasher and kissed her & ; and I sor in the distans lhal pore Mary Hann efected evidently to tears by my ellaquints." "Whal an adwance that gal has made since she's been in Lady Hangelina's company ! Sins she wears her young lady's igsploded gownds and retired caps and ribbings, there's an ellygance abowt her which is puffickly admarable ; and which, haddid lo her own nalral bewly & sweetniss, creates in my boozum sorting sensatiums . . . Shor ! I mustn't give way to fealinx unwuthy of a member of the aristoxy. What can she be to me but a mear reckleclion a vishn of former ears ? " I'm blesl if I didn mislake her for Hangelina herself yester- day. I met her in the grand Collydore of Bareacres Caslle. I sor a lady in a melumcolly hallatude gacing oulavvinder at the 332 THE DIARY OF setting sun, which was eluminating the fair parx and gardings of the hancient demean. " ' Bewchus Lady Hangelina,' says I 'A penny for your Ladyship's thought,' says I. " ' Ho, Jeames ! Ho, Mr. De la Pluche ! ' hansered a well- known vice, with a haxnt of sadnis which went to my art. ' You know what my thoughts are, well enough. I was thinking of happy happy old times, when both of us were poo poo oor,' says Mary Hann, busting out in a phit of crying, a thing I can't ebide. I took her and and tried to cumft her : I pinted out the diffrents of our sitawashns ; igsplained to her that proppaty has its jewties as well as its previletches, and that my juty clearly was to marry into a noble famly. I kep on talking to her (she sobbing and going hon hall the time) till Lady Hangelina her- self came up 'The real Siming Fewer," as they say in the play. . "There they stood together them two young women. I don't know which is the ansamest. I coodn help comparing them ; and I coodnt help comparing myself to a certing Hannimle I've read of, that found it difficklt to make a choice betwigst 2 Bundles of A." " That ungrateful beest Fitzwarren my oan man a feller I've maid a fortune for a feller I give 100 Ib. per hannum to ! a low bred Wallydyshamber ! He must be thinking of falling in love too ! and treating me to his imperence. "He's a great big athlatic feller six foot i, with a pair of black whiskers like air-brushes with a look of a Colonel in the harmy a dangerous pawmpus-spoken raskle I warrunt you. I was coming ome from shuiting this hafternoon and passing through Lady Hangelina's flour-garding, who should I see in the summerouse, but Mary Hann pretending to em an ankyshr and Mr. Fitzwarren paying his cort to her ? " ' You may as well have me, Mary Hann,' says he. ' I've saved money. We'll take a public-house and I'll make a lady of you. I'm not a purse-proud ungrateful fellow like Jeames who's such a snob ( ' such a SNOBB ' was his very words !) that C. JEAMES DE LA PLUCHE. 3 3 3 I'm ashamed to wait on him who's the laughing-stock of all the gentry and the housekeeper's room too try a man,' says he 'don't be taking on about such a humbug as Jeames.' ' ' Here young Joe the keaper's sun, who was carrying my bagg, bust out a laffing thereby causing Mr. Fitzwarren to turn round and intarupt this polite convasation. " I was in such a rayge. 'Quit the building, Mary Hann,* says I to the young woman ; ' and you, Mr. Fitzwarren, have the goodness to remain.' " ' I give you warning,' roars he, looking black, blue, yaller all the colours of the ranebo. " ' Take off your coat, you imperent hungrateful scoundrl,' says I. % " ' It's not your livery,' says he. " ' Peraps you'll understand me, when I take off my own," says I, unbuttoning the motherapurls of the MacWhirter tartn. ' Take my jackit, Joe," says I to the boy, and put myself in a hattitude about which there was no mistayk." "He's 2 stone heavier than me and knows the use of his ands as well as most men ; but in a fite, bloods everythink ; the Snobb can't stand before the gentleman ; and I should have killed him, I've little doubt, but they came and stopt the fite betwigst us before we'd had more than 2 rounds. " I punisht the raskle tremenjusly in that time, though ; and I'm writing this in my own sittn-room, not being able to come down to dinner on account of a black-eye I've got, which is sweld up and disfiggrs me dreadfl." ' ' On account of the hoffie black i which I reseaved in my rangcounter with the hinfimus Fitzwarren, I kep my roomb for sevral days, with the rose-coloured curtings of the apartmint closed, so as to form an agreeable twilike ; and a light-bloo 334 THE DIARY OF sattin shayd over the injard pheacher. My woons was thus made to become me as much as pawsable ; and (has the Poick well observes 'Nun but the Brayv desuvs the Fare') I cum- soled myself in the sasiaty of the ladies for my tempory dis- figgarment. "It was Mary Hann who summind the House and put an end to my phistycoughs with Fitzwarren. I licked him and bare him no mallis : but of corse I dismist the imperent scoundrill from my suwis, apinting Adolphus, my page, to his post of confidenshle Valley. " Mary Hann and her young and lovely Mrs. kep paying me continyoul visits during my retiremint. Lady Hangelina was halways sending me messidges by her : while my exlent friend, Lady Bareacres (on the contry), was always sending me toakns of affeckshn by Hangelina. Now it was a coolin hi-lotium, inwented by herself, that her ladyship would perscribe then, agin, it would be a booky of flowers (my favrit polly hanthuses, pellagoniums, and jyponikys), which none but the fair &s of Hangelina could dispose about the chamber of the hinvyleed. Ho ! those dear mothers ! when they wish to find a chans for a galliant young feller, or to ixtablish their dear gals in life, what awpertunities they will give a man ! You'd have phansied I was so hill (on account of my black hi) that I couldnt live exsep upon chicking and spoon-meat, and jellies, and blemonges, and that I couldnt eat the latter dellixies (which I ebomminate onternoo, prefurring a cut of beaf or muttn to hall the kick- pshaws of France) unless Hangelina brought them. I et 'em, and sacrafised myself for her dear sayk. "I may stayt here that in privit convasations with old Lord B. and his son, I had mayd my proposals for Hangelina, and was axepted, and hoped soon to be made the appiest gent in Hengland. " ' You must break the matter gently to her,' said her hexlent father. ' You have my warmest wishes, my dear Mr. De la Pluche, and those of my Lady Bareacres ; but I am not not quite certain about Lady Angelina's feelings. Girls are wild and romantic. They do not see the necessity of prudent establishments, and I have never yet been able to make Angelina understand the embarrassments of her family. These silly creatures prate about love and a cottage, and despise advantages which wiser heads than theirs know how to estimate.' C. JEAMES DE LA PLUCHE. 335 "'Do you mean that she aint fassanated by me?" says I, bursting out at this outrayjus ideer. " ' She -will be, my dear sir. You have already pleased her, your admirable manners must succeed in captivating her, and a fond father's wishes will be crowned on the day in which you enter our family. ' " 'Recklect, gents,' says I to the 2 lords, 'a barging's a barging I'll pay hoff Southdown's Jews, when I'm his brother. As a straynger' (this I said in a sarcastickle loan) ' I wouldnt take such a libbaty. When I'm your suninlor I'll treble the valyou of your estayt. I'll make your incumbrinces as right as a trivit, and restor the ouse of Bareacres to its herly splender. But a pig in a poak is not the way of transacting bisniss imployed by Jeames De la Plucrfc, Esquire. 1 ' ' And I had a right to speak in this way. I was one of the greatest scrip-holders in Hengland ; and calclated on a kilossle fortune. All my shares was rising immence. Every poast brot me noose that I was sevral thowsands richer than the day befor. I was detummind not to reerlize till the proper time, and then to buy istates ; to found a new family of Delapluches, and to alie myself with the aristoxy of my country. ' ' These pints I reprasented to pore Mary Hann hover and hover agin. ' If you'd been Lady Hangelina, my dear gal,' says I, ' I would have married you : and why don't I ? Because my dooty prewents me. I'm a marter to dooty : and you, my pore gal, must cumsole yorself with that ideer.' "There seemed to be a consperracy, too, between that Silvertop and Lady Hangelina to drive me to the same pint. 'What a plucky fellow you were, Pluche,' says he (he was rayther more familliar than I liked), ' in your fight with Fitz- warren ! to engage a man of twice your strength and science, though you were sure to be beaten ' (this is an etroashous fol- sood : I should have finnisht Fitz in 10 minnits), ' for the sake of poor Mary Hann ! That's a generous fellow. I like to see a man risen to eminence like you, having his heart in the right place. When is to be the marriage, my boy ? ' " ' Capting S. ,' says I, 'my marridge consunns your most umble servnt a precious sight more than you ; ' and I gev him to understand I didn't want him to put in his ore I wasn't afrayd of his whiskers, I prommis you, Capting as he was. I'm a British Lion, I am: as brayv as Bonypert, Hannible, 336 THE DIARY OF or Holiver Crummle, and would face bagnits as well as any Evy drigoon of 'em all. ' ' Lady Hangelina, too, igspawstulated in her hartfl way. 'Mr. De la Pluche (seshee), why, why press this point? You can't suppose that you will be happy with a person like me ? ' "'I adoar you, charming gal!' says I. "Never, never go to say any such thing.' " ' You adored Mary Ann first,' answers her Ladyship ; ' you can't keep your eyes off her now. If any man courts her you grow so jealous that you begin beating him. You will break the girl's heart if you don't marry her, and perhaps some one else's but you don't mind that.' ' ' ' Break yours, you adoarible creature ! I'd die first ! And as for Mary Hann, she will git over it ; people's arts ain't broakn so easy. Once for all, suckmstances is changed betwigst me and er. It's a pang to part with her ' (says I, my fine hi's filling with tears), ' but part from her I must.' " It was curius to remark abowt that singlar gal, Lady Hangelina, that melumcolly as she was when she was talking to me, and ever so disml yet she kep on laffing every minute like the juice and all. ' ' ' What a sacrifice ! ' says she ; ' it's like Napoleon giving up Josephine. What anguish it must cause to your susceptible heart!' " ' It does,' says I' Hagnies ! ' (Another laff. ) " 'And if if I don't accept you you will invade the States of the Emperor my papa, and I am to be made the sacrifice and the occasion of peace between you ! ' " ' I don't know what you're eluding to about Joseyfeen and Hemperors your Pas ; but I know that your Pa's estate is over hedaneers morgidged ; that if some one don't elp him, he's no better than an old pawper ; that he owes me a lot of money ; and that I'm the man that can sell him up hoss & foot ; or set him up agen that's what I know, Lady Hangelina,' says I, with a hair as much as to say, ' Put that in your Ladyship's pipe and smoke it" "And so I left her, and nex day a setting fashnable paper enounced " ' MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. We hear that a matrimonial union is on the tapis between a gentleman who has made a C. JEAMES DE LA PLUCHE. 337 colossal fortune in the Railway World, and the only daughter of a noble earl, whose estates are situated in D-ddles-x. An early day is fixed for this interesting event.'" " Contry to my expigtations (but when or ow can we reckn upon the fealinx of wimming?) Mary Hann didn't seem to be much efected by the hideer of my marridge with Hangelinar. I was rayther disapinted peraps that the fickle young gal 338 THE DIARY OF reckumsiled herself so easy to give me hup, for we Gents are creechers of vannaty after all, as well as those of the hopsit seeks ; and betwigst you and me there was mominx, when I almost whisht that I'd been borne a Myommidn or Turk, when the Lor would have permitted me to marry both these sweet beinx, wherehas I was now condemd to be appy with ony one. " Meanwild every think went on very agreeable betwigst me and my defianced bride. When we came back to town I kemishnd Mr. Showery the great Hoctionear to look out for a town manshing sootable for a gent of my quallaty. I got from the Erald Horn's (not the Mawning Erald no no, I'm not such a Mough as to go there for ackrit infamation) an account of my famly, my harms and pedigry. " I bordered in Long Hacre, three splendid equipidges, on which my arms and my adord wife's was drawn & quartered ; and I got portricks of me and her paynted by the sellabrated Mr. Shalloon, being resolved to be the gentleman in all things, and knowing that my character as a man of fashn wasn't com- pleat unless I sat to that dixtinguished Hartist. My likenis I presented to Hangelina. It's not considered flattring and though she parted with it, as you will hear, mighty willingly, there's one young lady (a thousand times handsomer) that values it as the happle of her hi. "Would any man beleave that this picture was soald at my sale for about a twenty-fifth part of what it cost me ? It was bought in by Maryhann, though : ' O dear Jeames,' says she, often (kissing of it & pressing it to her art), ' it isn't $ ansum enough for you, and hasn't got your angellick smile and the igspreshn of your dear dear i's.' " Hangelina's pictur was kindly presented to me by Countess B. , her mamma, though of coarse I paid for it. It was engraved for the ' Book of Bewty ' the same year. "With such a perfusion of ringlits I should scarcely have known her but the ands, feat, and i's, was very like. She was painted in a gitar supposed to be singing one of my little melladies ; and her brother Southdown, who is one of the New England poits, wrote the follering stanzys about her: C. JEAMES DE LA PLUCHE. 330, "LINES UPON MY SISTER'S PORTRAIT. ' ' BY THE LORD SOUTHDOWN. " THE castle towers of Bareacres are fair upon the lea, Where the cliffs of bonny Diddlesex rise up from out the sea : I stood upon the donjon keep and view'd the country o'er, I saw the lands of Bareacres for fifty miles or more. I stood upon the donjon keep it is a sacred place, Where floated for eight hundred years the banner of my race ; Argent, a dexter sinople, and gules an azure field, There ne'er was nobler cognisance on knightly warrior's shield. " The first time England saw the shield 'twas round a Norman neck, On board a ship from Valery, King William was on deck. A Norman lance the colours wore, in Hastings' fatal fray St. Willibald for Bareacres ! 'twas double gules that day ! O Heaven and sweet St. Willibald ! in many a battle since A loyal-hearted Bareacres has ridden by his Prince ! At Acre with Plantagenet, with Edward at Poitiers, The pennon of the Bareacres was foremost on the spears ! ' ' 'Twas pleasant in the battle-shock to hear our war-cry ringing : O grant me, sweet St. Willibald, to listen to such singing ! Three hundred steel-clad gentlemen, we drove the foe before us, And thirty score of British bows kept twanging to the chorus ! O knights, my noble ancestors ! and shall I never hear Saint Willibald for Bareacres through battle ringing clear? I'd cut me off this strong right hand a single hour to ride, And strike a blow for Bareacres, my fathers, at your side ! 34O THE DIARY OF "Dash down, dash down, yon Mandolin, beloved sister mine ! Those blushing lips may never sing the glories of our line : Our ancient castles echo to the clumsy feet of churls, The spinning Jenny houses in the mansion of our Earls. Sing riot, sing not, my Angeline ! in days so base and vile, 'Twere sinful to be happy, 'twere sacrilege to smile. I'll hie me to my lonely hall, and by its cheerless hob I'll muse on other days, and wish and wish I were A SNOB." "All young Hengland, I'm told, considers the poim bewtifle. They're always writing about battleaxis and shivvlery, these young chaps ; but the ideer of Southdown in a shoot of armer, and his cuttin hoffhis ' strong right hand,' is rayther too good ; the feller is about 5 fit hi, as ricketty as a babby, with a vaist like a gal ; and though he may have the art and curridge of a Bengal tyger, I'd back my smallest cab-boy to lick him, that is, if I ad a cab-boy. But io ! my cab-days is over. " Be still my hagnizing Art! I am now about to hunfoald the dark payges of the Istry of my life ! " ' ' My friends ! you've seen me ithera in the full kerear of Fortn, prawsprus but not hover prowd of my prawsperraty ; not dizzy though mounted on the haypix of Good Luck feast- ing hall the great (like the Good Old Henglish Gent in the song, which he has been my moddle and igsample through life), but not forgitting the small No, my beayviour to my gran- mother at Healing shows that. I bot her a new donkey cart (what the French call a cart-blansh) and a handsome set of peggs for anging up her linning, and treated Huncle Bill to a new shoot of close, which he ordered in St. Jeames's Street, much to the estonishment of my Snyder there, namely an olliff-green velvyteen jackit and smalclose, and a crimsn plush weskoat with glas-buttns. These pints of genarawsity in my disposishn I never should have eluded to, but to show that I am naturally of a noble sort, and have that kind of galliant tarridge which is equel to either good or bad forting. C. JEAMES DE LA PLUCHE. 34! "What was the substns of my last chapter? In that every- think was prepayred for my marridge the consent of the parents of my Hangelina was gaynd, the lovely gal herself was ready (as I thought) to be led to Himing's halter the trooso was hordered the wedding dressis were being phitted hon a weddinkake weighing half a tunn was a gettn reddy by Mesurs Gunter, of Buckley Square ; there was such an account for Shantilly and Honiton laces as would have staggerd henny- boddy (I know they did the Commissioner when I came hup for my Stiffikit), and has for Injar-shawls I bawt a dozen sich fine ones as never was given away no not by Hiss Iness the Injan Prins Juggernaut Tygore. The juils (a pearl and dimind shoot) were from the estaolishmint of Mysurs Storr and Mortimer. The honey-moon I intended to pass in a continentle excussion, and was in treaty for the ouse at Halberd-gate (hopsit Mr. Hudson's) as my town-house. I waited to cumclude the putchis untie the Share-Markit which was rayther deprest (oing I think not so much to the atax of the misrabble Times, as to the prodidjus flams of the Morning Erald) was restored to its elthy loan. I wasn't going to part with scrip which was 20 primmium at 2 or 3 ; and bein confidnt that the Markit would tally, had bought very largely for the two or three new accounts. ' ' This will explane to those unfortnight traydsmen to womb I gayv orders for a large igstent ow it was that I couldn't pay their accounts. / am the soal of onour but no gent can pay when he has no money : it's not my fault if that old screw Lady Bareacres cabbidged three hundred yards of lace, and kep back 4 of the biggest diminds and seven of the largist Injar Shawls it's not my fault if the tradespeople didn git their goods back, and that Lady B. declared they were lost. I began the world afresh with the close on my back, and thirteen and six in money, concealing nothink, giving up heverythink, Onist and undismayed, and though beat, with pluck in me still, and ready to begin agin. " Well it was the day before that apinted for my Unium. The ' Ringdove ' steamer was lying at Dover ready to carry us hoff. The Bridle apartmince had been hordered at Salt Hill, and subsquintly at Balong sur Mare the very table cloth was laid for the weddn brexfst in 111 Street, and the Bride's Right Reverend Huncle, the Lord Bishop of Bullocksmithy, had arrived to sellabrayt our unium. All the papers were full of it. 342 THE DIARY OF Crowds of the fashnable world went to see the trooso, and admire the Carridges in Long Hacre. Our travleng charrat (light bloo lined with pink satting, and vermillium and goold weals) was the hadmaration of all for quiet ellygns. We were to travel only 4, viz. , me, my Lady, my vally, and Mary Hann as famdyshamber to my Hangelina. Far from oposing our match, this worthy gal had quite givn into it of late, and laught and joakt, and enjoyd our plans for the fewter igseedinkly. "I'd left my lovely Bride very gay the night before aving a multachewd of bisniss on, and Stockbrokers' and bankers' accounts to settle : atsettrey atsettrey. It was layt before I got these in border: my sleap was feavrish, as most mens is when they are going to be marrid or to be hanged. I took my chocklit in bed about one: tried on my wedding close, and found as ushle that they became me exceedingly. "One thing distubbed my mind two weskts had been sent home. A blush-white satting and gold, and a kinary coloured tabbinet imbridered in silver : which should I wear on the hospicious day? This hadgitated and perplext me a good deal. I detummined to go down to Hill Street and cumsult the Lady whose wishis were henceforth to be my hallinall ; and wear whichever she phixt on. ' ' There was a great bussel and distubbans in the Hall in 111 Street : which I etribyouted to the eproaching event. The old porter stared most uncommon when I kem in the footman who was to enounce me laft I thought I was going upstairs " 'Her Ladyship's not not at home,' says the man; 'and my Lady's hill in bed." " ' Git lunch,' says I, ' I'll wait till Lady Hangelina returns.' "At this the feller loox at me for a momint with his cheex blown out like a bladder, and then busts out in a reglar guffau ! the porter jined in it, the impident old raskle : and Thomas says, slapping his and on his thy, without the least respect ' / say. Huffy, old boy I ISN'T this a good un f " ' Wadyermean, you infunnle scoundrel,' says I, 'hollaring and laffing at me ? ' "'Oh, here's Miss Mary Hann coming up,' says Thomas, ' ask her' and indeed there came my little Mary Hann tripping down the stairs her &s in her pockits ; and when she saw me, she began to blush and look hod & then to grin too. " 'In the name of Imperence,' says I, rushing on Thomas, C. JEAMES DE LA PLUCHE. 543 and collaring him fit to throttle him ' no raskle of a flunky shall insult me,' and I sent him staggerin up aginst the porter, and both of 'em into the hall-chair with a flopp when Mary Hann, jumping down, says, ' O James ! O Mr. Plush ! read this ' and she pulled out a billy doo. " I reckanized the and-writing of Hangelina." ' ' Deseatful Hangelina's billy ijin as follows : " ' I had all along hoped that you would have relinquished pretensions which you must have seen were so disagreeable to me ; and have spared me the painful necessity of the step which I am compelled to take. For a long time I could not believe my parents were serious in wishing to sacrifice me, but have in vain entreated them to spare me. I cannot undergo the shame and misery of a union with you. To the very last hour I remonstrated in vain, and only now anticipate, by a few hours, my departure from a home from which they themselves were about to expel me. " ' When you receive this, I shall be united to the person to whom, as you are aware, my heart was given long ago. My parents are already informed of the step I have taken. And I have my own honour to consult, even before their benefit : they will forgive me, I hope and feel, before long. " ' As for yourself, may I not hope that time will calm your exquisite feelings too ? I leave Mary Ann behind me to console you. She admires you as you deserve to be admired, and with a constancy which I entreat you to try and imitate. Do, my dear Mr. Plush, try for the sake of your sincere friend and admirer, "'A. '"P.S. I leave the wedding-dresses behind for her: the diamonds are beautiful, and will become Mrs. Plush admirably.' " This was hall ! Confewshn ! And there stood the footmen sniggerin, and that hojus Mary Hann half a cryin, half a laffing at me ! ' Who has she gone hoff with ? ' rors I ; and Mary 344 THE DIARY OF Hann (smiling with one hi) just touched the top of one of the Johns' canes who was goin out with the noats to put hoff the brekfst. It was Silvertop then ! " I bust out of the house in a stayt of diamoniacal igsitement ! " The stoary of that ilorpmint / have no art to tell. Here it is from the Morning Tatkr newspaper : "ELOPEMENT IN HIGH LIFE. "THK ONLY AUTHENTIC ACCOUNT. "The neighbourhood of Berkeley Square, and the whole fashionable world, has been thrown into a state of the most painful excitement by an event which has just placed a noble family in great perplexity and affliction. " It has long been known among the select nobility and gentry that a marriage was on the tapis between the only daughter of a Noble Earl, and a Gentleman whose rapid fortunes in the railway world have been the theme of general remark. Yesterday's paper, it was supposed, in all human probability would have contained an account of the marriage of James De la Pl-che, Esq., and the Lady Angelina , daughter of the Right Honourable the Earl of B-re-cres. The preparations for this ceremony were complete : we had the pleasure of inspecting the rich trousseau (prepared by Miss Twiddler, of Pall Mall) ; the magnificent jewels from the establishment of Messrs. Storr and Mortimer ; the elegant marriage cake, which, already cut up and portioned, is, alas ! not destined to be eaten by the friends of Mr. De la Pl-che ; the superb carriages, and magnificent liveries, which had been provided in a style of the most lavish yet tasteful sumptuosity. The Right Reverend the Lord Bishop of Bullocksmithy had arrived in town to celebrate the nuptials, and is staying at Mivart's. What must have been the feelings of that venerable prelate, what those of the agonised and noble parents of the Lady Angelina when it was discovered, on the day previous to the wedding, that her Ladyship had fled the paternal mansion ! To the venerable Bishop the news of his noble niece's departure might have been fatal : we have it from the waiters of Mivart's that his Lordship was about to indulge in the refreshment of turtle soup when the news was brought to C. JEAMES DE LA PLUCHE. 345 him ; immediate apoplexy was apprehended ; but Mr. Macann, the celebrated surgeon of Westminster, was luckily passing through Bond Street at the time, and being promptly called in bled and relieved the exemplary patient. His Lordship will return to the Palace, Bullocksmithy, to-morrow. "The frantic agonies of the Right Honourable the Earl of Bareacres can be imagined by every paternal heart. Far be it from us to disturb impossible is it for us to describe their noble sorrow. Our reporters have made inquiries every ten minutes at the Earl's mansion in Hill Street, regarding the health of the Noble Peer and his incomparable Countess. They have been received with a rudeness which we deplore but pardon. One was threatened with a cane ; ^another, in the pursuit of his official inquiries, was saluted with a pail of water ; a third gentleman was menaced in a pugilistic manner by his Lordship's porter ; but being of an Irish nation, a man of spirit and sinew, and Master of Arts of Trinity College, Dublin, the gentleman of our establishment confronted the menial, and having severely beaten him, retired to a neighbouring hotel much frequented by the domestics of the surrounding nobility, and there obtained what we believe to be the most accurate particulars of this extraordinary occurrence. "George Frederick Jennings, third footman in the establish- ment of Lord Bareacres, stated to our employ 'd 'as follows : Lady Angelina had been promised to Mr. De la Pluche for near six weeks. She never could abide that gentleman. He was the laughter of all the servants' hall. Previous to his elevation he had himself been engaged in a domestic capacity. At that period he had offered marriage to Mary Ann Hoggins, who was living in the quality of ladies'-maid in the family where Mr. De la P. was employed. Miss Hoggins became subsequently lady's-maid to Lady Angelina the elopement was arranged between those two. It was Miss Hoggins who delivered the note which informed the bereaved Mr. Plush of his loss. " Samuel Buttons, page to the Right Honourable the Earl of Bareacres, was ordered on Friday afternoon at eleven o'clock to fetch a cabriolet from the stand in Davies Street. He selected the cab No. 19,796, driven by George Gregory Macarty, a one- eyed man from Clonakilty, in the neighbourhood of Cork, Ireland (of whom more anon), and waited, according to his instructions, at the corner of Berkeley Square with his vehicle. His young 346 THE DIARY OF lady, accompanied by her maid, Miss Mary Ann Hoggins, carry- ing a bandbox, presently arrived, and entered the cab with the box : what were the contents of that box we have never been able to ascertain. On asking her Ladyship whether he should order the cab to drive in any particular direction, he was told to drive to Madame Crinoline's, the eminent milliner in Cavendish Square. On requesting to know whether he should accompany her Ladyship, Buttons was peremptorily ordered by Miss Hoggins to go about his business. " Having now his clue, our reporter instantly went in search of cab 19,796, or rather the driver of that vehicle, who was dis- covered with no small difficulty at his residence, Whetstone Park, Lincoln's Inn Fields, where he lives with his family of nine children. Having received two sovereigns, instead doubtless of two shillings (his regular fare, by the way, would have been only one-and-eightpence), Macarty had not gone out with the cab for the two last days, passing them in a state of almost ceaseless intoxication. His replies were very incoherent in answer to the queries of our reporter ; and, had not that gentleman himself been a compatriot, it is probable he would have refused altogether to satisfy the curiosity of the public. "At Madame Crinoline's, Miss Hoggins quitted the carriage, and a gentleman entered it. Macarty describes him as a very clever gentleman (meaning tall) with black mustachios, Oxford- grey trousers, and black hat and a pea coat. He drove the couple to the Euston Square Station, and there left them. How he employed his time subsequently we have stated. "At the Euston Square Station, the gentleman of our estab- lishment learned from Frederick Corduroy, a porter there, that a gentleman answering the above description had taken places to Derby. We have despatched a confidential gentleman thither, by a special train, and shall give his report in a second edition. "SECOND EDITION. "(FROM OUR REPORTER.) " NEWCASTLE : Monday. " I am just arrived at this ancient town, at the ' Elephant and Cucumber Hotel.' A party travelling under the name of Mr. and Mrs. Jones, the gentleman wearing moustaches, and having C. JEAMES DE LA PLUCHE. 347 with them a blue bandbox, arrived by the train two hours before me, and have posted onwards to Scotland, I have ordered four horses, and write this on the hind boot, as they are putting to. "THIRD EDITION. " GRETNA GREEN : Monday Evening. " The mystery is at length solved. This afternoon, at four o'clock, the Hymeneal Blacksmith, of Gretna Green, celebrated the marriage between George Granby Silvertop, Esq., a Lieu- tenant in the isoth Hussars, thfrd son of General John Silvertop, of Silvertop Hall, Yorkshire, and Lady Emily Silvertop, daughter of the late sister of the present Earl of Bareacres, and the Lady Angelina Amelia Arethusa Anaconda Alexandrina Alicompania Annemaria Antoinetta, daughter of the last-named Earl Bare- acres." {Here follows a long extract from the Marriage Service in the Book of Common Prayer, -which was not read on the occasion, and need not be repeated here}. "After the ceremony, the young couple partook of a slight refreshment of sherry and water the former the Captain pro- nounced to be execrable ; and, having myself tasted some glasses from the very same bottle with which the young and noble pair were served, I must say I think the Captain was rather hard upon mine host of the ' Bagpipes Hotel and Posting-House,' whence they instantly proceeded. I follow them as soon as the horses have fed. "FOURTH EDITION. "SHAMEFUL TREATMENT OF OUR REPORTER. "WHISTLEBINKIE, N.B. : Monday, midnight. ' ' I arrived at this romantic little villa about two hours after the newly married couple, whose progress I have the honour to trace, reached Whistlebinkie. They have taken up their resi- 348 THE DIARY OF dence at the ' Cairngorm Arms ' mine is at the other hostelry, the ' Clachan of Whistlebinkie." "On driving up to the ' Cairngorm Arms," I found a gentle- man of military appearance standing at the door, and occupied seemingly in smoking a cigar. It was very dark as I descended from my carriage, and the gentleman in question exclaimed, ' Is it you, Southdown my boy ? You have come too late ; unless you are come to have some supper ; ' or words to that effect. I explained that I was not the Lord Viscount South- down, and politely apprised Captain Silvertop (for I justly concluded the individual before me could be no other) of his mistake. ' ' ' Who the deuce ' (the Captain used a stronger term) ' are you, then ? ' said Mr. Silvertop. ' Are you Baggs and Tape- well, my uncle's attorneys ? If you are, you have come too late for the fair. 1 ' ' I briefly explained that I was not Baggs and Tapewell, but that my name was J ms, and that I was a gentleman connected with the establishment of the Morning Tatkr newspaper. " 'And what has brought you here, Mr. Morning Taller?" asked my interlocutor, rather roughly. My answer was frank that the disappearance of a noble lady from the house of her friends had caused the greatest excitement in the metropolis, and that my employers were anxious to give the public every particular regarding an event so singular. " 'And do you mean to say, sir, that you have dogged me all the way from London, and that my family affairs are to be published for the readers of the Morning Tatter newspaper? The Morning Tatkr be (the Captain here gave utterance to an oath which I shall not repeat) and you too, sir; you impudent meddling scoundrel. ' "'Scoundrel, sir!' said I. 'Yes,' replied the irate gentle- man, seizing me rudely by the collar and he would have choked me, but that my blue satin stock and false collar gave way, and were left in the hands of this gentleman. ' Help, landlord ! ' I loudly exclaimed, adding, I believe, ' murder,' and other exclamations of alarm. In vain I appealed to the crowd, which by this time was pretty considerable ; they and the unfeeling post-boys only burst into laughter, and called out, ' Give it him, Captain.' A struggle ensued, in which I have no C. JEAMES DE LA PLUCHE. 549 doubt I should have had the better, but that the Captain, joining suddenly in the general and indecent hilarity, which was doubled when I fell down, stopped and said, ' Well, Jims, I won't fight on my marriage day. Go into the tap, Jims, and order a glass of brandy-and-water at my expense and mind I don't see your face to-morrow morning, or I'll make it more ugly than it is.' "With these gross expressions and a cheer from the crowd, Mr. Silvertop entered the inn. I need not say that I did not partake of his hospitality, and that personally I despise his insults. I make them known that they may call down the indignation of the body of which I am a member, and throw myself on the sympathy of the public, as a gentleman shamefully assaulted and insulted in the discharge of a public duty." " Thus you've scan how the flower of my affeckshns was tawn out of my busm, and my art was left bleading. Hangelina ! I forgive thee. Mace thou be appy ! If ever artfelt prayer for others wheel awailed on i, the beink on womb you trampled addresses those subblygations to Evn in your be ! "I went home like a maniack, after hearing the anounce- ment of Hangelina's departer. She'd been gone twenty hours when I heard the fatle noose. Purshoot was vain. Suppose I did kitch her up, they were married, and what could we do? This sensable remark I made to Earl Bareacres, when that distragted nobleman igspawstulated with me. Er who was to have been my mother-in-lor, the Countiss, I never from that momink sor agin. My presnts, troosoes, juels, &c., were sent back with the igsepshn of the diminds and Cashmear shawl, which her Ladyship coodrit find. Ony it was wispered that at the nex buthday she was seen with a shawl igsackly of the same pattn. Let er keep it. " Southdown was phurius. He came to me hafter the ewent, and wanted me to adwance 5olb. , so that he might purshew his fewgitif sister but I wasn't to be ad with that sort of chaugh there was no more money for that famly. So he went away, and gave huttrance to his feelinx in a poem, which appeared (price 2 guineas) in the Bel Asombly. 3 $O THE DIARY OF "All the juilers, manchumakers, lacemen, coch bilders, apolstrers, hors dealers, and weddencake makers came pawring in with their bills, haggravating feelings already woondid beyond enjurants. That madniss didn't seaze me that night was a mussy. Fever, fewry, and rayge rack'd my hagnized braind, and drove sleap from my throbbink ilids. Hall night I follered Hangelinar in imadganation along the North Road. I wented cusses & mallydickshuns on the hinfamus Silvertop. I kickd and rord in my unhuttarable whoe ! I seazd my pillar : I pitcht into it : pummld it, strangled it. Ha har ! I thought it was Silvertop writhing in my Jint grasp ; and taw the hor- dayshis villing lim from lim in the terrible strenth of my despare ! . . . Let me drop a cutting over the memries of that night. When my boddy-suvnt came with my ot water in the mawning, the livid copse in the charnill was not payler than the gashly De la Pluche ! "'Give me the Share-list, Mandeville,' I micanickly igs- claimed. I had not perused it for the past 3 days, my etention being engayged elseware. Hevns & huth ! what was it I red there ? What was it that made me spring outabed as if sum- bady had given me cold pig ? I red Rewin in that Share-list the Pannick was in full hoparation ! " "Shall I describe that kitastrafy with which hall Hengland is familliar ? My & rifewses to cronnicle the misfortns which lassarated my bleeding art in Hoctober last. On the fust of Hawgust where was I? Director of twenty-three Companies ; older of scrip hall at a primmium, and worth at least a quarter of a millium. On Lord Mare's day, my Saint Helenas quotid at 14 pm, were down at \ discount ; my Central Ichaboes at | discount ; my Table Mounting & Hottentot Grand Trunk, no where ; my Bathershins and Derrynane Beg, of which I'd bought 2000 for the account at 17 primmium, down to nix ; my Juan Fernandez, my Great Central Oregons, prostrit. There was a momint when I thought I shouldn't be alive to write my own tail ! " (Here follow in Mr. Plush's MS. about twenty-four pages of railroad calculations, which we pretermit. ) "Those beests, Pump & Aldgate, once so cringing and umble, wrote me a threatnen letter because I overdrew my C. JEAMES DE LA PLUCHE. J 5 I account three-and-sixpence : woodn't advance me five thousand on 25,000 worth of scrip ; kep me waiting 2 hours when I asked to see the house ; and then sent out Spout, the jewnior part- ner, saying they wouldn't discount my paper, and implawed me to clothes my account. I did : I paid the three-and-six balliance, and never sor 'em mor. " The market fell daily. The Rewin grew wusser and wusser. Hagnies, Hagnies ! It wasn't in the city aloan my misfortns came upon me. They beerded me in my own ome. The biddle who kips watch at the Halbany wodn keep misfortn out of my chambers ; and Mrs. Twiddler, of Pall Mall, and Mr. Hunx, of Long Acre, put egsicution into my apartmince, and swep off every stick of my furniture.* ' Wardrobe & furniture of a man of fashion.' What an adwertisement George Robins did make of it ; and what a crowd was collected to laffat the prospick of my ruing ! My chice plait ; my seller of wine ; my picturs that of myself included (it was Maryhann, bless her ! that bought it, unbeknown to me) ; all all went to the ammer. That brootle Fitzwarren, my ex-vally, womb I met, fimilliarly slapt me on the sholder, and said, ' Jeames, my boy, you'd best go into suvvis aginn." ' ' I did go into suvvis the wust of all suvvices I went into the Queen's Bench Prison, and lay there a misrabble captif for 6 mortial weeks. Misrabble shall I say? no, not misrabble altogether ; there was sunlike in the dunjing of the pore prisner. I had visitors. A cart used to drive hup to the prizn gates of Saturdays ; a washywoman's cart, with a fat old lady in it, and a young one. Who was that young one ? Everyone who has an art can gess, it was my blue-eyed blushing hangel of a Mary Hann ! ' Shall we take him out in the linnen-basket, Grand- mamma ? ' Mary Hann said. Bless her, she'd already learned to say grandmamma quite natral ; but I didn't go out that way ; I went out by the door a whitewashed man. Ho, what a feast there was at Healing the day I came out ! I'd thirteen shillings left when I'd bought the gold ring. I wasn't prowd. I turned the mangle for three weeks; and then Uncle Bill said, 'Well, there is some good in the feller ; ' and it was agreed that we should marry." The Plush manuscript finishes here ; it is many weeks since we saw the accomplished writer, and we have only just learned 352 THE DIARY OF his fate. We are happy to state that it is a comfortable and almost a prosperous one. The Honourable and Right Reverend Lionel Thistlewood, Lord Bishop of Bullocksmithy, was mentioned as the uncle of Lady Angelina Silvertop. Her elopement with her cousin caused deep emotion to the venerable prelate : he returned to the palace at Bullocksmithy, of which he had been for thirty years the episcopal ornament, and where he married three wives, who lie buried in his Cathedral Church of St. Boniface, Bullock- smithy. The admirable man has rejoined those whom he loved. As he was preparing a charge to his clergy in his study after dinner, the Lord Bishop fell suddenly down in a fit of apoplexy ; his butler, bringing in his accustomed dish of devilled kidneys for supper, discovered the venerable form extended on the Turkey carpet with a glass of Madeira in his hand ; but life was extinct ; and surgical aid was therefore not particularly useful. All the late prelate's wives had fortunes, which the admirable man increased by thrift, the judicious sale of leases which fell in during his episcopacy, &c. He left three hundred thousand pounds divided between his nephew and niece not a greater sum than has been left by several deceased Irish prelates. What Lord Southdown has done with his share we are not called upon to state. He has composed an epitaph to the Martyr of Bullocksmithy, which does him infinite credit. But we are happy to state that Lady Angelina Silvertop presented five hundred pounds to her faithful and affectionate servant, Mary Ann Hoggins, on her marriage with Mr. James Plush, to whom her Ladyship also made a handsome present namely, the lease, goodwill, and fixtures of the "Wheel of Fortune" public-house, near Shepherd's Market, Mayfair : a house greatly frequented by all the nobility's footmen, doing a genteel stroke of business in the neighbourhood, and where, as we have heard, the "Butlers' Club "is held. Here Mr. Plush lives, happy in a blooming and interesting wife: reconciled to a middle sphere of life, as he was to a humbler and a higher one before. He has shaved off his whiskers, and accommodates himself to an apron with perfect good-humour. A gentleman connected with this establishment dined at the " Wheel of Fortune" the other day, and collected the above particulars. Mr. Plush blushed rather, as he brought C. JEAMES DE LA PLUCHE. 355 j in the first dish, and told his story very modestly over a pint i of excellent port. He had only one thing in life to complain I of, he said that a witless version of his adventures had been (produced at the Princess's Theatre, "without with your leaf Jor by your leaf," as he expressed it. " Has for the rest," the ! worthy fellow said, " I'm appy praps betwixt you and me I'm j in my proper spear. I enjy my glass of beer or port (with your j elth & my suvvice to you, sir) quite as much as my clarrit in I my prawsprus days. I've a good busniss, which is likely to be j better. If a man can't be appy with such a wife as my Mary I Hann, he's a beest : and when a christening takes place in our famly, will you give my co/nplments to Mr. Punch, and ask him to be godfather." LETTERS OF JEAMES. JEAMES ON TIME BARGINGS. T)ERAPS at this present momink of Railway Hagetation and -T unsafely the follying little istory of a young friend of mine may hact as an olesome warning to bother weak and hirresolule young gents. ' ' Young Frederick Timmins was the horphan son of a respect- able cludgyman in the West of Hengland. Hadopted by his uncle, Colonel T , of the Hoss-Mareens, and regardless of expence, this young man was sent to Heaton Collidge, and subsiquintly to Hoxford, where he was very nearly being Senior Rangier. He came to London to study for the lor. His prospix was bright indead ; and He lived in a secknd flore in Jerming Street, having a ginteal inkum of two hundred Ibs. per hannum. " With this andsum enuity it may be supposed that Frederick wanted for nothink. Nor did he. He was a moral and well- educated young man, who took care of his close; pollisht his hone tea-party boots ; cleaned his kidd-gloves with injer rubber ; and, when not invited to dine out, took his meals reglar at the Hoxford and Cambridge Club where (unless somebody treated him) he was never known to igseed his alf-pint of Marsally Wine. ' ' Merrits and vuttues such as his coodnt long pass unperseavd in the world. Admitted to the most fashnabble parties, it wasn't long before sevral of the young ladies viewed him with a favor- able i ; one, ixpecially, the lovely Miss Hemily Mulligatawney, daughter of the Heast-Injar Derector of that name. As she was the richest gal of all the season, of corse Frederick fell in love with her. His haspirations were on the pint of being JEAMES ON TIME BARGINGS. 355 crowndid with success ; and it was agreed that as soon as he was called to the bar, when he would sutnly be apinted a Judge, or a revising barrister, or Lord Chanslor, he should lead her to the halter. "What life could be more desirable than Frederick's ? He gave up his mornings to perfeshnl studdy, under Mr. Bluebag, the heminent pleader; he devoted his hevenings to helegant sosiaty at his Clubb, or with his hadord Hemily. He had no cares ; no detts ; no egstravigancies ; he never was known to ride in a cabb, unless one of his tip-top friends lent it him ; to go to a theayter unless he got a horder ; or to henter a tavern or smoke a cigar. If prosperraty was hever chocked out, it was for that young man. ' ' But suckmstances arose. Fatle sukmstances for pore Frede- rick Timmins. The Railway Hoperations began. " For some time, immerst in lor and love, in the hardent hoc- cupations of his cheembers, or the sweet sosiaty of his Hemily, Frederick took no note of railroads. He did not reckonize the jigantic revalution which with hiron strides was a walkin over the country. But they began to be talked of even in his quiat haunts. Heven in the Hoxford and Cambridge Clubb, 356 LETTERS OF JEAMES. fellers were a speculatin. Tom Thumper (of Brasen Nose) cleared four thousand Ib. ; Bob Bullock (of Hexeter), who had lost all his proppaty gambling, had set himself up again ; and Jack Deuceace, who had won it, had won a small istate besides by lucky specklations in the Share Markit. " Hevery body won. ' Why shouldn't I ? ' thought pore Fred ; and having saved 100 Ib. , he began a writin for shares using, like an ickonominicle feller as he was, the Clubb paper to a prodigious igstent. All the Railroad directors, his friends, helped him to shares the allottments came tumbling in he took the primmiums by fifties and hundreds a day. His desk was cramd full of bank notes : his brane world with igsitement. " He gave up going to the Temple, and might now be seen hall day about Capel Court. He took no more hinterest in lor ; but his whole talk was of railroad lines. His desk at Mr. Bluebag's was filled full of prospectisises, and that legal gent wrote to Fred's uncle, to say he feared he was neglectin his bisniss. " Alass ! he was neglectin it, and all his sober and indus- terous habits. He begann to give dinners, and thought nothin of partys to Greenwich or Richmond. He didn't see his Hemily near so often : although the hawdacious and misguided young man might have done so much more heasily now than before : for no\v he kep a Broom ! " But there's a tumminus to hevery Railway. Fred's was approachin: in an evil hour he began making time-bargings. Let this be a warning to all young fellers, and Fred's huntimely hend hoperate on them in a moral pint of vu ! ' ' You all know under what favrabble suckemstanses the Great Hafrican Line, the Grand Niger Junction, or Gold Coast and Timbuctoo (Provishnal) Hatmospheric Railway came out four weeks ago : deposit ninepence per share of zol. (six elephant's teeth, twelve tons of palm-oil, or four healthy niggers, African currency) the shares of this helegeble investment rose to 1,2, 3, in the Markit. A happy man was Fred when, after paying down 100 ninepences (3^. 15*. ), he sold his shares for 2$o/. He gave a dinner at the ' Star and Garter ' that very day. I promise you there was no Marsally there. "Nex day they were up at 3$. This put Fred in a rage: they rose to 5, he was in a fewry. ' What an ass I was to sell,' said he, ' when all this money was to be won ! ' JEAMES ON THE GAUGE QUESTION. 357 " ' And so you were an Ass,' said his partiklar friend, Colonel Claw, K.X.R., a director of the line, 'a double-eared Ass. My dear fellow, the shares will be at 15 next week. Will you give me your solemn word of honour not to breathe to mortal man what I am going to tell you ? ' " ' Honour bright, ' says Fred. " ' HUDSON HAS JOINED THE LINE.' Fred didn't say a word more, but went tumbling down to the City in his Broom. You know the state of the streats. Claw went by water. " ' Buy me one thousand Hafricans for the 30 th," cries Fred, busting into his broker's ; and they were done for him at 4|." .'.... ' ' Can't you guess the rest ? Haven't you seen the Share List ? which says : ' ' ' Great Africans, paid gd. ; price par. " And that's what came of my pore dear friend Timmins's time-barging. ' ' What'll become of him I can't say ; for nobody has seen him since. His lodgins in Jerming Street is to let. His brokers in vain deplores his absence. His Uncle has declared his marriage with his housekeeper ; and the Morning Erald (that emusing print) has a paragraf yesterday in the fashnabble news, headed ' Marriage in High Life. The rich and beautiful Miss Mulligatawney, of Portland Place, is to be speedily united to Colonel Claw, K. X. R. ' " JEAMES. " JEAMES ON THE GAUGE QUESTION. "You will scarcely praps reckonize in this little skitch the haltered linimints of i, with woos face the reders of your valluble mislny were once fimiliar, the unfortnt Jeames de la Pluche, fomly so selabrated in the fashnabble suckles, now the pore Jeames Plush, landlord of the ' Wheel of Fortune ' public house. Yes, that is me ! that is my haypun which I wear as becomes a publican those is the checkers which hornyment the pillows of my dor. I am like the Romin Genral, St. Cenatus, equal to any emudgency of Fortun. I, who have drunk Shampang in 358 LETTERS OF JEAMES. my time, aint now abov droring a \ pint of Small Bier. As for my wife that Angel I've not ventured to depigt her. Fansy her a sittn in the Bar, smilin like a sun-flower and, ho, dear Punch ! happy in nussing a deer little darlint totsywotsy of a Jeames, with my air to a curl, and my i's to a T ! " I never thought I should have been injuiced to write any- thing but a Bill agin, much less to edress you on Railway Subjix which with all my sole I dbaw. Railway letters, obbligations to pay hup, ginteal inquirys as to my Salissator's name, &c. &c. , I dispize and scorn artily. But as a man, an usbnd, a father, and a freebon Brittn, my jewty compels me to come forwoods, and igspress my opinion upon that nashnal newsance the break of Gage. JEAMES OX THE GAUGE QUESTION. 359 "An interesting ewent in a noble family with which I once very nearly had the honer of being kinected, acurd a few weex sins, when the Lady Angelina S , daughter of the Earl of B cres, presented the gallant Capting, her usband, with a Son & hair. Nothink would satasfy her Ladyship but that her old and attacht famdyshamber, my wife Mary Hann Plush, should be presnt upon this hospicious occasion. Capting S was not jellus of me on account of my former attachment to his Lady. I cunsented that my Mary Hann should attend her, and me, my wife, and our dear babby acawdingly set out for our noable frend's residence, Honeymoon Lodge, near Cheltenham. "Sick of all Railroads myself, I wisht to poast it in a Chay and 4, but Mary Hann, with the hobstenacy of her Sex, was bent upon Railroad travelling, and I yealded, like all husbinds. We set out by the Great Westn, in an eavle Hour. ' ' We didn't take much luggitch my wife's things in the ushal bandboxes mine in a potrnancho. Our dear little James Angelo's (called so in complament to his noble Godmamma) craddle, and a small supply of a few 100 weight of Topsan- bawtems, Farinashious food, and Lady's fingers, for that dear child, who is now 6 months old, with a perdidgous appatite. Likewise we were charged with a bran new Medsan chest for my Lady, from Skivary & Morris, containing enough rewbub, Daffy's Alixir, Godfrey's cawdle, with a few score of parsles for Lady Hangelina's family and owsehold ; about 2000 spessymins of Babby linning from Mrs. Flummary's, in Regent Street, a Chayny Cresning bowl from old Lady Bareacres, (big enough to immus a Halderman), & a case marked ' Glass,' from her lady- ship's meddicle man, which were stowed away together ; had to this an ormylew Cradle, with rose-coloured Salting & Pink lace hangings, held up by a gold tuttle-dove, &c. We had, inglud- ing James Hangelo's rattle & my unbrellow, 73 packidges in all. "We got on very well as far as Swindon, where, in the Splendid Refreshment room, there was a galaxy of lovely gals in cottn velvet spencers, who serves out the soop, and i of whom maid an impresshn upon this Art which I shoodn't like Mary Hann to know and here, to our infanit disgust, we changed carridges. I forgot to say that we were In the secknd class, having with us James Hangelo, and 23 other light harticles. " Fust inconveniance ; and almost as bad as break of gage. J6O LETTERS OF JEAMES. I cast my hi upon the gal in cottn velvet, and wanted some soop, of coarse ; but seasing up James Hangelo (who was layin his dear little pors on an Am Sangwidg) and seeing my igspresshn of hi ' James,' says Mary Hann, ' instead of looking at that young lady and not so -very young, neither be pleased to look to our packidges, & place them in the other carridge.' I did so with an evy Art. I eranged them 23 articles in the opsit carridg, only missing my umberella & baby's rattle ; and jest as I came back for my baysn of soop, the beast of a bell rings, the whizzling injians proclayms the time of our departure, & farewell soop and cottn velvet. Mary Hann was sulky. She said it was my losing the umberella. If it had been a cotton velvet umberella I could have understood. James Hangelo sittn on my knee was evidently unwell ; without his coral ; & for 20 miles that blessid babby kep up a rawring, which caused all the passingers to simpithize with him igseedingly. " We arrive at Gloster, and there fansy my disgust at bein ableeged to undergo another change of carridges ! Fansy me holding up moughs, tippits, cloaks, and baskits, and James Hangelo rawring still like mad, and pretending to shuperintend the carrying over of our luggage from the broad gage to the narrow gage. ' Mary Hann,' says I, rot to desperation, ' I shall throttle this darling if he goes on.' ' Do,' says she' and go into the refreshment room,' says she a snatchin the babby out of my arms. ' Do go,' says she, ' youre not fit to look after luggage,' and she began lulling James Hangelo to sleep with one hi, while she looked after the packets with the other. ' Now, sir ! if you please, mind that packet ! pretty darling easy with that box, sir, it's glass pooooty poppet where's the deal case, marked arrowroot, No. 24?' she cried, reading out of a list she had. And poor little James went to sleep. The porters were bundling and carting the various harticles with no more cere- mony than if each package had been of cannon-ball. "At last bang goes a package marked 'Glass,' and con- taining the Chayny bowl and Lady Bareacres' mixture, into a large white bandbox, with a crash and a smash. ' It's My Lady's box from Crinoline's ! ' cries Mary Hann ; and she puts down the child on the bench, and rushes forward to inspeck the dammidge. You could hear the Chayny bowls clinking inside; and LadyB.'s mixture (which had the igsack smell of cherry brandy) was dribbling out over the smashed bandbox MR. JEAMES AGAIN. 361 containing a white child's cloak, trimmed with Blown lace and lined with white satting. ."As James was asleep, and I was by this time uncommon hungry, I thought I -would go into the Refreshment Room and just take a little soup ; so I wrapped him up in his cloak and laid him by his mamma, and went off. There's not near such good attendance as at Swindon." "We took our places in the carriage in the dark, both of us covered with a pile of packages, and Mary Hann so sulky that she would not speak for some minutes. At last she spoke out 1 ' ' Have you all the small parcels ? ' " ' Twenty-three in all,' says I. " ' Then give me baby.' " ' Give you what?' says I. " ' Give me baby.' ' ' ' What, haven't y-y-yoooo got him ? ' says I. " O Mussy ! You should have heard her sreak ! We'd left him on the ledge at Gloster. " It all came of the break of gage." MR. JEAMES AGAIN. ' ' DEAR MR. PUNCH, As newmarus inquiries have been maid both at my privit ressddence, ' The Wheel of Fortune Otel,' and at your Hoffis, regarding the fate of that dear babby, James Hangelo, whose primmiture dissappearnts caused such hagnies to his distracted parents, I must begg, dear Sir, the permission to ockupy a part of your valuble collams once more, and hease the public mind about my blessid boy. " Wictims of that nashnal cuss, the Broken Gage, me and Mrs. Plush was left in the train to Cheltenham, soughring from that most disagreeble of complaints, a halmost broken Art, The skreems of Mrs. Jeames might be said almost to out-Y the squeel of the dying, as we rusht into that fashnable Spaw, and my pore Mary Hann found it was not Baby, but Bundles I had in my lapp. 362 LETTERS OF JEAMES. "When the Old Dowidger Lady Bareacres, who was waiting heagerly at the train, herd that owing to that abawminable brake of Gage the luggitch, her Ladyship's Cherrybrandy box. the cradle for Lady Hangelina's baby, the lace, crockary and chany, was rejuiced to one immortial smash ; the old cat howld at me and pore dear Mary Hann, as if it was huss, and not the infunnle Brake of Gage, was to blame ; and as if we ad no misfortns of our hown to depjaw. he bust out about my stupid imparence ; called Mary Hann a good for nothink creecher, and wep, and abewsd, and took on about her broken Chayny Bowl, a great deal mor than she did about a dear little Chris- tian child. ' Don't talk to me abowt your bratt of a babby ' (seshe) ; ' where's my bowl ? where's my medsan ? where's my bewtiffle Pint lace ? All in rewins through your stupiddaty, you brute, you ! ' " ' Bring your haction aginst the Great Western, Maam,' says I, quite riled by this crewel and unfealing hold wixen. ' Ask the pawters at Gloster, why your goods is spiled it's not the fust time they've been asked the question. Git the gage haltered aginst the nex time you send for medsan and meanwild buy some at the ' ' Plow " they keep it very good and strong there, I'll be bound. Has for us, we're a going back to the cussid station at Gloster, in such of our blessid child." " ' You don't mean to say, young woman," seshe, ' that you're not going -to Lady Hangelina: what's her dear boy to do? who's to nuss it ? ' " ' You nuss it, Maam,' says I. ' Me and Mary Hann return this momint by the Fly. ' And so ( whishing her a suckastic ajew) Mrs. Jeames and I lep into a one oss weakle, and told the driver to go like mad back to Gloster. "I can't describe my pore gals hagny juring our ride. She sat in the carridge as silent as a milestone, and as madd as a march Air. When we got to Gloster she sprang hout of it as wild as a Tigris, and rusht to the station, up to the fatle Bench. "'My child, my child,' shreex she, in a boss hot voice. 'Where's my infant? a little bewtifle child, with blue eyes, dear Mr. Policeman, give it me a thousand guineas for it.' " 'Faix, Mam," says the man, a Hirishman, 'and the divvle a babby have I seen this day except thirteen of my own and you're welcome to any one of them, and kindly." MR. JEAMES AGAIN. 563 " 'As if his babby was equal to ours," as my darling Mary Hann said, afterwards. All the station was scrouging round us by this time pawters & clarx and refreshmint people and all. 'What's this year row about that there babby?' at last says the Inspector, stepping hup. I thought my wife was going to jump into his harms. ' Have you got him ? ' says she. " ' Was it a child in a blue cloak? ' says he. " ' And blue eyes ! ' says my wife. " 'I put a label on him and sent him on to Bristol.; he's there by this time. The Guard of the Mail took him and put him into a letter-box,' says he; 'he went 20 minutes ago. We found him on the broad gauge line, and sent him on by it, in course,' says he. 'And it'll be a caution to you, young woman, for the future, to label your children along with the rest of your luggage.' " If my piguniary means had been such as once they was, you may emadgine I'd have ad a speshle train and been hoff like smoak. As it was, we was obliged to wait 4 mortial hours for the next train (4 ears they seemed to us), and then away we went. " ' My boy ! my little boy ! ' says poor choking Mary Hann, when we got there. ' A parcel in a blue cloak ? ' says the man. ' No body claimed him here, and so we sent him back by the mail. An Irish nurse here gave him some supper, and he's at Paddington by this time. Yes,' says he, looking at the clock, ' he's been there these ten minutes.' "But seeing my poor wife's distracted histarricle state, this good-naterd man says, 'I think, my dear, there's a way to ease your mind. We'll know in five minutes how he is.' " ' Sir," says she, ' don't make sport of me.' " ' No, my dear, we'll telegraph him.' "And he began hopparating on that singlar and ingenus elecktricle inwention, which aniliates time, and carries intella- gence in the twinkling of a peg-post. " ' I'll ask,' says he, ' for child marked G. W. 273.' " Back comes the telegraph with the sign ' All right.' "'Ask what he's doing, sir,' says my wife, quite amazed. Back comes the answer in a Jiffy "'C.R.Y.I.N.G.' "This caused all the bystanders to laugh excep my pore Mary Hann, who pull'd a very sad face. 364 LETTERS OF JEAMES. "The good-naterd feller presently said, 'he'd have another trile ; ' and what d'ye think was the answer ? I'm blest if it wasn't "'P.A.P.' ' ' He was eating pap ! There's for you there's a rogue for you there's a March of Intaleck! Mary Hann smiled now for the fust time. ' He'll sleep now,' says she. And she sat down with a full hart. "If hever that good-naterd Shooperintendent comes to London, he need never ask for his skore at the 'Wheel of Fortune Otel,' I promise you where me and my wife and James Hangelo now is; and where only yesterday a gent came in and drew a pictur of us in our bar. "And if they go on breaking gages; and if the child, the most precious luggidge of the Henglishman, is to be bundled about this year way, why it won't be for want of warning, both from Professor Harris, the Commission, and from " My dear Mr. Punch s obeajent servant, " JEAMES PLUSH." Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO. Edinburgh and London, o000024265 vjfc*