THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 VERSES AND BALLADS.
 
 /- 
 
 AlJ»t, Photo X)i»«.
 
 fcsts atttr IBalktrs. 
 
 THOMAS EDWARD AMYOT, F.R.C.S., 
 
 Of Diss. 
 
 NORWICH : 
 
 AGAS H. GOOSE, RAJIPANT HORSK STREET. 
 
 1897.
 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE. 
 
 HOMAS EDWARD AMYOT, the Author 
 of the following- poems, prose writings, 
 and drawings, was born in Downing Street, 
 on January 28th, 181 7. He was educated at 
 Westminster School ; he .studied at St. Thomas' 
 Hospital, and afterwards in Berlin and Paris ; 
 in 1839 ^^ qualified as Member of the Royal 
 College of Surgeons ; and was elected a Fellow 
 in 1866. He became one of the first Scientists 
 in Norfolk, and practised in Diss and the 
 neighbourhood for fift}^ years, with distinguished 
 ability, winning the highest esteem. 
 
 He was a frequent contributor to the Medical 
 Journals, The Journal of Science Gossip, and 
 the local papers. His versatile pen and his 
 
 863168
 
 iv BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE. 
 
 keen sense of humour, are well shown in this 
 memorial volume. 
 
 The family of Am3^ot is of French Huguenot 
 descent. Thomas Amj'ot, great nephew of the 
 celebrated Jacques Amyot, Bishop of AuxeiTC, 
 Translator of Plutarch, and Tutor to Charles 
 IX. and Henry III. of France, came to 
 England at the Revocation of the Edict of 
 Nantes in 1685, and settled at Norwich ; 
 the late Mr. T. E. Amyot was his great-great- 
 grandson. His father was Thomas Am3-ot, Esq., 
 F.R.S., V.P.S.A., Treasurer of the Society of 
 Antiquaries, and Private Secretary to the Right 
 Hon. William Wyndham, Secretary of War in 
 the "Talents' Administration,"' whose speeches 
 he edited with a short but very able account 
 of his life. He was one of the founders of 
 the Shakespeare, Percy, and Camden Societies. 
 Mr. T. E. Amyot's mother was a daugliter of 
 Edward Colman, Esq., Surgeon, of Norwich, 
 and he married Elizabeth, daughter of the 
 Rev. Francis Howes, Prebendary of Norwich 
 Cathedral, the elegant Latin Scholar and trans- 
 lator of Persius, The Odes and Satires of
 
 He was President of the Norwich Chirurgical 
 Society from July, 1878, to July, 1879.
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICK. v 
 
 Horace, &c.; she died in July, 1887, leaving a 
 son and daughter. 
 
 In addition to his professional acquirements, 
 Mr. Amyot was well read in Shakespeare, 
 and a lover of old literature, and very 
 fond of music ; he wrote many articles on 
 natural history, chess, and the microscope ; 
 and for the latter invented a "finder" for 
 minute objects, mentioned in Carpenter's 
 " Manual of Microscopy." He helped to 
 originate the Diss Coffee Tavern, and often 
 gave valuable advice in all sanitary and 
 philanthropic matters.
 
 A MIXTURE 
 
 OF 
 
 HARMLESS INGREDIENTS 
 
 FOR THE RELIEF OF 
 
 MELANCHOLIA, LASSITUDE, 
 
 AND THOSE DISORDERS WHICH 
 
 ARE APT TO ARISE 
 
 FROM ANY 
 
 WRONG ACTION ABOUT THE HEART, 6cc. 
 
 ' MiSCE, FIAT MiSTUKA." 
 
 Doctor's Latin. 
 
 THOMAS EDWARD AMYOT.
 
 A BORROWED PREFACE. 
 
 " I wish the Reader to take notice that in writing 
 I have made myself a recreation of a recreation ; 
 and that it might prove so to him, and not read 
 dull and tediously, I have in several places mix'd, 
 not any scurrility, but some innocent, harmless mirth, 
 of which, if thou be a severe, sour complexion'd man, 
 then I here disallow thee to be a competent judge ; 
 for Divines say, ' There are offences given, and 
 offences not given, but taken.' " 
 
 {^Izaak Waltoti).
 
 N the following mixture there is no 
 ingredient either of an acrid or 
 bitter nature, and it cannot possibly prove 
 injurious even to persons of the most delicate 
 stomachs or constitution. 
 
 The sole act of compounding it has been 
 of incalculable service to one who has 
 suffered much from the terrible disorders 
 mentioned on the title page. Its use in 
 one disease of a distressing character, known 
 by the name of ''perfect idleness" is quite 
 certain, and the prescriber trusts that it may 
 be of service in many others. Persons, 
 however, labouring under one very irritable 
 and highly critical malady, which is apt 
 to show itself in a sort of biliousness often 
 approaching to malignity, every week, month, 
 or quarter, are requested not to meddle 
 with it.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Biographical Notice . . 
 Author's Title Page . . 
 A borrowed Preface . . 
 
 Note 
 
 Serious and Religious Pieces 
 The Last Lines 
 
 Ballads . . 
 
 Heroic Pieces . . 
 
 Humorous 
 
 Prose Versifications and Translations 
 
 Acrostics and Charades 
 
 Index 
 
 Pages 
 
 xni. 
 
 I 
 
 35 
 
 45 
 
 99 
 
 105 
 
 147 
 
 171 
 
 181 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Portrait . . . . 
 
 A Drop of Water 
 The Doctor Riding Out 
 Letter to a Little Friend 
 
 Frontispiece 
 between pp. 1 20, 121 
 
 142, 143 
 146, 147
 
 Sepiotis 6c f^eligious Pieces. 
 
 NATURE. 
 
 Lover of Nature and of Nature's God 
 With thee the guileless hours I would spend : 
 Where'er thy feet the feather'd grass have trod 
 B}' silent stream, in moss}' coppice shade, 
 In daisied mead, or flower-spangled glade 
 I still have sought thee — harmless, cheerful 
 friend ! 
 
 Far from rude mirth and boist'rous merriment 
 Be ours the privilege, denied to kings, 
 To sit unmarked, with hearts whose pure content 
 Rests high above the reach of worldly things, 
 Where the broad oak extends his lusty arm, 
 Or b}- the brook whose quiet murmurs calm 
 The anxious spirit, till its plaints subdued 
 Melt into h3'mns of pleasing gratitude. 
 
 Hark the robins' homely song 
 Sounds the rustling leaves among, 
 And seems in sweet and varying note 
 B
 
 To praise the iniglity hand 
 That tuned its warbling throat. 
 The lark above its trembling anthem pours 
 And still mounts high, 
 As though in fear its grateful lay 
 INIight fall to earth away, 
 
 And thinks more nigh 'twill reach his 
 Maker's ear. 
 
 Look on this pretty weed 
 
 Whose leaves still follow in his westward 
 
 course 
 The glorious Sun, 
 
 And 3'et a dewdrop lingers, as 'twoiild seem 
 Weeping to sa}- — - 
 
 " In some few lioiirs I miist die away " 
 "And no more gaze upon tliy holy beam." 
 
 From yon high tree the cooing stock dove calls 
 Repeating still her never-changing note, 
 And still upon my listening ear it falls 
 Soft and melodious, breathing sweet content 
 And tranquil hours in deep seclusion spent ; 
 No sad complaints her quiet accents know, 
 To liapp3' minds she breathes no sound of woe, 
 vSave when the rustic tyrant takes her nest. 
 Or the swift shot has pierced her partner's 
 lireast. 
 
 Here let us rest while yet the glowing ray 
 With rosv l)eaulies links tliL- a/.ure air.
 
 Here let us linger till the closing day 
 Brings sleep to troubled hearts and peace to 
 anxious care. 
 
 Selfish thoughts of worldly pleasure 
 
 Leave my fever' d breast aw^hile, 
 
 Bounteous Nature brings a treasure 
 
 Free from sorrow, free from guile. 
 
 Could the miser now behold 
 
 How my bosom heaves with glee, 
 
 He would quit his worthless gold 
 
 Leave liis cares, and follow me : 
 
 The pallid student shut his books 
 
 And in Nature's perfect page, 
 
 In her sweet and various looks. 
 
 Read more wonders than an age 
 
 Of ceaseless study could bestow 
 
 Or the frail wisdom of the world below. 
 
 The rising bird at dawn of da}' 
 
 With cheerful note leads on to realms above, 
 
 The fading flower at light's decay 
 
 Tells of a pangless death in peace and love. 
 
 Cease then to sigh 
 
 Ye that are bound by sorrow's galling chain ; 
 
 Grief comes not nigh 
 
 To him who scorns a world of sin and pain, 
 
 Who loves to listen to the skylark's strain. 
 
 Or when the star at twilight sheds its beam 
 
 Faltering and pale 
 
 Lingers to hear the plaintive nightingale, 
 
 B 2
 
 Or by the stream 
 
 In happ}- thought admiring .strolls at eve 
 
 When ever}' sense 
 
 Delighted, strives more keenly to perceive 
 
 God's excellence ; 
 
 And grieves as midnight shadows close the 
 
 skies 
 And the fair prospect leaves his wond'ring 
 
 e5-es. 
 
 Oh! Man, thy hand hath raised the massive 
 
 tower, 
 The stately vessel owns thy master skill, 
 The subject brutes confess thy lordly power, 
 And all things here below obey tlu' will ! 
 
 But where is he so skilled in matchless art. 
 So deep in reason, so mature in power, 
 That his life's toil could form the meanest part 
 Of this neglected, unconsidered flower? 
 
 Thou that ha.st raised the p3ramids on high, 
 In this small shell, behold a work more rare ; 
 Yon cobweb broken b}' the captured fl}- 
 The weaver's industry- can ne'er repair ; 
 
 Then let us think c-rc heedlessly we kill 
 
 One glittering insect in its hour of joy. 
 
 What excellence! what care! what wond'rous 
 
 skill ! 
 What passing beauty, we at once destro}'.
 
 The meanest creature in its little span 
 
 Of happy life, obeys its Maker's will, 
 
 The noblest work of God's creation * — Man, 
 
 Wise in his errors, doubts and questions still : 
 
 Kind Nature speaks in whispers to his heart. 
 The cold dull heart unheeding turns away, 
 And knows not that her wisdom could impart 
 An age of pleasure in a fleeting day. 
 
 Spring tells of youth — the Summer bright and 
 
 brief 
 Of lusty manhood — Autumn's chilling breath 
 Of tottering age — and Winters fallen leaf. 
 Of failing, faltering life, and welcome death. 
 
 Yet as the biting winter glides away, 
 
 And fresh and green the forests newly wave. 
 
 The smiling year reviving seems to say, 
 
 ' ' Peace and new life shall wait thee in the grave. ' ' 
 
 Nov. 1844. 
 
 * "II est un Dieu, Les herbes de la vallee et les cedres de la 
 montagne le benissent ; I'insecte bourdonne ses louanges : I'elephant le 
 salue au lever du jour; I'oiseau le chante dans le feuillage ; la foudre 
 fait eclater sa puissance, et I'ocean declare son immensite. L'homme 
 seul a dit : II n'y a point de Dieu ! II n'a done jamais celui-la, dans ses 
 infortunes, leve les yeux vers le ciel, ou, dans son bonheur, abaisse ses 
 regards vers la terre ! La nature est elle si loin de lui qu'il ne I'ait pu 
 contempler? ou la croit il le simple resultat du hasaid? Mais quel 
 hasard a pu contraindre une matiere desordonnee et rebelle a s'arranger 
 dans un ordre si pa.r(a.\l."—C/iate<iu6>ia>u/.
 
 LOVE OF THE WORLD. 
 (View i). — A Vice. 
 
 Love of the world is darkness of the soul 
 
 The love of God is light : 
 As in one room we cannot see 
 Darkness with sunshine reigning, 
 So in one heart there may not be 
 World-love and God's in compan}-. 
 Awake, O man, it is thy false heart feigning, 
 Masking, and fooling in its Maker's sight, 
 
 Feigning to love things bright 
 While grovelling in vice and hellish gloom, 
 Crowning thy foul misdeeds with black deceit 
 
 As eager for thy doom. 
 Start to the helm while yet it bears control; 
 Or spread thy flaunting pleasure sheet 
 And helpless drift along the fatal tide 
 Urged by the foolish winds and thy heart's pride 
 
 Straight to destruction's shoal. 
 
 July, 1859.
 
 LOVE OF THE WORLD. 
 
 (View 2). — A Virtue. 
 
 I love the World, — and wherefore should I not ? 
 Doth the child cast the luscious fruit aside 
 Because the rind is bitter, or the stone 
 Contains a tempting poison ? Nor will I 
 Reject God's gift to Man, this beauteous world, 
 Sweet with the breath of flowers, and glowing 
 
 forth 
 In rich array of green and golden hues, 
 While the blue vault re-echoes with the sound 
 Of Nature's chorus warbled forth by birds 
 And busy insects, to the rippling brook's 
 Unceasing symphony. If indeed our vice, 
 Our faulty passions and corrupt desires, 
 Will seek but evil — evil can be found, 
 But blame the world no more; the heart that 
 
 3'earns 
 With love "through Nature up to Nature's God'' 
 Must love, for the great Giver's sake. His Gift, 
 And leaping boldly from the mists of earth 
 Will see forth issuing from the wondrous whole 
 Goodness and Truth and Power ; and looking up 
 To where that Power is best, though dimly seen, 
 E'en to the glorious canopy of Heaven, 
 Read in the lettered stars, the Name of God. 
 
 March 20M, ib6i.
 
 HOPE, THE FLATTERER. 
 
 Is Hope a flatterer ? j'es, if foolish man 
 Doth blindl3' lean on her, and dreaming on 
 Counteth with sighs his wasted hours gone, 
 And vainly seeketh things unreal to scan. 
 But meekly ask Religion how to trace 
 The happiness that leaveth many a mind 
 In swamps and thorn entangled ground behind. 
 And make fair reason follow in the chase ; 
 Take thou in present good thy lofty stand, 
 Attentive mark where Hope's directing hand 
 Doth point thy way ; then bracing every nerve 
 Eet nothing force thee from tlij' course to swerve : 
 Thou shalt find strength 'gainst ever}' ill to cope 
 Nor idly charge with flattery, godly Hope ! 
 
 1854. 
 
 A BEAUTIFUL THOUGHT. 
 "Suggested during a garden walk, 1845-" 
 
 Sin is a cobweb — man a stupid fly 
 
 Who blunders in and then find out he's sill}'. 
 In vain he seeks some outlet to espy, 
 
 I'or in the net he lingers will-he-nill-he : 
 While to escape, his friends with anxious l)reatli 
 
 entreat him, 
 Down comes the grim old s])ider — Death, 
 
 to eat him.
 
 PRESENT AND FUTURE. 
 
 With all thy might, O man, with every art 
 And grateful labour till the ruddy soil. 
 The earth is thine, the precious gift of God 
 To work as best thou canst. But the fresh rain 
 And the great sun with all his generous warmth 
 Are God's, not thine, nor can thine utmost care 
 Raise one poor flower to bless thy labour spent 
 Without their goodly help ; nor ought avail 
 Except by praj^er, to gain their fostering power. 
 They are God's blessings, kept in God's own 
 
 hands. 
 This present time is thine, 'tis stealing on 
 Over the silent dial toward the night 
 " In which no man can work." The present hour 
 Is thine, God's gift ! with every noble art 
 Suggested b}^ thy heaven inspired brain 
 Work on to bring it to a happy end. 
 For like the sunshine and refreshing rain 
 On the dull soil, will God's high blessing fall 
 On thy good labour, if thou strivest well, 
 And bring it to its flower and frt:it in heaven.* 
 
 Sunday, Sept. 2^th, 1870. 
 
 * These lines were suggested by the often repeated remark of my 
 gardener (Mr. Pretty) that he "got them there lettuce plants up very 
 well," attributing to himself the functions of sun and rain, as well as 
 those of the mere tiller of the soil. The full meaning of the i6tli verse 
 of the 115th Psalm, which I quote, did not strike me till the fourth 
 Sunday after they were written, when it occurred in the course of the 
 evening service (Bible translation). 
 
 "The heaven, even the heavens, are the Lord's : but the earth hath 
 He given to the children of men."
 
 lo 
 
 A GRAVE ECHO. 
 
 Poor and afflicted, shattered with the strife 
 
 The toil and tumult of a suffering life ; 
 
 "What canst thou, Death, give to my vSoul 
 
 depressed ? ' ' 
 An echo murmurs from the grave — ''deep rest.'' 
 
 Feb. 2yd, 1S77. 
 
 WRITTEN ABOVE AN ERASURi:. 
 
 Do what we may, a blot is left behind 
 Where faulty words have soiled the page or mind ; 
 Their drift may be forgotten, yet tlieir stain 
 In spite of better thoughts will still remain : 
 For ne'er will Innocence resume the throne 
 Which once usurping Vice has made her own
 
 A SONNET. 
 
 ''To the Satirical, the Sarcastic, and Uncharitable." 
 
 Like a bad mirror so the selfish mind 
 
 Distorts defects, and every beauty smothers, 
 
 And, self-condemned — to all perfection blind 
 Shews its own faults where e'er 'twonld shew 
 another's. 
 
 How beautiful is that discerning e3'e* 
 That through the darkness of each human sou 
 
 Some bright and priceless jewel can espy, 
 
 Which throws its sacred lustre o'er the whole. 
 
 And few indeed are those so lost in sin 
 
 Howe'er by fellow sin condemned, disdained, 
 
 But Charity deep-searching finds within 
 A pure and noble relic 3'et unstained. 
 
 Folly finds Folh, Vice discovers \'ice, 
 Goodness sees Goodness, e'en through Prejudice. 
 
 1845. 
 
 " ■' Ubi pliira, iiiteiu noil ego paucis ofteiidar niaculis.''
 
 HUMAN* VIRTUE. 
 
 (So called). 
 
 Virtue, so called, in women and in men 
 
 Is, in at least nine cases out of ten, 
 
 No real and noble eifort of the soul 
 
 To keep unruly passions in control. 
 
 But the mere fruit of accidental station, 
 
 Of temp'ramentt or cold imagination. 
 
 Look then with pity on the child of sin, 
 
 Rank noisome weeds in smallest seeds begin, 
 
 And pois'nous fruits, that breed the cankering 
 
 worm 
 From wholesome soil spring up with virtue's 
 
 germ. 
 
 Condemn not — curse not— but remember — all — 
 
 — Yourselves by some temptation yet may fall. 
 
 To save, and not to punish be your care, 
 
 And grant the mercy that ye hope to share. 
 
 1S46. 
 
 • "Pendant que la paressc ct la liniiditii nou.s leticnnent dans notre 
 devoir, nolle vertu a bouvenl tout I'lionneur." — f^Z-d Koc/ie/oucaulii). 
 
 t " Virlue and vice ! virtue and vice I parcel of nonsense ! 
 — Stale of the stomach — state of the bowels ! " 
 
 air Anthony Carlisle's Exclamation. 
 
 I do not mean in any way to agree with the above theory of Sir 
 Anthony, but quote it for its oddity.
 
 13 
 
 EARLY SPRING. 
 
 Fail' vSmiling" promivSe of the infant year 
 My heart new throbbing welconievS thee at last, 
 
 Sweet bursting buds like dawning hopes appear 
 And winter thoughts with winter's .snows are 
 past. 
 
 As the bright streamlet from its sedgy source 
 Once more released from icy bondage free 
 
 Joyful pursues its mazy-running course 
 So my cold breast resumes its libert3^ 
 
 Through the long frozen earth the hidden seed 
 Shoots the green blade rejoicing in the light, 
 And happy thoughts with glowing lightning's 
 speed 
 Beam through my bosom chilled in winter's 
 night. 
 
 The merry birds with ever- varying praise 
 Unceasing carol their melodious mirth 
 
 Till every sense re-echoing their laj'S 
 
 Greets thy fair hours and hails thy flowery 
 birth. 
 
 Fair smiling promise of the 3'Outhful j^ear 
 Thy glorious sun hath warmed my heart at 
 last, 
 
 Fair bursting buds like cheering hopes appear 
 And wintr}' sighs with wintry winds are past.
 
 14 
 
 THE LAST WILD FLOWERS OF THE 
 YEAR. 
 
 Farewell for the winter fair flowers of the wild 
 
 Farewell till the bright sun of iMa}- ; 
 I have lingered among you as lingers the child, 
 Ye have sweeth' my moments of sadness 
 beguiled, 
 
 And chased ni}- dark sorrows away. 
 
 Though man}' among you may die ere the spring 
 Your sisters will bloom in your stead 
 
 As fair as 3'e are, and their beaut}' shall bring 
 Some simple admirer their praises to sing, 
 
 Though I, like yourselves, ma}' be dead. 
 
 Ye are simple and not in the gorgeous array 
 
 Of some that are now past and gone ; 
 When they blossomed I sought them, and 
 brushed ye away. 
 But ye bloom for me now in the late autumn 
 day 
 
 And sweetly smile on me alone. 
 
 And .so ye have gained on my love as true worth 
 
 Will conquer when passions decay; 
 The bright eye may dazzle with fervour or mirth, 
 But the chaste smile of constanc}' here upon 
 earth 
 
 Is the l)cauty tliat dies not away. 
 
 0,tol>,'i\ 1846.
 
 15 
 SONNET. 
 To A Nightingale. 
 Sweet bird of night, thou in thy thrilling note 
 Dost tell the discords of my bygone years. 
 Who is't has told thee that my secret woes 
 Well .suit thy music, though they mock my tears ? 
 Thy liquid trill, thy long enduring plaint 
 And mournful cadence bursting into joy, 
 Throw to the passing winds my varied life, 
 Love's sweetest pleasure, and its deep alio}-. 
 Straight to ni}- heart thou speakest, while in vain 
 Sages and Moralists exert their power ; 
 For years of thought could not the solace bring. 
 That thy dear song affords me in this hour. 
 Oh let me sing as thou dost, from my heart. 
 And joys .shall fall to me that shall not part. 
 
 Snnu'd T. E.A. i8?? 
 
 A HARVEST SONNET. 
 
 "A sower went out to sow his seed." 
 
 Sow well with truths the garden of thy mind 
 
 And then repOvSe thee like the rustic sower, 
 
 Leaving the rest to some superior power. 
 
 And in good time the shooting blade thou'lt find. 
 
 While yet 'tis 3-oung cast out each noisome weed 
 
 For though it show full fair above the soil 
 
 Thou knowest not how surel}- it ma}' spoil 
 
 B}- spreading roots beneath, the wholesome seed.
 
 i6 
 
 Harvest will come, and thou with thankful care 
 Thy goodly crop in wisdom's store shalt heap ; 
 Then to the plough, and let the vig'rous share 
 Bury the stubble-straw secureU^ deep ; 
 That which hath once upheld the healthj^ grain. 
 Though dead shall nourish healthy seeds again. 
 
 Se/>t., 1854. 
 
 A THOUGHT FROM THE MICROSCOPE. 
 Infusoria. 
 What is it, I would ask, this atom sees ? 
 That he sees well is evident, for look 
 He shirks collision with the tin}- form 
 That half transparent to our larger sight 
 Almost defies the lens's scrutin}-. 
 Yet 'twould be hard to credit that his e^-e 
 Can aught discover of myself — he seems 
 Unconscious of his danger when I place 
 My finger on the world-drop where he lives. 
 Oh ! what is man or what his vision's range ? 
 How man}' forms may float between 
 His littleness and Heaven's INIajestj- ? 
 May not tlicy swarm more numerous than those 
 That link his manhood to the smallest worm ? 
 Lord ! teach me lowliness, that I nuiy learn 
 From the small things my feeble eyes discern ; 
 And grant that I with higher things may cope 
 
 \\\ the clear vision of a Clirislian's hope. 
 
 4/// /''ei>., 1856.
 
 17 
 
 THE AGNOSTIC. 
 On the Future. 
 
 'Where are 5'ou going, Traveller?" "I don't 
 
 know ! 
 Old Time's coat hangs across the onl}' word 
 I want to see and care for ; 
 I wish sincerely therefore 
 They wouldn't make direction posts so low." 
 " So low, you say ! It seems to me the post 
 Points up, and stands at least as high as 
 most ! " 
 
 'What is old Time a' doing ! " "I don't know ! 
 He's digging in his shirt sleeves as yoii see ; 
 But whether flowerbeds or graves or what 
 I can't discover, and moreover 
 I don't much care, — but certes — I don't know ! " 
 " Don't know ! don't care ! Is then the work 
 of Time 
 Nought to a Traveller who's past his 
 prime ? " 
 
 ' How came old Time to hang his coat so high ?" 
 'Well I don't know ! 
 
 But he's so tall — his feet stand neath the granite, 
 
 And his head tow^ers up towards yonder planet, 
 
 Right through the mists of earth in azure sky." 
 
 "Well then, to hang his coat high after all 
 
 Was nought to wonder at, if he's so tall !" 
 
 C
 
 i8 
 
 ' Is he a safe conductor ? " "I don't know ! 
 But his way I must go." — 
 ' But if its not a flowerbed — but a grave — 
 Then Traveller 3'ou'll not go ? " — 
 'Alas ! I must obey — I'm so short-sighted 
 Blind and benighted 
 I cannot choose va.y way ; 
 So grave or garden-bed, faith, I mUvSt go ! " 
 Stay Traveller, stay and venture not alone 
 Along that dismal path. — Alas ! he's gone. 
 
 Feb. \Uh, 1889.
 
 19 
 
 NOON-DAY HYMN. 
 
 The nooii-da3' sun with glorious light 
 Alniight}' Father ! greets my sight, 
 From east to west his blessings fall, 
 Like thy dear love, bestowed on all. 
 
 Lord ! let me not in worldly care 
 Forget Thy praise — forget my prayer, 
 Nor blinded bj- the blaze of day 
 Permit me from Thy paths to stray. 
 
 Should selfish dreams invade my breast 
 And any sinful act suggest 
 In pit}' let one thought of Thee 
 Wake my dull heart, and set it free. 
 
 Though godless men my moments grieve 
 And me with specious arts deceive. 
 Let me so freely pardon give. 
 That pardoned I with Thee may live ; 
 
 "When I the bed of death attend 
 Or o'er disease and anguish bend 
 Th}- knowledge to my mind reveal 
 That I maj' soothe, console, and heal.* 
 
 • " La medecine gucrit quelquefois ; elle soulage souvcnt, et 
 console toujours." 
 
 C 2
 
 Thou that didst open sightlCvSS ej-es 
 And bade the dead — " awake ! arise ! " 
 Thou great Phj-sician grant to me 
 The art a comforter to be. 
 
 And when, O Lord, shall come the day 
 To call me from this earth awa}', 
 And when the solemn passing bell 
 Has sighed to men my last farewell, 
 
 Grant that ni}' soul be found in Thee, 
 From hate, and guile, and envy free, 
 Made pure and perfect b}- the love 
 Shed from its hallowed Home above. 
 
 yan. 5//^, 1S57. 
 
 A SONG OF PRAISE. 
 
 " Bless me in this life with but the peace of my conscience, command 
 of my aflfections, the love of Thyself, and my dearest friends, and I shall 
 be happy enough to pity Csesar." — Sir Thos. Browne. 
 
 Lord ! in deep sincerity 
 
 Prai.se and thanks I give to Thee. 
 Since my infant lips could frame 
 Words to bless and laud Th}- name 
 Thou has filled my heart with song 
 Tripping upward to my tongue. 
 Since ni}' eyes could brave the light 
 Thou hast blessed m}- raptured sight 
 
 Ever on my view 
 
 Casting glories new, 
 
 J
 
 Now of strange stupendous form, 
 Smaller now than tiniest worm ; 
 Whether great or small they be 
 Equal in their majest}^ 
 Equal in proclaiming Thee 
 Passing good and great to be. 
 Since mine ears aw^oke to sound 
 Thou hast filled the air around 
 With the music of Thy love, 
 
 Surely earthly things do move 
 
 To a glorious melody. 
 Which when silent and alone 
 Mortals hear in dulcet tone. 
 
 Ever — ever — though obscurely 
 
 Sweetly yet and surely 
 Like some whispering Angel's song 
 Borne by wavering airs along 
 
 In a ceaseless psalmody ; 
 Now in voice of thunder waking, 
 Now as rippling water breaking. 
 Whether loud or sweet or shrill 
 Telling of Thy goodness still. 
 Lord, in deep sincerity 
 Praise and thanks I give to Thee ! 
 Shall I not, O God, rejoice ? 
 Shall I not with grateful voice 
 Feeble though my humble laj'S 
 Living pray, and dying praise } 
 Living praise, and dying pray 
 Praying— praising— pass away ? 
 
 Feb. 9///, 1859.
 
 11 
 
 THE MIND'S HORIZON. 
 
 " Presume not God to scan.'" 
 
 Oh God, Thou art so great 
 That in my lowly state 
 
 I cannot know Thee — 
 If knowing be to see with eye, 
 To hear with ear, with hand to tr}^ 
 
 I am so far belo'^v Thee. 
 
 Mine eye doth scan created things. 
 
 And to my thoughts Thy greatness brings 
 
 In sun, and moon, and star; 
 In mountains high, in lovely flowers, 
 In bounding streams, in tranquil bowers, 
 
 It sees thus far ; 
 
 But Lord, it cannot scan Thy throne, 
 Let me its limits gladl}- own, 
 
 Nor vainly boast, 
 Through depths above, beneath, around, 
 To peer, when Thou hast set my bound 
 
 A little mile at most. 
 
 I tliank Thee that Thy goodness gave 
 
 A soul to love, a heart to crave 
 
 Instruction in Thy ways. 
 
 To feast with e3'e, and touch, and ear. 
 
 On beauties round me far and near, 
 
 And sing Tliy praise. 
 
 "July, 1 881 
 
 i
 
 23 
 
 OUR NEW CEMETERY. 
 
 They are making our beds up the Heywood, love, 
 
 Will you walk with me there and see ? 
 
 There are beds for the young and beds for the old 
 
 Beds for the timid and beds for the bold 
 
 And beds for you and for me. 
 
 They are sparing neither money nor toil 
 
 Our beds from damp to free, 
 
 But neither damp, nor heat, nor cold 
 
 Shall fever the 3-oung or chill the old 
 
 Who shall take their rest in those blankets of 
 
 soil, 
 So deep shall their slumber be. 
 Beds for the aged, beds for the 3'oung, 
 For the babe with the pretty prattling tongue, 
 For the fair young girl, for her lover so gay, 
 For the brawler so suddenly snatched away. 
 For the sick and the sad — for the matron staid. 
 For rich and for poor is the mattress laid; 
 Yea, none so hopeless can be found. 
 But ma}- look for a bed in the HcNwood ground, 
 And who is ready to go to bed ? 
 Not you, nor }'ou, nor I, Sir, 
 Nor he whose life has in pleasure sped. 
 Nor the spendthrift, nor the miser;
 
 24 
 
 Nor he who bridleth not his will, 
 
 Nor he who wisheth his neighbour ill. 
 
 Nor he who swears, nor he who drinks, 
 
 Nor the worldl}- wise, nor the teller of lies, 
 
 Nor he who harshlj' thinks. 
 
 There is one — but I know him not j'et, dear 
 
 friend, 
 Who is ready to go to bed, 
 Who is gentle, holy, kind, and true, 
 Slow to promise but quick to do, 
 Thinking no ill, but loving still. 
 Loving, and sighing that so much sin 
 Our mortal flesh must dwell within. 
 Loving and helping, and looking above 
 Till a hand to the lover is stretched from Love, 
 To raise him from 'neatli the earthly load. 
 That is laid on his breast in the Ileywood road. 
 
 Good night, sweet love, be read}' I pra}- 
 
 To rise when we're called at the dawn of day. 
 
 1S67.
 
 25 
 
 HEXAMETERS. 
 
 P'ounded on a Prayer for the Sick in the Visitation Service. 
 
 Hear us, Almighty God, — all wise and merciful 
 
 Saviour ! 
 Thy loving kindness extend to Thy servant 
 
 grieved with sickness ! 
 Sanctify to her, O Lord, Thy good paternal 
 
 correction ! 
 So, may her weakness give strength to her faith 
 
 and zeal to repentance ; 
 So, should it please Thee to bring her to health, 
 
 she may live to Thy glory ; 
 So, should she die, through Christ she may rise 
 
 to life everlasting ! 
 
 Sunday Evening, \^th July, 1853.
 
 26 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A SISTER. 
 
 Where is her home ? — not here — not with us now, 
 
 The placid form lies by us, and the smile 
 
 Yet lingers on those lips, which spoke but now 
 
 Their messages of love and thankfulness ; 
 
 But the fair soul hath flown, and ours the task 
 
 To sow the seed corruptible which soon 
 
 Will rise in incorruption, and a flower 
 
 Shall throw its sacred odour from on high 
 
 And we shall call that perfume — " memor}^ ! " 
 
 Oh ! glorious facult_v, that from the past 
 
 Dost cull all sweet imperisliable bloom, 
 
 Leaving sharp thorns and sour asperities 
 
 In deepening darkness crumbling da}^ by day. 
 
 Fading and falling towards oblivion ! 
 
 Dear sister, with what gladness shalt thou greet 
 
 That kind and holy mother whom we laid 
 
 Now five long j^ears ago within the tomb ; 
 
 Aye, and our gentle tender-hearted sire ! 
 
 Ye cannot share our smiles, nor shed our tears, 
 
 But oh ! ye sainted three, if heaven allow. 
 
 Hover yet near us, and when night has closed 
 
 The harsh discordant jarrings of tlie world. 
 
 Whisper in happy dreams all holy thoughts 
 
 Of rest and joy to our dull mortal ears ; 
 
 I'Tit lightly round us and with angel wings 
 
 I'^an the foul mists aside that near us lie 
 
 That we may meet in blest eternity. 
 
 July 2'it/i, 1S53. 
 
 I
 
 27 
 
 THE TWO TEXTS. 
 
 M.E.B. 
 Luke viii. 52. Timothy ii. Ii. 
 
 "She is not dead, but sleepeth " — cheering word ! 
 Weep not, she rests from more than daily woes. 
 From all the world's wild cares in sweet repose 
 She sleeps! then let no wailing voice be heard. 
 Yet sleep is death ! but she is dead with Elim 
 In Whom to die is life ; with Whom to bear 
 In mortal suffering, is His Throne to share — 
 Oh, think not death then terrible and grim. 
 Cast by the sombre mourning, and with songs 
 Fresh from the thankful heart, exulting praise 
 The mercy that "to Jesus' name belongs," 
 And heavenward still the grateful chorus raise. 
 Welcome oh Death ! thrice welcome, if you bring 
 With your soul- freeing .stroke, no sharper sting. 
 
 Oct. I si, 1854. 
 
 LINES. 
 
 Written on the fly-leaf of a volume of " Sacred Poems by 
 Henry Vazighan, SUurist,'" which was greatly valued by dear 
 Julia, who died August i8th, 1893. 
 
 Sister dear, thy gentle eye 
 Six short weeks agone did seek 
 In these pure pages lovingly 
 All that holy is and meek ;
 
 28 
 
 Dreaming as the poet told, 
 
 With gilt to beautify thy gold ; 
 
 And with colour more refined 
 
 To paint the lih' of th^^ mind. 
 
 Vain was the dream — from human brain 
 
 Thy chastened thoughts could nothing gain. 
 
 Viewed in our world's tear-clouded beams 
 
 Thy loving soul unsullied seems ; 
 
 Seen by the perfect light above, 
 
 Spots may be found, but " God is Love." 
 
 Sept. 2\tli, 1893. 
 
 MY BIRTHDAY AN.VGRAM. 
 January 28tli, 1888. 
 
 "THERE'S A DIVINITY THAT 
 
 28 48 3 5 12 16 I 2 23 II 27 2433 1337 3414453 
 
 SHAPES OUR ENDS, ROUGH 
 383622424425 10 30 19 20 51 8 31 50715629 
 
 HEW THEM HOW WE W I L L." 
 
 35 49 45 47 17 18 21 39 52 26 43 40 32 46 41 9 
 
 A dear God loveth us. He remains with us. 
 With Hys help we wither not. 
 
 Vale!
 
 29 
 
 28th JANUARY, 1889. 
 
 Seventy-two to-day, O God, 
 Seventy-two to-day ! 
 Seventy-two, j'et above the vSod, 
 Wearj^ and sunk in the earthly clod ; 
 Sevent3^-two to-daj- ! 
 Seventy-two, O Saviour dear; 
 Seventy-two, yet strong ; 
 Waiting a far off voice to hear 
 Summoning souls from their earthly bier 
 And their sleep with the earthly throng. 
 
 Seventy-two, Most Holy One, 
 Deigning with me to dwell, 
 Deigning with me ra}^ course to run. 
 Striving to guide till ray course is done, 
 Guiding from sin and hell. 
 
 O God ! O Christ ! O Holy Ghost ! 
 I,eave me not here alone ; 
 Let me not sink beneath the load 
 I've cai-ried so far along the road 
 When needing Thy help the most. 
 lyCt mj^ heart's grief its sins atone. 
 And be its prayer — "Thy will be done."
 
 30 
 
 Slightly prospective perhaps. 
 March i6th, 1889. 
 
 GOING! GOING! 
 "Ye Auction." 
 
 Sight growing dim, and hearing a pretence 
 
 To hide the failure of that precious sense ; 
 
 A waning meinor}', nought that's known worth 
 
 knowing : 
 Bid up King Death! 'tis "Going, going, going!" 
 Strength failing, though I strive among the 
 
 throng 
 To walk with stalwart gait, and pass for strong ; 
 The cemeter3' walk to see that stone * 
 Too far, too long — 'tis "Going, going, gone! " 
 
 Will you, dear friend, or would 3011 if j-ou could 
 Find up six men to whom I've done some good 
 To carry this poor frame to that same stone. 
 When Time the auctioneer cries, "Going, gone.?" 
 
 King Death's the purchaser — Oh foolish King 
 What good to thee can thy brave purchase 
 
 bring ? 
 An empty case is all ! A prize God-wot! 
 Didst seek my soul? No, 'tis not in the lot. 
 h'ar from the heedless world away ' tis flown 
 Nor hears the hammer fall at "Going, gone!" 
 
 » E.A., July 3nl, 1887.
 
 31 
 
 "WARRANTED HOME MADE." 
 
 " I will chide no bi-eather in the world but myself: in 
 whom I know most fiuilts." — As You Like It. 
 
 At many shops — no matter what the trade — 
 The goods are labelled "Warranted Home Made," 
 As if such things wrought with superior care 
 Were sure to prove too of superior wear. 
 Well, in my private store — I'm not in trade — 
 Are goods in plenty " Warranted Home Made " ; 
 Heart- wringing cares, and dangers, troubles sore, 
 So deftly wrought they'll wear for evermore ; 
 Yes all " home made ! " and were it not for these 
 My life were happy and my heart at ease. 
 For God afflictions has so lightly sent 
 I know them but for kindly warnings meant ; 
 The bitter lifelong cares I've truly said 
 Are my own work, 3^es — "Warranted Home 
 
 Made." 
 
 2isi May, 1S90.
 
 32 
 
 THE LORD'S PRAYER. 
 
 Oure Father which in Heaven art 
 
 All hallow'd bee Thy name, 
 Thy Kingdom come, Thy wille be done 
 
 In Heaven and Earthe ye same. 
 Give us cache daj-e our daiU' breade 
 
 And us our sinnes forgive 
 As we forgive the ills 'gainst us 
 Of those with whom we \y\e. 
 vSuffer us not, great God, to fall in dread temp- 
 tation's snare. 
 But from alle evil us protect 
 And shield us with Thy care. 
 For Thine O Lord the Kingdom is, the Glor}' and 
 
 the Power 
 As it hath ever been, is now, and shall bee 
 evermore. 
 
 /v/'. 12///, 1893. 
 
 'Use every man after liis tk-sert and wlio sliall 'scape 
 wliipping." 
 
 Pity I deserve not; 
 
 So from Justice swerve not, 
 
 Friends, give me none ! 
 
 God givcth more than men deserve — ■ 
 
 God from henceforth let me serve. 
 
 Pity mc, God! "'I'liy will be done!" 
 
 Ju/f 16///, 1S87.
 
 33 
 
 THE SONGLESS KETTLE. 
 
 I've a kettle that never sings. — I hate it — 
 
 And a cat that never purrs : 
 If you know of a greater grief, Sir, state it. 
 
 No greater to nie occurs. 
 
 Oh ! for a kettle that sings its song, 
 
 For a cat that purrs with a will, 
 For a laugh and a smile that can care beguile, 
 
 Then life is happiness still. 
 
 Jan., 1892.
 
 f
 
 ©he Uasi Ijines. 
 
 D 2
 
 36 
 
 SUNRISE. 
 
 The shadows of the restful night are gone, 
 And tints of ros)^ gre}' and tender green 
 Creep from their hoi}' coverts in the east, 
 And softly press the parting clouds between. 
 
 Quiet and blissful peace prevail around, 
 For men and sin as 5"et in slumber lie ; 
 
 An early lark upriseth from the ground 
 And sings his heavenlj- praises to the sky. 
 But lo ! the timid blush of smiling dawn 
 Bursts into crimson flame. " Parent of good, 
 Almighty," now the blessed sun's warm flood 
 Doth greet us kindly on this glorious morn ; 
 He rises, rules, and falls to rise anew j — 
 May I, dear Lord ! his sacred course pursue. 
 
 lS)thJa>i., 1895, 1 a.m. 
 
 Note. — At 7 a.m. on the morning of tlie 15th. Tuesday, I did not 
 think I should see another sunrise. 
 
 THE OLD DISS CHIMES AGAIN (lonj^ silent). 
 
 Midnight, 1S95. 
 
 In the solemn hour of night 
 Stars in heaven shining bright; 
 In the sweet bell voices say — 
 "Look on us, 'tis licavcn's wav."
 
 37 
 
 "Far beyond us in the space, 
 Which thy glass can never trace, 
 Dwells the God who from above 
 Rules thy course with perfect love." 
 
 THE TRIUNE. 
 
 Jesus, my Saviour dear, night's drawing o'er me. 
 Death's gloomy chasm must be near on my way ; 
 
 Shed Thy fair light on the pathway before me. 
 Guide Thou my steps by its comforting ray. 
 
 Father Almighty, my God and my Maker, 
 Thou who has blest me with mercies untold, 
 
 Of Thy dear love an unworthy partaker, 
 Me from the power of darkness uphold. 
 
 Comforting Spirit, be with me and cheer me, 
 Dwell in my heart and preside o'er my soul : 
 
 Ever in hellish temptation be near me. 
 Ever my thoughts and my actions control. 
 
 E'en as I pray the sweet thought of Thy mercies, 
 Sweet recollections of undeserved bliss, 
 
 From the sad hour of death terror disperses, 
 Shedding calm peace o'er the shadows of this. 
 
 Marc/i 8i/i, 1895.
 
 39 
 ENGLISH HEXAMETERS. 
 
 • THE FIRST PSALM. 
 
 Blessed is lie that hath not walked in the counsel 
 
 of sinners 
 Neither hath stood with the evil, nor sat in the 
 
 seat of the scornful ; 
 But who in keeping the law of his God, hath 
 
 ever delighted, 
 And in his law by day and by night, will meditate 
 
 alway ; 
 And he shall be like a tree that hath grown by 
 
 the side of the water 
 That will bring forward in vigour its flower and 
 
 fruit in their season, 
 He shall not wither — and look! whatsoever he 
 
 doetli shall prosper. 
 But it is not so with them that walk in the wa3-s 
 
 of the wicked ; 
 For they are like the chaff that is driven abroad 
 
 by the tempest. 
 Therefore the wicked shall not be able to stand 
 
 in the judgment, 
 Neither shall they that sin be found in the 
 
 righteous assembly, 
 For the Lord knoweth the way of the good — but 
 
 the wicked shall perish. 
 
 Oct. 22,1 h, 1846.
 
 40 
 
 THE TWENTY-THIRD PSALM.* 
 
 Ne'er can my soul know want, for the Mighty 
 
 Lord is my shepherd 
 Flowery meads shall He give me, and lead to the 
 
 waters of comfort 
 He shall convert mj- soul, to His righteous ways, 
 
 for His name's sake 
 Yea! though I walk in the dark vale of death, no 
 
 evil shall daunt me 
 For thou art with me, O Lord, Thy rod and staff 
 
 shall support me 
 Thou shalt prepare a table before me, 'gainst 
 
 them that would wrong me 
 Thou hast anointed my head with oil, and my 
 
 cup shall be flowing. 
 Thy loving kindness and mere}- shall guide the 
 
 days of my being. 
 And I will dwell in the House of the Lord, for 
 
 ever and ever. 
 
 • The 23rd Psalm was my dear mother's great consolation and 
 delight diuinR her Inst illness. It was read to her a very few hours 
 before her death, and seemed to briiiR her ease and comfort. On 
 returning from her funeral the above piece was written.
 
 41 
 
 THE CXXXIXth PSALM. 
 
 Metre of "Hiawatha." 
 
 Thou hast searched me, and known me, 
 My uprising, my down sitting ; 
 Gracious Lord, Thou understandeth 
 All ni}' thoughts although afar off. 
 Thou do'st compass me and watch me 
 In my path and in my slumbers. 
 On my tongue no word doth falter 
 But Thou know'st it altogether. 
 Thou hast made me with Thy fingers 
 And hast laid Thy hand upon me. 
 Too wonderful and lofty 
 Is such knowledge for my senses; 
 Whither shall I flee Thy presence? 
 Whither hide me from Thy spirit ? 
 If I go up into heaven 
 Thou art there; and if I linger 
 In the depths of hell I find Thee; 
 If I take the wings of morning, 
 Seek the furthest realms of ocean, 
 Even there Thy hand shall lead me,
 
 And Thy right hand shall nphold me, 
 If I say — the shades shall hide me 
 Lo! the night shall glare around me, 
 Yea, the darkness hides not from Thee 
 For as day the midnight shineth, 
 One are light and darkness to Thee. 
 I am Thine, and Thou didst keep me 
 In my mother's womb in safety, 
 I will thank Thee, I will praise Thee 
 For Thy skill is great and fearful; 
 I am wonderfully fashioned ; 
 Full of marvel are Thy doings, 
 — Well my grateful soul doth know it. 
 Not from Thee was hid my substance 
 Though beneath the earth in secret 
 I was fashioned, and my members 
 One by one were made, and written 
 In Thy book from the beginning. 
 Dear to me. Lord, are Th}' counsels 
 Oh ! how great the wisdom of them ! 
 If I count them they outnumber 
 E'en the sand-grains of the ocean ! 
 Sleeping — waking, still I'm with Thee. 
 Thou wilt surely slay the wicked, 
 Far away then, ye bloodthirsty ! 
 For they idly speak against Thee 
 And Thy holy name dishonour. 
 Hate I not. Lord, them that hate Thee, 
 Grieve I not at their rebellion ?— 
 Yet, with perfect hate I hate them,
 
 43 
 
 As mine enemies I count them. 
 
 Search my heart, Oh God, and know me. 
 
 Try my secret thoughts within nie. 
 
 See if any evil linger 
 
 In my soul, and lead me safely 
 
 To thy everlasting mansion. 
 
 July 21th, 1S56.
 
 Bollads. 
 
 LOTHBROC THE DANE. 
 
 A Legend of the Court of King Edmund at Caistor Castle, 
 in the Ninth Century. 
 
 Lothbroc the Dane, 
 
 King of the sea and land. 
 
 Eagle-eyed and mighty. 
 
 Falcon in hand 
 
 Seeking his sport one day 
 
 Strolled from his friends away, 
 
 Led by his hawk astray. 
 lyOthbroc the Dane, 
 
 King of the land and sea 
 
 Fearless and strong, 
 
 Marks his gyrfalcon 
 
 Swoop to the heronshaw 
 
 Far over ocean. 
 
 Vain is the monarch's lure, 
 
 Down with his quarry 
 
 Into the rolling wave ! 
 
 Who shall gyrfalcon save ?
 
 46 
 
 Lothbroc the Dane, 
 
 King of the roaring sea, 
 Stalwart and reckless he, 
 Shall he not vSave ? 
 Springs in a fisher's boat, 
 Oarless, alone, afloat, 
 Sport of the brawling wind, 
 Leaving his land behind, 
 Lost his gyrfalcon ! 
 Said I "alone" was he? 
 No! for his faithful hound, 
 Ulof his matchless hound. 
 Shares danger with him. 
 
 Lothbroc the Dane 
 
 Wept in his fatherland. 
 
 None know his fate ; 
 
 Waves bear him to and fro, 
 
 Winds east and westward blow, 
 
 Sets the red sun, 
 
 Sets in his regal state ; 
 
 Sails the moon round and clear 
 
 Sinks in a swarthy bier, 
 
 On the broad watery plains 
 
 Death with fell silence reigns. 
 
 Lothbroc the Dane, 
 
 Erst king of boundless wave, 
 Now, the mad ocean's slave, 
 Helpless and weak, 
 Tlungered and thirsting, faint, 
 None may his anguish paint,
 
 47 
 
 None words of comfort speak ; 
 Only his faithful hound 
 With him to suffer. 
 Where his broad kingdom now ? 
 Hemmed in by stern and prow^ ; 
 Where his sleek courtiers ? 
 One only can he see, 
 Shaggy his coat maj' be, 
 But staunch and brave is he, 
 And his heart's steadfast ; 
 Ne'er by great lyothbroc's throne 
 When fortune kindly shone 
 Crouched a more trusty one. 
 Never by Monarch's side 
 When left by Fortune's tide. 
 Flouted by all beside. 
 Stood a more true one. 
 lyOthbroc the ro3^al Dane 
 lycave we in fevered rest 
 On the wild ocean's breast, 
 Of wind and wave the jCvSt; 
 Ulof his faithful hound 
 Watching his sleeping. 
 Sets the red scorching .sun : 
 Sails the moon bright and clear, 
 Sinks in a watery bier. 
 Death with black silence reigns 
 On the broad foaming plains. 
 Storms shout and roar. 
 Waves beat the shore.
 
 48 
 
 Edmund of gentle mien 
 Noble and just I ween, 
 King of East Angles, 
 Holds Court in Caistor's towers. 
 Rides in the morning hours 
 Down where the sluggish Yare 
 Woos the rough ocean. 
 Marks the wild sea-birds' flight, 
 Dolphins all gleaming bright 
 In the sweet morning light. 
 Few that attend him ; 
 Few serfs await his call ; 
 Loving and loved b}' all. 
 Friend both to great and small, 
 Love is all powerful, 
 Love will defend him. 
 Wh}' stands the King enthralled ? 
 What hath his sense appalled ? 
 Wh}^ vScans his eye the beach 
 Far as the sight can reach ? 
 Calls be to Humbert — 
 "Humbert — dear trusty friend. 
 Quickly assistance send 
 To 3'on poor fisher. 
 See how his shattered boat 
 Half stranded, half afloat 
 Strikes the rough shingle. 
 If he be living found, 
 Throw my warm cloak aroiind, 
 Gently attend liim.
 
 49 
 
 See that my faithful men 
 
 All succour lend him. 
 
 Warm his cold form, and then 
 
 Straightway to Caistor towers 
 
 Tenderly send him. 
 
 Poor fisher though he be 
 
 That he be cared for see, 
 
 As though a nation's weal 
 
 Hung on his welfare." 
 Edmund of gentle mien 
 
 Noble and kind I ween, 
 
 King of East- Angles, 
 
 Bends o'er the prostrate form 
 
 Shattered by wind and storm. 
 
 Drenched by the breaking wave. 
 
 Whose is the life they save ? 
 
 One shaggy hound, 
 
 Shaggy and strong of limb 
 
 Leaves not his master ; 
 
 Leaves not caressing him. 
 
 Friends in disaster. 
 
 What tells the signet ring? 
 
 Lothbroc ! the Danish King ! 
 
 Lothbroc's the life they save 
 
 From the wild ocean wave ! 
 Edmund of guileless mien 
 
 Guileless and true I ween. 
 
 King of East- Angles. 
 
 Lothbroc the stout and brave. 
 
 Snatched from a watery grave.
 
 so 
 
 Noble of heart, 
 Kings of two mighty powers 
 Sit in fair Caistor's towers, 
 Sworn friends for ever ; 
 What shall that ' ' ever " be ? 
 God of Eternit}', 
 What shall that "ever" be? 
 Wait, and the an.swer see ! 
 Edmund the King, 
 
 True as pure heart can be 
 Generous and free, 
 "Build me a ship of might 
 One that ma}' plough the wave, 
 Skim o'er the surf so light. 
 One that may tempest brave. 
 One that may bear a King 
 Safe to his fatherland ; 
 Where his sons sorrowing 
 Weep on the strand. 
 Meanwhile let mirth be crowned, 
 Story and song go round. 
 Jest and good will abound, 
 Sweet harp and trumpet sound. 
 Care in the cup be drowned." 
 "Health to our Royal Giiest 
 Long may fair peace entwine 
 Lothbroc's with Ivdmund's line 
 T.oving and 1)lcst! 
 l?ring the trained coursers 
 Mighty and free and fair.
 
 51 
 
 Fit kingly freights to bear." 
 Falcon and hound are there, 
 Hunters' shouts rend the air. 
 
 Bern, the King's Falconer, 
 Swarthy and stout of limb 
 Dark-browed and silent. 
 None flouts a jest at him : 
 Silent, and scowling round 
 Hates he, with hate profound, 
 Strangers on Anglian ground ; 
 Jealous of Danish King, 
 Vexed at his sway at Court, 
 Vexed at his skill in sport, 
 Stands he low murmuring ; 
 Pressed lip, and darkling eye 
 Vengefully burning. 
 
 lyothbroc the Dane, 
 
 Where has the monarch strayed ? 
 Why his return delayed ? 
 Went he not out to-day 
 Bern, the King's Falconer 
 Bearing him company? 
 To the dark woods awa}', 
 Scan the white sea-bord, 
 Search every crest and bay ; 
 Where can the Monarch stay ? 
 Ulof, brave Lothbroc's hound. 
 Shaggy his coat ma}- be 
 But true and brave is he, 
 E 2
 
 52 
 
 lycaves not his master; 
 
 Trusty in glittering court, 
 
 Trusty and strong in sport, 
 
 True in disaster ; 
 
 Where stays the gallant hound? ■ 
 
 Sweep the broad countrj- round 
 
 Find him, and Lothbroc's found. 
 
 Three weary days are gone. 
 
 Comes Ulof all alone ; 
 
 Takes at the throne his stand, 
 
 Licks royal Ednumd's hand. 
 
 One stands beside the king 
 
 Swarthy and strong of limb, 
 
 Dark-browed and silent. 
 
 Growls the brave hound. 
 
 Deep mouthed with thundering sound. 
 
 Outspeaks great Edmund — 
 
 "Bern, — prithee tell me why 
 
 Glares the hound at thee 
 
 Bare fanged with flashing e3'e? 
 
 Gentle is he as child 
 
 Harmless and mild?" 
 
 " Nay, Eiege, I know not why, 
 
 But ever savagely 
 
 Greets he m^' fond caress. ■ 
 
 Treacherous I deem the hound 
 
 Savage and faithless. 
 
 Pleased it j'our royal mind 
 
 Straightway a thong I'd find. 
 
 Hanged the Dane-cur should be
 
 53 
 
 On some nigh-vStanding' tree." 
 
 "Not vSo" the King- replied, 
 
 " Ulof shall be our guide, 
 
 Ho there ! the search renew 
 
 Scour the thick forest through ! 
 
 Quakes my firm heart with dread, 
 
 I^othbroc alive — or dead 
 
 Straight must be found." 
 
 Quick from fair Caistor's tower 
 
 Rides forth a lordly band 
 
 Some to the ocean sand 
 
 Some to the river. 
 
 One only lags behind, 
 
 Dark-browed and dark in mind, 
 
 Yet his lips quiver. 
 
 Edmund and few beside, 
 
 Ulof their trustj^ guide. 
 
 To a dark copse away ; 
 
 Little their footsteps stray 
 
 Eastward or westward. 
 
 Sick pale the sun had been 
 
 Now bloody red I ween 
 
 Sinks he to rest. 
 
 Why bays the gallant hound ? 
 
 Why starts the steed around 
 
 Stiff limbed and tremblingly ? 
 
 "Bern — to the front. 
 
 Search well 3'on tangled fern . 
 
 Seems to us, Bern, 
 
 Backward is not th3' wont
 
 54 
 
 When soars the hern." 
 
 Mark the King's Falconer, 
 
 Swarthy and strong of limb, 
 
 Dark-browed and silent. 
 
 Now pale as d3'ing child 
 
 Faltering his gait. 
 
 "What ails thee — Bern? 
 
 No woman's heart hast thou: 
 
 Wh3' dost thou tremble now ? 
 
 Why pales thy sweating brow ? 
 
 Forward I saj^ 
 
 Down with the tangled fern 
 
 Trodden it seems to us 
 
 As though in deadly strife 
 
 Life had sought life." 
 
 Oh ! Edmund, brave and good 
 
 Now quails thy generous blood 
 
 What greets thy sight? 
 
 Lothbroc thou see'st once more. 
 
 Pale-lipped and bathed in gore, 
 
 Blood-stained the ferny floor. 
 
 Leaps thy true heart ? 
 
 Edmund, thy cheek is white, 
 
 Faltering thy sight ; 
 
 'Tis but an instant — now 
 
 Flushes the Kingly brow. 
 
 Flashes the wrathful ej^e. 
 
 Firm the command. 
 
 "Seize ye the murderer Bern, 
 
 Bind him both foot and hand,
 
 55 
 
 Bear him away, 
 Set him alone afloat 
 Oarless in Lothbroc's boat 
 Sport for the scorching vSun 
 Sport for the chilling- dew 
 Sport for the raging storm 
 Sport for the wild sea mew. 
 Anguish and pain 
 Seize on his recreant form, 
 So let him die." 
 Lothbroc the Dane, 
 
 Once King of land and sea 
 
 Mighty and free ; 
 
 Beats his bold heart no more. 
 
 Pale cheek besprinkled o'er 
 
 Purpled with royal gore. 
 
 Wailing and woe 
 
 Fill Caistor's stately tower: 
 
 Sadly and slow 
 
 From the wide portals go 
 
 Mourners in lengthened row, 
 
 Warriors of might and power 
 
 Ride forth with saddened brow 
 
 Pomp, and black royalty 
 
 Dust in the dust to lie. 
 
 Moans the great ocean 
 Sighs the sad Northern wind 
 Groaning like one bereft, 
 Widowed and mourning left
 
 56 
 
 Restless in motion. 
 Idly along" the tide 
 One fisher-boat 
 Oarless, afloat, 
 Seems like a ghost to glide. 
 Bern, the King's Falconer 
 
 Stout limbed — but feeble now, 
 Swollen with blistered brow, 
 In the sun's glare, 
 In the night's baneful air. 
 Rages the sea, 
 Wildly to heaven tossed 
 Now in hell's caverns lost 
 Rides the boat drearily. 
 Dreams the King's Falconer! 
 Hears in the seabird's note 
 Lothbroc with severed throat 
 Gurgling wild curses out — ■ 
 In the wind's moan 
 Hears Lothbroc's flying groan ; 
 Sees in the scudding rack 
 Bloodhounds on deadly track! 
 Ulof, with eager howl, 
 Frights his black soul. 
 Sinks he in heart and breatli 
 Fears life and death. 
 
 Darkly, as through a gla.ss, 
 See we the ways of God, 
 Darkh' His judgments jiass 
 111 understood.
 
 57 
 
 Else why to Danish land 
 
 Drifts the unguided boat 
 
 Steered by no human hand 
 
 Oarless, afloat? 
 
 On the wild beach 
 
 Crowds watch the coming wave, 
 
 Eager to save, 
 
 Eager in speech. 
 
 "Yes, 'tis the missing craft! 
 
 Can the foul blistered thing 
 
 Fast bound with many a cord, 
 
 Can that be Denmark's King ? 
 
 That our lost lord ? 
 
 Search fore and aft. 
 
 No King, but lives he yet P 
 
 Numbed by long cold and wet ! 
 
 All succour send him, 
 
 Kindly attend him." 
 
 Bern, the King's Falconer, 
 
 Roused from half death, and free, 
 
 Base and malignant he 
 
 Seeks the King's palace. 
 
 Ingwar and Hubba bold 
 
 Hear his false story told, 
 
 How that in malice 
 
 Lothbroc their royal sire 
 
 Fell 'neath the murderous brand 
 
 Grasped by vile Edmund's hand 
 
 Who in his ire,
 
 5S 
 
 When he, their faithful slave 
 Strove the King's life to save 
 Straightwaj' had bound him, 
 Cast him in Lothbroc's boat, 
 Helpless, alone, afloat 
 E'en as they found him. 
 Hubba and Ingwar 
 Thirsting for vengeful war 
 Swear ne'er to sleep again 
 Till they reach Anglia's shore! 
 Till bloody Edmund's slain 
 Feast they no more. 
 
 Leave we to future rhyme 
 How the base Falconer's crime 
 Wrought England's bitter woe ; 
 Turned England's friend to foe. 
 Brought in its cursed train 
 Fell wars and endless pain. 
 
 March i,th^ 1870. 
 
 I
 
 59 
 
 EGLESDENE.* 
 
 The first part of the following Ballad relates to the defeat 
 of the Danes by Alfred, at Okeley in Somersetshire 
 (a.D. 878); the second part to the fall and martyrdom of 
 Edmund, at Eglesdene or Hoxne in Suffolk (a.d. 870.) It 
 was immediately before the battle of Okeley that Alfred 
 entered the Danish camp in the disguise of a harpei', and 
 discovered the weak points of the enemy's position. 
 
 "All glory to our gallant king, 
 
 And to his warrior train, 
 Who upon Okeley's purple field 
 
 Have crush 'd the haughty Dane. 
 
 "Drowned in accursed pagan blood 
 
 Their hell-born ravens lie,t 
 While waved once more in Freedom's breath 
 
 Our Saxon colours fly. 
 
 "Hail to each gallant patriot hand 
 
 That glows with foeman's gore ! 
 All hail to him who triumphs yet, 
 
 And him who fights no more ! 
 
 •* Now Hoxne. 
 
 t The raven was the famous Danish standard, and was regarded by 
 the soldiers with superstitious awe. It was supposed to clap its wings 
 before victory, and to hang its head at approaching defeat.
 
 6o 
 
 "The royal harp with dulcet sound 
 
 Beguiled the sottish Dane ; 
 The royal sword spread death around, 
 
 And swept him from the plain. 
 
 "The blood that many a Saxon heart 
 
 Hath shed on Saxon land 
 Shall rise again in tenfold might, 
 
 To blast th' invading band. 
 
 "This speck upon the ocean's breast, 
 
 This little isle of ours, 
 Shall yet be Freedom's sacred seat. 
 
 And laugh at tyrant powers. 
 
 "And vmborn warriors to their sons* 
 
 And grandsons shall recite. 
 How Hubba and how Ingwar fell 
 
 'Neath good king Alfred's might. 
 
 "All glory to our gallant king. 
 
 In whose victorious hand 
 The minstrel chord and patriot sword 
 
 Have freed our Fatherland!" 
 
 Thus sung an ancient warrior 1:);ir(l 
 
 On that right glorious day, 
 When heaven had nerved the Saxon's arm, 
 
 And checked tlie pagan's swaj'. 
 
 ' Hotli HuIjUi aiul Ingwar were killed in (lie baltle of Okclcy.
 
 6i 
 
 Attentive to the glowing theme 
 
 The mighty Alfred stood ; 
 Then turning to the aged man 
 
 Spoke him in kindly mood : — 
 
 "Well hast thou sung, my ancient friend, 
 
 Yet, when thou sing'st again. 
 Sing that the Lord did edge our sword, 
 
 Else had our strength been vain. 
 
 "And lest oi:r pride shoiild overflow, 
 
 And swell presumption's sea. 
 By claiming more than man may claim 
 
 In fair humility — 
 
 "Sing me, I praj^ the mournful tale 
 
 Of sacred Edmund's death. 
 When God vouchsafed to take his soul, 
 
 Though pagans took his breath : 
 
 "How, though his cause was great and good, 
 
 'Gainst countless ills he strove. 
 And how, through woes and misery, 
 
 He found his Saviour's love. 
 
 " Then if thy tongue, by glorj' fired, 
 
 Would frame a worthier lay. 
 Praise Him whose strength our souls inspired 
 
 To deeds of might this day."
 
 62 
 
 To mournful .strain the bard again 
 
 Attuned his trembling lyre, 
 And tempered well with solemn swell 
 
 The patriot's loft}' fire. 
 
 "To God alone, the Infinite, 
 
 Be all our praises given ; 
 Though fortune bless or woes distress. 
 
 Praised be the hand of Heaven. 
 
 "From darkest seeds, that evil seem 
 
 To man's imperfect eyes, 
 Unnumbered blessings spring around. 
 
 Unlooked-for mercies rise. 
 
 " In sad defeat or victory 
 
 The ruling power is God ; 
 vSo let us raise the hymn of praise. 
 
 Or kiss the chastening rod. 
 
 "And shame be mine, most Christian king, 
 
 That in ni}- graceless lay 
 My vaunting pride to God denied 
 
 The glories of this day." 
 
 Lost in conllicting tlioughts awhile 
 
 The aged minstiel stood ; 
 Then bending low his humbled brow, 
 
 Began in mournful mood —
 
 63 
 
 "Oh woe the daj^ the bitter day, 
 
 When Heaven'vS supreme decree 
 To ravening pagan's ruthless sway 
 
 Bowed low the Christian's knee. 
 
 "When, all outnumbered by the Dane, 
 
 From Thetford's* castled seat 
 The Saxons fought their blood-.stained way 
 
 To Framlinghara's retreat. 
 
 "And long, by kingly Edmund led, 
 
 In those majestic towers 
 Defied the swarthy Ingwar, 
 
 And Hubba's savage powers. 
 
 "Till, fiercer still than foeman's hate, 
 
 More keen than foeman's brand. 
 The ghastly .sword of famine fell, 
 
 And thinned their gallant band." 
 
 " 'Now yield thee, Edmund!'" cried the Dane. 
 
 "'Not so,'" the king replied, 
 " 'But bid your knaves prepare to stem 
 
 A Saxon torrent's tide ; 
 
 " 'For ne'er will Edmund .sheath his sword. 
 
 Or plead with downcast eye. 
 While one brave heart obeys his word. 
 
 While Danish ravens fly. 
 
 • " From Thetford," on the authority of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle ; 
 but some say that EdnninJ lied from Dunuich.
 
 64 
 
 " Though fate nia}' yield this earthen case * 
 
 To wear the pagan's chain, 
 Yet there's a soul that burns within 
 
 Which thou canst ne'er restrain. 
 
 " There is a King of kings above, 
 
 Whose standard still I hold. 
 And ne'er will Edmund j-ield its grasp 
 
 To king of earthly mould. 
 
 " Down with the drawbridge ! carv^e a road 
 
 Through this unhallowed band ; 
 Bathe with their hearts' distempered blood 
 
 Our fever-stricken land'" 
 
 "He said, and with the lightning's speed 
 
 The gallant host shot forth : 
 The Danes ran east, the Danes ran west, 
 
 The Danes ran south and north. 
 
 "And well, I trow, the Sazon bow 
 
 Sent forth its deadly shaft. 
 And deeply drank the Saxon steel 
 
 Its crimson-flowing draught. 
 
 "Yet soon tlic Pagans formed again ; 
 
 And as the night drew near, 
 Like troops of Satan's hounds, swept on 
 
 And prc.s.sed the Saxon rear. 
 
 • The subst.incc of F.dmund's reply is given by I.ydg.ite, and in 
 M. Casnewe's " Life of St. Edmund."
 
 65 
 
 " Unto the woods of Eglesdene* 
 Our soldiers fought their way, 
 
 And purchased not a foot of ground 
 But what their blood did pay. 
 
 "And there, though torn by famine's fang, 
 
 They sought to make a stand, 
 And once again to beard the Dane 
 
 And free their Fatherland. 
 
 " But all too weak, both man and horse, 
 
 To face the pagan host; 
 And many a gallant Christian corse 
 
 To Christ gave back its ghost. 
 
 "And the brave king exhausted fell 
 
 Beside a gentle stream, f 
 And laid his sacred head beneath 
 
 A bridge's .spanning beam. 
 
 "And there, concealed from foeman's eye. 
 
 Secure he might have staid, 
 But that a luckless chance, I ween, 
 
 His whereabout betraj-ed. 
 
 * Eglesdene or Hoxno — 
 
 " Oxen hate the toun ther the body felle." — 
 
 Hearne's Langioft. 
 t The little " Gold-brook," crossed by a foot bridge which is still 
 called " Gold-spur Bridge,'' is a tributary of the Waveney. 
 
 F
 
 66 
 
 "Serene the pallid moonbeam .shone 
 
 Upon that fatal night, 
 And dewj- showers on sleeping flowers 
 
 Gleamed with a diamond light; 
 
 " When o'er that bridge there chanced to pass 
 
 A rustic wedding band, 
 That paused in listless idleness 
 
 Upon the grassy strand. 
 
 "The glittering spurs of Edmund caught 
 
 A moonbeam's envious raj-, 
 And to the gaping crowd revealed 
 
 The nook wherein he laj'. 
 
 "The traifrous clowns in cursed greed 
 
 Their secret basely sold, 
 And, Judas-like, damnation bought 
 
 In blood-besprinkled gold. 
 
 "(And ne'er since then hath l^ridcgroom ta'en* 
 
 The fiold-spur bridge's way ; 
 But bitterly the bride hath rued 
 
 The deed of blood that day.) 
 
 • The curse of St. Edmund still retains sufTicicnt force to induce all 
 newly-married parties, who have occasion to cross the Gold-brook, to 
 escape its influence by passing over a foot-bridge alKiiu a ciuarter of a 
 mile out of the direct road. 
 
 i
 
 67 
 
 Like hell-begotten blood-hounds then 
 The pagans .scoured the ground, 
 
 And, guided by a traitor hand. 
 The good Saint Edmund found. 
 
 " They lashed him to a sturdy oak. 
 
 In cruel jesting mood; 
 Their arrows pierced his sacred sides. 
 
 And drew his noble blood. 
 
 "With stripes and scoffs and impious jests 
 
 They mocked his body's pain, 
 Who, like the Master whom he served, 
 
 Revildd not again. 
 
 "But when he felt his life-blood flow. 
 
 With heaving bosom then 
 He prayed the Lord to turn their hearts, 
 
 And make them Christian men. 
 
 "Thus died great Edmund, Martyr, Saint; * 
 
 Yet ere his spirit fled, 
 In savage zeal fierce Ingwar's steel 
 
 Smote off" his kingly head. 
 
 ' He attired him to bataile with folk that he had, 
 But this cursed Danes so grete oste ay lad. 
 That Edmunde was taken and slayne at the last, 
 Full far fro the body lay was the hede kast." 
 
 Hearne's Langtoft. 
 
 F 2
 
 68 
 
 " How that the bod}^ guarded was 
 By wolf less fierce than they.* 
 
 Till hoi}- monks the treasure found, 
 It boots nie not to sa}-. 
 
 " But well hast thou, victorious king, 
 With God's high blessing, been 
 
 The avenger of great Edmund's death 
 In bloody Eglesdene." 
 
 * The old legend goes on to say that Ednmiid's followers found the 
 body, but could nowhere discover the head, \nuil a voice cried " Here, 
 here, here I " and guided them to a part of the thicket, where they found 
 it guarded by a wolf- It united to the neck, leaving only a mark like a 
 " purpil threde." The wolf accompanied the body to its resting-place, 
 and then retired to the woods "without shewing any fierceness." The 
 bones of a wolf are said to have been found enclosed in a stone coffin 
 while repairing the old "Norman" tower at Bury St. Edmund's, in 
 1848. On the same day. nth September, 1848. the fine old tree known 
 as St. Edmund's oak, fell down, during perfectly still weather, at Hoxne, 
 and on cuttnig up the trunk an iron arrow-head was found embedded in 
 the wood near its centre. The curiosity is now in the poissession of 
 Sir Edward Kerrison, Bart. Singularly enough, at this very time. 
 September, 1848, the curious little wooden church at Greensted in Essex 
 was undergoing repair, and its split oak trunks were, for the first time 
 since their erection in 1013, lying on the ground. The connection of 
 this fact with the history of .Saint Edmund is this— In 1010, during the 
 reign of Kthelred "the Unready," the Danes ravaged the country, and 
 the bones of the Saint were removed for .safety to London. After three 
 years they were carried back to Bedrichesworthe (Bury St. Edmund's), 
 and on the way were dejiositeil in a '"wooden chapel," the nave of this 
 ancient church. See a most interesting account of Greensted Church, 
 lately published by the Rev. P. W. Ray. 
 
 I
 
 69 
 
 MARGERY GRIMES.* 
 
 Ding Dong 
 
 For evensong 
 The bell's fair summons is borne along 
 As the wild wind wills it faint or strong ; 
 For funeral knell or for young bride's hopes. 
 The village folks say — 
 (They be wits in their way) 
 "They ring 'coz old Billy 's a pullin' the ropes." 
 
 Old Margery Grimes is sick in her bed, 
 And she 's dying and dying, but not yet dead ; 
 A hocusy pocUvSy, conjuring rocusy, 
 Charm-working hag and a wicked old crone she is 
 Spiteful and blasphemous, — that we all own 
 she is, 
 
 * This is the foundation on which the accompanying tale is built — 
 Mrs. James Borrett, of Scole, had seen better days, and although when 
 I knew her keeping a small 'dame's' schoul, was a fairly educated, and 
 I should say a sober-minded and truthful woman. She told me that 
 some years ago she sat by the bedside of an old woman (whom I have 
 called Margery Grimes) of evil reputation, who was dying. Her 
 cottage was near the tower of the church, and the bells were chiming for 
 evening service. After watching by her for many hours, her breathing, 
 which had been noisy, suddenly ceased. She got up to look at her, but 
 was dreadfully alarmed by the old woman starting up and bursting into 
 a hideous fit of wild laughter, shouting out that she'd •'been up o'the 
 steeple and frightened old Billy rarely ! " At the same moment the bells 
 ceased with a clash, and Billy the sexton, rushed out of the tower into 
 the street, swearing that " Madge Grimes had been up into the belfry 
 and frightened him." The old woman really died a few miniues after 
 this.
 
 70 
 
 Dr3'ing the cows with her evil eye, 
 And blasting the crops with her granimarie, 
 Helped b}' Grimalkin, her swivel-e3'ed cat, 
 Bony and gruesome, and black as 3'our hat, 
 The devil's half brother — no doubt about that. — 
 But she's dying and dying and not 3'et dead 
 And she mutters her oaths on her truckle bed 
 In a tumble down chamber with sulphurous air, 
 A rat-burrowed wainscot— a ricket3' chair, 
 Neither 3''ou, Sir, nor I would have cared to be 
 
 there. 
 Yet one good old soul, — 'tis the schoolmaster's wife 
 Sits watching the close of her flickering life. 
 And she knits, and she knits by the glimmering 
 
 light 
 Of a single rush-candle kept well out of sight, 
 Socks for the poor and a nice little vest 
 For tin3' Bet Smith with the delicate chest. 
 And hour by hour she marks the hard breath 
 And the measured throat- rattles that end but 
 
 with death. 
 
 But 'tis Ding, Dong, 
 For evensong 
 The bells fair summons is wafted along, 
 Whether for death or for wedding-da3' hopes 
 As the mad wind pleases it faint or strong. 
 And the village folks say 
 (They be wits in their way) 
 "That they ring 'coz old Billy's a pullin' the 
 
 ropes."
 
 71 
 
 — The good wife leaves her rickety chair 
 And eyes the old crone with womanly care, 
 For her breast heaves fitfully slow and favSt 
 And the rattles and breath fight for first and last; 
 While her thin lips mvitter the curses of hell 
 Which I may not write and I dare not tell, 
 And her fire-eyed cat improves his place 
 The better to gloat on the dying grimace 
 Of his bad old mistress's leathery face, 
 JUvSt as if he'd a share in the life or the death 
 Of the beldam's soul and her faltering breath. 
 Still ! all still ! — save the wild wind's roar 
 And the rats working hard twixt ceiling and 
 
 floor, 
 And the rattles have ceased — to be heard no 
 
 more. 
 The good wife closes the glazing eyes 
 And covers the face from the bluebottle flies, — 
 Bitt she swoons outright 
 In ghastly fright — 
 For as if awoke from a devilish dream 
 The crone starts up with a long wild scream, 
 And a hideous laugh that drowns the din 
 Of the blast without, and the rats within — 
 "HaHa, HaHa! Ho Ho, Ho Ho! 
 "The dead ride fast on the to and fro', 
 "Grimalkin and I on a broom travel fairly, 
 "We've been unawares up the old tower stairs 
 "And frightened old Billy rarely!"
 
 72 
 
 Ding Dong — Smash! 
 
 Did ever you hear such a crash ? 
 
 Is Billy gone silly to make such a clash ? 
 
 No, Bill}' runs quick down the old church stair 
 
 And his face is as pale as his snow white hair, 
 
 He falls in a swoon, and with vacant stare 
 
 When he comes to himself is read}' to swear 
 
 That old Madge Grimes and her damnable cat 
 
 Two devils incarnate, — no doubt about that. 
 
 Had flown on a broom up the bell chamber stair 
 
 While he tolled his ding dong, and affrighted 
 
 him there. 
 And from that dread hour neither money nor 
 
 power 
 Could bring him again to that old church tower. 
 He hadn't a mind, so he could not go out of it. 
 Had it otherwise been he'd have done so, no 
 
 doubt of it. 
 Little remains to tell or to write 
 But that Madge and her cat both vanished that 
 
 night, 
 While her hut by spontaneous combustion 
 
 ignited 
 And the smoke every tree in tlic neighl)ourhood 
 
 blighted. 
 Some say that old Madge and her swivel-eyed 
 
 friend. 
 Who shot horns and a tail with an arrow-shaped 
 
 end, 
 In the midst of the llanics was observed to ascend
 
 72, 
 
 On a broom, then describing a circle or two 
 
 In the air 
 
 The bad pair 
 Sank down to the earth — and then tumbled right 
 through ! 
 
 Ding Dong 
 
 For evensong 
 The bells keep it up for ever so long, 
 And the village folks sa^' 
 (They be wits to this day) 
 
 That whether for death or for wedding-day hopes 
 They ring 'coz old Billy's son's pullin' the ropes. 
 
 My friend Dr. Pollen, botanical lecturer, 
 
 Man of real science and no mere conjecturer, 
 
 Examined the spot 
 
 Where once stood the drear cot, 
 
 And said, when last summer he came down to 
 
 stay by us, 
 That nothing would grow there but devils-bit- 
 
 scabwics. 
 The small Myosiints* which people call 'rat's-tail,' 
 A Valerian potent in swelling a cat's tail, 
 And a kind of Treviella too dreadful to utter 
 But pretty well known as the famed Witch's- 
 
 butter. 
 He professed too to fear neither goblin nor sprite. 
 And declared in the belfry he'd pass one whole 
 
 night; 
 
 * The Spaniards call Myosurus— ' Cola de Raton.'
 
 74 
 
 For that spirits, by weak folks esteemed 
 'diabolical' 
 
 Less taiscliief performed than the kind — 'alco- 
 holical.' 
 
 But the sqnall of a cat and the low moaning 
 wind 
 
 As he went there, induced him to alter his mind. 
 
 Though he said — and 'tis right his own reason to 
 mention, 
 
 "Other business required his immediate atten- 
 tion." 
 
 March znd, 18S2.
 
 75 
 
 A LEGEND OF AIX LA CHAPELLE. 
 
 Oh ! Aix, I ween, is as fair to see 
 
 As any town in Germanie 
 
 But strange is the story I'm going to tell 
 
 Of the Church it is christened from " Aix la 
 
 Chapelle." 
 Whence came all its splendour? O! listen and 
 
 hear ! 
 When Charlemagne's bones lay incased in their 
 
 bier 
 In a snug little chapel he'd built for himself, 
 Great Otho the third tried to gather the pelf 
 In order to build up a beautiful choir 
 As fair as the Emperor s shade could desire. 
 But useless his efforts, in vain did he send 
 His satin-cream-laid, and post paid without end 
 With a one-penny stamp to the folks he thought 
 
 willing 
 And prayed by the return of post "one little 
 
 shilling ! " 
 All, all was in vain, for the hard-hearted scamps 
 Never answered his letters and captured his 
 
 stamps. 
 In vain did he hang money boxes around 
 On every blank space of the walls that he found,
 
 76 
 
 He never saw aught when he opened the lid 
 But a spider, a bit of a pipe, and a quid, 
 Which some nasty devil by way of a dole. 
 Or a small contribution, had poked through the 
 
 hole. 
 The town council sat, and the town council 
 
 mourned 
 For ever as wise as they met the}' adjourned. 
 Though each of the members was sure his 
 
 advice 
 If followed, would raise all the cash in a trice. 
 The chairman he spoke and the chairman he 
 
 5awned 
 But never one novel idea on him dawned, 
 Though the thanks of the meeting still greeted 
 
 him there 
 For the great satisfaction he gave in the chair. 
 All useless their counsels and vain their debate 
 Till one night a councilman rather irate 
 Said that all their grand schemes would be left 
 
 in the lurch 
 If the Devil himself didn't pa}- for tlie church . . . 
 Rap a tap, rap a tap, rap a tap, tat a tat, 
 And rap a tap, bang, rap a tat, rap a tat, — 
 Not one of the councilmen e'er heard before 
 Such a terrible tapping as now shook the door. 
 The chairman looked wild, and the council 
 
 aghast 
 As they though every rap a taj) must be the last, 
 Till after the lapse of a minute, walked in
 
 77 
 
 A gentleman well dressed, lame, swartlij', and 
 
 thin. 
 The assembly at first, with ill-grace at the best 
 Gave a kind of salute to the unbidden guest, 
 But he with such accent and pure nonchalance 
 As proved him well known to the elite of France 
 Spoke thus — " Mes amis, ne vous derangez point 
 " De vos vains conseils, moi, j'ai et6 temoin, 
 " Je me hate, la richesse de ma bourse vous ofFrir 
 "Pour faire votre eglise digne de tous vos 
 
 ddsirs.'" 
 With an air and a grace on the table he threw 
 A bag full of ducats all shining and new, 
 Saying " when you want more j-ou need only 
 
 apply— 
 "But there's one s//g/tf condition I ask, by the 
 
 bye." 
 Diable ! quoth one, a condition ! let's hear : 
 The Deuce ! cried a Hoch-wohl geborener Herr, 
 Who'd deny a condition, whate'er it may be 
 And forfeit the glittering heaps that we see ? 
 " Tis only Just this " said their guest with a grin, 
 " Everyone has his taste ; if I've mine, 'tis no sin. 
 The first, male or female, joung, old, fat, or fine, 
 That enters the church, when complete, must be 
 
 m/fif / ' ' 
 Sacre nom ! Donnervetter ! odds bobs ! ventre 
 
 bleu! 
 What odd interjections about the room flew, 
 As each of the council, with hair straight on end
 
 78 
 
 Gazed in fear and dismay at his newh' made 
 
 friend. 
 Having somewhat recovered their iirst conster- 
 nation 
 They entered at once into grave consultation, 
 And at last they agree, 'tis their safest 
 
 position 
 To pocket the gold and accept the condition. 
 " We'll contrive that some twopenny soul should 
 
 go first 
 A beggar, a thief, a sacristan at worst ; 
 But in order our well contrived project to save 
 Let each keep the secret as still as the grave." 
 " Not a word " said the}- all, not a word, not a 
 
 breath. 
 Let our secret be kept with the silence of death. 
 Yet 'tis true, though how 'twas I am puzzled to 
 
 saj^ 
 But their wives knew the whole ere the following 
 
 day! 
 You'll allow this was strange, l>ut a far .stranger 
 
 thing 
 As a lover of fact, to your notice I bring ; 
 It is this, ere the night had again spread her veil 
 Not a soul in the city but knew the whole tale. 
 Well, in process of time "la chapelle " was 
 
 complete 
 And crowds of admirers paraded the street. 
 The priests at tlie doors begged of each to step 
 
 tlirouuli
 
 79 
 
 But the constant reply was — "Monsieur, apres 
 
 vous ! " 
 Such a row for precedence was never I ween 
 In the salons of fashion or royalty seen, 
 But the donke3^ race rule was in every one's 
 
 mind, 
 'Twas not, who shall go foremost ; but who stay 
 
 behind. 
 The case became desperate ; there stood the fine 
 
 church 
 With its altars and candlesticks left in the lurch 
 And again the town covmcil tried hard to suggest 
 In the awkward emergency, what course was best. 
 'Twas in vain — till one night when all Aix was 
 
 asleep 
 
 Or rather when eastward the morn 'gan to peep 
 The chairman, with force he'd have spared to a 
 
 dumb thing. 
 Slapped his wife, and cried out, " Gad ! I've hit 
 
 upon something ! 
 A great ugl}' wolf, my dear wife, do you see, 
 Was entrapped near the spot where the station's 
 
 to be ; 
 And shoot me, but we'll tr}' human victims to 
 
 save 
 By driving his wolfship bang into the nave." 
 The plan was approved of by all, and once more 
 The crowd had collected before the church door ; 
 A gaunt famished wolf was brought up, while 
 
 within
 
 8o 
 
 Crouched the dragon, Beelzebub, swarth}- and 
 
 thin, 
 With wide open jaws and with teeth of cast steel 
 He lay wagging his tail at the thoughts of his 
 
 meal 
 And stretching his throat like a hideous gulf — 
 Hark ! a shout ! Who's the victim ? A nastj- 
 
 old wolf! 
 Poor Nick was bamboozled, he sputtered and 
 
 spit, 
 And tried to eject the unsavoury bit, 
 But in vain, — so enraged, he rushed out might 
 
 and main 
 And kicked the church door till he kicked it in 
 
 twain, 
 Then knowing his fur}- could nothing avail, 
 He paused but to tie a huge knot in his tail 
 That he might not forget to have beds warmed in 
 
 hell 
 For all future guests out of Aix la Chapelle. 
 
 A wolf and a fir-cone, in bronze at the gate 
 Stand attesting the truth of the tale I relate, 
 The first, as a portiait in gratitude taken 
 By the Aix la Chapellians for saving their bacon 
 The latter, a thing tasteless, hard, drj', and 
 
 sticky 
 Which figures the morsel that choked poor old 
 
 Nicky.
 
 And now for a moral, for e'en from this story 
 
 I hope to be able to lay one before ye — 
 
 Don't believe when some folks make a show of 
 
 their cash 
 In presenting stained windows, and cutting a 
 
 dash 
 In the church building line, that their motives 
 
 are sure 
 In point of religion and zeal to be pure : 
 What a feasting of tenants, and bunning of 
 
 schools, 
 What splendid donations, and balls for the Poles, 
 What clothing of niggers, we see every day 
 Where the end of the "Patrons" is merely 
 
 display. 
 Believe me, dear reader, I would not detract 
 From the merit so due to true charity's act. 
 Such thoughts be far from me, I wish but to say. 
 In the hour when hopes in this world pass away 
 The kind heart that shrinks from applause will 
 
 beat lightest 
 And that bushel-hid candles burn sometimes the 
 
 brightest. 
 
 July I'Jth, 1849.
 
 82 
 
 FRAU RICHERMONDT. 
 
 A Tale of Cologne — in fact, the original " Ode de Cologne," 
 but not by J. M. Farina. 
 
 In the Grand Parade at Cologne the traveller is struck with the 
 strange position of the wooden effigies of two grey horses which are 
 peering out of the upper window of a high and ancient house. The 
 following is the legend connected with them, as related to me by a 
 commissionaire on the spot. 
 
 The doctor he sat bj^ Frau Richermondt's side 
 With his anti-epidemical, 
 But the fearful disease permitted no ease 
 And baffled each drug and chemical. 
 
 Quite vainly he tries his pounded crabs' eyes * 
 And his powder' d Theban mummj', 
 And his syrup of lice, and his toasted mice, 
 And his balsams foetid and gummy; 
 
 And useless the flesh of tlie viper fresh 
 
 And his pigeon alive cut in two, 
 
 Which he thinks it is meet to aj)pl3' to her feet, 
 
 And Iiis he(l;^ehog elixir won't do. 
 
 So he rose from his chair, with a solemn air 
 And thrice he shook his head, 
 And he said with a sigh (that was all my e3'e) 
 " Frau Richermondt is dead ! " 
 
 • The dainties here enumerated were M in use as medicines about a 
 hundred years since. Others ecjually choice might be mentioned — 
 spirits of skulls and toads among the number. 
 
 I
 
 83 
 
 " I've tried my skill witli potion and pill, 
 I've done for her all I believe is best, 
 All things that I've heard, however absurd, 
 I've tried, but — vita brevis est. 
 
 "I've given her ice, and lice, and mice, 
 And spice, and rice, and brandy; 
 I've given her mummy and nasty things gummy, 
 Whichever might turn up handy, 
 
 "I've wrapped her so neat in a well-wetted sheet. 
 From her heels slap over her head, 
 And more I could mention, but vain my attention — 
 Frau Richermondt is dead." 
 
 Snug under the Dom in a costly tomb 
 Frau Richermondt is laid. 
 The glare of the day has past away, 
 And a mass for her soul has been said. 
 
 'Tis deep midnight when the noisome sprite 
 Plays leapfrog over the grave, 
 What man then is here who seems not to fear 
 The wrath of the dead to brave? 
 
 He kneels him down by the sculptured stone 
 The heap with a crowbar turning. 
 Of the faltering moon he's missed the light. 
 But his bull's-eye 's dimly burning. 
 G 2
 
 84 
 
 'Twas the sexton, and few were the things he 
 
 spoke 
 And he breathed not a word of sorrow; 
 But he said—" if I cabbage that ring to night 
 I shall be all the richer to-morrow! " 
 
 He tugged at the finger on which did linger 
 The gold-encircled stone, 
 
 Then drew from his pocket a knife to unlock it 
 By paring the flesh from the bone. 
 
 But scarce was the blade to the cold skin laid 
 Ere — horror of horrors to tell I 
 The death-cold claw grasped the sexton's paw, 
 And the knife from his clutches fell. 
 
 Well! what did he do ? just as I, sir, or j-ou 
 
 Would have done in a similar plight, 
 
 In a swoon he fell down on the cold clammy 
 
 stone 
 And in falling banged out his light. 
 
 Frau Richermondt rose — not so dead, you'll 
 
 suppose 
 As she seemed when she was buried — 
 Hit the sexton a blow on the shins with his crow 
 And into the city she hurried. 
 
 She found her own house all as still as a mouse, 
 
 Save the cats' serenade on the tiles. 
 
 And she shouted aloud as she stood in her 
 
 shroud 
 " What the deuce are ye arter, Giles ?
 
 85 
 
 "How dare ye to snore while I stand at the door 
 All shaking and shivering and freezing ? 
 My clothing is light for this time of night 
 And 'tis anything but pleasing." 
 
 " How came you, I say, to .stow me away 
 
 Without being sure I was dead ? 
 
 Oh — no doubt you'd a plan to provide — you bad 
 
 man, 
 Another Frau R. instead." 
 
 Herr Richermondt moaned, and Herr Richer- 
 
 mondt groaned, 
 And he uttered a hideous scream. 
 For facing him there, stood a ghastly nightmare 
 Intruding herself on his dream. 
 
 And the devil sat squat in her saddle, I wot 
 
 And bellowed out might and main, 
 
 " Lieber Herr, I have brought you the treasure 
 
 you thought 
 You never should see again. 
 
 "Hark! your wife's at the door; don't you hear 
 
 the uproar ? 
 Wake up then, and .strike a light." 
 Herr Richermondt rose, rubbed his eyes and his 
 
 nose 
 And sat himself bolt upright.
 
 86 
 
 No devil was there, but a chill of despair 
 
 Crept over his trembling frame 
 
 As he heard the sweet voice of his wedding day 
 
 choice 
 Calling his " once loved name. " 
 
 The epithets queer were harsh to hear 
 With which it was linked, alas ! 
 She called him a blundering son of a gun 
 And a muddle-headed ass. 
 
 Was't a ghost or a Banshee, that horrible fancj' 
 The wraithe that at djing folks' window knocks 
 Or dreadfuller far, was it real Mrs. R. 
 As he groped in the dark for his tinder box ? 
 
 Yet believe ithe couldn't, and didn't, and wouldn't, 
 But he seized on his matches in ire, 
 One hundred and two of the lot wouldn't do 
 But the hundred and third caught fire. 
 
 No Br3'ants and Mays in those far awa}' daj'S 
 
 Excited the popular "vox" 
 
 As the}' tooled it along in the four-in-hand 
 
 throng, - 
 "Only striking indeed on the " box.'"* 
 
 He reached the last stair in the chill damp air. 
 He opened the door in a fright, 
 His bonnet de nuit seemed as frightened as he, 
 For its tassel stood bolt upright. 
 
 • One of the Rrcnt firm dashes away in Rotten Rnw and the 
 Parks with other great but more mischievous match makers.
 
 «7 
 
 For there in the gloom, come fresh come from 
 
 the tomb, 
 Frau Richermondt stood in her shroud ; 
 But her spouse kept afar, with the door just ajar 
 And breathing again, said aloud : 
 
 " Oh ! goblin immortal, avaunt from my portal 
 Back, back to 30ur region so drear ! 
 For my wife I have lost her, thou ghostly im- 
 postor. 
 She's theie — so she can't be lieieV 
 
 In vain her entreaties, in vain were her sighs, 
 In vain were her words, rough or kind. 
 For preparing to shut up the door in a pet 
 Thus her husband delivered his mind. 
 
 " I'll no more believe that my missus can leave 
 
 Her snug quiet grave in the Dom, 
 
 Or raise the big stones that are laid o'er her 
 
 bones 
 To come plaguing her husband at home, 
 
 "Than my horses could stray from their corn 
 
 and their hay. 
 Through the double-locked stable door, 
 And inarching in pairs up the back kitchen stairs 
 Make their waj- to the uppermost floor."
 
 The words were scarce spoke, when a wild 
 
 neighing broke 
 On the silence of the night, 
 At the window I ween, two horses w-ere seen 
 In the glimmering pale moonlight. 
 
 (I don't know, I declare, how the horses came 
 
 there, 
 But certify this I will. 
 That the story can't be a complete l.i.e. 
 For their effigies stand there still.) 
 
 Herr Richermondt saw, and he crossed himself 
 
 o'er 
 From the tip of his nose to his chest, 
 Then seizing his wife in her newly found life 
 He clasped her once more to his breast. 
 
 Not a soul that I know has e'er witnessed I trow, 
 Nor the oldest inhabitant seen a 
 Connubial meeting so warm in its greeting 
 Since Edwin and Angelina. 
 
 Oct. 2^th, 1849.
 
 "ISAAC WALTON" ON THE FISHERIES 
 EXHIBITION. 
 
 (Reported by "A Medium.") 
 
 TO THE EDITOR OF THE NORWICH MERCURY. 
 
 Norwich, April l%th, l88i. 
 
 Dear Sir, — I claim your courtes}-, being a well- 
 known medium, 
 
 To ask you, on your readers to inflict my Psycho- 
 tedium 
 
 In an attractive vision's form, the while I was 
 entranced — 
 
 And for the time bejond dull earth, to spirit- 
 land advanced ; 
 
 Where sat good Isaac Walton, as of old benign 
 and jocular. 
 
 And peering through a spy-glass of a kind that's 
 called binocular; 
 
 Near him his friend Venator stood, and Auceps 
 too was there ; 
 
 Each praised, as erst on Tottenham Hill, the 
 Water, Earth, and Air. 
 
 Venator sang "Tantivy," and, with joy that 
 knew no bounds.
 
 90 
 
 Described a burst of wondrous pace with old 
 
 Tom iNIoody's hounds: 
 While Auceps praised the tuneful birds that to 
 
 the 'shame of art' 
 Send from their instrumental throats such songs 
 
 as touch the heart. 
 As first the lark, who cheers herself, and those 
 
 who hear her song, 
 Quitting the earth and mounting high the golden 
 
 clouds among ; 
 Anon she groweth mute and drops to the dull 
 
 earth amain. 
 Which but for sheer necessity she would not 
 
 touch again, 
 And then the lady Nightingale breathing such 
 
 music out 
 As leadeth thoughtful men the end of miracles to 
 
 doubt. 
 Who that has heard her sweet descants, the 
 
 trillings high and deep. 
 The doubling of her heavenh' voice through 
 
 midnight's darkness sweep, 
 But feels himself as lifted up above this murky 
 
 sphere 
 And whispering thus in undertones to God's all- 
 listening ear 
 "What music, might}' Lord, liast thou reserved 
 
 for saints in heaven 
 Who to the sinful men ul' earth such glorious 
 
 strains has given ? "
 
 91 
 
 He ceased, and asked good Isaac if he'd kindl\- 
 
 let them know 
 What by his glasses he discerned through earth's 
 
 grey mists below ? 
 To whom Piscator — " Friends who once loved in 
 
 the purling stream 
 To hook the perch and savage pike, bright trout 
 
 or slimy bream, 
 Who loved in mood contemplative to watch the 
 
 dancing float 
 In the black depths of forest lake, or castle- 
 guarded moat ; 
 And 3-ou who on the stormy wave 'mid the mad 
 
 ocean's strife. 
 Poor fisher, lost for hearth and home thy oft 
 
 imperilled life; 
 Come near and hear of wondrous things which 
 
 through my glasses I 
 In that fair cit}' of the East, Old Norwich can 
 
 espy." 
 The sprites of ancient Glaucus and of good Sir 
 
 Henry Wotton, 
 Of Doctors Donne and Whittaker, and livety 
 
 Charlie Cotton, 
 One too, a statelj- abbess,* long removed from 
 
 earthl}' thrall, 
 Who loved the honest angler's art, obe3-ed 
 
 Piscator's call: 
 
 * Dame Juliana Beniers.
 
 92 
 
 And thus the ladye praised the craft in voice 
 most musical — 
 
 " Atte least the Angler hath his holsom walke 
 And mery at his ease doeth hungry growe 
 With savoure sweete of meade and daintie 
 
 floures. 
 Heareth melodyous harmony of bii'des, 
 Seeth white swannes, and cotes with callowe 
 
 brood ; 
 Whyche seemeth me farre better than the 
 
 noyse 
 Of houndes, and Wastes of horns, and cr3'es 
 
 of foules, 
 That Hunters, dogges, and Fawkeners can 
 
 make. 
 And if the Angler taketh fyshe, than he 
 No mery soule alive can merrier be." * 
 Well said, fair dame, quoth Lsaac, now attend 
 
 while I disclose 
 What honour on our gentle art old Norwich 
 
 town bestows. 
 I see through ni}- binocular a gallant cavalcade 
 With people making holiday in colours bright 
 
 arrayed. 
 Banners are waving in the streets and dashing 
 
 soldiers throng 
 The crowded thoroughfare, through which a car- 
 riage rolls along : 
 
 • " Trcatyse of Kyfshyngc wllli an Aiij^lc." — KmpryiitcJ by VVynkyn 
 dc Worde, 1496.
 
 93 
 
 In it a lovely lady sits, whose kindly smile makes 
 
 glad 
 Rough country folks, and cheers the heart of 
 
 manj' a sailor lad. 
 Who from the coast has made his way, with 
 
 .some perception dim. 
 That ladies fair may even care for such poor 
 
 chaps as him.* 
 Beside her sits her royal spouse — a prince who 
 
 never spares 
 What prince can do and much he can, to lighten 
 
 poor men's cares. 
 To-da3' he comes to aid the caixse of those brave 
 
 sons of toil 
 Who on the deep uncertain sea undaunted seek 
 
 their spoil, 
 Risking for wife and children's sake, in storm 
 
 and seething foam. 
 Their lives, nor deem their lot severe, and 
 
 cheerly dream of home. 
 But now the goal is reached, and while the lordly 
 
 trumpets blow, 
 The Royal guests and all the crowd enter the 
 
 spacious show. 
 Boats, nets, and trawls, and fishing craft, and all 
 
 that man contrives 
 To reap the harvest of the seas, or rescue human 
 
 lives 
 
 • Sailors' grammar.
 
 94 
 
 From waterj^ graves; bright glittering fish in 
 roomy tanks I ween, 
 
 And baby salmon burst the egg, and join the 
 busy scene. 
 
 The Princess and her Princeh- spouse, well- 
 pleased and pleasing all, 
 
 At the good i\Ia3-or's request repair to famed St. 
 Andrew's Hall, 
 
 Where a right royal dejeuner the hungry guests 
 awaits. 
 
 And the great organ's notes are drowned by 
 music of the plates. 
 
 But now a marvel I behold : scarce have the 
 
 guests retired 
 From the great show, ere all the fish bj- one 
 
 strong impulse fired. 
 Leap to the largest tank and round its depths in 
 
 glittering row. 
 E'en as in ancient Norwich guilds, in long pro- 
 cession go. 
 Six stalwart eels for whifflers, and a dogfish 
 
 acting vSnap, 
 While herrings helter-skelter fly, nor like the 
 
 game mayhap, 
 Asserting and with reason, that his play is rather 
 
 rough, 
 .Vs he gobbles of tlieir party ratlicr more than 
 
 qiuDiticfii suff.
 
 95 
 
 At length they .settle to a feast, great Neptune 
 
 takes the chair, 
 (I'm not prepared to tell you, if yoti ask how he 
 
 came there ?) 
 Sweet lob-worms a la maitre d'hotel, gentles in 
 
 matelote, 
 With hookless flies to tempt the trout, and frog- 
 lets cold and hot. 
 And many another daint}' dish — fv;ll duty done 
 
 to each. 
 When Neptune waves his trident thrice, and 
 
 makes this telling speech. 
 "Fishes and friends from ever}' sea, from ever}- 
 
 tarn and lake. 
 From every stream that to my realm doth 
 
 contribution make, 
 I fill my cup,* most kindly lent by courteous 
 
 Mr. Reeve 
 From the Museum's topmost shelf, and by 3'our 
 
 gracious leave 
 Will give the health of Homo-Man, to whom we 
 
 owe the treat 
 Of being here this day — not where we're 
 
 eaten — but to eat ; 
 'Tis true you deemed him once 3'our foe, but 
 
 on consideration 
 He did but save you from the curse of over- 
 population. 
 
 t A huge fossil sponge called " Neptune's Cup."
 
 96 
 
 Doth he not pass great Acts to check our river's 
 
 foul pollution, 
 Preserving- 5'ou from fell disease, from filth, 
 
 and destitution ? 
 Doth he not during spawning time forbid illicit 
 
 sport, 
 Protecting you from thieves that soon would 
 
 bring your race to nought ? 
 Look round and see the training troughs and 
 
 ova hatching tanks 
 Wherein your progeny are reared, and give to 
 
 Homo thanks. 
 I own there's more to wish for. Friends to anti- 
 
 vivi-section 
 Should to my noble friend the cod 'gainst 
 
 c?iinpi>ig nrge protection, 
 And though with some slight show of truth 
 
 the}' urge that ancient use 
 Tempers the eels to skinning, — 3'et it looks like 
 
 an abuse ; 
 I well might say a word or two 'gainst cruel 
 
 salmon spears, 
 Let's hope their use will very soon he discon- 
 tinued" — (Cheers !) 
 An oyster whispering Neptune prayed /us hard- 
 ships might be heard. 
 But Neptune, loving oysters mucli, refused to sa}- 
 
 one word. 
 Some slight molluscan discontent, a laugh, and 
 
 shouts ironic,
 
 97 
 
 Threatened for some few minutes a denojlefnent 
 
 inharmonic ; 
 For then a lobster wished to speak 'gainst being 
 
 boiled alive, 
 And crabs and shrimps obstreperous disturbed 
 
 the watery hive ; 
 But Neptune, equal to the task, with smiles and 
 
 softest sawder, 
 Concluded thus his .speech and quelled all 
 
 symptoms of disorder : 
 "Take him for all in all, sweet friends, Homo's a 
 
 noble beast, 
 So with his health in three times three we'll 
 
 crown this joyous feast!" 
 Having no hands to clap, all wag their sym- 
 pathetic tails, 
 And Sturgeon, king of fishes sings, "God bless 
 
 the Prince of Whales ! ! ! " 
 
 Here broke my trance, and once again on fgrf-a 
 
 Jirma fixed, 
 I sign myself "Your Medium," just now a little 
 
 mixed. 
 
 H
 
 6ei?oic. 
 
 MARCH, 1854. 
 
 God give us peace — or honor, if in war 
 
 Our bloodless swords must from their scabbards 
 
 leap, 
 If friend and foe in cold and ghastly heap 
 Must pave the way for Triumph's crimson car. 
 But oh ! if honor be dear England's gain, 
 Bought with the life of many a gallant heart. 
 Grant it be pure, and shew no tarnished part 
 Where lust or cruelty have left their stain. 
 Nerve the rough soldier's arm — but let his ear 
 Be open to the orphan's piteous cry, 
 Let his fierce eye yet soften at the tear 
 Shed b}^ the widow of an enemy. 
 So may success attend our country's might 
 And God be praised — for God with us shall fight. 
 
 H 2
 
 lOO 
 
 SONG AND CHORUS. 
 
 Written for the Diss " Haven of Success Lodge of 
 Oddfellows." 
 
 Oh! welcome to the seaman's ear 
 When tempests shake the main 
 The shout of "Land" — the land he thought 
 
 He ne'er should see again. 
 So welcome is the friendly- call, 
 
 When stormy griefs oppress 
 When tears in ceaseless torrents fall, 
 To the Haven of Success. 
 
 Then where's the man that will not join 
 
 With willing voice to bless 
 The toast of Friendship, Love, and Truth, 
 And the Haven of Success. 
 
 The roaring winds may hoarsely blow, 
 
 And fiercely rage the storm, 
 No power to chill the heart they know 
 
 With sacred kindness warm, 
 The coldest breast shall thankful prove 
 
 And moved to J03' confess 
 The noble worth of brothers' love 
 In the Haven of Success. 
 
 Then where's the man that will not join 
 
 With willing voice to bless 
 The toast of h^riendship, Love, and Truth 
 And the Haven of Success.
 
 lOI 
 
 Let knaves upbraid us* — fools believe— 
 
 Our duty still remains 
 To help the friendless and relieve 
 
 The sufferer of his pains. 
 With Honor faithful to our helm, 
 
 No skies shall us distress 
 We'll safely sail with favouring gale 
 To the Haven of Success. 
 
 Then where's the man that will not join 
 
 With willing voice to bless 
 The toast of Friendship, Love, and Truth 
 And the Haven of Success. 
 
 The following verse was added for the Jubilee of the 
 Lodge in May 30th, 1894. 
 
 Just half a hundred years are gone, 
 
 Yes, fifty years, since we 
 Sailed out from port, — and now we've won 
 
 Our happ3^ Jubilee ; 
 And friends are gone and friends have come, 
 
 Young heads have turned to grey. 
 Yet sit we here and sing with cheer 
 Our lusty roundelay — • 
 
 May God, our Country, and our Queen, 
 
 With health and plenty bless, 
 And Friendship, Love, and Truth be seen 
 In the Have}i of Success. 
 
 * At ils commencement Odd Fellowship had to encoiuuer a good 
 deal of opposition and ridicule.
 
 I02 
 
 FATHERLAND. 
 
 Another version of " What is the German's Fatherland ? ' 
 
 Which is the German's fatherland ? 
 Bohemian land ? Bavarian land ? 
 Or where yon faltering servile band 
 Would kiss the Czar's despotic hand ? 
 Oh tell me not that this can be 
 That land of heroes and of chivalr}-. 
 Oh Austria ! to all allied, 
 For ever strong on stronger side, 
 Thou ramping calf in lion's hide, 
 Vain land of tyranny and pride ; 
 It cannot be, it cannot be 
 But Honour's call is nought to thee. 
 
 Which is the FVenchman's fatherland 'i 
 Is't where a group of tremblers stand ? 
 Where timid princes hold command, 
 And sink in shame their native land ? 
 Oh, no! oh, no ! its ancient name 
 Was ever linked with deeds of fame. 
 And still its flag by glory fanned 
 Floats'nobly towards the hostile land, 
 And gallant hearts beneath it, seek 
 To crush th' oppressor of the weak ; 
 This then must be -this then must be 
 The land of Frenchmen and of chivalry.
 
 I03 
 
 Which is the Briton's fatherland ? 
 Is't Scottish land, or Irish land ? 
 Or where the cliffs of England stand 
 While roaring billows sweep her strand ? 
 Oh no ! the Briton's home must be 
 The sea-girt shores of all the three. 
 Oh ! Britain, since thy glorious form 
 Has ruled the wave and braved the storm 
 Full many a conflict hast thou seen. 
 Yet ever true thy sons have been. 
 This then must be — this then must be 
 The Briton's fatherland so free. 
 
 INKERMANN. 
 
 To the air " Krieger's Abschied." 
 
 Daylight is passed — the dark Crimean night 
 In chill}' pall enshrouds the dead and dying. 
 Fitful is seen by cannon's lurid light 
 Where friend and foe in fever' d sleep are lying ; 
 Yet one bright vision cheers the soldier's heart, 
 A well-loved form his dreaming thoughts dis- 
 cover. 
 One, now so far away, in angel accents seems to 
 
 say, 
 " We'll part no more -for storm}- war is over "
 
 I04 
 
 Murky and slow the gloomy shadows break, 
 A call to arms dispels the warrior's slumbers. 
 Rifle and gun the sullen echoes wake, 
 And foes sweep on in mist-enclouded numbers. 
 Yet one fond thought makes firm the soldier's 
 
 arm, 
 And cheers his heart while dangers round him 
 
 hover, 
 One, who is far away, in gentle accents seems to 
 
 say, 
 *' We'll part no more when stormy war is over." 
 
 Dauntless and well the hardy Britons fought. 
 
 And gallant Frenchmen shared the battle's glor}-, 
 
 Dearly the victor's laurel crown was bought, 
 
 Its leaves with many a hero's life-blood gory ; 
 
 But far awaj', in sorrow and in care 
 
 A gentle girl laments her soldier lover. 
 
 Now bent in silent prayer — bowed down by chill 
 
 despair, 
 She sinks to rest ere stormy war is over. 
 
 Dec. 2otk, 1854.
 
 fiunioFOUs. 
 
 OLEUM JECORIS ASELLI. 
 
 An Epistle to my Sister 
 At the Rectory of Fritton, 
 Written very shortly after 
 I arose from the perusal of the Song of Hiawatha. 
 
 Do you ask me why this letter, 
 
 Why this long and dreary letter ? 
 
 Why this waste of ink and paper ? 
 
 Scribbleabos — ink and paper ? 
 1 would answer, I would tell you 
 'Tis about a Codfish liver ; 
 Yes, the liver of a Codfish, 
 Bullysprat, the king of Codfish. 
 Would you wish to know the wherefore 
 The Pourqiioi the why and wherefore 
 You are plagued about a Codfish ? 
 I would answer, I would tell you
 
 io6 
 
 In the oil of codfish liver 
 
 Dwells the Manito of healing, 
 
 Gitche Sanitas the healer, 
 
 He the mighty health restorer. 
 
 Do you ask me who discovered 
 
 In his dark and greasy dwelling, 
 
 In the oily Codfish liver 
 
 Gitche Sanitas, the healer ? 
 
 I would tell 3'ou, I would answer 
 
 In the days of Pterodactyl, 
 
 In the wondrous days of darkness, 
 
 In the days of flying lizards, 
 
 In the Oolitic era 
 
 Ere was born the huge Dinornis 
 
 Ere the Mastodon was thought of. 
 
 When the fish were mighty rulers. 
 
 And when none were there to fr}' them, 
 
 Lived King Bullysprat the Codfish ; 
 
 And a secret burned within him 
 
 Which he dared divulge to no one 
 
 Lest his life should pay the forfeit. 
 
 Till one da}- confiding strictl}' 
 
 In a Lobster's great discretion 
 
 (Qiiite forgetting for the moment 
 
 That within his dusky cranium 
 
 Lodged a lady who could hear him 
 
 Who'd be sure to let the cat out) 
 
 Thus he told his fatal secret 
 
 " Hear me. Sable Crust the I.ohsU r, 
 
 Hear mc, sagest of crustaceans.
 
 I07 
 
 And be silent ! In the future, 
 In the dim and distant future, 
 In the kingdom of Postpona, 
 In the land of the Hereafter 
 Shall a queer and savage creature 
 Having two legs and no feathers, 
 Nor a tail to wag with pleasure 
 Nor to droop in grief and anguish, 
 On the earth set up his wigwam. 
 He shall suffer from diseases 
 And shall dig the earth for physic. 
 For Argentum, Plumbum, Zincum, 
 And Hydrargyrum and Cupruiu. 
 He shall cull the forest flowers. 
 Make infusions and decoctions. 
 Tinctures, pills and lotions, ointments, 
 Beastly nasty draughts and mixtures. 
 He shall try the Hydropathics, 
 Mesmerists, and crazed professors 
 Of infinitesimal nonsense, 
 Nor shall fail in every effort ; 
 For the cure of all his ailments 
 Lies just where he'd least expect it. 
 In my fat and oily liver, 
 In my horrid filthy liver, 
 In the liver of the Codfish, 
 Gitche Bull3'sprat, the Codfish ! " 
 
 And the Lobster took his Davy 
 He'd be silent as an oyster.
 
 io8 
 
 Yet before a week was over, 
 
 " Boil ine scarlet," quoth the babbler, 
 
 Babbling Sable Crust, the Lobster, 
 
 He the villainous deceiver, 
 
 Good in nothing but a salad. 
 
 He the tittle-tattling babbler 
 
 With the lady in his noddle,* 
 
 " Boil me scarlet, but I'll venture 
 
 Just to tell my friend the Herring ! " 
 
 And the Herring, Yarmouth Bloater, 
 
 Hated Bullysprat the Codfish, 
 
 For he'd gobbled up his father, 
 
 And his mother, and his brother, 
 
 And what's worst of all, his sweetheart. 
 
 So he thought 'twould serve him rightly 
 
 To inform his friend the Turbot. 
 
 And the Turbot told the PorpoivSe 
 
 (Very like a Whale was Porpoise), 
 
 And the Porpoise told the Sunfish. 
 
 And the Sunfish told the Mullt-t, 
 
 And the Mullet told the Whiting, 
 
 • When I wrote this I certainly thought that everybody knew ail 
 about the lady in the lobster's head, for from my youth up I have 
 thought the search for her hardly second to the eating of the rest of the 
 dainty crustacean. But I find I am mistaken, and that very few people 
 know even of her existence. Let me toll them how to find her. Take a 
 boiled lobster— or, better still, give me one — and in the so-called head I 
 shall find a membranous bag (the stomach). I slit it open and behold a 
 beautiful lady dressed in ivory and coral, reposing in a magnificent ivory 
 and coral chair. Vou keep the lady and I have the remainder as my 
 perquisite. The chair and the lady are really gastric teeth.
 
 log 
 
 And the Whiting told the Haddock, 
 And the Haddock told the Sturgeon, 
 And the vSturgeon took his T out 
 And became a learned surgeon. 
 (Fish as odd as he have taken 
 Out a Kill-and-Cure diploma 
 By a method quite as simple). 
 Well he knew the vast importance 
 Of the secret whispered to him 
 As a point of Therapeutics, 
 But as no man lived to tell it to 
 He told it unto no man. 
 Unto an Egg he told it 
 And the Egg brought forth a Starfish, 
 Asterias the vStarfish, 
 And the Starfish hatched a Mollusk, 
 And the Mollusk hatched a Lizard, 
 And the Lizard hatched a Dodo, 
 And the Dodo dropped an ovuiu 
 In the depth of a volcano. 
 The volcano shook and trembled 
 And lo ! a Mouse came from it ; 
 And the Mouse begat a Weasel, 
 And the Weasel bred an Otter, 
 And the Otter an Opossum, 
 And from him a grinning IMonkey, 
 And the Monkey a Gorilla. 
 And Gorilla reared an Aztec, 
 Yes, a wild and savage Aztec, 
 Yes, a biped without feathers.
 
 And the Aztec reared a Bushman 
 And the Bushman is our brother,* 
 And the brother of the author 
 Of the "Vestiges" you've heard of, 
 Who would tell 5'ou, if you asked him, 
 That the story of his being. 
 The development of Bushmen, 
 Is the same that I have told you. 
 
 Thus the Biped without feathers 
 
 Came to know the fatal secret, 
 
 And he made a line of catgut 
 
 Of the strong un^'ielding catgut 
 
 Pussyviscera the catgut aj 
 
 And a hook he baited deftly 
 
 With a patty made of oysters, 
 
 Yes, a tempting oyster patt5\ 
 
 In a punt he sat and angled 
 
 For Great Bullysprat, the Codfish, 
 
 Crying " Take my bait, oh Codfish, 
 
 Gitche Bullysprat, the Codfish!" 
 
 • A Note of Development. 
 Pace Lyell, Pace Darwin, 
 Pace "Vestiges," and others. 
 Whether Orthos, or Agnostics; 
 But if ultimate perfection 
 He development of spirit 
 At expense of flesh and matter. 
 May not much despised Ama-ba — 
 Of whose spirit no one knowcth 
 But whose flesh is next to nothing — 
 Be the outcome of the Aztec? 
 Not the Aztec of Am(elja. 
 
 (
 
 But the CodfivSh only ativSwered, 
 
 "See you further first, you blockhead, 
 
 What a fool you are to sit there ! " 
 
 Seven days he sat a fishing 
 
 With his mighty line of catgut, 
 
 And the tempting oyster patty 
 
 Ever fishing, ever crying 
 
 " Take my bait, oh! mighty Codfish, 
 
 Gitche Bullysprat the Codfish." 
 
 Till the Codfish, waxing angry. 
 Called aloud to the Sea Serpent, 
 Whom he thought to make a catspaw 
 Like the monkey with the chestnuts. 
 " Break the lubber's line, Kenabeek, 
 Mighty seven-league Kenabeek ! " 
 But Kenabeek onh' answered, 
 "If you want it broken- break it ! " 
 And sailed off to see the Yankees. 
 
 Seven weeks the patient biped, 
 Fished for Bullysprat, the Codfish ; 
 Ever fishing, ever crj'ing, 
 "Give me of thy oil, oh Codfish, 
 All thy oil, oh greasy Codfish." 
 And the Codfish muttered gruffly, 
 "You're a modest chap for certain, 
 Very modest your request is, 
 But I'd rather not, I thank you." 
 And lay sulking at the bottom ;
 
 112 
 
 Till one day he pricked his dorsal 
 Fin with Holdemfast, the Fish-hook. 
 Moved to savage indignation 
 Then he seized the oyster patty, 
 Yes! the patty made of 03'sters ; 
 And he pulled the line to break it, 
 But King Bullysprat was done for. 
 
 Yet from morning until sundown. 
 And from sundown until morning, 
 From dawn to latest midnight. 
 And 'twas pull devil and pull baker. 
 For three weary weeks together, 
 Till great Bullysprat, the Codfish, 
 Weak with struggling, fainting, failing, 
 Fell a victim to the biped. 
 
 I 
 
 Great Apollo, God of Physic, 
 
 Gitche Manito of Physic, 
 
 Looking down from high Olympiis 
 
 Saw the struggle of the Codfish, r 
 
 Of Great Bullysprat the Codfish, ■ 
 
 With his featherless opponent. 
 
 Like a very hot potato 
 
 Then he dropped the grand sonata 
 
 He was just about composing. 
 
 And vSlid down upon a rainbow 
 
 Like a great celestial spider ; 
 
 Straight he hung the mighty Biped
 
 113 
 
 In his fishing line of catgut, 
 
 Killed the Codiish, cut him open, 
 
 Put his liver in his pocket, 
 
 Saying — " Folks of the dark ages 
 
 Are not worth so rare a medicine, 
 
 So I'll save it for the people 
 
 Of the days of steam and rail-roads. 
 
 Telephones and light electric. 
 
 And I'll cure the later sages 
 
 Of the rheumatiz and phthisic. 
 
 Thus I name this mighty nostrum, 
 
 Oleum Jecoris Aselli." 
 
 Oil of Bullysprat, the Codfish ! 
 
 By Apollo's letters paieut. 
 
 Please observe the stamp — Beware, too, 
 
 Of all spurious imitations. 
 
 Envoi. 
 
 I have got your oil, oh sister ! 
 The Norwegian oil, oh sister ! 
 At just six and six the gallon. 
 'Tis the same, I'm pretty certain 
 As De Jongh, the arch imposter. 
 Sells at most unheard of prices 
 To the gaping British public. 
 Easy gulled, the English public. 
 Shall I send it by the railway, 
 By the Eastern Counties Railway, 
 I
 
 114 
 
 By the railwa}-, the dela3-er, 
 
 The eternal parcel-loser, 
 
 Puff and blow, the Eastern Railwaj- ? 
 
 Or shall I wait till either 
 
 Of our legalizing brethren, 
 
 The}-, the Manitos of ^lischief. 
 
 With their azure bags of wampum, 
 
 Take a trip by rail to Fritton, 
 
 Or will Sable-coat, the White-throat, 
 
 He, the mighty Fritton Rector, 
 
 Call and take it at the station ? 
 
 Will you tell me, will 3'ou answer ? 
 
 h'm'ember, 1855. 
 
 SONG OF "ANACHARIS ALSINASTRUM." 
 
 Oh my leaves are three together, oblong, serru- 
 late, obtuse, 
 
 Yet wherever I present nn-self I'm subject to 
 abuse 
 
 Though an unprotected female for my husband, 
 who's a Yankee, 
 
 Hasn't yet appeared in ]{ngland- though lie's 
 pretty well I thank ye. 
 
 'Tis hard, I think, that folks should liate me like 
 the rats and vermin, 
 
 I 'spect because my bifid si)atlie's much longer 
 than nty germen ;
 
 115 
 
 My stem is slim, my pretty whorls like Oregon 
 
 annexed, 
 Yet they seek to cast a stigma on my stigma so 
 
 deflexed ; 
 My sepals are diaphanous, incurved, and pink 
 
 externally. 
 But with all ray charms you Britishers detest 
 
 me most infernally. 
 I've travelled from Dunse Castle, what a dunce 
 
 was I to go there ! 
 Through Leicestershire to Swainsthorpe, on the 
 
 dreary brink of nowhere ; 
 And to give you folks in England here of enter- 
 prise a notion, 
 I'll next choke up the channels of the vast 
 
 Atlantic ocean, 
 To stop each British bull-dog, Spanish don, and 
 
 Gallic poodle 
 
 From crossing o'er to laugh and jeer at glorious 
 
 Yankee doodle. 
 
 Feb. ^th, 1854. 
 
 To the unbotanical reader the following note to the song above 
 may be useful : — The Anacharis Or Udora is a waterweed 
 unknown until lately in England, and which has probably been 
 accidentally imported from America with timber, &c. However its 
 sudden appearance here is to be accounted for, it is doubtless a very 
 troublesome visitor, as by its prodigious power of increase and its 
 unhappy knack of catching hold of everything with its countless hooks 
 it has already choked up to a very serious extent the midland canals, the 
 river Cam, and other important streams. Dunse Castle, near Berwick- 
 on-Tweed, was one of the first localities in which it appeared, and it has 
 lately started up in a most unaccountable manner in a small pond quite 
 unconnected with any navigable river at Swainsthorpe, a small village 
 about three miles south of Norwich. The female plant only is known in 
 this country; and the injury to navigation, &c., is already immense 
 I 2
 
 ii6 
 
 THE PENITENTS. 
 A True Story. 
 
 In d.a3'S when Georgius Tertin,s wore the ci'own 
 
 A worthj' surgeon * lived in Norwich town 
 
 Who an apprentice t or assistant had, 
 
 A reckless, idle, nierr3'-hearted lad, 
 
 Whose careless ways brought troubles rather 
 
 faster 
 Than was convenient to his lord and master. 
 An evil habit — now discreetly broken 
 Of uttering oaths with every sentence spoken 
 Reigned in those days ; and much it grieved the 
 
 Leech 
 That such a sen.seless vice should taint the speech 
 Of man and master both, — for well he knew it 
 The aj^e o{ one should lead him to eschew it; — 
 The youth of t'other ;— so with contrite heart 
 In which his 'prentice claimed to bear a part 
 They thus agreed — for every uttered oath 
 vSixpence to pay — and binding on them both ! 
 
 • My grandfather, Edward Colman, Esq., SurRcon to the N. & N. 
 Hospital. 
 
 t The late distinguished surgeon and excellent fellow, Bransby 
 Cooper, Esq. 
 
 k
 
 117 
 
 Pleased with the good resolve so wise and sound 
 The Doctor started on his daily round, 
 But short, alas ! his triumph — for 'twas o'er 
 E'en as he entered his first patient's door 
 With "How's your mistress ? how's your mistress, 
 
 nurse ? 
 Better I hope?" — "Better! good lord, she's 
 
 worse 
 With spasms 'orrible and pains excrunching 
 As if on arsenic pies she'd been a lunching, 
 And all along o' that there imp of evil 
 You calls your 'prentice — we tlie Doctor's devil, 
 Who's sent a pison lotion — though it say 
 " A wine glassful or so three times a day!" 
 Boiling with rage the Doctor homeward flew 
 Kicked at the surgery door, and bursting through 
 Banged it behind him with an echoing slam, 
 And yelled aloud a most sonorous " damn ! " 
 — -"That's sixpence, Sir," his worthy 'prentice 
 
 said, 
 I'll chalk it on the wall till it is paid; " 
 "No d — n it, Sir, I'm serious." — "That 's one 
 
 shilling, 
 I'll mark that too — that is unless you're willing 
 To pay at once." Then came a fearful oath 
 Which to describe both pen and ink are loth. 
 While cool as cucumber that 'prentice stood. 
 " Just eighteen pence," he said — out burst a flood 
 Which the recording angel hovering near 
 Let's hope has blotted with a kindly tear.
 
 Ii8 
 
 "Two shillings, half a crown, three, three and 
 
 six" — 
 The raging Doctor now at nothing sticks — 
 The 'prentice scoring shillings into pounds, 
 For greed and rage know neither check nor 
 
 bounds. 
 And so the sum increased from much to more 
 Till both exhausted swooned upon the floor ! 
 
 Next Sunday that appi'entice wore his best coat, 
 A dandy tie, and satin-flowered waistcoat, 
 A watch and seals — folks wondered at his dash 
 And where that whipper-snapper got his cash I 
 
 29//^ May, iSyo.
 
 119 
 
 THE ADVANTAGE OF SCIENCE. 
 
 The ruling passion, Sec 
 
 The learned Cuvier went down below 
 
 Where French philosophers are satd to go ; * 
 
 Howe'er that be, Old Nick delighted much 
 
 At getting such a savant in his clutch ; 
 
 So donning all authority and ease, 
 
 "Cuvier," said he, "go down upon your knees!" 
 
 "I'll see you further first," great Cuvier cried. 
 
 "Well then, I'll eat 3'ou up!" Old Nick replied. 
 
 "You eat me up," said Cuvier, with a smile 
 
 Taking a knowing glance at him the wdiile, 
 
 " You eat me up! now from such trash deliver us. 
 
 Horns and a cloven hoof / why, Sir, you're gram- 
 
 iniverous." 
 
 T. E. A., Oct., 1846. 
 
 * The joke is not mine, but is so good I thought it worth versifying. 
 A certain French philosopher wrote as follows:—" I, if I exist, leave 
 my soul, if I have a soul, to God, if there be a God."
 
 PROFESSOR TADPOLE. 
 
 A ditch! onh' a ditch! not a lake, nor a mere, 
 nor even a pond ! no, only a ditch — a long broad 
 ditch bj- a quiet road-side; but a very deep 
 ditch, and now in early April, as indeed at 
 all other times of the year, full of such clear, 
 pure water that it was a treat to the eye to 
 look into its crystal depth — a treat something 
 akin to looking up into the blue vault of 
 heaven (to compare great things with small) 
 and like // begetting a sort of dreaminess and 
 a thrill of indescribable happiness in the gazer ; 
 though I well know that there be gazers and 
 gazers, so 3'ou need not quote Wordsworth to me 
 to show that some folks would ha^•e passed my 
 ditch and seen "nothing more" in it than his 
 rustic saw in the " primrose by the river's brim." 
 What / saw in it was this — a wealth of bright 
 green foliage, the starwort and the young leaves 
 of the delicate water-ranunculus, long streamers 
 of rich mosses, and vast patches of soft 
 confervse, with here and there a budding mass 
 of ulva; and all set off to perfection by the 
 red-brown carpet of last autumn's leaves 
 which floored its (l(.'])l]is. lUil animal life 
 was scarce; onl}- a few minute water snails.
 
 a dozen or two merry whirligig beetles frivo- 
 lously frisking through their usual mystic 
 dance on the surface, or plunging down with 
 silver globes on their tails to astonish and dazzle 
 the natives below, and a score or two of early 
 tadpoles. The warm sun shone in among them, 
 to their unmistakable enjoyment and delight, 
 and the surface of the water was unruffled. As I 
 walked home my shadow stretched before me 
 just ninety measured feet, a fact which will hint 
 to the philosophical that the sun was setting and 
 that I was bending my steps eastward, and which 
 also served to impress me with a high and might}' 
 sense of the importance of humanity which was 
 not perhaps unconnected with my subsequent 
 reverie. My solitary walk had been a very 
 happy one, and my recollection purred over it 
 like a gratified cat even till my bed-time ; aye, 
 and longer too, for in my dreams I was gazing 
 with ni3^ binoculars into the bright waters — and 
 this is what I saw and heard. Under a canopy 
 of green callitriche a great meeting of the 
 ''■Royal Batrachian Society'''' was going on, and the 
 president, who was the "Tadpolean Professor of 
 Prehistoric Archaeology," was commencing his 
 address on the "-Origin and Descent of Tadpole.'' 
 The profundity of his thoughts, the boldness of 
 his theories, and the inimitable vagueness of 
 his hypotheses are so striking that I am in- 
 duced to give it without much abbreviation.
 
 122 
 
 "Friends, Potladles and Pol3^wiggles, the sub- 
 ject on which I desire to address you this 
 afternoon is the all important and all absorb- 
 ing- one: 'The Origin and Descent of Tadpole.' 
 Whence come we ? What are we ? Our past 
 and future are alike shrouded in mystery, and 
 their investigation is difficult and perplexing. 
 Thanks, however, to the piercing light of 
 modern science the mystery is not impenetrable, 
 nor the investigation hopeless. ' What a piece 
 of work is Tadpole ' we may well exclaim with 
 the poet ; seeing that in this vast world of 
 waters 7ue undoubtedly represent the last and 
 noblest development of organic forms —the ver- 
 tebrate batrachian ! Consider for a moment the 
 exquisite beauties of our ph5\sical development;" 
 (here the Professor expanded the broader part 
 of his potladle); "the comeliness of our figure " 
 (here he stretched himself to his full length or 
 a trifle beyond it) ; "the elegance of our wriggle" 
 (here his caudal extremity became spasmodic); 
 "the vastness of our intellect; and then our 
 Reason, which more than all elevates us above 
 all other organisms, and begets in us an inward 
 consciousness of superiority, and a firm con- 
 viction of a future state in which our already 
 beautiful bodies shall become more beautified, 
 and our mental cajiabilities further expanded." 
 (At this point the Professor assumed an air of 
 unmistakable sublimity). "But of this more
 
 123 
 
 anon ; let us dwell at present— an agreeable 
 task — on our own excellences and perfections. 
 What then is beyond the reach of our enormous 
 faculties ? Doth not the Tadpole eye distin- 
 guish objects at the most remote di.stances, say 
 of an inch-and-a-half radius, and in clear 
 weather two inches ? Is not its magnifying 
 power almost unlimited, equal say to a Smith 
 and Beck's eighth achromatic, aided by a 
 Wenham's parabolic reflector ? How else could 
 I distinctly see the exquisite markings on that 
 tiny Pleurosigma Formosum.* What fine names 
 these insignificant creatures give themselves to 
 be sure ! " (at this point there was some disturb- 
 ance caused by the unmannerly performances 
 of a couple of rotifers and the unpleasant jerk- 
 ings of a dozen ridiculous custard cups perched 
 on the tops of animated corkscrews, and known 
 under the name of vorticellae, which necessitated 
 police interference). "Doth not the Tadpole 
 ear distinguish sounds at even greater distances ? 
 Doth not his god-like form — Batrachian Verte- 
 brate as he is" (here the Professor struck an 
 attitude) "render him capable of travelling 
 prodigious distances — a yard or more this waj- 
 or that, of soaring to the surface of our watery 
 world, where ether alone limits our upward 
 
 * Married folks will learn with satisfaction from the name of this 
 simple diatom that even in very ancient times the genders could not 
 always agree.
 
 124 
 
 investigations, or of plunging to the depths 
 where the vast deposits of untold ages bar our 
 progress, though even here the philosophic 
 mind finds food for contemplation, for imme- 
 diatelj- below the mudd}- surface we fall in with 
 the debris of uncouth and gigantic forms un- 
 known to us as living since our appearance 
 here — now a full month ago ; * and described by 
 our geologists under such names as Dodnian- 
 nus, Sowbuggus, and the like ; of bones of 
 might}' and extinct vertebrates such as Water- 
 rattius, Stickle-baccus, an enormous and perfect 
 skelton of Pussj-tis Domesticus; and, most 
 interesting of all, as I shall shorth' show you, 
 the dried and flattened form of a true extinct 
 vertebrate Batrachian-Froggius Jumpaboutus. 
 There are distinct evidences that the present 
 order of things was immediately preceded b}- a 
 glacial period of almost incredible duration, 
 perhaps of man}- weeks, during which time the 
 pli3'sical condition of our waters, wliich are even 
 conjectured to have been solidified, were unfit 
 for the mainlenance of sncli exquisite organisms 
 as ourselves. Indeed the absence of all traces 
 of fossilized Tadpoles in the deepest mud exca- 
 vations at ])rcscnt made proves (if any i)roof 
 
 • See ihe Professor's learned " Dissertation on the condition of things 
 (if any?) in pre-mundane and antc-iiniversian times.' 
 
 Darwin said "it strikes me that all luir knowledge about the structure 
 of the earth is very much like what an old hen would know of a hundred- 
 acre field, in a corner of which she is scratchinj;."
 
 125 
 
 were wanting) that the greatest tritimph of 
 natures' handiwork — ourselves, and particularly 
 my-^€ii, was her last and perfect effort. In the 
 words of the poet — 
 
 ' Her prentice han' with grubs began, 
 And then she made the Tadpole oh ! ' 
 
 But here comes the great and difiicult question 
 which it is nij- object in this lecture to elucidate. 
 Did Nature really create Tadpole in his now 
 perfect form, or has he passed through various 
 stages of development, starting, say, from a con- 
 temptible monad, an imbecile poUiwiggle or a 
 filthy horse-leech, under the combined influences 
 of natural selection, Pangenesis, .survival of the 
 fittest, and all the rCvSt of it? Yes, my friends, it 
 is an unpleasant fact that the horse-leech was our 
 immediate ancestor." (Cries of Oh ! and Bosh !). 
 "You may cry 'Oh!' and also 'Bosh!' my 
 friends, but the fact remains. The slow, the 
 bloodthirsty, the unintellectual leech was our 
 immediate progenitor, and he in his turn was 
 developed through a line of slimy slugs and 
 other nasty forms from the active monad, or 
 the any-shaped amoeba. I have spoken of the 
 active monad, and I may here state by way of 
 parenthesis that a transposition in the letters 
 of the name may have taken place, and that 
 from his wandering habits the word ought to 
 be written «o;«ad." (Somebody here called out
 
 126 
 
 "no jnaiMer than yourself" — he was immediately 
 strangled). " Do 3'ou perceive that floating mass 
 of bright transparent jelly studded with in- 
 numerable black dots ? I consider those dots 
 to represent so many full stops showing the 
 boundary and limit of our powers of investiga 
 tion into our past history-, for when we step 
 beyond these full stops, which in reality are 
 precisely like the eggs in which we ourselves 
 were inclosed" (cries of " vShut up") "we find our- 
 selves immersed up to our third caudal vertebra 
 in theory and hN-pothesis. And when we once 
 come to this we lose our wits. We see, admire, 
 and fully appreciate great and magnificent 
 effects, and yet deny the existence of a cause ; 
 we perceive in everything the most exquisite 
 evidences of contrivance and intelligent design, 
 and yet stoutl}' deny the necessary inference of 
 an intelligent contriver and designer. Can 
 anything be more mad than this, my Brother 
 Potladles? But my mind begins to wander, and 
 a strange sensation overcomes me. Gracious 
 Goodness! I'm being developed! I feci as if 
 my tail were dropping off, and as if a couple 
 of hind legs were beginning to protrude from 
 my trousers pockets. A strange inclination to 
 croak * also comes over mc ! Moreover here 
 comes a frisky young eel who will infallibl}' 
 
 • This is a fatal warninR, for to ' Croak ' means to ifie. — 
 
 (Johnson, or oui^ht to be.)
 
 127 
 
 gobble lis all up, naturall}- selecting the fittest 
 and fattest of us, if we don't promptly vSke- 
 daddle — excuse the Americanism. I had a few 
 more remarks to make as to our immense 
 importance ' ' —but the .stampede had alread}' 
 taken place, and the fat and fit Professor him- 
 self alone fell a victim to the young eel's 
 voracity. 
 
 Hum! thought I, his la.st words were— "our 
 immense importance!" and yet he was only a 
 tadpole. Now /, a viau, made after God's 
 own image, am — 
 
 " ' Not of the importance you suppose,' 
 Replied a flea upon my nose ; 
 ' Be humble, learn thyself to scan, 
 Know — pride was never meant for man, 
 'Tis vanity tliat swells thy mind. 
 What ! heaven and earth for thee designed ! 
 For Ihee made only ! For our need, 
 That more important fleas might feed ! '" 
 
 Here I awoke with a vigorous rub at my 
 aquiline; caught and cracked the impertinent 
 quoter of Gay, and resolved to make another 
 pilgrimage to the charming ditch at an earl}- 
 opportunity, and see if the tadpoles had really 
 changed into frogs. 
 
 April 24///. 188S.
 
 128 
 
 WHIST. 
 
 The game of whist, the best of sports, 
 
 Is loved by great and small, 
 
 And he who cannot play at shorls 
 
 Can scarcely play at {t) all. 
 
 So listen to my simple rh5'mes 
 
 While I its laws reveal ; 
 
 A little error oftentimes 
 
 Will make j'ou lose a deal. 
 
 To life and whist this rule of old 
 
 Like sin to sorrow sticks, — 
 
 You seldom many honours hold 
 
 Without as many tricks. 
 
 And as we're taught by iNIr. Hoyle 
 
 To shuffle ere we plaj', — 
 
 So shuffling off this mortal coil 
 
 Man's life doth pass away. 
 
 In whivSt and trade the partners' end 
 
 Is profit to secure, — 
 
 When one his tricks begins, his friend 
 
 Will take them up, be sure. 
 
 But if the partners' aim has missed 
 
 And not attained their butt, 
 
 What do thej' do in life and wliist ? 
 
 Why generally — cut. — 
 
 Nov. 12///, 1846.
 
 129 
 
 EPITAPH ON A SPORTSMAN. 
 
 His horses cost him many hundred pounds, 
 He died of broken ribs and other shocks, 
 
 Lamented by his huntsman and his hounds, 
 His life's great end fulfilled — He canoht a fox ! 
 
 Nov. 1844. 
 
 WILLIAM TELL. 
 
 A Poem — though you might not think so. 
 
 Says Mr. Tell to Master Tell, 
 Though thou'rt a son of mine, 
 
 'Twould sure be better to hit thee 
 Than spoil that " Sops o'wine." * 
 
 Says Master Tell to Mr. Tell, 
 "'Tis but a Doctor Hai-vey!" 
 
 So Mr. Tell took aim so well, 
 He knocked it Topsy-tarvey ! 
 
 Nov. 1895. 
 
 EPITAPH ON A STILTON CHEESE. 
 
 Lamented Cheese, consumption's latest pre}-, 
 E'en I can envy thee thy fleeting da}-, 
 
 For man to nothing falls and dies away. 
 But thou grow'st mighty even in decay! 
 
 Written after my last luncheon off him, Ufarch \2th, 1845. 
 
 * The " Sops o'Wine " is an excellent eating apple, red throughout like 
 a blood orange, and with a rich vuious flavour which justifies its name. 
 It seems better known in East Anglia than elsewhere. 
 
 K
 
 I30 
 
 A VALENTINE. 
 
 What are valentines made of, made of? 
 What are valentines made of ? 
 Cupids and darts and little red hearts 
 Are some of the things that the3''re made of. 
 
 What are 3'oung ladies made of, made of ? 
 What are young ladies made of ? 
 
 Satins and sighs. 
 
 Smiles and bright e3'es, 
 Waltzes b}- vStrauss, and fits of h3-sterics 
 (Cured b3' the cold-water cure of empirics), 
 
 Acting charades 
 
 And visiting cards, 
 Cavatinas, worked .slippers, merinocs and lawns, 
 
 A new German song 
 
 Uncommonl3' long 
 Accompanied often b3' Schubert and 3^awns, 
 And little French words in little odd places 
 With ver3' odd genders and verx* odd cases; 
 Mix these all together, and soon 3-ou'll see how-a- 
 
 way's 
 Found out for making 3-()ung ladies of now-a- 
 
 davs. 
 Yet in generalizing at tliis rate, I fear I ill 
 Use one who's formed of much better material. 
 So according to recipe [inde above). 
 I'll write a few lines to the girl that I loi'i'. 
 And endeavour to shew in eacli word and each line 
 How much I esteem mv own fair Valentine : —
 
 131 
 
 Dear B 
 
 How can I to you impart 
 An idea of the hole that you've made in my 
 
 heart ? 
 How can my mournful and simply-told ditty be 
 Tender enough to induce you to pity me ? 
 My words seem at zero, my blood boils away 
 When to paint my true love, ox ymir worth, I essay. 
 By Cupid's swift arrow, believe me, I am shot 
 And can no more escape than a fly in a jam pot 
 (A simile much less refined than convenient, 
 But to poets in love you must always be lenient). 
 It was not 5^our form, which is not to be sneezed 
 
 at. 
 Nor your face, which all eyes that have seen must 
 
 be pleased at. 
 That set fire to my heart, put my nerves in a 
 
 thrill. 
 But, as Moore says, " 'Twas something" more ex- 
 quisite still." 
 'Twas all that is charming and pleasing, and 
 
 more. 
 Or to use a French phrase, 'twas a "yV ne sais qiioi!'' 
 If you love me as I love j^ou 
 No knife shall cut our love in two ; 
 If I love 3'ou let everj' line 
 Above bear witnCvSS — 
 
 Valentine. 
 
 K 2
 
 132 
 
 INQUEST ON LADY GALLINULE, OF BULL- 
 RUSH HALL, NEAR SCOLE. 
 
 , . . . 5'ou will be interested to hear the 
 particulars of a case which recently occurred in 
 my practice. 
 
 Mr. C who was strolling about his lawn 
 
 near the swamp which impinges on the land (?) 
 of Bull-rush Hall, found this poor lady, dead 
 and cold, lying on the grass with the nail and 
 forefinger of her left hand thrust into, and 
 firmly embedded in her throat; the skin of 
 which was perforated immcdiatel}* behind her 
 chin. It seemed clear that the poor lady, whose 
 mental balance had been disturbed, in all 
 probability by the Anglo- Portuguese question, 
 the influenza epidemic, or some such matter, had 
 in a rash moment committed suicide. 
 
 The body, however, was given over to my care 
 for further investigation, and the coroner com- 
 municated witli. On tlie following day an 
 inquest was held. The jury having viewed the 
 body, the coroner (.\. (iander, Ivsq.) said, that 
 under the circumstances it would be unnecessary 
 to detain them, as the case was evidently one of
 
 133 
 
 determined suicide, and he would ask the 
 gentlemen of the jury to return a verdict to 
 that effect. The Foreman having signified that 
 it would be satisfactory to summon certain 
 witnesses, Mr. Jeremy Jackass was called, but 
 refused to be sworn on the ground that he was 
 an "Atheist, and an Agnostic, don't-yer-know, 
 and all that sort of thing ! He could only say 
 that he was thistle-browsing near the spot where 
 the body was found, and as far as he could see 
 (which was about one inch before his face), there 
 was no reason to doubt that the lady died by her 
 own hand, particularly as her finger was found 
 in her throat. 
 
 A frog who was next put in the box " had 
 jumped to the same conclusion." At this point 
 the most sensible of the twelve jurymen ventured 
 to suggest that it might be satisfactory to call 
 the medical gentleman who had examined the 
 body, a course which was unwillingly assented 
 to by the Coroner, who said something about 
 expense to the county, and luncheon time ! 
 
 Dr. Drake, (don't say, 'quack, quack,') was 
 then sworn, and gave his evidence in such 
 admirably scientific language, that neither the 
 Coroner, nor the jurj^ nor the public, nor for 
 that matter the doctor himself could understand 
 one word of it. It chanced however that an 
 Interpreter was present who was familiar 
 with Dog-Latin, Gypsey-patter, Double-Dutch,
 
 134 
 
 Gibberish, and other languages, and he thus 
 explained it. The doctor had examined the 
 body about twelve hours after death, and had 
 found the forefinger of the left hand firmly 
 thrust into the windpipe through a wound which 
 had penetrated the coverings of the neck just 
 behind the nose. This of course looked like 
 suicide, but on further investigation, a blood 
 stain was found an inch and a-half further down 
 the neck, which he at first thought had been 
 caused by the penetration of the lady's sharp 
 nail through the skin ; on careful dissection 
 however this turned out not to be the case, for 
 the marks of teeth (doubtless those of a weasel), 
 were discovered, and it was plain that the poor 
 lady had been attacked by one of those ferocious 
 animals, and in her struggles to dislodge him 
 had inflicted the wound on her own throat. 
 
 The jury retired for three minutes, and then 
 returned a verdict of " Wilful murder against 
 some weasel or weasels unknown." Now this 
 case is true, in all its main facts, and I ask you 
 to consider its vast importance in a medico-legal 
 point of view. If an arrest is effected, the 
 defence will of course be that although the 
 deceased had undoubtedly I^clii attacked and 
 wounded by the prisoner, yet there was no proof 
 that the injur}^ inflicted was the cause of death. 
 On the contrary there is every reason to believe 
 that the wound in the windi)ipc, indisputably
 
 135 
 
 Self-inflicted, was the fatal one, The evidence 
 of no less than twelve eminent surgeons will be 
 taken, six of them positively swearing one way, 
 and half a dozen of them the other, so that the 
 result is uncertain I In this state of things 
 we would earnestly advise that the wretched 
 prisoner should be hung first and tried after- 
 wards ! 
 
 See "Lynch" on the advantages of early 
 capital punishment in doubtful cases. 
 
 Jan. 2yJ, 1890. 
 
 EPITAPH. 
 
 (By a Sufferer). 
 
 On Esqre. 
 
 He paid the debt of Nature — and Tis said 
 This is the only debt he ever paid. 
 
 (Jcr. ijs,t/i, 1 884. 
 
 At a Conceit, in llic Summer of 1894, our principal Singer 
 failed to appear. 
 
 Our Tenor cometh not, alack a-day ' 
 The even tenor of his way diverted ; 
 And we who go to concerts here at Diss, 
 Of course yoixTl guess were somewhat dis-concciied. 
 
 1894.
 
 136 
 
 MARGINAL NOTES. 
 
 The Author being an intense admirer of the "Ancient 
 Mariner " dareth to imitate Coleridge's notes. 
 
 The Doctor is bebothered before breakfast 
 by four or five patients, nevertheless he 
 keepeth his equanimity, 
 
 rideth out, 
 
 and wondereth when he 
 
 shall breakfast. 
 
 He is again bebothered by Miss Fozey, 
 Master James Slipper, 
 Mr. Fiddledumdee, 
 and Farmer Smith. 
 He maketh up his medicines and 
 muttereth aloud in dog-latin, and also 
 in English, his prescriptions — 
 — He wondereth when he shall dine.
 
 137 
 
 SURGERY LYRICS, OR THE PLEASURES 
 OF COUNTRY PRACTICE. 
 
 Please, Sir, you're wanted to go up to Huggins's, 
 Three of the boys in convulsions are lying. 
 Then if you please after calling at Muggins's, 
 Mrs. Smith's sick, and the baby's a dying. 
 
 Very well, very well, take out the physic, 
 
 Don't lose a minute, but saddle the Bay; 
 
 Three with the spasms, and four with the 
 Phthisic ! 
 
 — -Wonder what time I shall breakfast to day .'' 
 
 Please, Sir, Miss Fozey has got the lumbago. 
 And Master James Slipper has broken his nose, 
 May Mr. Fiddledumdee eat some sago ? 
 And please, Sir, a mare has smashed farmer 
 Smith's toes. 
 
 Very well, very well, — ^Jalap, Potassa, 
 Rhubarb, Hydrargyrum, Myrrh and Quinine, 
 Sachari albi two drachms, fiat niassa — 
 — Wonder at what time I'm likely to dine !
 
 138 
 
 Miss Jones is astonished ! 
 
 and gently but cleverly reproveth 
 
 the Doctor for his neglect ; 
 
 seeketh information on an important point. 
 
 The Doctor apparently keepcth his equanimity, 
 
 and apologizeth to the ancient damsel, 
 
 giveth the required information, 
 
 but giveth vent to an unholy wish.* 
 
 A "gratis" patient sendcth 
 
 and stateth 
 
 that the Doctor's medicine 
 
 hath killed her. 
 
 The Doctor keepcth his equanimity and 
 
 moralizeth, 
 — Wondcrcth what time he shall sup. 
 
 * Kor which unholy wish tiio author wondcrclh that the Doctor was 
 not doomed to wear Miss Jones round his neck. Woiild'st thou rather 
 lie the Doctor with a Miss Jones, or an Ancient Mariner with aji 
 albatross? Echo answereth — With an albatross ! ! !
 
 139 
 
 Please, Sir, Miss Jones is surprised you've not 
 
 been to her, 
 Saj'S, she supposed that 30U must have been ill; 
 Thought that // not, you would surely have seen 
 
 to her ; 
 Wants to know how she's to swallow the pill. 
 
 Very well, very well, tell her my sorrow, 
 Say it was far from my wish to provoke her, 
 The pill in some jam, and I'll call in 
 
 to-morrow, 
 Drat the old woman, I wish it may choke her. 
 
 Please, Sir, the woman you physic for nothing 
 Has just sent up word by her daughter IMatilda, 
 And says that all day she's been gasping and 
 
 puf&ng. 
 And please Sir, she thinks that your mixture has 
 killed her. 
 
 V^ery well, very well, that they call gratitude. 
 
 Tell the poor girl that I'll shortly step up. 
 
 Charity! wide as the world is thy latitude! 
 
 — Wonder what time of the night I shall sup !
 
 140 
 
 The doctor 
 
 is awakened from his first sleep 
 
 and hath the prospect 
 
 of a delightful journey, 
 
 But he keepeth his equanimity 
 
 and yet he wondereth 
 
 if Job was a country doctor, 
 
 and if so draweth a conclusion. 
 
 The author sweareth 
 
 that nothing is exaggerated, and 
 
 signeth himself 
 
 A Member of the Royal College of Surgeons. 
 
 He kindly prescribeth 
 for his Reader.
 
 141 
 
 Please, Sir, you've got to get up and to ride 
 Just past the sixth milestone on Slobbervvash 
 
 Moor, 
 For old Squire Grunt has a pain in his side, 
 And his man's got a lantern and horse at the 
 door. 
 
 Very well, very well, bed was just warming ; 
 
 Snow, too, and .sleet from a pitchy black sky. 
 
 If Job practised physic without ever storming, 
 
 Shoot me if he hadn't more patience than I! 
 
 Oh doubt me not, reader — I've said what the 
 
 fact is, 
 I've given no overdrawn case of distress, 
 But merely set down what I've oft seen in 
 
 practice ; 
 All this do I swear to!— Signed— M.R.C.S. 
 
 Senna, Ivythargyrum, oil of sweet marjoram, 
 Pulvis emeticus, Haustus sudaticus, 
 Sumbul with fox}- smell, syrup and ox3'mel. 
 Wondrous dispensing by prentice commencing! 
 
 Gentle reader, if thine eyes are red with weep- 
 ing at our hard lot allow me to prescribe for 
 thee! 
 
 The Eye Water to be itsed 
 frequentU'. 
 
 1847.
 
 142 
 
 THE SONG OF THE PILL. 
 
 With face so weary and worn, 
 With e3'elids heavy and red, 
 A "Doctor'" sat in his shal)by okl coat 
 Making a bohis of bread. 
 
 Mix, pill, mix. 
 With rhubarb, magnesia, and squill. 
 And still with a voice of doloroiis pitch 
 He sang this song of the pill. 
 
 Ride, ride, ride, 
 Kre the cock is ci'owing aloof; 
 
 And mix, mix, mix, 
 Till the fumes mount up to the roof. 
 Ointment, powder, and draught. 
 Gentian, soda, and squill. 
 Making at once for your patient's use 
 A shroud as well as a ])ill. 
 
 Stir, stir, stir. 
 Till the mortar begins to spin ; 
 
 And mix, mix, mix. 
 Till all's forgotten that's in; 
 Zinc and alum and tar, 
 Journeys, attendance, and craft. 
 Till over the lotion I fall asleep, 
 And send it out as a draught—
 
 143 
 
 Oh ! man with fancies and gout, 
 
 Oh, maids with pains in the head, 
 
 They are not pills that you're taking there, 
 
 But little knubbles of bread. 
 
 Ride, ride, ride, 
 In swamp, in shower, and dirt, 
 Damping at once to the innermost thread 
 The spirits as well as the shirt. 
 
 O ! but to sit for an hour 
 
 With feet tucked under the grate 
 
 Where never a night bell's sound was heard, 
 
 When the pillow has eased one's pate ; 
 
 For only one short daj' 
 
 To feel as I used to feel, 
 
 Ere yet I had made ten patients away 
 
 Or choked mj'self with my meal. 
 
 With face so weary and worn. 
 With e3-elids heavy and red, 
 A parish "Doctor'' gloomih' sat 
 Making a bolus of bread. 
 
 Mix, pill, mix. 
 For all the paupers are ill. 
 And still with a voice of an ill-paid tone 
 (Would that the guardians had heard the moan) 
 
 He sang the " Song of the Pill." 
 
 March 2^eJi, 1849.
 
 144 
 
 BRITISH BULL DOGS AND KILKENNY 
 CATS. 
 
 The dogs and the cats lived a cat-and-dog life, 
 
 For the dogs laid down the laws ; 
 
 The}' were bull dogs of fighting British blood, 
 
 Knowing nothing of cattish wa3S ; 
 
 And the cats were the famed Kikenn\'* brood. 
 
 Which scratch for scratch repa3-s : 
 
 So puss3''s compliance was spits and defiance, 
 
 With liberal use of her claws. 
 
 Such bowlings and growlings, and swearing, and 
 
 strife, 
 Mr. Mallockwouldsay'"notworth living'' such life ! 
 But a wise old Feller was passing b^-, 
 With his axe, and his collars up ever so high ; 
 He was thinking of Ireland's troubles and woes. 
 And his thoughts got a little mixed up, I suppose ; 
 For he said, said he, this must not be — 
 'Tis idle to look for content and repose 
 While A snarles at B, and B scratches A's nose : 
 So awa}- with \'our dog legislation ; 
 Let puss make her laws for her kits and lierself, 
 Put malice and hate high away on the shelf, 
 While you defend all witli your arms and 3'our 
 
 pelf. 
 Then, if Justice and .Mercy go liaud in liand, 
 You'll settle your (juestions of tenants and land, 
 A united and happy nation. 
 
 " Let them govern themsL-lvcs in l)oiii senses, aiui show nicii. the tale 
 of tlie tails is a myih. -/i/'sif oi/ieti-
 
 145 
 
 HIGH CLASS (Ai) BOTANY. 
 
 About to be published in the new series of " Papers for 
 Thoughtful Girls." 
 
 QviCvStion I. What is the origin of the term 
 ' Efidogenons' ? 
 
 Answer. As Adam and Eve were walking 
 together in the garden the former nudged the 
 latter, and spying the serpent in the tree of 
 knowledge, whispered— "I say Eve, there's N . . . 
 (meaning Nick) dogin' us. Eve always after 
 called it the "N-dogin-us tree." 
 
 Q. 2. What is a boot tree ? 
 
 A. 2. A member of the slm-viac family. 
 
 Q. 3. Now describe a Whipple-tree. 
 
 A. 3. It is closely connected to the Horse-tails 
 (EquivSetaceae). 
 
 Q. 4. What is your opinion respecting Jack's 
 Bean-stalk? 
 
 A. 4. That it was not a bean at all— the name 
 'Faba' being probably a corruption of the word 
 'Fable.' Its climbing stem must have been 
 composed of an infinite number of 'Scalariform ' 
 (ladder-like) vessels growing end to end (so as to 
 enable its proprietor to ascend to an enormous 
 height) and of a few cells, the biggest of which 
 fell to the lot of Jack's parents when they found 
 I,
 
 146 
 
 lie had bartered tlieir valuable cow for it's 
 worthless seed. 
 
 Q. 5. Of what use is the Pisum Maritimum ? 
 
 A. 5. To make Pea-jackets for Mariners, I 
 suppose. 
 
 Q. 6. What plant is alluded to in the follow- 
 ing' beautiful verse — 
 
 "It grew and it grew till it reached the church top, 
 It grew and it grew much higher. 
 
 And it twined itself into a true lovej'er's knot, 
 All true loveyers for to admire." 
 
 A. 6. Most likely a clematis, which onlj^ means 
 a "climber-'tis." 
 
 Q. 7. What did Shakespeare mean by find- 
 ing — "Tongues in trees, and books in the 
 running brooks"? 
 
 A. 7. It is all a mistake. In ni}' Folio of six- 
 teen hundred and odd, the "old common tater" 
 has it cori'ectly — thus — "Finds dooks in trees" — 
 doubtless alluding to the ///>e'r which underlies 
 the outer bark. As for the "Tongues in the 
 running brooks" 3'ou must of course look for 
 them in the inoutli of the stream. 
 
 Q. 8. What is a Radicle— 
 
 A. 8. Oh! if you're going to talk politics, 
 teacher, I shut up— for I'll have nothing to say 
 to your Radicals. -Not I ! ! ! 
 
 Finis, in a huff !
 
 
 <^ 
 
 >^ 
 
 
 
 / 
 
 < fv 
 
 
 
 r
 
 Pilose Oepsiiiicafions and 
 ^ponslaiions. 
 
 THE YOUNG MARINE AT HANGO-HEAD. 
 
 (See the letter extracted from the Boston Guardian of 
 July 5th, 1854). 
 
 We landed on the Finnish shore 
 
 And straggled from our boat, 
 To guard oiir seamen while they took 
 
 The batter3''s guns afloat. 
 
 From out a copse the Russians stole, 
 
 I marked my man full well. 
 Took stead}' aim— a moment passed 
 
 And like a stone he fell. 
 
 A broadside from our frigate then 
 
 Flew thick among the wood, 
 And where they went God knows, but none 
 
 Were standing where they stood. 
 I, 2
 
 148 
 
 And where was now m^' enemy ? 
 
 A vStrange resistless force 
 Drew me to him, and savage hate 
 
 Was changed to deep remorse. 
 
 Oh ! 'twas a feeling dread and new 
 
 Even in mortal strife, 
 That I with vengeful hand could take 
 
 A fellow-creature's life ! 
 
 Far more I feared the bleeding form 
 
 That stretched before me lay, 
 Than the j-oung soldier who but now 
 
 Full eager, sought the fray. 
 
 I dropped beside him on my knees, 
 ]My heart seemed flowing o'er, 
 
 And tears gushed freely from my e5'^es 
 As ne'er the}^ gushed before. 
 
 He looked not like a foeman now, 
 
 And with a comrade's ej'e 
 I marked his pale but manl}' brow. 
 
 And heaved a brother's sigh. 
 
 He grasped my hand ; thank God, he saw 
 
 No spot of murderous red. 
 But in its place a stainless drop. 
 
 In truest sorrow shed.
 
 149 
 
 He pointed where his comrades lurked, 
 
 He pointed to the shore, 
 And seemed to say, " now save thyself. 
 
 But uttered nought but gore. 
 
 A gun was fired from our ship 
 
 To call her scattered crew, 
 And ere its thunder-roll had ceased 
 
 His spirit upward flew. 
 
 O, could I with ni}^ life have bought 
 
 The life I'd snatched away, 
 Full willingly I then had sought 
 
 My blood for Jiis to pay. 
 
 With thoughts of fame and victory 
 
 I tried itiy heart to cheer ; 
 But these all seemed so far away 
 
 And the dead man so near ! 
 
 Almighty God ! I humbly pray 
 
 That (all my sins forgiven) 
 We yet may meet when strife is o'er 
 
 As faithful friends in Heaven. 
 
 Tpih Jtdy, 1854.
 
 150 
 
 ALABASTER BOXES OF HUMAN SYMPATHY. 
 
 Versified from a passage by an unknown Author. 
 
 Keep not your stores of love and tenderness 
 In alabaster boxes closelj^ sealed 
 Until your friends are dead, but fill their lives 
 With sweetness; speak approving, cheering 
 
 words 
 While 3'et their ears can hear them ; while their 
 
 hearts 
 Can yet be thrilled b}- them, and happier made. 
 The kind and loving things 3'Oit mean to sa}' 
 When they are gone, saj^ now before they go. 
 The flowers you mean to strew their coffins with 
 Send now to sweeten and adorn their homes 
 Before they leave them. If my friends possess 
 In Alabaster boxes laid awaj- 
 Rich perfumes of warm sympathy and love 
 Which thej' intend when I am dead to break 
 Over my senseless body — I would say, 
 Open them now, and with their sweetness cheer 
 My weary, troubled hours, while yet I live. 
 Rather a coffin witliout wreath or flower, 
 A stone without an epitaph, than life 
 Without the sweetness of abiding love. 
 Let us anoint our friends before they leave 
 For their long journey hence. Remember this - 
 Love after death can cheer no burdened mind, 
 And flowers on the coffin cast no charm. 
 No fragrance backward on the wear^' way.
 
 151 
 
 EVOLUTION. 
 
 " There is a natural body, and there is a spiritual body. 
 
 Howbeit, that was not first which is spiritual, but 
 
 that which is natural, and afterward that which is spiritual." 
 
 Let your imagination do its best 
 To summon up the past of glorious nature ; 
 The mystic panorama of its birth 
 In starry nebulae : some specks of which 
 Conjoined, consolidated, formed our earth 
 With oceans interspersed and lights to rule 
 The night and cheerful day ; then run the eye 
 Through ^^ons past, when simple living things 
 Begat dread monsters whose gigantic forms. 
 Unknown to man, lie buried in the rocks. 
 With plants and trees all strange and wonderful. 
 Watch the majestic drama, scene by scene. 
 And act by act, unfolding. Realize 
 That one great Power, and one great Power alone, 
 Has marshalled in this mighty spectacle 
 With all its varied figures; One Great Hand 
 Has carried out their transformations; One 
 And one alone high Principle controlled 
 Each plot and circumstance. The same great 
 Law
 
 152 
 
 Patient and unobtrusive shaped the whole 
 From its beginnings in bewilderment 
 And dreary chaos, to its glorious End 
 In order, harmony, and perfect beauty- 
 Then watch the curtain drop, and as it moves 
 To rise again — behold upon the stage 
 Another actor? — silently and still. 
 As all great changes come, it takes its place 
 As Mental E^wlution, and succeeds 
 Organic Progress, which must henceforth lie 
 In the far background with forgotten things. 
 Man, in the foreground stands erect, — and lo! 
 A new thing — God's own Spirit — strives within 
 him. 
 
 Versified from Druniinoiui'' s " Ascent of Man,'' end of 
 Cluipter III. Diss, Oct. 15///, 1894.) 
 
 HEAVEN. 
 
 A land of beauty — For myself I love 
 To fancy heaven much like our present earth. 
 But free from imperfections. If we reach. 
 Or let me rather phrase it — When we reach 
 That country, it will be in glorious form — 
 Yet in the bod}-, puriiicd and clean. 
 Abriighty God, who made the earth for man,
 
 i53 
 
 Body and soul, pronounced it " very good;" 
 
 Nor can I in my fanc}'' conjure up 
 
 A place more fitted for man's happiness 
 
 (If we were only sinless, loving God, 
 
 And in God loving too his fellow man) 
 
 Than this same earth. And God too has prepared 
 
 Man's home in heaven, will He not pronounce 
 
 // also " very good" ? We Christian men 
 
 jVIight long for Heaven more truly, and might 
 
 strive 
 With firmer resolution to attain 
 Its great reward, if we at once put off 
 The childish notion, got I know not how. 
 Of flying in the air, with nought to do 
 But singing songs of praise, like human birds. 
 Why not suppose that all that's bright and pure. 
 All that delights and makes us happy here. 
 Music and learning, art, and trees, and flowers, 
 The joys of home, sweet converse with our 
 
 friends, 
 All that is innocent and fair and good 
 Will be the promised, perfect bliss of heaven? 
 
 Versified from Blakelock's " Coinuig to Christ P 1892.
 
 154 
 
 (The Idea from Fontenelle's " Entretiens sur la pluralite 
 des niondes.") 
 
 Each blooming" rose left record of its fleeting 
 
 summer day 
 Ere twilight stole the fragrance from its fallen 
 
 flower away. 
 And the first rose in the garden praised the 
 
 wisdom and the care 
 Of the good and skilful gardener who had trained 
 
 her branches there. 
 Nay more, had left his portrait and described his 
 
 person too. 
 And the picture and description l)oth were of the 
 
 roses' hue. 
 Ten thousand roses' ages now have passed away 
 
 and gone, 
 Yet the portrait and its history to each fragile 
 
 flower are known, 
 And thus they sa}- — "'tis clear that in the 
 
 memor}' of the rose, 
 Saving a furrow here, this face no alteration 
 
 knows. 
 Our gardener is ininioiial then, for as of old we 
 
 see 
 His form to-day, and (loul)tless thus it evermore 
 
 shall be!" 
 
 * Uc mcmoirc dc Rose on n'a point vii monrir le J:iiilinicr.
 
 155 
 
 Oh man, whose life is as the rose, whose little 
 
 day is spent 
 In the record of th}^ story — dost thou watch the 
 
 firmament ? 
 Dost view the countless sitns above with con- 
 templative eye 
 And say — "All men shall perish, but behold 
 
 eternity ? " 
 Forget not that a Pleiad's gone, that stars which 
 
 once were bright 
 E'en in our father's memory have vanished from 
 
 our sight. 
 So thoughtful men and roses in their short and 
 
 fleeting day 
 
 May in the stars — and gardener too — find traces 
 
 of decay. 
 
 Diss, jfiaie gt/i, 1862. 
 
 These ideas arc taken from various aulhors. 
 
 The dim and bounded intellect of man 
 Doth rarely prosper when it seeks to scan 
 And dogmatize on mattei's infinite; 
 Vast and minute alike elude his sight, 
 
 [Boyle.
 
 156 
 
 Who, his Creator's ways would well discern 
 Must to great Nature's sacred temple turn 
 Bible in hand, — and meekl}- wisdom learn. 
 
 {French of GaeJe.) 
 
 In the still hours of Life man's talent forms, 
 His CJiai acter shoots forth amid its storms. 
 
 {Goethe.) 
 
 To know our God is learning's noble end. 
 And then our knowledge in His love to spend ; 
 And this we may attain the nearest way 
 By seeking virtue's footsteps day by day. 
 
 ( Miitoii's prose. ) 
 
 There is a knowledge which creates a doubt, 
 And nought but larger knowledge helps it out; 
 The man who, faltering, stops in middle way 
 Perplexed and troubled meets his dying day. 
 
 {Sharon Ttirner.) 
 
 Our great philosophers do easih- 
 
 Bear sorrows past, or sorrows jet to be, 
 
 '^wt present woes do vex them grievously. 
 
 {La Rochefoucauld.) 
 
 Men, for the most jjart, rarel}' silence break 
 When vanit}' bestirs them not to speak. 
 And some prefer themselves ill names to call 
 To never speaking of themselves at all. 
 
 {Idem.)
 
 157 
 
 Mere contact with fair Nature — issuing forth 
 
 Into the free and open air, doth give 
 
 A soothing sense of cahnness to the heart, 
 
 And still the boisterous passions of mankind. 
 
 'Tis felt bj' all — no matter of what clime, 
 
 Or what degree of culture we enjo}-. 
 
 That which is grave and solemn is derived 
 
 From the presentiment- of ruling law. 
 
 Of perfect order, and .supreme control. 
 
 Which simple outward nature doth inspire. 
 
 — It is derived too from a contrast made 
 
 Between our finite being and the sense 
 
 Of vast infinity, which everj'where 
 
 Doth press upon our thoughts, when we regard 
 
 The stany depths of Heaven, — the boundless 
 
 plain, 
 Or ocean's blue horizon, dinil}- seen. 
 
 {Hiiiiiboldt' s Cosmos). 
 
 The saddest tears shed over graves are those 
 
 Which fall for words unsaid, and deeds undone; 
 
 "She never knew I loved her so," or "he 
 
 Knew not how much he was to me," and yet 
 
 I always meant while he was with us here 
 
 To make more of his friendship; oh "tis strange 
 
 How little I suspected — 'till he died, 
 
 The pang of losing him. Too late ! too late ! " 
 
 Such thoughts are poisoned arrows which grim 
 
 death 
 Shoots backward at us from the silent tomb. 
 
 {Mrs. H. B. Stozcis ''Little Foxes.")
 
 158 
 
 Faith, Hope, and Love ! and of these three the 
 
 greatest. Love, we prize ; 
 For Faith and Hope are but the wings which 
 
 Love the Seraph plies. 
 
 (" Life Tlioiiglits y) 
 
 As birds in transmigration feel the charm 
 
 Of southern lands, and gladly spread their wings 
 
 T'wards the bright realms of light and bloom — 
 
 so we 
 In the dark hour of death ma^' feel with J05' 
 Solicitations of the life beyond ; 
 And from the chilly shadow of the earth 
 Soar high, and singing fold our wings to rest 
 In the bright summer of eternal heaven. 
 
 {Ibid.) 
 
 I've seen luxuriant grasses growing up 
 
 E'en from the tops of graves; and sweetest 
 
 flowers 
 
 Bursting from out the crevices of tombs. — 
 
 And then I've thought of the fair life of those 
 
 Who, born in sin, and sinning in their 3'outh, 
 
 Have found the error of their ways, and walked 
 
 In the sweet paths of virtue -for the corpse 
 
 With its corruptions and its wasting flesh 
 
 Lay 'neath the fragrant flowers.— Yet ere long 
 
 That corpse shall ]>crish with its crumbled tomb, 
 
 And nought sliall mark its i)lacc l)ut fruitful 
 
 l)loom. 
 
 {Idea partly J loin '"Life I'houghts.''')
 
 159 
 
 lyOve, in this world, is like a precious seed 
 Brought from the sunny south, and planted here 
 Where winter comes too soon. It cannot spread 
 In flower clusters and wide-twining vines, 
 So that the world may taste its sweet perfume. 
 But there will be another summer j'et! 
 Care for the root then, nurse it tenderly. 
 And God will bid it blossom by and b3-e. 
 
 {10 id.) 
 
 We ought to love our life, and to desire 
 To live as long as God shall deem it well. 
 But let us not encase ourselves in time 
 So firmly that we cannot break its crust, 
 And throw our shoots out for the other life. 
 
 [Ibid.) 
 
 Time guides our hands, and aided thus we write 
 Our Journals day by day, —and they are true; 
 The falsest one among us nought but truth 
 Can enter on these pages — nought omit. 
 Nought soften, or disguise. Oh God, do thou 
 Temper Thy justice with a Father's love 
 When Thou shalt read mj' life's sad history. 
 
 {/l.id.) 
 
 When Love is in the heart, then in the ej-es 
 Are rainbows, gilding with their gorgeous d^'es 
 The murky clouds that ever threatening rise. 
 
 {/did.)
 
 i6o 
 
 Unloving words are meant to make tis kind, 
 Dela5'S teach patience, and care fosters faith ; 
 While press of business makes us look for time 
 To give to God, and disappointed hopes 
 Are special messengers to mortals given, 
 Calling our thoughts from earth, to rest in 
 
 Heaven. 
 
 {Elizabeth M. Srwell.) 
 
 TRANSLATION FROM HORACE. ODE XXII. 
 LIB. I. 
 
 "An .\ristium Fuscum." "Integer viTiE." 
 
 He that is pure of heart and knows no guiling 
 Needs neither Moorish javelins, nor the bow ; 
 Useless to him were .sheaves of poisoned arrows 
 
 Loading" his quiver; 
 
 Wlicther his way o'er Lybian desert wending, 
 Or frozen Caucasus' unfriendly snows. 
 Or by thy dark and fa1)lc-teeming waters, 
 
 Golden Hydaspes. 
 
 NoTH.— My brother w.-intiiiK English words to "Integer vitae" to 
 print opposite the L.-iiin ones of Fleming's exquisite part song, we both 
 set to work. My attempt is above. It was my aim to translate as 
 literally as possible, and above all to preserve the metre with its rhyme- 
 less lines generally ciuling with a ilissyllabic word.
 
 i6i 
 
 Lately in Sabine woods my footsteps strajdng, 
 Singing of Lalage, I knew not whither, 
 Swiftl}' a wolf fled from me, greatly fearing 
 
 Me all tmarmdd. 
 
 Raging and gaunt, no brnte more fierce and cruel 
 Fell Daunias nourished in her beechen groves, 
 Nor Juba, arid nurse of hungry lions 
 
 Savagely roaring. 
 
 Place me where never graceful branches waving 
 Pla}' in the breathings of the sunlit air, 
 Or where the lurid clouds descend in tempest 
 
 Jupiter ruling : 
 
 Place me beneath the sun's intemperate burning, 
 On .scorching plains, where men ne'er make their 
 
 dwelling ; 
 Still will I love m^- Lalage, my darling, 
 
 Lalage smiling. 
 
 Nov. \a,th, 1884. 
 
 M
 
 1 62 
 
 "INTEGER VITyE." 
 (Christian Form). 
 
 He that is pure and hateth all things evil 
 Needs not with mail his honest strength en- 
 cumber, 
 Needs not the deadly sword or shining buckler's 
 Breadth to protect him ; 
 
 Whether in wilds where savage wolves are 
 
 howling. 
 Or gloomy haunts where fiercer brigands linger. 
 Or on the field by battle-strife ensanguined 
 I'earless he wanders. 
 
 Once roaming free b}- rock and frowning forest 
 Wolf-like the tempter dogged ni>- careless stray- 
 ing. 
 Straightway I raised my song of praise, and 
 Satan 
 
 Trembled and fled me. 
 
 Place me mid terrors — thrust me 'mong the lions. 
 Let murderous steel my fragile body sever, 
 Yet still my Soul shall sing in praise unceasing 
 (iod mv Creator :
 
 i63 
 
 Place me in scorching heat, in withering- cold- 
 ness, 
 Cast me on ocean's never-resting- waters 
 Still shall my Spirit laud my Sweet Redeemer 
 Jesus my Saviour. 
 
 Yet leave me not alone thou Spirit Holy, 
 For I am weak, unaided by Thy power; 
 Dwell in me, Lord, thou Comforter Almighty, 
 So I am fearless. 
 
 Nov. 18//^, 1884. 
 
 DEDICATION TO FAUST. 
 {Goethe). 
 
 Unfixed and faltering forms, you come again, 
 You that long since my troubled sight did greet; 
 Do I yet seek your misty shapes to gain ? 
 Leans yet my heart to some unknown conceit ? 
 You still approach — then unresisted reign. 
 As j-e in mist and cloud around me meet. 
 My bosom, as in youth, heaves once again 
 With magic breath that trembles round your 
 train. 
 
 M 2
 
 164 
 
 The forms of other da^-vS yoii lead along, 
 And man}- a well-loved shadow rises near 
 Like to an old and half-forgotten song. 
 FirvSt love and friendship hand in hand appear; 
 Pain comes anew, bewailing every wrong 
 Of life's confused and many changing 3'ear, 
 And names the good who of the cheerful light 
 By fate deprived, have vanished from mj' sight. 
 
 You cannot now the following numbers hear, 
 You who long since received my early la}'- ; 
 No more I see the friends who once were dear ; 
 M}^ song's first echo now has died away. 
 To unknown multitudes my lays appear, 
 Whose very praises my sad heart dismay ; 
 And the)' who first delighted in ni}- song 
 Wander — if living — distant lands among. 
 
 Once more a long forgotten wish I feel 
 
 Pensive to tread the vSpirifs magic ground, 
 
 As softth' ^olean harp's sweet murmurs steal. 
 
 So half expressed my numbers hover round. 
 
 I tremble, and in vain my tears conceal. 
 
 Now to soft feeling yields my heart's firm 
 
 bound. 
 
 What I behold, illusive seems to be. 
 
 And what is not, appears reality. 
 
 Sept. 2n,i, 1842.
 
 i65 
 
 THE SUN-DIAL. 
 
 " Iloras non numero nisi serenas.'' — Old Motto. 
 
 I count the hours by joyous sunshine made, 
 
 The rest lie unrecorded in the shade. 
 
 Jicne, 1878. 
 
 THE WEST. 
 
 From tlie German of AlatUiisson. 
 
 Golden beams 
 
 Light the streams, 
 Falling as with magic power 
 O'er the ruin'd forest-tower. 
 
 Broad and free 
 
 Glows the sea ; 
 Soft as swans, and gently riding, 
 Fisher's boats are homeward gliding. 
 
 Silver sand 
 
 Decks the strand ; 
 Ruddy clouds in ceaseless motion 
 Throw their changing" forms on ocean-
 
 i66 
 
 Crimson 'd o'er; 
 
 Near the shore 
 Sighing rushes fringe the crest, 
 Where the seabird builds her nest. 
 
 Deep in shade 
 
 Down the glade, 
 Where the mossy springs are swelling. 
 Lies the hermit's peaceful dwelling. 
 
 Latest day 
 
 Dies away. 
 Palely fades the twilight hour 
 Glimmering on the ruin'd tower. 
 
 Full moonlight 
 
 Cheers the night, 
 Spirit voices sweep the vales 
 Whispering bygone battle tales. 
 
 Dec. ^i/k 1846. 
 
 SOLDIER'S MORNING SONG. 
 Translated from German, '•.Soldatcn Lieder. 
 
 Dawn of day, dawn of daj-. 
 
 Points to death thy crimson ray ? 
 Soon the trumpets wildly braying 
 Rolling drums and chargers neighing 
 
 Shall to battle call awaj-.
 
 167 
 
 Ere 'tis known, ere 'tis known 
 Pleasure's sweetest hour has flown ; 
 Now the war-horse proudly training — 
 Next the heart's-blood earthward draining — 
 Then the cold and silent tomb. 
 
 Short the time, short the time, 
 Beauty's pride and 3-outhful prime ; 
 
 Lilies fair with rose buds blending, 
 
 Every charm so vainly lending, ^ — 
 Ah! the roses fall and die. 
 
 Who shall know, who shall know 
 
 Pleasure's fulness here below ? 
 Hearts with care and sorrow aching, 
 E'en from morning's early breaking 
 
 Till the western fires glow. 
 
 Let me still, let me still 
 
 Bow to God's resistless will ; 
 Firm in Heaven's help relying 
 Fearless live, or fearless dying 
 
 As a Christian soldier still. 
 
 Attg. 26th, 1855.
 
 1 68 
 
 AN EPIGRAM. 
 
 Translated from the French. 
 
 Damon loves but himself ; 
 All his choice must approve, 
 For he'll ne'er know the pain 
 Of a rival in love. 
 
 WORDS TO THP: GERMAN AIR "AN DEN 
 
 MOND." 
 
 The first stanza is freely translated from the German. 
 
 Gentle moon, so calmly sailing 
 
 In the glittering eveniiig sky, 
 My sad heart in sighs and wailing 
 
 Marks thy peaceful course on high. 
 Tears are falling, — while I ponder 
 
 On thy still and hoi}' flight 
 And my soul in speechless wonder 
 
 Longs with thee to share the night. 
 Neither gold nor earthl}' treasure 
 
 Can thy heavenly course impede, 
 Nor the wiles of guilty pleasure 
 
 From thy path of glory lead. 
 (3li in pity far from sadness 
 
 Take, oh take me now witli thee. 
 And in Angel-worlds of gladness 
 
 Let our place of resting be. 
 
 func Vifth, 1854.
 
 169 
 
 SONG. 
 From the German. 
 
 Far away — from bygone day — 
 From youth's fair springtime gleaming, 
 In joy or pain there comes again 
 A form with brightness beaming. 
 Full well I know the lips' warm glow 
 That whispering used to greet me ; 
 The brow so fair, the golden hair, 
 The cheek that flushed to meet me. 
 For though the strife of warring life 
 May cloud its youthful morning. 
 Touched by its magic yet 
 Ne'er can the heart forget 
 Its dream of love's first dawning. 
 
 Past the glow of burning day. 
 
 And stars in heaven are smiling, 
 
 Onward still it cheers my wa}'. 
 
 The tedious hours beguiling. 
 
 The livelong night by watchfires light 
 
 I la}', and still 'twas nigh me, 
 
 I crossed the free and foaming sea, 
 
 And at the helm 'twas by me. 
 
 For though the strife of warring life
 
 170 
 
 Maj' cloud its 3-oiithful morning, 
 Touched by its magic j'et 
 Ne'er can the heart forget 
 Its dream of love's first dawning. 
 
 Like a wild and artless child 
 
 With smiles through tear-drops glowing, 
 
 With playful air its golden hair 
 
 About my shoulder throwing, — 
 
 Such bliss it brings — so sweetly sings 
 
 In tones of joy or sadness 
 
 That gushing tears bring boyhood's years 
 
 With all their sunny gladness. 
 
 — For though the strife of warring life 
 
 May cloud its youthful morning. 
 
 Lulled by its memory j-et 
 
 Ne'er can the heart forget 
 
 Its dream of love's first dawning.— 
 
 Feb. -jt/i, 1857.
 
 flcpostics and Chaimdes, Sec. 
 
 DOUBLE ACROSTIC. 
 
 With one small hint my first and last you'll guess, 
 To throw rav last on first is vain excess. 
 
 Beneath your feet, yet not upon the ground. 
 Valued in summer, but in winter found. 
 Dividing vStreams, and rising with a feather. 
 Two pages I, placed dos a dos together. 
 Frenchmen discern me in each babbling rill. 
 In Oxford I was hung, and hang there still. 
 Most folks get over me, yet I'm not weak. 
 But were I so the3''d chance their shins to 
 break.
 
 172 
 
 2. 
 
 A DOUBLE ACROSTIC. 
 
 What a hare is when 'tis roasted, what a sole 
 
 is when 'tis fried, 
 What a rotten bank's accounts are, with a lot 
 
 of things beside ; 
 Next a famed Italian poet shall his kind 
 
 assistance lend, 
 And a thing that tight-laced people are 
 
 familiar with, to end. 
 If 30U piit these well together in dne order, 
 
 there shall come 
 Two friends of ours, not seldom to be seen 
 
 about our home. 
 
 3- 
 C H A R A D E 
 
 Ik-ncath my tliird \\\\ Jirst is tied, 
 And that which goes between, 
 In every hut, in every house 
 Save our own Iiomc, is seen. 
 i\l3' %vholc doth well corroborate 
 The truth of Darwin's plan. 
 As more tli;m Iialfa inoiikey. 
 Though un<l<)ul)tcdl}- a man !
 
 173 
 
 4- 
 CHARADE. 
 l^lyjirst 'twixt earth and sky is laid ; 
 My second out of clay is made : 
 Myyf/'iVand second ioin&d, thoug-li brave, would 
 
 very useless be 
 Without my (hird, or having that I can't 
 
 exactlj' see 
 Their use without my whole — or if possessive he 
 
 should prove 
 
 Wh}' then without ni}- //lird, aloft, he'd very 
 
 slowly move. 
 
 Nov. 1 8///, 1882. 
 
 5- 
 A CHARADE. 
 
 Without my Jifst this beauteous world would 
 
 seem 
 A dreary chaos ; sun and .stars would move 
 In wild disorder : Athens and queenlj^ Rome 
 Had been unbuilt : man's nature purposeless ; 
 And beauty's symmetry and form unknown. 
 Mj- second's found on every noble page 
 Of Virgil, and 'tis more than doubtful whether 
 Without it he'd have strung ten lines together. 
 And what's m\^ ?£///(7/^ ? In heaven mj- form 3-ou 
 
 view, 
 Or you maj' feel me underneath j-our shoe. 
 Tell us ray name or own 3'ourself a dunce, 
 My very name I've placed before you once.
 
 174 
 
 6. 
 
 CHARADE. 
 
 '\ly first ivS foremost, that's perhaps no wonder! 
 It rolls along a ton of chattels under. 
 i\Iy last (two parts combined) will ever be 
 Found in each cit}' t'other side the sea. 
 M}' whole, I hope 3-011 have not, 3'et I'm told 
 Not having it yoxi're scarce of mortal mould. 
 What is it ? All and nothing ! so the sages 
 Say, and have said now, and in b3'gone ages : 
 Look to 3'our ever3' thought and deed — nor 
 
 doubt it, 
 For scarce one human act is done without it : 
 Avoid it, hate it ; 'tis the .stubborn girth 
 That separates pure heaven from sinful earth. 
 
 Dec. 16M, 1875.
 
 175 
 
 7- 
 
 ENIGMA. 
 
 I can't be one, and 3'et I'm one of five 
 
 Much prized in England. And as I'm alive 
 
 I'm hardl}' two, but 3'et I'm four, six, ten, 
 
 And thousands more, made up of living men. 
 
 Pigs, monkey's, sheep, or an^- mortal thing 
 
 That swims the deep, or cleaves with rapid wing 
 
 The sunnj' air, or to the earth doth cling. 
 
 Cut three joints from mj' tail, I am not dead, 
 
 But senseless as a herring, one that's red ; 
 
 Restore me two of them, and if 3^ou're clever 
 
 You'll find 3^ou've made me rather worse than 
 
 ever. 
 
 Cut off m3- head and tail, and watch m3" hue, 
 
 'Tis neither white nor 3'ellow, pink, nor blue. 
 
 Breathe on me while thus clipped. Behold in me 
 
 A vStateh' river flowing to the sea. 
 
 Nov. 20th. 1871. 
 
 8. 
 AN ENIGMA 
 
 1 am me when at 3-our house, 3-ou're me when at 
 
 mine. 
 And m3' riddle's me too, if in riddles 3'ou shine. 
 
 Xov., 187 1
 
 176 
 
 9- 
 
 ENIGMA. 
 
 I'm not myself when morn is fresh and bright 
 Though sure to be myself before 'tis night ; 
 And when I'm at nu'self I hope 3'ou'll see 
 The mould of fashion and of form in me. 
 The helmsman's wheel without being me may 
 
 guide, 
 And fortune's in its air}- circles glide, 
 But Father Time's upon the rugged road 
 Of the rough world would spill his wear}- load 
 Unless myself. And you too must be me, 
 Fair reader. Yet if fair I'm not mj'self of thee. 
 
 No'.i. zoth, 1 87 1. 
 
 10. 
 ENIGMA. 
 
 Wise I am not, and j'et the learned Greek 
 Made me of Wisdom's self the topmost peak ; 
 But though the peak, should I my head embrace 
 Between my next and third reversed, no trace 
 Of pride were mine, but in me you would know 
 A something which ^ou'd deem debased or low. 
 Restore my pristine form. If this you do 
 You'll think my loneliness unapt to woo
 
 177 
 
 And little prone to wit ; and yet to both 
 When darkness veils the sky I'm nothing loth : 
 And if in naming me you sigh, my plight 
 Shall in the watch-dog's wail alarm the night; 
 Yet sigh no more, but from my body rip 
 Its double centre, now within thy grip 
 Thovx hold'st a genesis to aid my rhyme. 
 The double head and dawning of Old Time. 
 
 Nov. 187 1. 
 
 II. 
 AN ENIGMA. 
 
 I span the bridge, crowning with golden bow 
 
 A Greek or Roman hill ; sometimes beneath 
 
 A point looks heavenwards ; and deeper still 
 
 Two tunnels run to dark unknown abyss. 
 
 Often from cataract to cataract 
 
 I stretch my shining arc, at each extreme 
 
 Enclosing with a zone a crystal plain. 
 
 I am no orator, yet hold the ears 
 
 Of mighty statesmen, and I render plain 
 
 The words of Holy Writ, or Shakespeare's page, 
 
 To countless thousands who unhelped by me. 
 
 Spite of all comments, must in darkness be. 
 
 N
 
 1 78 
 
 12. 
 
 ENIGMA. 
 
 If you call him a liar, without an}- doubt 
 You're greatl}^ to blame, for he's not one. 
 Yet I freeh' confess 3-ou're not verj- much out, 
 Though if fishing for facts — you've not got one. 
 He runs, though not fast, from the East to the 
 
 West, 
 And anon from the North to the South. 
 Icy cold — seething hot is the breath of his mouth. 
 So say those who full near him have pressed. 
 He is tall and wears spurs, he's a chain — not of 
 
 gold- 
 Like the one that adorns j-our fair wife, 
 And he's longer than that, and remarkably old, 
 Yes, as old as the hills — 'pon my life ! 
 You're attached to the world with its sin-tainted 
 
 leaven, 
 Though aspiring upward I grant ^'ou are. 
 So attached is our friend, and yet nearer to 
 
 heaven 
 Than his Grace the Archbishop of Cantuar ! 
 
 Dec. ■},\st, 1872.
 
 179 
 
 ANSWERS TO ACROSTICS, &c. 
 
 
 I. 
 
 Violets 
 
 Perfume. 
 
 
 
 I. 
 
 VamP. 
 
 
 
 
 
 2. 
 
 IcE. 
 
 
 
 
 
 3- 
 
 OaR. 
 
 
 
 
 
 4- 
 
 LeaF. 
 
 
 
 
 
 5- 
 
 EaU. 
 
 
 
 
 
 6. 
 
 ToM. 
 
 
 
 
 
 7- 
 
 StilE. 
 
 
 
 
 2. 
 
 Cat 
 
 -Dog. 
 
 
 
 
 
 I. 
 
 Cooke 
 
 D. 
 
 
 
 
 2. 
 
 AriostO- 
 
 
 
 
 3- 
 
 TaG. 
 
 
 
 
 Charadks. 
 
 
 
 
 Enigmas. 
 
 3- 
 
 Capuchin. 
 
 
 
 7- 
 
 Numbers. 
 
 4- 
 
 Seamanship. 
 
 
 
 8. 
 
 A Guest. 
 
 5- 
 
 Plan-et 
 
 Tellus. 
 
 
 
 9- 
 
 Tired. 
 
 6. 
 
 Vanity. 
 
 
 
 
 lO. 
 
 II. 
 
 12. 
 
 Owl. 
 
 Spectacles 
 
 Himalaya.
 
 INDEX 
 
 Biographical Notice 
 
 Page 
 
 Serious and Religious Pieces. 
 
 Nature 
 
 
 I 
 
 Love of the World (View i)— A Vice 
 
 6 
 
 Love of the World (View 2)— A Virtue 
 
 7 
 
 Hope, the Flatterer 
 
 
 8 
 
 A Beautiful Thought 
 
 
 8 
 
 Present and Future 
 
 
 9 
 
 A Grave Echo 
 
 
 10 
 
 Written above an Erasure . . 
 
 
 10 
 
 A Sonnet 
 
 
 II 
 
 Human Virtue 
 
 
 12 
 
 Early Spring 
 
 
 13 
 
 The Last Wild Flowers of the Year . 
 
 
 14 
 
 Sonnet to a Nightingale 
 
 
 15 
 
 Harvest Sonnet 
 
 
 15 
 
 A Thought from the Microscope 
 
 
 16 
 
 The Agnostic 
 
 
 17 
 
 Noon-day Hymn 
 
 
 19 
 
 A Song of Praise . . 
 
 
 20 
 
 The Mind's Horizon 
 
 
 22
 
 52 INDEX. 
 
 
 
 Our New Cemetery 
 
 Hexameters (Visitation of the Sick) . . 
 
 Page 
 23 
 25 
 
 On the Death of a Sister 
 
 
 
 26 
 
 The Two Texts 
 
 
 
 27 
 
 Lines — Sweet Sister 
 
 
 
 27 
 
 My Birthday Anagram 
 
 
 
 28 
 
 28th January, 1SS9 
 
 
 
 29 
 
 Going ! Going ! . . 
 Warranted Home Made 
 
 
 
 30 
 31 
 
 The Lord's Prayer . . 
 
 
 
 32 
 
 Pity I deserve not . . 
 
 
 
 32 
 
 The Songless Kettle 
 
 
 
 33 
 
 The Last Lines, 1895 
 
 
 
 35 
 
 Sunrise 
 
 
 
 . 36 
 
 The Old Diss Chimes 
 
 
 
 • 36 
 
 The Triune 
 
 
 
 37 
 
 Psalms. 
 
 The First Psalm — English Plexameters .. 39 
 
 The Twenty-third Psalm . . . . 40 
 
 The CXXXIXth Psalm— Metre of " Hiawatha" 41 
 
 Ballads. 
 
 I^othbroc the Dane 
 
 Eglesdene 
 
 Margery Grimes 
 
 A Legend of Aix-la-Chapelle 
 
 Frau Kichermondt . . 
 
 Izaac Walton on tiic Fisheries Exhibition 
 
 45 
 59 
 69 
 
 75 
 82 
 
 89
 
 INDEX. 
 
 183 
 
 Hkuoic. 
 
 JMai-ch, 1S54 
 Song and Chorus 
 Fatherland 
 Inkeimann 
 
 Humorous. 
 
 Oleum Jecoris Aselli 
 
 Song of " Anacharis Alsinastrum " 
 
 The Penitents 
 
 The Advantage of Science . , 
 
 Professor Tadpole, with illustration 
 
 Whist 
 
 Epitaph on a Sportsman 
 
 William Tell 
 
 Epitaph on a Stilton Cheese . . 
 
 A Valentine 
 
 Inquest on Lady Gallinule, of Bulhush Hall 
 
 Epitaph (by a Sufferer) 
 
 Our Tenor 
 
 Surgery Lyrics, No. L, with illustration 
 
 ,, ,, No. II., Song of the Pill 
 
 British Bulldogs and Kilkenny Cats 
 High Class (Ai) Botany 
 Letter to a Little Friend . bet'cccien pp. 
 
 Page 
 99 
 100 
 102 
 10.^ 
 
 105 
 114 
 116 
 119 
 120 
 128 
 129 
 129 
 129 
 130 
 132 
 
 135 
 135 
 136 
 142 
 
 144 
 
 145 
 146, 147 
 
 Prose Versifications and Translations. 
 
 The Young Marine at Hango-Head . . 147 
 
 Alabaster Boxes of Human Sympathy .. 150 
 
 Evolution . . .. . . 151 
 
 Heaven .. .. .. .. 152
 
 54 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 
 
 Page 
 
 Idea from Fontenelle 
 
 • 154 
 
 Boyle 
 
 15s 
 
 
 , French of Gaede . . 
 
 . 156 
 
 
 , Goethe . . 
 
 . 156 
 
 
 , Milton's prose 
 
 . 156 
 
 
 Sharon Turner 
 
 . 156 
 
 
 La Rochefoucauld 
 
 • 157 
 
 
 , Humboldt's " Cosmos " 
 
 157 
 
 
 , H. Stowe's "Little Foxes" 
 
 • 157 
 
 
 , " Life Thoughts " 
 
 . 158 
 
 
 Elizabeth M. Sevvell 
 
 160 
 
 Translation from Horace — Ode xxii Lib. i. 
 
 160 
 
 " Integer Vitce" (Christian form) 
 
 162 
 
 Dedication to Faust 
 
 . 163 
 
 The Sun-dial 
 
 . 165 
 
 The West 
 
 . 165 
 
 Soldier's Morning Song 
 
 166 
 
 An Epigram 
 
 168 
 
 Words to the German air, " An den Mond " 
 
 . 168 
 
 Song (from the German) 
 
 169 
 
 Acrostics and Charades, &c. 
 
 
 Double Acrostics, I, 2 
 
 171- 172 
 
 Charade, 3 
 
 172 
 
 Charades, 4, 5 
 
 .. 173 
 
 Charade, 6 
 
 174 
 
 Enigmas, 7, 8 
 
 • 175 
 
 Enigmas, 9, 10 
 
 .. 176 
 
 Enigma, il 
 
 .. 177 
 
 Enigma, 12 
 
 178 
 
 Key 
 
 
 179
 
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