*Mm&*&^
 
 PRIVATE LIBRARY 
 
 Oh, Book ! what is it. in tins world of yours 
 
 That makes it fatal to be wed to you? Oh ! why 
 
 With cypress branches have you wreathed your bowers 
 And made your best interpreter a sigh?
 
 
 o 
 
 v
 
 THE CHOICE WORKS 
 
 or 
 
 THOMAS HOOD, 
 
 In $rose auto Ferge, 
 
 INCLUDING THE 
 
 CREAM OF THE COMIC ANNUALS. 
 
 WITH LIFE OF THE AUTHOR, PORTRAIT, AND OP MM 
 TITO HUNDRED ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 BOSTON 
 DE WOLFE, FISKE, & COMPANY, 
 
 365 WASHINGTON STREET.
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 MEMO!* 
 
 EARLY ESSAYS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Ode to Dr Kitchener i 
 
 To Hope 2 
 
 The Cook's Oracle ... 4 
 
 To Celia 14 
 
 Presentiment . . . .15 
 Mr Martin's Pictures and the 
 
 Bonassus . . . . . 19 
 
 The Two Swans . . 21 
 
 Ode on a Distant Prospect of 
 
 Clapham Academy . . .27 
 Address to Mr Cross, of Exeter 
 
 Change 30 
 
 Elegy on David Laing, Esq. . * 33 
 
 Stanzas to Tom Woodgate . . 35 
 A Sentimental Journey from Isling- 
 ton to Waterloo Bridge . . 38 
 
 ODES AND ADDRESSES TO GREAT PEOPLE. 
 
 Ode to Mr Graham, the Aeronaut 49 
 A Friendly Epistle to Mrs Fry 
 
 in Newgate ... 55 
 
 Ode to R. Martin, Esq., M.P. 60 
 
 Ode to the Great Unknown . 62 
 
 Ode to Joseph Grimaldi, Senior 68 
 An Address to the Steam- Wash 
 
 ing Company . . . .72 
 
 Letter of Remonstrance from 
 
 Bridget Jones .... 74 
 Ode to Captain Parry . .77 
 
 Address to Maria Darlington, on 
 
 her Return to the Stage . .82 
 Ode to W. Kitchener, M.D. . 84 
 Ode to H. Bodkin, Esq. . . 89 
 
 WHIMS AND ODDITIES (First Series, 1826). 
 
 Moral Reflections on the Cross of 
 St Paul's 91 
 
 The Prayse of Ignorance 
 A Valentine 
 Love .... 
 " Please to ring the Belle" 
 A Receipt for Civilisation 
 On the Popular Cupid . 
 The Last Man 
 
 93 
 95 
 97 
 98 
 99 
 104 
 105 
 
 2064846 
 
 The Ballad of " Sally Brown and 
 
 Ben the Carpenter ". . . in 
 Backing the Favourite . . .115 
 A Complaint against Greatness . 116 
 The Mermaid of Margate . .118 
 My Son, Sir .... 122 
 
 " As it fell upon a Day " . . 123 
 A Fairy Tale . . . . 124 ' 
 The Spoiled Child . . . ia
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 The Fa3 of the Deer . 
 
 December and May . 
 A Winter Nosegay 
 
 Equestrian Courtship . 
 " She is far from the Land 1 
 
 Fancies on a Teacup . 
 
 The Stag- Eyed Lady . 
 Walton Redivivus 
 
 PAGB 
 
 . 129 
 
 13' 
 
 " Love me, kve my Dog" . 
 Remonstratory Ode . . 
 A New Life-Preserver . . 
 
 PAG* 
 
 . 147 
 . 150 
 . 154 
 156 
 
 134 
 137 
 . 139 
 143 
 
 The Irish Schoolmaster . 
 The Sea-Spell 
 Faithless Nelly Gray . . 
 Fancy Portraits . . . 
 
 . 161 
 
 . 169 
 . 174 
 . 176 
 
 WHIMS AND ODDITIES (Second Series, 1827). 
 
 Preface 180 
 
 Bianca's Dream . . . . 182 
 A Ballad-Singer . . . .190 
 Mary's Ghost . . . .191 
 The Progress of Art . . . 193 
 A School for Adults . . .196 
 A Legend of Navarre . . . 200 
 The Demon Ship .... 206 
 Sally Holt, and the Death of John 
 
 Hayloft 208 
 
 A True Story . . . .211 
 The Decline of Mrs Shakerly .216 
 
 Tim Turpin 218 
 
 The Monkey Martyr . . 222 
 
 Banditti 225 
 
 Death's Ramble . . . .227 
 
 Craniology 229 
 
 An Affair of Honour . . . 232 
 A Parthian Glance . . . 234 
 A Sailor's Apology for Bow-legs . 236 
 "Nothing but Hearts". . .238 
 
 Jack Hall 240 
 
 The Wee Man . . . .248 
 Pythagorean Fancies . . 250 
 
 "Don't you smell Fire?" . .254 
 The Volunteer . . . .256 
 A Marriage Procession. . . 260 
 The Widow . * . . .263 
 
 A Mad Dog 266 
 
 John Trot 269 
 
 An Absentee 272 
 
 Ode to the Camelopard . . 275 
 
 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES 278 
 
 HERO AND LEANDER ....*. 307 
 
 LYCUS THE CENTAUR i . . 329 
 
 THE Two PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT . . ...... 338 
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 A Retrospective Review . . 344 
 Fair Ines ..... 346 
 The Departure of Summer . . 348 
 Song for Music . . . .351 
 Ode : Autumn . . . .351 
 
 Ballad 353 
 
 Hymn to the Sun . . , . 354 
 To a Cold Beauty. . . .354 
 
 Autumn 355 
 
 Ruth 1S=5 
 
 The Sea of Death. . . .356 
 
 Ballad 357 
 
 I remember, I remember . .358 
 
 Ballad 359 
 
 The Water Lady . . . .360 
 
 The Exile 360 
 
 To an Absentee . . . .361 
 
 Song 361 
 
 Ode to the Moon . . . .362 
 To 364
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 FACE 
 
 The Forsaken . . . 365 
 
 Autumn . . 365 
 
 Ode to Melancholy . . . 366 
 Sonnet on Mrs Nicely, a Pattern 
 
 for Housekeepers . . . 368 
 
 Sonnet written in a Volume of 
 
 Shakespeare . . . ' . 369 
 
 Sonnet to Fancy . . . . 369 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Sonnet to an Enthusiast . . 369 
 
 Sonnet 37 
 
 Sonnet . . . . . .370 
 
 Sonnet on receiving a Gift 
 Sonnet .... 
 Sonnet . . 
 
 Sonnet: Silence . . 
 
 370 
 371 
 371 
 373 
 
 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE GEM. 
 
 A Widow 373 
 
 The Farewell . . . .374 
 The Dream of Eugene Aram . 375 
 
 On a Picture of Hero and Leander 380 
 A May-Day 380 
 
 CREAM OF THE COMIC ANNUALS. . 
 
 The Pugsley Papers . . . 384 
 A Letter from an Emigrant . . 395 
 Sonnet on Steam .... 398 
 A Report from Below . . . 399 
 The Last Shilling . . . .402 
 Ode to M. Brunei . . . 406 
 A Plan for Writing Blank Verse 
 
 in Rhyme .... 408 
 
 A Letter from a Market-Gardener 
 to the Secretary of the Horti- 
 cultural Society . . . 410 
 Domestic Asides . . . .412 
 The Schoolmaster Abroad . .413 
 Sketches on the Road . . .419 
 John Day . . . . .422 
 The Parish Revolution. . . 423 
 The Furlough .... 434 
 Number One .... 436 
 The Drowning Ducks . . .438 
 An Assent to the Summut of 
 
 Mount Blank . . . .441 
 A Horse-Dealer .... 444 
 
 The Fall 446 
 
 The Illuminati . . . .448 
 Conveyancing . . . .453 
 A Letter from a Settler for Life in 
 Van Diemen's Land . . 455 
 
 Sonnet 458 
 
 Epicurean Reminiscences of a 
 
 Sentimentalist .... 458 
 Saint Mark's Eve . . . 460 
 
 I'm not a Single Man . . . 465 
 A Greenwich Pensioner . . 469 
 The Burning of the Love-Letter . 470 
 The Angler's Farewell . . .471 
 Sea-Song after Dibdin . . . 473 
 A Singular Exhibition at Somerset 
 
 House ..... 474 
 The Yeomanry .... 477 
 An Unfavourable Review . . 479 
 I'm going to Bombay . . . 485 
 Ode to the Advocates for the Re- 
 moval of Smithfield Market . 488 
 Drawn for a Soldier . . . 492 
 Ode for St Cecilia's Eve . . 494 
 Reflections on Water . . . 499 
 A Blow-up ..... 5oa 
 The Wooden Leg . . . 507 
 
 The Ghost 509 
 
 Ode to Madame Hengler . . 511 
 Rhyme and Reason . . .514 
 The Double Knock . . .515 
 A Fox-Hunter .... 516 
 Bailey Ballads . . . .518
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Letter from a Parish Clerk in 
 
 Barbadoes to one in Hampshire 523 
 Our Village . . . . . 526 
 The Scrape- Book . . . .530 
 A True Story . . . .533 
 The Sorrows of an Undertaker . 536 
 The Carelesse Nurse-Mayd . . 539 
 The Life of Zimmermann . . 540 
 The Compass, with Variations . 543 
 
 The Duel 549 
 
 Ode to Mr Malthus . . .550 
 A Good Direction . . .554 
 The Pleasures of Sporting . . 556 
 There's no Romance in that . 561 
 The Abstraction .... 564 
 Miller Redivivus . . . .567 
 A Zoological Report . 570 
 Shooting Pains . . . . 573 
 The Boy at the Nore . . .577 
 Great Earthquake at Mary-le-bone 580 
 Ode to St Swithin . . .583 
 The Apparition . . . .586 
 The Schoolmaster's Motto . . 589 
 A Blind Man .... 591 
 The Supper Superstition . . 592 
 A Snake-Snack .... 594 
 A Storm at Hastings . . 596 
 Lines to a Lady on her Departure 
 for India . . . .603 
 
 Sonnet to a Scotch Girl wastiing 
 
 Linen 605 
 
 Sonnet to a Decayed Seaman . 606 
 Huggins and Duggins . . . 607 
 Domestic Didactics . . . 6i 
 The Broken Dish . . .611 
 Ode to Peace .... 6ia 
 A Few Lines on completing Forty- 
 Seven 613 
 
 To Mary Housemaid . . .613 
 Pain in a Pleasure-Boat . . 614 
 A Spent Ball . . . .618 
 Literary and Literal . . . 619 
 Sonnet to Lord Wharncliffe, on 
 
 his Game-Bill .... 624 
 The Undying One . . . 625 
 Cockle v. Cackle . . . .626 
 Letter from an Old Sportsman . 630 
 The Sub-Marine . . . .634 
 
 The Island 635 
 
 The Kangaroos : a Fable . . 639 
 Ode for the Ninth of November . 641 
 
 Rondeau 645 
 
 London Fashions for November . 646 
 Symptoms of Ossification . . 647 
 Some Account of William Whiston 648 
 Lines to a Friend at Cobham . 650 
 To a Bad Rider .... 651 
 My Son and Heir . . .652 
 
 NATIONAL TALES. 
 
 Preface . . . . .655 
 The Spanish Tragedy . . . 656 
 The Miracle of the Holy Hermit . 677 
 The Widow of Galicia . . .680 
 The Golden Cup and Dish of Silver 683 
 The Tragedy of Seville . .685 
 The Lady in Love with Romance 689 
 The Eighth Sleeper of Ephesus . 692 
 Madeline ..... 694 
 Masetto and his Mare . . . 698 
 The Story of Michel Argenti . 701 
 The Three Jewels . . .704 
 Geronimo and Ghisola . . . 707 
 
 The Fall of the Leaf . . .710 
 
 Baranga . . . . .713 
 
 The Exile . . . . . 716 
 
 The Owl 720 
 
 The German Knight . . . 722 
 
 The Florentine Kinsmen . . 726 
 
 The Carrier's Wife . . .729 
 The Two Faithful Lovers of Sicily 733 
 
 The Venetian Countess . . 738 
 
 A Tale of the Harem . . .746 
 
 The Chestnut Tree . . .756 
 
 The Fair Maid of Ludgate . 762 
 
 The Three Brothers . . .769
 
 MEMOIR OF THOMAS HOOD. 
 
 "THOMAS HOOD was born on the 236! May 1799, in the 
 Poultry, at the house of his father, a partner in the firm of 
 Vernor & Hood, booksellers and publishers. His mother was 
 a Miss Sands, sister to the engraver of that name, to whom the 
 subject of our memoir was afterwards articled. 
 
 The family consisted of two sons, James and Thomas j and of 
 four daughters, Elizabeth, Anne, Jessie, and Catherine. 
 
 Hood's father was a man of cultivated taste and literary 
 inclinations, and was the author of two novels which attained 
 some popularity in their day, although now their very names are 
 forgotten. 
 
 Thomas Hood was sent to a school in Tokenhouse Yard in 
 the City, as a day-boarder. The two maiden sisters who kept the 
 school, and with whom Hood took his dinner, bore the odd name 
 of Hogsflesh, and they had a sensitive brother, who was always 
 addressed as Mr H., and who afterwards became the prototype of 
 Charles Lamb's unsuccessful farce. 
 
 After the death of his father and his elder brother in 1811, he 
 was apprenticed to his uncle, Mr Robert Sands, the engraver, and 
 plied the burin for some years under his guidance. He thus 
 learnt something of the art which he practised with such pleasant 
 results in after-years in producing grotesque illustrations to his 
 own verses and sketches. This sedentary employment not agree- 
 ing with his health, he was sent for change to some relations at 
 Dundee. He remained in Scotland for a considerable time, and 
 made his first appearance in print there in 1814, first in the
 
 i MEMOIR OF THOMAS HOOD. 
 
 Dundee Advertiser, then edited by Mr Rintoul, and subsequently 
 in the Dundee Magazine. These early effusions we have not suc- 
 ceeded in procuring, owing to the difficulty of obtaining access 
 to locai periodical publications, or we should have gratified the 
 reader's curiosity by reprinting them. 
 
 On his return to London, after practising for a short time as 
 an engraver, and doing some fruitless desk-work in a merchant's 
 office, an opening that offered more congenial employment pre- 
 sented itself at last, when he was about twenty-two years of age. 
 In 1821, Mr John Scott, the editor of the London Magazine, was 
 killed in a duel. The magazine passed into the hands of Messrs 
 Taylor & Hessey, who were friends of Hood's, and he was offered 
 and accepted the sub- editorship. His first original paper ap 
 peared in the number for July 1821, and he continued to con 
 tribute till the summer of 1823. 
 
 Hood's connexion with the London Magazine was the means 
 of bringing him into contact with many of the chief wits and 
 literati of the time, and more especially with Charles Lamb, 
 whose influence over his style and manner of writing is very 
 clearly traceable. All these literary friendships have been delight- 
 fully described in his own " Reminiscences." 
 
 One of the contributors to the London Magazine was John 
 Hamilton Reynolds, author of an exquisite little volume of verse 
 entitled "The Garden of Florence," whose articles appeared 
 under the pseudonym of " Edward Herbert." The acquaintance 
 thus begun had lasting results. On the 5th May 1824, Hood was 
 married to Reynolds's sister, Jane. In the following year (1825) he 
 produced conjointly with his brother-in-law his first publication 
 in a separate form, viz., " Odes and Addresses to Great People." 
 This little volume rapidly passed through three editions, and made 
 almost as great a stir as the " Rejected Addresses" of James and 
 Horace Smith. A copy of the first edition, marked by Hood him- 
 self, and now in the possession of the present publishers, thus 
 apportions the respective authorship of the pieces it contains :
 
 MEMOIR OF THOMAS HOOD. ad 
 
 Ode to Mr Graham . . . T. H. 
 
 Ode to Mr M'Adam . . . . J. H. Reynold* 
 
 Epistle to Mrs Fry . . . . T. H. 
 
 Ode to Richard Martin . . . T. H. 
 
 Ode to the Great Unknown . . . T. H. 
 
 To Mr Dymoke . . . . J. H. R. 
 
 To Grimaldi . . . . . T. H. 
 
 To Sylvanus Urban . . . . J. H. R. 
 
 To the Steam- Washing Company . . T. H. 
 
 To Captain Parry . . . . T. II. 
 
 To Elliston J. H. R. 
 
 To Maria Darlington ; , * Joint 
 
 To Dr Kitchener . . . , T. H. 
 
 To the Dean and Chapter . - . . J. H. R. 
 
 To H. Bodkin, Esq. . , Joint. 
 
 In the present edition we have not thought it necessary of 
 desirable to include those pieces in the above list which are 
 assigned entirely to Reynolds's authorship. 
 
 It was in the two series of " Whims and Oddities," * however, 
 published in 1826 and 1827, and illustrated by his own pencil, 
 that Hood first hit on the peculiar vein of humour by which he 
 afterwards became most famous. These twin volumes obtained an 
 immediate and decisive success, which is more than can be said 
 of the volume of serious poems, " Plea of the Midsummer Fairies," 
 and of the two volumes of " National Tales," which followed them 
 in rapid succession in 1827. And yet there is an indefinable 
 grace and charm about the graver productions of Hood's muse, 
 and a picturesque and sometimes weird atmosphere of romance 
 and imagination about the prose stories, that have won the 
 suffrages of many later readers, and that made it seem proper to 
 reproduce them here as representative of one important side of 
 Hood's genius, though not the comic or more popular side. 
 
 His "Dream of Eugene Aram," first printed in an annual 
 entitled "The Gem," which Hood edited in 1829, is represen- 
 tative of another class of serious poems in which he excelled 
 
 * The title of this work was probably suggested by a line in Mr Hookhani 
 Frere's poem of " The Monks and the Giants," published some years previously.
 
 U MEMOIR OF THOMAS HOOD. 
 
 " those which consist in the vivid imagination and abrupt lyric 
 representation of ghastly situations in physical nature and in 
 human life."* 
 
 In this year Hood left London for Winchmore Hill, where he 
 took a very pretty cottage situated in a pleasant garden. Here 
 the little jeu d'esprit of " The Epping Hunt " t was written and 
 published as a small pamphlet in 1829 (passing into a second 
 edition in 1830), with six illustrations by George Cruikshank. 
 
 At Winchmore Hill also his son was born in 1830. In this 
 year Hood commenced his Christmas serial entitled " The Comic 
 Annual," which enjoyed a long run of public favour, and con- 
 tinued to be published every winter, without intermission, until 
 1839, when it was discontinued; but resumed for one year only 
 in 1842, when the eleventh and last volume appeared. In 1830 
 Hood also published a series of " Comic Melodies," which con- 
 sisted of songs written for the entertainments of Mathews and 
 Yates. The motto on the cover of each number was 
 
 *' A doleful song a doleful look retraces, 
 And merry music maketh merry faces." 
 
 Over this was a comic illustration of the lines, consisting of some 
 musical notes, the heads of which were filled in with laughing and 
 grimacing countenances. 
 
 About this period Hood was on several occasions induced 
 to attempt dramatic composition for the stage. He wrote the 
 libretto for a little English opera, brought out, it is believed, at the 
 Surrey Theatre. Its name is lost now, although it had a good 
 run at the time. Perhaps it may be recognised by some old play- 
 goer by the fact that its dramatis persona were all bees. He also 
 assisted his brother-in-law (Reynolds) in the dramatising of " Gil 
 
 * Professor Masson in Afacmtilan's Magazine, II. 328 (August 1860), art 
 Thomas Hood. 
 
 t A companion volume to this, to be entitled " Epsom Races," was announced 
 In characteristic phrase on the back of the cover, but apparently the desiga 
 was abandoned, as we cannot discover that such a pamphlet ever appeared.
 
 MEMOIR OP THOMAS HOOD. xiU 
 
 Bias," produced at Drury Lane. For Mr Frederick Yates of 
 the Old Adelphi Theatre he wrote a little entertainment entitled 
 " Harlequin and Mr Jenkins ; or, Pantomime in the Parlour," * 
 and for other theatres two farces, entitled "York and Lan- 
 caster ; or, a School without Scholars," and " Lost and Found." 
 He likewise supplied the text of an entertainment called " The 
 Spring Meeting," for Charles Mathews the elder. 
 
 In 1832 Hood left Winchmore Hill, and became the occupier 
 of a house, called Lake House, at Wanstead in Essex. Here he 
 wrote the novel of " Tylney Hall," which was published in the 
 usual three- volume form in 1834. 
 
 It should be mentioned that during these years Hood was also 
 a large contributor to the fashionable Annuals of the time, "The 
 Forget Me Not," "The Souvenir," "Friendship's Offering," &c., 
 and to the Literary Gazette and the Athenaeum. 
 
 In 1835 the failure of a publishing firm having involved Hood 
 in pecuniary difficulties, he resolved to leave England and live 
 on the Continent. Going over in March of that year, he fixed 
 on Coblenz on the Rhine as the most suitable for his purpose. 
 During about two years that place continued to be the head- 
 quarters of the family. In the middle of 1837 he removed to 
 Ostend. From this prolonged exile, which extended on to 1840, 
 arose the volume published in that year and entitled " Up the 
 Rhine," a work written in a series of letters, avowedly after the 
 model of " Humphrey Clinker." 
 
 After five years of expatriation, Hood returned to England and 
 took a nouse at Camberwell. He became a contributor to the 
 New Monthly Magazine, then edited by Theodore Hook, upon 
 whose death in the following year (1841), he himself succeeded 
 to the editorship, and continued in that office until 1843, con- 
 tributing to its pages a number of sketches and verses, which he 
 republished in two volumes in 1844, with illustrations by John 
 Leech, under the title of "Whimsicalities." In 1842 he had 
 Printed in Buncombe's edition of " Mathews and Yates at Home,"
 
 ir MEMOIR OF THOMAS HOOD. 
 
 removed to St John's Wood, where he continued to reside till his 
 death, first in Elm Tree Road, and then in Finch ley Road. 
 
 In the Christmas number of Punch for 1843 appeared the 
 famous " Song of the Shirt," together with a less-known piece, 
 "The Pauper's Christmas Carol." There are several other 
 articles, poems, and cuts in the fourth and fifth volumes of Punch 
 presumably by Hood. 
 
 On New Year's day 1844 was started Hood's Monthly Magazine 
 and Comic Miscellany, with a very promising staff of contributors. 
 
 Meanwhile Hood's health had been gradually failing. Even 
 during his sojourn on the Continent alarming symptoms had 
 manifested themselves, and since his return to England, matters 
 had gradually grown worse and worse. After some years of 
 suffering and pain, all hope was at last given up. One night in a 
 delicious wandering he was heard to repeat to his wife Jane the 
 lovely words of the Scottish song 
 
 " I'm fading awa', Jean, 
 Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, Jean I 
 I'm fading avva', Jean, 
 
 To the land o' the -leal 1 
 But weep na, my ain Jean, 
 The world's care's in vain, Jean, 
 We'll meet and aye be fain, Jean, 
 
 In the land o' the leal 1" 
 
 An offer of a pension from Government of ^"100 a year, to be 
 conferred on his wife, as his own life was so precarious, came 
 through Sir Robert Peel in the latter part of 1844, but the grant 
 was to take effect from the previous June. Sir Robert Peel did 
 this welcome and friendly action in the most courteous and 
 generous way, accompanying it with a letter in which he begged 
 for one return the opportunity of making Hood's personal 
 acquaintance. The meeting, however, never took place, for Hood 
 grew too ill to allow of its possibility, being only kept alive by 
 frequent instalments of mulled port-wine. He wrote to his 
 benefactor to this effect, and Sir Robert Peel replied in a
 
 MEMOIR OF THOMAS HOOD. o 
 
 beautiful and touching letter, earnestly hoping for his recovery. 
 There are few more beautiful traits in the great statesman's 
 character, and few stories more honourable to him, than this of 
 his kindness to poor Hood during the last sad months of supreme 
 suffering. He could die at least with the assurance that those 
 nearest and dearest to him would not be reduced to beggary. 
 
 The end grew nearer and nearer. Some weeks ensued of 
 protracted anguish, of almost indescribable suffering, and of con- 
 vulsive efforts to hold life yet a little longer. At last, on the 3<1 
 May 1845, a ^ ter two days' tota l unconsciousness, he breathed his 
 last, having scarcely attained the age of forty-six. He was buried 
 in Kensal Green Cemetery, and eighteen months afterwards his 
 faithful and devoted wife was laid by his side. 
 
 R. H. S.
 
 T'HOMAS HOOD'S 
 CHOICE WORKS.
 
 EARLY ESSAYS AND 
 SKETCHES. 
 
 ODE TO DR KITCHENER.' 
 
 YE Muses nine inspire 
 
 And stir up my poetic fire ; 
 
 Teach my burning soul to speak 
 
 With a bubble and a sque ik ! 
 Of Dr Kitchener I fain would sing, 
 Till pots, and pans, and mighty kettles rinj 
 
 O culinary sage ! 
 (I do not mean the herb in use, 
 That always goes along with goose) 
 How have I feasted on thy page : 
 " When like a lobster boil'd the morn 
 From black to red began to turn," 
 Till midnight, when I went to bed, 
 And clapt my tewah-diddle t on my head. 
 
 Who is there cannot tell, 
 
 Thou lead'st a life of living well? 
 
 " What baron, or squire, or knight of the shire 
 
 Lives half so well as a holy Fry er?" 
 
 In doing well thou must be reckon'd 
 
 The first, and Mrs Fry the second ; 
 
 And twice a Job, for, in thy feverish toils, 
 
 Thou wast all over roasts as well as boils. 
 
 Thou wast indeed no dunce, 
 
 To treat thy subjects and thyself at once : 
 
 Many a hungry poet eats 
 
 His brains like thee, 
 
 But few there be 
 Could live so long on their receipts. 
 
 London Mngazine, November 1821. 
 
 t The Doctor's composition for a nightcap.
 
 TO HOPE. 
 
 What living soul or sinner, 
 
 Would slight thy invitation to a dinner, 
 Ought with the Dan;i'ids to dwell, 
 
 Draw gravy in a cullender, and hear 
 
 For ever in his ear 
 The pleasant tinkling of thy dinner beiL 
 
 Immortal Kitchener ! thy fame 
 
 Shall keep itself when Time makes game 
 Of other men's yea, it shall keep, all weathers, 
 And thou shah be upheld by thy pen feathers. 
 Yea, by the sauce of Michael Kelly, 
 
 Thy name shall perish never, 
 
 But be magnified for ever 
 By all whose eyes are bigger than their belly. 
 
 Yea, till the world is done 
 To a turn and Time puts out the sun, 
 Shall live the endless echo of thy name. 
 But, as for thy more fleshy frame, 
 Ah ! Death's carnivorous teeth will tittle 
 Thee out of breath, and eat it for cold victual j 
 But still thy fame shall be amon.^ the nati ns 
 Preserved to the last course of generations. 
 
 Ah me, my soul is touch'd with sorrow 
 
 To think how flesh must pass away 
 
 So mutton, that is warm to-day, 
 Is cold, and turn'd to hashes on the morrft'v I 
 
 Farewell ! I would say more, but 1 
 
 Have other fish to fry. 
 
 TO HOPE* 
 
 OH ! take, young seraph, take thy harft 
 
 And play to me so cheerily ; 
 For grief is dark, and care is sharp, 
 
 And life wears on so wearily. 
 
 Oh ! take thy harp ! 
 Oh ! sing as tliou wert wont to do, 
 
 When, all youth's sunny season long, 
 
 I sat and listen'd to thy song, 
 And yet 'twas ever, ever new, 
 With magic in its heaven-tuned string 
 
 The future bliss thy constant therue, 
 Oh ! then each little woe took wing 
 
 Away, like phantoms of a dieain, 
 As if each sound 
 That flutter'd round 
 
 Had floated over Lethe's stream I 
 
 London Magazine, July 1821.
 
 TO HOPE. 
 
 By all those bright and happy hours 
 
 We spent ir. life's sweet eastern bowers, 
 
 Where thou wouldst sit and smile, and show 
 
 Ere buds were come, where flowers would blow, 
 
 And oft anticipate the rise 
 
 Of life's warm sun that scaled the skies; 
 
 By many a story of love and glory, 
 
 And friendships promised oft to me; 
 
 By all the faith I lent to thee, 
 
 Oh ! take, young seraph, take thy harp, 
 
 And play to me so cheerily ; 
 For grief is dark, and care is sharp, 
 
 And life wears on so wearily. 
 Oh ! take thy harp ! 
 
 Perchance the strings will sound less clear, 
 
 That long have lain neglected by 
 In sorrow's misty atmosphere ; 
 It ne'er may speak as it hath spoken 
 
 Such joyous notes so brisk and high ; 
 But are its golden chords all broken ? 
 Are there not some, though weak and low, 
 To play a lullaby to woe ? 
 
 But thou canst sing of love no more, 
 
 For Celia show'd that dream was vain } 
 And many a fancied bliss is o'er, 
 
 That comes not e'en in dreams again. 
 Alas! alas! 
 How pleasures pass, 
 And leave thee now no subject, save 
 The peace and bliss beyond the grave ! 
 Then be thy flight among the skies : 
 
 Take, then, oh ! take the skylark's wing, 
 And leave dull earth, and heavenward rise 
 O'er all its tearful clouds, and sing 
 On skylark's wing ! 
 
 Another life-spring there adorns 
 
 Another youth, without the dread 
 Of cruel care, whose crown of thorns 
 
 Is here for manhood's aching hend. 
 Oh ! there are realms of welcome day, 
 A world where tears are wiped away ! 
 Then be thy flight among the skies : 
 
 Take, then, oh ! take the skylark's wingj 
 And leave dull earth, and heavenward rise 
 
 O'er all its tearful clouds, and sing 
 On skylark's wing !
 
 THE COOK'S ORACLE. 
 
 THE COOK'S OXACLE* 
 
 The Cook's Oracle; containing Receipts for Plain Cookery, &f. ; the -whole Mngtfa 
 Result of actual Experiments instituted in the Kitchen of a Physician. 
 
 DR KITCHENER has greatly recognised the genius of his name 
 by taking boldly the path to which it points ; disregarding all 
 the usual seductions of life, he has kept his eye steadily on the larder, 
 the Mecca of his appetite ; and has unravelled all the mysteries and 
 intricacies of celery soup, and beef haricot, to the eyes of a reading 
 public. He has taken an extensive kitchen range over the whole 
 world of stews, and broils, and roasts, and comes home to the fireside 
 (from which, indeed, his body has never departed), boiling over with 
 knowledge stored with curiosities of bone and sinew a made-up 
 human dish of cloves, mace, curry, catsup, cayenne, and the like. He 
 has sailed over all the soups, has touched at all the quarters of the lamb, 
 has been, in short, round the stomach world, and returns a second 
 Captain Cook / Dr Kitchener has written a book ; and if he, good 
 easy man, should think to surprise any friend or acquaintance by slily 
 asking, "What book have I written?" he would be sure to be 
 astounded with a successful reply, "A book on Cookery." His name 
 is above all disguises. In the same way a worthy oki gentleman of 
 our acquaintance, who was wont to lead his visitors around his kitchen 
 garden (the Doctor will prick up his ears at this) which he had care- 
 fully and cunningly obscured with a laurel hedge, and who always 
 said, with an exulting tone, " Now, you would be puzzled to say where 
 the kitchen garden was situated," once met with a stony-hearted man 
 who remorselessly answered, " Not I ! over that hedge, to be sure." 
 The Doctor might expect you, in answer to his query, to say 
 "A book, sir ! Why, perhaps you have plunged your whole soul into 
 the ocean of an epic ; or rolled your mind, with the success of a 
 Sisyphus, up the hill of metaphysics ; or played the sedate game of 
 the mathematics, that Chinese puzzle to English minds ! or gone a 
 tour with Dugald Stewart, in search of the picturesque, or leaped double 
 sentences and waded through metaphors, in a grammatical steeple- 
 chase with Colonel Thornton ; or turned liter.uy cuckoo, and gone 
 sucking the eggs of other people's books, and making the woods of 
 the world echo with one solitary, complaining, reviewing note." Such 
 might be the Doctor's notion of a reply, to which we fancy we see him 
 simmering with delight, and saying, "No, sir! I have not meddled 
 either with the curry of poetry or the cold meat of prose. I have not 
 wasted over the slow fire of the metaphysics, or cut up the 'mathe- 
 matics into thin slices I have not lost myself amongst the kick-shaivs 
 of fine scenery, or pampered myself on the mock-turtle of metaphors. 
 Neither have I dined at the table and the expense of other men's 
 minds! No, sir, I have written on cookery, on the kitchen, on the 
 solids 'the substantials, Sir Giles, the substantial I'" 
 
 * London Magazine, Oct. 1821.
 
 THE COOK'S ORACLE. 5 
 
 If it were not that critics are proverbial for having no bowels, we 
 ihould hesitate at entering the paradise of pies and puddings which 
 Dr Kitchener has opened to us ; for the steam of his rich sentences 
 rises about our senses like the odours of flowers around the imagina- 
 tion of a poet ; and larded beef goes nigh to lord it over our bewil- 
 dered appetites. But being steady men, of sober and temperate 
 habits, and used to privations in the way of food, we shall not scruple 
 at looking a leg of mutton in the face or shaking hands with a 
 shoulder of veal. "Minced collops" nothing daunt us ; we brace our 
 nerves, and are not overwhelmed with "cockle catsup!" When 
 Bays asks his friend, " How do you do when you write?" it would 
 seem that he had the Cook's Oracle in his eye for to men of any 
 mastication, never was there a book that required more training for 
 a quiet and useful perusal. Cod's-head rises before you in all its 
 glory ! while the oysters revolve around it, in their firmament of 
 melted butter, like its well-ordered satellites ! Moorgame, mackerel, 
 mussels, fowls, eggs, and force-meat balls, start up in all directions 
 and dance the hays in the imagination. We should recommend those 
 readers with whom dinner is a habit, not to venture on the Doctor's 
 pages, without seeing that their hunger, like a ferocious house-do..:, is 
 carefully tied up. To read four pages with an unchained appetite, 
 would bring on dreadful dreams of being destroyed with spits, or 
 drowned in mulligatawny soup, or of having your tongue neatly 
 smothered in your own brains, and, as Mathews sa\s, a lemon stuck 
 in your mouth. We cannot but conceive that such reading, in such 
 unprepared minds, would have strange influences ; and that the 
 dreams of persons would be dished up to suit the various palates. 
 The school-girl would, like the French goose, "be persuaded to roast 
 itself." The indolent man would "sleep a fortnight," and even then 
 not be fit for use. The lover would dream th.it his he.irt was 
 overdone. The author would be roasted alive in his own quills and 
 basted with cold ink. It were an endless task to follow this specula- 
 tion ; and indeed we are keeping our readers too long without the 
 meal to which we have taken the liberty of inviting them. The 
 dinner "bell invites" us we go, and it is done. 
 
 The book, the Cook's Oracle, opens with a preface, as other 
 books occasionally do ; but "there the likeness ends ;" for it continues 
 with a whole bunch of introductions, treating of conks, and invita- 
 tions to dinner, and refusals, and " friendly advice," and weights and 
 measures, and then we get fairly launched on the sea of boiling, 
 broiling, roasting, stewing, and again return and cast anchor among 
 the vegetables. It is impossible to say where the book begins ; it is 
 ft heap of initiatory chapters a parcel of graces before meat. a bunch 
 of heads, the asparagus of literature. You are not troubled with 
 " more last words of Mr Baxter," but are delighted, and ralelighted, 
 with more first words of Dr Kitchener. He makes several starts like 
 a restless race-horse before he fairly gets upon the second course ; or 
 rather, like Lady Macbeth's dinner party, he stands much upon the 
 order of his going. But now, to avoid sinking into the same trick, we 
 will proceed without further preface to conduct our readers through 
 the maze of pots, gridirons, and frying pans, which Dr Kitchener has
 
 g THE COOK'S ORACLE. 
 
 rendered a very poetical, or we should say, a very palatable amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 Theyfrj/ preface tells us, inter alia, that he has worked all the 
 culinary problems which his book contains in his own kitchen ; and 
 that, after this warm experience, he did not venture to print a sauce, 
 or a stew, until he had read "two hundred cookery books," which, as 
 he says, "he patiently pioneered through, before he set about record- 
 ing the results of his own experiments!" We scarcely thought there 
 had been so many volumes written on the Dutch-oven. 
 
 The first introduction begins thus ; 
 
 "T.he following receipts are not a mere marrowless collection of 
 shreds, and patches, and cuttings, and pastings, but a bon&fide register 
 of practical facts, accumulated by a perseverance not to be subdued, 
 or evaporated, by the igniterous terrors of a roasting fire in the dog 
 days in defiance of the odoriferous and calefacient repellents of 
 roasting boiling frying and broiling ; moreover, the author has 
 submitted to a labour no preceding Cookery Book maker, perhaps, 
 ever attempted to encounter having eaten each receipt before he set 
 it down in his book." 
 
 We should like to see the Doctor, we confess, after this extraordinary 
 statement. To have superintended the agitations of the pot to have 
 hung affectionately over a revolving calf's heart to have patiently 
 witnessed the noisy marriage of bubble and squeak to have coolly 
 investigated the mystery of a haricot appears within the compass of 
 any old lady or gentleman, whose frame could stand the fire and 
 whose soul could rule the roast. But to have eaten the substantial 
 of four hundred and forty closely-printed pages is "a thing to read of, 
 not to tell." It calls for a man of iron interior, a man alieni appetens^ 
 tut profusus. It demands the rival of time; an edaxrerum! The 
 Doctor does not tell us how he travelled from gridiron to trying-pan 
 from frying-pan to Dutch-oven from Dutch-oven to spit from spit 
 to pot from pot to fork he leaves us to guess at his progress. We 
 presume he ate his way, page by page, through fish, flesh, fowl, and 
 vegetable ; he would have left us dead among the soups and gravies. 
 Had a whole army of martyrs accompanied him on this Russian re- 
 treat of the appetite, we should have found them strewing the way; 
 and him alone, the Napoleon of the task, living and fattening at the 
 end of the journey. The introduction ^oes on very learnedly, descant- 
 ing upon Shakespeare, Descartes, Dr Johnson, Mrs Glasse, Professor 
 Bradley, Pythagoras, Miss Seward, and other persons equally illustri- 
 ous. The Doctor's chief aim is to prove, we believe, that cookery is 
 the most laudable pursuit, and the most pleasurable amusement, of 
 life. Much depends on the age of your domestics ; fr we are told 
 that " it is a good maxim to select servants not younger than THIRTY." 
 Is it so? Youth, "thou art shamed!" This first introduction con- 
 cludes wjth a long eulogy upon the Doctor's " laborious stove work ; " 
 and upon the spirit, temper, and ability with which he has dressed his 
 book. The Doctor appends to this introduction a chapter called 
 " Culinary Curiosities," in which he gives the following recipe for 
 " persuading a goose to roast itself." We must say it out-horrors all 
 the horrors we ever read o
 
 THE COOK'S ORACLE, 
 
 * HOW TO ROAST AND EAT A GOOSE ALIVE. 
 
 "Take a goose, or a duck, or some such lively creature (but a goose 
 Is best of all for this purpose), pull off all her feathers, only the. head 
 and neck must be spared, then make a fire round about her, not too 
 close to her, that the smoke do not choke her, and that the fire may 
 not burn her too soon ; nor too far off, that she may not escape free : 
 within the circle of the fire let there be set small cups and pots full of 
 water wherein salt and honey are mingled, and let there be set nlso 
 chargers full of sodden apples, cut into small pieces in the dish. The 
 goose must be all larded and basted over with butter, to make her the 
 more fit to be eaten, and may roast the better : put then fire about 
 her, but do not make too much haste, whenas you see her begin to 
 roast ; for by walking about, and flying here and there, being cooped 
 in by the fire that stops her way out, the unwearied goose is kept in ;* 
 she will fall to drink the water to quench her thirst, and cool her heart, 
 and all her body, and the apple-sauce will make her dung, and cleanse 
 and empty her. And when she roasteth, and consumes inwardly, 
 always wet her head and heart with a wet sponge ; and when you see 
 her giddy with running, and begin to stumble, her heart wants mois- 
 ture, and she is roasted enough. Take her up, set her before your 
 guests, and she will cry as you cut off any part from her, and will be 
 almost eaten up before she be dead. It is mighty pleasant to behold ! ! ! 
 See Wecker's Secrets of Nature, in folio, London, 1660, pp. 148, 309." 
 
 The next chapter, or introduction (for we are not within forty spits 
 length of the cookery directions yet), is entitled " Invitations to 
 Dinner;" and commences thus : 
 
 " In the affairs of the mouth the strictest punctuality is indispens- 
 able ; the gastronomer ought to be as accurate an observer of tin:e 
 as the astronomer the least delay produces fatal and irreparable mis- 
 fortunes." 
 
 It appearing, therefore, that delay is dangerous, as mammas say to 
 their daughters on certain occasions, the Doctor directs that "the 
 dining-room should be furnished with a good-going clock." He then 
 speaks of food "well done when it is done," which leads to certain 
 learned sentences upon indigestion. The sad disregard of dinner-hours 
 generally observed meets with his most serious displeasure and re- 
 buke ; but to refuse an invitation to dinner is the capital crime, for 
 which there is apparently no capital punishment. "Nothing can be 
 more disobliging than a refusal which is not grounded on some very 
 strong and unavoidable cause, except not coming at the appointed 
 hour ; according to the laws of conviviality, a certificate from a sherift's 
 officer, a doctor, or an undertaker, are the only pleas which are 
 
 This cook of a goose, or goose of a cook, whichever it may be, strangely 
 reminds us of the Doctor's own intense and enthusiastic bustle among the 
 butter-boats. We fancy we see him, and not the goose, "walking about, and 
 flying here and there, being cooped in by the fire." By this time, we shoujd 
 suppose, he must be about "roasted enough."
 
 THE COOK'S ORACLE. 
 
 admissible. The duties which invitation imposes do not fall only on 
 the persons invited, but, like all other social duties, are reciprocal." 
 
 If you should, therefore, fortunately happen to be arrested, or have 
 had the good luck to fracture a limb, or, if better than all, you should 
 have taken a box in that awful theatre at which all must be present 
 once and for ever ; you may be pardoned refusing the invitation of 
 some tiresome friend to take a chop ; but there is no other excuse, no 
 other available excuse, for absenting yourself ; no mental inaptitude 
 will save you. Late comers are thus rebuked : 
 
 " There are some who seldom keep an appointment ; we can assure 
 them they as seldom ''scape without whipping,' and exciting those 
 murmurs which inevitably proceed from the best-regulated stomachs 
 when they are empty and impatient to be filled." 
 
 Carving is the next subject of the Doctor's care ; but he resolutely 
 and somewhat vehemently protests against your wielding the king of 
 knives at any other table than your own : thus for ever excluding an 
 author from the luxuries of table-anatomy. After giving an erudite 
 passage from the "Almanach des Gourmands," the Doctor wanders 
 into anecdote, and becomes facetious after the following recipe : 
 
 " I once heard a gentle hint on this subject given to a blue-mould 
 fancier, who, by looking too long at a Stilton cheese, was at last com- 
 pletely overcome by his eye exciting his appetite, till it became quite 
 ungovernable, and unconscious of everything but the mity object of 
 his contemplation, he began to pick out, in no small portions, the 
 primest parts his eye could select from the centre of the cheese. 
 
 "The good-natured founder of the feast, highly amused at the ecsta- 
 sies each morsel created in its passage over the palate of the enraptured 
 gourmand, thus encouraged the perseverance of his guest ' Cut 
 away, my dear sir, cut away, use no ceremony, I pray ; I hope you 
 will pick out all the best of my cheese the rind and the rotten will 
 do very well for my wife and family ! " 
 
 There is something so serene and simple in the above little story, 
 that we recommend it to persons after dinner in preference to those 
 highly-seasoned and spicy jests which Mr Joseph Miller has potted 
 for the use of posterity. The next introduction contains '' Friendly 
 Advice to Cooks and other servants ;" but we cannot help thinking 
 that Dr Swift has in some degree forestalled our own good Doctor in 
 this department of literature, although perhaps Dr Kitchener is the 
 most sober of counsellors. The following, to be sure, is a little sus- 
 picious :- " Enter into all their plans of economy, and endeavour 
 to make the most of everything, as well for your own honour 
 as your master's profit." This, without the note, would be unex- 
 ceptionable ; but the Doctor quotes from Dr Trusler (all the Doctors 
 are redolent of servants) as follows: "I am persuaded that no ser- 
 vant ever saved her master sixpence but she found it in the end 
 in her own pocket." "Have the dust removed," s-iys Dr Kitchener, 
 "regularly every fortnight^" "What dust? Not that, we trust, which 
 people are often entreated to come down with. The accumulation of 
 soot has its dire evils : for "many good dinners have been spoiled, and 
 many houses burned down, by the soot falling." Thus the Doctor very 
 properly puts the greater evil first. "Give notice to your employer!
 
 THE COOK'S ORACLE. 9 
 
 when the contents of your coal cellar nre diminished to a chaldron" 
 Diminished I we should be glad to hear when our cellars had increased 
 to this stock. There is no hope, then, for those chrimber-gentli-meiv 
 who fritter away their lives by sack or bushel ! Dr Kitchener is rather 
 abstruse and particular in another of his directions : " 'I he best rule 
 for marketing is to pay ready money for everything" This is a good 
 rule with the elect ; but, is there no luxury in a baker's bill ? Are 
 butchers' reckonings nothing? Is there no virtue in a milk-tally? 
 We cannot help thinking that tick was a great invention, and gives 
 many a man a dinner that would otherwise go unfed. 
 
 The chapter on weights and measures is short, but deeply interest- 
 ing and intense. There is an episode upon trough nutmeg- graters 
 that would do the water-gruel generation good to hear. 
 
 And now the book begins to boil. The reader is told that meat takes 
 twenty minutes to the pound ; and that block-tin saucepans are the 
 best. We can fish out little else, except a long and rather skilful cal- 
 culation of the manner in which meat jockeys itself and reduces its 
 weight in the cooking. Buckle and Sam Chiffney are nothing to 
 "a leg of mutton with the shank bone taken out ;" and it perhaps 
 might not be amiss if the Newmarket profession were to consider ho\v 
 far it would be practicable to substitute the cauldron for the blanket, 
 and thus reduce by steam. We should suppose a young gentleman, 
 with half-an-hour's boiling, would ride somewhere about feather- 
 weight. 
 
 Baking is dismissed in a pnge and a half. We are sorry to find 
 that some joints, when fallen into poverty and decay, are quite unworthy 
 of credit " When baking a joint of poor meat,' before it has been 
 half baked I have seen // (what ?) start from the bone, and shrivel up 
 scarcely to be believed!' 
 
 Coasting is the next object of Dr Kitchener's anxious care ; and if 
 this chapter be generally read, we shall not be surprised to see people 
 in future roasting their meat before their doors and in their areas : tor 
 the Doctor says : 
 
 " Roasting should be done in the open air, to ventilate the meat from 
 its own fumes, and by the radiant heat of a clear glowing fire, other- 
 wise it is in fact baked the machines the economical grate-makers 
 call roasters, are, in plain English, ovens." 
 
 The Doctor then proceeds, not b?itfg consent with telling you how 
 to cook your victuals, to advise carefully as to the best method of coi k- 
 ing \\\QJire, " The fire that is but just sufficient to receive the noble 
 sirloin will parch up a lighter joint ; " which is plainly a translation 
 into the cook's own particular Ian Jiiage of " tempi r the wind to the 
 shorn Iamb." The chapter does not conclude without observing that 
 " Everybody knows the advantage of slow boiling slow roasting is 
 equally important." This is an axiom. 
 
 Frying is a very graceful and lively species of cooking, though yield- 
 ing perhaps in its vivacity and music to broiling but of this more anon. 
 We are sorry to find the Doctor endeavouring to take away from the 
 originality of frying, classing it unkindly with the inferior sorts ol 
 boiling calling it, in fact, the mere corpulence of boiling. 
 
 "A frying-pan should be about four inches deep, with a perfe,ct}|
 
 10 THE COOK'S ORACLE. 
 
 flat ard thick bottom, twelve inches long, and nine broad, with perpen 
 dicular sides, and must be half filled with fat : good frying is, in fact, 
 boiling in fat. To make sure that th pan :s quite clean, rub a little fat 
 over it, and then make it warm, and rub it with a clean cloth." 
 
 Broiling follows. We really begin to be enacting this sort of 
 cookery ourselves, from the vigor and spirit with which we have 
 rushed along in the company of Dr. Kitchener. Broiling is the poetry 
 of cooking. The lyre-like shape of the instrument on which it is per- 
 formed, and the brisk and pleasant sounds that arise momentarily, 
 are rather musical than culinary. We are transported, at the thought, 
 to that golden gridiron in the Beef Steak Club, which seems to confine 
 the white cook in his burning cage, which generates wit, whim, and 
 song, for hours together, and pleasantly blends the fanciful and the 
 substantial in one laughing and robust harmony. 
 
 The Doctor is profound on the subject of vegetables, and when we 
 consider the importance of it, we are not surprised to hear him earnestly 
 exclaim, " I should as soon think of roasting an animal alive, as of 
 boiling a -vegetable after it is dead." No one will question that the one 
 is quite as pardonable as the other. Our readers cannot be too par- 
 ticular in looking to their brocoli and potatoes. "This branch of 
 cookery requires the most vigilant attention. If vegetables are a minute 
 or two too long over the fire, they lose all their beauty and flavor. 
 If not thoroughly boiled tender, they are tremendously indigestible, 
 and much more troublesome during their residence in the stomach 
 than underdone meats." 
 
 We pass over the rudiments of dressing fish, and of compounding 
 broths and soups, except with remarking, that a turbot is said to be 
 better for not being fresh, and that " lean juicy beef, mutton, or veal 
 form the basis of broth." 
 
 Gravies and sauces are not neglected. The Doctor writes, " How- 
 ever 'les pompeuses bagatelles de la cuisine masquee,' may tickle the 
 fancy of demi-connoisseurs, who, leaving the substance to pursue the 
 shadow, ^prefer wonderful and whimsical metamorphoses and things 
 extravagantly expensive, to those which are intrinsically excellent in 
 whose mouth mutton can hardly hope for a welcome unless accom- 
 panied by venison sauce or a rabbit any chance for a race down the 
 red lane, without assuming the form of a frog or a spider or pork 
 without being either 'goosified ' or 'lambified,' and game and poultry in 
 the shape of crawfish or hedgehogs ; these travesties rather show the 
 patience than the science of the cook, and the bad taste of those 
 who prefer such baby tricks to old English nourishing and substantial 
 plain cookery. We could have made this the biggest book with half 
 the trouble it has taken me to make it the best ; concentration and 
 perspicuity have been my aim." 
 
 We do not know what the Doctor understands as "a big book; " 
 but to our notions (and we are experienced in the weights and 
 measures of printed works) the Cook's Oracle is a tolerably huge 
 and Gog-like production. We should have been glad to have had a 
 calculation of what the manuscript lost in the printing. In truth a 
 comparative scale of the wasting of meat and prose during the cooking 
 would be no uninteresting performance. For our parts, we can only
 
 THE COOK'S ORACLE. 11 
 
 remark from experience, that these our articles in the London Maga- 
 tine boil up like spinach. We fancy, when written, that we have a 
 heap of leaves fit to feed thirty columns ; and they absolutely and 
 alarmingly shrink up to a page or two when dressed by the com- 
 positor. 
 
 The romantic fancy of cooks is thus restrained : 
 
 "The imagination of most cooks is so incessantly on the hunt fcr 
 a relish, that they seem to think they cannot make sauce sufficientlv 
 savoury, without putting into it everything that ever w;is eaten ; ;md 
 supposing every addition must be an improvement, they frequently 
 overpower the natural flavour of their plain sauces, by overlo.idin.; 
 them with salt and spices, &c., but, remember, these will be de- 
 teriorated by any addition, save only just salt enough to awaken tl,e 
 palate the lover of 'piquance' and compound flavours may have 
 recourse to the * Magazine of Taste.'" 
 
 Again 
 
 "Why have clove and allspice, or mace and nutmeg, in the 
 same sauce? or marjoram, thyme, and savory or onions, leeks, 
 eschallots, and garlick? One will very well supply the place of tl.e 
 other, and the frugal cook may save something considerable by 
 attending to this to the advantage of her employers, and her own time 
 and trouble. You might as well, to make soup, order one quart of 
 water from the Thames, another from the New River, a third from 
 Hampstead, and a fourth from Chelsea, with a certain portion of 
 spring and rain water." 
 
 The Doctor himself, however, in spite of his correction of the cooks, 
 is not entirely free from the fanciful. When you have opened a bottle 
 of catsup, he says, "use only the best superfine velvet taper corks.'' 
 This is drawing a cork with the hand of a poet. 
 
 And now, will the reader believe it ? The work commences afresh ! 
 After all our labour, after all our travelling through boiling, broiliivj, 
 roasting, &c., we find that we have the whole to go over again. To 
 our utter dismay, p. 142 begins anew with boilingl It is little com- 
 fort to us that joints and cuttings come in for their distin^fctreatment : 
 we seem to have made no way, and sit down with as much despair as 
 a young school-girl, who, after three-quarters of a year's dancing, ii 
 put back to the Scotch step. Beef has been spoken of before ; but 
 we have not at all made up our minds on the following subject : 
 
 " Obs. In Mrs Mason's Ladies' Assistant this joint is called haunch 
 bone ; in Henderson's Cookery, edge-bone ; in Domestic Manage- 
 ment, aitch-bone; in Reynolds' Cookery, ische-bone ; in Mrs Lyuia 
 Fisher's Prudent Housewife, ach-bone ; in Mrs M'lver's Cookery, 
 hook-bone. We have also seen it spelt each-bone, and ridge-boni, 
 and we have also heard it called natch-bone." 
 
 Of " half a calf's head," Dr Kitchener says, slily enough, " If you lik< 
 it full-dressed, score it j uperjicially ; beat up the yolk of an egg, and 
 rub it over the head with a feather ; powder it," &c. Such a calf,, 
 head as this, so full-dressed, might be company for the best nobl'* 
 man's ditto in the land. 
 
 It is quite impossible for us to accompany Dr Kitchener regul<rl> 
 through "roasting, frying, vegetables," &c., as we are by no mcaiis
 
 12 THE COOJCS> ORACLE. 
 
 suie that our readers would sanction the encore. We shall pick a bit 
 here and a bit there, from the Doctor's dainty larder ; and take care 
 to choose, as the English do with a French bill of fare, from those 
 niceties which are novelties. 
 
 " A pig," observes the Doctor, as though he were speaking of any 
 other dull, obstinate personage, "is a very troublesome subject to 
 roast. Most persons have them baked: send a quarter of a pound of 
 butter, and beg the baker to baste it well." The following occurs to 
 us to be as difficult a direction to fulfil as any of Sir Thomas Parking's 
 wrestling instructions : " Lay your pig back to back in the dish, with 
 one half of the head on each side, and the ears one at t-ach end, which 
 you must take care to make nice and crisp, or you will get scolded, 
 as the good man was who bought his wife a pig with one ear." The 
 point at the end is like the point of a spit. Again : "A sucking pig, 
 like a young child, must not be left for an instant !" Never was such 
 affection manifested before for this little interesting and persecuted 
 tribe. 
 
 If Izaak Walton be the greatest of writers on the catching of fish, 
 Dr Kitchener is, beyond doubt, triumphant over all who have written 
 upon the dressing of them. The Doctor dwells upon "the fine pale 
 red rose colour" of pickled salmon, till you doubt whether he is not 
 admiring a carnation. " Cod's skull " becomes flowery and attractive ; 
 and fine "silver eels," when "stewed Wiggy's way," swim in beauty 
 as well as butter. The Doctor points out the best method of killing 
 this perversely living fish, observing, very justly, "that the humane 
 executioner does certain criminals the favour to hang them before he 
 breaks them on the wheel." 
 
 Of salmon the Doctor rather quaintly and posingly observes, " The 
 thinnest part of the fish is \hzfattest. If you have any le/t, put it into 
 a pie-dish, and cover it," &c. The direction is conditional, we perceive. 
 
 " Remember to choose your lobsters 'heavy and lively.' " " Motion," 
 says the Doctor, " is the index of their freshness." 
 
 Upon oysters Dr Kitchener is eloquent indeed. He is, as it were, 
 " native h^fe, and to the manner born." 
 
 " The true lover of an oyster will have some regard for the feelings 
 of his little favourite, and will never abandon it to the mercy of a 
 bungling operator but will open it himself, and contrive to detach 
 the fish from the shell so dexterously, that the oyster is hardly con- 
 scious he has been ejected from his lodging, till he feels the teeth of the 
 piscivorous gourmand tickling him to death." 
 
 Who would not be an oyster to be thus surprised, to be thus pleas- 
 ingly ejected from its tenement of mother-of-pearl, to be thus tickled 
 to death ? When we are placed in our shell, we should have no ob- 
 jection to be astonished with a similar delicate and titillating opening ! 
 
 Giblet soup requires to be eaten with the fingers. We were nut 
 aware that these handy instruments could be used successfully in the 
 devouring of gravies and soups. 
 
 " N.B. This is rather a family dish than a company one; the 
 bones cannot be well picked without the help of a live pincers. Since 
 Tom Coryat introduced forks, A.D. 1642, it has not been the fashion 
 to put ' pickers and stealers ' into soup."
 
 THE COOK'S OKACLE. 13 
 
 After giving a most elaborate recipe for mock turtle soup, he pro. 
 ceeds 
 
 "This soup was eaten by the committee of taste with unanimous 
 applause, and they pronounced it a very satisfactory substitute for 
 'the far fetched and dear bought' turtle ; which itself is indebted for 
 its title of 'sovereign of savouriness' to the rich soup with which it is 
 surrounded ; without its paraphernalia of double relishes, a ' stan ed 
 turtle ' has not more intrinsic sapidity than a FATTED CALF." 
 
 And a little further on he observes 
 
 " Oba. This is a delicious soup, within the reach of those ' who eat 
 to live;' but if it had been composed expressly for those who only 
 ' live to eat,' I do not know how it could have been made more agree- 
 able ; as it is, the lover of good eating will ' wish his throat a mile 
 long, and every inch of it palate.'" 
 
 Our readers will pant to have " Mr Michael Kelly's sauce for boiled 
 tripe, calf 's-head, or cow-heeL" It is this 
 
 " Garlick vinegar, a tablespoonful ; of mustard, brown sugar, and 
 black pepper, a teaspoonful each ; stirred into half a pint of oiled 
 melted butter." 
 
 Gad-a-mercy. what a gullet must be in the possession of Mr Michael 
 Kelly ! 
 
 We think the following almost a superfluous direction to cooks : 
 " Take your chops out of the frying-pan," p. 324 ; but then he tells 
 you in another place, " to put your tongue into plenty of cold water ;" 
 p. 156, which makes all even again. 
 
 After giving ample directions for the making of essence of anchovy, 
 the Doctor rather damps-our ardour for entering upon it, by the fol- 
 lowing observation: "Mem. You cannot make essence of anchovy 
 half so cheap as you can buy //." 
 
 The following passage is rather too close an imitation of one of the 
 puff directions in the Critic: 
 
 "To a pint of the cleanest and strongest rectified spirit (sold by 
 Rickards, Piccadilly), add two drachms and a half of the sweet oil of 
 orange peel (sold by Stewart, No. 1 1 Old Broad Street, near the Bank), 
 shake it up," &c. 
 
 " Obs. We do not offer this receipt as a rival to Mr Johnson's 
 curacjoa ; it is only proposed as an humble substitute for that incom- 
 parable liqueur." 
 
 The Doctor proceeds to luxuriate upon made dishes, &c. ; in the 
 course of which he says, " The sirloin of beef I divide into three parts : 
 I first have it nicely boned!" Ti^js is rather a suspicious way of 
 having it at all. Mrs Phillips's Irish stew has all the fascination of her 
 country-women. In treating of shin of beef, the Doctor gives us a 
 proverb which we never remember to have heard before. 
 
 " Of all the fowls of the air, commend me to the shin of beef : f< r 
 there's marrow for the master, meat for the mistress, gristles for the 
 servants, and bones for the dogs." 
 
 On pounded cheese the Doctor writes, " T\\e,piqieance of this buttery* 
 caseous relish," &c. Is not this a little overdone f The passage, how- 
 ever, on the frying of eggs makes up for all. 
 
 " Be sure the frying-pan is quite clean ; when the fat is hot, break
 
 14 TO CELIA. 
 
 two or three eggs into it ; do not turn them, but, while they are frying, 
 keep pouring some of the fat over them with a spoon : when the yolk 
 just begins to look white, which it will in about a couple of minutes, 
 they are done enough ; the white must not lose its transparency, but 
 the yolk be seen blushing through it : if they are done nicely, they 
 will look as white and delicate as if they had been poached ; take 
 them up with a tin slice, drain the fat from them, trim them neatly, 
 and send them up with the bacon round them." 
 
 " The beauty of a poached egg is for the yolk to be seen blushing 
 through the white, which should only be just sufficiently hardened to 
 form a transparent veil for the egg." 
 
 So much for the Cook's Oracle. The style is a piquant sauce to 
 the solid food of the instructions ; and we never recollect reading 
 sentences that relished so savourily. The Doctor appears to have 
 written his work upon the back of a dripping-pan, with the point of his 
 spit, so very cook-like does he dish up his remarks. If we were to be 
 castaway upon a desert island, and could only carry one book ashore, 
 we should take care to secure the Cook's Oracle ; for let victuals be ever 
 so scarce, there are pages in that erudite book that are, as Congreve's 
 Jere;ny says, " a feast for an emperor." Who could starve with such 
 a larder of reading? 
 
 TO CELIA* 
 
 OLD fictions say that Love hath eyes, 
 Yet sees, unhappy boy ! with none ; 
 Blind as the night ! but fiction lies, 
 For Love doth always see with one. 
 
 To one our graces all unveil, 
 To one our flaws are all exposed ; 
 But when with tenderness we hail, 
 He smiles and keeps the critic closed 
 
 But when he's scorn'd, abused, estranged, 
 He opes the eye of evil ken, 
 And all his anel friends are changed 
 To demons and are hated then ! 
 
 Yet once it happ'd that, semi-blind, 
 He met thee on* summer day, 
 And took thee for his mother kind, 
 And frown'd as he was push'd away. 
 
 But still he saw thee shine the same, 
 Though he had oped his evil eye, 
 And found that nothing but her shamo 
 Was left to know his mother by ! 
 
 * London Magazine, April 1822.
 
 PRESENTIMENT. 
 
 And ever since that morning sun, 
 He thinks of thee, and blesses Fate 
 That he can look with both on one 
 Who hath no ugliness to hate. 
 
 PRESENTIMENT. 
 
 A FRAGMENT.* 
 
 T F a man has a little child to whom he bows his heart and stretches 
 JL forth his arms if he has an only son, or a little daughter, 
 with her sweet face and innocent hands, with her mother's voice, only 
 louder and her mother's eyes, only brighter let him go and caress 
 them while they are his, for the dead possess nothing. Let him put 
 fondness in his breath while it is with him, and caress his babes as if 
 they would be fatherless, and blend his fingers with their glossy hair 
 as if it were a frail, frail gossamer. And if he be away, let him hasten 
 homeward with his impatient spirit before him, plotting kisses for their 
 lips ; but if he be far distant, let him read my story, and weep and 
 utter fond breath, kissing the words before they go, wishing that they 
 could reach his children's ear. And yet let him be glad ; for though 
 he is beyond seas, he is still near them while Death is behind him 
 for the greater distance swallows the less. And the wings of angels 
 may wait his love to their far-away thoughts, silently, like the whisper- 
 ings of their own spirits while they weep for their father. 
 
 It was in the days of my bitterness, when care had bewildered me, 
 and the feverish strife of this world had vexed me till I was mad, that 
 I wenv into a little land of graves, and there wept ; for my sorrow was 
 deef) unto darkness, and I could not win friendship by friendship, nor 
 love (though it still loved me) but in heaven for it w.is purer than 
 the pure air, and had floated up to God. And I sat down upon a 
 tombstone with my unburied grief, and wondered what that earth 
 contained of joy, and misery, and triumph long past, and pride lower 
 than nettles, and how old love was joined to love again, and hate was 
 gone to hate. For there were many monuments with sunshine on ont 
 side and shade on the other, like life and death, with black frowning 
 letters upon their white bright faces ; and through those letters one 
 mishit hear the dead speaking silently and slow, for th< re was much 
 meaning in those words, and mysteries which long thought could not 
 fathom. And there was dust upon those flat dwellings, whic h I kissed, 
 for lips like it were there, and eyes where much love had been, and 
 cheeks that had warmed the sunshine. But the dust was gone in a 
 breath, and so were they ; and the wind brought shadows that passed 
 and passed incessantly over that land of graves, which you might 
 strive to stay, but could not, even as the dead had passed away and 
 been missed in the after brightness. 
 
 Thus f l buried my thoughts with the dead ; and as I sat, uncon- 
 
 * London Magazine, Dec. 1822.
 
 It PRESENTIMENT. 
 
 sciously, I heard the sound of young sweet voices, and ; looking up, 1 
 saw two little children coming up the path. The lambs lifted up their 
 heads as they passed and gazed, but fed again without stirring, fol 
 there was nothing to fear from such innocent looks and so gentle 
 voices ; there was even a melancholy in their tone which does not 
 belong to childhood. The eldest was a young boy, very fair and 
 gentle, with a little hand linked to his ; and/by h?s talk, it seemed that 
 he had brought his sister to show her where her poor father lay. and 
 to talk about Death. Their lips seemed too rosy and tender tc 
 utter his dreadful name but the word was empty to them, and un- 
 meaning as the sound of a shell for they knew him not, that he had 
 kissed them before they were born or breathed, and would again when 
 the time came. So they approached, dew-dabbled, and struggling 
 through the long-tangled weeds to a new grave, and stood before it, 
 and gazed on its record, like the ignorant sheep, without reading. 
 They did not see their father, but only a little mound of earth, with 
 strange grass and weeds ; and they looked and looked again, and at 
 each other, with whispers in their eyes, and listened, till the flowers 
 dropped from their forgotten hands. And when I saw how rosy they 
 were in that black, which only made them the more rosy, and their 
 bright curly hair, that had no proud hand to part it, I thought of the 
 yearnings of disembodied love and invisible agony that hnd no voice, 
 till methought their father's spirit passed into mine, and burned, and 
 gazed through my eyes upon his children. They had not yet seemed 
 to notice me, but only that silent grave ; and, looking more and more 
 sadly, their eyes filled with large tears, and iheir lips drooped, and 
 their heads sunk so mournfully and so comfortless, that my own grief 
 rushed into my eyes and hid them from me. And I said inwardly, I 
 will be their father, and wipe their blue eyes, and win their sorrowful 
 cheeks into dimples, for they are very fair and young too ydung for 
 this stormy life. I will watch them through the wide world, for it is 
 a cruel place, where the tenderest are most torn because they are 
 tenderest, and the most beautiful are most blighted. Therefore this 
 little one shall be my daughter, that I may gather her for heaven as 
 my best deed upon earth ; and this young boy shall be my son, to 
 share my blessing when I die, that God in thnt time may so deal with 
 my own offspring. For I feel a misgiving that 1 shall soon die, and 
 that my own little ones will come to my grave and weep over me, 
 even as these poor orphans. Oh ! how shall I leave them to the care 
 of the careless to the advice of the winds to the home of the 
 wide world? And as I thought of this, the full tears dropped 
 from my eyes, and I saw again the two children. They were still 
 there and weeping ; but as I looked at them more earnestly, I per- 
 ceived that they were altered, or my sight changed, so that I knew 
 their faces. I knew them for I had seen them in very infancy, and 
 through all their growth in sickness when I prayed over them 
 and in slumber when I had watched over them till I almost \\Tpt, 
 they were so beautiful ! I had kissed, how often ! those very 
 cheeks, blushing my own blood, and had breathed blessings upon 
 their glossy brows, and had pressed their little hands in ecstasies <>l 
 anxious love. They also knew me ; but there was an older grief in
 
 PRESENTIMENT. iy 
 
 their looks than had ever been : and why had they come to me in 
 that place, and inblack, so sad and so speechless, nnd with flowers 
 so withering ? but they only shook their heads and wept. Then 1 
 trembled exceedingly, and stretched out my arms to embrace them, 
 but there was nothing between me and the tombstone where they had 
 seemed : yet they still gazed at me from behind it, and further and 
 still further as I followed, till they stood upon the verge of the church- 
 yard. Then I saw, in the sunshine, that they were shadowless ; and, 
 as they raised their hands in the light, that no blood was in them ; 
 and as I moved still closer, they slowly turned into trees, and hills, 
 and pale blue sky, that had been in the distance. Still I gazed where 
 they had been, and the sky seemed full of them ; but there were only 
 clouds, and the shadows on the earth were merely shadows, and 
 the rustling was the rustling of the sheep. I saw them no more. 
 They were gone from me, as if for ever ; but I knew that this was 
 my warning, and wept, for it came to me through my own children 
 in all its bitterness. I felt that I should leave them as I had fore- 
 toldtheir hearts, and lips, and sweet voices, to one another, to be 
 their own comfort ; for I knew that such grief is prophetic of grief, 
 and that angels so minister to man, and that Death thus converses 
 in spirit with his elect. So I spread my arms to the world in 
 farewell, and weaned my eyes from all things that had been pleasant 
 on the earth, and would be so after me, and prepared myself for her 
 ready bosom. And I said, "Now 1 will go home and kiss my children 
 before I die, and put a life's love into my last hour; for I must 
 hasten while my thoughts are with me, lest I madden, and perhaps 
 wrong them in my delirium, and spurn their sorrowful love, and 
 curse them, instead of blessing, with a fierce strange voice." Thus 
 I hurried towards them faster and faster till I ran ; but as my desire 
 increased, my strength failed me, so that I wished for my death-bed, 
 and threw myself down on a green hill, under the shade of trees 
 that almost hid the sky with their intricate branches. And as I lay, 
 the thought of death came over me as death, with a deep gloom like 
 the shade of a darkened chamber, and blinded me to the trees, and 
 the sky, and the grass, that were round me. But a pale light came, as 
 I thought, through the pierced shutters, and I saw by it strange and 
 familiar faces full of grief, and eyes that watched mine for the last 
 look, and tiptoe figures gliding silently with clasped hands and a 
 woman that chafed my feet ; and as she seemed to chafe them, she 
 turned to shake her head, and tears gushed into all eyes as if they had 
 been one, so that I seemed drowned, and could see nothing except 
 their shadows in the light of my own spirit. In that moment I heard 
 the cries of my own children, calling to me fainter and fainter, as if 
 they died and I could not save them ; and 1 tried to stay them, but my 
 tongue was lifeless in my mouth, and my breath seemed locked up in 
 my bosom : and 1 thought, " Surely I now die, and the last of my soul 
 is in my ears, for I still hear, though I see not ; " but the voices were 
 soon drowned in a noise like the rushing of waters, for the blood was 
 struggling through my heart, slower and slower, till it stopped, and I 
 turned so cold, that I felt the burning of the air upon me, and the 
 scalding of unknown tears. Yet for a moment the light returned t? 
 
 B
 
 18 PRESENTIMENT. 
 
 me, with those mourners for they were already in black, even their 
 faces ; but they turned darker and darker, and whirled round into ont 
 shade till it was utterly dark : and as my breath went forth, the air 
 pressed heavy upon me, so that I seemed buried, and in my deep 
 grave, and suffering the pain of worms till I was all consumed and no 
 more conscious. Thus I lay for unknown time, and without thought ; 
 and again awakening, I saw a dark figure bending over me, and felt 
 him grasp me till I ached in all my bones. Then I asked him if he 
 was Death or an angel, and if he had brought me wings ? for I could 
 not see plainly ; but as my senses returned, I knew an intimate friend 
 and neighbour, and recognised the sound of his voice. He had thus 
 found me, he said, in passing, and had seen me faint, and had 
 recovered me ; but not till he had almost wrung the blood from my 
 fingers ; and he inquired the cause of my distress. So I thanked him, 
 and told him of my vision, and he tried to comfort me : but I knew 
 that the angels of my children had told me truly, and the more so for 
 this shadow of Death that I had passed ; and feeling that my hour 
 was near, and recollecting my home, I endeavoured to rise. But 
 my strength was gone, and I fell backwards ; till fear, which had first 
 taken away my strength, restored it tenfold, and I descended the hill, 
 and hurried onwards before my friend, who could not keep up with me. 
 
 When I had gone a little way, however, the road was of deep sand, 
 SO that I grew impatient of my steps, and wished for the speed of 
 a horse that I heard galloping before me. Even as I heard it, the 
 horse suddenly turned an angle of the road, and came running with 
 all the madness of fright, plunging and scattering the loose sand from 
 his fiery heels. As he came nearer, I thought I saw a rider upon h:s 
 back it was only fancy ; but he looked like Death, and very terrible, 
 for I knew that he was coming to tear me and trample me under his 
 horse's hoofs, and carry me away for ever, so that I should never see 
 my children again. At that thought my soul fainted within me with- 
 out his touch, and my breath went from me, so that I could not stir 
 even from Death, though he came nearer and nearer, and I could see 
 him frown through the black tossing mane. In a moment he was 
 close ; the wild foaming horse struck at me with his furious heels so 
 that the loose sand flew up in my bosom reared his head disdain- 
 fully, and flew past me with the rush of a whirlwind. The fiend 
 grinned upon me as he passed, and tossed his arms in an ecstasy of 
 triumph ; but he left me untouched, and the noise soon died away 
 behind me. Then a warm joy trembled over my limbs, and I hurried 
 forward again with an hour's hope of life. My heart's beat quickened 
 my feet, and I soon reached the corner where I had first seen the 
 horse ; but there I stopped it was only a low moan but my heart 
 stopped with it. In another throb I was with my children, and in 
 another they were with God. I saw their eyes before they closed 
 but my son's 
 
 How it happened I have never asked, or have forgotten. I only 
 know that I had children, and that they are dead. Now 1 have only 
 tneir angels. They still visit me in the churchyard ; but their eyes 
 are closed, and their little locks drop blood they still shrink, auci 
 faint, and fade away but still I die not 1 INCOG,
 
 MR MARTIN'S PICTURES, ETC. 
 
 MR MARTIN 1 S PICTURES AND THE BONASSUS* 
 
 A LETTER FROM MRS WINIFRED LLOYD TO HER FRIEND MRS PRICE, AT 
 THE PARSONAGE HOUSE AT , IN MONMOUTHSHIRE. 
 
 MY DEAR MRS PRICE, This is to let you know that me 
 and Becky and little Humphry are safe arrived in London, 
 where we have been since Monday. My darter is quite inchanted 
 with the metropalus and longs to be intraduced to it satiety, which 
 please God she shall be as soon as things are ready to make her de- 
 butt in. It is high time now she should be brought into the world 
 being twenty years old cum Midsummer and very big for her size. You 
 knows, Mrs Price, that with her figure and accumplishments she was 
 quite berried in Wales, but I hopes when the country is scowered off 
 she will shine as bright as the best and make a rare havoc among 
 the mail sex. She has larned the pinaforte and to draw, and does 
 flowers and shells, as Mr Owen says, to a mirrikle, for I spares no 
 munny on her to make her fit for any gentleman's wife, when he shall 
 please to ax her. I took her the other day to the Bullock's Museum 
 to see Mr Martin's expedition of picters because she has such a 
 pretty notion of painting herself and a very nice site it was, thof it 
 cost half-a-crown. I tried to get the children in for half-price but the 
 man said that Becky was a full-grown lady, and so she is sure enuff, so 
 I could only beat him down to take a sixpence off little Humphry. 
 
 The picters are hung in a parler up-stairs (Becky calls it a drawing- 
 room) and you see about a dozen for your munny which brings it to 
 about a penny a piece, and that is not dear. The first on the left hand 
 as you go in and on the right coming out is called Revenue. It 
 reperesents a man and woman with a fire breaking out at their backs 
 Becky thought it was the fire of London but the show gentleman said 
 it was, Troy that was burned out of revenge, so that was a very good 
 thought to paint. Then there was Bellshazzer's Feast as you read of 
 it in the Bible, with Daniel interrupting the handwriting on the wall 
 with the cunning men and the king and all the nobility. Becky said she 
 never saw such bevvtiful painting and sure enuff they were the finest 
 cullers I everset eyes on, blews and pinks, and purples and greens all as 
 bright as fresh sattin and velvet, and no doubt they had court sutes all 
 span new for the Banket. As for Humphry there was no getting him 
 from a picter of the Welsh Bard because he knew the ballad about it 
 and saw the whole core of Captain Edwards's sogers coming down the 
 hill, with their waggin train and all, quite natural. To be sure- their 
 cullers were very bewtiful, but there was so many mountings piled atop 
 of one another and some going out of sight into heaven that it m.ide 
 my neck ake to look after them. Next to that there was a storm in 
 Babylon,t but not half so well painted, Becky said, as the rest. There 
 was none hardly of those smart bright culler's, only a bunch of flowers 
 
 * London Magazine, May 1822. 
 
 t The Storming of Babylon : Mrs Lloyd must have got her catalogue by 
 hearsay.
 
 O MR MARTIN'S PICTURES, ETC. 
 
 in a garden, that Becky said would look bewtiful on a chancy teacup 
 Howsomever some gentlemen looked at it a long while and called it 
 clever and said they prefeared his architecter work to his painting and 
 he makes very handsum bildings for sartain. They s;iid too that this 
 picter was quieter than all the rest but how that can be, God he 
 knows, for I could not hear a pin's difference betwixt them and be- 
 sides that it was in better keeping which I suppose means it is sold to 
 a Lord. The next was only a lady very well dressed and walking in a 
 landskip. But oh, Mrs Price, how shall I tell you about the burning 
 of Hercaleum ! Becky said it put her in mind of what is written in 
 the Revealations about the sky being turned to blood, and indeed it 
 seemed to take all the culler out of her face when she looked at it. It 
 looked as if all the world was going to be burnt to death with a shower 
 of live coals ! Oh dear ! to see the poor things running about in sich an 
 earthquack as threw the pillers off their legs and all the men of war 
 in distress, beating their bottoms, and going to rack and ruin in the 
 arbour! It is a shocking site to see only in a picter, with so m my 
 people in silks and sattins and velvets having their things so scorched 
 and burnt into holes ! Oh Mrs Price ! what a mercy we was not born 
 in Vesuvus and there are no burning mountings in Wales I only 
 think to be holding our sheelds over our heads to keep off the hot 
 sinders, and almost suffercated to death with brimstun. It puts one 
 in a shiver to think of it. 
 
 There is another picter of a burning mounting with Zadok* hang- 
 ing upon a rock Becky knows the story and sh .11 tell it you but it 
 looked nothing after the other, though the criketal gentlemen you 
 knows of, said it was a much better painting. But there is no saying 
 for people's tastes as Mr Owen says, the world dees not dine upon 
 one dinner but I have forgot one more, and that is Mac Beth and the 
 three Whiches, with such a rigiment of Hilanders that I wonder ho\v 
 they got into one picter. Becky says the band ought to be playing bag 
 Pipes instead of Kittle drums, but no doubt Mr Martin knows better 
 than Becky, and I am sure from what I have heard in the North that 
 either Kittles or Drums would sound better than bag Pipes. 
 
 We are going to-morrow to the play, and any other sites we may see 
 you shall hear. Till then give my respective complements to Mr Price 
 with a kiss from Becky and Humphry and remane, 
 
 Your faithful humble servant 
 
 WINIFRED LLOYD. 
 
 P.S. I forgot to say that after we had seen Mr Martins expedition, 
 we went from the Bullock's to the Bonassus as it is but a step from 
 wan to the other. The man says it is a perfect picter, and so it is for 
 sartain and ou^ht to be painted. It is like a bull, only quite different, 
 and cums from the Appellation Mountings. My Humphry thought 
 it must hive been catcht in a pound, and I wundered the child could 
 make sich a nateral idear, but he is a sweet boy and very foreward in 
 his laming. He was eyely delited at the site you may be sure, but 
 Becky being timorsome shut her eyes all the time she was seeing iu 
 
 * Mrs Lloyd means Sadak, in the "Tales of the Genii."
 
 THE TWO SWANS. ft 
 
 But saving his pushing now and then, the anymil is no ways veracious 
 and eats nothing but vegeatables. The man showed us some outland- 
 ish sort of pees that it lives upon but he give it two hole pales of rare 
 carrots besides. It must be a handsum customer to the green Grocer 
 and a pretty penny I warrant it costs for vittles. But it is a wonder- 
 ful work of Natur, and ou.i;ht to make man look to his ways as Mr 
 Lloyd says. Which of our infiddles could make a Bonassus, let them 
 tell me that, Mrs Price! I would have carried him home in rny eye to 
 describe to you and Mr Price, but we met Mrs Striker the butcher's 
 lady and she drove him quite out of my head. Howsomever as you 
 likes curosities I shall send his playbill that knows more about him 
 than I do, though there's nothing like seeing him with wan's own eyes. 
 I think if the man would take him down to Monmouth in a carry van 
 he would get a good many haperce by showing him. Till then I re- 
 mane once more Your faithful humble sarvant 
 
 WINIFRED LLOYD. 
 
 THE TWO SWANS. 
 
 A FAIRY TALE.* 
 
 IMMORTAL Imogen, crown'd queen above 
 The lilies of thy sex, vouchsafe to hear 
 A fairy dream in honour of true love 
 True above ills, and frailty, and all fear- 
 Perchance a shadow of his own career 
 "Whose youth was darkly prison'd and long twined 
 By serpent-sorrow, till white Love drew near, 
 And sweetly sang him free, and round his mind 
 A bright horizon threw, wherein no grief may wind. 
 
 I saw a tower builded on a lake, 
 Mock'd by its inverse shadow, dark and deep- 
 That seem'd a still intenser night to make, 
 Wherein the quiet waters sunk to sleep, 
 And, whatsoe'er was prison'd in that keep, 
 A monstrous Snake was warden : round and round 
 In sable ringlets I beheld him creep, 
 Blackest amid black shadows, to the ground, 
 Whilst his enormous head the topmost turret crown'd : 
 
 From whence he shot fierce light against the stars, 
 Making the pale moon paler with affriht ; 
 And with his ruby eye out-threaten'd Mars 
 That blazed in the mid-heavens, hot and bright 
 Nor slept, nor wink'd, but with a steadfast spite 
 
 * New Monthly Magazine, 1824.
 
 THE TWO SWANS. 
 
 Watch'd their wan looks and tremblings in the skies ; 
 And that he might not slumber in the night, 
 The curtain-lids were pluck'd from his large eyes, 
 So he might never drowse, but watch his secret prize. 
 
 Prince or princess in dismal durance pent, 
 Victims of old Enchantment's love or hate, 
 Their lives must all in painful sighs be spent, 
 Watching the lonely waters soon and late, 
 And clouds that pass and leave them to their fate> 
 Or company their grief with heavy tears : 
 Meanwhile that Hope can spy no golden gate 
 For sweet escapement, but in darksome fears 
 They weep and pine away as if immortal years. 
 
 No gentle bird with gold upon its wing 
 Will perch upon the grate the gentle bird 
 Is safe in leafy dell, and will not bring 
 Freedom's sweet keynote and commission-word 
 Learn'd of a fairy's lips, for pity stirr'd 
 Lest while he trembling sings, untimely guest ! 
 Watch'd by that cruel Snake and darkly heard, 
 He leave a widow on her lonely nest, 
 To press in silent grief the darlings of her breast. 
 
 No gallant knight, adventurous, in his bark, 
 Will seek the fruitful perils of the place, 
 To rouse with dipping oar the waters dark 
 That bear that serpent-image on their face. 
 And Love, brave Love ! though he attempt 
 Nerved to his loyal death, he may not win 
 His captive lady from the strict embrace 
 Of that foul Serpent, clasping her within 
 His sable folds like Eve enthrall'd by the old Sin. 
 
 But there is none no knight in panoply, 
 Nor Love, entrench'd in his strong steely coat: 
 No little speck no sail no halper ni;;b, 
 No sign no whispering no plash of boat : 
 The distant shores show dimly and remote, 
 Made of a deeper mist, serene and grey. 
 And slow and mute the cloudy shadows float 
 Over the gloomy wave, and pass away, 
 Chased by the silver beams that on their marges play. 
 
 And bright and silvery the willows sleep 
 
 Over the shady verge no mad winds tease 
 
 Their hoary heads ; but quietly they weep 
 
 Their sprinkling leaves half fountains and half trees: 
 
 There lilies be and fairer than all these,
 
 THE TWO SWANS. 
 
 A solitary Swan her breast of snow 
 Launches against the wave that seems to freeze 
 Into a chaste reflection, still below, 
 Twin-shadow of herself wherever she may go. 
 
 And forth she paddles in the very noon 
 Of solemn midnight, like an elfin thing 
 Charm'd into being by the argent moon 
 Whose silver light for love of her fair wing 
 Goes with her in the shade, still \\ orshipping 
 Her dainty plumage : all around her grew 
 A radiant circlet, like a fairy ring ; 
 And all behind, a tiny little clue 
 Of light, to guide her back across the watersjjlue. 
 
 And sure she is no meaner than a fay 
 Redeem'd from sleepy death, for beauty's sake, 
 By old ordainment : silent as she lay, 
 Touch'd by a moonlight wand I saw her wake, 
 And cut her leafy slough, and so forsake 
 The verdant prison of her lily peers, 
 That slept amidst the stars upon the lake 
 A breathing shape restored to human fears, 
 And new-born love and grief self-conscious of her teaix 
 
 And now she clasps her wings around her heart, 
 And near that lonely isle-begins to glide, 
 Pale as her fears, and oft-times with a start 
 Turns her impatient head from side to side 
 In universal terrors all too wide 
 To watch ; and often to that marble keep 
 Upturns her pearly eyes, as if she spied 
 Some foe, and crouches in the shadows steep 
 That in the gloomy wave go diving fathoms deept 
 
 And well she may, to spy that fearful thing 
 All down the dusky walls in circlets wound ; 
 Alas ! for what rare prize, with many a ring 
 Girding the marble casket round and round? 
 His folded tail, lost in the gloom profound, 
 Terribly darkeneth the rocky base ; 
 But on the top his monstrous head is crown'd 
 With prickly spears, and on his doubtful face 
 Gleam his unwearied eyes, red watchers of the placa 
 
 Alas ! of the hot fires that nightly fall, 
 
 No one will scorch him in those orbs of spite, 
 
 So he may never see beneath the wall 
 
 That timid little creature, all too bright, 
 
 That stretches her fair neck, slender and white,
 
 THE TWO SWANS. 
 
 Invoking the pale moon, and vainly tries 
 Her throbbing throat, as if to charm the night 
 With song but, hush it perishes in sighs, 
 And there will be no dirge sad-swelling, though she dies I 
 
 She droops she sinks she leans upon the lake, 
 Fainting again into a lifeless flower ; 
 But soon the chilly springs anoint and wake 
 Her spirit from its death, and with new power 
 She sheds her stifled sorrows in a shower 
 Of tender song, timed to her falling tears 
 That wins the shady summit of that tower, 
 And, trembling all the sweeter for its fears, 
 Fills with imploring moan that cruel monsters can 
 
 And, lo ! the scaly beast is all deprest, 
 Subdued like Argus by the might of sound- 
 What time Apollo his sweet lute addrest 
 To magic converse with the air, and bound 
 The many monster eyes, all slumber-drown'd J 
 So on the turret-top that watchful Snake 
 Pillows his giant head, and lists profound, 
 As if his wrathful spite would never wake, 
 Charmed into sudden sleep for Love and Beauty's sake I 
 
 His prickly crest lies prone upon his crown, 
 And thirsty lip from lip disparted flies, 
 To drink that dainty flood of music down- 
 His scaly throat is big with pent-up si.^hs 
 And whilst his hollow ear entranced lies, 
 His looks for envy of the charmed sense 
 Are fain to listen, till his steadfast eyes, 
 Stung into pain by their own impotence, 
 Distil enormous tears into the lake immense, 
 
 Oh, tuneful Swan ! oh, melancholy bird ! 
 Sweet was that midnight miracle of song, 
 Rich with ripe sorrow, needful of no word 
 To tell of pain, and love, and love's deep wrong- 
 Hinting a piteous tale perchance how long 
 Thy unknown tears were mingled with the lake, 
 What time disguised thy leafy mates among 
 And no eye knew what human love and ache 
 Dwelt in those dewy leaves, and heart so nigh to brealfc 
 
 Therefore no poet will ungently touch 
 
 The water-lily, on whose eyelids dew 
 
 Trembles like tears ; but ever hold it such 
 
 As human pain may wander through and through, 
 
 Turning the pale leaf paler in its hue
 
 THE TWO SWANS. 
 
 Wherein life dwells, transfigured, not entomb'd, 
 By magic spells. Alas ! who ever knew 
 Sorrow in all its shapes, leafy and plumed, 
 Or in gross husks of brutes eternally inhumed ? 
 
 And now the winged song has scaled the height 
 Of that dark dwelling, builded for despair, 
 And soon a little casement flashing bright 
 Widens self-open'd into the cool air- 
 That music like a bird may enter there 
 And soothe the captive in his stony cage ; 
 For there is nought of grief, or painful care. 
 But plaintive song may happily engage 
 From sense of its own ill, and tenderly assuage: 
 
 And forth into the light, small and remote, 
 A creature, like the fair son of a king, 
 Draws to the lattice in his jewell'd coat 
 Against the silver moonlight glistening, 
 And leans upon his white hand listening 
 To that sweet music that with tenderer tone 
 Salutes him, wondering what kindly thing 
 Is come to soothe him with so tuneful moan, 
 Singing beneath the walls as if for him alone ! 
 
 And while he listens, the mysterious song, 
 Woven with timid particles of speech, 
 Twines into passionate words that grieve along 
 The melancholy notes, and softly teach 
 The secrets of true love, that trembling reach 
 His earnest ear, and through the shadows dun 
 He missions like replies, and each to each 
 Their silver voices mingle into one, 
 Like blended streams that make one music as they run. 
 
 K Ah Love ! my hope is swooning in my heart." 
 
 * Ay, sweet ! my cage is strong and hung full high."- 
 
 * Alas ! our lips are held so far apart, 
 
 Thy words come faint, they have so far to fly !" 
 " If I may only shun that serpent-eye ! " 
 ** Ah me ! that serpent-eye doth never sleep." 
 " Then nearer thee, Love's martyr, I will die ! " 
 " Alas, alas ! that word has made me weep ! 
 For pity's sake remain safe in thy marble keep !" 
 
 " My marble keep ! it is my marble tomb ! " 
 
 u Nay, sweet ! but thou hast there thy living breath''.- 
 
 " Aye to expend in si^hs for this hard doom." 
 
 " But I will come to thee and sing beneath, 
 
 And nightly so beguile this serpent wreath."
 
 THE TWO SWANS. 
 
 u Nay, I will find a path from these despairs." 
 *' Ah ! needs then thou must tread the back of death, 
 Making his stony ribs thy stony stairs ? 
 Behold his ruby eye, how fearfully it glares !" 
 
 Full sudden at these words, the princely youth 
 Leaps on the scaly back that slumbers, still 
 Unconscious of his foot, yet n"t for ruth, 
 But numb'd to dulness by the fairy skill 
 Of that sweet music (all more wild and shrill 
 For intense fear) that chnrm'd him as he lay- 
 Meanwhile the lover nerves his desperate will, 
 Held some short throbs by natural dismay, 
 Then down, down the serpent-track begins his darksome way. 
 
 Now dimly seen now toiling out of sight, 
 Eclipsed and covered by the envious wall ; 
 Row fair and spangled in the sudden li.^ht, 
 And clinging with wide arms for fear of falls 
 Now dark and shelter'd by a kindly pall 
 Of dusky shadow from his wakeful foe ; 
 Slowly he winds adown dimly and small, 
 Watch'd by the gentle Swan that sings below, 
 Her hope increasing, still, the larger he doth grow. 
 
 But nine times nine the serpent folds embrace 
 The marble walls about which he must tread 
 Before his anxious foot mav touch the base : 
 Long is the dreary path, and must be sped ! 
 But Love, that holds the mastery of dread, 
 Braces his spirit, and with constant toil 
 He wins his way, and now, with arms outspread, 
 Impatient plunges from the last long coil : 
 So may all gentle Love ungentle Malice foil 1 
 
 The song is hush'd, the chnrm is all complete, 
 And two fair Swans are swimming on the lake : 
 But scarce their tender bills have time to meet, 
 When fiercely drops adown that cruel Snake 
 His steely scales a fearful rustling make, 
 Like autumn leaves that tremble and foretell 
 The sable storm ; the plumy lovers quake- 
 And feel the troubled waters pant and swell, 
 Heaved by the gumt bulk of their pursuer fell. 
 
 His jaws, wide yawning like the gates of Death, 
 
 Hiss horrible pursuit his red e\es glare 
 
 The waters into blood his ea^er breath 
 
 Grows hot upon their plumes : now, minstrel fair! 
 
 She drops her ring into the waves, and there
 
 PROSPECT OF CLAPHAM ACADEMY. 
 
 It widens all around, a* fairy ring 
 Wrought of the silver light the fearful pair 
 Swim in the very midst, and pant and cling 
 The closer for their fears, and tremble wing to wing. 
 
 Bending their course over the pale grey lake, 
 Against the pallid East, wherein li^ht play'd 
 In tender flushes, still the baffled Snake 
 Circled them round continually, and bay'd 
 Hoarsely and loud, forbidden to invade 
 The sanctuary ring : his sable mail 
 Roll'd darkly through the flood, and writhed and made 
 A shining track over the waters pale, 
 Lash'd into boiling foam by his enormous tail. 
 
 And so they sail'd into the distance dim, 
 Into the very distance small and white, 
 Like snowy blossoms of the spring that swim 
 Over the brooklets follow'd by the spite 
 Of that huge Serpent, that with wild affright 
 Worried them on their course, and sore annoy, 
 Till on the grassy marge I saw them 'light, 
 And change, anon, a gentle girl and boy, 
 Lock'd in embrace of sweet unutterable joy ! 
 
 Then came the Morn, and with her pearly showers 
 Wept on them, like a mother, in whose eyes 
 Tears are no grief ; and from his rosy bowers 
 The Oriental sun began to rise, 
 Chasing the darksome shadows from the skies ; 
 W T herewith that sable Serpent far away 
 Fled, like a part of night deliciou^ sighs 
 From waking blossoms purified the day, 
 And little birds were singing sweetly from each spray. 
 
 ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF CLAP HAM 
 ACADEMY* 
 
 AH me ! those old familiar bounds ! 
 That classic house, those classic grounds, 
 
 My pensive thought recalls ! 
 What tender urchins now confine, 
 What little captives now repine, 
 
 Within yon irksome walls ? 
 
 * New Monthly Magazine, 1824.
 
 ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT 
 
 Ay, that's the very house.! I know 
 Its ugly windows, ten a-row ! 
 
 Its chimneys in the rear ! 
 And there's the iron rod so high, 
 That drew the thunder from the sky, 
 
 And turn'd our table-beer ! 
 
 There I was birch'd ! there I was bred I 
 There like a little Adam fed 
 
 From Learning's woful tree ! 
 The weary tasks I used to con ! 
 The hopeless leaves I wept upon ! 
 
 Most fruitless leaves to me ! 
 
 The summon'd class ! the aweful bow ! 
 I wonder who is master now 
 
 And wholesome anguish sheds ! 
 How many ushers now employs, 
 How many maids to see the boys 
 
 Have nothing in their heads ! 
 
 And Mrs S ? Doth she abet 
 
 (Like Pallas in the parlour) yet 
 
 Some favour'd two or three, 
 Tfee little Crichtons of the hour, 
 Her muffin-medals that devour, 
 
 And swill her prize Bohea ? 
 
 Ay, there's the playground ! there's the lime^ 
 Beneath whose shade in summer's prime 
 
 So wildly I have read ! 
 Who sits ihere now, and skims the cream 
 Of young Romance, and weaves a dream 
 
 Of Love and Cottage-bread ? 
 
 Who struts the Randall of the walk ? 
 Who models tiny heads in chalk? 
 
 Who scoops the light canoe ? 
 What early genius buds apace ? 
 Where's Poynter ? Harris ? Bowers ? Chase ? 
 
 Hal Baylis ? blithe Carew ? 
 
 Alack ! they're gone a thousand ways ! 
 And some are serving in " the Greys, 
 
 And some have perish'd young ! 
 Jack Harris weds his second wife ; 
 Hal Baylis drives the wane of life ; 
 
 And blithe Carew is hung !
 
 OF CLAPHAM ACADEMY. 
 
 Grave Bowers tenches ABC 
 To savages at Owhyee : 
 
 Poor Chase is with the worms ! 
 All, all are gone the olden breed ! 
 New crops of mushroom boys succeed, 
 
 u And push us from our forms 1" 
 
 Lo ! where they scramble forth, and shout, 
 And leap, and skip, and mob about, 
 
 At play where we have play'd ! 
 Some hop, some run (some fall), some twine 
 Their crony arms ; some in the shine, 
 
 And some are in the shade ! 
 
 Lo ! there what mix'd conditions run ! 
 The orphan lad ; the widow's son ; 
 
 And Fortune's favour'd care 
 The wealthy- born, for whom she hath 
 Mac-Adamised the future path 
 
 The Nabob's pamper'd heir ! 
 
 Some brightly starr'd some evil born, 
 For honour some, and some for scorn, 
 
 For fair or foul renown ! 
 Good, bad, indifferent none ma^r lock ! 
 Look, here's a White, and there's a Black 1 
 
 And there's a Creole brown 1 
 
 Some laugh and sing, some mope and weep^ 
 And wish their " frugal sires would keep 
 
 Their only sons at home ; " 
 Some tease the future tense, and plan 
 The full-grown doings of the man, 
 
 And pant for years to come ! 
 
 A foolish wish ! There's one at hoop ; 
 And four at Jives I and five who stoop 
 
 The marble taw to speed ! 
 And one that curvets in and out, 
 Reigning his fellow Cob about, 
 
 Would I were in his steed I 
 
 Yet he would gladly halt and drop 
 That boyish harness off, to swop 
 
 With this world's heavy van 
 To toil, to tug. O little fool ! 
 While thou canst be a horse at school^ 
 
 To wish to be a man I
 
 ADDRESS TO MR CROSS, 
 
 Perchance thou deem'st it were a thing 
 To wear a crown, to be a king ! 
 
 And sleep on regal down ! 
 Alas ! thou know'st not kingly cares; 
 Far happier is thy head that wears 
 
 That hat without a crown ! 
 
 And dost thou think that years acquire 
 New added joys ? Dost think thy sire 
 
 More happy than his son ? 
 That manhood's mirth ? Oh, go thy ways 
 To Drury Lane when plays, 
 
 And see how forced our fun ! 
 
 Thy taws are brave ! thy tops are rare 1 
 Our tops are spun with coils of care, 
 
 Our dumps are no delight ! 
 The Elgin marbles are but tame, 
 And 'tis at best a sorry game 
 
 To fly the Muse's kite ! 
 
 Our hearts are dough, our heels are lead, 
 Our topmost joys fall dull and dead, 
 
 Like balls with no rebound ! 
 And often with a faded eye 
 We look behind, and send a sigh 
 
 Toward that merry ground ! 
 
 Then be contented. Thou hast got 
 The most of heaven in thy young lot ; 
 
 There's sky-blue in thy cup ! 
 Thou'lt find thy Manhood all too fast 
 Soon come, soon gone ! and Age at last 
 
 A sorry breaking-up I 
 
 ADDRESS TO MR CROSS, OF EXETER CHANGED 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF THE ELEPHANT.* 
 w 'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more." GIAOUR. 
 
 OH, Mr Cross ! 
 Permit a sorry stranger to draw near, 
 
 And shed a tear 
 (I've shed my shilling) for thy recent loss I 
 
 I've been a visitor 
 Of old a sort of a Burton inquisitor 
 
 *New Monthly Magazine, 1826.
 
 OF EXETER CHANGE. 
 
 Of thy menagerie, and knew the beast 
 
 That is deceased ! 
 
 I was the Damon of the gentle giant, 
 And oft have been, 
 Like Mr Kean, 
 
 Tenderly fondled by his trunk compliant. 
 Whenever I approach'd, the kindly brute 
 Flapp'd his prodigious ears, and bent his knees- 
 It makes me freeze 
 
 To think of it ! No chums could better suit, 
 Exchanging grateful looks for grateful fruit, 
 For so our former dearness was begun. 
 I bribed him with an apple,-and beguiled 
 The beast of his affection like a child ; 
 And well he loved me till his life was done 
 (Except when he was wild). 
 It makes me blush for human friends but none 
 I have so truly kept or cheaply won 1 
 
 Here is his pen ! 
 
 The casket but the jewel is away I 
 
 The den is rifled of its denizen, 
 
 Ah, well-a-day ! 
 
 This fresh free air breathes nothing of his grossness, 
 And sets me sighing even for its closeness. 
 
 This light one-storey, 
 
 Where like a cloud I used to feast my eyes on 
 The grandeur of his Titan-like horizon, 
 Tells a dark tale of its departed glory ; 
 The very beasts lament the change like me. 
 
 The shaggy Bison 
 
 Leaneth his head dejected on his knee ; 
 The Hyaena's laugh is hushed ; the Monkey's pout j 
 The Wild Cat frets in a complaining whine j 
 The Panther paces restlessly about, 
 
 To walk h.er sorrow out ; 
 The Lions in a deeper bass repine ; 
 The Kangaroo wrings its sorry short forepaws ; 
 
 Shrieks come from the Macaws j 
 The old bald Vulture shakes his naked head, 
 
 And pineth for the dead ; 
 The Boa writhes into a double knot ; 
 
 The Keeper groans 
 
 Whilst sawing bones, 
 And looks askance at the deserted spot ; 
 Brutal and rational lament his loss, 
 The flower of thy beastly family ! 
 
 Poor Mrs Cross 
 Sheds frequent tears into her daily tea, 
 
 And weakens her Bohea I
 
 ADDRESS TO MR CROSS. 
 
 Oh, Mr Cross, how little it gives birth 
 
 To grief when human greatness goes to earth ; 
 
 How few lament for Czars ! 
 But, oh, the universal heart o'erflow'd 
 
 At his " high mass," 
 
 Lighted by gas, 
 When, like Mark Antony, the keeper show'd 
 
 The Elephantine scars ! 
 
 Reporters' eyes 
 
 "Were of an egg-like size ; 
 Men that had never wept for murderM Marrs I 
 Hard-hearted editors, with iron faces, 
 
 Their sluices all unclosed, 
 
 And discomposed 
 Compositors went fretting to their cases ! 
 
 That grief has left its traces ; 
 The poor old Beef-eater has gone much greyer 
 
 With sheer regret ; 
 
 And the Gazette 
 Seems the least trouble of the beast's Purveyor ! 
 
 And I too weep ! a dozen of great men 
 I could have spared without a single tear ; 
 
 But then 
 
 They are renewable from year to year ! 
 Fresh Gents would rise though Gent resign'd the pen ; 
 
 I should not wholly 
 
 Despair for six months of another C , 
 
 Nor, though F lay on his small bier, 
 
 Be melancholy. 
 
 But when will such an elephant appear ? 
 Though Penley were destroy'd at Drury Lane^ 
 
 His like might come again ; 
 
 Fate might supply 
 
 A second Powell, if the first should die ; 
 Another Bennet, if the sire were snatch'd ; 
 
 Barnes might be match'd ; 
 
 And Time fill up the gap 
 Were Parsloe laid upon the green earth's lap ; 
 Even Claremont might be equall'd, I could hope 
 (All human greatness is, alas, so puny !) 
 For other Egertons another Pope, 
 
 But not another Chuneel 
 
 Well ! he is dead ! 
 
 And there's a gap in Nature of eleven 
 
 Feet high by seven 
 Five living tons ! and I remain nine stone 
 
 Of skin and bone !
 
 ELEGY ON DAVID LA ING, ESQ. 33 
 
 
 It is enough to make me shake my head 
 
 And dream of the grave's brink 
 
 'Tis worse to think 
 How like the Beast's the sorry life I've led ! 
 
 A sort of show 
 Of my poor public self nnd my sagacity, 
 
 To profit the rapacity 
 Of certain folks in Paternoster Row, 
 A slavish toil to win an upper storey 
 
 And a bard glory 
 Of wooden beams about my weary brow 1 
 
 Oh, Mr C. ! 
 
 If ever you behold me twirl my pen 
 To earn a public supper, that is, eat 
 
 In the bare street, 
 Or turn about their literary den 
 
 Shoot me I 
 
 ELEG Y ON DA VI 'D LAING, ESQ.* 
 
 BLACKSMITH AND JOINER (WITHOUT LICENCE) AT GRETNA.GPEEM 
 
 AH me ! what causes such complaining breath, 
 
 Such female moans, and flooding tears to flow? 
 It is to chide with stern, remorseless Death, 
 
 For laying Laing low ! 
 
 From Prospect House there comes a sound of woe 
 A shrill and persevering loud lament, 
 Echoed by Mrs T.'s Establishment 
 
 " For Six Young Ladies, 
 In a retired and healthy part of Kent." 
 
 All weeping, Mr L gone down to Hades ! 
 
 Thoughtful of grates, and convents, and the veil 1 
 
 Surrey takes up the tale, 
 And all the nineteen scholars of Miss Jones, 
 With the two parlour-boarders and th' apprentice- 
 So universal this mis-timed event is 
 
 Are joining sobs and groans ! 
 The shock confounds all hymeneal planners, 
 
 And drives the sweetest from their sweet behaviours. 
 The girls at Manor House forget their manners, 
 
 And utter sighs like paviours ! 
 Down down through De\on and the distant shires 
 
 Travels the news of Death's remorseless ciane ; 
 And in all hearts, at once, all hope expires 
 Of matches against time ! 
 
 * Literary Gazette, August 4, 1827.
 
 ELEGY ON DAVID LA ING, ESQ. 
 
 Alone the northern route 
 The road is water'd by postilions' eyes ; 
 
 The topboot paces pensively about, 
 And yellow jackets are all stain'd with sigh^ 
 There is a sound of grieving at the Ship, 
 And sorry hands are wringing at the Bell, 
 
 In aid of David's knell. 
 
 The postboy's heart is cracking not his whip- 
 To gaze upon those useless empty collars 
 His wayworn horses seem so glad to slip 
 
 And think upon the dollars 
 That used to urge his gallop quicker ! quicker 1 
 
 All hope is fled. 
 
 For Laing is dead 
 Vicar of Wakefield Edward Gibbon's vicar 1 
 
 The barristers shed tears 
 Enough to feed a snipe ("snipes live on suction), 
 
 To think in after vears 
 No suits will come of Gretna Green abduction, 
 
 Nor knaves inveigle 
 Young heiresses in marriage scrapes or legal ; 
 
 The dull reporters 
 Look truly sad and seriously solemn 
 
 To lose the future column 
 On Hymen-Smithy and its fond resorters ! 
 
 But grave Miss Daulby and the teaching brood 
 Rejoice at quenching the clandestine flambeau 
 
 That never real beau of flesh and blood 
 Will henceforth lure young ladies from their Chambaud* 
 
 Sleep David Lning ! sleep 
 In peace, though angry governesses spurn thee ! 
 Over thy grave a thousand maidens weep, 
 
 And honest postboys mourn thee I 
 Sleep, David ! safely and serenely sleep, 
 
 Be-wept of many a learned legal eye ! 
 To see the mould above thee in a heap 
 
 Drowns many a lid that heretofore was dry !- 
 Especially of those that, plunging deep 
 
 In love, would " ride and tie ! " 
 Had I command, thou should'st have gone thy ways 
 In chaise and pair and lain in Pere la- Chaise 1
 
 STANZAS TO TOM WOODGATE. 
 
 
 STANZAS TO TOM WOODGATE, 
 
 OF HASTINGS.* 
 
 TOM ; are you still within this land 
 Of livers still on Hastings' sand, 
 
 Or roaming on the waves ? 
 Or has some billow o'er you roll'd, 
 Jealous that earth should lap so bold 
 
 A seaman in her graves ? 
 
 On land the rushlight lives of men 
 Go out but slowly ; nine in ten, 
 
 By tedious long decline 
 Not so the jolly sailor sinks, 
 Who founders in the wave, and drinkt 
 
 The apoplectic brine ! 
 
 Ay, while I write, mayhnp your head 
 Is sleeping on an oyster-bed 
 
 I hope 'tis far from truth ! 
 With periwinkle eyes ; your bone 
 Beset with mussels, not your own, 
 
 And corals at your tooth ! 
 
 Still does the * Chance ' pursue the chance 
 The m.iin affords the ' Aidant ' dance 
 
 In safety on the tide? 
 Still flies that sign of my good-will 
 A little bunting thing but still 
 
 To thee a flag of pride ? 
 
 Does that hard, honest hand now clasp 
 The tiller in its careful grasp 
 
 With every summer breeze 
 When ladies sail, in lady-fear 
 Or tug the oar, a gondolier 
 
 On smooth Macadam seas ? 
 
 Or are you where the flounders keep, 
 Some dozen briny fathoms deep, 
 
 Where sand and shells abound 
 With some old Triton on your chest, 
 And twelve grave mermen for a 'quest, 
 
 Tp find that you are drown'd? 
 
 * JJterary Souvenir, 1828.
 
 STANZAS TO TOM WOO DG ATM. 
 
 Swift is the wave, and apt to brtfig 
 A sudden doom : perchance I sing 
 
 A mere funereal strain ; 
 You have endured the utter strife 
 And are the same in death or life 
 
 A good man in the main 1 
 
 Oh, no ! I hope the old brown eye 
 Still watches ebb and flood and sky ; 
 
 That still the brown old shoes 
 Are sucking brine up pumps indeed ! 
 Your tooth still full of ocean weed, 
 
 Or Indian which you choose. 
 
 I like you, Tom ! and in these lays 
 Give honest worth its honest praise, 
 
 No puff at honour's cost; 
 For though you met these words of mine, 
 All letter-learning was a line 
 
 You, somehow, never cross'd I 
 
 Mayhap we ne'er shall meet again, 
 Except on that Pacific main 
 
 Beyond this planet's brink ; 
 Yet, as we erst have braved the weather 
 Still may we float awhile together, 
 
 As comrades on this ink I 
 
 Many a scudding gale we've had 
 Together, and, my gallant lad, 
 
 Some perils we have pass'd j 
 When huge and black the wave career'd^ 
 And oft the giant surge appear'd 
 
 The master of our mast : 
 
 Twas thy example taught me how 
 To climb the billow's hoary brow, 
 
 Or cleave the raging heap 
 To bound along the ocean wild, 
 With danger only as a child 
 
 The waters rock'd to sleep. 
 
 Oh, who can tell that brave delight^ 
 To see the hissing wave in might 
 
 Come rampant like a snake ! 
 To leap his horrid crest, and feast 
 One's eyes upon the briny beast, 
 
 Left couchant in the wake 1
 
 STANZAS TO TOM WOOD GATE. 
 
 The simple shepherd's love is still 
 To bask upon a sunny hill, 
 
 The herdsman roams the vale 
 With both their fancies I agree ; 
 Be mine the swelling, scooping sea, 
 
 That is both hill and dale ! 
 
 I yearn for that brisk spray I yearn 
 To feel the wave from stem to stern 
 
 Uplift the plunging keel ; 
 That merry step we used to dance 
 On board the ' Aidant ' or the ' Chance,' 
 
 The ocean " toe and heeL" 
 
 I long to feel the steady gale 
 
 That fills the broad distended sail 
 
 The seas on either hand ! 
 My thought, like any hollow shell, 
 Keeps mocking at my ear the swell 
 
 Of waves against the land. 
 
 It is no fable that old strain 
 Of sirens ! so the witching main 
 
 Is singing and I sigh! 
 My heart is all at once incHned 
 To seaward and I seem to find 
 
 The waters in my eye ! 
 
 Methinks I see the shining beach } 
 The merry waves, each after each, 
 
 Rebounding o'er the flints ; 
 I spy the grim preventive spy ! 
 The jolly boatmen standing nigh ! 
 
 The maids in morning chintz ! 
 
 And there they float the sailing craft! 
 The sail is up the wind abaft 
 
 The ballast trim and neat. 
 Alas ! 'tis all a dream a lie ! 
 A printer's imp is standing by, 
 
 To haul my mizen sheet ! 
 
 My tiller dwindles to a pen 
 My craft is that of bookish men- 
 My sale let Longman tell ! 
 Adieu, the wave, the wind, the spray I 
 Men maidens chintzes fade away I 
 Tom Woodgate, fare thee well !
 
 t? A SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY FRO At 
 
 A SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY 
 
 FROM ISLINGTON TO WATERLOO BRIDGE, IN MARCH l8zi.* 
 
 " The son of Cornelius shall make his own legs his compasses with those 
 he shall measure continents, islands, capes, bays, straits, and isthmuses." 
 Memoirs of Martinus Scriblerus. 
 
 ' T SHOULD very much like to travel," said a young cockney, with 
 
 JL his feet on the fender. " London is a vast place ; but the world 
 is ten times bigger, and no doubt a many strange things are to be seen 
 in it." 
 
 " And pray, young man," said an old gentleman, whom he called the 
 philosopher, " pray, are you so familiar with the features of your own 
 country ; are you so well acquainted with its men and manners, that 
 you must go out of it for matter of investigation and speculation ?" 
 
 " As for men," replied the cockney, " we may see them anywhere. 
 I've seen Crib and Spring, and the best good ones that ever peel'd ; 
 and as for manners, I learned them at the dancing-school. I have not 
 been all over England, to be sure, like my father's riders ; but I've 
 been to Margate, Brighton, and Moulsey Hurst ; so that what I have 
 not seen by sack I have seen by sample. Besides, London is the very 
 focus of England ; and sure I am that I know it from Wapping to 
 Hyde Park Corner, and have seen all that is instructive in it. I've 
 been up the Moiiument^ind down St Paul's, over the Bridges, and 
 under the Tunnel. I've seen the King and Court, Mrs Salmon's royal 
 waxwork too, and the wild beasts at Exeter 'Change ; I've seen Drury 
 Lane and Covent Garden playhouses, besides the Houses of Lords and 
 Commons the Soho Bazaar, and both Barilc-my Fair and the Brighton 
 Pavilion. I never missed a Lord Ma\or's show, nor anything that is 
 worth seeing ; and I know by sight Lord Castlereagh, Jack Ketch, Sir 
 William Curtis, Billy Waters, and many other public and distinguished 
 characters." 
 
 " If you have seen no more than you say," said the philosopher, 
 " you have seen a great deal more than is English ; and if you only 
 wish to study mankind, it is at least a reason against your le.ivmg the 
 country. England has, to be sure, its national character ; but it gives 
 birth to many mongrels, who belong rather to the Spanish, Dutch, or 
 otner breeds : there are foreigners born here, as well as others who 
 visit us ; and why should we go abroad to study them, when we have 
 them all in epitome at home? Different nations, like different men, 
 are only compounds of the same ingredients, but in varied propor- 
 tions. We shall find knaves and honest men in every state, and a 
 large proportion of fools and dunces in them all. We shall find every- 
 where" the same passions, the same virtues and vices, but altered in 
 fheir proportions by the influences of education, laws, and religion ; 
 which in some parts tend to improve, and, in others, to pervert the" 
 common nature of mankind. 
 
 * London Magazine, November 1821.
 
 ISLINGTON TO WATERLOC BRIDGE. 39 
 
 'It is in their civil and religious institutions that we are to look for 
 the grand causes effecting those distinctions which constitute national 
 character ; but before we go to investigate them, we should at least 
 understand a little of our own." 
 
 " Pshaw ! " said the cockney, who began to grow tired of this har- 
 angue ; " there are sights to be seen abroad which can't be brought 
 over here, and as for men being the same all the world over, it's all 
 my eye ; a'n't there the Hottentots that have noses like your pug's, and 
 heads as black find woolly as my poodle's ? A'n't the Frenchmen rll 
 skinny, and haven't the Spaniards lar^e whiskers ? There are the 
 Patagonians, too, that are as big as the Irish giant, and Laplanders no 
 bigger than Miss What's-her-name, the dwarf !" 
 
 " Pshaw!" said the philosopher in his turn ; " all these are minor dis- 
 tinctions, and shrink, as it were, to nothing when compared with the 
 immeasurable distances between the minds of men : whether I be 
 Englishman or Hottentot, a Laplander or a Patagonian, 
 
 ' If I could stretch from pole to pole, 
 
 And grasp the ocean in a span, 
 I must be measured by my soul : 
 
 The mind's the standard of the man.' 
 
 There is, no doubt, a considerable difference between a Hottentot's 
 nose and my own, which, as you observe, is a fine Roman one. and 
 very like Caesar's ; but there is, I flatter myself, a much greater differ- 
 ence between our understandings. The first is only a difference in the 
 conformation of matter, but the last is a gradation in mind, which, to 
 speak in common language, is the most material matter of the two." 
 
 Here the Cockney was quite out of patience. " He did not care," he 
 said, " about mind and matter ; and as to the difference of men's 
 minds, why men would differ, but he meant to be of his own mind, 
 and the philosopher mi^ht be of his ;" and so they parted. 
 
 As I was present at this conversation, it occurred to me that if men 
 were so much alike everywhere, or rather, if every soil produced the 
 same varieties, I could see as much of them in a walk through the 
 populous streets of London as in a hasty journey all over the Conti- 
 nent. Oh ! I will not travel, said I, for, in the first place, it's unneces- 
 sary ; and secondly, I do not feel equal to its fatigues and dangers ; 
 and lastly, said I (for we always get to the true reason at last), I can't 
 afford it. Besides, I had not seen Waterloo Bridge ; and we ought to 
 see our own .bridges before we go to see the bridges of others. A 
 traveller, said I, should have all his wits about him, and so will I. He 
 should let nothing escape him, no more will I. He should extract re- 
 flections out of a cabbage stump, like sunbeams squeezed out of 
 cucumbers ; so will I, if I can ; and he should converse with every 
 and any one, even a fishwoman. Perhaps I will, and perhaps I will 
 not, said I. Who knows but I may make a sentimental journey, as 
 good as Sterne's ; but at any rate I can write it, and send it to' the 
 London Magazine. 
 
 I had hardly left the threshold of my door, ere I met, as I thought, 
 with an adventure. I had just reached that ancient and grotesque 
 house which is said to have been a summer seat of Queen Elizabeth,
 
 40 A SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY FROM 
 
 though now in the centre of the village, or rather town of Islington, 
 when I observed that the steps which led down to the door had become 
 the seat, or rather the couch, of an unfortunate female. She had, like 
 Sterne's Maria, her dog and her pipe, and like her, too, she was evi- 
 dently beside herself. " Poor unfortunate and interesting Maria," said 
 I, as she came into my mind, exactly as Sterne had drawn her. I had 
 touched a string at the name of Maria, the female for the tirst time 
 raised her head, and I caught a glance at her uncommon countenance. 
 The rose had not fled from it, nor the bloom, for this was damson, 
 and that was damask ; there was a fixedness in her gaze, and although 
 she quickly turned her head away, she could not hide from me that 
 she had a drop in her eye. " It won't do," said I, shaking my head. 
 " Maria found Sterne's handkerchief, and washed it with tears, and 
 dried it in her bosom ; but if I lose mine here, it's ten to one if I see 
 it again ; and if this Maria should wet it with her eyes, methinks it 
 would dry best again at her nose. There is nothing to sympathise with 
 in her bewilderment she's rather bewitched than bewitching she's 
 a dry subject ;" and so I left her. My eyes, however, were full charged 
 with the tears, and my bosom with the sighs, which I had expected to 
 mingle with those of the supposed unfortunate. Some sentimentalists 
 would have vented them upon the first dead dog or lame chicken they 
 might meet with, but I held them too valuable to be wasted upon 
 such objects. I hate the weeping-willow set, who will cry over their 
 pug-dogs and canaries, till they have no tears to spare for the real 
 children of misfortune and misery ; but sensibility is too scarce, and 
 too valuable, not to be often imitated ; and these, therefore, are the 
 ways in which 'they advertise their counterfeit drops. They should be 
 punished like any other impostors, and they might be made of some 
 use to s< ciety at the same time ; for as other convicts are set to beat 
 hemp, and pick oakum, so I would set these to perform funerals, and 
 to chop onions. These reflections, and the incidents which g;ive rise 
 to them, I resolved to treasure up, for they would perhaps have their 
 use in some part of my journey. 
 
 They will warn me against being too sentimental, said I. In the 
 first place, it's ridiculous ; secondly, it's useless ; and lastly, it's incon- 
 venient ; for I just recollect that there's a very large hole in my pocket- 
 handkerchief. These reflections brought me into Colebrook Row, or 
 rather into a heap of mud that stood at the end of it, for street reveries 
 are very subject to such sudden terminations. They say that English- 
 men have a rusticity about them that only rubs off by a little travel ; 
 but that must certainly be erroneous, for I had h.irdly gone a quarter 
 of a mile, ere I lost, in the mudding of my boots, the little all of 
 polish that I wore about me. Barring the first agony of mortification, 
 I bore it, however, with uncommon fortitude, for I knew that travellers 
 must expect to meet, as I did, with sad and serious accidents. There 
 passed, however, a young gentleman in very tight trotter- cases, but 
 whilst his feet gave evident si^ns of suffering, I observed that his 
 countenance was calm, vacant, and stoical. Pshaw, said I, if he can 
 bear his pinches so well, I may surely put up with my splashes; this 
 pain of mine exists only in imagination, whereas his poor feet, like 
 Shakespeare's stricken deer, " distend their leathern coats almost to
 
 ISLINGTON TO WA TERLOO BRIDGE. 4! 
 
 bursting." What a felicity there is in a happy application of words! 
 I was so pleased with the resemblance which I discovered between 
 the foot of a dandy and a stricken deer, that I quite forgot my vexa- 
 tion and its cause. I found, as I thought, that I had a genius for apt 
 quotations, and resolved not to be sparing of them ; they would give 
 to my travels an air of great learning ; and if learning be better than 
 riches, there would be no more harm in showing it thus than in pulling 
 out a large purse, as some do, to give a poor beggar a halfpenny. 
 
 " Give a poor beggar a halfpenny," said a man, as if he had heard 
 and echoed the last part of my thought. 
 
 The City Road was excessively dirty, but he had swept a cleaner 
 passage over it, and as I trod across his little track of Terra Firma, I 
 dropped the merited coin into his hat, for I saw he had only half-a- 
 crown in it. u Thank your honour," said he, looking full in my face, 
 and then looking down upon my boots, he thanked me again, and still 
 more emphatically. " It is very true," said I, entering into his feeling 
 u it's very true and if I too had looked upon my boots, you probably 
 had not had it." 
 
 He thought, no doubt, with certain philosophers, that man's main, 
 spring is selfishness, and perhaps he was not quite wrong ; but at all 
 events to decide it, I resolved to watch his customers and analyse his 
 
 Srofits. "A plague take the fellow! " said an old gentleman, whom he 
 ad hunted fifty paces for a halfpenny, " you ought to be reported to 
 the Mendicity Society." He gave it to him, to get rid of his importunity, 
 thought I. He would have kept his halfpenny by walking a little 
 faster, but he walks very lame, poor old gentleman, and that perhaps 
 makes him pettish. The next halfpenny he got from a lady, who had 
 walked a long way down the road to avail herself of his labour. It 
 was rather for her upper leather's than her soul's sake, said I ; and 
 as for that old lady that followed her, I can read in his face that she 
 has given him a pocket-piece ; but they all go in charity, as it is called ; 
 and I have learned, by the by, what to do with a forged or flash note. 
 As nobody else seemed inclined to give him anything, I summed up 
 my calculations: one-third had given from inconvenience, and one- 
 third for convenience, and the rest, or the pocket-piece, was the gift of 
 pure charity. We may say of charity, as " Hamlet Travestied " does of 
 death that it's truly a fine thing to talk of. We all preach it we all 
 praise and admire, but when we come to the practice of it, we "leave 
 that to men of more learning;" and are as careful of our pence as of 
 our lives, when we find they've no chance of returning. I had hardly 
 ended these uncharitable reflections, when I was obliged to retract 
 and repent them. I had begun to read a very conspicuous hand-bill 
 which was posted on some palings near Sadler's Wells, and invited the 
 admirers of fisticuffs to a grand sparring benefit at the Fives Court. 
 But I had hardly got farther than the noble science of self-defence, when 
 it was for the most part eclipsed by a new hand-bill, fresh from the pole 
 of the bill-sticker ; and altogether, they then appeared as follows : 
 To the Fancy on such a day a Sermon will be preached by such a 
 Bisjjop at such a church, for the benefit of sueh a charity and as a 
 little piece of the other bill expressed at the bottom that real good one* 
 were expected, I applied it of course to the exclusion of pocket-pieces.
 
 42 A SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY FROM 
 
 I had a fresh subject besides in this piece of waggery of the bill- 
 sticker's, which had afforded me no little entertainment. Shakespeare 
 was right, and so was the philosopher, in my estimation ; for I saw 
 that what they had represented was correct, that certain characters 
 are confined to no class, condition, nor country. We may meet with 
 dull pedagogues and authors, and with sensible clowns and witty 
 bill-stickers ; and I doubt not that we shall as readily meet with 
 blunt Frenchmen, with shuffling Englishmen, and honest and brave 
 Italians. I met with no other incident worth relating or reflecting 
 upon, till I came to a public-house near Lady Huntingdon's Chapel, 
 and there I met with matter of interest and amusement, inasmuch as 
 it involved a question upon national and domestic government. 
 
 It was no less than a quarrel between a man and his wife, who had 
 just ejected him from his seat in the parlour; and the argument was, not 
 whether he should go there at all, but whether he should go there with- 
 out her permission first sought and obtained. There were not wanting 
 auxiliaries and allies upon each side, and there were as many advocates 
 for the rights of woman as there were supporters of the doctrine of the 
 free-will of man. There was, besides, a third party, composed chiefly 
 of young persons, perhaps spinsters and bachelors, who, by siding 
 sometimes with one and sometimes the other, seemed inclined to 
 provoke the opposing parties to a general combat. It was evident 
 from the clamour of the females, and from the swearing of the men, 
 that the argument, if such it might be called, would never arrive at 
 any legitimate conclusion ; and taking advantage therefore of a 
 general pause, the effect of exhausted rage, I was induced to offer 
 my aid as a mediator between the two sexes. Now, it so happens, 
 that when persons are angry or ridiculous, they like to make parties 
 of all the spectators ; and as I had taken no part in the fray, but had 
 been strictly neutral, the proposal \ras generally agreed to ; especially 
 as I had the appearance of one of the meek among men. Getting 
 therefore upon one of the benches, I stretched forth my hand, and 
 proceeded as follows : 
 
 " Ladies and gentlemen, the question which you have referred to 
 me is of the greatest importance, not only to me, but to you, not 
 only to you, but to all the world. 
 
 " It requires to know which of the sexes was born for dominion 
 whether woman should rule (' or man should be ruled,' said an Irish- 
 man). It not only questions whether wife should rule husband, or 
 husband rule wife but also if Queens should ascend the throne, or 
 if Kings should sit upon it ; for whichever may be unfit to command 
 a family must be equally unqualified to govern a nation." The con- 
 clusion of this sentence was followed.by shouts of applause from both 
 parties, each applying to the other the unfitness to which I alluded, 
 " If," said I, "we may judge from a law which exists and has existed, 
 I should say that the softer sex are unqualified for the thrones, from 
 which by that very law they stand excluded." Here I was obliged to 
 bow to the applause of my male hearers, and also to the ladies, in 
 order to avoid the force of a flying patten. 
 
 " But there is one circumstance," I continued, " and it certainly 
 goes strongly against such a conclusion ; I mean that in ihat
 
 ISLINGTON TO WA TERLOO BRIDGE. 43 
 
 instance the men were the law-makers." Here again I had to bow 
 to the ladies, and duck to the gentlemen. " I will say, moreover, that 
 if we refer to the history of a nation where that law was unknown, we 
 shall find that the reigns of two thirds of her Queens have been happy 
 or glorious. (Loud applause from the females.) 
 
 " This fact, however, goes no farther in support of this side of the 
 question than the Salic law on the other ; for allowing that the sway 
 of those Queens was so sweet and splendid, yet we must remember, 
 th.it they governed by their ministers, and conquered by their generals 
 and admirals. (Cheers from the men.) If we trace still farther back in 
 history, even unto the days of Saul and David, and if we find a frequent 
 mention of Kings, and of their being anointed, what then shall we say 
 of this question, if we find in the whole course of that history, no in- 
 stance of an anointed Queen? (Hisses and groans from the ladies.) 
 If such be the fact, what shall we infer from it, but that there were 
 no priestesses? (Shouts and laughter from the ladies.) But why had 
 they no priestesses ? I must confess that I am unable to answer. 
 (Cheers from the males ) I will now consider the other branch of the 
 subject ; for although it is evident that those who are unfit to rule 
 families must be unqualified to govern kingdoms, yet it does not follow, 
 therefore, that those who are unable to govern kingdoms are unequal 
 to the lighter task of governing a family. There are many very 
 worthy women whom I should be loth to trust with a sceptre, but 
 they sway the domestic rod with vigour and success (hear ! from the 
 men) ; and there are also many men of a different stamp, of indolent 
 or profligate characters, whose affairs thrive best, or would thrive 
 better, under the guidance of their wives. (Hear ! from the women.) 
 We know, too, that there are others who have willingly resigned to 
 their wives the control of their purse, and the direction of their affairs ; 
 convinced, by experience, that they were the best merchants, the best 
 accountants, and the best orators. (Hear, hear ! from the ladies.) 
 Upon these grounds we may assign the right of dominion to the 
 female sex (screams of applause from the women, and groans from 
 the men); I say, upon these grounds we may assign the right of 
 dominion to the female sex (the same tumult repeated). I say (said 
 I, raising my voice), I say that upon these grounds we may assign the 
 right of dominion to the female sex, provided that the whole, or the 
 greater portion of men, may be supposed idle, profligate, or the most 
 ignorant. But I must confess, and I do it with all sincerity, that this 
 would appear to me to be a most unhandsome, most uncharitable, 
 and unjust estimate. (Shouts from the men, and hisses from the ladies.) 
 
 " How, then, shall we decide this great question, seeing that the 
 trial by battle is by Parliament abolished ? It may be ruled from 
 precedent, or rather the want of it, that the female sex be excluded 
 from the sovereignty and the priesthood, but their claims to domestic 
 dominion are as yet uncontroverted (cheers from the ladies) ; 
 and as yet unestablished. (Cheers from the gentlemen.) There only 
 remains, in my opinion, a middle course to pursue : 
 
 ' Let all agree, let none engross the sway, 
 But each command by turns, and each obey. 1
 
 14 A SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY FROM 
 
 Let the lady be paramount in the kitchen and the nursery, and abso 
 lute in the garrets. Let the gentleman be king in his parlour, and 
 emperor in his study ; and as for the drawing-room and the garden, let 
 their sway there be divided. Let her be a judge in fashions, in novels, 
 and in all fancy articles ; and let him decide on politics, on liquors, 
 and on horse-flesh. As for all other matters of argument, let them be 
 considered as drawn battles at draughts ; and finally, let each sex con- 
 sider itself as bound to the other by an alliance offensive and defen- 
 sive." The conclusion of this my oration was followed by very general 
 cries of applause, which were the more gratifying, when I considered 
 the difficulty of pleasing all parties in a concern of so much interest to 
 each. Nor was that my only reward, for I received I know not how 
 many invitations to partake of porter, gin, and punch, all of which I 
 declined, alleging that I wished to go straightway to Waterloo Bridge 
 at least, as much as it was possible to do so, by Gray's Inn Lane, 
 Chancery Lane, and the Strand. I had just reached the middle of 
 Elm Street, when I was alarmed by loud and piercing screams, and as 
 a carriage had rapidly turned the corner, I feared that some unfortu- 
 nate human being had been run over. There is something in the 
 shrill cry of a female in distress that irresistibly impels and wings 
 one to her succour. I flew up the hill turned the corner, and belield 
 at my feet a poor swine, which was screaming under the ^repeated 
 lashes of a ruffian drover. She had sunk down, apparently from ex- 
 haustion, in the middle of the kennel, and as she started and kicked 
 under the bloodthirsty thong, her struggles and splashin.es were truly 
 shocking. Aged and a female exposed to insult, cruelty, and indig- 
 nity her grunts so like groans, and her squeaks so like screams 
 it was impossible for humanity to look "on and be passive. I straddled 
 over the unfortunate sow, and interposed my body betwixt her and her 
 tormentor ; and had it been at the risk of immolation, my feelings 
 could not have allowed me to shrink from it. I should have died a 
 glorious martyr to humanity ! I protected the innocent, and I did 
 more, for I threatened to chastise her oppressor ; and I should certainly 
 have done so with his own whip, if I could only have wrested it from 
 him. However, I accepted the brute's challenge to fight ; and here I 
 must say, that upon any other occasion, I should have deemed it dis- 
 graceful and ungentlemanly ; but in such a cause, as the champion of 
 humanity, the guardian of the brute creation, I thought it not only 
 
 fentlemanly, but angelic ; and I felt that I was quite in my duty when 
 folded up my new coat and confided it to the care of a decent shop- 
 keeper. We exchanged only a few blows, and it I did not thrash him 
 heartily, he owed it to my humanity ; for it was merely from a reluct- 
 ance to end in blood what I had begun in tears, that I so speedily de- 
 clined the combat. The spectators indeed did not seem to enter into 
 my feeling ; but whip me the man who would not prefer the praise of 
 mercy to the meed of victory ! Besides, I considered it a sin, a kind 
 of profanation, to mar and disfigure " the human face divine," and one 
 of us, at least, was handsome. 
 
 I did not, however, resign the cause or interests of the poor sow, 
 but slipping a crown into the hand of the drover, I recommended her 
 to his mercy as a man and a Christian. " Coax her," said 1 ; " call her,
 
 ISLINGTON TO WA TERLOO BRIDGE. 45 
 
 ar run before her, and entice her with a cabbage-leafdo anything 
 but whip her so cruelly. And now," I continued, addressing myself 
 to the bystanders, amongst whom were some very well-dressed ladies 
 and gentlemen, " now let me impress upon your memories one very 
 great error as regards pig-driving. A pig will run this way and that, 
 and any way, perhaps, but the right one ; but it is uncharitable and 
 cruel to attribute fx> obstinacy what may only originate in an over- 
 anxiety to please. I have seen a pig run backward, and forward, 
 and sideways, and if it had been possible to run a dozen ways at 
 once, I verily believe it would h ;ve done it." 
 
 The sow got up, the crowd dispersed, and I pursued my journey. It 
 afterwards struck me that I heard at a distance the same shrill, 
 humanlike, and persevering screams ; but it might be fancy, fbr I be- 
 lieve they will ring in my ears as often as I pass the corner of Elm 
 Street, Gray's Inn Lane. Gray's Inn Lane, by the by, is not, as I 
 conjecture, the true name of it ; the ancient appellation must have 
 been anything but what it now bears perhaps Grazing Lane, because, 
 ere it was built upon, the cattle used to graze in it 
 
 Be that as it may, there is nothing farther to remark of Gray's Inn 
 Lane, but that it brings one into Holborn. 
 
 Hence, and through Chancery Lane, I amused myself by speculat- 
 ing on the faces of the passengers. It's a study I'm very fond of, crnd 
 if I am in anything superstitious, it is in the signs and forebodings of 
 the countenance. Who cannot trace in the face of a dandy the circu- 
 lation of his two ideas, his opinion of himself and others ; and who 
 is there that mistakes the keen eye of a genius ? 
 
 But it is Temper that writes the most legible hand in the counte- 
 nance ; and it is easy therefore to distinguish, amongst a crowd, the 
 pet lamb of his mother, the tyrant of his family, and the humble ser- 
 vant of his wife. " There's that man," said I, looking at a gentleman 
 who was stan3ing on the edge of the pavement " his curled lip indi- 
 cates his pride ; but I know by the very restlessness of his eye that 
 he's afraid of bailiffs. As for that man who has just passed, I would 
 not live with such a temper for my board and lodging. That lady's 
 mask is handsome ; but I must say with the fox, ' Cerebrum non 
 habet ; ' and her little girl'sdoll has more wit in her one eye than shehas 
 in two." My judgments, however, were not always fortunate ; the man 
 with restless eyes was only looking for his poodle dog ; and as the 
 cross-looking man went soon afterwards into a cook-shop, I supposed 
 that he had been rather hungered than ill-natured. As for the lady 
 and the child, I don't know whether I set them down rightly or not, 
 but in the meantime I will suppose so, and cling to my study. I was 
 now in the Strand, close to Temple Bar ; and from hence to Waterloo 
 Bridge, I calculated would be the journey of an hour. Who is there 
 that can walk along this, or any of the principal City streets, without 
 admiring the number of elegant shops, and the still more elegant and 
 wonderful productions which they contain ? they are to me the sources 
 of the greatest pleasure ; and when time will permit me to do so, I in- 
 spect them from the goldsmith's and jeweller's, down to the humbler 
 repositories of the tinman and brazier. Nay, I have been caught, and 
 rallied by my acquaintance for looking in lovingly at the haberdasher's 
 and milliner's.
 
 AS A SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY FROM 
 
 It is not that I am merely smitten with the beauty of their articles 
 that I look into them with such admiration and delight, but it is 
 because I can there trace an evident and progressive improvement in 
 the arts and manufactures of my country. This affords me a delight 
 in which all ought to sympathise, and that calls forth an admiration in 
 which all must participate. Whether we examine^ those paintings and 
 prints, which are more strictly termed works of art ; whether we examine 
 those fabrics which have been produced by the most complicated 
 machinery, or those minor articles which are the work of the handi- 
 craftsman, we shall find that there prevails in all a degree of taste which 
 can only be the result of a general cultivation of mind. It is this that 
 has led^to so many ingenious inventions, and has tended above all to 
 promote the general alliance between elegance and utility ; and when 
 we contemplate the mighty effects of its progress hitherto, who can 
 calculate its future attainments? Long may it continue its mighty 
 march, to the honour and happiness of my countrymen ; and may they, 
 in better days, obtain for their industry and ingenuity those rewards 
 which hitherto have not kept pace with their merits. May they still 
 travel onwards in the path of improvement, and surmounting all 
 obstacles which a meaner ambition would plant in their way, reach 
 that point of excellence and perfection to which man in this world may 
 be destined to attain ! Here a bookseller's shop gave a new turn to my 
 speculations. We are certainly a reading people, I thought, as I looked 
 in at the window ; but I would fain know if this cultivation of the mind 
 conduces to happiness. I was inclined to decide in the affirmative ; 
 for the collection before me suggested the names of Shakespeare, 
 Addison, Milton, and a host of other authors, linked with a thousand 
 delightful reminiscences. Much must depend upon one's course of 
 reading, said I, still running over the titles : A Sermon to Sinne 
 The Foole's Jest Book Dialogues of the Dead Life in London Tom- 
 line's Sea Worthies The Newgate Calendar Cat as Letter to the 
 Country The King's Reply to his People Wordes to the Wyse 
 Witters Cronykill A New Spelling Book. But what have we here ? 
 It happened very strangely, I might almost say miraculously, that I 
 read a solution of my speculation in a book before me. It was called 
 The Prayse of Ignorance ; and in the two grave-looking brown-com- 
 plexioned pages that lay open, I read as follows : 
 
 " Hee was made to bee happye but not learned : for eating of the 
 Tree of Knowledge hee was caste out of Paradyse. Hys was the Blisse 
 of Ignorance ; but We being born to bee learned, and unhappye withall, 
 have noght but the Ignorance of Blisse. Soe we aske not which bee 
 the most happye ; but which bee the leeste unhappye : and trulye hee 
 hath leeste Paines that hath not most Bokes. Hee is your Berksiiire 
 or Hampshire manne with a harde Head and a long Stomack which 
 is a Ho^ge amongst VVittes, but a Witte amongst Hogges; and when 
 lice sleepes you wot not which can grunte loudeste. For why? Hee 
 beares no care on hys Head ; excepte hys Hatte, and that hee hath 
 not much care withal except a-Sundayes. One maye rede in hys 
 Vysage that he wots not to write : but he maketh hys Marke and soe 
 hath one to ten chances against the Gallowes. Hys Hsire is un- 
 kempte ; and soe is hys Irtellecte; but betwixt hwui hee saveth a
 
 ISLINGTON TO WA TERLOO BRIDGE. 47 
 
 World of Trouble. Hys Head itches : it doth not ake. It is as 
 emptye as a drye Bowie; but hys Belly is crammede to the fulle lor 
 hee is no author. 
 
 " You maye write him downe a Manne with an Idea : but hee is more 
 blessede than anye with two ; for hee hath nonne of their feverishe 
 Deliriums. How can hys Minde wander ? 
 
 " Now look you to your Schollar. He cryes in hys verve Birthe, for 
 hee is stryped into hys ABC; most of hys Wordes doe end in O, and 
 hys Whyppinges have many Syllables. Hee hateth his Boke fulle 
 sore : and noe Marvel ! For hee wotteth to the Sorrowe of hys Bottom, t 
 that Learning is at the Bottom of hys Sorrowe. There is a naturall ' 
 Hyphen betwixt them. A connexion of Minde and Matter. One 
 cometh not without the other, and hee curseth them both in hys Waye. 
 Hys Grammar bringes him freshe annoye : for hee onlye weepeth in 
 another Tense. But hee gets the Interjections by Harte. Figures are 
 a great Greefe unto him ; and onlye multiplie hys Paines. The dead 
 Tongues doe bringe him a lively sorrowe : hee gets them at hys Fingers 
 endes. And soe hes waxeth in Growth ; into a Quarto or Folio, as 
 maye bee ; a greater Bulke of Learning and Heavinesse ; and belike 
 hee goeth madde with Study overmuch. Alsoe hee betaketh him to 
 write ; and letts hys Braines be suckede forthe through a Quill. If hee 
 seeke to get Monneye hys Boke is unsolde ; and if hee wolde have of 
 the Worlde's Fame hee is praysde of those that studye not hys Rimes: 
 or is scornde and mockede of those that will not understande hys Con- 
 ceites, which is a great Sorrowe : for Poesie hath made hys Harte 
 tender, and a little Worde is a greate Paine. Soe he getts no Sub- 
 stance, but looses Fleshe. Lastlye liee dyeth a pitifull Death ; the 
 kindly Creditour of an unkindlye Worlde ; and then hee is \veepede 
 for ; and it is askde, ' Why will hee not write again ?' 
 
 " And the Parishe Clarke hys witte sufficeth to hys Epitaph, which 
 runnes : 
 
 * Alake ! alake ! that Studye colde not save 
 Soe great a Witte out of so small a grave. 
 But Learning must decaye, and Letters both, 
 And Studye too. Death is a dreadfull Goth, 
 Which spareth nonne.' " 
 
 Unfortunately, I could neither read further, nor turn over the leaf 
 through the glass ; and still more unfortunately, I did not go in and 
 purchase the book. However, I had read enough to lead me to a 
 decision, that the ignorant are the most happy ; and as I walked away 
 from the window I repeated the lines : 
 
 " No more : where ignorance is bliss, 
 'Tis folly to be wise." 
 
 As this was tne second great question that I had decided, I walked 
 onward to Waterloo Bridge, without any doubt of being able to deter- 
 mine the third, viz., as to the merits and demerits of the bridge and 
 its architect. But here an unforeseen difficulty presented itself; for 
 owing to the lateness of my arrival, and the sudden fall of a very
 
 4* A SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY, ETC. 
 
 dense fog, I was unable to do anything more than determine to come 
 again. 
 
 I accordingly walked back into the Strand, and finding a stage at 
 Somerset House, I took my seat in it, and turned towards home. I 
 had three travelling companions, two males and one female ; and after 
 we had discussed the usual topics, and paid the usual compliments, 
 the conversation dwindled away into a profound silence ; I therefore 
 employed myself in the arrangement of my travels, and in recollecting 
 the various incidents and reflections to which they had given rise. 
 
 I must request, Mr Editor, your utmost indulgence towards one so 
 inexperienced as a traveller, and if you should find that the style of 
 my narration is rugged and uneven, and that the incidents and reflec- 
 tions are abrupt and unconnected, I beg that you will attribute it to 
 the unpleasant jolting of the stagey and the frequent interruptions and 
 stoppages that it met with. IN coo
 
 ODES AND ADDRESSES 
 
 TO 
 
 GREAT PEOPLE. 
 
 Catching all the oddities, the whimsies, the absurdities, ana the littlenesses of consciow 
 greatness by the way." CV*t of the World. 
 
 [First published 1825.] 
 
 ODE TO MR GRAHAM, THE AERONA UT. 
 
 * Up with me J-up with me into the sky ! " 
 
 WORDSWORTH : On a Lark I 
 
 DEAR Graham, whilst the busy crowd. 
 The vain, the wealthy, and the proud, 
 
 Their meaner flights pursue, 
 Let us cast off the foolish ties 
 That bind us to the earth, and rise 
 
 And take a bird's-eye view 1 
 
 D, 
 
 A few more whiffs of my cigar, 
 And then, in Fancy's airy car, 
 
 Have with thee for the skies : 
 How oft this fragrant smoke upcurl'd 
 Hath borne me from this little world, 
 
 And all that in it lies ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Away ! away .'the bubble fills- 
 Farewell to earth and all its hills ! 
 
 We seem to cut the wind ! 
 So high we mount, so swift we go, 
 The chimney-tops are far below, 
 
 The Eagle's left behind !
 
 TO MR GRAHAM. 
 
 Ah me ! my brain begins to swim J- 
 The world is growing rather dim j 
 
 The steeples and the trees 
 My wife is getting very small ! 
 I cannot see my babe at all ! 
 
 The Dollond, if you please ! 
 
 v. 
 
 Do, Graham, let me have a quiz. 
 Lord ! what a Lilliput it is, 
 
 That little world of Mogg's ! 
 Are those the London Docks ?-*that channel 
 The mighty Thames ? a proper kennel 
 
 For that small Isle of Dogs ! 
 
 What is that seeming tea-urn there ? 
 That fairy dome, St Paul's ! I swear, 
 
 Wren must have been a Wren ! 
 And that small stripe ? it cannot be 
 The City Road ! Good lack ! to see 
 
 The little ways of men ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Little, indeed ! my eyeballs ache 
 To find a turnpike. I must take 
 
 Their tolls upon my trust ! 
 And where is mortal labour gone? 
 Look, Graham,, for a little stone 
 
 MacAdamized to dust !. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Look at the horses ! less than flies I 
 Oh, what a waste it was of sighs 
 
 To wish to be a M-ayor ! 
 What is the honour ? none at all ; 
 One's honour must be very small 
 
 For such a civic chair ! 
 
 And there's Guildhall U-'tis far nloof 
 Methinks I fancy, thro* the roof, 
 
 Its little guardian Gogs, 
 Like penny dolls a tiny show ! 
 Well, I must say they're ruled below 
 
 By very little logs !
 
 TO MR GRAHAM. 
 
 O Graham ! how the upper air 
 Alters the standards of compare ; 
 
 One of our silken flags 
 Would cover London all about. 
 Nay then let's even empty out 
 
 Another brace of bags 1 
 
 XI. 
 
 Now for a glass of bright champagne 
 Above the clouds ! Come, let us drain 
 
 A bumper as we go ! 
 But hold 1 for God's sake do not cant 
 The cork away unless you want 
 
 To brain your friends below. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Think ! what a mob of little men 
 Are crawling just within our ken, 
 
 Like mites upon a cheese ! 
 Pshaw ! how the foolish sight rebukes 
 Ambitious thoughts ! can there be Dukes 
 
 Of Gloster such as these ? 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Oh ! what is glory? what is fame? 
 Hark to the little mob's acclaim 
 
 'Tis nothing but a hum ! 
 A few near gnats would trump as loud 
 As all the shouting of a crowd 
 
 That has so far to come ! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Well they are wise that choose the near, 
 A few small buzzards in the ear, 
 
 To organs ages hence ! 
 Ah me ! how distance touches all ; 
 It makes the true look rather small, 
 
 But murders poor pretence.- 
 
 "The world recedes ! it disappears ! 
 Heav'n opens on my eyes my ears 
 
 With buzzing noises ring !" 
 A fig for Southey's Laureate lore ! 
 What's Rogers here ? Who cares for Moore, 
 
 That hears the Angels sing ?
 
 TO MR GRAHAM. 
 
 A fig for earth, and all its minions .' 
 We are above the world's opinions, 
 
 Graham ! we'll have our own ! 
 Look what a vantage height we've g"t ! 
 Now do you think Sir Walter Scott 
 
 Is such a Great Unknown ? 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Speak up, or hath he hid his name 
 To crawl thro' " subways " unto fame, 
 
 Like Williams of Cornhill ? 
 Speak up, my lad ! when men run small 
 We'll show what's little in them all, 
 
 Receive it how they will ! 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Think now of Irving ! shall he preach 
 The princes down ? shall he impeach 
 
 The potent and the rich, 
 Merely on ethic stilts, and I 
 Not moralise at two miles high, 
 
 The true didactic pitch ? 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Come, what d'ye think of Jeffrey, sir ? 
 Is Gifford such a Gulliver 
 
 In Lilliput's Review, 
 That like Colossus he should stride 
 Certain small brazen inches wide 
 
 For poets to pass through ? 
 
 XX. 
 
 Look down ! the world is but a spot. 
 Now say Is Blackwood's low or not, 
 
 For all the Scottish tone ? 
 It shall not weigh us here not where 
 The sandy burden's lost in air 
 
 Our lading where is't flown ? 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Now, like you Croly's verse indeed 
 In heaven where one cannot read 
 
 The "Warren "on a wall? 
 What think you here of that man's fame ? 
 Tho' Jerdan magnified his name, 
 
 To me 'tis very small !
 
 TO MR GRAHAM. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 And, truly, is there such a spell 
 In those three letters, L. E. L, 
 
 To witch a world with song ? 
 On clouds the Byron did not sit, 
 Yet dared on Shakespeare's head to spit, 
 
 And say the world was wrong ! 
 
 And shall not we ? Let's think aloud I 
 Thus being couch'd upon a cloud, 
 
 Graham, we'll have our eyes ! 
 We felt the great when we were less, 
 But we'll retort on littleness 
 
 Now we are in the skies. 
 
 Graham, Graham ! how I blame 
 The bastard blush, the petty shame, 
 
 That used to fret me quite, 
 The little sores I cover'd then ! 
 No sores on earth, nor sorrows when 
 
 The world is out of sight 1 
 
 XXV. 
 
 My name is Tims. I am the man 
 That North's unseen diminish'd clan 
 So scurvily abused ! 
 
 1 am the very P. A. Z. 
 
 The London's Lion's small pin's head 
 So often hath refused ! 
 
 Campbell (you cannot see him here) 
 Hath scorn'd my lays; do his appear 
 
 Such great eggs from the sky ? 
 And Longman, and his lengthy Co. 
 Long, only, in a little Row, 
 
 Have thrust my poems by ! 
 
 What else ? I'm poor, and much beset 
 With damn'd small duns that is, in debt 
 
 Some grains of golden dust ! 
 But only worth above is worth. 
 What's all the credit of the earth ? 
 
 An inch of cloth on trust !
 
 TO MR GRAHAM. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 What's Rothschild here, that wealthy man I 
 Nay, worlds of wealth ? Oh, if you can, 
 
 Spy out, the Golden Ball I 
 Sure, as we rose all money sank : 
 What's gold or silver now ? the IJank 
 
 Is gone the 'Change and all 1 
 
 What's all the ground-rent of the globe ? 
 O Graham ! it would worry Job 
 
 To hear its landlords prate ! 
 But after this survey, I think 
 I'll ne'er be bullied more, nor shrink 
 
 From men of large estate ! 
 
 And less, still less, will I submit 
 To poor mean acres' worth of wit 
 
 I that have heaven's span 
 I that like Shakespeare's self may dream 
 Beyond the very clouds, and seem 
 
 An Universal Man ! 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 O Graham ! mark those gorgeous crowds I 
 Like Birds of Paradise the clouds 
 
 Are winging on the wind 1 
 But what is grander than their range, 
 More lovely than their sunset change ? 
 
 The free creative mind 1 
 
 Well ! the Adult's School's in the air ! 
 The greatest men are lesson'd there 
 
 As well as the Lessee ! 
 Oh, could earth's Ellistons, thus small, 
 Behold the greatest stage of all, 
 
 How humbled they would be ! 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 " Oh, would some god the giftie gie 'em, 
 To see themselves as others see 'em," 
 
 'T would much abate their fuss ! 
 If they could think that from the skies 
 They are as little in our eyes 
 
 As they can think of us 1
 
 TO MRS fRY. 55 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Of us ! are we gone out of sight ? 
 Lessen'd ! diminish'd ! vanish'd quite ! 
 
 Lost to the tiny town ! 
 Beyond the Eagle's ken the grope 
 Of Dollond's longest telescope ! 
 
 Graham ! we're going down 1 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Ah me ! I've touch'd a string that opes 
 The airy valve ! the gas elopes 
 
 Down goes our bright balloon ! 
 Farewell the skies ! the clouds ! I smell 
 The lower world ! Graham, farewell, 
 
 Man of the silken moon ! 
 
 The earth is close ! the City nears 
 Like a burnt paper it appears, 
 
 Studded with tiny sparks ! 
 Methinks I hear the distant rout 
 Of coaches rumbling all about 
 
 We're close above the Parks 1 
 
 I hear the watchmen on their beats, 
 Hawking the hour about the streets. 
 
 Lord ! what a cruel jar 
 It is upon the earth to light ! 
 Well there's the finish of our flight I 
 
 I've smoked my last cigar 1 
 
 A FRIENDLY EPISTLE TO MRS FRY, IN 
 
 NEWGATE. 
 
 " Sermons in stones." At You Like It, 
 "Out I out I damned spot ! "Macbeth. 
 
 I LIKE you, Mrs Fry ! I like your name ! 
 
 It speaks the very warmth you feel in pressing 
 
 In da"iy act round Charity's great flame 
 
 I likf. the crisp Browne way you have of dressing,
 
 56 TO MRS FRY. 
 
 Good Mrs Fry ! I like the placid claim 
 
 You make to Christianity, professing 
 
 Love, and good works of course you buy of Barton, 
 
 Beside the young_/ry'j bookseller, Friend Darton 1 
 
 II. 
 
 I like, good Mrs Fry, your brethren mute 
 Those serious, solemn gentlemen that sport 
 I should have said, that wear, the sober suit 
 Shaped like a court dress but for heaven's court. 
 I like your sisters too, sweet Rachel's fruit 
 Protestant nuns ! I like their stiff support 
 Of virtue and I like to see them clad 
 With such a difference just like good from bad 1 
 
 in. 
 
 I like the sober colours not the wet ; 
 Those gaudy manufactures of the rainbow- 
 Green, orange, crimson, purple, violet 
 In which the fair, the flirting, and the vain go- 
 The others are a chaste, severer set, 
 In which the good, the pious, and the plain go I 
 They're moral standards, to know Christians by- 
 In short, they are your colours, Mrs Fry 1 
 
 IV. 
 
 As for the naughty tinges of the prism 
 Crimson's the cruel uniform of war 
 Blue hue of brimstone ! minds no catechism J 
 And green is young and gay not noted for 
 Goodness, or gravity, or quietism, 
 Till it is sadden'd down to tea-green, or 
 Olive and purple's given to wine, 1 guess ; 
 And yellow is a convict by its dress ! 
 
 V. 
 
 They're all the devil's liveries, that men 
 
 And women wear in servitude to sin 
 
 But how will they come off, poor motleys, when 
 
 Sin's wages are paid down, and they stand ia 
 
 The Evil presence ? You and I know then 
 
 How all the party colours will begin 
 
 To part the /Y/tite hues will sadden there, 
 
 Whereas the Foxite shades will all show fair !
 
 TO MRS FRY. 57 
 
 Witness their goodly labours one by one J 
 Russet makes garments for the needy poor 
 Dove-colour preaches love to all and dun 
 Calls every day at Charity's street-door 
 Brown studies Scripture, and bids woman shun 
 All gaudy furnishing olive doth pour 
 Oil into wounds : and drab and slate supply 
 Scholar and book in Newgate, Mrs Fry i 
 
 VII. 
 
 Well ! Heaven forbid that I should discommend 
 The gratis, charitable, jail-endeavour ! 
 When all persuasions in your praises blend 
 The Methodists' creed and cry are, Fry for ever I 
 No I will be your friend and, like a friend, 
 Point out your very worst defect Nay, never 
 Start at that word ! But I must ask you why 
 You keep your school in Newgate, Mrs Fry ? 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Too well I know the price our mother Eve 
 
 Paid for her schooling : but must all her daughters 
 
 Commit a petty larceny, arid thieve 
 
 Pay down a crime for "entrance" to your " quarters f* 
 
 Your classes may increase, but I must grieve 
 
 Over youY pupils at their bread" and waters ! 
 
 Oh, tho' it cost you rent (and rooms run high)! 
 
 Keep your school out of Newgate, Mrs Fry 1 
 
 Oh, save the vulgar soul before it's spoil'd ! 
 Set up your mounted sign without the gate- 
 And there inform the mind before 'tis soil'd ! 
 'Tis sorry writing on a greasy slate ! 
 Nay, if you would not have your labours foil'd, 
 Take it inclining towards a virtuous state, 
 Not prostrate and laid flat else, woman meek I 
 The upright pencil will but hop and shriek 1 
 
 Ah, who can tell how hard it is to drain 
 The evil spirit from the heart it preys in, 
 To bring sobriety to life again, 
 Choked with the vile Anacreontic raisin.?
 
 TV 2ffKS FRY. 
 
 To wash Black Betty when her black's ingrain,- 
 To stick a moral lacquer on Moll Brazen, 
 Of Suky Tawdry's habits to deprive her ; 
 To tame the wildfowl- ways of Jenny Diver 1 
 
 XI. 
 
 Ah, who can tell how hard it is to teach 
 Miss Nancy Dawson on her bed of straw 
 To make Long Sal sew up the endless breach 
 She made in manners to write Heaven's own law 
 On hearts of granite. Nay, how hard to preach 
 In cells, that are not memory's to draw 
 The moral thread, through the immoral eye 
 Of blunt Whitechapel natures, Mrs Fry 1 
 
 XIL 
 
 In vain you teach them baby-work within : 
 
 'Tis but a clumsy botchery of crime ; 
 
 Tis but a tedious darning of old sin 
 
 Come out yourself, and stitch up souls in time 
 
 It is too late for scouring to begin 
 
 When virtue's ravell'd out, when all the prime 
 
 Is worn away, and nothing sound remains ; 
 
 You'll fret the fabric out before the stains i 
 
 . XIIL 
 
 I like your chocolate, good Mistress Fry t 
 
 I like your cookery in every way ; 
 
 I like your Shrove-tide service and supply; 
 
 I like to hear your sweet Pandeans play ; 
 
 I like the pity in your full-brimm'd eye ; 
 
 I like your carriage, and your silken grey, 
 
 Your dove-like habits, and your silent preaching; 
 
 But I don't like your Newgatory teaching. 
 
 Come out of Newgate, Mrs Fry ! Repair 
 Abroad, and find your pupils in the streets. 
 Oh, come abroad into the wholesome air, 
 And take your moral place, before Sin seats 
 Her wicked self in the Professor's chair. 
 Suppose some morals raw ! the true receipt's 
 To dress them in the pan, but do not try 
 To cook them in the fire, good Mrs Fry I
 
 TO MRS FRY. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Put on your decent bonnet, and come out / 
 
 Good lack ! the ancients did not set up schools 
 
 In jail but at the Porch! hinting, no doubt, 
 
 That Vice should have a lesson in the rules 
 
 Before 'twas whipt by law. Oh, come about, 
 
 Good Mrs Fry ! and set up forms and stools 
 
 All down the Old Bailey, and through Newgate Street, 
 
 But not in Mr Wontner's proper seat 1 
 
 XVL 
 
 Teach Lady Barrymore, if, teaching, you 
 That peerless Peeress can absolve from dolour 
 Teach her it is not virtue to pursue 
 Ruin of blue, or any other colour ; 
 Teach her it is not Virtue's crown to rue, 
 Month after month, the unpaid drunken dollar ; 
 Teach her that " flooring Charleys " is a game 
 Unworthy one that bears a Christian name. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Oh, come and teach our children that aren't ours 
 That Heaven's straight pathway is a narrow way, 
 Not Broad St Giles's, where fierce Sin devours 
 Children, like Time or rather they both prey 
 On youth together meanwhile Newgate lowers 
 Even like a black cloud at the close of day, 
 To shut them out from any more blue sky : 
 Think of these hopeless wretches, Mrs Fry 1 
 
 You are not nice go into their retreats, 
 And make them Quakers, if you will. 'Twere best 
 They wore straight collars, and their shirts sans pleats f 
 That they had hats with brims, that they were drest 
 In garbs without / tppels than shame the streets 
 With so much raggedness. You may invest 
 Much cash this way but it will cost its pric^ 
 To give a good, round, real cheque to Vice I 
 
 In brief, Oh, teach the child its moral rote, 
 Not in the way from which it won't depart,? 
 But o ut out out ! Oh, bid it walk remote 1 
 And if the skies are closed against the smart,
 
 TO RICHARD MARTIN, ESQ., M.P. 
 
 Even let him wear the single-breasted coat 
 For that ensureth singleness of heart. 
 Do what you will, his every want sjpply, 
 Keep him but out of Newgate, Mrs Fry ! 
 
 ODE TO RICHARD MARTIN, ESQUIRE, 
 M.P. FOR GALWAY. 
 
 HOW many sing of wars, 
 
 Of Greek and Trojan jars 
 
 The butcheries of men ! 
 The Muse hath a " Perpetual Ruby Pen ! * 
 Dabbling with heroes and the blood they spill ; 
 
 But no one sings the man 
 
 That, like a pelican, 
 Nourishes Pity with his tender Bill I 
 
 II. 
 
 Thou Wilberforce of hacks ! 
 
 Of whites as well as blacks, 
 
 Piebald and dapple gray, 
 
 Chestnut and bay 
 No poet's eulogy thy name adorns I 
 
 But oxen, from the fens, 
 
 Sheep in their pens, 
 
 Praise thee, and red cows with their winding horns ! 
 Thou art sung on brutal pipes 1 
 
 Drovers may curse thee, 
 
 Knackers asperse thee, 
 And sly M.P.s bestow their cruel wipes ; 
 
 But the old horse neighs thee, 
 
 And zebras praise thee, 
 Asses, I mean that have as many stripes i 
 
 Hast thou not taught the Drover to forbear, 
 
 In Smithfield's muddy, murderous, vile environ, 
 
 Staying his lifted bludgeon in the air ! 
 
 Bullocks don't wear 
 
 Oxide of iron ! 
 
 The cruel Jarvy thou has summon'd oft, 
 Enforcing mercy on the coarse Yahoo, 
 That thought his horse the courser of the two 
 Whilst Swift smiled down aloft !
 
 TO RICHARD MARTIN, ESQ., M.J>. 
 
 Oh, worthy pair ! for this, when ye inhabit 
 Bodies of birds (if so the spirit shifts 
 From flesh to feather) when the clcwn uplifts 
 His hand against the sparrow's nest, to grab it, 
 He shall not harm the MARTINS and the Swifts I 
 
 Ah ! when Dean Swift was quick, how he enhanced 
 The horse ! and humbled biped man like Plato ! 
 But now he's dead, the charger is mischanced, 
 Gone backward in the world and not advanced, 
 
 Remember Cato ! 
 Swift was the horse's champion not the King's, 
 
 Whom Southey sings, 
 
 Mounted on Pegasus would he were thrown ! 
 He'll wear that ancient hackney to the bone, 
 Like a mere clothes-horse airing royal things I 
 Ah, well-a-day ! the ancients did not use 
 Their steeds so cruelly ! let it debar men 
 From wanton rowelling and whip's abuse 
 Look at the ancients' Muse I 
 Look at their Carmen I 
 
 V. 
 
 O Martin ! how thine eye- 
 That one would think had put aside its lashes, 
 
 That can't bear gashes 
 Thro' any horse's side, must ache to spy 
 That horrid window fronting Fetter Lane, 
 For there's a nag the crows have pick'd for victual, 
 Or some man painted in a bloody vein 
 
 Gods ! is there no Horse-spitall 
 That such raw shows must sicken the humane 1 
 Sure Mr Whittle 
 Loves thee but little, 
 To let that poor horse linger in his pane I 
 
 VI. 
 
 Oh, build a Brookes's Theatre for horses I 
 Oh, wipe away the national reproach 
 
 And find a decent Vulture for their corses ! 
 
 And in thy funeral track 
 Four sorry steeds shall follow in each conch ! 
 
 Steeds that confess "the luxury of wo !" 
 True mourning steeds, in no extempore black, 
 
 And many a wretched hack 
 Shall sorrow for thee, sore with kick and blow 
 And bloody gash it is the Indian knack
 
 TO THE GREAT UNKNOWN. 
 
 (Save that the savage is his own tormentor) 
 Banting shall weep too in his sable scarf 
 The biped woe the quadruped shall enter, 
 And Man and Horse go half and half, 
 As if their griefs met in a common Centaur I 
 
 ODE TO THE GREAT UNKNOWN. 
 
 " Oh, breathe not his name 1 "- MOORS. 
 
 THOU Great Unknown ! 
 I do not mean Eternity nor Death, 
 
 That vast incog. ! 
 
 For I suppose thou hast a living breath, 
 Howbeit we know not from whose lungs 'tis blown, 
 
 Thou man of fog ! 
 Parent of many children child of none 1 
 
 Nobody's son ! 
 
 Nobody's daughter but a parent still ! 
 Still but an ostrich parent of a batch 
 Of orphan eggs, left to the world to hatch. 
 
 Superlative Nil ! 
 
 A vox and nothing more, yet not Vauxhall ; 
 A head in papers, yet without a curl ! 
 
 Not the Invisible Girl ! 
 No hand but a handwriting on a wall 
 
 A popular nonentity, 
 Still call'd the same, without identity I 
 
 A lark, heard out of sight, 
 A nothing shined upon, invisibly bright, 
 
 " Dark with excess of light ! " 
 Constable's literary John-a-nokes 
 The real Scottish wizard to no which, 
 
 Nobody in a niche ; 
 
 Every one's hoax ! 
 
 Maybe Sir Walter Scott 
 
 Perhaps not ! 
 Why dost thou so conceal and puzzle curious folks r 
 
 Thou, whom the second- sigh ted never saw, 
 The Master Fiction of fictitious history ! 
 
 Chief Nong ton? paw ! 
 
 No mister in the world and yet all mystety ! 
 The "tricksy spirit" of a Scotch Cock Lane 
 A novel Jur.ius, puzzling the world's brain
 
 TO THE GREAT UNKNOWN. 
 
 A man of magic yet no talisman ! 
 
 A man of clair obscure not him o' the moon I 
 
 A star at noon ; 
 A non-descriptus in a caravan ; 
 A private of no corps a northern light 
 In a dark lantern, Bogie in a crape 
 A figure but no shape ; 
 A vizor and no knight ; 
 The real abstract hero of the age ; 
 The staple Stranger of the stage ; 
 A Some One made in every man's presumption, 
 Frankenstein's monster but instinct with gumption ; 
 Another strange state captive in the north, 
 Constable-guarded in an iron mask 
 
 Still let me ask, 
 Hast thou no silver platter, 
 No door-plate, or no card or some such matter, 
 To scrawl a name upon, and then cast forth ? 
 
 Thou Scottish Barmecide, feeding the hunger 
 Of Curiosity with airy gammon ! 
 
 Thou mystery-monger, 
 Dealing it out like middle cut of salmon, 
 That people buy and can't make head or tail of it 
 (Howbeit that puzzle never hurts the sale of it); 
 Thou chief of authors mystic and abstractical, 
 That lay their proper bodies on the shelf 
 Keeping thyself so truly to thyself, 
 
 Thou Zimmerman made practical I 
 Thou secret fountain of a Scottish style, 
 
 That, like the Nile, 
 Hideth its source wherever it is bred, 
 
 But still keeps disemboguing 
 
 (Not disembroguing) 
 
 Thro' such broad sandy mouths without a head 1 
 Thou disembodied author not yet dead, 
 The whole world's literary Absentee ! 
 
 Ah ! wherefore hast thou fled, 
 Thou learned Nemo wise to a degree, 
 
 Anonymous L. L. D. ? 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thou nameless captain of the name'iess gang 
 That do and inquests cannot say who did it 1 
 
 Wert thou at Mrs Donatty's death-pang? 
 Hast thou made gravy of Wear's watch or hid it? 
 Hast thou a Blue-Beard chamber ? Heaven forbid it ! 
 
 I should be very loth to see thee hang !
 
 TO THE GREAT UNKNOWN. 
 
 I hope thou hast an aliM well plann'd, 
 An innocent, altho' an ink-black hand. 
 
 Tho' thou hast newly turn'd thy private bolt on 
 
 The curiosity of all invaders 
 I hope thou art merely closeted with Colton, 
 Who knows a little of the Holy Land, 
 
 Writing thy next new novel The Crusaders ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Perhaps thou wert even born 
 
 To be Unknown. Perhaps hung, some foggy morn, 
 At Captain Coram's charitable wicket, 
 
 Penn'd to a ticket 
 
 That Fate had made illegible, foreseeing 
 The future great unmentionable being. 
 
 Perhaps thou hast ridden, 
 A scholar poor, on St Augustine's back, 
 Like Chatterton, and found a dusty pack . 
 
 Of Rowley novels in an old chest hidden ; 
 A little hoard of clever simulation, 
 
 That took the town and Constable has bidden 
 Some hundred pounds for a continuation 
 To keep and clothe thee in genteel starvation. 
 
 VI. 
 
 I liked thy Waverley first of thy breeding ; 
 
 I like its modest " sixty years ago," 
 As if it was not meant for ages' reading. 
 
 I don't like Ivanhoe, 
 Tho' Dymoke does it makes him think of clattering 
 
 In iron overalls before the king, 
 Secure from battering, to ladies nattering, 
 
 Tuning his challenge to the gauntlets' ring 
 Oh, better far than all that anvil clang 
 
 It was to hear thee touch the famous string 
 Of Robin Hood's tough bow, and make it twang, 
 Rousing him up, all verdant, with his clan, 
 Like Sagittarian Pan ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 I like Guy Mannering but not that sham son 
 Of Brown. I like that literary Sampson, 
 Nine-tenths a Dyer, with a smack of Porson. 
 I like Dirk Hatteraick, that rough sea Orson 
 
 That slew the Guager ; 
 
 And Dandie Dinmont, like old Ursa Major ; 
 And Merrilies, young Bertram's old defender, 
 
 That Scottish Witch of Endor, 
 
 That doom'd thy fame. She was the Witch, I take it, 
 To tell a great man's fortune or to make it J
 
 TO THE GREAT UNKNOWN. 65 
 
 I like thy Antiquary. With his fit on, 
 
 He makes me think of Mr Britton, 
 Who has or had within his garden wall, 
 A miniature Stone Henge, so very small 
 
 The sparrows find it difficult to sit on j 
 And Dousterswivel, like Poyais' M'Gregor ; 
 And Edie Ochiltree, that old Blue Beggar, 
 
 Painted so cleverly 
 
 I think thou surely kixowest Mrs Beverly ! 
 I like thy Barber him that fired the Beacon 
 But that's a tender subject now to speak on J 
 
 I like long-arm'd Rob Roy. His very charms 
 Fashion'd him for renown ! In sad sincerity, 
 
 The man that robs or writes must have long arms 
 If he's to hand his deeds down to posterity ! 
 Witness Miss Biffin's posthumous prosperity, 
 Her poor brown crumpled mummy (nothing more) 
 
 Bearing the name she bore, 
 A thing Time's tooth is tempted to destroy I 
 But Roys can never die why else, in verity, 
 Is Paris echoing with " Vive le Roy I " 
 Aye, Rob shall live again, and deathless Di 
 Vernon, of course, shall often live again 
 Whilst there's a stone in Newgate, or a chain, 
 
 Who can pass by 
 
 Nor feel the ThiePs in prison and at hand? 
 There be Old Bailey Jarvys on the stand I 
 
 I like thy Landlord's Tales ! I like that Idol 
 Of love and Lammermoor the blue-eyed maid 
 That led to church the mounted cavalcade, 
 
 And then pull'd up with such a bloody bridal I 
 Throwing equestrian Hymen on his haunches 
 I like the family not silver branches 
 That hold the tapers 
 
 To light the serious Legend of Montrose. 
 I like M'Aulay's second-sighted vapours, 
 As if he could not walk or talk alone, 
 Without the devil or the Great Unknown, 
 
 Dalgetty is the dearest of Ducrows.l 
 
 XI. 
 
 I like St Leonard's Lily drench'd with dew ! 
 
 I like thy Vision of the Covenanters, 
 
 That bloody-minded Graham shot and slew.
 
 TO THE GREA T UNKNOWN. 
 
 I like the battle lost and won, 
 The hurlyburly's bravely done, 
 
 The warlike gallops and the warlike canters 1 
 
 I like that girded chieftain of the Ranters, 
 
 Ready to preach down heathens, or to grapple, 
 With one eye on his sword, 
 And one upon the Word, 
 
 How he would cram the Caledonian Chapel ! 
 
 I like stern Claverhouse, though he doth da.pple 
 His raven steed with blood of many a corse 
 
 I like dear Mrs Headrigg, that unravels 
 
 Her texts of Scripture on a trotting horse 
 
 She is so like Rae Wilson when he travels 1 
 
 XII. 
 
 I like thy Kenilworth but I'm not going 
 
 To take a Retrospective Re-Review 
 Of all thy dainty novels merely showing 
 
 The old familiar faces of a few, 
 
 The question to renew, 
 
 How thou canst leave such deeds without a name, 
 Forego the unclaim'd dividends of fame, 
 Forego the smiles of literary houris 
 Mid- Lothian's trump, and Fife's shrill note of praise, 
 
 And all the Carse of Cowrie's, 
 When thou might'st have thy statue in Cromarty 
 
 Or see thy image on Italian trays, 
 Betwixt Queen Caroline and Buonaparte", 
 
 Be painted by the Titian of R.A.S, 
 Or vie in signboards with the Royal Guelph ! 
 
 Perhaps have thy bust set cheek by jowl with Homer's, 
 Perhaps send out plaster proxies of thyself 
 
 To other Englands with Australian roamers 
 Mayhap, in Literary Owhyhee 
 Displace the native wooden gods, or be 
 The China- Lar of a Canadian shelf 1 
 
 XIII. 
 
 It is not modesty that bids thee hide- 
 She never wastes her blushes out of sight : 
 It is not to invite 
 
 The world's decision, for thy fame is tried, 
 
 And thy fair deeds are scatter'd far and wide, 
 Even royal heads are with thy readers r.eckon'd, 
 
 From men in trencher caps to trencher scholars 
 
 In crimson collars, 
 
 And learned Serjeants in the Forty-second ! 
 Whither by land or sea art thou not beckon'd?
 
 TO THE GREAT UNKNOWN. 
 
 Mayhap exported from the Frith of Forth, 
 Defying distance and its dim control ; 
 
 Perhaps read about Stromness, and reckon'd worth 
 A brace of Miltons for capacious soul 
 
 Perhaps studied in the whalers farther north, 
 And set above ten Shakespeares near the pole 1 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Oh, when thou writest by Aladdin's lamp, 
 With such a giant genius at command, 
 
 For ever at thy stamp, 
 To fill thy treasury from Fairy Land, 
 When haply thou might'st ask the pearly hand 
 Of some great British Vizier's eldest daughter, 
 
 Tho' princes sought her, 
 And lead her in procession hymeneal, 
 Oh, why dost thou remain a Beau Ideal ! 
 Why stay, a ghost, on the Lethean Wharf, 
 Enveloped in Scotch mist and gloomy fogs ? 
 Why, but because thou art some puny Dwarf, 
 Some hopeless Imp, lik Riquet with the Tuft, 
 Fearing, for all thy wit, to be rebuff'd 
 Or bullied by our great reviewing Gogs 1 
 
 XV. 
 
 What in this masquing age 
 Maketh Unknowns so many and so shy? 
 
 What but the critic's page ? 
 One hath a cast he hides from the world's eye; 
 Another hath a wen, he won't show where ; 
 
 A third has sandy hair, 
 A hunch upon his back, or legs awry, 
 Things for a vile reviewer to espy ! 
 Another hath a mangel-wurzel nose, 
 
 Finally, this is dimpled, 
 
 Like a pale crumpet face, or that is pimpled, 
 Things for a monthly critic to expose : 
 Nay, what is thy own case that, being small, 
 Thou choosest to be nobody at all ! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Well, thou art prudent, with such puny bones 
 E'en like Elshender, the mysterious elf, 
 That shadowy revelation of thyself 
 
 To build thee a small hut of haunted stones 
 
 For certainly the first pernicious man 
 
 That ever saw thee, would quickly draw thee 
 
 In some vile literary caravan
 
 TO JOSEPH GRIMALDI, SENIOR. 
 
 Shown for a shilling 
 
 Would be thy killing, 
 Think of Crachami's miserable span ! 
 No tinier frame the tiny spark could dwell M 
 
 Than there it fell in 
 But when she felt herself a show, she tried 
 To shrink from the world's eye, poor dwarf ! and died ! 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Oh, since it was thy fortune to be born 
 A dwarf on some Scotch Inch, and then to flinch 
 From all the Gog-like jostle of great men, 
 
 Still with thy small crow pen 
 Amuse and charm thy lonely hours forlorn 
 Still Scottish story daintily adorn ; 
 
 Be still a shade and when this age is fled, 
 When we poor sons and daughters of reality 
 Are in our graves forgotten and quite dead, 
 And Time destroys our mottoes of morality 
 The lithographic hand of Old Mortality 
 Shall still restore thy emblem on the stone, 
 
 A featureless death's head, 
 And rob Oblivion even of the Unknown I 
 
 ODE TO JOSEPH GRIMALDI, SENIOR. 
 
 " This fellow's wise enough to play the fool, 
 And to do that well craves a kind of_wi t. " 
 
 -TwelftA Night. 
 
 JOSEPH ! they say thou'st left the stage, 
 
 To toddle down the hill of life, 
 
 And taste the flannell'd ease of age, 
 
 Apart from pantomimic strife 
 
 u Retired (for Young would call it so) 
 
 The world shut out " in Pleasant Row 1 
 
 II. 
 
 And hast thou really wash'd at last 
 
 From each white cheek the red half moon I 
 
 And all thy public Clownship cast, 
 
 To play the private P.mtaloon ? 
 
 All youth all ages yet to be 
 
 Shall have a heavy miss of thee !
 
 TO JOSEPH GRIMALDI, SENIOR. 
 
 III. 
 
 Thou didst not preach to make us wise 
 Thou hadst no finger in our schooling 
 Thou didst not*' lure us to the skies " 
 Thy simple, simple trade was Fooling ! 
 And yet, Heaven knows ! we could we a 
 Much " better spare a better man ! * 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oh, had it pleased the gout to take 
 The reverend Croly from the stage, 
 Or Southey, for our quiet's sake, 
 Or Mr Fletcher, Cupid's sage, 
 Or, damme ! namby-pamby Poole, 
 Or any other clown or fool 1 
 
 Go, Dibdin all that bear the name ! 
 Go, Byeway Highway man ! go ! go I 
 Go, Skeffy man of painted fame, 
 But leave thy partner, painted Joe ! 
 I could bear Kirby on the wane, 
 Or Signer Paulo with a sprain I 
 
 Had Joseph Wilfred Parkins made 
 His grey hairs scarce in private peace- 
 Had Waithman sought a rural shade 
 Or Cobbett ta'en a turnpike lease 
 Or Lisle Bowles gone to Baalam Hill- 
 I think I could be cheerful still 1 
 
 Had Medwin left off, to his praise, 
 Dead lion kicking, like a friend ! 
 Had long, long Irving gone his ways, 
 To muse on death at Ponders End 
 Or Lady Morgan taken leave 
 Of Letters still I might not grieve 1 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But, Joseph everybody's Jo ! 
 
 Is gone and grieve I will and must I 
 
 As Hamlet did for Yorick, so 
 
 Will I for thee (though not yet dust), 
 
 And talk as he did when he miss'd 
 
 The kissing-crust that he had kiss'd 1
 
 TO JOSEPH GR1MALD1, SENIOR. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Ah, where is now thy rolling head t 
 Thy winking, reeling, drunken eyes 
 (As old Catullus would have said), 
 Thy oven-mouth, that swallow'd pies 
 Enormous hunger monstrous drowth ! 
 Thy pockets greedy ^as thy mouth I 
 
 Ah, where thy ears, so often cuff'd 
 Thy funny, flapping, filching hands ! 
 Thy partridge body, always stuff'd 
 With waifs, and strays, and contrabands ! 
 Thy foot like Berkeley's Foote for why ? 
 Twas often made to wipe an eye 1 
 
 Ah, where thy legs that witty pair ! 
 For " great wits jump " and so did they J 
 Lord ! how they leap'd in lamplight air ! 
 Caper'd and bounced and strode away I- 
 That years should tame the legs alack ! 
 I've seen spring thro' an Almanack I 
 
 XII. 
 
 But bounds will have their bound the shockf 
 Of Time will cramp the nimblest toes ; 
 And those that frisk'd in silken clocks 
 May look to limp in fleecy hose 
 One only -(Champion of the ring) 
 Could ever make his Winter, Spring ! 
 
 And gout, that owns no odds between 
 The toe of Czar and toe of Clown, 
 Will visit but I did not mean 
 To moralise, though I am grown 
 Thus sad, Thy going seem'd to beat 
 A muffled drum for Fun's retreat I 
 
 XIV. 
 
 And, may be 'tis no time to smother 
 A sigh, when two prime wags of London 
 Are gone thou, Joseph, one the other. 
 A Joe ! " Sic transit gloria Mnnden I" 
 A third departure some insist on, 
 Stage-apoplexy threatens Liston !
 
 TO JOSEPH GRIMALDI, SENIOR. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Nay, then, let Sleeping Beauty sleep 
 With ancient " Dozey" to the dregs 
 Let Mother Goose wear mourning deep, 
 And put a hatchment o'er her eggs ! 
 Let Farley weep for Magic's man, 
 Is gone, his Christmas Caliban 1 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Let Kemble, Forbes, and Willet rain, 
 As tho' they walk'd behind thy bier, 
 For since thou wilt not play again, 
 What matters, if in heaven or here I- 
 Or in thy grave, or in thy bed ! 
 There's Quick,* might just as well be dead 1 
 
 Oh, how will thy departure cloud 
 
 The lamplight of the little breast ! 
 
 The Christmas child will grieve aloud 
 
 To miss his broadest friend and best, 
 
 Poor urchin ! what avails to him 
 
 The cold New Monthly's Ghost of Grimm f 
 
 For who like thee could ever stride 1 
 Some dozen paces to the mile ! 
 The motley, medley coach provide 
 Or like Joe Frankenstein compile 
 The vegetable man complete ! 
 A proper Co-vent Garden feat 1 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Oh, who like thee could ever drink, 
 
 Or eat, swill, swallow bolt and choke ! 
 
 Nod, weep, and hiccup sneeze and wink? 
 
 Thy very yawn was quite a joke ! 
 
 Tho' Joseph, Junior, acts not ill, 
 
 There's no Fool like the old Fool" still I 
 
 XX. 
 
 Joseph, farewell ! dear funny Joe ! 
 We met with mirth, we part in pain 1 
 For many a long, long year must go 
 Ere Fun can see thy like again 
 For Nature does not keep great stores 
 Of perfect Clowns that are not Boors I 
 
 * On? of the old actors .still \ performer (but in private) of Old Rapid
 
 AN ADDRESS TO THE STEAM- WASHING 
 COMPANY. 
 
 ** ARCHER. How many are there, Scrub ? 
 
 SCRUB. Five and forty, sir." Beaux Stra.ta.gem. 
 * For shame-let the linen alone I "-Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 
 MR SCRUB Mr Slop or whoever you be ! 
 The Cock of Steam Laundries, the head Patentee 
 Of Associate Cleansers, chief founder 2.r>d prime 
 Of the firm for the wholesale distilling of grime 
 Copartners and dealers in linen's propriety 
 That make washing public and wash in society- 
 Oh, lend me your ear ! if that ear can forego, 
 For a moment, the music that bubbles below, 
 From your new Surrey Geisers,* all foaming and hot, 
 That soft " simmer's sang " so endear'd to the Scot ; 
 If your hands may stand still, or your steam without danger 
 If your suds will not cool, and a mere simple stranger, 
 Both to you and to washing, may put in a rub, 
 Oh, wipe out your Amazon arms from the tub, 
 And lend me your ear, Let me modestly plead 
 For a race that your labours may soon supersede 
 For a race that, now washing no living affords, 
 Like Grimaldi must leave their aquatic old boards, 
 Not with pence in their pockets to keep them at ease, 
 Not with bread in the funds, or investments of cheese, 
 But to droop like sad willows that lived by a stream, 
 Which the sun has suck'd up into vapour and steam. 
 Ah ! look at the laundress, before you begrudge 
 Her hard daily bread to that laudable drudge ; 
 When chanticleer singeth his earliest matins, 
 She slips her amphibious feet in her pattens, 
 And beginneth her toil while the morn is still grey, 
 As if she was washing the night into day ; 
 Not with sleeker or rosier fingers Aurora 
 Beginneth to scatter the dewdrops before her ; 
 Not Venus, that rose from the billow so early, 
 Look'd down on the foam with a forehead more /^ 
 Her head is involved in an aerial mist, 
 And a bright-beaded bracelet encircles her wrist ; 
 Her visage glows warm with the ardour of duty ; 
 She's Industry's moral she's all moral beauty I 
 Growing brighter and brighter at every rub' 
 Would any man ruin her? No, Mr Scrub ! 
 
 * Geisers the boiling springs in Iceland. 
 t Query, fttrly? Printer's Devil.
 
 TO THE STEAM-WASHING COMPANY. 
 
 No man that is manly would work her mishap- 
 No man that is manly would covet her cap 
 Nor her apron her hose nor her gown made of stuff 
 Nor her gin nor her tea nor her wet pinch of snuff ! 
 Alas ! so she thought but that slippery hope 
 Has betray'd her as tho' she had trod on her soap I 
 And she, whose support, like the fishes that fly, 
 Was to have her fins wet, must now drop from her sky 
 She whose living it was, and a part of her fare, 
 To be damp'd once a day, like the great white sea-bear, 
 With her hands like a sponge, and her head like a mop 
 Quite a living absorbent that revell'd in slop 
 She that paddled in water, must walk upon sand, 
 And sigh for her deeps like a turtle on land ! 
 
 Lo, then, the poor laundress, all wretched she stands, 
 
 Instead of a counterpane wringing her hands ! 
 
 All haggard and pinch'd, going down in life's vale, 
 
 With no faggot for burning, like Allan-a-dale ! 
 
 No smoke from her flue and no steam from her pane, 
 
 Where once she watch'd heaven, fearing God and the rain 
 
 Or gazed o'er her bleachfield so fairly engross'd, 
 
 Till the lines wander'd idle from pillar to post ! 
 
 Ah, where are the playful young pinners ah, where 
 
 The harlequin quilts that cut capers in air 
 
 The brisk waltzing stockings, the white and the black, 
 
 That danced on the tight-rope, or swung on the slack 
 
 The light sylph-like garments, so tenderly pinn'd, 
 
 That blew into shape, and embodied the wind ! 
 
 There was white on the grass, there was white on the spray 
 
 Her garden, it look'd like a garden of May! 
 
 But now all is dark not a shirt's on a shrub 
 
 You've ruin'd her prospects in life, Mr Scrub ! 
 
 You've ruin'd her custom now families drop her 
 
 From her silver reduced nay, reduced from her copperl 
 
 The last of her washing is done at her eye, 
 
 One poor little kerchief that never gets dry ! 
 
 From mere lack of linen she can't lay a cloth, 
 
 And boils neither barley nor alkaline broth ; 
 
 But her children come round her as victuals grow scant, 
 
 And recall, with foul faces, the source of their want 
 
 When she thinks of their poor little mouths to be fed, 
 
 And then thinks of her trade that is utterly dead, 
 
 And even its pearl-ashes laid in the grave 
 
 Whilst her tub is a dry rotting, stave after stave, 
 
 And the greatest of Coopers, even he that they dub 
 
 Sir Astley, can't bind up her heart or her tub, 
 
 Need you wonder she curses your bones, Mr Scrub ! 
 
 Need you wonder, when steam has deprived her of bread, 
 
 If she prays that the evil may visit your head
 
 TO THE STEAM-WASHING COMPANY. 
 
 Nay, scald all the heads of your Washing Committee, 
 If she wishes you all the soot blacks of the city 
 In short, not to mention all plagues without number, 
 If she wishes you all in the Wash at the H umber ! 
 
 Ah ! perhaps in some moment of drowth and despair, 
 
 When her linen got scarce, and her washing grew rare 
 
 When the sum of her suds might be summ'd in a bowl, 
 
 And the rusty cold iron quite enter'd her soul 
 
 When, perhaps, the last glance of her wandering eye 
 
 Had caught " the Cock Laundresses' Coach " going by, 
 
 On her lines that hung idle, to waste the fine weather, 
 
 And she thought of her wrongs and her rights both together, 
 
 In a lather of passion, that froth'd as it rose, 
 
 Too angry for grammar, too lofty for prose, 
 
 On her sheet if a sheet were still left her to write. 
 
 Some remonstrance like this then, perchance, saw the light : 
 
 LETTER OF REMONSTRANCE FROM 
 BRIDGET JONES 
 
 To the Noblemen and Gentlemen forming the Washing Committee. 
 
 IT'S a shame, so it is, men cnn't Let alone 
 
 Jobs as is Woman's right to do and go about there Own 
 
 Theirs Reforms enuff Alreddy without your new schools 
 
 For washing to sit Up, and push the Old Tubs from their stools ! 
 
 But your just like the Raddicals, for upsetting of the Sudds 
 
 When the world wagged well enuff and Wommen washed your old 
 
 dirty duds, 
 I'm Certain sure Enuff your Ann Sisters had no stream In^ins, that's 
 
 Flat, 
 But I Warrant your Four Fathers went as Tidy and gentlem.mny for 
 
 all that 
 
 I suppose your the Family as lived in the Great Kittle 
 I see on Clapham Comniun, some times a very considerable period 
 
 back when I were lit lie, 
 
 And they Said it went with Steem, But that was a joke ! 
 For I never see none come of it, that's out of it but only sum 
 
 Smoak 
 And for All your Power of Horses about your Ingins you never had 
 
 but Two 
 In my time to draw you About to Fairs and curse you, you know 
 
 that's true ! 
 
 And for All your fine Perspectives, howsomever you be\\ hich 'em, 
 Theirs as Pretty ones off Primerows Hill, 
 
 as ever a one at Mit< hum,
 
 TO THE STEAM- WASHING COMPANY. 75 
 
 Thof I cant sea What Prospectives and washing has with one another 
 
 to Do 
 
 It aant as if a Bird'seye Hankicher can take a Birdshigh view ! 
 But Thats your look out I've not much to do with that But pleas 
 
 God to hold up fine, 
 Id show you caps and pinners and small things as lillywhit as Ever 
 
 crosst the Line 
 
 Without going any Father off then Little Parodies Place, 
 And Thats more than you. Can and 111 say it behind your face 
 But when Folks talks of washing, it ant for you too Speak, 
 As kept Dockter Pattyson out of his Shirt for a Weak ! 
 Thinks I, when I heard it Well thear's a Pretty go ! 
 That comes o' not marking of things or washing out the marks, and 
 
 Huddling 'em up so ! 
 Till Their frends comes and owns them, like drownded corpeses in a 
 
 Vault, 
 
 But may Hap you havint Larn'd to spel and That ant your Fault, 
 Only you ought to leafe the Linnins to them as has Larn'd, 
 For if it warnt for Washing, and whare Bills is concarnd 
 What's the Yuse, of all the world, for a Wommans Edication, 
 And Their Being maid Schollards of Sundays fit for any Cityation. 
 
 Well, what I says is This when every Kittle has its spout, 
 
 Theirs no nead for Companys to puff steam about ! 
 
 To be sure its very Well, when Their ant enuff Wind 
 
 For blowing up Boats with, but not to hurt human kind 
 
 Like that Pearkins with his Blunderbush, that's loaded with hot water, 
 
 Thof a Sherrif might know Better, than make things for slaughtter, 
 
 As if War warnt Cruel enuff wherever it befalls, 
 
 Without s: ooting poor sogt-rs, with sich scalding hot washing balls, 
 
 But thats not so Bad as a Sett of Bear Faced Scrubbs 
 
 As joins their Sopes together, and sits up Stream rubbing Clubs, 
 
 For washing Dirt Cheap, and eating other Peple's grubs ! 
 
 Which is all verry Fine for you and your Patent Tea, 
 
 But I wonders How Poor Wommen is to get Their Bo-He ! 
 
 They must drink Hunt wash (the only wash God nose there will be !) 
 
 And their Little drop of Somethings as they takes for their Goods, 
 
 When you and your Steam has ruined (G d forgive mee) their lively 
 
 Hoods, 
 
 Poor Women as was born to Washing in their youth ! 
 And now must go and Larn other Buisnesses Four Sooth ! 
 But if so be They leave their Lines what are they to go at 
 They won't do for Angell's nor any Trade like That, 
 Nor we cant Sow Babby Work, for that's all Bespoke, 
 For the Queakers in Bridle ! and a vast of the confind Folk 
 Do their own of Themselves even the bettermost of em aye, and 
 
 evn them of middling degrees 
 
 Why God help you Babby Linen ant Bread and Cheese ! 
 Nor we can't go a hammering the roads into Dust, 
 But we must all go and be Bankers, and that's what we must I
 
 76 TO THE STEAM-WASHING COMPANY. 
 
 God nose you oght to have more Concern for our Sects, 
 
 When you nose you have suck'd us and hang'd round our Mutherly 
 
 necks, 
 
 And remembers what you Owes to Wommen Besides washing 
 You ant, curse you, like Men to go a slushing and sloshing 
 In mob caps, and pnttins, adoing of Females Labers 
 And prettily jear'd At you great Horse God Meril things, ant you now 
 
 by you next door neighbours 
 Lawk I thinks I see you with your Sleaves tuckt up 
 No more like Washing than is drownding of a Pupp 
 And for all Your Fine Water Works going round and round 
 They'll scruntch your Bones some day I'll be bound 
 And no more nor be a gudgement, for it cant come to good 
 To sit up agin Providince, which your a doing, nor not fit It should, 
 For man warnt maid for Wommens starvation, 
 Nor to do away Laundrisses as is Links of Creation 
 And cant be dun without in any Country But a Hottinpot Nation. 
 Ah, I wish our Minister would take one of your Tubbs 
 And preach a Sermon in it, and give you some good rubs 
 But I warrants you reads (for you cant spel we nose) nayther Bybills 
 
 or Good Tracks, 
 
 Or youd no better than Taking the Close off one's Backs 
 And let your neighbours oxin an Asses alone, 
 And every Thing thats hern, and give every one their Hone ! 
 
 Well, its God for us All, and every Washer Wommen for herself, 
 
 And so you might, without shoving any on us off the shelf, 
 
 But if you warnt Noddis youd Let wommen abe 
 
 And pull off Your Pattins, and leave the washing to we 
 
 That nose what's what Or mark what I say, 
 
 Youl make a fine Kittle of fish of Your Close some day 
 
 When the Aulder men wants Their Bibs and their ant nun at all, 
 
 And Crist mass cum and never a Cloth to lay in Gild Hall, 
 
 Or send a damp shirt to his Worship the Mare 
 
 Till hes rumatiz Poor Man, and cant set uprite in his Chare 
 
 Besides Miss- Matching Lamed Ladys Hose, as is sent for }ou not to 
 
 wash (for you dont wash) but to stew 
 And make Peples Stockins yeller as oght to be Blew 
 With a vast more like That, and all along of Steam 
 Which warnt meand by Nater for any sich skeam 
 But thats your Losses and youl have to make It Good, 
 And I cant say I'm Sorry afore God if you shoud, 
 For men mought Get their Bread a great many ways 
 Without taking ourn, aye, and Moor to your Prays 
 If You Was even to Turn Dust Men a dry sifting Dirt, 
 But you oughtint to Hurt Them as never Did You no Hurt ! 
 Yourn with Anymocity, 
 
 BRIDGET JONES.
 
 77 
 
 ODE TO CAPTAIN PARRY. 
 
 By the North Pole I do challenge thee 1 "Love's Labour Lost. 
 
 PARRY, my man ! has thy brave leg 
 Yet struck its foot against the peg 
 
 On which the world is spun ? 
 Or hast thou found No Thoroughfare 
 Writ by the hand of Nature there 
 
 Where man has never run ? 
 
 II. 
 
 Hast thou yet traced the Great Unknown 
 Of channels in the Frozen Zone, 
 
 Or held at Icy Bay ? 
 Hast thou still miss'd the proper track 
 For homeward Indiamen, that lack 
 
 A bracing by the way ? 
 
 III. 
 
 Still hast thou wasted toil and trouble 
 On nothing but the North-Sea Bubble 
 
 Of geographic scholar? 
 Or found new ways for ships to 
 Instead of winding round the Cape, 
 
 A short cut thro' the collar ! 
 
 Hast found the way that sighs were sent to * 
 The Pole tho' God knows whom they went to t 
 
 That track reveafd to Pope 
 Or if the Arctic waters sally, 
 Or terminate in some blind alley, 
 
 A chilly path to grope ? 
 
 Alas ! tho' Ross, in love with snows, 
 Has painted them couleur de rose, 
 
 It is a dismal doom, 
 As Claudio saith, to Winter thrice, 
 "In regions of thick-ribbed ice" 
 
 All bright, and yet all gloom ! 
 
 1 And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole. " Eloisa to Abelard.
 
 TO CAPTAIN PARRY. 
 
 Ti well for Gheber souls, that sit 
 Before the fire and worship it 
 
 With pecks of Wallsend coals, 
 With feet upon the fender's fronf, 
 Roasting their corns like Mr Hunt- 
 To speculate on poles. 
 
 Tis easy for our Naval Board 
 Tis easy for our Civic Lord 
 
 Of London and of ease, 
 That lies in ninety feet of down, 
 With fur on his nocturnal gown. 
 
 To talk of Frozen Seas ! 
 
 Tis fine for Monsieur Ude to sit, 
 And prate about the mundane spit, 
 
 And babble of Cook's track 
 He'd roast the leather off his toes 
 Ere he would trudge thro' polar snows 
 
 To plant a British Jack I 
 
 IX. 
 
 Oh, not the proud licentious great, 
 That travel on a carpet-skate, 
 
 Can value toils like thine ! 
 What 'tis to take a ' Hecla' range, 
 Through ice unknown to Mr Grange, 
 
 And alpine lumps of brine I 
 
 But we, that mount the Hill o' Rhym<% 
 Can tell how hard it is to climb 
 
 The lofty slippery steep. 
 Ah ! there are more Snow Hills than that 
 Which doth black Newgate, like a hat, 
 
 Upon its forehead, keep. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Perchance thou'rt now while I am writing- 
 Feeling a bear's wet grinder biting 
 
 About thy frozen spine ! 
 Or thou thyself art eating whale, 
 Oily, and underdone, and stale, 
 
 That, haply, cross'd thy line !
 
 TO CAPTAIN PARRY. 79 
 
 XII. 
 
 But 111 not dream such dreait s of ill- 
 Rather will I believe thee still 
 
 Safe cellar'd in the snow, 
 Reciting many a gallant story 
 Of British kings and British glory, 
 
 To crony Esquimaux 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Cheering that dismal game where Night 
 Makes one slow move from black to white 
 
 Thro' all the tedious year, 
 Or smitten by some fond frost fair, 
 That comb'd out crystals from her hair, 
 
 Wooing a seal-skin Dear ! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 So much a long communion tends, 
 A? Byron says, to make us friends 
 
 With what we daily view 
 God knows the d lintiest taste may come 
 To love a nose that's like a plum 
 
 In marble, cold and blue 1 
 
 To dote on hair, an oily fleece ! 
 
 As tho' it hung from Helen o' Greece : 
 
 They say that love prevails 
 E'en in the veriest polar land 
 And surely she may steal thy hand 
 
 That used to steal thy nails ! 
 
 But ah ! ere thou art fix'd to marry, 
 And take a polar Mrs Parry, 
 
 Think of a six months' gloom 
 Think of the wintry waste, and hers, 
 Each furnish'd with a dozen furs, 
 
 Think of thine icy dome I 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Think of the children born to blubberl 
 Ah me ! hast thou an India-rubber 
 
 Inside ! to hold a meal 
 For months, about a stone and half 
 Of whale, and part of a sea-calf 
 
 A fillet of salt veal !
 
 TO CAPTAIN PARRY. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Some walrus ham no trifle, but 
 A decent steak a solid cut 
 
 Of seal no wafer slice ! 
 A reindeer's tongue and drink beside I 
 Gallons of sperm not rectified 1 
 
 And pails of water-ice J 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Oh, canst thou fast and then feast thus? 
 Still come away, and teach to us 
 
 Those blessed alternations 
 To-day to run our dinners fine, 
 TVfeed on air, and then to dine 
 
 With Civic Corporations 
 
 XX. 
 
 To save th* Old Bailey daily shilling, 
 And then to take a half year's filling 
 
 In P. N.'s pious Row- 
 When ask'd to Hock and haunch o' ven'son, 
 Thro' something we have worn our pens on 
 
 For Longman and his Co. 
 
 Oh, come, and tell us what the Pole is . 
 
 Whether it singular and sole is, 
 
 Or straight, or crooked bent, 
 If very thick or very thin, 
 Made of what wood and if akin 
 
 To those there be in Kent ? 
 
 XXII. 
 
 There's Combe, there's Spurzheim, and there's GaU, 
 Have talk'd of poles yet, after all, 
 
 What has the public learn'd ? 
 And Hunt's account must still defer, 
 He sought the poll at Westminster 
 
 And is not yet returridl 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Alvanley asks if whist, dear soul, 
 Is play'd in snow-towns near the 
 
 And how the fur-man deals ? 
 And Eldon doubts if it be true 
 That icy Chancellors really do 
 
 Exist upon the seals t
 
 TO CAPTAIN PARRY. 
 
 Barrow, by well-fed office grates, 
 Talks of his own bechristen'd Straits, 
 
 And longs that he were there ; 
 And Croker, in his cabriolet, 
 Sighs o'er his brown horse, at his Bay, 
 
 And pants to cross the merl 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Oh, come away, and set us right, 
 And, haply, throw a northern light 
 
 On questions such as these : 
 Whether, when this drown'd world was lost, 
 The surflux waves were lock'd in frost, 
 
 And turn'd to Icy Seas ? 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Is Ursa Major white or black? 
 Or do the Polar tribes attack 
 
 Their neighbours and what forf 
 Whether they ever play at cuffs, 
 And then, if they take off their muffs 
 
 In pugilistic war? 
 
 Tell us, is Winter chnmpion thete^ 
 As in our milder fighting air ? 
 
 Say, what are Chilly loans ? 
 What cures they have for rheums beside, 
 And if their hearts get ossified 
 
 From eating bread of bones ? 
 
 Whether they are such dwarfs the quicker 
 To circulate the vital liquor, * 
 
 And then, from head to heel 
 How short the Methodists must choose 
 Their dumpy envoys not to lose 
 
 Their toes in spite of zeal? 
 
 Whether 'twill soften cr sublime it 
 To preach of Hell in such a climate 
 
 Whether may Wesley hope 
 To win their souls or that old function 
 Of seals with the extreme of unction- 
 Bespeaks them for the Pope ? 
 
 * Buffon,
 
 TO MARIA DARLINGTON. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Whether the lamps will e'er be "learned* 
 Where six months' "midnight oil" is burnedj 
 
 Or Letters must defer 
 With people that have never conn'd 
 An A, B, C, but live beyond 
 
 The Sound of Lancaster I 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Oh, come away at any rate 
 
 Well hast thou earn'd a downier state 
 
 With all thy hardy peers 
 Good lack ! thou must be glad to smell dock, 
 And rub thy feet with opodeldock, 
 
 After such frosty years. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Mayhap, some gentle dame at last, 
 Smit by the perils thou hast pass'd, 
 
 H owever coy before, 
 Shall bid thee now set up thy rest 
 In that Brest Harbour, Woman's breast, 
 
 And tempt the Fates no more ! 
 
 ADDRESS TO MARIA DARLINGTON, ON HER 
 RETURN TO THE STAGE* 
 
 " It was Maria ! 
 
 And better fate did Maria deserve than to have her banns forbid 
 
 She had, since that, she told me, strayed as far as Rome, and walked round St Peter 1 ! 
 
 Ste tht wholt story, in Sieritt and tkt Newsfapert. 
 
 THOU art come back again to the stage, 
 
 Quite as blooming as when thou didst leave it ; 
 And 'tis well for this fortunate age 
 
 That thou didst not, by going off, grieve it 1 
 It is pleasant to see thee again 
 
 Right pleasant to see thee, by Hercle", 
 Unmolested by pea-colour'd Hayne ! 
 
 And free from that thou-and-thee Berkeley ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Thy sweet foot, my Foote, is as litfht 
 (Not my Foote I speak by correction) 
 
 * Written jointly with J. II. Reynolds.
 
 TO MARIA DARLINGTON. 
 
 As the snow on some mountain at night, 
 
 Or the snow that has long on thy neck shone, 
 
 The Pit is in raptures to free thee, 
 The Boxes impatient to greet thee, 
 
 The Galleries quite clamorous to see thee, 
 And thy scenic relations to meet thee I 
 
 III. 
 
 Ah, where was thy sacred retreat ? 
 
 Maria ! ah, where hast thou been, 
 With thy two little wandering Feet, 
 
 Far away from all peace and pea-green t 
 Far away from Fitzhardinge the bold, 
 
 Far away from himself and his lot ! 
 I envy the place thou hast stroll'd, 
 
 If a stroller thou art which thou'rt not I 
 
 Sterne met thee, poor wandering thing, 
 
 Rethinks, at the close of the day 
 When thy Billy had just slipp'd his string, 
 
 And thy little dog quite gone astray 
 He bade thee to sorrow no more 
 
 He wish'd thee to lull thy distress 
 In his bosom he couldn't do more, 
 
 And a Christian could hardly do less I 
 
 Ah me ! for thy small plaintive pipe 
 
 I fear we must look at thine eye 
 That eye forced so often to wipe 
 
 That the handkerchief never got dry I 
 Oh, sure 'tis a barbarous deed 
 
 To give pain to the feminine mind 
 But the wooer that left thee to bleed 
 
 Was a creature more killing than kind f 
 
 The man that could tread on a worm 
 
 Is a brute and inhuman to boot ; 
 But he merits a much harsher term 
 
 That can wantonly tread on a Foote ! 
 Soft mercy and gentleness blend 
 
 To make up a Quaker but he 
 That spurn'd thee could scarce be a Friend, 
 
 Tho' he dealt in that Thou-ing of thee !
 
 TO W. KITCHENER, M.D. 
 
 They that loved thee, Maria, have flown I 
 
 The friends of the midsummer hour ! 
 But those friends now in anguish atone, 
 
 And mourn o'er thy desolate bower. 
 Friend Hayne, the Green Man, is quite out, 
 
 Yea, utterly out of his bias ; 
 And the faithful Fitzhardinge, no doubt, 
 
 Is counting his Ave Marias ! 
 
 Ah, where wast thou driven away, 
 
 To feast on thy desolate woe ? 
 We have witness'd thy weeping in play, 
 
 But none saw the earnest tears flow 
 Perchance thou wert truly forlorn, 
 
 Tho' none but the fairies could mark 
 Where they hung upon some Berkeley thorn, 
 
 Or the thistles in Burderop Park 1 
 
 9 
 
 IX, 
 
 Ah, perhaps, when old age's white snow 
 
 Has silver d the crown of Hayne's nob- 
 For even the greenest will grow 
 
 As hoary as " White-headed Bob " 
 He'll wish, in the days of his prime, 
 
 He had been rather kinder to one 
 He hath left to the malice of Time 
 
 A woman so weak and undone I 
 
 ODE TO W. KITCHENER, M.D. 
 
 4UTHOR OF THE COOK'S ORACLE ; OBSERVATIONS ON VOCAL MUSIC ; THH 
 ART OF INVIGORATING AND PROLONGING LIFE ; PRACTICAL OBSERVA- 
 TIONS ON TELESCOPES, OPERA GLASSES, AND SPECTACLES ; THE HOUSE- 
 KEEPER'S LEDGER ; AND THE PLEASURE OF MAKING A WILL. 
 
 M I rule the roast, as Milton says !" CALEB QUOTE*. 
 I. 
 
 HAIL ! multifarious man ! 
 Thou Wondrous, Admirable Kitchen Crichtonl 
 
 Born to enlighten 
 
 The laws of Optics, Peptics, Music, Cooking- 
 Master of the Piano and the Pan 
 As busy with the kitchen as the skies !
 
 TO W. KITCHENER, M.D. 85 
 
 Now looking 
 
 At some rich stew thro' Galileo's eyes, 
 Or boiling eggs timed to a metronome 
 
 As much at home 
 
 In spectacles as in mere isinglass 
 In the art of frying brown as a digression 
 On music and poetical expression, 
 Whereas, how few of all our cooks, alas ! 
 Could tell Calliope from " Calliopee ! " 
 
 How few there be 
 Could leave the lowest for the highest stories 
 
 (Observatories), 
 
 And turn, like thee, Diana's calculator, 
 However cooKs synonymous with Katerl* 
 
 Alas ! still let me say, 
 
 How few could lay 
 
 The carving-knife beside the tuning-fork, 
 Like the proverbial Jack ready for any work ! 
 
 Oh, to behold thy features in thy book ! 
 Thy proper head and shoulders in a plate, 
 
 How it would look ! 
 
 With one raised eye watching the dial's date^ 
 And one upon the roast, gently cast down 
 
 Thy chops done nicely brown 
 The garnish'd brow with "a few leaves of bay" 
 
 The hair " done Wiggy's way ! " 
 And still one studious finger near thy brains, 
 
 As if thou wert just come 
 
 From editing some 
 
 New soup or hashing Dibdin's cold remains! 
 Or, Orpheus-like, fresh from thy dying strains 
 Of music, Epping luxuries of sound, 
 
 As M ilton says, " in many a bout 
 
 Of linked sweetness long drawn out," 
 Whilst all thy tame stuff d leopards lislen'd round 1 
 
 III. 
 
 Oh, rather thy whole proper length reveal, 
 Standing like Fortune, on the jack thy wheel. 
 (Thou art, like Fortune, full of chops and changes, 
 Thou hast a fillet too before thine e\e !) 
 Scanning our kitchen, and our vocal ranges, 
 As tho' it were the same to sing or fry 
 Nay, so it is hear how Miss Paton's throat 
 Makes " fritters " of a note ! 
 
 * Captain Kater, the Moon's Surveyor.
 
 TO W. KITCHENER, J/.A 
 
 And is not reading nenr akin to feeding, 
 Or why should Oxford Sausages be fit 
 
 Receptacles for wit ? 
 Or why should Cambridge put its little, smart, 
 
 Minced brains into a Tart ? 
 Nay, then, thou wert but wise to frame receipts, 
 
 Book-treats, 
 
 Equally to instruct the Cook and cram her- 
 Receipts to be devour'd, as well as read, 
 The Culinary Art in gingerbread 
 The Kitchen's Eaten Grammar 1 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oh, very pleasant is thy motley page- 
 Ay, very pleasant in its chatty vein 
 So in a kitchen would have talk'd Montaigne, 
 
 That merry Gascon, humourist, and sage ! 
 
 Let slender minds with single themes engage, 
 Like Mr Bowles with his eternal Pope, 
 
 Or Lovelass upon Wills, Thou goest on 
 
 Plaiting ten topics, like Tate Wilkinson ! 
 Thy brain is like a rich Kaleidoscope, 
 
 Stuffd with a brilliant medley of odd bits, 
 And ever shifting on from change to change, 
 
 Saucepans old Songs Pills Spectacles and Spits I 
 Thy range is wider than a Rumford range 1 
 
 Thy grasp a miracle ! till I recall 
 
 Th' indubitable cause of thy variety 
 
 Thou art, of course, th' Epitome of all 
 
 That spying frying singing mix'd Society 
 
 Of Scientific Friends, who used to meet 
 
 Welsh Rabbits and thyself in Warren Street I 
 
 V. 
 
 Oh, hast thou still those Conversazioni, 
 Where learned visitors discoursed and fed ? 
 
 There came Belzoni. 
 Fresh from the ashes of Egyptian dead 
 
 And gentle Poki and that Royal Pair, 
 Of whom thou didst declare 
 " Thanks to the greatest Cooke we ever read 
 They were what Sandwiches should be half bredl* 
 There famed M'Adam from his manual toil 
 Relaxed and freely own'd he took thy hints 
 
 On "making Broth with Flints" 
 There Parry came, and show'd thee polar oil 
 For melted butter Combe with his medullary 
 Notions about the Skullery,
 
 TO W. KITCHENEK, M.D. 
 
 And Mr Poole, too partial to a broil 
 There witty Rogers came, that punning elf! 
 Who used to swear thy book 
 
 Would really look 
 
 A Delphic " Oracle," if laid on Del/ 
 There, once a month, came Campbell, and discuss'd 
 His own and thy own "Magazine of Taste" 
 
 There Wilberforce the Just 
 Came, in his old black suit, till once he traced 
 Thy sly advice to Poachers of Black Folks, 
 
 That "do not break their yolks," 
 Which huffd him home, in grave disgust and haste t 
 
 There came John Clare, the poet, nor forbore 
 Thy Patties thou wert hand-and-glove with Moore, 
 Who call'd thee " Kitche"H Addison" for why? 
 Thou givest rules for Health and Peptic Pills, 
 Forms for made dishes, and receipts for Wills, 
 " Teaching us how to live and how to die ! " 
 There came thy Cou sin-Cook ^ good Mrs Fry 
 There Trench, the Thames Projector, first brought on 
 
 His sine Quay non, 
 
 There Martin would drop in on Monday eves, 
 Or Fridays, from the pens, and raise his breath 
 
 'Gainst cattle days and death, 
 AnswerM by Mellish, feeder of fat beeves, 
 
 Who swore that Frenchmen never could be eager 
 
 For fighting on soup-meagre 
 
 "And yet (as thou would'st add), the French have seen 
 A Marshal Tureen I" 
 
 Great was thy Evening Cluster ! often graced 
 
 With Dollond Burgess and Sir Humphry Davy 1 
 
 'Twas there M'Dermot first inclined to Taste, 
 
 There Colburn learn'd the art of making paste 
 
 For puffs and Accum analysed a gravy. 
 
 Colman the Cutter of Coleman Street, 'tis said, 
 
 Came there, and Parkins with his Ex-wise-head 
 
 (His claim to letters) Kater, too, the Moon's 
 
 Crony, and Graham, lofty on balloons, 
 
 There Croly stalk'd with holy humour heated 
 
 (Who wrote a light-horse play, which Yates completed) 
 
 And Lady Morgan, that grinding organ, 
 And Brasbridge telling anecdotes of spoons, 
 Madame Valbreque thrice honour'd thee, and came
 
 TO W. KITCHENER, M.D. 
 
 With great Rossini, his own bow and fiddle, 
 And even Irving spared a night from fame, 
 And talk'd till thou didst stop him in the middle, 
 To serve round Tewah-diddle ! * 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Then all the guests rose up, and sigh'd good-bye I 
 So let them : thou thyself art still a Host / 
 
 Dibdin Cornaro Newton Mrs Fry ! 
 
 Mrs Glasse, Mr Spec ! Lovelass and Weber, 
 
 Matthews in Quotem Moore's fire-worshipping Gheber- 
 Thrice-worthy worthy ! seem by thee engross'd ! 
 Howbeit the Peptic Cook still rules the roast, 
 Potent to hush all ventriloquial snarling, 
 And ease the bosom pangs of indigestion 1 
 
 Thou art, sans question, 
 The Corporation's love its Doctor Darlingl 
 Look at the Civic Palate nay, the Bed 
 
 Which set dear Mrs Opie on supplying 
 
 " Illustrations of Lying!" 
 Ninety square feet of down from heel to head 
 
 It measured, and I dread 
 Was haunted by a terrible night Mare, 
 A monstrous burthen on the corporation ! 
 Look at the Bill of Fare, for one day's share^ 
 Sea-turtles by the score Oxen by droves, 
 Geese, turkeys, by the flock fishes and loaves 
 
 Countless, as when the Lilliputian nation 
 Was making up the huge man-mountain's ration I 
 
 IX. 
 
 O worthy Doctor ! surely thou hast driven 
 
 The squatting Demon from great Garratt's breast- 
 
 (His honour seems to rest ! ) 
 And what is thy reward ? Hath London given 
 Thee public thanks for thy important service ? 
 
 Alas ! not even 
 
 The tokens it bestow'd on Howe and Jervis I- 
 Yet could I speak as Orators should speak 
 Before the worshipful the Common Council 
 (Utter my bold bad grammar and pronounce ill), 
 Thou should'st not miss thy Freedom, for a week, 
 Richly engross'd on vellum : Reason urges 
 That he who rules our cookery that he 
 Who edits soups and gravies, ought to be 
 A Citizen, where sauce can make a Burgess I 
 
 * The Doctor's composition for a nightcap.
 
 8 9 
 
 ODE TO H. BODKIN. ESQ., 
 
 SECRETARY TO THK SOCIETY FOR THB SUPPRESSION OF MENDICITY.* 
 
 " This is your charge you shall comprehend all vagrom men. " 
 
 Much Ado About Nothing. 
 
 HAIL, King of Shreds and Patches, hail, 
 
 Disperser of the Poor ! 
 Thou Dog in office, set to bark 
 
 All beggars from the door 1 
 
 Great overseer of overseers, 
 
 And Dealer in old rags I 
 Thy public duty never fails, 
 
 Thy ardour never flags 1 
 
 ill. 
 
 Oh, when I take my walks abroad, 
 
 How many Poor I miss I 
 Had Doctor Watts walk'd now-a-days 
 
 He would have written this 1 
 
 IV. 
 
 So well thy Vagrant catchers prowl, 
 So clear thy caution keeps 
 
 The path O Bodkin ! sure thou hast 
 The eye that never sleeps 1 
 
 No Belisarius pleads for alms, 
 No Benbow, lacking legs ; 
 
 The pious man in black is now 
 The only man that begs ! 
 
 Street-Handels are disorganized, 
 Disbanded every band ! 
 
 The silent scraper at the door 
 Is scarce allow'd to stand ! 
 
 * Written jointly with J. H. Reynold*
 
 TO H. BODKIN, ESQ. 
 
 The Sweeper brushes with his broom, 
 The Carstairs with his chalk 
 
 Retires, the Cripple leaves his stand, 
 But cannot sell his walk. 
 
 VIIL 
 
 The old Wall-blind resigns the wall, 
 The Camels hide their humps, 
 
 The Witherington without a leg 
 Mayn't beg upon his stumps 1 
 
 Poor Jack is gone, th.it used to doff 
 
 His batter'd tatter'd hat, 
 And show his dangling sleeve, alas 1 
 
 There seem'd no arm in that ! 
 
 Oh ! was it such a sin to air 
 
 His true blue naval rags, 
 Glory's own trophy, like St Paul s, 
 
 Hung round with holy flags ? 
 
 XI. 
 
 Thou knowest best. I meditate, 
 
 My Bodkin no offence ! 
 Let us, henceforth, but nurse our pounds, 
 
 Thou dost protect our pence 1 
 
 XII. 
 
 Well art thou pointed 'gainst the Poor, 
 
 For, when the Beggar Crew 
 Bring their petitions, thou art paid, 
 
 Of course, to " run them through." 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Of course thou art what Hamlet meant- 
 To wretches the last friend ; 
 
 What ills can mortals have they can't 
 With a bare Boakin end ?
 
 WHIMS AND ODDITIES, 
 
 (FIRST SERIES, 1826.' 
 
 " Cicero I Cicero ! if to pun be a. crime, tis a crime I have learned of thee. O But.! 
 Bias I if to pun be a crime, by thy example I was biassed ! " ScRlBLBUUi 
 
 DEDICATION TO THE REVIEWERS, 
 
 What is a modern Poet's fate? 
 To write his thought- upon a slate ; 
 The Critic spits on what is done, 
 Gives it a wipe, and al: i* gone. 
 
 Very deaf, indeed. 
 
 MORAL REFLECTIONS ON THE CROSS Of 
 ST PAUL'S.* 
 
 THE man that pays his pence, and goes 
 
 Up to thy lofty cross, St Paul, 
 Looks over London's naked nose, 
 
 * London Magazine, 1822, vol. v. p. 404.
 
 THE CROSS OF ST PAUL'S, 
 
 Women and men : 
 The world is all beneath his kea 
 He sits above the Ball. 
 He seems on Mount Olympus' top, 
 Among the Gods, by Jupiter ! and lets drop 
 His eyes from the empyreal clouds 
 On mortal crowds. 
 
 IL 
 
 Seen from these skies, 
 How small those emmets in our eyes I 
 Some carry little sticks and one 
 His eggs to warm them in the sun : 
 
 Dear ! what a hustle, 
 
 And bustle ! 
 And there's my aunt. I know her by her wais^ 
 
 So long and thin, 
 
 And so pinch'd in, 
 Just in the pismire taste. 
 
 in. 
 
 Oh ! what are men ? Beings so small, 
 
 That, should I fall 
 Upon their little heads, I must 
 Crush them by hundreds into dust I 
 
 IV. 
 
 And what is life and all its ages ? 
 
 There's seven stages ! 
 
 Turnham Green ! Chelsea ! Putney ! Fulhato I 
 Brentford ! and Kew i 
 And Tooting, too ! 
 
 And oh ! what very little nags to pull 'em. 
 Yet each would seem a horse indeed, 
 
 If here at Paul's tip-top we'd got 'em ; 
 Although, like Cinderella's breed, 
 
 They're mice at bottom. 
 Then let me not despise a horse, 
 Though he looks small from Paul's high cross 1 
 Since he would be, as near the sky, 
 Fourteen hands high. 
 
 What is this world with London in its lap ? 
 
 Mogg's Map. 
 The Thames that ebbs and flows in its broad channel ? 
 
 A tidy kennel.
 
 THE PRA YSE OF IGNORANCE. 93 
 
 The bridges stretching from its banks ? 
 
 Stone planks. 
 Oh me ! hence could I read an admonition 
 
 To mad Ambition ! 
 
 But that he would not listen to my call, 
 Though I should stand upon the cross, and ball t 
 
 THE PR A YSE OF IGNORANCE : 
 
 AN EXTRACT FROM AN ORATION DELIVERED BEFORE THE MOST GRAVE AND 
 LEARNED FACULTY OF PADUA, BY THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON. 
 
 NOW your Clowne knoweth none of the Booke-man's troubles, 
 and his dayes be the longer ; for he doth not vault upon the 
 fierie Pegasus, but jumpes merrilye upon old Ball, who is a cart-horse, 
 and singeth another man's song, which hath, it may be, thirty and six 
 verses, and a burthen withal, and goes to a tune which no man knowes 
 but himself. Alsoe, he wooes the ruddye Cicely, which is not a Muse, 
 but as comely a maide of fleshe as needes be, and many daintye 
 ballades are made of their loves, as may be read in our Poets their 
 Pastoralls ; only that therein he is called Damon, which standes for 
 Roger, and Cicely, belike, is ycleped Sylvia, as belongs to their pas- 
 torall abodes. Where they lead soe happye life as to stir up envye in 
 the towne's women, who would faine become Shepherdesses by hook 
 and by crook, and get green gownes and lay down upon the sweet ver- 
 dant grass. Oh, how pleasauntly they sit all the daye long under a 
 shady tree, to hear the young lambes ; but at night thy list', n to the 
 plaintive Philomell, and the gallaunts doe make them chappelets ; or, 
 if it chance to Jpe May, they goe a Mayinge, whilst the yonge buds 
 smell sweetlye, and the littel birdes are whistlynge and hoppinge all 
 about. 
 
 Then Roger and Cicely sit adowne under the white haw-thorne, and 
 he makes love to her in a shepherd-like waye, in the midst of her flocke. 
 She doth not minde sheepe's-eyes. Even like Cupid and Psyche, as 
 they are set forthe by a cunning Flemishe Limner, as hath been my 
 hap to behold in the Low Countrye, wherein Cupid, with his one hand, 
 is a toyinge with the haires of his head ; but, with the other, he hand- 
 leth the fair neck of his mistresse, who sitteth discreetlye upon a 
 nowerie bank, and lookes down as beseemes upon her shoon ; for she 
 is vain of her modestye. This I have seen at the Hague. 
 
 And Roger sayth, O Cicely, Cicely, how prettye you be ; whereat 
 she doth open her mouth, and smiles loudly ; which, when he heares, 
 he sayth again, Nay, but I doe love thee passing well, and with that 
 lays a loud buss upon her cheek, which cannot blushe by reason of its 
 perfect ruddynesse. Anon, he spreadei.h in her lap the pink ribbands 
 which he bought at the wake, for her busking, and alsoe a great cake 
 of ginger brede, which causeth her heart to be in her mouihe. Then, 
 quoth he, The little Robins have got their mates, and the prettye 
 Finches be all paired, and why sholde not we ? And, quoth she, as
 
 94 THE PRA YSE OF IGNORANCE. 
 
 he kisseth her, O Robin, Robin, you be such a sweet-bifled bird, that 
 I must needes crye " Aye." Wherefore, on the Sundaye, they go to 
 the Parishe Churche, that they may be joyned into one, and be no 
 more single. Whither they walk tenderlye upon their toes, as if they 
 stepped all the wave upon egges. And Roger hath a brave bowpot ;it 
 his bosom, which is full of Heart's Ease ; but Cicely is decked with 
 ribbands, a knot here, and a knot there, and her head is furnished 
 after a daintye fashion, soe that she wishes, belike, that she was Roger, 
 to see herselfe all round about, and content her eyes upon her own 
 devices. Whereas, Roger smells to his nosegaye ; but his looks travel, 
 as the crabbe goeth, which is side-wayes, towards Cicely ; and he 
 smiles sweetlye, to think how that he is going to be made a husband- 
 man, and alsoe of the good cheere which there will be to eat that d;iye. 
 Soe he walks up to the altar with a stout harte; and when the parson 
 hath made an ende, he kisseth Cicely afreshe, and their markes are 
 registered as man and wife in the church bokes. 
 
 After which, some threescore yeares, it may befall you to light on a 
 grave-stone, and, on the wood thereof, to read as followeth : 
 
 " Here I bee, Roger Rackstrawe, which did live at Dipmore Ende, 
 of this Parishe but now in this tomb. 
 
 " Time was that I did sowe and plough, 
 That lyes beneathe ihe furrowes now ; 
 But though Death sowes me with his grainy 
 I knowe that I shall spring againe." 
 
 Now is not this a life to be envyde, which noedeth so many men's 
 paynes to paint its pleasures ? For, saving the Law clerkes, it is set 
 forth by all that write upon sheepe's skins, even the makers of pastor- 
 alls : whereinyour Clowne is constantly a figure of Poetry, being 
 allwayes amongst the leaves. He is their Jack-i'-the-Green. Where- 
 fore I crye, for my owne part, Oh ! that I were a Bnrae ! Oh ! that I 
 .were a Boore ! that troubleth no man, and is troubled of none. Who 
 :$ written, wherein he cannot read, and is mayde into Poetry, that yet 
 is no Poet ; for how sholde he make songs, that knoweth not King 
 Cadmus his alphabet, to pricke them down withal ? 
 
 Seeing that he is nowayes learnede nor hath never bitten of the 
 Apple of Knowledge, which was but a sowre crabbe apple, whereby 
 Adam his wisdom-teeth were set on edge. Wherefore, he is much more 
 a happye man, saying unto his lusty yonge Dame, We twaine be one 
 fleshe. But the Poet sayth to his mate, Thou art skin of my skin, and 
 bone of my bone ; soe that this saying is not a paradoxe, That the 
 Boke Man is a Dunce in being Wise, and the Clowne is wise in 
 being a Dunce.
 
 95 
 
 MissTreo. 
 
 A VALENTINE. 
 
 OH ! cruel heart ! ere these posthumous papers 
 Have met thine eyes, I shall be out of breath ; 
 
 Those cruel eyes, like two funereal tapers, 
 Have only lighted me the way to death. 
 
 Perchance, thou wilt extinguish them in vapours, 
 When I am gone, and green grass covereth 
 
 Thy lover, lost ; but it will be in vain 
 
 It will not bring the vital spark again. 
 
 II. 
 
 Ah ! when those eyes, like tapers, burn'd so blue, 
 It seem'd an omen that we must expect 
 
 The sprites of lovers : and it boded true, 
 For I am half a sprite a ghost elect ; 
 
 Wherefore I write to thee this last adieu, 
 With mf'last pen before that I effect 
 
 My exit from the stage ; just stopp'd before 
 
 The tombstone steps that lead us to Death's ^loor.
 
 A VALENTINE. 
 
 Full soon these living eyes, now liquid bright, 
 Will turn dead dull, and wear no radiance, save 
 
 They shed a dreary and inhuman light, 
 
 Illumed within by glow-worms of the grave 
 
 These ruddy cheeks, so pleasant to the sigh% 
 These lusty legs, and all the limbs I have, 
 
 Will keep Death's carnival, and, foul or fresh, 
 
 Must bid farewell, a long farewell to flesh ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Yea, and this very heart, that dies for thee, 
 As broken victuals to the worms will go; 
 
 And all the world will dine again but me 
 For I shall have no stomach ; and I know, 
 
 When I am ghostly, thou wilt sprightly be 
 As now thou art : but will not tears of woe 
 
 Water thy spirits, with remorse adjunct, 
 
 When thou dost pause, and think of the defunct ? 
 
 And when thy soul is buried in a sleep, 
 In midnight solitude, and little dreaming 
 
 Of such a spectre v\ hat, if I should creep 
 Within thy presence in such dismal seeming? 
 
 Thine eyes will stare themselves awake, and weep, 
 And thou wilt cross thyself with treble screaming, 
 
 And pray, with mingled penitence and dread, 
 
 That I were less alive or not so dead. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Then will thy heart confess thee, and reprove 
 This wilful homicide which thou hast done : 
 
 And the sad epitaph of so much love 
 Will eat into thy heart, as if in stone : 
 
 And all the lovers that around thee move 
 
 Will read my fate, and tremble for their own; 
 
 And strike upon their heartless breasts, and sigh, 
 
 **Man, born of woman, must of woman die !" 
 
 Mine eyes grow dropsical I can no more ; 
 
 And what is written thou may'st scorn to read, 
 Shutting thy tearless eyes. 'Tis done 'tis o'er 
 f My hand is destined for another di-ed. 
 But one last word, wrung from its aching core, 
 
 And my lone heart in silentness will bleed ; 
 Alas ! it ought to take a life to tell 
 That one last word that fare fare fare thcc well i
 
 97 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 O LOVE ! what art thou, Love ? the ace of hearts, 
 Trumping earth's kings and queens, and all its suits ; 
 
 A player, masquerading many parts 
 
 In life's odd carnival ; a boy that shoots, 
 
 From ladies' eyes, such mortal woundy darts ; 
 A gardener, pulling heart's-ease up by the roots ; 
 
 The Puck of Passion partly false part real 
 
 A marriageable maiden's " beau ideal." 
 
 O Love ! what art thou, Love ? a wicked thing, 
 Making green misses spoil their work at school ; 
 
 A melancholy man, cross-gartering? 
 
 Grave, ripe-faced wisdom made an April fool ? 
 
 A youngster tilting at a wedding-ring ? 
 A sinner, sitting on a cuttie stool ? 
 
 A Ferdinand de Something in a hovel, 
 
 Helping Matilda Rose to make a novel ? 
 
 O Love 1 what art thou, Love ? one that is bad 
 With palpitations of the heart like mine 
 
 A poor bewilder'd maid, making so sad 
 A necklace of her garters fell design ! 
 
 A poet, gone unreasonably mad, 
 
 Ending his sonnets with a hempen line ? 
 
 O Love ! but whither now ? forgive me, pray ; 
 
 I'm. not the first that Love hath led astray.
 
 * Rich and rare were the gems she wore." 
 
 "PLEASE TO RING THE BELLE?* 
 
 I'LL tell you a story that's not in Tom Moore : 
 Young Love likes to knock at a pretty girl's door ; 
 So he call'd upon Lucy 'twas just ten o'clock- 
 Like a spruce single man, with a smart double knock, 
 
 II. 
 
 Now, a handmaid, whatever her fingers be at r 
 Will run like a puss when she hears a r#/-tat : 
 So Lucy ran up and in two seconds more 
 Had question'd the stranger, and answer'd the door. 
 
 The meeting was bliss : but the parting was woe ; 
 For the moment will come when such comers must go , 
 So she kiss'd him, and whispePd poor innocent thing 
 "The next time you come, love, pray come with a ring." 
 
 * London Magazine, January 1822.
 
 99 
 
 ' The Cook's Oracle." 
 
 A RECIPE FOR CIVILISATION. 
 
 THE following Poem is from the Pen of DOCTOR KITCHENER ! the 
 most heterogeneous of Authors, but at the same time in the Sporting 
 Latin of Mr Egan, a real Homo-^?/KJ, or a Genius of a Man ! In 
 the Poem, his CULINARY ENTHUSIASM, as usual, boils over ! and 
 makes it seem written, as he describes himself (see The Cook's Oracle) 
 with the Spit in one hand ! and the Frying-Pan in the other, while in 
 
 the style of the rhymes it is Hudibrastic, as if in the ingredients of 
 
 Versification, he had been assisted by his BUTLKR ! 
 
 As a Head Cook, Optician Physician, Music Master Domestic Economist 
 and Death-bed Attorney ! I bave celebrated The Author elsewhere with 
 
 approbation : And cannot now place him upon the Table as a Poet, 
 
 without siill being his LAUDER, a phrase which those persons who-e 
 course of classical reading recalls the INFAMOUS FORGERY on Tht 
 Immortal Bard of Avon 1 will find easy to understand. 
 
 SURELY, those sages err who teach 
 
 That man is known from brutes by speech, 
 
 Which hardly severs man from woman, 
 
 But not th' inhum.m from the human, 
 
 Or else might parrots claim affinity, 
 
 And dogs be doctors by latinity, 
 
 Not t' insist (as might be shown), 
 
 That beasts have gibberish of their own,
 
 100 A R&CIPEFOR CIVILISATION. 
 
 Which once was no dead tongue, though we 
 
 Since ^Esop's days have lost the key ; 
 
 Nor yet to hint dumb men, and, still, not 
 
 Beasts that could gossip though they will not, 
 
 But play at dummy like the monkeys, 
 
 For fear mankind should make them flunkeys. 
 
 Neither can man be known by feature 
 
 Or form, because so like a creature, 
 
 That some grave men could never shape 
 
 Which is the aped and which the ape ; 
 
 Nor by his gait, nor by his height, 
 
 Nor yet because he's black or white, 
 
 But rational, for so we call 
 
 The only COOKING ANIMAL ! 
 
 The only one who brings his bit 
 
 Of dinner to the pot or spit, 
 
 For where's the lion e'er was hasty 
 
 To put his venison in a pasty ? 
 
 Ergo, by logic, we repute, 
 
 That he who cooks is not a brute, 
 
 But Equus brutum est, which means, 
 
 If a horse had sense he'd boil his beans j 
 
 Nay, no one but a horse would forage 
 
 On naked oats instead of porridge, 
 
 Which proves, if brutes and Scotchmen vary, 
 
 The difference is culinary. 
 
 Further, as man is know^ by feeding 
 
 From brutes, so men from men, in breeding, 
 
 Are still distinguish'd as they eat, 
 
 And raw in manner's raw in meat, 
 
 Look at the polish'd nations, hight 
 
 The civilized the most polite * 
 
 Is that which bears the praise of nations 
 
 For dressing eggs two hundred fashions ; 
 
 Whereas, at savage feeders look, 
 
 The less refined the less they cook ; 
 
 From Tartar grooms, that merely straddle 
 
 Across a, steak and warm their saddle, 
 
 Down to the Abyssinian squaw, 
 
 That bolts her chops and collops raw, 
 
 And, like a wild beast, cnres as little 
 
 To dress her person as her victual, 
 
 For <, r owns, and gloves, and caps, and tippets, 
 
 Are beauty's sauces, spice, and sippets, 
 
 And not by shamble bodies put on, 
 
 But those who roast and boil their mutton ; 
 
 So Eve and Adam wore no dresses 
 
 Because they lived on water-cresses, 
 
 And till they iearn'd to cook their crudities, 
 
 Went blind as beetles to their nudities. 
 
 For niceness comes from th' inner side 
 
 (As an ox is drest before his hide),
 
 A RECIPE FOR CIVILISATION. IO1 
 
 And when the entrail loathes vulgarity 
 
 The outward man will soon cull rarity, 
 
 For 'tis th' effect of what we eat 
 
 To make a man look like his meat, 
 
 As insects show their food's complexions ; 
 
 Thus fopling's clothes are like confections 
 
 But who, to feed a jaunty coxcomb, 
 
 Would have an Abyssinian ox come ? 
 
 Or serve a dish of fricassees, 
 
 To clodpoles in a coat of frieze ? 
 
 Whereas a black would call for buffalo 
 
 Alive and, no doubt, eat the offal too. 
 
 Now (this premised) it follows then 
 
 That certain culinary men 
 
 Should first go forth with pans and spits 
 
 To bring the heathens to their wits 
 
 (For all wise Scotchmen of our century 
 
 Know that first steps are alimentary ; 
 
 And, as we have proved, flesh pots and saucepans 
 
 Must pave the way for Wilberforce plans) ; 
 
 But Bunyan err'd to think the near gate 
 
 To take man's soul was battering Ear gate, 
 
 When reason should have work'd her course 
 
 As men of war do hrn their force 
 
 Can't take a town by open courage, 
 
 They steal an entry with its forage. 
 
 What reverend bishop, for example, 
 
 Could preach horn'd Apis from his temple ? 
 
 Whereas a cook would soon unseat him, 
 
 And make his own churchwardens eat him. 
 
 Not Irving could convert those vermin 
 
 Th' Anthropophages by a sermon ; 
 
 Whereas your Osborne,* in a trice, 
 
 Would " take a shin of beef and spice," 
 
 And raise them such a savoury smother, 
 
 No Negro would devour his brother, 
 
 But turn his stomach round as loth 
 
 As Persians, to the old black brotfc, 
 
 For knowledge oftenest makes an entry, 
 
 As well as true love, through the pantry, 
 
 Where beaux that came at first for feeding 
 
 Grow gallant men and get good breeding ; 
 
 Exempli gratia in the West, 
 
 Ship-traders say there swims a nest 
 
 Lined with black natives, like a rookery, 
 
 But coarse as carrion crows at cookery. 
 
 This race, though now call'd O. Y. E. men 
 
 (To show they are more than A. B. C. men), 
 
 * Cook to the late Sir Joseph Banks.
 
 XOa A RECIPE FOR CIVILISATION. 
 
 Was once so ignorant of our knacks 
 They laid their mats upon their backs, 
 And grew their quartern loaves for luncheon 
 On trees that baked them in the sunshine. 
 As for their bodies, they were coated 
 (For painted things are so denoted) ; 
 But, the naked truth is, stark primevals, 
 That said their prayers to timber devils, 
 Allow'd polygamy dwelt in wigwams, 
 And; when they meant a feast, ate big yams.- 
 
 ' Son of the sleepless." 
 
 And why? because their savage nook 
 Had ne'er been visited by Cook, 
 And so they fared till our great chief 
 Brought them, not Methodists, but beef 
 In tubs, and taught them how to live. 
 Knowing it was too soon to give, 
 Just then, a homily on their sins 
 (For cooking ends ere grace begins), 
 Or hand his tracts to the untractable 
 Till they could keep a more exact table 
 For Nature has her proper courses, 
 And wild men must be back'd like horses, 
 Which, jockeys know, are never fit 
 For riding till they've had a bit
 
 A RECIPE FOR CIVILISATION. 103 
 
 I* the mouth ; but then, with proper tackle, 
 You may trot them to a tabernacle; 
 Ergo ( I say) he first made changes 
 In the heathen modes by kitchen ranges, 
 And taught the king's cook, by convincing 
 Process, that chewing was not minciijg, 
 And in her black fist thrust a bundle . 
 
 Of tracts abridged from Glasse and Rundell, 
 Where, ere she had read beyond Welsh rabbits, 
 She saw the spareness of her habits, 
 And round her loins put on a striped 
 Towel, where fingers might be wiped, 
 And then her breast clothed like her ribs 
 (For aprons lead of course to bibs), 
 And, by the time she had got a meat- 
 Screen, veil'd her back, too, from the heat ; 
 As for her gravies and her sauces 
 (Though they reform'd the royal fauces), 
 Her forcements and ragouts, I praise not, 
 Because the legend further says not, 
 Except, she kept each Christian high-day, 
 And once upon a fat good Fry-day 
 Ran short of logs, and told the Pagan 
 Tbat turn'd the spit, to chop up Dagoo I
 
 'Tell me, my heart, can this be Love?' 
 
 ON THE POPULAR CUPID. 
 
 THE .figure above was copied, by permission, from a lady's Valen- 
 tine. To the common apprehension it represents only a miracle 
 of stall-feeding a babe- Lambert a caravan-prodigy of grossness, 
 but, in the romantic mythology, it is the image of the Divinity of 
 Love. 
 
 In sober verity, does such an incubus oppress the female bosom ? 
 Can such a monster of obesity be coeval with the gossamer natures 
 of Sylph and Fairy in the juvenile faith ? Is this he the buoyant 
 Camdeo, that, in the mind's eye of the poetess, drifts adown the 
 Ganges in a lotos 
 
 " Pillow'd in a lotos flower 
 Gather'd in a summer hour, 
 Floats he o'er the mountain wave, 
 Which would be a tall ship's grave?" 
 
 Is this personage the disproportionate partner for whom Pastorella 
 si^heth, in the smallest of cots ? Does the platonic Amanda (who is 
 all soul) refer, in her discourses on Love, to this palpable being, who 
 is all body ? Or does Belinda, indeed, believe that such a substantial 
 Sagittarius lies ambushed in her perilous blue eye ? 
 
 It is in the legend that a girl of Provence was smitten once, and 
 died, by the marble Apollo : but did impassioned damsel ever dote,
 
 THE LAST MAN. 
 
 105 
 
 and wither, beside the pedestal of this preposterous effigy? or rather, 
 is not the unseemly emblem accountable for the coyness a%d pro- 
 verbial reluctance of maidens to the approaches of Love ? 
 
 I can believe in his dwelling alone in the heart seeing that he 
 must occupy it to repletion ; in his constancy, because he looks 
 sedentary and not apt to roam. That he is given to melt from his 
 great pinguitude. That he burneth with a flame, for so all fat burneth 
 and hath languishings like other bodies of his tonnage. That he 
 sighs from his size. 
 
 I dispute not his kneeling at ladies' feet since it is the posture of 
 elephants, nor his promise that the homage shall remain eternal. I 
 doubt not of his dying, being of a corpulent habit, and a short neck. 
 Of his blindness with that inflated pig's cheek. But for his lodging 
 in Belinda's blue eye, my whole faith is hectic; for she hath never a 
 sty in it. 
 
 "The Last Man." 
 
 THE LAST MAN. 
 
 TWAS in the year two thousand and one, 
 
 A pleasant morning of May, 
 
 I sat on the gallows-tree, all alone, 
 
 A chaunting a merry lay, 
 
 To think how the pest had snared my life, 
 
 To sing with the larks that day !
 
 THE LAST MAN. 
 
 When up the heath came a jolly knavefc 
 Like a scarecrow, all in rags : 
 It made me crow to see his old duds 
 All abroad in the wind, like flags : 
 So up he came to the timber's foot 
 And pitch'd down his greasy bags. 
 
 Good Lord ! how blythe the old beggar was I 
 
 At pulling out his scraps, 
 
 The very sight of his broken orts 
 
 Made a work in his wrinkled chaps : 
 
 " Come down," says he, " you Newgate bird, 
 
 And have a taste of my snaps ! " 
 
 
 
 Then down the rope, like a tar from the mast, 
 
 I slided, and by him stood ; 
 
 But I wish'd myself on the gallows again 
 
 When I smelt that beggar's food 
 
 A foul beef-bone and a mouldy crust ; 
 
 " Oh ! " quoth he, " the heavens are good I " 
 
 Then after this grace he cast him down : 
 
 Says I, " You'll get sweeter air 
 
 A pace or two off, on the windward side,' 
 
 For the felons' bones lay there. 
 
 But he only laugh'd at the empty skulls, 
 
 And offer'd them part of his fare. 
 
 " I never harm'd them, and they won't harm me 1 
 
 Let the proud and the rich be cravens !" 
 
 I did not like that strange beggar-man, 
 
 He look'd so up at the heavens. 
 
 Anon he shook out his empty old poke ; 
 
 "There's the crumbs," saith'he, "for the ravens 1" 
 
 It made me angry to see his face, 
 
 It had such a jesting look ; 
 
 But while I made up my mind to speak, 
 
 A small case-bottle he took : 
 
 Quoth he, " Though I gather the green watercress, 
 
 My drink is not of the brook ! " 
 
 Full manners-like he tendered the dram ; 
 
 Oh, it came of a dainty cask ! 
 
 But, whenever it came to his turn to pull, 
 
 " Your leave, good sir, I must ask ; 
 
 But I always wipe the brim with my sleeve, 
 
 When a hangman sups at my flask ! "
 
 THE LAST MAN. to) 
 
 And then he laiigh'd so loudly and long, 
 
 The churl was quite out of breath ; 
 
 I thought the very Old One was come 
 
 To mock me before my death, 
 
 And wish'd I had buried the dead men's bones 
 
 That were lying about the heath ! 
 
 But the beggar gave me a jolly clap 
 " Come, let us pledge each other, 
 For all the wide world is dead beside, 
 And we are brother and brother 
 I've a yearning for thee in my heart, 
 As if we had come of one mother. 
 
 " I've a yearning for thee in my heart 
 That almost makes me weep, 
 For as I pass'd from town to town 
 The folks were all stone-asleep, 
 But when I saw thee sitting aloft, 
 It made me both laugh and leap 1 * 
 
 Now a curse (I thought) be on his love, 
 
 And a curse upon his mirth, 
 
 An' it were not for that beggar-man 
 
 I'd be the King of the earth, 
 
 But I promised myself an hour should come 
 
 To make him rue his birth ! 
 
 So down we sat and boused again 
 
 Till the sun was in mid-sky, 
 
 When, just when the gentle west wind came, ' 
 
 We hearken'd a dismal cry ; 
 
 ** Up, up, on the tree," quoth the beggar-man, 
 
 Till those horrible dogs go by ! " 
 
 And, lo ! from the forest's far-off skirts 
 
 They came all yelling for gore, 
 
 A hundred hounds pursuing at once, 
 
 And a panting hart before, 
 
 Till he sunk adown at the gallows' foot, 
 
 And there his haunches they tore ! 
 
 His haunches they tore, without a horn 
 To tell when the chase was done ; 
 And there was not a single scarlet coat 
 To flaunt it in the sun ! 
 I turn'd, and look'd at the beggar-man. 
 And his tears dropt one by one J
 
 THE LAST MAN. 
 
 And with curses sore he chfd at the honnd% 
 
 Till the last dropt out of sight ; 
 
 Anon, saith he, " Let's down again 
 
 And ramble for our delight, 
 
 For the world's all free, and we may choose 
 
 A right cozie barn for to-night ! " 
 
 With that, he set up his staff on end, 
 And it fell with the point due west ; 
 So we fared that way to a city great, 
 Where the folks had died of the pest- 
 It was fine to enter in house and hall. 
 Wherever it liked me best ! 
 
 For the porters all were stiff and cold, 
 
 And could not lift their heads ; 
 
 And when he came where their masters lay, 
 
 The rats leapt out of the beds ; 
 
 The grandest palaces in the land 
 
 Were as free as workhouse sheds. 
 
 But the beggar-man made a mumping face, 
 
 And knock'd at every gate : 
 
 It mnde me curse to hear how he whined, 
 
 So our fellowship turn'd to hate, 
 
 And I bade him walk the world by himself, 
 
 For I scorn'd so humble a mate I 
 
 So he turn'd right, and / turn'd left, 
 
 As if we had never met ; 
 
 And I chose a fair stone house for myself, 
 
 For the city was all to let ; 
 
 And for three brave holydays drank my fill 
 
 Of the choicest that I could get. 
 
 And because my jerkin was coarse and worn, 
 
 I got me a properer vest ; 
 
 It was purple velvet, stitch'd o'er with gold, 
 
 And a shining star at the breast ! 
 
 'Twas enough to fetch old Joan from her grave 
 
 To see me so purely drest 1 
 
 But Joan was dead and under the mould, 
 
 And every buxom lass ; 
 
 In vain I watch'd, at the window pane, 
 
 For a Christian soul to pass ! 
 
 But sheep and kine wander'd up the street, 
 
 And browsed on the new-come grass.
 
 THE LAST MAN'. xog 
 
 When lo ! I spied the old beggar-man, 
 
 And lustily he did sing ! 
 
 His rags were lapp'd in a scarlet cloak, 
 
 And a crown he had like a King ; 
 
 So he stepp'd right up before my gate, 
 
 And danced me a saucy fling ! 
 
 Heaven mend us all ! but, within my mind, 
 I had kill'd him then and there ; 
 To see him lording so braggart-like 
 That was born to his beggar's fare, 
 And how he had stolen the royal crown 
 His betters were meant to wear. 
 
 But God forbid that a thief should die 
 
 Without his share of the laws ! 
 
 So I nimbly whipt my tackle out, 
 
 And soon tied up his claws, 
 
 I was judge, myself, and jury, and all, 
 
 And solemnly tried the case. 
 
 But the beggar-man would not plead, but cried 
 
 Like a babe without its corals, 
 
 For he knew how hard it is apt to go 
 
 When the law and a thief have quarrels, 
 
 There was not a Christian soul alive 
 
 To speak a w*ord for his morals. 
 
 Oh, how gaily I doff'd my costly gear, 
 
 And put on my work-day clothes ; 
 
 I was tired of such a long Sunday life, 
 
 And never was one of the sloths ; 
 
 But the beggar-man grumbled a weary deal, 
 
 And made many crooked mouths. 
 
 So I haul'd him off to the gallows' foot, 
 
 And blinded him in his bags ; 
 
 'Twas a weary job to heave him up, 
 
 For a doom'd man always lags ; 
 
 But by ten of the clock he was off his legs 
 
 In the wind, and airing his rags ! 
 
 So there he hung, and there I stood, 
 The LAST MAN left alive, 
 To have my own will of all the earth: 
 Quoth I, " Now I shall thrive I" 
 But when was ever honey made 
 With one bee in a hive ?
 
 110 THE LAST MAN. 
 
 My conscience began to gnaw my heart 
 
 Before the day was done, 
 
 For other men's lives had all gone out, 
 
 Like candles in the sun ! 
 
 But it seem'd as if I had broke, at last, 
 
 A thousand necks in one ! 
 
 So I went and cut his body down 
 
 To bury it decentlie ; 
 
 God send there were any good soul alive 
 
 To do the like by me ! 
 
 But the wild dogs came with terrible speed, 
 
 And bay'd me up the tree J 
 
 My sight was like a drunkard's sight, 
 And my head began to swim. 
 To see their jaws all white with foam, 
 Like the ravenous ocean brim ; 
 But when the wild dogs trotted away, 
 Their jaws were bloody and grim ! 
 
 Their jaws were bloody and grim, good Lord \ 
 
 But the beggar-man, where was he r 
 
 There was nought of him but some ribbons of rags 
 
 Below the gallows' tree ! 
 
 I know, the Devil, when I am dead, 
 
 Will send his hounds for me T 
 
 I've buried my babies one by one, 
 And dug the deep hole for Joan, 
 And cover'd the faces of kith and kin. 
 And felt the old churchyard stone 
 Go cold to my heart full many a time, 
 But I never felt so lone f 
 
 i 
 
 For the lion and Adam were company, 
 And the tiger him beguiled ; 
 But the simple kine are foes to my life, 
 And the household brutes are wild. 
 If the veriest cur would lick my hand, 
 I could love it like a child 1 
 
 And the beggar-man's ghost besets my dreams, 
 
 At night, to make me madder, 
 
 And my wretched conscience, within my breast, 
 
 Is like a stinging adder ; 
 
 I sigh when I pass the gallows' foot, 
 
 And look at the rope and ladder !
 
 THE LAST MAN. 
 
 For hanging looks sweet, but, alas ! in vain 
 
 My desperate fancy begs, 
 
 I must turn my cup of sorrows quite up, 
 
 And drink it to the dregs, 
 
 For there's not another man alive 
 
 In the world to pull my legs ! 
 
 ill 
 
 Pigmy and Crane."
 
 1M r HI 
 
 Christmas Pantomime. 
 
 THE BALLAD OF "SALLY BROWN, AND BEN 
 THE CARPENTERS 
 
 I HAVE never been vainer of any verses than of my part in the following Ballad. 
 Dr Watts, amongst evangelical nurses, has an enviable renown and 
 Campbell's Ballads enjoy a snug genteel popularity. " Sally Brown " has 
 been favoured, perhaps, with as wide a patronage as the Moral Songs, 
 though its circle may not have been of so select a class as the friends of 
 " Hohenlinden." But I do not desire to see it amongst what are called 
 Elegant Extracts. The lamented Emery, drest as Tom Tug, sang it at 
 his last mortal Benefit at Covent Garden ; and, ever since, it has been 
 a great favourite with the watermen of Thames, who time their oars to it, 
 as the wherry-men of Venice time theirs to the lines of Tasso. With the 
 watermen, it went naturally to Vauxhall : and, over land, to SadK r's 
 Wells. The Guards, not the mail coach, but the Life Guards, picked it 
 out from a fluttering hundred of others all going to one air against the 
 dead wall at Knightsbridge. Cheap Printers of Shoe Lane and Cow- 
 cross, (all pirates !) disputed about the Copyright, and published their 
 own editions, and, in the meantime, the Authors, to have made bread 
 of their song (it was poor old Homer's hard ancient case !) must have 
 sung it about the streets. Such is the lot of Literature ! the profits of 
 " Sally Brown " were divided by the Ballad Mongers : it has cost, but 
 has never brought me, a halfpenny.
 
 H3 
 
 
 FAITHLESS SALLY BROWN. 
 
 AN OLD BALLAD.' 
 
 YOUNG Ben he was a nice youn^man, 
 
 A carpenter by trade ; 
 And he fell in love with Sally Brown, 
 
 That was a lady's maid. 
 
 But as they fetch'd a walk one day, 
 
 They met a press-gang crew ; 
 And Sally she did faint away, 
 
 Whilst Ben he was brought to. 
 
 The Boatswain swore with wicked words, 
 
 Enough to shock a saint. 
 That though she did seem in a fit, 
 
 Twas nothing but a feint. 
 
 *' Come, girl," said he, " hold up your head, 
 
 He'll be as good as me ; 
 For when your swain is in our boat, 
 
 A boatswain he will be." 
 
 So when they'd made their game of her, 
 
 And taken off her elf, 
 She roused, and found she only was 
 
 A coming to herself. 
 
 u And is he gone, and is he gone ?" 
 
 She cried, and wept outright : 
 u Then I will to the water side, 
 
 And see him out of sight." 
 
 A waterman came up to her, 
 
 " Now, young woman," said he, 
 "If you weep on so, you will make 
 
 Eye-water in the sea." 
 
 " Alas ! they've taken my beau Ben 
 
 To sail with old Benbow ; " 
 And her woe began to run afresh, 
 
 As if she'd said Gee woe ! 
 
 Printed in the London Magazine (1822), vol. v. p. 203. 
 
 H
 
 114 SALLY BROWN. 
 
 Says he, " ThgyVe only taken him 
 To the Tender-ship, you see ;" 
 
 " The Tender-ship," cried Sally Brown, 
 " What a hard-ship that must be I 
 
 " Oh ! would I were a mermaid now, 
 For then I'd follow him ; 
 
 But oh 1-at'm not a fish-woman, 
 And so I cannot swim. 
 
 "Alas ! I was not born beneath 
 The Virgin and the Scales, 
 
 So I must curse my cruel stars, 
 And walk about in Wales." 
 
 Now Ben had sail'd to many a place 
 That's underneath the world ; 
 
 But in two years the ship came home, 
 And all her sails were furl'd. 
 
 But when he call'd on Sally Brown, 
 To see how she went on, 
 
 He found she'd got another Ben, 
 Whose Christian name was John. 
 
 a O Sally Brown, O Sally Brown! 
 
 How could you serve me so ? 
 I've met with many a breeze before^ 
 
 But never such a blow ! " 
 
 Then reading on his 'bacco-box, 
 
 He heaved a bitter sigh, 
 And then began to eye his pipe, 
 
 And then to pipe his eye. 
 
 And then he tried to sing All's Well * 
 But could not though he tried ; 
 
 His head was turn'd, and so he chew*d 
 His pigtail till he died. 
 
 His death, which happen'd in his birth, 
 
 At forty-odd befell : 
 They went and told the sexton, and 
 
 The sexton toll'd the bell.
 
 1 O my bonnie, bonnie Bet ! ' 
 
 BACKING THE FAVOURITE. 
 
 OH a pistol, or a knife ! 
 For I'm weary of my life, 
 
 My cup has nothing sweet left to flavour it f 
 My estate is out at nurse, 
 And my heart is like my purse, 
 
 And all through backing of the Favourite ! 
 
 At dear O'Neil's first start, 
 I sported all my heart, 
 
 Oh, Becher, he never marr'd a braver hit I 
 For he cross'd her in her race, 
 And made her lose her place, 
 
 And there was an end of that Favourite I 
 
 Anon, to mend my chance, 
 For the Goddess of the Dance* 
 
 I pined, and told my enslaver it ! 
 But she wedded in a canter, 
 And made me a Levanter, 
 
 In foreign lands to sigh for the Favourite ! 
 
 * The late favourite of the King's Theatre, who left the pas seul of life, fun 
 a perpetual Ball. Is not that her effigy now commonly borne about by the 
 Italian image vendors an ethereal form holding a wreath with both hands 
 above her head and her husband, in emblem, beneath her foot?
 
 tit A COMPLAINT AGAINS7 CKEATXESS. 
 
 Then next Miss M. A. Tree 
 I adored, so sweetly she 
 
 Could warble like a nightingale and quaver it, 
 But she left that course of life 
 To be Mr Bradshaw's wife, 
 
 And all the world lost on the Favourite J 
 
 But out of sorrow's surf 
 Soon I leap'd upon the turf, 
 
 Where fortune loves to wanton it and waver it ; 
 But standing on the pet, 
 " O my bonnie, bonnie Bet ! " 
 
 Black and yellow pull'd short up with the Favourite 
 
 Thus flung by all the crack, 
 I resolved to cut the pack, 
 
 The second-raters seem'd then a safer hit ! 
 So I laid my little odds 
 Against Memnon ! O ye Gods ! 
 
 Am I always to be floor'd by the Favourite I 
 
 ' Oh, that this too too Solid flesh would melt I ' 
 
 A COMPLAINT AGAINST GREATNESS. 
 
 I AM an unfortunate creature, the most wretched of all that groan 
 under the burden of the flesh. I am fainting, as they say of kings, 
 under my oppressive greatness. A miserable Atlas, I sink under the 
 world of myself.
 
 A COMPLAINT AGAINST GREATNESS. 117 
 
 But the curious will here ask me for my name. I am, then, or they 
 say I am, " The Reverend Mr Farmer, a four-years' old Durham Ox, 
 fed by himself, upon oil-cake and mangel-wurzel:" but I resemble 
 that worthy agricultural Vicar only in my fat living. In plain truth, 
 I am an unhappy candidate for the show at Sadler's not " the Wells," 
 but the Repository. They tell me I am to bear the bell (as if I had 
 not enough to bear already !) by my surpassing tonnage and, doubt- 
 less, the pzize-emblem will be proportioned to my uneasy merits. With 
 a great Tom of Lincoln about my neck alas ! what will it comfort 
 me to have been " commended by the judges ?" 
 
 Wearisome and painful was my pilgrim-like progress to this place, 
 by short and tremulous steppings, like the digit's march upon a dial. 
 My owner, jealous of my fat, procured a crippled drover, with a 
 withered limb, for my conductor ; but even he hurried me beyond my 
 breath. The drawling hearse left me labouring behind ; the ponderous 
 fly-waggon passed me like a bird upon the road, so tediously slow is 
 my pace. It just sufficed*, O ye thrice-happy Oysters ! that have no 
 locomotive faculty at all, to distinguish that I am not at rest. Wher- 
 ever the grass grew by the wayside, how it tempted my natural long- 
 ings the cool brook flowed at my very foot, but this short thick neck 
 forbade me to eat or drink : nothing but my redundant dewlap is 
 likely ever to graze on the ground ! 
 
 If stalls and troughs were not extant, I must perish. Nature has 
 given to the Elephant a long flexible tube, or trunk, so that he can 
 feed his mouth, as it were, by his nose ; but is man able to furnish 
 me with such an implement? Or would he not still withhold it, lest 
 I should prefer the green herb, my natural delicious diet, and reject his 
 rank, unsavoury condiments ? What beast, with free will, but would 
 repair to the sweet meadow for its pasture : and yet how grossly is he 
 labelled and libelled ? Your bovine servant, in the catalogue, is a 
 " Durham Ox, fed by himselj '(as if he had any election), upon oilcake." 
 
 I wonder what rapacious Cook, with an eye to her insatiable grease- 
 pot and kitchen perquisites, gave the hint of this system of stall- 
 feeding ! What unctuous Hull Merchant, or candle-loving Muscovite, 
 made this grossness a desideratum ? If mine were, indeed, like the fat 
 of the tender sucking-pig, that delicate gluten ! there would be reason 
 for its unbounded promotion ; but to see the prize steak, loaded with 
 that rank yellow abomination (the lamplighters know its relish), might 
 wean a man from carnivorous habits for ever. Verily, it is an abuse 
 of the Christmas holly, the emblem of Old English and wholesome 
 cheer, to plant it upon such blubber. A gentlemanly entrail must be 
 driven to extreme straits, indeed (Davis's Straits), to feel any yearnings 
 for such a meal ; and yet I am told that an assembly of gentry, with 
 all the celebrations of full bumpers and a blazing chimney-pot, have 
 honoured the broiled slices of a prize bullock, a dishful of stringy 
 fibres, an animal cabbage-net, and that rank even hath been satisfied 
 with its rankness. 
 
 Will the honourable club, whose aim it is thus to make the beastly 
 nature more beastly, consider of this matter? Will the humane, when 
 they provide against the torments of cats and dogs, take no notice of 
 our condition ? Nature, to the whales, and creatures of their cor--
 
 ti8 
 
 THE MERMAID OF MARGATE. 
 
 pulence, has assigned the cool deeps ; but we have no such refuge in 
 our meltings. At least, let the stall-feeder confine his system to the 
 uncleanly swine which chews not the cud ; for let the worthy members 
 conceive on the palate of imagination, the abominable returns of the 
 refuse-linseed in our after ruminations. Oh, let us not suffer in vain ! 
 It may seem presumption in a brute to question the human wisdom ; 
 but, truly, I can perceive no beneficial ends, worthy to be set off 
 against our sufferings. There must be, methinks, a nearer way of 
 augmenting the perquisites of the kitchen-wench and the fire-man, 
 of killing frogs, than by exciting them, at the expense of us poor 
 blown-up oxen, to a mortal inflation. 
 
 All's well that ends well. 
 
 THE MERMAID OF MARGATE. 
 
 1 Alas I what perils do < 
 The man that meddles with a siren." HUDIB 
 
 ON Margate beach, where the sick one roams, 
 
 And the sentimental reads ; 
 Where the maiden flirts, and the widow comes 
 
 Like the ocean to cast her weeds ; 
 
 Where urchins wander to pick up shells, 
 
 And the Cit to spy at the ships, 
 Like the water gala at Sadler's Wells, 
 
 And the Chandler for watery dips ;
 
 THE MERMAID OF MARGATE. 
 
 There's a maiden sits by the ocean brim, 
 
 As lovely and fair as Sin 1 
 But woe, deep water and woe to him, 
 
 That she snareth like Peter Fin ! 
 
 Her head is crown'd with pretty sea-wnres, 
 And her locks are golden and loose : 
 
 And seek to her feet, like other folks' heirs, 
 To stand, of course, in her shoes 1 
 
 And all day long she combeth them well, 
 
 With a sea-shark's prickly jaw ; 
 And her mouth is just like a rose-lipp'd shell, 
 
 The fairest that man e'er saw 1 
 
 And the Fishmonger, humble as love may be, 
 Hath planted his seat by her side ; 
 
 "Good even, fair maid ! Is thy lover at sea, 
 To make thee so watch the tide ?" 
 
 She turn'd about with her pearly brows, 
 
 And clasp'd him by the hand ; 
 u Come, love, with me ; I've a bonny house 
 
 On the golden Goodwin Sand." 
 
 And then she gave him a siren kiss, 
 No honeycomb e'er w%s sweeter : 
 
 Poor wretch ! how little he dreamt for this 
 That Peter should be salt-Peter I 
 
 And away with her prize to the wave she leapt, 
 
 Not walking, as damsels do, 
 With toe and heel, as she ought to have slept, 
 
 But she hopp'd like a Kangaroo ! 
 
 One plunge, and then the victim was blind, 
 Whilst they gallop'd across the tide ; 
 
 At last, on the bank he waked in his mind, 
 And the Beauty was by his side. 
 
 One half on the sand, and half in the sea, 
 
 But his hair all began to stiffen ; 
 For when he look'd where her feet should be^ 
 
 She had no more feet than Miss Biffen 1 
 
 But a scaly tail, of a dolphin's growth, 
 In the dabbling brine did soak : ' 
 
 At last she open'd her pearly mouth, 
 Like an oyster, and thus she spoke :
 
 THE MERMAID OF MARGATE. 
 
 11 You crimp'd my father, who was a skate, 
 
 And my sister you sold a maid ; 
 So here remain for a fishery fate, 
 
 For lost you are, and betray'd ! " 
 
 And away she went, with a seagull's scream, 
 
 And a splash of her saucy tail ; 
 In a moment he lost the silvery gleam 
 
 That shone on her splendid mail ! 
 
 The sun went down with a blood-red flame, 
 And the sky grew cloudy and black, 
 
 And the tumbling billows like leap-frog came, 
 Each over the other's back ! 
 
 Ah me ! it had been a beautiful scene, 
 
 With a safe terra-firma round ; 
 But the green water-hillocks all seem'd to him 
 
 Like those in a churchyard ground ; 
 
 And Christians love in the turf to lie, 
 
 Not in watery graves to be ; 
 Nay, the very fishes will sooner die 
 
 On the land than in the sea. 
 
 And whilst he stood, the watery strife 
 
 Encroach'd on every, hand, 
 And the ground decreased, his moments of life 
 
 Seem'd measured, like Time's, by sand ; 
 
 And still the waters foam'd in, like ale, 
 
 In front and on either flank ; 
 He knew that Goodwin and Co. must fail, 
 
 There was such a run on the bank. 
 
 A little more, and a little more, 
 
 The surges came tumbling in ; 
 He sang the evening hymn twice o'er, 
 
 And thought of every sin ! 
 
 Each flounder and plaice lay cold at 
 
 As cold as his marble slab ; 
 And he thought he felt, in every part, 
 
 The pincers of scalded crab 1 
 
 The squealing lobsters that he had boil'd, 
 
 And the little potted shrimps, 
 All the horny prawns he had ever spoil'd, 
 
 Gnaw'd into his soul, like imps 1
 
 THE MERMAID OF MARGA TB. 
 
 And the billows were wandering to and fro, 
 
 And the glorious sun was sunk. 
 And Day, getting black in the face, as though 
 
 Of the night-shade she had drunk ! 
 
 Had there been but a smuggler's cargo adrift, 
 
 One tub, or keg, to be seen, 
 It might have given his spirits a lift, 
 
 Or an anker where Hope might lean ! 
 
 But there was not a box or a beam afloat, 
 To raft him from that sad place ; 
 
 Not a skiff, not a yawl, or a mackerel-boat, 
 Nor a smack upon Neptune's face. 
 
 At last, his lingering hopes to buoy, 
 
 He saw a sail and a mast, 
 And call'd " Ahoy ! " but it was not a hoy, 
 
 And so the vessel went past. 
 
 And with saucy wing that flapp'd in his face, 
 
 The wild bird about him flew, 
 With a shrilly scream, that twitted his case, 
 
 a Why, thou art a sea-gull too ! " 
 
 And lo ! the tide was over his feet ; 
 
 Oh ! his heart began to freeze, 
 And slowly to pulse : in another beat 
 
 The wave was up to his knees ! 
 
 He was deafen'd amidst the mountain-tops, 
 And the salt spray blinded his eyes, 
 
 And wash'd away the other salt drops 
 That grief had caused to arise : 
 
 But just as his body was all afloat, 
 And the surges above him broke, 
 
 He was saved from the hungry deep by a boat 
 Of Deal (but builded of oak). 
 
 The skipper gave him a dram, as he lay, 
 
 And chafed his shivering skin : 
 And the Angel return'd that was flying away 
 
 With the spirit of Peter Fin 1
 
 " My son, sir." 
 
 MY SON, 
 
 IT happened, the other evening, that, intending to call at L 
 Street, I arrived a few minutes before Hyson ; when W * * *, 
 seated beside the Urn, his eyes shaded by his hand, was catechising 
 his learned prodigy, the Master Hopeful, as if for a tea-table degree. 
 It was a whimsical contrast between the fretful, pouting visage of the 
 urchin, having his gums rubbed so painfully, to bring forward his 
 wisdom-tooth and the parental visage, sage, solemn, and satisfied, 
 and appealing ever and anon, by a dramatic side-look, to the circle of 
 smirking auditors. 
 
 \V * * * was fond of this kind of display, eternally stirring up the 
 child for exhibition with his troublesome long pole, besides lecturing 
 him through the diurnal vacations so tediously, that the poor urchin 
 was fain, for the sake' of a little play, to get into school again. 
 
 I hate all forcing-frames for the young intellect, and the Locke 
 system, which after all is but a Canal system for raising the babe- 
 mind to unnatural levels. I pity the poor child that is learned in 
 alpha beta, but ignorant of top and taw ; and was never so malici9usly 
 gratified as when, in spite of all his promptings and leading questions, 
 I beheld W * * * reddening, even to the conscious tips of his tingling 
 ears, at the boy's untimely inaptitude. Why could he not rest con- 
 tented, when the poor imp had answered him already, " What was a 
 Roman Emperor ? " without requiring an interpretation of the Logos f
 
 " As it fell upon a day.' 1 
 
 "AS IT FELL UPON A DAY." 
 
 I WONDER that W , the Aini.des Enfans, has never written a 
 sonnet, or ballad, on a girl that had broken her pitcher. There 
 are in the subject the poignant heart's anguish for sympathy and de- 
 scription ; and the brittleness of jars and joys, with the abrupt loss 
 of the watery fruits (the pumpkins as it were) of her labours, for a 
 moral. In such childish accidents there is a world of woe ; the fall 
 of earthenware is to babes as, to elder contemplations, the Fall of 
 Man. 
 
 I have often been tempted myself to indite a didactic ode to that 
 urchin in Hogarth with the ruined pie-dish. What a lusty anguish is 
 wringing him so that all for pity he could die ; and then there is 
 the instantaneous falling on of the beggar-girl to lick up the fragments 
 expressively hinting how universally want and hunger are abounding 
 in this miserable world, and ready gaping at every tarn, for such 
 windfalls and stray godsends. But, hark ! what a shrill, feline cry 
 startleth the wide Aldgate !
 
 A FA IKY TALE. 
 
 Oh ! what's befallen Bessy Brown, 
 She stands so squalling in the street? 
 
 She's let her pitcher tumble down, 
 And all the water's at her feet ! 
 
 The little schoolboys stood about, 
 
 And laugh'd to see her pumping, pumping ; 
 Now with a curtsey to the spout, 
 
 And then upon her tiptoes jumping. 
 
 Long time she waited for her neighbours 
 To have their turns : but she must lose 
 
 The watery wages of her labours, 
 Except a little in her shoes ! 
 
 Without a voice to tell her tale, 
 
 And ugly transport in her face ; 
 All like a jugless nightingale, 
 
 She thinks of her bereaved case. 
 
 At last she sobs she cries she screams ! 
 And pours her flood of sorrows out, 
 
 From eyes and mouth, in mingled streams, 
 Just like the lion on the spout. 
 
 For well poor Bessy knows her mother 
 Must lose her tea, for water's lack, 
 
 That Sukey burns and baby-brother 
 Must be dry-rubb'd with huck-u-b.;ck! 
 
 A FAIRY TALE. 
 
 ON Hounslow Heath 'and close beside the road, 
 As western travellers may oft have seen, 
 A little house some years ago there stood, 
 
 A minikin abode ; 
 
 And built like Mr Birkbeck's, all of wood : 
 The walls of white, the window shutters green, 
 Four wheels it hath at North, South, East, and West 
 
 (Though now at rest), 
 On which it used to wander to and fro, 
 Because its master ne'er maintain'd a rider, 
 
 Like those who trade in Paternoster Row ; 
 But made his business travel for itself, 
 
 Till he had made his pelf, 
 And then retired if one may call it so, 
 
 Of a roadsider.
 
 A FAIRY TALE. lz 
 
 Perchance, the very race and constant riot 
 Of stages, long and short, which thereby ran, 
 Made him more relish the repose and quiet 
 
 Of his now sedentary caravan ; 
 
 Perchance, he loved the ground because 'twas common, 
 And so he might impale a strip of soil 
 
 That furmsh'd, by his toil, 
 
 Some dusty greens, for him and his old woman ; 
 And five tall hollyhocks, in dingy flower, 
 Howbeit, the thoroughfare did no ways spoil 
 His peace, unless, in some unlucky hour, 
 A stray horse came and gobbled up his bower t 
 
 I 
 
 But tired of always looking at the coaches, 
 The same to come, when they had seen them one day f 
 
 And used to brisker life, both man and wife 
 Began to suffer N U E's approaches, 
 And feel retirement like a long wet Sunday, 
 So, having had some quarters of school breeding, 
 They turn'd themselves like other folks, to reading ; 
 But setting out where others nigh have done, 
 And being ripen'd in the seventh stage, 
 
 The childhood of old age, 
 Began, as other children have begun, 
 Not with the pastorals of Mr Pope, 
 
 Or Bard of Hope, 
 
 Or Paley ethical, or learned Person, 
 But spelt, on Sabbaths, in St Mark, or John, 
 And then relax'd themselves with Whittington, 
 
 Or Valentine and Orson 
 But chiefly fairy tales they loved to con, 
 And being easily melted in their dotage, 
 
 Slobber'd, and kept 
 
 Reading, and wept 
 Over the White Cat, in their wooden cottage. 
 
 Thus reading on the longer 
 
 They read, of course, their childish faith grew stronger 
 In Gnomes, and Hags, and Elves, and Giants grim, 
 If talking Trees and Birds reveal'd to him. 
 She saw the flight of Fairyland's fly-waggons, 
 
 And magic fishes swim 
 
 In puddle ponds, and took old crows for dragons. 
 Both were quite drunk from the enchanted flagons ; 
 When as it fell upon a summer's day, 
 
 As the old man sat a feeding 
 On the old babe-reading, 
 Beside his open street-and-parlour door, 
 
 A hideous roar 
 Proclaim'd a drove of beasts was coming by the way.
 
 126 A FAIRY TALE. 
 
 Long-horn'd, and short, of many a different breed, 
 Tall, tawny brutes, from famous Lincoln-levels 
 
 Or Durham feed ; 
 With some of those unquiet black dwarf devils 
 
 From nether side of Tweed, 
 
 Or Firth of Forth ; 
 
 Looking half wild with joy to leave the North, 
 With dusty hides, all mobbing on together, 
 When, whether from a fly's malicious comment 
 Upon his tender flank, from which he shrank ; 
 
 Or whether 
 
 Only in some enthusiastic moment, 
 However, one brown monster, in a frisk, 
 Giving his tail a perpendicular whisk, 
 Kick'd out a passage through the beastly rabble ; 
 And after a pas seul, or, if you will, a 
 Horn-pipe before the Basket-maker's villa, 
 
 Leapt o'er the tiny pale, 
 
 Back'd his beef-steaks against the wooden gable 
 And thrust his brawny bell-rope of a tail 
 
 Right o'er the page, 
 
 Wherein the sage 
 Just then was spelling some romantic fable. 
 
 The old man, half a scholar, half a dunce, 
 
 Could not peruse, who could ? two tales at once ; 
 
 And being huff 'd 
 At what he knew was none of Riquet's Tuft, 
 
 Bang'd-to the door, 
 But most unluckily enclosed a morsel 
 Of the intruding tail, and all the tassel : 
 
 The monster gave a roar, 
 And bolting off with speed increased by pain, 
 The little house became a coach once more, 
 And, like Macheath, " took to the road " again ! 
 
 Just then, by Fortune's whimsical decree, 
 The ancient woman stooping with her crupper 
 Towards sweet home, or where sweet home should be, 
 Was getting up some household herbs for supper ; 
 Thoughtful of Cinderella in the tale, 
 And quaintly wondering if magic shifts 
 Could o'er a common pumpkin so prevail, 
 To turn it to a coach ; what pretty gifts 
 Might come of cabbages and curly kale : 
 Meanwhile she never heard her old man's wail, 
 Nor turn'd, till home had turn'd a corner, quite 
 Gone out o ( sight !
 
 THE SPOILED CHILD. 
 
 At last, conceive her, rising from the ground, 
 Weary of sitting on her russet clothing ; 
 
 And looking round 
 
 Where rest was to be found, 
 There was no house no villa there no nothing! 
 No house ! 
 
 The change was quite amazing ; 
 It made her senses stagger for a minute, 
 The riddle's explication seem'd to harden ; 
 But soon her superannuated nous 
 Explain'd the horrid mystery ; and raising 
 Her hand to heaven, with the cabbage in it, 
 
 On which she meant to sup, 
 "Well ! this is Fairy Work ! I'll bet a farden, 
 Little Prince Silverwings has ketch'd me up, 
 And set me down in some one else's garden J " 
 
 127 
 
 The Spoiled Child. 
 
 THE SPOILED CHILD. 
 
 MY Aunt Shakerly was of an enormous bulk. I have not done 
 justice to her hugeness in my sketch, for my timid pencil 
 declined to hazard a sweep at her real dimensions. There is a vast- 
 ness in the outline, of even moderate proportions, till the mass is
 
 128 THE SPOILED CHILD. 
 
 rounded off by shadows, that makes the hand hesitate, and apt to 
 stint the figure of its proper breadth : how, then, should I have ven- 
 tured to trace, like mapping in a Continent, the surpassing boundaries 
 of my Aunt Shakerly ! 
 
 What a visage was hers ! the cheeks, a pair of hemispheres : her 
 neck literally swallowed up by a supplementary chin. Her arm, 
 cased in a tight sleeve, was as the bolster, her body like the feather 
 bed of Ware. The waist, which, in other trunks, is an isthmus, was 
 in hers only the middle zone of a continuous tract of flesh : her ankles 
 overlapped her shoes. 
 
 With such a figure, it may be supposed that her habits were seden- 
 tary. When she did walk, the Tower Quay, for the sake of the fresh 
 river-breeze, was her favourite resort. But never, in all her waterside 
 promenades, was she hailed by the uplifted ringer of the Waterman. 
 With looks purposely averted he declined, tacitly, such a Fairlopian 
 Fair. The Hackney-coach driver, whilst she halted over against him, 
 mustering up all her scanty puffings for an exclamation, drove off to 
 the nether pavement, and pleaded a prior call. The chairman, in 
 answer to her signals had just broken his poles. Thus, her goings 
 were cramped within a narrow circle : many thoroughfares, besides, 
 being strange to her and inaccessible, such as Thames Street, through 
 the narrow pavements ; others, like the Hill of Holborn, from their 
 impracticable steepness. How she was finally to master a more serious 
 ascension (the sensible incumbrance of the flesh clinging to her even 
 in her spiritual aspirations), was a matter of her serious despondency 
 a picture of Jacob's Ladder, by Sir F. Bourgeois, confirming her, 
 that the celestial staircase was without a landing. 
 
 For a person of her elephantine proportions, my Aunt was of a 
 kindly nature for I confess a prejudice against such Giantesses. 
 She was cheerful, and eminently charitable to the poor, although 
 she did not condescend to a personal visitation of their very limited 
 abodes. If she had a fault, it was in her conduct towards children 
 not spoiling them by often repeated indulgences, and untimely severi- 
 ties, the common practice of bad mothers ; it was by a shorter course 
 that the latent and hereditary virtues of the infant Shakerly were 
 blasted in the bud. 
 
 Oh, my tender cousin***! (for thou wert yet unbaptized). Oh! 
 would thou had'st been, my little babe-cousin, of a savager mother 
 born ! For then, having thee comfortably swaddled, upon a backboard, 
 with a hole in it, she would have hung thee up, out of harm's way, 
 above the mantel-shelf, or behind the kitchen door whereas, thy 
 parent was no savage, and so, having her hands full of other matters, 
 she laid thee down, helpless, upon the parlour chair ! 
 
 In the meantime, the Herald came. Next to an easy seat, my 
 Aunt dearly loved a police newspaper ; when she h;id once plunged 
 into its columns, the most vital question obtained from her only a 
 random answer ; the world and the roasting-j ick stood edfjally stilL 
 So, without a second thought, she dropped herself on the nursing 
 chair. One little smothered cry my cousin's last breath found its 
 way into the upper air, but the still small voice of the reporte* 
 engrossed the maternal ear.
 
 THE FALL OF THE DEER. 129 
 
 My Aunt never skimmed a newspaper, according to some people's 
 practice. She was as solid a reader as a sitter, and did not get up, 
 therefore, till she had gone through the "Herald "from end to end. 
 When she did rise, which was suddenly, the earth quaked the 
 windows rattled the ewers splashed over the crockery fell from the 
 shelf and the cat and rats ran out together, as they are said to do 
 from a falling house. 
 
 " Heyday !" said my uncle, above-stairs, as he staggered from the 
 concussion and, with the usual curiosity, he referred' to his pocket- 
 book for the Royal Birthday. But the almanac not accounting for 
 the explosion, he ran down the stairs, at the heels of the housemaid, 
 and there lay my Aunt, stretched on the parlour-floor, in a fit. At the 
 very first glimpse, he explained the matter to his own satisfaction, in 
 three words 
 
 " Ah the apoplexy ! " 
 
 Now the housemaid had done her part to secure him against this 
 error, by holding up the dead child ; but as she turned the body edge- 
 ways, he did not perceive it. When he did see it -but I must draw 
 a curtain over the parental agony 
 
 * * * * 
 
 About an hour after the catastrophe, an inquisitive she-neighbour 
 called in, and asked if we should not have the Coror er to sit on the 
 body : but my uncle replied, " There was no need."'" But in cases. 
 Mr Shakerly, where the death is not natural." " M* dear Madam/ 
 interrupted my uncle, " it was a natural death enough, " 
 
 THE FALL OF THE DEER. 
 [FROM AN OLD MS.] 
 
 NOW the loud Crye is up, and harke ! 
 The barkye Trees give back the Bark ; 
 The House Wife heares the merrie rout, 
 And runnes, and lets the beere run out, 
 Leaving her Babes to weepe, for why ? 
 She likes to heare the Deer Dogges crye, 
 And see the wild Stag how he stretches 
 The naturall Buck-skin of his Breeches, 
 Running like one of Human kind 
 Dogged by fleet Bailiffes close behind 
 As if he had not payde his Bill 
 For Ven'son, or was owing still 
 For his two Homes, and soe did get 
 Over his Head and Ears in Debt ; 
 Wherefore he strives to paye his Waye 
 With his long Legges the while he maye :- 
 But he is chased, like Silver Dish, 
 As well as anye Hart [may] wish.
 
 THE FALL OF THE DEER. 
 
 Except that one whose Heart doth beat 
 So faste it hasteneth his Feet ; 
 And runninge soe, he holdeth Death, 
 Four feet from him, till his Breath 
 Faileth, and slacking Pace at last, 
 From runninge slow he standeth faste, 
 With hornie Bayonettes at baye 
 To baying Dogges around, and they 
 Pushing him sore, he pusheth sore, 
 And goreth them that seek his Gore, 
 Whatever Dogge his Home doth rive 
 Is dead as sure as he's alive ! 
 Soe that courageous Hart doth fight 
 With Fate, and calleth up his might, 
 And standeth stout that he maye fall 
 Bravelye, and be avenged of all, 
 Nor like a Craven yield his Breath 
 Under the Jawes of Dogges and Death ! 
 
 Master Graham.
 
 DECEMBER AND MA Y. 
 
 " Crabbed Age and Youth cannot lire together." SHAKESPBAKE. 
 
 SAID Nestor to his pretty wife, quite sorrowful one day, 
 " Why, dearest, will you shed in pearls those lovely eyes away ? 
 You ought to be more fortified." " Ah, brute, be quiet, do 1 
 I know I'm not so fortyfied, nor fiftyfied, as you ! 
 
 " Oh, men are vile deceivers all, as I have ever heard ; 
 You'd die for me, you swore, and I I took you at your word. 
 I was a tradesman's widow then a pretty change I've made ; 
 To live and die the wife of one, a widower by trade ! " 
 
 " Come, come, my dear, these flighty airs declare, in sober truth, 
 You want as much in age, indeed, as I can want in youth ; 
 Besides, you said you liked old men, though now at me you huff.' 1 
 "Why, yes," she said, "and so I do but you're not old enough!" 
 
 " Come, come, my dear, let's make it up, and have a quiet hive ; 
 ' I'll be the best of men, I mean, I'll be the best alive / 
 Your grieving so will kill me, for it cuts me to the core." 
 ** I thank you, sir, for telling me for now I'll grieve the more ! ' 
 
 A WINTER NOSEGAY. 
 
 OH, wither'd winter Blossoms, 
 Dowager-flowers, the December vanity, 
 In antiquated visages and bosoms. 
 
 What are ye plann'd for, 
 
 Unless to stand for 
 Emblems, and peevish morals of humanity? 
 
 There is my Quaker Aunt, 
 A Paper-Flower, with a formal border 
 
 No breeze could e'er disorder, 
 Pouting at that old beau the Winter Cherry, 
 
 A pucker'd berry ; 
 And Box, like a tough-lived annuitant, 
 
 Verdant alway 
 
 From quarter-day even to quarter-day ; 
 And poor old Honesty, as thin as want, 
 
 Well named, God wot, 
 Under the baptism of the water-pot, 
 The very apparition of a plant ! 
 
 And why 
 Dost hold thy head so high, 
 
 Old Winter-Daisy? 
 Because thy virtue never was infirm, 
 
 Howe'er thy stalk be crazy?
 
 A WINTER NOSEGA Y. 
 
 That never wanton fly, or blighting worm, 
 Made holes in thy most perfect indentation ? 
 
 'Tis likely that sour leaf, 
 
 To garden thief, 
 
 Forcepp'd or wing'd, was never a temptation ; 
 Well, still uphold thy wintry reputation ; 
 Still shall thou frown upon all lovers' trial : 
 And when, like Grecian maids, young maids of ours 
 
 Converse with flowers, 
 Then thou shall be the token of denial 
 
 Away ! dull weeds, 
 
 Born without beneficial use or needs ! 
 Fit only to deck out cold winding-sheets ; 
 And then not for the milkmaid's funeral-bloom, 
 
 Or fair Fidele's tomb 
 
 To lanlalize, vile cheats ! 
 Some prodigal bee, with hope of after-sweets, 
 
 Frigid, and rigid, 
 
 As if ye never knew 
 
 One drop of dew, 
 Or the warm sun resplendent ; 
 Indifferent of culture and of care, 
 Giving no sweels back to the fostering air, 
 Churlishly independent 
 
 I hate ye, of all breeds ; 
 Yea, all that live so selfishly to self, 
 And not by interchange of kindly deeds 
 Hence ! from my shelf ! 
 
 A Winter Nosegay.
 
 33 
 
 EQUESTRIAN COURTSHIP. 
 
 IT was a young maiden went forth to ride, 
 And there was a wooer to pace by her side ; 
 His horse was so little, and hers so high, 
 He thought his Angel was up in the sky. 
 
 His love was great, though his wit was small ; 
 He bade her ride easy and that was alL 
 The very horses began to neigh, 
 Because their betters had nought to say. 
 
 They rode by elm, and they rode by oak, 
 
 They rode by a churchyard, and then he spoke : 
 
 *' My pretty maiden, if you'll agree, 
 
 You shall always amble through life with me." 
 
 The damsel answer'd him never a word, 
 
 But kick'd the grey mare, and away she spurr'd. 
 
 The wooer still follow'd behind the jade, 
 
 And enjoy'd like a wooer the dust she made. 
 
 They rode through moss, and they rode through more,- 
 
 The gallant behind and the lass before : 
 
 At last they came to a miry place, 
 
 And there the sad wooer gave up the chase. 
 
 Quoth he, " If my nag was better to ride, 
 
 Fd follow her over the world so wide. 
 
 Oh, it is not my love that begins to fail, 
 
 But I've lost the last glimpse of the grey mare's tail J
 
 ' She is faf from th.-lun-.'' 
 
 "SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND." 
 
 IT has been my fortune, or misfortune? sometimes to witness the 
 distresses of females upon shipbonrd ; that is, in such fresh- 
 victual passages as to Ramsgate or to Leith. How they can con- 
 template or execute those longer voyages, beyond Good Hope's Cape, 
 even with the implied inducements of matrimony, is one of my 
 standard wonders. 'There is a natural shrinking a cat-like antipathy, 
 to water, in the lady-constitution, (as the false Argonaut well 
 remembered when he shook off Ariadne) that seems to forbid such 
 sea-adventures. Betwixt a younger daughter, in Hampshire for 
 example, and a Judge's son of Calcutta, there is, apparently, a great 
 gulf fixed. 
 
 How have I felt, and shuddered, for a timid, shrinking, anxious 
 female, full of tremblings as an aspen, about to set her first foot upon 
 the stage ! but it can be nothing to a maiden's debfit on the deck of 
 an East Indiaman. 
 
 Handkerchiefs waving not in welcome, but in farewell ; crowded 
 boxes not filled with living Beauty and Fashion but departing 
 luggage. Not the mere noisy Gods of the gallery to encounter, 
 but those, more boisterous, of the wind and wave. And then, all 
 before'her, the great salt-water Pit ! 
 
 As I write this, the figure of Miss Oliver rises up before me, just 
 as she looked on her first introduction, by the ' Neptune,' to the Ocean. 
 It was her first voyage, and she made sure would be her last. Her 
 storms commenced at Gravesend, her sea began much higher up. 
 She had qualms at Blackwall. At the Nore, she came to themountain- 
 billows of her imagination ; for however the ocean may disappoint the
 
 "SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND." 135 
 
 expectation, from the land, on shipboard, to the uninitiated, it hath 
 all its terrors. The sailor's capful of wind was to her a North-wester. 
 Every splash of a wave shocked her, as if each brought its torpedo. 
 The loose cordage did not tremble and thrill more to the wind than 
 her nerves. At every tack of the vessel on all-fours, for she would 
 not trust to her own feet and the outstretched hand of courtesy she 
 scrambled up to the higher side. Her back ached with straining 
 against the bulwark,, to preserve her own and the ship's perpendicular : 
 her eyes glanced right, left, above, beneath, before, behind with all 
 the alacrity of alarm. She had not organs enough of sight or hearing 
 to keep watch against all her imagined perils : her ignorance of nautical 
 matters, in the meantime, causing her to mistake the real sea-dangers 
 for subjects of self-congratulation. It delighted her to understand 
 that there was barely three fathoms of water between the vessel and 
 the ground ; her notion had been that the whole sea was bottomless. 
 When the ship struck upon a sand, and was left there high and dry 
 by the tide, her pleasure was, of course, complete. " We could walk 
 about," she said, "and pick up shells." I believe, she would have 
 been as well contented if our ' Neptune ' had been pedestalled upon a 
 rock, deep water and sea-room were the only subjects of her dread. 
 When the vessel, therefore, got afloat again, the old terrors of the 
 landswoman returned upon her with the former force. All possible 
 marine difficulties and disasters were huddled, like an auction medley 
 in one lot, into her apprehension : 
 
 Cables entangling her, 
 Shipspars for mangling her, 
 Ropes sure of strangling her, 
 Blocks over-dangling her, 
 Tiller to batter her, 
 Topmast to shatter her, 
 Tobacco to spatter her ; 
 Boreas blustering, 
 Boatswain quite flustering, 
 Thunder-clouds mustering 
 To blast her with sulphur 
 If the deep don't engulf her J 
 Sometimes fear's scrutiny 
 Pries out a mutiny, 
 Sniffs conflagration, 
 Or hints at starvation ; 
 All the sea-dangers, 
 Buccaneers, rangers, 
 Pirates and Sallee-men, 
 Algerine galleymen, 
 Tornadoes and typhons, 
 And horrible syphons, 
 And submarine .travels 
 Through roaring sea-navels J 
 Everything wrong enough, 
 Long-boat not long enough 
 Vessel not strong enough ;
 
 '36 
 
 'SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAA'D." 
 
 Pitch marring frippery, 
 The deck very slippery, 
 And the cabin built sloping, 
 The Captain a-toping, 
 And the Mate a blasphemer, 
 That names his Redeemer, 
 With inward uneasiness ; 
 The cook known by greasiness, 
 The victuals beslubber'd, 
 Her bed in a cupboard ; 
 Things of strange christening, 
 Snatch'd in her listening, 
 Blue lights and red lights 
 And mention of dead-lights, 
 And shrouds made a theme of 
 Things horrid to dream of, 
 And buoys in the water 
 To fear all exhort her ; 
 
 1 Come o'er the sea." 
 
 Her friend no Leander, 
 Herself no sea-gander, 
 And ne'er a cork jacket 
 On board of the packet ; 
 The breeze still a stiffening, 
 The trumpet quite deafening 
 Thoughts of repentance, 
 And doomsday and sentence : 
 Everything sinister, 
 Not a church minister, 
 Pilot a blunderer, 
 Coral reefs under her, 
 Ready to sunder her ; 
 Trunks tipsy-topsy, 
 The ship in a dropsy ;
 
 FANCIES ON A TEA-CUP. 137 
 
 Waves oversurging her, 
 Syrens a-dirgeing her ; 
 Sharks all expecting her, 
 Sword-fish dissecting her, 
 Crabs with their hand-vices 
 Punishing land vices ; 
 Sea-dogs and unicorns, 
 Things with no puny horns, 
 % Mermen carnivorous 
 
 " Good Lord deliver us ! " 
 
 The rest of the vogage was occupied, excepting one bright interval, 
 with the sea-malady and sea-horrors. We were off Flamborough 
 Head. A heavy swell, the consequence of some recent storm to the 
 eastward, was rolling right before the wind upon the land : and once 
 under the shadow of the bluff promontory, we should lose all the 
 'advantage of a saving westerly breeze. Even the seamen looked 
 anxious : but the passengers (save one) were in despair. They were 
 already bones of contention, in their own misgivings, to the myriads 
 of cormorants and waterfowl inhabiting that stupendous cliff. Miss 
 Oliver alone was sanguine : she was all nods, and becks, and wreathed 
 smiles ; her cheeriness increased in proportion with our dreariness. 
 Even the dismal pitching of the vessel could not disturb her unseason- 
 able levity ; it was like a lightening before death but, at length, the 
 mystery was explained. She had springs of comfort that we knew not 
 of. Not brandy, for that we shared in common ; nor supplications, 
 for those we had all applied to ; but her ears, being jealously vigilant 
 of whatever passed between the mariners, she had overheard from the 
 captain and it had all the sound to her of a comfortable promise 
 that " if the wind held, we should certainly on shore? 
 
 FANCIES ON A TEA- CUP. 
 
 I LOVE to pore upon old china, and to speculate, from the imnges, 
 on Cathay. I can fancy that the Chinese manners betray them- 
 selves, like the drunkard's, in their cups. 
 
 How quaintly pranked and patterned is their vessel ! exquisitely 
 outlandish, yet not barbarian. How daintily transparent ! It should 
 be no vulgar earth that produces that superlative ware, nor does it so 
 seem in the enamelled landscape. 
 
 There are beautiful birds ; there, rich flowers and gorgeous butter- 
 flies, and a delicate clime, if we may credit the porcelain. There be 
 also horrible monsters, dragons, with us obsolete, and reckoned fabu- 
 lous ; the main breed, doubtless, having followed Fohi (our Noah) in 
 his wanderings thither from the Mount Ararat. But how does that 
 impeach the loveliness of Cathay ? There are such creatures even in 
 Fairyland.
 
 138 
 
 FANCIES ON A TEA-CUP. 
 
 I long often to loiter in those romantic Paradises studded with 
 pretty temples holiday pleasure grounds the true Tea-Gardens. I 
 like those meandering waters, and the abounding little islands. 
 
 And here is a Chinese nursemaid, Ho-Fi, chiding a fretful little 
 Pekin child. The urchin hath just such another toy, at the end of a 
 string, as might be purchased at our own Mr Dunnett's. It argues an 
 
 Pere la Chaise. 
 
 advanced state of civilisation where the children have many play- 
 things ; and the Chinese infants, witness their flying-fishes and whirli- 
 gigs, sold by the stray natives about our streets, are far gone in such 
 juvenile luxuries. _ 
 
 But here is a better token. The Chinese are a polite people ;Tor 
 they do not make household, much less husbandry, drudges of their 
 wives. You may read the women's fortune in their tea-cups. In nine 
 cases out of ten, the female is busy only in the ladylike toils of the 
 toilette. Lo ! here, how sedulously the blooming Hy-son is pencilling 
 the mortal arches, and curving the cross-bows of her eyebrows. A 
 musical instrument, her secondary engagement, is at her almost invi- 
 sible feet. Are such little extremities likely to be tasked with laborious 
 offices ? Marry, in kicking they reust be ludicrously impotent ; but 
 then she hath a formidable growth of nails. 
 
 By her side, the obsequious Hum is pouring his soft flatteries into 
 her ear. When she walketh abroad (here it is on another sample), he 
 shadeth her at two miles off with his umbrella. It is like an allegory 
 of love triumphing over space. The lady is walking upon one of 
 those frequent petty islets, on a plain, as if of porcelain, without any 
 herbage, only a solitary flower springs up, seemingly by enchantment, 
 at her fairylike foot. The watery space between the lovers is aptly
 
 THE STAG-EYED LADY. 139 
 
 left as a blank, excepting her adorable shadow, which is tending 
 towards her slave. 
 
 How reverentially is yon urchin presenting his flowers to the Grey* 
 beard ! So honourably is age considered in China ! There would 
 be some sense there in birthday celebrations. 
 
 Here, in another compartment, is a solitary scholar, apparently 
 studying the elaborate didactics of Con-Fuse- Ye. 
 
 The Chinese have, verily, the advantage of us upon earthenware ! 
 They trace themselves as lovers, contemplatists, philosophers ;- 
 whereas, to judge from our jugs and mugs, we are nothing but sheep- 
 ish piping shepherds and fox-hunters. 
 
 THE STAG-EYED LADY. 
 
 A MOORISH TALE.* 
 
 Scheherazade immediately began the following story : 
 
 ALI BEN ALT (did you never read 
 
 His wondrous acts that chronicles relate, 
 
 How there was one in pity might exceed 
 The sack of Troy ?) magnificent he sate 
 
 Upon the throne of greatness great indeed ! 
 For those that he had under him were great 
 
 The horse he rode on, shod with silver nails, 
 
 Was a Bashaw Bashaws have horses' tails. 
 
 Ali was cruel a most cruel one ! 
 
 'Tis rumour'd he had strangled his own mother- 
 Howbeit such deeds of darkness he had done, 
 
 'Tis thought he would have slain his elder brother 
 And sister too but happily that none 
 
 Did live within harm's length of one another, 
 Else he had sent the Sun in all its blaze 
 To endless night, and shorten'd the Moon's days. 
 
 Despotic power, that mars a weak man's wit, 
 
 And makes a bad man absolutely bad, 
 Made Ali wicked to a fault : 'tis fit 
 
 Monarchs should have some check-strings ; but he had 
 No curb upon his will no, not a bit 
 
 Wherefore he did not reign well and full glad 
 His slaves had been to hang him but they falter'd, 
 And let him live unhang'd and still unalterM, 
 
 * London Magazine, 1822, vol. v. p. 422.
 
 140 THE STA G-E YED LAD K. 
 
 Until he got a sage bush of a beard, 
 
 Wherein an Attic owl might roost a trail 
 
 Of bristly hair that, honour'd and unshear'd, 
 Grew downward like old women and cow's tail, 
 
 Being a sign of age some grey appear'd, 
 
 Mingling with duskier brown its warnings pale ; 
 
 But yet not so poetic as when Time 
 
 Comes like Jack Frost, and whitens it in rime. 
 
 Ben AH took the hint, and much did vex 
 His royal bosom that he had no son, 
 
 No living child of the more noble sex, 
 To stand in his Morocco shoes not one 
 
 To make a negro-pollard or tread necks 
 
 When he was gone doom'd, when his days were 
 
 To leave the very city of his fame 
 
 Without an All to keep up his name. 
 
 Therefore he chose a lady for his love. 
 
 Singling from out the herd one stag-eyed dear ; 
 
 So call'd, because her lustrous eyes, above 
 All eyes, were dark, and timorous, and clear ; 
 
 Then, through his Muftis piously he strove, 
 
 And drumm'd with proxy-prayers Mohammed's ear. 
 
 Knowing a boy for certain must come of it, 
 
 Or else he was not praying to his Profit. 
 
 Beer will grow tnotkery, and ladies fair 
 
 Will grow like beer ; so did that stag-eyed dame : 
 
 Ben Ali hoping for a son and heir, 
 
 Buoy'd up his hopes, and even chose a name 
 
 Of mighty hero that his child should bear ; 
 He made so certain ere his chicken came : 
 
 But oh ! all worldly wit is little worth, 
 
 Nor knoweth what to-morrow will bring forth ! 
 
 To-morrow came, and with to-morrow's sun 
 A little daughter to this world of sins, 
 
 //m-fortunes never come alone so one 
 Brought on another, like a pair of twins ! 
 
 Twins ! female twins ! it was enough to stun 
 Their little wits and scare them from their skins 
 
 To hear their father stamp, an'd curse and swear, 
 
 Pulling his beard because he had no heir. 
 
 Then strove their stng-eyed mother to calm down 
 This his paternal rai;e, and thus addrest : 
 
 *O ! Most Serene ! why dost thou stamp and frown, 
 And box the compass of thy royal chest ?
 
 THE STAG-EYED LADY. 141 
 
 Ah ! thou wilt mar that portly trunk, I own 
 
 I love to gaze on ! Pr'\ thee, thou hadst best 
 Pocket thy fists. Nay, love, if you so thin 
 Your beard, you'll want a wig upon your chin ! * 
 
 But not her words, nor e'en her tears, could slack 
 The quicklime of his rage, that hotter grew ; 
 
 He call'd his slaves to bring an ample sack, 
 Wherein a woman might be poked a few 
 
 Dark grimly men felt pity and look'd black 
 At this sad order ; but their slaveships knew, 
 
 When any dared demur, his sword so bending 
 
 Cut off the " head and front of their offending." 
 
 For Ali had a sword, much like himself, 
 
 A crooked blade, guilty of human gore 
 The trophies it had lopp'd from many an elf 
 
 Were stuck at his ^zd'-quarters by the score 
 Nor yet in peace he laid it on the shelf, 
 
 But jested with it, and his wit cut sore ; 
 So that (as they of Public Houses speak) 
 He often did his dozen butts a week. 
 
 Therefore his slaves, with most obedient fear, 
 
 Came with the sack the lady to enclose ; 
 In vain from her stag-eyes " the big round tears 
 
 Coursed one another down her innocent nose ;* 
 In vain her tongue wept sorrow in their ears ; 
 
 Though there were some felt willing to oppose, 
 Yet when their heads came in their heads, that minute, 
 Though 'twas a piteous case, they put her in it. 
 
 And when the sack was tied, some two or three 
 Of these black undertakers slowly brought her 
 
 To a kind of Moorish Serpentine ; for she 
 
 Was dooni'd to have a winding-sheet of "water. 
 
 Then farewell, earth farewell to the green tree 
 Farewell, the sun the moon each little daughter 1 
 
 She's shot from off the shoulders of a black, 
 
 Like a bag of Wall's-End from a coalman's back. 
 
 The waters oped, and the wide sack full-fill'd 
 
 All that the waters oped, as down it fell ; 
 Then closed the wave, and then the surface rill'd 
 
 A ring above her, like a water knell ; 
 A moment more, and all its face was still'd, 
 
 And not a guilty heave was left to tell 
 That underneath its calm and blue transparence 
 A dame lay drowned in her sack, like Clarence.
 
 143 THE STAG-EYED LADY. 
 
 But Heaven beheld, and awful witness bore ; 
 
 The moon in black eclipse deceased that night. 
 Like Desdemona smother'd by the Moor ; 
 
 The lady's natal star with pale affright 
 Fainted and fell and what were stars before, 
 
 Turn'd comets as the tale was brought to light ; 
 And all look'd downward on the fatal wave, 
 And made their own reflections on her grave. 
 
 Next night, a head a little lady head, 
 
 Push'd through the waters a most glassy face, 
 
 With weedy tresses, thrown apart and spread, 
 Comb'd by live ivory, to show the space 
 
 Of a pale forehead, and two eyes that shed 
 A soft blue mist, breathing a bloomy grace 
 
 Over their sleepy lids and so she raised 
 
 Her agual'me nose above the stream, and gazed. 
 
 She oped her lips lips of a gentle blush, 
 So pale, it seem'd near drowned to a white, 
 
 She oped her lips, and forth there sprang a gush 
 Of music bubbling through the surface light ; 
 
 The leaves are motionless, the breezes hush 
 To listen to the air and through the night 
 
 There come these words of a most plaintive ditty, 
 
 Sobbing as would break all hearts with pity : 
 
 THE WATER-PERI'S SONG. 
 
 Farewell, farewell, to my mother's own daughter, 
 The child that she wet-nursed is lapp'd in the wave 
 
 The Mussulman coming to fish in this water, 
 Adds a tear to the flood that weeps over her grave. 
 
 This sack is her coffin, this water's her bier, 
 This greyish bath cloak is her funeral pall ; 
 
 And, stranger, O stranger ! this song that you hear 
 Is her epitaph, elegy, dirges, and all ! 
 
 Farewell, farewell, to the child of Al Hassan, 
 
 My mother's own daughter the last of her r&ce 
 
 She's a corpse, the poor body ! and lies in this basin 
 And sleeps in the water that washes her face.
 
 " My banks they are furnished." 
 
 WALTON REDIVIVUS. 
 
 A NEW-RIVER. ECLOGUE. 
 
 "My old New River has presented no extraordinary novelties lately. But 
 there Hope sits, day after day, speculating on traditionary gudgeons. I 
 think she hath taken the Fisheries. I now know the reasons why our 
 forefathers were denominated East and West Angles. Yet is there no 
 lack of spawn, for I wash my hands in fishets that come through the 
 pump, every morning, thick as motelings little things that perish 
 untimely, and never taste the brook." 
 
 From a Letter of C. Lamb. 
 
 [Piscator is fishing, near the Sir Hugh Middleton's Head, with out either basket 
 or can. Viator cometh up to him, with an angling rod and a bottle.] 
 
 Via. f~~* OOD morrow, Master Piscator. Is there any sport afloat ? 
 
 \J Pi's. I have not been here time enough to answer for it. 
 It is barely two hours agone since I put in. 
 
 Via. The fishes are shyer in this stream than in any water that I 
 know. 
 
 Pis. I have fished here a whole Whitsuntide through without a 
 nibble. But then the weather was not so excellent as to-day. This 
 nice shower will set the gudgeons all agape. 
 
 Via. I am impatient to begin.
 
 144 WALTON XEDIVIVUS. 
 
 Pis. Do you fish with gut ? 
 
 Via. No I bait with gentles. 
 
 Pis. It is a good taking bait : though my question referred to the 
 nature of your line. Let me see your tackle. Why this is no line, 
 but a ship s cable. It is six-twist. There is nothing in this water but 
 you may pull out with a single hair. 
 
 Via. What ! are there no dace, nor perch ? 
 
 Pis. I doubt not but there have been such fish here in former ages. 
 But n6w-a-days there is nothing of that size. They are gone extinct, 
 like the mammoths. 
 
 Via. There was always such a fishing at 'em. Where there was one 
 Angler in former times, there is now a hundred. 
 
 Pis. A murrain on 'em ! A New-River fish no\v-a-days cannot take 
 his common swimming exercise without hitching on a hook. 
 
 Via. It is the natural course of things for man's populousness to 
 terminate other breeds. As the proverb says, " The more Scotchmen 
 the fewer herrings." It is curious to consider the family of whales 
 growing thinner according to the propagation of parish lamps. 
 
 Pis. Ay, and, withal, how the race of man, who is a terrestrial 
 animal, should have been in the greatest jeopardy of extinction by the 
 clement of water ; whereas the whales, living in the ocean, are most 
 liable to be burnt out. 
 
 Via. It is a pleasant speculation. But how is this ? I thought to 
 have brought my gentles comfortably in an old snuff-box, and they are 
 all stark dead ! 
 
 Pis. The odour hath killed them. There is nothing more mortal 
 than tobacco to all kinds of vermin. Wherefore, a new box will be 
 indispensable, though, for my own practice, I prefer my waistcoat 
 pockets for their carriage. Pray mark this : and in the meantime I 
 will lend you some worms. 
 
 Via. I am much beholden : and when you come to Long Acre, I 
 will faithfully 'repay you. But, look you, my tackle instill amiss. My 
 float will not swim. 
 
 Pis. It is no miracle for here is at least a good ounce of swan-shots 
 upon your line. It is over-charged with lead. 
 
 Via. I confess, I am only used to killing sparrows, and such small 
 fowls, out of the back-casement. But my ignorance shall make me 
 the more thankful for your help and instruction. 
 
 Pis. There! the fault is amended. And now, observe, you must 
 watch your cork very narrowly, without even an eye wink another 
 way ; for, otherwise, you may overlook the only nibble throughout 
 the day. 
 
 Via. I have a bite already ! my float is going up and down like a 
 ship at sea. 
 
 Pis. No. It is only that house-maid dipping in her bucket, which 
 causes the agitation you perceive. 'Tis a shame so to interrupt the 
 honest Angler's diversion. It would be but a judgment of God, now, 
 if the jade should fall in ! 
 
 Via. But I would have her only drowned for some brief twenty 
 minutes or so and then restored again by the surgeons. 'And yet I 
 have doubts of the lawfulness of that dragging of souls back again,
 
 WALTON REDIV1VUS. 
 
 T45 
 
 that have taken their formal leaves. In my conscience, it seems like 
 flying against the laws of predestination. 
 
 Pis. It is a doubtful point ; for, on the other hand, I have heard 
 of some that were revived into life by the doctors, and came afterwards 
 to be hanged. 
 
 Via. Marry ! 'tis pity such knaves' lungs were ever puffd up again ! 
 It was good tobacco-smoke ill-wasted ! Oh, how pleasant, now, is 
 this angling, which furnishes us with matter for such agreeable dis- 
 course ! Surely, it is well called a contemplative recreation, for I never 
 had half so many thoughts in my head before! 
 
 Pis. I am glad you relish it so well 
 
 
 Piscator. 
 
 Via. I will take a summer lodging hereabouts, to be near the stream. 
 How pleasant is this solitude ! There are but fourteen a-fishing here : 
 and of those but (ew men. 
 
 Pis. And we shall be still more lonely on the other side of the City 
 Road. Come, let's across. Nay, we'll put in our lines lower down. 
 There was a butcher's wife dragged for, at this bridge, in the latt 
 week. 
 
 Via. Have you, indeed, any qualms of that kind ? 
 
 Pis. No but, hereabouts, 'tis likely the gudgeons will be gorged. 
 Now, we are far enough. Yonder is the row of Colebroke. What a 
 balmy wholesome gust is blowing over to us from the cow-lair !
 
 ttf IV A L TON RED! V2 VUS. 
 
 Via. For my part, I smell nothing but dead kittens for here lies a 
 whole brood in soak. Would you believe it, to my phantasy, the 
 nine days' blindness of these creatures smacks somewhat of a type of 
 the human pre-existence. Methinks I have had myself such a myste- 
 rious being before I beheld the light. My dreams hint at it. A sort 
 of world before eyesight. 
 
 Pis. I have some dim sympathy with your meaning. At the Crea- 
 tion, there was such a kind of blind-man's-buff work. The atoms 
 jostled together, before there was a revealing sun. But are we not 
 fishing too deep ? 
 
 Via. I am afeard on't ! Would we had a plummet ! We shall catch 
 weeds. 
 
 Pis. It would be well to fish thus at the bottom, if we were fishing 
 for flounders in the sea. But there, you must have forty fathom, or 
 so, of stout line ; and then, with your fish at the end, it will be the 
 boy's old pastime carried into another element. I assure you, 'tis like 
 swimming a kite ! 
 
 Via. It should be pretty sport but hush ! My cork has just made 
 a bob. It is diving under the water ! Holla ! I have catch'd a fish ! 
 Pis. Is it a great one ? 
 
 Via. Purely, a huge one ! Shall I put it into, the bottle ? 
 Pis. It will be well, and let there be a good measure of water, too, 
 lest he scorch against the glass. 
 
 Via. How slippery and shining it is ! Ah, he is gone ! 
 Pis. You are not used to the handling of a New-River fish ; and, 
 indeed, very few be. But hath he altogether escaped ? 
 
 Via. No ; I have his chin here, which I was obliged to tear off, to 
 get away my hook. 
 
 Pis. Well, let him go ; it would be labour wasted to seek for him 
 amongst this rank herbage. ; Tis the commonest of Anglers' crosses. 
 
 Via. I am comforted to consider he did not fall into the water again. 
 as he was without a mouth, and might have pined for years. Do you 
 think there is any cruelty in our art ? 
 
 Pis. As for other methods of taking fish, I cannot say : but I think 
 none in the hooking of them. For, to look at the gills of a tish, with 
 those manifold red leaves, like a housewife's needle-book, they are 
 admirably adapted to our purpose ; and manifestly intended by Nature 
 to stick our steel in. 
 
 Via. I am glad to have the question so comfortably resolved, for, 
 in truth, I have had some misgivings. Now, look how dark the water 
 grows ! There is another shower towards. 
 
 Pis. Let it come down, and welcome. I have only my working-day 
 clothes on. Sunday coats spoil holidays. Let everything hang loose, 
 and time too will sit easy. 
 
 Via. I like your philosophy. In this world, we are the fools o( 
 restraint. We starch our ruffs till thev cut us under the ear. 
 
 Pis. How pleasant it would be to discuss these sentiments over a 
 tankard of ale ! I have a simple bashfulness against going into a 
 public tavern, but I think we could dodge into the Castle, without 
 being much seen. 
 
 Via. And I have a sort of shuddering about me, that is willing to
 
 "LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG: 
 
 147 
 
 go more frankly in. Let us put up, then. By my halidom ! here is 
 a little dead fish hanging at my hook : and yet I never felt him bite. 
 
 Pis. 'Tis only a little week-old gudgeon, and he had not strength 
 enough to stir the cork. However, we may say boldly that we have 
 caught a fish. 
 
 Via. Nay, I have another here in my bottle. He was sleeping on 
 his back at the top of the water, and I got him out nimbly with the 
 hollow of my hand. 
 
 Pis. We have caught a brace then ; besides the great one that was 
 lost amongst the grass. I am glad on't ; for we can bestow them upon 
 some poor hungry person in our way home. It is passable good sport 
 for the place. 
 
 Via. I am satisfied it must be called so. But the next time I come 
 hither, I shall bring a reel with me, and a ready-made minnow, for I 
 am certain there must be some marvellous huge pikes here ; they 
 always make a scarcity of other fish. However, I have been bravely 
 entertained, and, at the first holiday, I will come to it again. 
 
 u Love me, love my dog." 
 
 "LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG,' 9 
 
 SEEMS, at first sight, .in unreasonable demand. May I profess no 
 tenderness for Belinda without vowing an attachment to Shock ? 
 Must I feel an equal warmth towards my bosom friend and his grey- 
 hound ? Some country gentlemen keep a pack of dogs. Am I ex-
 
 148 "LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG." 
 
 pected to divide my personal regard for my Lord D amongst all his 
 
 celebraU d fox-hounds ? 
 
 I may be constitutionally averse to the whole canine species : I have 
 been bitten, perhaps, in my infancy by a mastiff, or pinned by a bull- 
 dog. There are harrowing tales on record of hydrophobia, of human 
 barkings, and inhuman smotherings : a dog may be my bugbear. 
 Again, there are differences in taste. One man may like to have his 
 hand licked all over by a grateful spaniel; but I would not have my 
 extremity served so even by the human tongue. 
 
 But the proverb, so arrogant and absolute in spirit, becomes 
 harmless in its common application. The terms are seldom enforced, 
 except by persons that a gentleman is not likely to embrace in his 
 affection rat-catchers, butchers, andbull-baiters, tinkers and blind 
 
 " Poor-tray Cl 
 
 mendicants, beldames and witches. A slaughterman's tulip-eared 
 puppy is as liable to engage one's liking as his chuckle-headed master. 
 When a courtier makes friends with a drover, he will not be likely to 
 object to a sheep-dog as a third party in the alliance. 
 
 "Love me," says Mother Sawyer, "love my dog." 
 
 Who careth to dote on either a witch or her familiar ? The proverb 
 thus loses half of its oppression : in other cases, it may become a 
 pleasant fiction, an agreeable convention. I forget what pretty Coun- 
 ter- s it was who made a confession of her tenderness for a certain sea- 
 captain by her abundant caresses of his Esquimaux wolf-dog. The 
 shame of the avowal became milder (as the virulence of the small-pox
 
 LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG? 149 
 
 is abated after passing through the constitution of a cow), by its trans- 
 mission through the animal. 
 
 In like manner, a formal young Quaker and Quakeress, perfec* 
 strangers to each other, and who might otherwise have sat mum- 
 chance together for many hours, fell suddenly to romping, merely 
 through the maiden's playfulness with Obadiah's terrier. The do; 
 broke the ice of formality, and, as a third party, took off the painful 
 awkwardness of self-introduction. 
 
 Sir Ulic Mackilligut, when he wished to break handsomely with 
 Mistress Tabitha Bramble, kicked her cur. The dog broke the force 
 of the affront, and the knight's gallantry was spared the reproach of 
 a direct confession of disgust towards the spinster ; as the lady took 
 the aversion to herself only as the brute's ally. 
 
 My stepmother Hubbard and myself were not on visiting terms for 
 many years ; not, we flattered ourselves, through any hatred or un- 
 charitableness, disgraceful between relations, but from a constitutional 
 antipathy on the one side, and a doting affection on the other to a 
 dog. My breach of duty and decent respect was softened down into 
 my dread of hydrophobia : my second-hand parent even persuaded 
 herself that I was jealous of her regard for Bijou. It was a comfort- 
 able self-delusion on both sides. But the scapegoat died, and then, 
 having no reasonable reason to excuse my visits, we came to an open 
 rupture. There was no hope of another favourite. My stepmother 
 had no general affection for the race, but only for that particular cur. 
 It was one of those incongruous attachments, not accountable to reason, 
 but seemingly predestined by fate. The dog was no keepsake no 
 favourite of a dear deceased friend. Ugly as the brute was, she loved 
 him for his own sake, not for any fondness and fidelity, for he was 
 the most ungrateful dog, under kindness, that I ever knew, not for 
 his vigilance, for he was never wakeful. He was not useful, like a 
 turnspit; nor accomplished, for he could not dance. He had not 
 personal beauty even to make him a welcome object ; and yet, if my 
 relation had been requested to display her jewels, she would have 
 pointed to the dog, and have answered, in the very spirit of Cornelia, 
 " There is my Bijou." 
 
 Conceive, reader, under this endearing title, a hideous dwarf-mongrel, 
 half pug and half terrier, with a face like a frog's ; his goggle-eyes 
 squeezing out of his head ; a body like a barrel-churn, on four short 
 bandy legs, as if, in his puppyhood, he had been ill-nursed, termi- 
 nating in a tail like a rabbit s. There is only one sound in nature 
 similar to his barking. To hear his voice, you would have looked, 
 not for a dog, but for a duck. He was fat and scant of breath. It 
 might have been said that he was stuffed alive. But his loving 
 mistress, in mournful anticipation of his death, kept a handsome glass- 
 case to hold his mummy. She intended, like Queen Constance, to 
 "stuff out his vacant garment with his form;" to have him ever 
 before her, "in his habit as he lived ;" but that hope was never 
 realised. 
 
 In those days there were dog-stealer,s, as well as slave-dealers, the 
 kidnapping of the canine, as of the Negro victim, being attributable 
 to his skin.
 
 r 50 REMONS TRA TOR Y ODE. 
 
 One evening Bijou disappeared. A fruitless search wns made for 
 him at all his accustomed haunts ; but at daybreak the next morning, 
 stripped naked of "his skin, with a mock paper frill, and the stump of 
 a tobacco-pipe stuck in his nether jaw, he was discovered, set upright 
 against a post ! 
 
 My stepmother's grief was ungovernable. Tears, which she had 
 not wasted on her deceased step-children, were shed then. In her 
 first transport, a reward of ^100 was offered for the appiehension of 
 the murderers, but in vain. 
 
 The remains of Bijou, such as they were, she caused to be deposited 
 under the lawn. 
 
 I forget what popular poet was gratified with ten guineas for writing 
 his epitaph ; but it was in the measure of the " Pleasures of Hope." 
 
 " Oh, list unto my tale of woe ! " 
 
 REMONSTRA TOR Y ODE, 
 
 FROM THE ELEPHANT AT EXETER CHANGE, TO MR MATHEWS, AT THE 
 ENGLISH OPERA-HOUSE. 
 
 " See with what courteous action. 
 He beckons you to a more removed ground." Hamlet. 
 
 [WRITTEN BY A FRIEND.] 
 
 I. 
 
 OH, Mr Mathews ! Sir ! 
 (If a plain elephant may spe;ik his mind, 
 And that I have a mind to speak I find 
 
 By my inward stir), 
 
 I long have thought, and wish'd to say, that we 
 Mar cur well-merited prosperity 
 
 By being such near neighbours, 
 My keeper now hath lent me pen and ink, 
 bhoved in my truss of lunch, and tub of drink, 
 
 And left me to my labours.
 
 REMONSTRATORY ODE, 151 
 
 The whole menagerie is in repose, 
 The Coatamundi is in his Sunday clothes, 
 Watching the Lynx's most unnatural doze ; 
 The Panther is asleep and the Macaw ; 
 The Lion is engaged on something raw; 
 
 The White Bear cools his chin 
 
 'Gainst the wet tin ; 
 
 And the confined old Monkey's in the straw. 
 All the nine little Lionets are lying 
 Slumbering in milk, and sighing ; 
 
 Miss Cross is sipping ox-tail soug, 
 
 In her front coop. 
 
 So here's the hap;-y mid-day moment ; yes, 
 I seize it, Mr Mathews, to address 
 
 A word or two 
 
 To you 
 
 On the subject of the ruin which must come 
 By both being in the Strand, and both at home 
 On the same nights ; two treats 
 
 So very near each other, 
 
 As, oh my brother ! 
 To pLiy old gooseberry with both receipts. 
 
 II. 
 
 When you begin 
 
 Your summer fun, three times a week, at eight, 
 And carriages roll up, and cits roll in, 
 I feel a change in Exeter 'Change's change, 
 And, dash my trunk ! I hate 
 To ring my bell, when you ring yours, and go 
 With a diminish d glory through my show ! 
 
 It is most strange ; 
 
 But crowds that meant to see me eat a stack, 
 And sip a water-butt or so, and crack 
 A root of mangel-wurzel with my foot, 
 Eat little children's fruit, 
 
 Pick from the floor small coins, 
 And then turn slowly round and show my India-rubber Idns 
 
 'Tis strange most strange, but true, 
 That these same crowds seek you / 
 Pass my abode, and pay niyour next door ! 
 It makes me roar 
 
 With anguish when I think of this ; I go 
 With sad severity my nightly rounds 
 Before one poor front row, 
 My fatal funny foe ! 
 And when I stoop, as duty bids, I sigh 
 And feel that, while poor elephantine I 
 
 Pick up a sixpence, you pick up the pounds !
 
 REMONSTRATORY ODE. 
 
 Could you not go ? 
 
 Could you not take the Cobourg or the Surrey ? 
 Or Sadler's Wells, (I am not in a hurry, 
 I never am !) for the next season ? oh ! 
 
 Woe ! woe ! woe ! 
 
 To both of us, if we remain ; for not 
 In silence will I bear my alter'd lot, 
 To have you merry, sir, at my expense ; 
 
 . No man of any sense, 
 No true great person (and we both are great 
 In our own ways) would tempt another's fate. 
 I would myself depart 
 In Mr Cross's cart ; 
 
 1 How happy could I be with either 
 
 But, like Othello, " am not easily moved." 
 There's a nice house in Tottenham Court, they say, 
 Fit for a single gentleman's small play ; 
 
 And more conveniently hear your home : 
 
 You'll easily go and come. 
 Or get a room in the City in some street 
 Coachmaker's Hall, or the Paul's Head, 
 
 Cateaton Street ; 
 Any large place, in short, in which to get your bread ; 
 
 But do not stay, and get 
 
 Me into the Gazette ! . 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ah ! The Gazette ; 
 
 I press my forehead with my trunk, and wet 
 My tender cheek with elephantine tears, 
 
 Shed of a walnut size 
 
 From my wise eyes,
 
 REMONSTRATORY ODE. 153 
 
 To think of ruin after prosperous years. 
 
 What a dread case would be 
 
 For me large me ! 
 To meet at Basinghall Street, the first and seventh 
 
 And the eleventh ! 
 To undergo (D -n !) 
 
 My last examination ! 
 To cringe, and to surrender, 
 Like a criminal offender, 
 All my. effects my bell-pull, and my bell, 
 My bolt, my stock of hay. my new deal celL 
 
 To post my ivory, sir ! 
 And have some curious commissioner 
 Very irreverently search my trunk ; 
 
 'Sdeath ! I should die 
 With rage, to find a tiger in possession 
 Of my abode ; up to his yellow knees 
 In my old straw ; and my profound profession 
 Entrusted to two beasts of assignees ! 
 
 V. 
 
 The truth is simply this, if you will stay 
 
 Under my very nose, 
 
 Filling your rows 
 Just at my feeding-time, to see your play, 
 
 My mind's made up, 
 
 No more at nine I sup, 
 Except on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Fridays, Sundays ; 
 
 "Take, oh take tho-e lips aw;iy I" 
 
 From eight to eleven, 
 As I_ hope for heaven, 
 
 On Thursdays, and on Saturdays, and Mondays, 
 111 squeak and roar, and grunt without cessation, 
 And utterly confound \our recitation. 
 And mark me ! all my friends of the furry snout 
 Shall join a chorus shout ;
 
 tJ4 A NEW LIFE-PRESERVER. 
 
 We will be heard we'll spoil 
 Your wicked ruination toil. 
 
 Insolvency must ensue 
 
 To you, sir, you ; 
 Unless you move your opposition shop, 
 
 And let me stop. 
 
 I have no more to say : I do not write 
 
 In anger, but in sorrow ; I must look, 
 However, to my interests every night, 
 
 And they detest your " Memorandum-book." 
 If we could join our forces I should like it ; 
 
 You do the dialogue, and I the songs. 
 A voice to me belongs 
 
 (The Editors of the Globe and Traveller ring 
 With praises of it, when I hourly sing 
 
 God save the King). 
 
 If such a bargain could be schemed, I'd strike it J 
 I think, too, I could do the Welch old man 
 In the Youthful Days, if dress'd upon your plan ; 
 And the attorney in your Paris trip, 
 
 I'm large about the hip ! 
 Now think of this ! for we cannot go on 
 
 As next-door rivals, that mj mind declares. 
 I must be penniless, or you be gone ! 
 We must live separate, or else have shares. 
 I am a friend or foe 
 As you take this ; 
 
 Let me your profitable hubbub miss, 
 Or be it " Mathews, Elephant, and Co. 1" 
 
 A NEW LIFE-PRESERVER. 
 
 " Of hair-breadth 'scapes." Othello. 
 
 I HAVE read somewhere of a traveller, who carried with him a brace 
 of pistols, a carbine, a cutlass, a dagger, and an umbrella, but was 
 indebted for his preservation to the umbrella : it grappled with a bush 
 when he was rolling over a precipice. In like m .nner, my friend 
 
 W , though armed with a sword, rifle, and hunting-knife, owed his 
 
 existence to his wig ! 
 
 He was specimen-hunting (for W is a first-rate naturalist) 
 
 somewhere in the backwoods of America, when, happening to light 
 upon a dense covert, there sprang out upon him, not a panther or' 
 catamountain, but, with terrible whoop and- yell, a wild Indian, one 
 
 of a tribe then hostile to our settlers. W 's gun was masti-red in 
 
 a twinkling, himself stretched on the earth, the barbarous knife, des- 
 tined to make him balder than Granby's celebrated Marquis, leaped 
 eagerly from its sheath.
 
 A NEW LIFE-PRESERVER. 155 
 
 Conceive the horrible weapon making its preliminary flourishes and 
 circumgyrations : the savage features, made savager by piint -nnd 
 ruddle, working themselves up to a demoniacal crisis of triumphant 
 malignity ; his red right hand clutching the shearing-knife ; his left, 
 the frizzled top-knot ; and then, the artificial scalp coming off in the 
 Mohawk grasp ! 
 
 W says, the Indian catchpole was, for some moments, motion- 
 less with surprise ; recovering, at last, he dragged his captive along, 
 through brake and jungle, to the encampment. A peculiar whoop soon 
 brought the whole horde to the spot. The Indian addressed them with 
 
 vehement gestures, in the course of which W was again thrown 
 
 down, the knife again performed its circuits, and the whole transaction 
 was pantomimically described. All Indian sedateness and restraint 
 were overcome. The assembly made every demonstration of wonder; 
 and the wig was fitted on, rightly, and askew, and hind part before, by 
 a hundred pair of red hands. Captain Gulliver's glove was not a 
 greater puzzle to the Houhyhnms. From the men it passed to the 
 
 squaws ; and from them, down to the least of the urchins ; W 's 
 
 head, in the meantime, frying in a midsummer sun. At length, the 
 phenomenon returned into the hands of the chief a venerable grey- 
 beard : he examined it afresh, very attentively, and, after a long deli- 
 beration, maintained with true Indian silence and gravity, made a 
 speech in his own tongue, that procured for the anxious trembling 
 captive very unexpected honours. In fact, the whole tribe of women 
 and warriors danced round him, with such unequivocal marks of hom- 
 age, that even W comprehended that he was not intended for 
 
 sacrifice. He was then carried in triumph to their wigwams, his body 
 daubed with their body colours of the most honourable patterns ; and 
 he was given to understand, that he might choose any of their marriage- 
 able maidens for a squaw. Availing himself of this privilege, and so 
 becoming, by degrees, more a proficient in their language, he learned 
 the cause of this extraordinary respect. It was considered, that he had 
 been a great warrior ; that he had, by mischance of war, been overcome 
 and tufted ; but that, whether by valour or stratagem, each equally 
 estimable amongst the savages, he had recovered his liberty and his 
 scalp. 
 
 As long as W kept his own counsel, he was safe ; but trusting 
 
 his Indian Delilah with the secret of his locks, it soon got wind amongst 
 the squaws, and from them became known to the warriors and chiefs. 
 A solemn sitting was held at midnight, by the chiefs, to consider the 
 propriety of knocking the poor wig-owner on the head ; but he had 
 received a timely hint of their intention, and, when the tomahawks 
 sought for him, he was far on his way, with his Life-preserver, towards 
 a British settlement.
 
 156 
 
 ADieam. 
 
 A DREAM. 
 
 IN the figure above (a medley of human faces, wherein certain 
 features belong in common to different visages, the eyebrow of 
 one, for instance, forming the mouth of another) I have tried to typify 
 a common characteristic of dreams, namely, the entanglement of divers 
 ideas, to the waking mind distinct or incongruous, but, by the confusion 
 of sleep, inseparably ravelled up, and knotted into Gordian intricacies. 
 For, as the equivocal feature, in the emblem, belongs indifferently to 
 either countenance, but is appropriated by the head that happens to 
 be presently the object of contemplation ; so, in a dream, two separate 
 notions will mutually involve some convertible incident, that becomes, 
 by turns, a symptom of both in general, or of either in particular. Thus 
 are begotten the most extravagant associations of thoughts and images, 
 unnatural connexions, like those marriages of forbidden relation- 
 ships, where mothers become cousins to their own sons or daughters, 
 and quite as bewildering as such genealogical embarrassments. 
 
 I had a dismal dream once, of this nature, that will serve well for an 
 illustration, and which originated in the failure of my first, and last, 
 attempt as a dramatic writer. Many of my readers, if I were to name 
 the piece in question, would remember its signal condemnation. As 
 soon as the Tragedy of my Tragedy was completed, I got into a coach 
 and rode home. My nerves were quivering with shame and mortifi- 
 cation. I tried to compose myself over " Paradise Lost," but it failed 
 to soothe me. I flung myself into bed, and at length slept ; but the 
 disaster of the night still haunted my dreams ; 1 was again in the 
 accursed theatre, but with a difference. It was a compound of the
 
 A DREAM. 157 
 
 Drury Lane building and Pandemonium. There were the old shining 
 green pillars on either side of the stage, but, above, a sublimer dome 
 than ever overhung mortal plnyhouse. The wonted familiars were in 
 keeping of the fore-spoken seats, but the first companies they admitted 
 were new and strange to the place. The first and second tiers, 
 
 " With dreadful faces throng' d, and fiery arms," 
 
 showed like those purgatorial circles sung of by the ancient Florentine- 
 Satan was in the stage-box. The pit, dismally associated with its bot- 
 tomless namesake, was peopled with fiends. Mehu scowled from the 
 critics' seat. Belial, flushed with wine, led on with shout and catcall 
 the uproar of the one-shilling infernals. My hair stood upright with 
 dread and horror; I had an appalling sense that more than my drama- 
 tic welfare was at stake : that it was to be not a purely literary o'rdeal. 
 An alarming figure, sometimes a newspaper reporter, sometimes a 
 devil, so prevaricating are the communications of sleep, was sitting, 
 with his note-book, at my side. My play began. As it proceeded, 
 sounds indescribable arose from the infernal auditory, increasing till 
 the end of the first act. The familiar cry, of " Choose any oranges ! " 
 was then intermingled with the murmurings of demons The tumult 
 
 " Oh, bre.ithe not his name?" 
 
 grew with the progress of the play. The last act passed in dumb show, 
 the horned monsters bellowing, throughout, like the wild bulls of 
 Bashan. Prongs and flesh-hooks showered upon the stage. Mrs 
 Siddons the human nature thus jumbling with the diabolical was 
 struck by a brimstone ball. Her lofty brother, robed in imperial purple, 
 came forward towards the orchestra, to remonstrate, and was received 
 like the Arch-devil in the Poem : 
 
 " He hears 
 
 On all sides, from innumerable tongues, 
 A dismal universal hiss, the sound 
 Of public scorn."
 
 tsS A DREAM. 
 
 He bowed to the sense of the house, and withdrew. My doom was 
 sealed ; the recording devil noted down my sentence. A suffocating 
 vapour, now smelling of sulphur, and now of gas, issued from the 
 unquenchable sta^e-lamps. The flames of the Catalonian Castle, 
 burning in the back scene, in compliance with the catastrophe of the 
 piece, blazed up with horrible import. My flesh crept all over me. I 
 thought of the everlasting torments, and at the next moment of the 
 morrow's paragraphs. I shrank at once from the comments of the 
 Morning Post, and the hot marl of Malebolge. The sins of authorship 
 had confounded themselves, inextricably, with the mortal sins of the 
 law. I could not disentangle my own from my play's perdition. I was 
 damned : but whether spiritually or dramatically the twilighw intelli- 
 gence of a dream was not clear enough to determine. *\ 
 
 Another sample, wherein the preliminaries of the dream involved one 
 portion, and implicitly forbade the other half of the conclusion, was 
 more whimsical. It occurred when I was on the eve of marriage, a 
 season when, if lovers sleep sparingly, they dream profusely. A very 
 brief slumber sufficed to carry me in the night-coach to Bognor. It 
 had been concerted, between Honoria and myself, that we should pass 
 the honeymoon at some such place upon the coast. The purpose of 
 my solitary journey was to procure an appropriate dwelling, and which, 
 we had agreed, should be a little pleasnnt house, with an indispensable 
 look-out upon the sea. I chose one, accordingly ; a pretty villa, with 
 bow-windows, and a prospect delightfully marine. The ocean murmur 
 sounded incessantly from the beach. A decent elderly body, in decayed 
 sables, undertook, on her part, to promote the comforts of the occu- 
 pants by every suitable attention, and, as she assured me, at a very 
 reasonable rate. So far, the nocturnal faculty had served me truly. A 
 day-dream could not have proceeded more orderly : but nlas ! just 
 here, when the dwelling was selected, the sea-view secured, the rent 
 agreed upon, when everything was plausible, consistent, and rational, 
 the incoherent fancy crept in and confounded all, by marrying me 
 to the old woman of the house ! 
 
 A large proportion of my dreams have, like the preceding, an origin, 
 more or less remote, in some actual occurrence. But from all my 
 observations and experience, the popular notion is a mistaken one, that 
 our dreams take their subject and coloar from the business or meditations 
 of the day. It is true that sleep frequent If gives back real images and 
 actions, like a mirror ; but the reflection returns at a longer interval. 
 It extracts from pages of some standing, like the Retrospective Re- 
 view. The mind, released from its connexion with extern. d associa- 
 tions, flies off, gladly, to novel speculations. The soul does not carry 
 its tasks out of school. The novel, read upon the pillow, is of no more 
 influence than the bride-cake laid beneath it. The charms of Di 
 Vernon have faded with me into a vision of Dr Faustus ; the bridal 
 dance and festivities, into a chase by a mad bullock. 
 
 The sleeper, like the felon at the putting on of the niht-cap, is 
 about to be turned off from the affairs of this world. The material 
 scaffold sinks under him ; he drops as it is expressively called 
 asleep ; and the spirit is transported, we know not whither ! 
 
 I should like to know that, by any earnest application of thought,
 
 A DRKAM. 159 
 
 we could impress its subject upon the midnigl t blank. It would be 
 worth a day's devotion to Milton, " from morn till noon, from noon 
 till dtwy eve," to obtain but one glorious vision from the " Paradise 
 Lost;" to Speoser, to purchase but one magical reflection a Fata 
 Morgana of the " Faery Queen ! " I have heard it affirmed, indeed, 
 by a gentleman, an especial advocate of early rising, that he could 
 procure whatever dream he wished; but I disbelieve it, or he would 
 pnss far more hours than he does in bed. If it were possible, by any 
 process, to bespeak the night's entertainment, the theatres, for me, 
 might close their uninviting doors. Who would care to sit at the 
 miserable stage parodies of " Lear," " Hr.mlet," and "Othello;" to 
 say nothing of the "Tempest," or the "Midsummer Night's Phan- 
 tasy," that could command the representation of either of those 
 noble dramas, with all the sublime personations, the magnificent 
 scenery, and awful reality of a dream ? 
 
 For horrible fancies merely, nightmares and incubi, there is a 
 recipe extant, that is currently attributed to the late Mr Fuseli. I 
 
 'My nature is subdued to what it 
 
 mean, a supper of raw pork ; but, as I never slept aftet it, I cannot 
 speak as to the effect. 
 
 Opium I have never tried, and, therefore, have never experienced 
 such magnificent visions as are described by its eloquent historian. I 
 have never been buried for ages under pyramids ; and yet, methinks, 
 have suffered agonies as intense as his could be from the common- 
 place inflictions. For example, a night spent in the counting of inter- 
 minable numbers an inquisitorial penance everlasting tedium the 
 mind's treadmill ! 
 
 Another writer, in recording his horrible dreams, describes himself 
 .o have been sometimes an animal pursued by hounds ; sometimes a 
 bird, torn in pieces by eagles. They are flat contradictions cf my 
 Theory of Dreams. Such Ovidian Metamorphoses never yet entered
 
 160 A DREAM. 
 
 into my experience. I never translate myself. I must know the taste 
 of rape and hempseed, and have cleansed my gizzard with small 
 gravel, before even fancy can turn me into a bird. I must have 
 another nowl upon my shoulders, ere I can feel a longing for " a bottle 
 of chopt hay, or your good dried oats." My own habits and pre- 
 judices, all the symptoms of my identity, cling to me in my dreams. 
 It never happened to me to fancy myself a child or a woman, dwarf or 
 giant, stone-blind, or deprived of any senses. 
 
 And here, the latter part of the sentence reminds me of an interest- 
 ing question on this subject, that has greatly puzzled me, and of 
 which I should be glad to obtain a satisfactory solution, viz., How 
 does a blind man dream? I mean a person with the opaque crystal 
 from his birth. He is defective in that very faculty which, of all 
 others, is most active in those night-passages, thence emphatically 
 called Visions. He has had no acquaintance with external images, 
 and has, therefore, none of those transparent pictures that, like the 
 slides of a magic-lantern, pass before the mind's eye, and are pro- 
 jected by the inward spiritual light upon the utter blank. His imagi- 
 nation must be like an imperfect kaleidoscope, totally unfurnished 
 with those parti-coloured fragments whereof the complete instrument 
 makes such interminable combinations. It is difficult to conceive 
 such a man's dream. 
 
 Is it a still benighted wandering a pitch-dark night progress, 
 made known to him by the consciousness of the remaining senses ? 
 Is he still pulled through the universal blank, by an invisible power 
 as it were, at the nether end of the string? regaled, sometimes, with 
 celestial voluntaries and unknown mysterious fragrances, answering to 
 our more romantic nights ; at other times, with homely voices and 
 more familiar odours ; here, of rank-smelling cheeses ; there, of pun- 
 gent pickles or aromatic drugs, hinting his progress through a metro- 
 politan street? Does he over again enjoy the grateful roundness of 
 those substantial droppings from the invisible passenger, palpable 
 deposits of an abstract benevolence, --or, in his nightmares, suffer 
 anew those painful concussions and corporeaj buffetings, from that (to 
 him) obscure evil principle, the Parish Beadle ? 
 
 This question I am happily enabled to resolve, through the infor- 
 mation of the oldest of those blind Tobits th.-.t stand in fresco agiinst 
 Bunhill Wall the same who made that notable comparison of scarlet 
 to the sound of a trumpet. As I understood him, harmony, with the 
 gravel-blind, is prismatic as well as chromatic. To use his own illus- 
 tration, a wall-eyed man has a palette in his ear, as well as in his 
 mouth. Some stone-blinds, indeed, dull dogs, without any ear for 
 colour, profess to distinguish the different hues and shades by the 
 touch, but that, he said, was a slovenly uncertain method, and in the 
 chief article of paintings not allowed to be exercised. 
 
 On my expressing some natural surprise at the aptitude of his cele- 
 brated comparison, a miraculous close likening, to my mind, of the 
 known to the unknown, he told me the instance was nothing, for the 
 lenst discriminative among them could distinguish the scarlet colour 
 of the mail-guards' liveries, by the sound of their horns : but there 
 vere others, so acute their faculty ! that they could tell the very
 
 THE IRISH SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 16 1 
 
 features and complexion of their relatives and familiars, by the mere 
 tone of their voices. I was much gratified with this explanation ; for 
 I confess, hitherto, I was always extremely puzzled by that narrative 
 in the Tatler, of a young gentleman's behaviour after the operation of 
 couching, and especially at the wonderful promptness with which he 
 distinguished his father from his mother, his mistress from her maid. 
 But it appears that the blind are not so blind as they have been es- 
 teemed in the vulgar notion. What they cannot get one way they 
 obtain in another : they, in fact, realise what the author of Hudibras 
 has ridiculed as a fiction, for they set up 
 
 " Communities of sense^ 
 To chop and change intelligences. 
 As Rosicrucian Virtuosis 
 Can see with ears and hear with noses." 
 
 Spring and Fall. 
 
 THE IRISH SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 ALACK ! 'tis melancholy theme to think 
 How Learning doth in rugged states abide, 
 And, like her bashful owl, obscurely blink 
 In pensive glooms and corners, scarcely spied ; 
 Not, as in Founders Halls and domes of pride, 
 Served with grave homage, like a tmgic queen, 
 But with one lonely priest compell'd to hide, 
 In midst of foggy moors and mosses green, 
 In that clay cabbin hight the College of Kilreen !
 
 THE IRISH SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 This College looketh South and West alsoe, 
 Because it hath a cast in windows twain ; 
 Crazy and crack'd they be, and wind doth blow 
 Thorough transparent holes in every pane, 
 Which Dan, with many paines, makes whole again 
 With nether garments, which his thrift doth teach 
 To stand for glass, like pronouns, and when rain 
 Stormeth, he puts, " once more unto the breach, 1 ' 
 Outside and in, though broke, yet so he mendeth each. 
 
 And in the midst a little door there is, 
 Whereon a board that doth congratulate 
 With painted letters, red as blood I wis, 
 Thus written, 
 
 "CHILDREN TAKEN IN TO BATE:' 
 And oft, indeed, the inward of that gate, 
 Most ventriloque, doth utter tender squeak, 
 And moans of infants that bemoan their fate, 
 In midst of sounds of Latin, French, and Greek, 
 Which, all i' the Irish tongue, he teacheth them to speak. 
 
 For some are meant to right illegal wrongs, 
 And some for Doctors of Divimtie, 
 Whom he doth teach to murder the dead tongues, 
 And soe win academical degree : 
 But some are bred for service of the sea, 
 Howbeit, their store of learning is but small. 
 For mickle waste he counteth it would be 
 To stock a head with bookish wares at all, 
 Only to be knock'd off by ruthless cannon-ball. 
 
 V. 
 
 Six babes he sways some little and some big, 
 Divided into classes six ; alsoe, 
 He keeps a parlour boarder of a pig, 
 That in the College fareth to and fro, 
 And picketh up the urchins' crumbs below, 
 And eke the learned rudiments they scan, 
 And thus his A, B, C, doth wisely know, 
 Hereafter to be shown in caravan, 
 And raise the wonderment of many a learned man. 
 
 Alsoe, he schools some tame familiar fowls, 
 Whereof, above his head, some two or three
 
 THE IRISH SCHOOLMAN TEH. i6> 
 
 Sit darkly squatting, like Minerva's owls, 
 But on the branches of no living tree, 
 And overlook the learned family ; 
 While, sometimes, Partlet, from her gloomy perch, 
 Drops feather on.the nose of Dominie, 
 Meanwhile, with serious eye, he makes research 
 In leaves of that sour tree of knowledge now a birch* 
 
 VII. 
 
 No chair he hath, the awful Pedagogue, 
 Such as would magisterial hams imbed, 
 But sitteth lowly on a beechen log, 
 Secure in high authority and dread : 
 Large as a dome, for learning, seems his head, 
 And, like Apollo's, all beset with rays, 
 Because his locks are so unkempt and red, 
 And stand abroad in many several ways : 
 No laurel crown he wears, howbeit his cap is baize. 
 
 And, underneath, a pair of shaggy brows 
 O'erhang as many eyes of gizzard hue, 
 That inward giblet of a fowl, which shows 
 A mongrel tint, that is ne brown ne blue ; 
 His nose, it is a coral to the view ; 
 Well nourish'd with Pierian Potheen, 
 For much he loves his native mountain dew; 
 But to depict the dye would lack, I ween, 
 A bottle-red, in terms, as well as bottle-green. 
 
 IX 
 
 As for his coat, 'tis such a jerkin short 
 As Spenser had, ere he composed his Tales ; 
 But underneath he hath no vest, nor aught, 
 So that the wind his airy breast assails ; 
 Below, he wears the nether garb of males, 
 Of crimson plush, but non-plush'd at the knee ; 
 Thence further down the native red prevails, 
 Of his own naked fleecy hosierie : 
 Two sandals, without soles, complete his cap-a-pee. 
 
 Nathless, for dignity, he now doth lap 
 
 His function in a magisterial gown, 
 
 That shows more countries in it than a map, 
 
 Blue tinct, and red, and green, and russet brown,
 
 164 THE IRISH SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 Besides spme blots, standing for country-town ; 
 And eke some rents, for streams and rivers wide ; 
 But, sometimes, bashful when he looks adown, 
 He turns the garment of the other side, 
 Hopeful that so the holes may never be espied t 
 
 And soe he sits amidst the little pack, 
 That look for shady or for sunny noon 
 Within his visage, like an almanac, 
 His quiet smile foretelling gracious boon : 
 But when his mouth droops down, like rainy moon, 
 With horrid chill each little heart unwarms, 
 Knowing that infant showers will follow soon, 
 And with forebodings of near wrath and storms 
 They sit, like timid hares, all trembling on their forms. 
 
 Ah ! luckless wight, who cannot then repeat 
 " Corduroy Colloquy," or " Ki, Kse, Kod," * 
 Full soon his tears shall make his turfy seat 
 More sodden, though already made of sod, 
 For Dan shall whip him with the word of God, 
 Severe by rule, and not by nature mild, 
 He never spoils the child and spares the rod, 
 But spoils the rod and never spares the child, 
 And soe with holy rule deems he is reconciled. 
 
 But, surely, the just sky will never wink 
 At men who take delight in childish throe, 
 And stripe the nether-urchin like a pink 
 Or tender hyacinth, inscribed with woe ; 
 Such bloody Pedagogues, when they shall know, 
 By useless birches, that forlorn recess, 
 Which is no holiday, in Pit below, 
 Will hell not seem design'd for their distress, 
 A melancholy place that is all bottomlesse ? 
 
 Yet would the Muse not chide the wholesome use 
 Of needful discipline, in due degree. 
 Devoid of sway, what wrongs will time produce, 
 Whene'er the twig untrain'd grows up a tree 1 
 This shall a Carder, that a \\ hiteboy be, 
 Ferocious leaders of atrocious bands, 
 And Learning's help be used for infamie . 
 By lawless clerks, that, with their bloody hands, 
 In murder* d English write Rock's murderous commands.
 
 THE IRISH SCHOOLMASTER. 165 
 
 But ah ! what shrilly cry doth now alarm 
 The sooty fowls that dozed upon the beam, 
 All sudden fluttering from the brandish'd arm, 
 And cackling chorus with the human scream? 
 Meanwhile, the scourge plies that unkindly seam 
 In Pheliin's brogues, which bares his naked skin, 
 Like traitor gap in warlike fort, I deem, 
 That falsely lets the fierce besieger in ; 
 Nor seeks the Pedagogue by other course to win. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 No parent dear he nath to heed his cries ; 
 Alas ! his parent dear is far aloof, 
 And deep in Seven-Dial cellar lies, 
 Kill'd by kind cudgel-play, or gin of proof, 
 
 All in the downs." 
 
 Or climbeth, catwise, on some London roof, 
 Singing, perchance, a lay of Erin's Isle, 
 Or, whilst he labours, weaves a fancy-woof, 
 Dreaming he sees his home, his Phelim smile ; 
 Ah me ! that luckless imp, who weepeth all the while ! 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Ah ! who can paint that hard and heavy time, 
 When first the scholar lists in Learning's train, 
 And mounts her rugged steep, enforced to climb, 
 Like sooty imp, by sharp posterior pain
 
 166 THE IRISH SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 From bloody twig, and eke that Indian cane, 
 Wherein, alas ! no sugar'd juices dwell ; 
 For this, the while one stripling's sluices drain, 
 Another weepeth over chilblains fell, 
 Always upon the heel, yet never to be well ! 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Anon a third, for his delicious root, 
 Late ravish'd from his tooth by elder chit- 
 So soon is human violence afoot, 
 So hardly is the harmless biter bit ! 
 Meanwhile, the tyrant, with untimely wit 
 And mouthing face, deride's the small one's moan, 
 Who, all lamenting for his loss, doth sit ; 
 Alack ! mischance comes seldomtimes alone, 
 But aye the worried dog must rue more curs than one. 
 
 XfX. 
 
 For lo ! the Pedagogue, with sudden drub, 
 Smites his scald-head, that is already sore, 
 Superfluous wound, such is Misfortune's rub f 
 Who straight makes answer with redoubled roar, 
 And sheds salt tears twice faster than before, 
 That still with backward fist he strives to dry ; 
 Washing, with brackish moisture, o'er and o'er, 
 His muddy cheek, that grows more foul thereby, 
 Till all his rainy face looks grim as rainy sky. 
 
 So Dan, by dint of noise, obtains a peace, 
 And, with his natural untender knack, 
 By new distress bids former grievance cease, 
 Like tears dried up with rugged huckaback, 
 That sets the mournful visage all awrack. 
 Yet soon the childish countenance will shine, 
 Even as thorough storms the soonest slack ; 
 For grief and beef in adverse ways incline 
 This keeps, and that decays, when duly soak'd in brine, 
 
 Now all is hush'd, and with a look profound, 
 The Dominie lays ope the learned page ; 
 (So be it call'd) although he doth expound 
 Without a book, both Greek and Latin sage; 
 Now telleth he of Rome's rude infant age, 
 How Romulus was bred in s.ivage wood, 
 By wet-nurse wolf, devoid of wolfish rage ; 
 And laid foundation-stnne of wallr of mud, 
 But waterM it, alas ! with warm fraternal blood.
 
 THE IRISH SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 167 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Anon, he turns to that Homeric war, 
 How Troy was sieged like Londonderry town ; 
 And stout Achilles at his jaunting-car 
 Dragg'd mighty Hector with a bloody crown : 
 And eke the bard that sung of their renown, 
 In garb of Greece, most beggar-like and torn, 
 He paints, with colley, wandering up and down, 
 Because, at once, in seven cities born, 
 And so of parish rights was all his days forlorn. 
 
 Anon, through old mythology he goes, 
 Of gods defunct, and all their pedigrees ; 
 But shuns their scandalous amours, and shows 
 How Plato wise, and clear-eyed Socrates, 
 
 " Oh, there's nothing half so sweet 
 
 Confess'd not to those heathen hes and shes ; 
 But through the clouds of the Olympic cope 
 Beheld St Peter, with his holy keys, 
 And own'd their love was naught, and bow'd to Pope, 
 Whilst all their purblind race in Pagan mist did grope I 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 From such quaint themes he turns, at last, aside, 
 To new philosophies, that still are green,
 
 168 7 BE IRISH SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 And shows what railroads have been track'd to guide 
 The wheels of great political machine ; 
 If English corn should go abroad, I ween, 
 And gold be made of gold, or paper sheet ; 
 How many pigs be born to each spalpeen ; 
 And, ah ! how man shall thrive beyond his meat, 
 With twenty souls alive to one square sod of peat ! 
 
 Here he makes end ; and all the fry of youth, 
 That stood around with serious look intense, 
 Close up again their gaping eyes and mouth, 
 Which they had open'd to his eloquence, 
 As if their hearing were a threefold sense. 
 But now the current of his words is done, 
 And whether any fruits shall spring from thence, 
 In future time, with any mother's son, 
 It is a thing, God wot 1 that can be told by none. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Now by the creeping shadows of the noon, 
 The hour is come to lay aside their lore ; 
 The cheerful Pedagogue perceives it soon, 
 And cries, " Begone !" unto the imps, and four 
 Snatch their two hats, and struggle for the door, 
 Like ardent spirits vented from a cask, 
 All blithe and boisterous, but leave two more, 
 With Reading made Uneasy for a task, 
 To weep, whilst all their mates in merry sunshine bask. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Like sportive Elfins, on the verdant sod, 
 With tender moss so sleekly overgrown, 
 That doth not hurt, but kiss, the sole unshod 
 So soothly kind is Erin to her own ! 
 And one at Hare and Hound plays all alone, 
 For Phelim's gon, to tend his step-dame's cow } 
 Ah ! Phelim's step-dame is a cankerM crone 1 
 Whilst other twain play at an Irish row, 
 And, with shillelah small, break one another's brow t 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 But careful Dominie, with ceaseless thrift, 
 Now changeth ferula for rural hoe ; 
 But, first of all, with tender hand doth shift 
 His college gown, because of solar glow,
 
 THE SEA-SPELL. 
 
 And hangs it on a bush, to scare the crow : 
 Meanwhile, he plants in earth the dappled bean, 
 Or trains the young potatoes all a-row, 
 Or plucks the fragrant leek for pottage green, 
 With that crisp curly herb, call'd Kale in Aberdeen. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 And so he wisely spends the fruitful hours, 
 Link'd each to each by labour, like a bee ; 
 Or rules in Learning's hall, or trims her bowers ; 
 Would there were many more such wights as he, 
 To sway each capital academic 
 Of Cam and Isis ; for, alack ! at each 
 There dwells, I wot, some dronish Dominie, 
 That does no garden work, nor yet doth teach, 
 But wears a floury head, and talks in flowery speech 1 
 
 169 
 
 Pandeans. 
 
 THE SEA-SPELL. 
 
 "C*$fU, cauld, he lies beneath the deep."-OM Scttc* Bat&ut 
 
 IT was a jolly mariner, 
 
 The tallest man of three, 
 
 He loosed his sail against the wind, 
 
 And turn'd his boat to sea : 
 
 The ink-black sky told every eye 
 
 A storm was soon to be !
 
 170 THE SEA-SPELL. 
 
 II. 
 
 But still that jolly mariner 
 
 Took in no reef at all, 
 
 For, in his pouch, confidingly, 
 
 He wore a baby's caul ; 
 
 A thing, as gossip nurses know, 
 
 That always brings a squall J 
 
 His hat was new, or newly glazed, 
 Shone brightly in the sun ; 
 His jacket, like a mariner's, 
 True blue as e'er was spun ; 
 His ample trousers, like Saint Paul, 
 Bore forty stripes save one. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And now the fretting foaming tide 
 
 He steer'd away to cross ; 
 
 The bounding pinnace play'd a game 
 
 Of dreary pitch and toss 
 
 A game that, on the good dry land, 
 
 Is apt to bring a loss t 
 
 V. 
 
 Good Heaven befriend that little 
 
 And guide her on her way ! 
 
 A boat, they say, has canvas wings, 
 
 But cannot fly away, 
 
 Though, like a merry singing bird, 
 
 She sits upon the spray ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Still east by east the little boat 
 With tawny sail kept beating : 
 Now out of sight between two waves, 
 Now o'er th' horizon fleeting : 
 Like greedy swine that feed on mast, 
 The waves her mast seem'd eating t 
 
 VII. 
 
 The sullen sky grew black above, 
 
 The wave as black beneath ; 
 
 Each roaring billow show'd full soon 
 
 A white and foamy wreath, 
 
 Like angry dogs, that snarl at first, 
 
 And then display their teeth.
 
 THE SEA-SPELL. l?l 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The boatn>an look'd against the wind, 
 
 The mast began to creak, 
 
 The wave, per saltum, came and dried, 
 
 In salt, upon his cheek ! 
 
 The pointed wave against him rear'd, 
 
 As if it own'd a pique ! 
 
 Nor rushing wind, nor gushing wave, 
 That boatman could alarm, 
 
 1 De Gustibus non e t disputand 
 
 But still he stood away to sea, 
 And trusted in his charm ; 
 He thought by purchase he was safe, 
 And arm'd against all harm ! 
 
 Now thick and fast and far aslant 
 The stormy rain came pouring ; 
 He heard upon the sandy bank 
 The distant breakers roaring 
 A groaning intermitting sound, 
 Like Gog and Magog snoring !
 
 173 THE SEA-SPELL. 
 
 The seafowl shriek'd around the mast, 
 
 Ahead the grampus tumbled, 
 
 And far off, from a copper cloud, 
 
 The hollow thunder rumbled ; 
 
 It would have quail'd another heart, 
 
 But his was never humbled. 
 
 XII. 
 
 For why ? he had that infant's caul ; 
 And wherefore should he dread ? 
 Alas ! alas ! he little thought, 
 Before the ebb-tide sped, 
 That, like that infant, he should die, 
 And with a watery head 1 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The rushing brine flow'd in apace j 
 
 His boat had ne'er a deck ; 
 
 Fate seem'd to call him on, and he 
 
 Attended to her beck ; 
 
 And so he went, still trusting on, 
 
 Though reckless to his wreck ! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 For as he left his helm, to heave 
 
 The ballast bags a-weather, 
 
 Three monstrous seas came roaring on, 
 
 Like lions leagued together. 
 
 The two first waves the little boat 
 
 Swam over like a feather. 
 
 XV. 
 
 The two first waves were past and gone, 
 
 And sinking in her wake ; 
 
 The hugest still came leaping on, 
 
 And hissing like a snake. 
 
 Now helm a-lee ! for through the midst, 
 
 The monster he must take 1 
 
 Ah me ! it was a dreary mount I 
 Its base as black as night, 
 Its top of pale and livid green, 
 Its crest of awful white, 
 Like Neptune with a leprosy, 
 And so it rear'd upright J
 
 THE SEA-SPELL. 173 
 
 XVII. 
 
 With quaking sails the little boat 
 Climb'd up the foaming heap ; 
 With quaking sails it paused awhile, 
 At balance on the steep ; 
 Then rushing down the nether slope, 
 Plunged with a dizzy sweep ! 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Look how a horse, made mad with fear, 
 
 Disdains his careful guide ; 
 
 So now the headlong headstrong boat, 
 
 Unmanaged, turns aside, 
 
 And straight presents her reeling flank 
 
 Against the swelling tide 1 
 
 XIX. 
 
 The gusty wind assaults the sail ; 
 Her ballast lies a-lee ! 
 The windward sheet is taut and stiff I 
 Oh ! the ' Lively 'where is she? 
 Her capsized keel is in the foam, 
 Her pennon's in the sea 1 
 
 XX. 
 
 The wild gull, sailing overhead, 
 Three times beheld emerge 
 The head of that bold mariner, 
 And then she scream'd his dirge I 
 For he had sunk within his grave, 
 Lapp'd in a shroud of surge 1 
 
 XXI. 
 
 The ensuing wave, with horrid foam, 
 Rush'd o'er and cover'd all, 
 The jolly boatman's drowning scream, 
 Was smother'd by the squall: 
 Heaven never heard his cry, nor did 
 The ocean heed his caul I
 
 174 
 
 "A man's a man fur a' that." 
 
 
 
 FAITHLESS NELL Y GRA K 
 
 A PATHETIC BALLAD. 
 
 BEN BATTLE was a soldier bold, 
 
 And used to war's alarms ; 
 But a cannon-ball took off his legf, 
 
 So he laid down his arms ! 
 
 Now as they bore him oft" the field, 
 
 Said he, " Let others shoot, 
 For here I leave my second leg 
 
 And the Forty-Second Foot ! " 
 
 The army-surgeons made him limbs : 
 
 Said he, " They're only pegs : 
 But there's as wooden members quite, 
 
 As represent my legs ! " 
 
 Now Ben he loved a pretty maid, 
 
 Her name was Nelly Gray; 
 So he went to pay her his devours, 
 
 When he'd devour'd his pay ! 
 
 But when he call'd on Nelly Gray, . 
 
 She made him quite a scoff; 
 And when she saw his wooden legs, 
 
 Began to t..ke them off !
 
 FAITHLESS NELL Y GRA Y. 
 
 *O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray! 
 
 Is this your love so warm ? 
 The love that loves a scarlet coat 
 
 Should be more uniform ! " 
 
 Said she, " I loved a soldier once, 
 
 For he was blithe and brave ; 
 But I will never have a man 
 
 JVith both legs in the grave ! 
 
 * Before you had those timber toes. 
 
 Your love I did allow ; 
 But then, you know you stand upon 
 Another footing now ! " 
 
 O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Grayl 
 
 For all your jeering speeches, 
 At duty's call, I left my legs 
 
 In Badajoz's breaches I " 
 
 "Why, then," said she, * you've lost the fee* 
 
 Of legs in war's alarms, 
 ^nd now you cannot wear your shoes 
 
 Upon your feats of arms ! " 
 
 Oh, false and fickle Nelly Gray ! 
 
 I know why you refuse : 
 Though I've no feet, some other man 
 
 Is standing in my shoes ! 
 
 * I wish I ne'er had seen your face ; 
 But, now, a long farewell 1 
 
 For you will be my death ; alas ! 
 You will not be my Nell!" 
 
 Now when he went from Nelly Gray, 
 
 His heart so heavy got, 
 And life was such a burthen grown, 
 
 It made him take a knot ! 
 
 So round his melancholy neck 
 
 A rope he did entwine, 
 And, for his second time in life, 
 
 Enlisted in the Line ! 
 
 One end he tied around a beam, 
 
 And then removed his pegs, 
 And, as his legs were off, of course, 
 
 He soon was off his legs !
 
 176 FANCY PORTRAITS. 
 
 And there he hung, till he was dead 
 
 As any nail in town, 
 For though distress had cut him up, 
 
 It could not cut him down ! 
 
 A dozen men sat on his corpse, 
 
 To find out why he died 
 And they buried Ben in four cross-roads, 
 With a stake in his inside ! . 
 
 The Bard of Hope 
 
 FANCY PORTRAITS. 
 
 MANY authors preface their works with a portr.iit, and it saves 
 the reader a deal of speculation. The world loves to know 
 something of the features of its favourites ; it likes the Geniuses to 
 appear bodily, as well as the Genii. We may estimate the liveliness 
 of this curiosity by the abundance of portraits, masks, busts, china 
 and plaster casts, that are extant, of great or would-be great people. 
 As soon as a gentleman has proved, in print, th.it he really has a 
 head, a score of artists begin to brush at it. The literary lions have 
 no peace to their manes. Sir Walter is eternally sitting like Theseus 
 to some painter or other ; and the late Lord Byron threw out more 
 he;<ds before he died than Hydra. The first novel of Mr Gait had 
 barely been announced in the second edition, when he was requested
 
 FANCY PORTRAITS. 
 
 177 
 
 to allow himself to be taken "in one minute ;" Mr Geoffrey Crayon 
 was no sooner known to be Mr Washington Irving, than he was 
 waited upon with a sheet of paper and a pair of scissors. 
 
 The whole world, in fact, is one Lavater : it likes to find its pre- 
 judices confirmed by the Hooke nose of the author of" Sayings and 
 Doings" or the lines and angles in the honest face of Izaak Walton. 
 It is gratified in dwelling on the repulsive features of a Newgate 
 ordinary ; and would be disappointed to miss the seraphic expression 
 on the author of the " Angel of the World/' The Old Bailey jurymen 
 are physiognomists to a fault ; and if a rope can transform a male- 
 factor into an Adonis, a hard gallows face as often brings the malefactor 
 to the rope. A low forehead is enough to bring down its head to the 
 dust A well-favoured man meets with good countenance ; but when 
 
 Mr Crabbe. 
 
 people are plain and hard-featured (like the poor, for instance), we 
 grind their faces ; an expression, I am convinced, that refers to phy- 
 siognomical theory. 
 
 For my part, I confess a sympathy with the common failing. I 
 take likings and dislikings, as some play music, at sight. The polar 
 attractions and repulsions insisted on by the phrenologist, affect me 
 not ; but I am not proof against a pleasant or villainous set of features. 
 Sometimes, I own, I am led by the nose (not my own, but thil of the 
 other party) in my prepossessions. 
 
 My curiosity does not object to the disproportionate number of por- 
 traits in the annual exhibition, nor grudge the expense of engrav- 
 ing a gentleman's head and shoulders. Like Judith, and the daughter 
 of Herodias, I have a taste for a head in a plate, and accede cheerfully 
 to the charge of the charger. A book without a portrait of the author 
 is worse than anonymous. As in a churchyard, yoq may look. on. 
 any number of ribs and shin-bones as so mapy sticks merely, without 
 interest ; but if there should chance to be a skull ne ir hand, it claims
 
 [ 7 8 
 
 FANCY PORTRAITS. 
 
 the relics at once, so it is with the author's headpiece in front of his 
 pages. The portrait claims the work. The "Arcadia," for instance, I 
 know is none of mine it belongs to that young fair gentleman in 
 armour with a ruff ! 
 
 So necessary it is for me to have an outward visible sign of the 
 inward spiritual poet or philosopher, that in default of an authentic 
 
 resemblance, I cannot help forging for him an effigy in my mind's 
 eye, a Fancy Portrait A few examples of contemporaries I have 
 sketched down, but my collection is far from complete. 
 
 How have I longed to glimpse, in fancy, the Great Unknown ! 
 the Roc of Literature ! but he keeps his head, like Ben Lomond, 
 enveloped in a cloud. How have I sighed for a beau ideal of the 
 author of " Christabel" and the "Ancient Marinere !" but I have been 
 mocked with a dozen images confusing each other, and indistinct as 
 
 The Author of " Broad Grins." 
 
 water is in water. My only clear revelation was a pair of Hessian 
 boots highly polished, or what the ingenious Mr Warren would 
 denominate his " Aids to Reflection ! " 
 
 I was more certain of the figure, at least, of Dr Kitchener, 
 though I had a misgiving about his features, wliich made me have
 
 FANCY PORJ^RAITS. 
 
 179 
 
 recourse to a substitute for his head. Moore's profile struck me over 
 a bottle after dinner, and the countenance of Mr Bowles occurred to 
 me, as in a mirror, by a tea-table suggestion ; Colman's at the same 
 service ; and Mr Crabbe entered my mind's eye with the supper. 
 But the Bard of Hope the Laureate of promise and expectation, 
 occurred to me at no meal-time. We all know how Hope feeds her 
 own. 
 
 I had a lively image of the celebrated Denon in a midnight dream, 
 and made out the full length of the juvenile Graham from a hint of 
 Mr Hilton's. 
 
 At a future season, I hope to complete my gallery of Fancy Por- 
 traits. 

 
 WHIMS AND ODDITIES. 
 
 (SECOND SERIES, 1827.) 
 
 " What Demon hath possessed thee, that thou wilt never forsake that impertinent custom 
 of punning ?" SCRIBI.ERUS. 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 IN the absence of better fiddles, I have ventured to come forward 
 again with my little kit of fancies. I trust it will not be found 
 an unworthy sequel to my first performance ; indeed, I have done my 
 best, in the New Series, innocently to imitate a practice that prevails 
 abroad in duelling I mean, that of the seconds giving satisfaction. 
 
 The kind indulgence that welcomed my voivroe heretofore, prevents 
 me from reiterating the same apologies. The public have learned by 
 this time, from my rude designs, that I air. no great artist, and from 
 my text, that I am no great author, but humbly equivocating, batlike, 
 between the two kinds ; though proud to partake in any character- 
 istic of either. As for the first particular, my hope persuades me that 
 my illustrations cannot have degenerated, so ably as I have been 
 seconded by Mr Edward Willis, who, like the humane Walter, has 
 befriended my offspring in the Wood.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 iSi 
 
 In the literary part I have to plead guilty, as usual, to some verbal 
 misdemeanours ; for which I must leave my defence to Dean Swift, 
 and the other great European and Oriental Pundits. Let me suggest, 
 however, that a pun is somewhat like a cherry : though there may be 
 
 a~ slight outward indication of partition of duplicity of meaning yet 
 no gentleman need make two bites at it against his own pleasure. To 
 accommodate certain readers, notwithstanding, I have refrained from 
 putting the majority in italics. It is not every one, I am aware, that 
 can Toler-ate a pun like my Lord Norbury.
 
 i8a 
 BIANCAS DREAM. 
 
 A VENETIAN STORY. 
 
 BiANCA ! fair Bianca ! who could dwell 
 With safety on her dark and hazel gaze, 
 
 Nor find there lurk'd in it a witching spell, 
 Fatal to balmy nights and blessed days ? 
 
 The peaceful breath that made the bosom swell, 
 She turn'd to gas, and set it in a blaze ; 
 
 Each eye of hers had Love's Eupyrion in it, 
 
 That he could light his link at in a minute. 
 
 n. 
 
 So that, wherever in her-charms she shone, 
 A thousand breasts were kindled into flame ; 
 
 Maidens who cursed her looks forgot their own, 
 
 And beaux were turn'd to flambeaux where she came ; 
 
 All hearts indeed were conquer' d but her own, 
 Which none could ever temper down or tame : 
 
 In short, to take our haberdasher's hints, 
 
 She might have written over it, " from Flint's.'' 
 
 IIL 
 
 She was, in truth, the wonder of her sex, 
 At least in Venice where, with eyes of brown, 
 
 Tenderly languid, ladies seldom vex 
 
 An amorous gentle with a needless frown ; 
 
 Where gondolas convey guitars by pecks, 
 And Love at casements climbeth up and down, 
 
 Whom, for his tricks and custom in that kind, 
 
 Some have consider^ a Venetian blind. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Howbeit, this difference was quickly taught, 
 Amongst more youths who had this cruel jailor, 
 
 To hapless Julio all in vain he sought 
 
 With each new moon his hatter and his tailor ; 
 
 In vain the richest padusoy he bought, 
 
 And went in bran new beaver to assail her 
 
 As if to show that Love had made him smart 
 
 All over and not merely round his heart.
 
 SIANCA'S DREAM. 183 
 
 V. 
 
 In vain he labour'd thro' the sylvan park 
 
 Bianca haunted in that where she came, 
 Her learned eyes in wandering might mark 
 
 The twisted cipher of her maiden name, 
 Wholesomely going thro' a course of bark : 
 
 No one was touch'd or troubled by his flame, 
 Except the dryads, those old maids that grow 
 In trees, like wooden dolls in embryo. 
 
 VI. 
 
 In vain complaining elegies he writ, 
 And taught his tuneful instrument to grieve, 
 
 And sang in quavers how his heart was split, 
 Constant beneath her lattice with each eve ; 
 
 She mock'd his wooing with her wicked wit, 
 And slash'd his suit so that it match'd his sleeve, 
 
 Till he grew silent at the vesper star, 
 
 And, quite despairing, hamstnng'd his guitar. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Bianca's heart was coldly frosted o'er 
 With snows unmelting an eternal sheet; 
 
 But his was red within him, like the core 
 Of old Vesuvius, with perpetual heat ; 
 
 And oft he long'd internally to pour 
 
 His flames and glowing lava at her feet ; 
 
 But when his burnings he began to spout, 
 
 She stopp'd his mouth, and put the crater out. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Meanwhile he wasted in the eyes of men, 
 So thin, he seem'd a sort of skeleton-key 
 
 Suspended at Death's door so pale and then 
 He turn'd as nervous as an aspen-tree ; 
 
 The life of man is threescore years and ten, 
 But he was perishing at twenty-three ; 
 
 For people truly said, as grief grew stronger, 
 
 a It could not shorten his poor life much longer. 1 
 
 IX. 
 
 For why he neither slept, nor drank, nor fed, 
 Nor relish'd any kind of mirth below ; 
 
 Fire in his heart, and frenzy in his head, 
 Love had become his universal foe,
 
 184 BIANCA'S DREAM. 
 
 Salt in his sugar nightmare in his bed. 
 
 At last, no wonder wretched Julio, 
 A sorrow-ridden thing, in utter dearth 
 Of hope made up his mind to cut her girth f 
 
 For hapless lovers always died of old, 
 Sooner than chew reflection's bitter cud ; 
 
 So Thisbe stuck herself, what time 'tis told 
 The tender-hearted mulberries wept blood ; 
 
 And so poor Sappho, when her boy was cold, 
 Drown'd her salt tear-drops in a salter flood, 
 
 Their fame still breathing, tho' their breath be pasty 
 
 For those old suitors lived beyond their last. 
 
 XI. 
 
 So Julio went to drown, when life was dull, 
 But took his corks, and merely had a bath ; 
 
 And once he pull'd a trigger at his skull, 
 But merely broke a window in his wrath ; 
 
 And once, his hopeless being to annul, 
 He tied a packthread to a beam of lath, 
 
 A line so ample, 'twas a query whether 
 
 'Twas meant to be a halter or a tether. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Smile not in scorn, that Julio did not thrust 
 His sorrows thro' 'tis horrible to die ! 
 
 And come down with our little all of dust, 
 That dun of all the duns to satisfy : 
 
 To leave life's pleasant city as we must, 
 
 In Death's most dreary spunging-house to lie, 
 
 Where even all our personals must go 
 
 To pay the debt of Nature that we owe 1 
 
 XIII. 
 
 So Julio lived : 'twas nothing but a pet 
 
 He took at life a momentary spite ; 
 Besides, he hoped that time would some day get 
 
 The better of love's flame, however bright ; 
 A thing that time has never compass'd yet, 
 For love, we know, is an immortal light ; 
 Like that old fire, that, quite beyond a doubt, 
 Was always in, for none have found it out. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Meanwhile, Bianca dream'd 'twas once when Night 
 Along the darken'd plain began to creep,
 
 BIANCA'S DREAM. 185 
 
 Like a young Hottentot, whose eyes are bright, 
 
 Altho in skin as sooty as a sweep : 
 The flowers had shut their eyes the zephyr light 
 
 Was gone, for it had rock'd the leaves to sleep ; 
 And all the little birds had laid their heads 
 Under their wings sleeping in feather beds. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Lone in her chamber sate the dark-eyed maid, 
 
 By easy stages jaunting thro' her prayers, 
 But listening sidelong to a serenade, 
 
 That robb'd the saints a little of their shares : 
 For Julio underneath the lattice play'd 
 
 His Deh Vieni, and such amorous airs, 
 Born only underneath Italian skies, 
 Where every fiddle has a Bridge of Sighs. 
 
 XVL 
 
 Sweet was the tune the words were even sweeter- 
 Praising her eyes, her lips, her nose, her hair, 
 
 With all the common tropes wherewith in metre 
 The hackney poets overcharge their fair. 
 
 Her shape was like Diana's, but completer ; 
 
 Her brow with Grecian Helen's might compare : 
 
 Cupid, alas ! was cruel Sagittarius, 
 
 Julio the weeping water-man Aquarius. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Now, after listing to such laudings rare 
 
 'Twas very natural indeed to go 
 What if she did postpone one little prayer 
 
 To ask her mirror, " if it was not so ?" 
 Twas a large mirror, none the worse for wear, 
 
 Reflecting her at once from top to toe : 
 And there she gazed upon that glossy track, 
 That show'd her front face tho" it " gave her back," 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 And long her lovely eyes were held in thrall, 
 By that dear page where first the woman reads: 
 
 That Julio was no flatterer, none at all, 
 
 She told herself and then she told her beads ; 
 
 Meanwhile, the nerves insensibly let fall 
 Two curtains fairer than the lily breeds ; 
 
 For Sleep had crept and kiss'd her unawares, 
 
 Just at the half-way milestone of her prayers.
 
 186 BIANCA'S DREAM. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Then like a drooping rose so bended she, 
 Till her bow'd head upon her hand reposed ; 
 
 But still she plainly saw, or seem'd to see, 
 That fair reflexion, tho* her eyes were closed, 
 
 A beauty bright as it was wont to be, 
 A portrait Fancy painted while she dozed : 
 
 Tis very natural, some people say, 
 
 To dream of what we dwell on in the day. 
 
 Still shone her face yet not, alas ! the same, 
 
 But 'gan some dreary touches to assume, 
 And sadder thoughts, with sadder changes came 
 Her eyes resign'd their light, her lips their bloom, 
 Her teeth fell out, her tresses did the same, 
 
 Her cheeks were tinged with bile, her eyes with rheum : 
 There was'a throbbing at her heart within, 
 For, oh ! there was a shooting in her chin. 
 
 XXL 
 
 And lo ! upon her sad, desponding brow, 
 
 The cruel trenches of besieging age, 
 With seams, but most unseemly, 'gan to show 
 
 Her place was booking for the seventh stage ; 
 And where her raven tresses used to flow, 
 
 Some locks that Time had left her in his rage, 
 And some mock ringlets, made her forehead shady, 
 A compound (like our Psalms) of tele and braidy. 
 
 XXIL 
 
 Then for her shape alas ! how Saturn wrecks, 
 And bends, and corkscrews all the frame about, 
 
 Doubles the hams, and crooks the straightest necks, 
 Draws in the nape,~and pushes forth -the snout, 
 
 Makes backs and stomachs concave or convex ; 
 Witness those pensioners call'd In and Out, 
 
 Who all day watching first and second rater, 
 
 Quaintly unbend themselves but grow no straighten 
 
 XXIIL 
 
 So Time with fair Bianca dealt, and made 
 
 Her shape a bow, that once was like an arrow ; 
 
 His iron hand upon her spine he laid, 
 And twisted all awry her " winsome marrow."
 
 BIANCA'S DREAM. 187 
 
 In truth it was a change ! she had obey'd 
 
 The holy Pope before her chest grew narrow, 
 But spectacles and palsy seem'd to make her 
 (Something between a Glassite and a Quaker. 
 
 In and Out Pensioners. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Her grief and gall meanwhile were quite extreme, 
 And she had ample reason for her trouble ; 
 
 For what sad maiden can endure to seem 
 Set in for singleness, tho' growing double. 
 
 The fancy madden'd her ; but now the dream, 
 Grown thin by getting bigger, like a bubble, 
 
 Burst, but still left some" fragments of its size, 
 
 That, like the soapsuds, smarted in her eyes. 
 
 And here just here as she began to heed 
 
 The real world, her clock chimed out its score ; 
 
 A clock it was of the Venetian breed, 
 
 That cried the hour from one to twenty-four ; 
 
 The works moreover standing in some need 
 Of workmanship, it struck some dozens more ; 
 
 A warning voice that clench'd Bianca's fears, 
 
 Such strokes referring doubtless to her years.
 
 188 BIANCA'S DREAM. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 At fifteen chimes she was but half a nun, 
 By twenty she had quite renounced the veil ; 
 
 She thought of Julio just at twenty-one, 
 And thirty made her very sad and pale, 
 
 To paint that ruin where her charms would nin ; 
 At forty all the maid began to fail, 
 
 And thought no higher, as the late dream cross'd her, 
 
 Of single blessedness, than single Gloster. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 And so Bianca changed ; the next sweet even, 
 
 With Julio in a black Venetian bark, 
 Row'd slow and stealthily the hour, eleven, 
 
 Just sounding from the tower of old St Mark. 
 She sate with eyes turn'd quietly to heaven, 
 
 Perchance rejoicing in the grateful dark 
 That veil'd her blushing cheek, for Julio brought her, 
 Of course to break the ice upon the water. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 But what a puzzle is one's serious mind 
 To open ; oysters, when the ice is thick, 
 
 Are not so difficult and disinclined ; 
 And Julio felt the declaration stick 
 
 About his throat in a most awful kind ; 
 However, he contrived by bits to pick 
 
 His trouble forth, much like a rotten cork 
 
 Groped from a long-neck'd bottle with a fork. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 But love is still the quickest of all readers ; 
 
 And Julio spent besides those signs profuse 
 That English telegraphs and foreign pleaders, 
 
 In help of language, are so apt to use ; 
 Arms, shoulders, fingers, all were interceders, 
 
 Nods, shrugs, and bends, Bianca could not choose 
 But soften to his suit with more facility, 
 He told his story with so much agility. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " Be thou my park, and I will be thy dear, 
 (So he began at last to speak or quote;) 
 
 Be thou my bark, and I thy gondolier, 
 (For passion takes this figurative note ;)
 
 SIANGAN DREAM. 
 
 Be thou my light, and I thy chandelier ; 
 
 Be thou my dove, and I will be thy cote : 
 My lily be, and I will be thy river ; 
 Be thou my life and I will be thy liver." 
 
 This, with more tender logic of the kind, 
 He pour'd into her small and shell-like ear, 
 
 That timidly against his lips inclined ; 
 
 Meanwhile her eyes glanced on the silver sphere 
 
 That even now began to steal behind 
 
 A dewy vapour, which was lingering near, 
 
 Wherein the dull moon crept all dim and pale, 
 
 Just like a virgin putting on the veil : 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Bidding adieu to all her sparks the stars, 
 That erst had woo'd and worshipp'd in her train, 
 
 Saturn and Hesperus, and gallant Mars 
 Never to flirt with heavenly eyes again. 
 
 Meanwhile, remindful of the convent bars, 
 Bianca did not watch these signs in vain, 
 
 But turn'd to Julio at the dark eclipse, 
 
 With words, like verbal kisses, on her lips. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 He took the hint full speedily, and, back'd 
 By love, and night, and the occasion's meetness, 
 
 Bestowed a something on her cheek that smack'd 
 (Tho' quite in silence) of ambrosial sweetness, 
 
 That made her think all other kisses lack'd 
 Till then, but what she knew not, of completeness 
 
 Being used but sisterly salutes to feel, 
 
 Insipid things like sandwiches of veal 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 He took her hand, and soon she felt him wring 
 The pretty fingers all instead of one ; 
 
 Anon his stealthy arm began to cling 
 
 About her waist, that hnd been clasp'd by none ; 
 
 Their dear confessions I forbear to sing, 
 
 Since cold description would but be outrun : 
 
 For bliss and Irish watches have the pow'r, 
 
 In twenty minutes, to lose half-an-hour 1
 
 
 X BALLAD SINGER 
 
 T S a town-crier for the advertising of lost tunes. Hunger hath made 
 J. him a wind instrument : his want is vocal, and not he. His voice 
 had gone a-begging before he took it up and applied it to the same 
 trade ; it was too strong to hawk mackerel, but was just soft enough 
 for " Robin Adair." His business is to make popular songs unpopular, 
 he gives the air, like a weathercock, with many variations. As for a 
 key, he has but one a latch-key for all manner of tunes ; and as they 
 are to pass current amongst the lower sorts of people, he makes his 
 ^iotes like a country banker's, as thick as he can. His tones have a 
 copper sound, for he sounds for copper; and for the musical divisions 
 he hath no regnrd, but sings on, like a kettle, without taking any heed 
 of the bars. Before beginning, he clears his pipe with gin ; and he is 
 always hoarse from the thorough draft in his throat He hath but one 
 shake, and that is in winter. His voice sounds flat, from flatulence ; 
 and he fetches breath, like a drowning kitten, whenever he can. Not- 
 withstanding all this, his music gains ground, for it walks with him 
 from end to end of the street. 
 
 He is your only performer that requires not many entreaties for a 
 song ; for he will chaunt, without asking, to a street cur or a parish 
 post. His only backwardness is to a stave after dinner, seeing that h2 
 never dines ; for he sings for bread, and though corn has ears, sings 
 very commonly in vain. As for his country, he is an Englishman, that, 
 by his birthright may sing whether he can or not. To conclude, he is 
 reckoned passable in the city, but is not so good off the stones.
 
 191 
 
 Gin a body meet a body." 
 
 MAXY'S GHOST. 
 
 A PATHETIC BALLAD. 
 
 TWAS in the middle of the night, 
 To sleep young William tried, 
 
 When Mary's ghost came stealing in. 
 And stood at his bedside. 
 
 II. 
 
 William dear ! O William dear ! 
 My rest eternal ceases ; 
 
 Alas ! my everlasting peace 
 Is broken into pieces. 
 
 III. 
 
 1 thought the last of all my cares 
 
 Would end with my last minute ; 
 But though I went to my long home, 
 I didn't stay long in it.
 
 I9 MARY'S GHOST. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The body-snatchers they have come, 
 And made a snatch at me ; 
 
 It's very hard them kind of men 
 Won't let a body be ! 
 
 You thought that I was buried deep, 
 Quite decent like and chary, 
 
 But from her grave in Mary-bone 
 They've come and boned your Mary. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The arm that used to take your arm 
 
 Is took to Dr Vyse ; 
 And both my legs are gone to walk 
 
 The hospital at Guy's. 
 
 VII. 
 
 I vow'd that you should have my hand, 
 
 But fate gives us denial ; 
 You'll find it there, at Doctor Bell'i 
 
 In spirits and a phial. 
 
 As for my feet, the little feet 
 You used to call so pretty, 
 
 There's one, I know, in Bedford Row 
 The t'other's in the city. 
 
 IX. 
 
 I can't tell where my head is gone< 
 
 But Doctor Carpue can : 
 As for my trunk, it's all pack'd up 
 
 To go by Pickford's van. 
 
 I wish you'd go to Mr P. 
 
 And save me such a ride ; 
 I don't half like the outside place, 
 They've took for my inside. 
 
 XI. 
 
 The cock it crows I must be gone I 
 My William, we must part 1 
 
 But I'll be yours in death, altho* 
 Sir Astley has my heart
 
 TO& PROGRESS OF ART. 
 
 XIL 
 
 Don't go to weep upon my grave, 
 And think that there I be ; 
 
 They haven't left an atom there 
 Of my anatomie. 
 
 Infant Owus. 
 
 THE PROGRESS OF ART. 
 
 O HAPPY time ! Art's early days ! 
 
 When o'er each deed, with sweet self-praise, 
 
 Narcissus-like I hung ! 
 When great Rembrandt but little seem'd. 
 And such Old Masters all were deem'd 
 
 As nothing to the young ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Some scratchy strokes abrupt and few, 
 So easily and swift I drew, 
 
 Sufficed for my design ; 
 My sketchy, superficial hand 
 Drew solids at a dash and spann'd 
 
 A surface with a line.
 
 T94 THE PROGRESS OF ART. 
 
 Not long my eye was thus content, 
 But grew more critical my bent 
 
 Essny'd a higher walk ; 
 I copied leaden eyes in lead 
 Rheumatic hands in white and red, 
 
 And gouty feet in chalk. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Anon my studious art for days 
 Kept making faces happy phrase 
 
 For faces such as mine ! 
 Accomplished in the details then, 
 I left the minor parts of men, 
 
 And drew the form divine. 
 
 Old Gods and Heroes Trojan 
 Figures long after the antique, 
 
 Great Ajax justly fear'd ; 
 Hectors, of whom at night I dre;imt, 
 And Nestor, fringed enough to tempt 
 
 Bird-nesters to his beard. 
 
 A Bacchus, leering on a bowl, 
 A Pallas, that out- stared her uwl, 
 
 A Vulcan very lame ; 
 A Dian stuck about with stars, 
 With my right hand 1 murder'd Mars 
 
 (One Williams did the same), 
 
 But tired of this dry work at last, 
 Crayon and chalk aside I cast, 
 
 And gave my brush a drink \ 
 Dipping "as when a painter dips 
 In gloom of earthquake and eclipse," 
 
 That is in Indian ink. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Oh, then, what black Mont Blancs arose^ 
 Crested with soot, and not with snows : 
 
 What clouds of dingy hue ! 
 In spite of what the Bard has penn'd, 
 I fear the distance did not " lend 
 
 Enchantment to the view."
 
 THE PROGRESS OF ART. 195 
 
 IX. 
 
 Not Radcliffe's brush did e'er design 
 Black Forests half so black ;is mine, 
 
 Or lakes so like a pall ; 
 The Chinese cake dispersed a ray 
 Of darkness, like the light of Day 
 
 And Martin over all. 
 
 Yet urchin pride sustain'd me still, 
 I gazed on all with right good will, 
 
 And spread the dingy tint ; 
 " No holy Luke help'd me to paint ; 
 The Devil surely, not a Saint, 
 
 Had any finger in't ! " 
 
 XL 
 
 But colours came ! like morning light, 
 With gorgeous hues displacing night, 
 
 Or Spring's enliven'd scene : 
 At once the sable shades withdrew : 
 My skies got very, very blue ; 
 
 My trees extremely green. 
 
 And wash'd by my cosmetic brush, 
 How Beauty's cheek began to blush ; 
 
 With locks of auburn stain 
 (Not Goldsmith's Auburn) nut-brown hair, 
 That made her loveliest of the fair ; 
 
 Not " loveliest of the plain ! " 
 
 . XIII. 
 
 Her lips were of vermilion hue ; 
 Love in her eyes, and Prussian blue, 
 
 Set all my heart in flame ! 
 A young Pygmalion, I adortd 
 The maids I made but time was iiored 
 
 With evil and it came 1 ! 
 
 Perspective dawn'd and soon T saw 
 My nouses stand against its law ; 
 
 And " keeping" fill unkept ! 
 My beauties wtre no longer things 
 For love and fond imaginings, 
 
 But horrors to be wept !
 
 A SCHOOL FOR ADULTS. 
 
 Ah ! why did knowledge ope my eyes ? 
 Why did I get more artist-wise ? 
 
 It only serves to hint 
 What grave defects and wants are mine ; 
 That I'm no Hilton in design 
 
 In nature no Dewint ! 
 
 Thrice happy time ! Art's early days ! 
 When o'er each deed, with sweet self-praise, 
 
 Narcissus-like I hung ! 
 When great Rembrandt but little seem'd, 
 And such Old Masters all were deem'd 
 
 As nothing to the young ! 
 
 Better late than never." 
 
 A SCHOOL FOR ADULTS. 
 
 Servant. How well you saw 
 
 Your father to school to-day, knowing how apt 
 
 He is to play the truant 
 
 But is he not 
 
 Yet gone to school? 
 
 Stand by, and you shall see. 
 
 San. 
 Strvaut. 
 
 Enter three OM Men tvith satchels, singing. 
 All Three. Domine, Domine, duster, 
 
 Son. 
 
 Three knaves in a cluster. 
 
 Oh, this is gallant pastime. Nay, r'.me on ; 
 
 Is this your school was that your lesson, ha?
 
 A SCHOOL FOR ADULTS. 197 
 
 tlf Old Man. Pray, now, good son, indeed, indeed 
 
 San. Indeed 
 
 You shall to school. Away with him I and take 
 
 Their wag-hips with him, the whole cluster of them. 
 *d Old Man. You shan't send us, now, sa you shan't 
 jrf Old Man. We be none of your father, so we ben't. 
 Son. Away with 'em, I say ; and tell their schoolmistress 
 
 What truants they are, and bid her pay 'em soundly. 
 All Three. Oh! oh! oh I ' 
 Lady. Alas ! wi 1 nobody beg pardon for 
 
 The poor old boys T 
 
 Traveller. Do men of such fair years here go to school t 
 Native. They wou:d die dunces else. 
 
 These were great scholars in their youth ; but when 
 
 Age grows upon men here, their learning wastes, 
 
 And so decays, that, if they live until 
 
 Threescore, their sens send 'em to school again : 
 
 They'd die as speechless else as new-born children. 
 Traveller.. 'Tis a wise nation, and the piety 
 
 Of the young men most rare and commendable : 
 
 Yet give me, as a stranger, leave to beg 
 
 Their liberty .this day. 
 Sfft. 'Tis granted. 
 
 Hold up your heads ; and thank the gent'eman. 
 
 Like scholars, wi'h your heels now. 
 
 All Thru. Gratias I Gratias 1 Gratias I {Exeunt sinking.] 
 
 u The Antipodes "By R. "BROMB. 
 
 A MONGST the foundations for the promotion of National Educa- 
 l\ tion, I had heard of Schools for Adults ; but I doubted of their 
 existence. They were, I thought, merely the fancies of old dramatists, 
 such as that scene just quoted ; or the suggestions of philanthropists 
 the theoretical buildings of modern philosophers benevolent pro- 
 spectuses drawn up by warm-hearted enthusiasts, but of schemes 
 never to be realised. They were probably only the bubble projections 
 of a junto of interested pedagogues, not content with the entrance 
 moneys of the rising generation, but aiming to exact a premium from 
 the unlettered greybeard. The age, I argued, was not ripe for such 
 institutions, in spite of the spread of intelligence, and the vast power 
 of knowledge insisted on by the public journalist. I could not con- 
 ceive a set of men, or gentlemen, of mature years, if not aged, entering 
 themselves as members of preparatory schools and petty seminaries, 
 in defiance of shame, humiliation, and the contumely of a literary age. 
 It seemed too whimsical to contemplate fathers and venerable grand- 
 fathers emulating the infant generation, and seeking for instruction 
 in the rudiments. My imagination refused to picture the hoary 
 abecedarian 
 
 " With satchel on his back, and shining morning face, 
 Creeping, like snail, unwillingly to school." 
 
 Fancy grew restive at a patriarchal ignoramus with a fool's-cap, and a 
 rod thrust down his bosom ; at a palsied truant dodging the palmy 
 inflictions of the cane ; or a silver-headed dunce horsed on a pair o 
 rheumatic shoulders for a paralytic flagellation. The picture notwith- 
 standing is realised ! Elderly people seem to have considered that 
 they will be as awkwardly situated in the other world as here without 
 their alphabet, and Schools for Grown Persons to learn to read are 
 no more Utopian than New Harmony. The following letter from ap
 
 198 A SCHOOL FOR ADULTS. 
 
 old gentljman, whose education had been neglected,* confirms me in 
 the fact. It is copied, verbatim and literatim, from the original, which 
 fell into my hands by accident. 
 
 BLACK HEATH, November 1827. 
 
 Deer Brother, 
 
 My honnerd Parents being Both desist I feal my 
 deuty to give you Sum Acount Qf the Progress I have maid in my 
 studdys since last Vocation. You will be ^ratefied to hear I am at 
 the Hed of my Class and Tom Hodges is at its Bottom, tho He was 
 Seventy last Burth Day and I am onely going on for Three Skore. I 
 have begun Gografy and do exsizes on the Globs. In fibers I am all 
 most out the fore Simples and going into Compounds next weak. In 
 the mean time hop you will aprove my Hand riting as well as my 
 Speling witch I have took grate panes with as you desird. As for the 
 French Tung Mr Legender says I shall soon get the pronounciation 
 as well as a Parishiner but the Master thinks its not advisible to begin 
 Lattin at my advancd ears. 
 
 With respecks to my Pearsonal comfits I am verry happy and midling 
 Well xcept the old Cumplant in my To but the Master is so kind 
 as to let me have a Cushin for my feat. If their is any thing to cum- 
 plane of its the Vittles. Our Cook dont understand Maid dishes. 
 Her Currys is xcrabble. Tom Hodges Foot Man brings him Evry 
 Day soop from Birches. I wish you providid me the same. On the 
 hole I wish on menny Acounts I was a Day border partickly as 
 Barlow sleeps in our Room and coffs all nite long. His brother's 
 Ashmy is wus then his. He has took lately to snuff and I have wishes 
 to do the like. Its very dull after Supper since Mr Grierson took away 
 the fellers Pips, and forbid smocking, and allmost raized a Riot on 
 that hed, and some of the Boys was to have Been horst for it. I am 
 happy (to) say I have never been floged as yet and onely Caind once 
 and that was for damming at the Cooks chops becous they was so 
 overdun, but there was to have been fore Wiped yeaster day for 
 Playing Wist in skool hours, but was Begd off on acount of their 
 Lumbargo. 
 
 I am sorry to say Ponder has had another Stronk of the perrylatirks 
 and has no Use of his Lims. He is Parrs fag and Parr has got the 
 Roomytix bysides very bad but luckly its onely stiffind one Arm so he 
 has still Hops to get the Star for Heliocution. Poor Dick Combs 
 eye site has quite gone or he would have a good chance for the Silvur 
 Pen. 
 
 Mundy was one of the Fellers Burths Days nnd we was to have a 
 hole Holiday but he dyed sudnly over nite of the appoplxy and dis- 
 appinted us verry much. Two moor was fetcht home last Weak so 
 that we are getting very thin partickly when we go out Wanking, witch 
 is seldom more than three at a time, their is allways so menny in the 
 nursry. I forgot to say Garrat run off a month ago he got verry 
 
 * See Elia's Letter to an Old Gentleman whose Education has been Neglected, 
 London Magazine, January 1825 ; Complete Works of Charles Lamb, p. 404.
 
 A SCHOOL FOR ADULTS. 194 
 
 Homesick ever since his Granchilderen cum to sea him at skooi, Mr 
 Grierson has expeld him for running away. 
 
 On Tuesday a new Schollard cum. He is a very old crusty Chaj 
 and not much lick'd for that resin by the rest of the Boys, whom all 
 Teas Tlim, and call him Phig because he is a retired Grosser. Mi 
 Grierson declind another New Boy because he hadnt had the Mizzles. 
 I have red Gays Fabbles and the other books You were so kind to 
 send me and would be glad of moor partickly the Gentlemans with 
 a Welsh Whig and a Worming Pan when you foreward my Closebox 
 with my clean Lining like wise sum moor Fleasy Hoshery for my legs 
 and the Cardmums I rit for with the French Grammer c. Also 
 weather I am to Dance next quarter. The Gimnystacks is being 
 interdeuced into our Skool but is so Voilent no one follows them but 
 Old Parr and He cant get up his Pole. 
 
 I have no more to rite but hop this letter will find you as Well as 
 me; Mr Grierson is in Morning for Mr Linly Murry of whose loss 
 you have herd of xcept which he is in Quite good Helth and desires 
 his Respective Complements with witch 1 remane 
 Your deutiful and 
 
 loving Brother 
 
 S.P. Barlow and Phigg have just had a fite in the Yard about 
 calling names and Phigg has pegged Barlows tooth out But it was 
 loose before. Mr G. dont allow Puglism, if he nose it among the Boys, 
 as at their Times of lifes it might be fade partickly from puling their 
 Coats of in the open Are. 
 
 Our new Husher his cum and is verry well Red in his Mother's 
 tung, witch is the mane thing with Beginers but We wish the Frentch 
 Master was changed on Acountof his Pollyticks and Religun. Brass- 
 brige and him is always Squabling about Bonnyparty and the Pop of 
 Room. Has for Barlow we cant tell weather He is Wig or Tory foi 
 he cant express his Sentymints for Coffing.
 
 The Spare Bed. 
 
 A LEGEND OF NA VARRE. 
 
 'TWAS in the reign of Lewis, call'd the Great, 
 As one may read on his triumphal arches, 
 
 The thing befel I'm going to relate, 
 
 In course of one of those "pomposo" marches 
 
 He loved to make, like any gorgeous Persian, 
 
 Partly for war, and partly for diversion. 
 
 II. 
 
 Some wag had put it in the royal brain 
 
 To drop a visit at an old chateau, 
 Quite unexpected, with his courtly train ; 
 
 The monarch liked it, but it happen'd so^ 
 That Death had got before them by a post, 
 And they were " reckoning without their host? 
 
 Who died exactly as a child should die, 
 Without one groan or a convulsive breath, 
 
 Closing without one pang his quiet eye, 
 Sliding composedly from sleep to death ; 
 
 A corpse so placid ne'er adorn'd a bed, 
 
 He seem'd not quite but only rather dead.
 
 A LEGEND Of NA VARRE. 
 
 IV. 
 
 All night the widow'd Baroness contrived 
 To shed a widow's tears ; but on the morrow 
 
 Some news of such unusual sort arrived, 
 There came strange alteration in her sorrow ; 
 
 From mouth to mouth it pass'd, one common humming 
 
 Throughout the house the King ! the King is coming 1 
 
 V. 
 
 The Baroness, with all her soul and heart 
 
 A loyal woman (now call'd ultra-royal), 
 Soon thrust all funeral concerns apart, 
 
 And only thought about a banquet-royal ; 
 In short, by aid of earnest preparation, 
 The visit quite dismiss'd the visitation. 
 
 And, spite of all her grief for the ex-mate, 
 
 There was a secret hope she could not smother, 
 
 That some one, early, might replace " the late " - 
 It was too soon to think about another ; 
 
 Yet let her minutes of despair be reckon'd 
 
 Against her hope, which was but for a second. 
 
 She almost thought that being thus bereft 
 
 Just then was one of Time's propitious touches ; 
 
 A thread in such a nick so nick'd, it left 
 Free opportunity to be a duchess ; 
 
 Thus all her care was only to look pleasant, 
 
 But as for tears she dropp'd them for the present. 
 
 Her household, as good servants ought to try, 
 Look'd like their lady anything but sad, 
 
 And giggled even that they might not cry, 
 To damp fine company ; in truth they had 
 
 No time to mourn, thro' choking turkeys' throttles 
 
 Scouring old laces, and reviewing bottles. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Oh, what a hubbub for the house of woe ! 
 
 All, resolute to one irresolution, 
 Kept tearing, swearing, plunging to and fro, 
 
 Just like another French mob-revolution. 
 There lay the corpse, that could not stir a muscle, 
 But all the rest seem'd Chaos in a bustle.
 
 A LEGEND OF NAVARRE. 
 
 The Monarch came : oh ! who could ever guess 
 The Baroness had been so late a weeper ! 
 
 The kingly grace, and more than graciousness, 
 Buried the poor defunct some fathoms deeper,-* 
 
 Could he have had a glance alas, poor being J 
 
 Seeing would certainly have led to D ing. 
 
 XI. 
 
 For casting round about her eyes to find 
 Some one to whom her chattels to endorse, 
 
 The comfortable dame nt last inclined 
 
 To choose the cheerful Master of the Horse ; 
 
 He was so gay, so tender, the complete 
 
 Nice man, the sweetest of the monarch's suite. 
 
 He saw at once, and enter'd in the lists 
 Glance unto glance made amorous replies ; 
 
 They talk'd together like two egotists, 
 In conversation all made up of eyes: 
 
 No couple ever got so right consort-ish 
 
 Within two hours a courtship rather shortish. 
 
 At last, some sleepy, some by wine opprest, 
 The courtly company began " nid-noddin ; " 
 
 The King first sought his chamber, and the rest 
 Instanter follow'd by the course he trod in. 
 
 I shall not please the scandalous by showing 
 
 The order, or disorder, of their going. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The old chateau, before that night, h&d never 
 Held half so many undernenth its roof; 
 
 It task'd the Baroness's best endeavour, 
 And put her best contrivance to the proof, 
 
 To give them chambers up and down the stairs, 
 
 In twos and threes, by singles, and by pairs. 
 
 XV. 
 
 She had just lodging for the whole yet barely ; 
 
 And some, that were both broad of back and tall, 
 Lay on spare beds that served them very sparely ; 
 
 However, there were beds enough for all ; 
 But living bodies occupied so many, 
 She could not let the dead one take up any !
 
 A LEGEND OF NA VARRE. 203 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The act was, certainly, not over decent : 
 
 Some small respect e'en after death she owed him, 
 
 Considering his death had been so recent ; 
 
 However, by command, her servants stow'd him 
 
 (I am ashamed to think how he was slubber'd), 
 
 Stuck bolt upright within a corner cupboard 1 
 
 XVII. 
 
 And there he slept as soundly as a post, 
 
 With no more pillow than an oaken shelf : 
 Just like a kind accommodating host, 
 
 Taking all inconvenience on himself; 
 None else slept in that room, except a stranger, 
 A decent man, a sort of Forest Ranger : 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Who, whether he had gone too soon to bed, 
 
 Or dreamt himself into an appetite, 
 Howbeit, he took a longing to be fed, 
 
 About the hungry middle of the night ; 
 So getting forth, he sought some scrap to eat, 
 Hopeful of some stray pasty or cold meat. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 *The casual glances of the midnight moon, 
 
 Brightening some antique ornaments of brass, 
 
 Guided his gropings to that ccrner soon, 
 Just where it stood, the coffin-safe, alas ! 
 
 He tried the door then shook it and in course 
 
 Of time it open'd to a little force. 
 
 XX. 
 
 He put one hand in, and began to grope ; 
 
 The place was very deep and quite as dark as 
 The middle night ; when lo ! beyond his hope, 
 
 He felt a something cold, in fact, the c arcase ; 
 Right overjoy 'd, he laugh'd, and blest his luck 
 At finding, as he thought, this haunch of buck 1 
 
 Then striding back for his couteau-de-chasse t 
 Determined on a little midnight lunching, 
 
 He came again and probed about the mass. 
 As if to find the fattest bit for munching ; 
 
 Not meaning wastefully to cut it all up, 
 
 But only to abstract a little collop.
 
 2C4 A LEGEND OF NA VARRE. 
 
 But just as he had struck one greedy stroke, 
 His hand fell down quite powerless and weak ; 
 
 For when he cut the haunch it plainly spoke 
 As haunch of venison never ought to speak ; 
 
 No wonder that his hand could go no further 
 
 Whose could? to carve cold meat that bellow'd, "Murther! 1 
 
 Down came the body with a bounce, and down 
 The Ranger sprang, a staircase at a spring, 
 
 And bawl'd enough to waken up a town ; 
 
 Some thought that they were murder'd, some, the King, 
 
 And, like Macduff, did nothing for a season, 
 
 But stand upon the spot and bellow, " Treason ! " 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 A hundred nightcaps gather'd in a mob, 
 
 Torches drew torches, swords brought swords together, 
 It seem'd so dark and perilous a job ; 
 
 The Baroness came, trembling like a feather, 
 Just in the rear, as pallid as a corse, 
 Leaning againsf the Master of the Horse. 
 
 XXV 
 
 A dozen of the bravest up the stair, 
 
 Well lighted and well watch 'd, began to clamber ; 
 They sought the door they found it they were there 
 
 A dozen heads went poking in the chamber ; 
 And lo ! with one hand planted on his hurt, 
 There stood the Body bleeding thro' his shirt, 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 No passive corse but, like a duellist 
 
 Just smarting from a scratch, in fierce position, 
 
 One hand advanced, and ready to resist ; 
 In fact, the Baron doff d the apparition, 
 
 Swearing those oaths the French delight in most, 
 
 And for the second time "gave up the ghost 1 " 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 A living miracle ! for why? the knife 
 
 That cuts so many off from grave grey hairs 
 
 Had only carved him kindly into life : 
 
 How soon it changed the posture of affairs I 
 
 The difference one person more or less 
 
 Will make in families, is past all guess.
 
 A LEGEND OF NA VARRE. 
 
 205 
 
 There stood the Baroness no widow yet ; 
 
 Here stood the Baron "in the body" still t 
 There stood the Horses' Master in a pet, 
 
 Choking with disappointment's bitter pill, 
 To see the hope of his reversion fail, 
 Like that of riding on a donkey's tail 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The Baron lived 'twas nothing but a trance : 
 The lady died 'twas nothing but a death : 
 
 The cupboard-cut served only to enhance 
 This postscript to the old Baronial breath : 
 
 He soon forgave, for the revival's sake, 
 
 A little chop intended for a steak ! 
 
 Speak up,
 
 206 
 
 The Flying Dutchman. 
 
 THE DEMON-SHIP. 
 
 STORIES of storm-ships and haunted vessels, of spectre-shallopg 
 and supernatural Dutch doggers, are common to many countries, 
 and are well attested both in poetry and prose. The adventures of 
 Solway sailors, with Mahound, in his bottomless barges, and the 
 careerings of the phantom-ship up and down the Hudson, have 
 hundreds' of asserters besides Messrs Cunningham and Crayon ; and 
 to doubt their authenticity may seem like an imitation of the desperate 
 sailing of the haunted vessels themselves against wind and tide. I 
 cannot help fancying, however, that Richard Faulder was but one of 
 those tavern-dreamers recorded by old Heywood, who conceived 
 
 "The room wherein they quaff'd to be a pinnace." 
 
 And as for the Flying Dutchman, my notion is very difft'rent from the 
 popular conception of that apparition, as I have ventured to show by 
 the above design. The spectre-ship, bound to Dead-Man's Isle, is 
 almost as awful a craft as the skeleton-bark of the Ancient Mariner ; 
 but they are both fictions, and have not the advantage of being 
 realities, like the dreary vessel with its dreary crew in the following 
 story, which records an adventure that befel even unto myself. 
 
 'TWAS off the Wash the sun went down the sea look'd black and grim, 
 For stormy clouds, with murky fleece, were mustering at the brim ; 
 Titanic shades ! enormous gloom ! as if the solid niyht 
 Of Erebus rose suddenly to seize upon the light !
 
 THE DEMO::-LIIIP. ao? 
 
 It was a time for mariners to bear a wary eye, 
 
 With such a dark conspiracy between the sea and sky ! 
 
 Down went my helm close reef d the tack held freely in my hand- 
 With ballast snug I ptt about, and scudded for the land. 
 Loud hiss'd the sea beneath her lee my little boat flew fast, 
 But faster still the rushing storm came borne upon the blast. 
 Lord ! what a roaring hurricane beset the straining sail ! 
 What furious sleet, with level drift, and tierce assaults of hail ! 
 What darksome caverns yawn'd before ! what jagged steeps behind ! 
 Like battle-steeds, with foamy manes, wild tossing in the wind. 
 Each after each sank down astern, exhausted in the chase, 
 But where it sank another rose and gallop'd in its place ; 
 As black as night they turn'd to white, and cast against the cloud 
 A snowy sheet, as if each surge upturn'd a sailor's shroud : 
 Still flew my boat : alas ! alas ! her course was nearly run ! 
 Behold yon" fatal billow rise ten billows heap'd in one ! 
 With fearful speed the dreary mass came rolling, rolling, fast, 
 As if the scooping sea contain'd one only wave at last ! 
 Still on it came, with horrid roar, a swift pursuing grave ; 
 It seem'd as though some cloud had turn'd its hugeness to a wave ! 
 Its briny sleet be^an to beat beforehand in my face 
 I felt the rearward keel begin to climb its swelling base J 
 I saw its alpine hoary head impending over mine ! 
 Another pulse and down it rush'd an avalanche of brine! 
 Brief pause had I on God to cry, or think of wife and home ; 
 The waters closed and when I shriek'd, I shriek'd below the foam I 
 Beyond that rush I have no hilK of any after deed 
 For I was tossing on the waste, as senseless as a weed. 
 
 "Where am I ? in the breathing world, or in the world of death ?" 
 With sharp and sudden pang I drew another birth of breath ; 
 My eyes drank in a doubtful light, my ears a doubtful sound 
 And was that ship a real ship whose tackle seem'd around ? 
 A moon, as if the earthly moon, was shining up aloft ; 
 But were those beams the very beams that I had seen so oft ? 
 A face, that mock'd the human face, before me w.>tch'd alone ; 
 But were those eyes the eyes of man that look'd against my own ? 
 
 Oh ! never may the moon again disclose me such a sight 
 As met my gaze, when first I look'd, on that accursed night ! 
 I've seen a thousand horrid shapes begot of fierce extremes 
 Of fever ; and most frightful things have haunted in my dreams- 
 Hyaenas cats blood-loving bats and apes with hateful stare 
 Pernicious snakes, and shaggy bulls the lion, and she-bear 
 Strong enemies, with Judas looks, of treachery and spite 
 Detested features, hardly dimm'd and banish'd by the light ! 
 Pale-sheeted ghosts, with gory locks, upstarting from their tombs- 
 All phantasies and images that flit in midnight glooms ; 
 Hags, goblins, demons, lemures, have made me all aghast, 
 But nothing like that GRIMLY ONE who stood beside the mast !
 
 208 SAL L Y HOL T AJD JOHN HA YL OFT. 
 
 His cheek was black bis brow was black his eyes and hair as dark; 
 His hand was black, and where it touch'd, it left a sable mark ; 
 His throat was black, his vest the same, and when I look'd beneath, 
 His breast was black all, all was black, except his grinning teeth. 
 His sooty crew were like in hue, as black as Afric slaves ! 
 O horror ! e'en the ship was black that plough'd the inky waves ! 
 
 " Alas ! " I cried, " for love of truth and blessed mercy's sake, 
 Where am I ? in what dreadful ship ? upon wh.it dreadful lake? 
 What shape is that, so very grim, and black as any coal? 
 It is Mahound, the Evil One, and he has gain'd my soul ! 
 O mother dear ! my tender nurse ! dear meadows that beguiled 
 My happy days, when I was yet a little sinless child, 
 My mother dear my native fields, I never more shall see : 
 I'm sailing in the Devil's Ship, upon the Devil's Sea !" 
 
 Loud laugh'd that SABLE MARINER, and loudly in return" 
 
 His sooty crew sent forth a laugh that rang from stem to stern 
 
 A dozen pair of grimly cheeks were crumpled on the. nonce 
 
 As many sets of grinning teeth came shining out at once : 
 
 A dozen gloomy shapes at once enjoy'd the merry fit, 
 
 With shriek and yell, and oaths as well, like Demons of the Pit. 
 
 They crow'd their fill, and then the Chief made answer for the whole ; 
 
 " Our skins," said he, "are black ye see, because we carry coal ; 
 
 You'll find your mother sure enough, and see your native fields 
 
 For this here ship has pick'd you up the Mary Ann of Shields !" 
 
 SALLY HOLT, AND THE DEATH OF 
 JOHN HA YLOFT. 
 
 FOUR times in the year twice at the season of the half-yearly 
 dividends, and twice at the intermediate quarters, to make her 
 slender investments there calls at my Aunt Shakerly's a very plain, 
 very demure maiden, about forty, and makes her way downward to 
 the kitchen, or upward to my cousin's chamber, as may happen. Her 
 coming is not to do chair-work, or needlework to tell fortunes to 
 beg, steal, or borrow. She does not come for old clothes, or for new. 
 Her simple errand is love pure, strong, disinterested, enduring love, 
 passing the love of women at least for women. 
 
 It is not often servitude begets much kindliness between the two 
 relations; hers, however, grew from that ungenial soil. For the whole 
 family of the Shakerlys she has a strong feudal attachment, but her 
 particular regard dwells with Charlotte, the litest born of the elm. 
 Her she dotes upon her she fondles and takes upon her longing, 
 loving lap. 
 
 Oh, let not the oblivious attentions of the worthy Dominie Sampson 
 to the tall boy Bertram be called an unnatural working ! I have 
 seen my cousin, a good feeder, and well grown into womanhood, 
 sitting two good heads taller than her dry-nurse on the knees ol
 
 SALL Y HOLT AND JOHN HA YLOFT. 209 
 
 the simple-hearted S illy Holt ! I have seen the huge presentation 
 orange, unlapped from the homely speckled kerchief, and thrust with 
 importunate tenderness into the bashful marriageable hand. 
 
 My cousin's heart is not so artificially composed as o let her scorn 
 this humble affection, though she is puzzled sometimes with what kind 
 of look to receive these honest but awkward endeannents. I have 
 seen her face quivering with half a laugh. 
 
 It is one of Sally's staple hopes that, some day or other, when Miss 
 Charlotte keeps house, she will live with her as a servant ; and this 
 expectation makes her particular and earnest to a fault in her inquiries 
 about sweethearts, and offers, and the matrimonial chances, questions 
 which I have seen my cousin listen to with half a cry. 
 
 Perhaps Sally looks upon ths confidence as her right, in return for 
 those secrets which, by joint force of ignorance and affection, she 
 could not help reposing in the bosom of her foster-mistress. Nature, 
 unkind to her, as to Dogberry, denied to her that knowledge of read- 
 ing and writing which comes to some by instinct. A strong principle 
 of religion made it a darling point with her to learn to read, that she 
 might study in her Bible ; but in spite of all the help of my cousin, 
 and as ardent a desire for learning as ever dwelt in scholar, poor Sally 
 never mastered beyond A-B-ab. Her mind, simple as her heart, was 
 unequal to any more difficult combinations. Writing was worse to 
 her than conjuring. My cousin was her amanuensis : and from the 
 vague, unaccountable mistrust of ignorance, the inditer took the p&ins 
 always to compare the verbal message with the transcript, by counting 
 the number of the words. 
 
 I would give up all the tender epistles of Mrs Arthur Brooke to 
 have read one of Sally's epistles ; but they were amatory, and therefore 
 kept sacred : for, plain as she was, Sally Holt had a lover. 
 
 There is an unpretending plainness in some faces that has its charm 
 an unaffected ugliness a thousand times more bewitching than those 
 would-be pretty looks that neither satisfy the critical sense, nor leave 
 the matter of beauty at once to the imagination. We like better to 
 make a new face than to mend an old one. Sally had not one good 
 feature, except those which John Hayloft made for her in his dreams ; 
 and to judge from one token, her partial fancy was equally answerable 
 for his charms. One precious lock no, not a lock, but rather a rem- 
 nant of very short, very coarse, very yellow hair, the clippings of a 
 military crop for John was a corporal stood the foremost item 
 amongst her treasures. To her they were curls, golden, Hyperion, 
 and cherished long after the parent-head was laid low, with many 
 more, on the bloody plain of Salamanca. 
 
 I remember vividly at this moment the ecstasy of her grief at the 
 receipt of the fatal news. She was standing near the dresser with 
 a dish, just cleaned, in her dexter hand. Ninety-nine women in a 
 hundred would have dropped the dish. Many would have flung them- 
 selves after it on the floor ; but Sally put it up, orderly, on the 
 shelf. The fall of John Hayloft could not induce the fall of the 
 crockery. She felt the blow notwithstanding, and as soon as she had 
 emptied her hands, began to give way to her emotions in her own 
 manner. Affliction vents itself in various modes, with different 
 
 O
 
 10 BALL Y HOL T AND JOHN II A YL OFT. , 
 
 temperaments : some ra^e, others compose themselves like monu- 
 ments. Some weep, some sleep, some prose about death, and others 
 poetise on it. Many take to a bottle, or to a rope. Some go to 
 Margate or Bath. 
 
 Sally did nothing of these kinds. She neither snivelled, travelled, 
 sickened, maddened, nor ranted, nor canted, nor hung, nor fuddled, 
 herself she only rocked herself tipon the kitchen chair I ! 
 
 The action was not adequate to her relief. She got up- took a fresh 
 chair then another and another and another. till she had rocked 
 on all the chairs in the kitchen. 
 
 The thing was tickling to both sympathies. It was pathetical to 
 behold her grief, but ludicrous that she knew no better how to grieve. 
 
 An American might have thought that she was in the act of enjoy- 
 ment, but for an intermitting " O dear ! O dear ! " Passion could not 
 wring more from her in the way of exclamation than the toothache. Her 
 lamentations were always the same, even in tone. By and by she 
 palled out the hair the cropped, yellow, stunted, scrubby hair ; then 
 she fell to rocking then " O dear ! O dear ! " and then Da Capo. 
 
 It was an odd sort of elegy, and yet, simple as it was, I thought it 
 worth a thousand of Lord Lutelton's ! 
 
 "Heyday, Sally! what is the matter?" was a very natural inquiry 
 from my Aunt, when she came down into the kitchen ; and if she did 
 not make it with her tongue, at least it was asked very intelligibly by 
 her eyes. Now Sally had but one way of addressing her mistress, and 
 she used it here. It was the same with which she would have asked 
 for a holiday, except that the waters stood in her eyes. 
 
 " If you please, Ma'am," said she, rising up from her chair, and 
 dropping h-jr old curtsey, "if you please. Ma'am, it's John Hayloft is 
 dead ; " and then she began rocking again, as if grief was a baby that 
 wanted jogging to sleep. 
 
 My Aunt was posed. She would fain have comforted the mourner, 
 but her mode of grieving was so out of the common way, that she did 
 not know how to begin. To the violent she might have brought 
 soothing ; to the desponding, texts of patience and resignation ; to 
 the hysterical, sal volatile ; she might have asked the sentimental for 
 the story of her woes. A good scolding is useful with some sluggish 
 griefs : in some cases a cordial. In others a job. 
 
 If Sally had only screamed, or bellowed, or fainted, or gone stupified, 
 or raved, or said a collect, or moped about, it would have been 
 easy to deal with her. But with a woman that only rocked on hel 
 chair _ 
 
 What the devil could my Aunt do ? 
 
 Why, nothing : and she did it as well as she could.
 
 
 A TRUE STORY. 
 
 OF all our pains, since man was curst 
 I mean of body, not the mental 
 To name the worst among the worst, 
 The dental sure is transcendental ; 
 Some bit of masticating bone, 
 That ought to help to clear a shelf, 
 But lets its proper work alone, 
 And only seems to gnaw itself; 
 In fact, of any grave attack 
 On victual there is little danger, 
 'Tis so like coming to the rack, 
 As well as going to the manger. 
 
 Old Hunks it seem'd a fit retort 
 
 Of justice on his grinding ways 
 
 Possess'd a grinder of the sort, 
 
 That troubled all his latter days. 
 
 The best of friends fall out, and so 
 
 His teeth had done some years ago, 
 
 Save some old stumps with ragged root, 
 
 And they took turn about to shoot ; 
 
 If he drank any chilly liquor, 
 
 They made it quite a point to throb ; 
 
 But if he warm'd it on the hob, 
 
 "Why then they only twitch'd the quicker.
 
 A TRUE STORY. 
 
 One tooth I wonder such a tooth 
 
 Had never kill'd him in his youth 
 
 One tooth he had with many fangs, 
 
 That shot at once as many pangs, 
 
 It had an universal sting ; 
 
 One touch of that ecstatic stump 
 
 Could jerk his limbs and make hi 
 
 Just like a puppet on a string ; 
 
 And what was worse than all, it had 
 
 A way of making others bad. 
 
 There is, as many know, a knack, 
 
 With certain farming undertakers, 
 
 And this same tooth pursued their track, 
 
 By adding ackers still to ackers I 
 
 One way there is, that has been judged 
 
 A certain cure, but Hunks was loth 
 
 To pay the fee, and quite begrudged 
 
 To lose his tooth and money both j 
 
 In fact, a dentist and the wheel 
 
 Of Fortune are a kindred cast, 
 
 For, after all is drawn, you feel 
 
 It's paying for a blank at last ; 
 
 So Hunks we$ on from week to week, 
 
 And kept his torment in his cheek ; 
 
 Oh ! how it sometimes set him rocking, 
 
 With that perpetual gnaw gnaw gnaw, 
 
 His moans and groans were truly shocking 
 
 And loud, altho' he held his jaw. 
 
 Many a tug he gave his gum 
 
 And tooth, but still it would not come; 
 
 Tho' tied by string to some firm thing, 
 
 He could not draw it, do his best, 
 
 By drawers, altho' he tried a chest. 
 
 At last, but after much debating, 
 
 He join'd a score of mouths in waiting, 
 
 Like his, to have their troubles out. 
 
 Sad sight it was to look about 
 
 At twenty faces making faces, 
 
 With many a rampant trick and antic, 
 
 For all were very horrid cases, 
 
 And made their owners nearly frantic. 
 
 A little wicket now and then 
 
 Took one of these unhappy men, 
 
 And out again the victim rusli'd 
 
 While eyes and mouth together gush'd ; 
 
 At last arrived our hero's turn, 
 
 Who plunged his hands in both his pockets, 
 
 And down he sat, prepared to learn 
 
 How teeth are charm'd to quit their sockets. 

 
 A TRUE STORY. 913 
 
 Those who have felt such operations, 
 Alone can guess the sort of ache, 
 When his old tooth began to break 
 The thread of old associations ; 
 It touch'd a string in every part, 
 It had so many tender ties ; 
 One chord seem'd wrenching at his heart, 
 And two were tugging at his eyes ; 
 " Bone of his bone," he felt of course ; 
 As husbands do in such divorce ; 
 At last the fangs gave way a little, 
 Hunks gave his head a backward jerk, 
 And lo ! the cause of all this work. 
 Went where it used to send his victual 1 
 
 The monstrous pain of this proceeding 
 
 Had not so numb'd his miser wit, 
 
 But in this slip he saw a hit 
 
 To save, at least, his purse from bleeding ; 
 
 So when the dentist sought his fees, 
 
 Quoth Hunks, " Let's finish, if you please." 
 
 " How, finish ! why, it's out ! " " Oh ! no 
 
 Tis you are out to argue so ; 
 
 I'm none of your beforehand tippers. 
 
 My tooth is in my head, no doubt, 
 
 But as you say you pull'd it out, 
 
 Of course it's there between your nippers." 
 
 " Zounds, sir ! d'ye think I'd sell the truth 
 
 To get a fee ? no, wretch, I scorn it ! " 
 
 But Hunks still ask'd to see the tooth, 
 
 And swore, by gum ! he had not drawn it. 
 
 His end obtain'd, he took his leave, 
 
 A secret chuckle in his sleeve ; 
 
 The joke was worthy to produce one, 
 
 To think, by favour of his wit, 
 
 How well a dentist had been bit 
 
 By one old stump, and that a loose one 1 
 
 The thing was worth a laugh, but mirth 
 
 Is still the frailest thing on earth ; 
 
 Alas ! how often when a joke 4 
 
 Seems in our sleeve, and safe enough, 
 
 There comes some unexpected stroke, 
 
 And hangs a weeper on the cuff ! 
 
 Hunks had not whistled half a mile, 
 When, planted right against a stile, 
 There stood his foeman, Mike Mahoney, 
 A vagrant reaper, Irish-born, 
 That help'd to reap our miser's corn, 
 But had not help'd to reap his money,
 
 214 A TRUE STORY. 
 
 A fact that Hunks remember'd quickly; 
 His whistle all at once was quell'd, 
 And when he saw how Michael held 
 His sickle, he felt rather sickly. 
 
 Nine souls in ten, with half his fright, 
 Would soon have paid the bill at sight, 
 But misers (let observers watch it) 
 Will never part with their delight 
 Till well demanded by a hatchet 
 They live hard and they die to match it 
 Thus Hunks prepared for Mike's attacking, 
 Resolved not yet to pay the debt, 
 But let him take it out in hacking ; 
 However, Mike began to stickle 
 In words before he used the sickle ; 
 But mercy was not long attendant : 
 From words at last he took to blows, 
 And aim'd a cut at Hunks's nose, 
 That made it, what some folks are not 
 A member very independent. 
 
 Heaven knows how far this cruel trick 
 
 Might still have led, but for a tramper 
 
 That came in danger's very nick, 
 
 To put Mahoney to the scamper. 
 
 But still compassion met a damper ; 
 
 There lay the s-ever'd nose, alas ! 
 
 Beside the daisies on t'he grass, 
 
 " Wee, crimson-tipt " as well as they,. 
 
 According -to the poet's lay : 
 
 And there stood Hunks, no sight for laughter ! 
 
 Away ran Hodge to get assistance, 
 
 With nose in hand, which Hunks ran after, 
 
 But somewhat at unusual distance. 
 
 In many a little country-place 
 
 It is a very common case 
 
 To have but one residing doctor, 
 
 Whose practice rather seems to be 
 
 No practice, but a rule of three, 
 
 Physician surgeon drug-decoctor; 
 
 Thus Hunks was forced to go once more 
 
 Where he had ta'en his tooth before. 
 
 His mere n.-.me made the learn'd man hot, 
 
 " What ! Hunks again within my door ! 
 
 u I'll pull his nose." Quoth Hunks, " You cannot." 
 
 The doctor look'd, and saw the case 
 Plain as the nose not on his face. 
 * Oh ! hum ha yes I understand." 
 , But then arose a long demur,
 
 A TRUE STORY. 215 
 
 For not a finger would he stir 
 Till he was paid his fee in hand ; 
 That matter settled, there they were, 
 With Hunks well strapp'd upon his chair. 
 
 The opening of a surgeon's job 
 
 His tools a chestful or a drawerful 
 
 Are always something very awful, 
 
 And give the heart the strangest throb ; 
 
 But never patient in his funks 
 
 Look'd half so like a ghost as Hunks, 
 
 Or surgeon half so like a devil 
 
 Prepared for some infernal revel : 
 
 His huge black eye kept rolling, rolling, 
 
 Just like a bolus in a box : 
 
 His fury seem'd above controlling, 
 
 He bellow'd like a hunted ox : 
 
 ** Now, swindling wretch, I'll show thee how 
 
 We treat such cheating knaves as thou ; 
 
 Oh ! sweet is this revenge to sup ; 
 
 I have thee by the nose it's now 
 
 My turn and I will turn it up." 
 
 Guess how the miser liked this scurvy 
 And cruel way of venting passion ; 
 The snubbing folks in this new fashion 
 Seem'd quite to turn him topsy-turvy ; 
 He utter'd prayers and groans and curses, 
 For things had often gone amiss 
 And wrong with him before, but this 
 Would be the worst of all reverses I 
 In fancy he beheld his snout 
 Turn'd upward like a pitcher's spout ; 
 There was another grievance yet, 
 And fancy did not fail to show it, 
 That he must throw a summerset, 
 Or stand upon his head, to blow it. 
 
 And was there then no argument 
 
 To change the doctor's vile intent, 
 
 And move his pity ? yes, in truth, 
 
 And that was paying for the tooth. 
 
 *' Zounds ! pay for such a stump ! I'd rather J* 
 
 But here the menace went no farther, 
 
 For, with his other ways of pinching, 
 
 Hunks had a miser's love of snuff, 
 
 A recollection strong enough 
 
 To cause a very serious flinching; 
 
 In short, he paid, and had the feature 
 
 Replaced as it was meant by nature ; 
 
 For tho' by this 'twas cold to handle
 
 216 
 
 THE DECLINE OF MRS SHAKERLY. 
 
 (No corpse's could have felt more horrid), 
 And white, just like an end of candle, 
 The doctor deem'd, and proved it too, 
 That noses from the nose will do 
 As well as noses from the forehead ; 
 So, fix'd by dint of rag and lint, 
 The part was bandaged up and muffled. 
 The chair unfasten'd, Hunks arose, 
 And shuffled out, for once unshuffled ; 
 And as he went, these words he snuffled 
 "Well, this is l paying through the nose.' " 
 
 ' Wholesale Retail -and for Exixma ion. 
 
 THE DECLINE OF MRS SHAKERLY. 
 
 nnOWARDS the close of her life, my Aunt Shakerly incrensed 
 JL rapidly in bulk : she kept adding growth unto her growth 
 
 " Giving a sum of more to that which had too much," 
 
 till the result was worthy of a Smithfield premium. It wns not the 
 triumph, however, of any systematic diet for the promotion of fat 
 (except oyster-e.iting, there is no humnn system of j/a//-feedmg) ; on 
 the contrary, she lived abstemiously, diluting her food with pickle-acids, 
 and keeping frequent fasts, in order to reduce her compass : but thej
 
 THE DECLINE OF MRS SHAKERL Y. 217 
 
 failed of this desirable effect. Nature had planned an original tendency 
 in her organisation that was not to be overcome ; she would have fat- 
 tened on sour krout. 
 
 My Uncle, on the other hand, decreased daily. Originally a little 
 man, he became lean, shrunken, wizened. There was a predisposition 
 in his constitution that made him spare, and kept him so : he would 
 have fallen off, even on brewer's grains. 
 
 It was the common joke of the neighbourhood to designate my Aunt, 
 my Uncle, and the infant Shakerly, as " WHOLESALE, RETAIL, AND 
 FOR EXPORTATION ;" and in truth, they were not inapt impersonations 
 of that popular inscription my Aunt a giantess, my Uncle a pigmy, 
 and the child being " carried abroad." 
 
 Alas ! of the three departments, nothing now remains but the Retail 
 portion my uncle, a pennyworth, a mere sample. 
 
 It is upon record that Dr Watts, though a puny man in person, took 
 a fancy, towards his latter days, that he was too large to pass through 
 a door an error which Death shortly corrected by taking him through 
 his own portal. My unhappy Aurgt, with more show of reason, indulged 
 
 Paodeans. 
 
 in a similar delusion. She conceived herself to have grown incon- 
 veniently cumbersome for the small village of , and my Uncle, to 
 
 quiet her, removed to the metropolis. There she lived for some months 
 in comparative ease, till at r ast un unlucky event recalled all her former 
 inquietude. The elephant of Mr Cross, a good feeder, and with a 
 natural tendency to corpulence, throve so well on his rations, that, be- 
 coming too huge for his den, he was obliged to be dispatched. My 
 Aunt read the account in the newspapers, and the catastrophe, with its 
 cause, took possession of her mind. She seemed to herself as that
 
 2IS 
 
 TIM TURPIN. 
 
 elephant. An intolerable sense of confinement and oppression haunted 
 her by day and in her dreams. First she had a tightness at her chest, 
 then in her limbs, then all over. She felt too big for her chair, then 
 for her bed, then for her room, then for the house ! To divert her 
 thought, my Uncle proposed to go to Paris ; but she was too huge lor 
 a boat, for a barge, for a packet, for a frigate, for a country, for a con- 
 tinent ! " She was too big," she said, " for this world ; but she was 
 going to one that is boundless." 
 
 Nothing could wean her from this belief. Her whole talk was of 
 " cumber grounds," of the " burthen of the flesh," and of " infinity." 
 Sometimes her head wandered, and she would then speak of disposing 
 of the " bulk of her personals." 
 
 In the meantime, her health decayed slowly, but perceptibly. She 
 was dying, the doctor said, by inches. 
 
 Now my Uncle was a kind husband, and meant tenderly, though it 
 sounded untender ; but when the doctor said that she was dying by 
 inches 
 
 " God forbid ! " cried my Uncle. " Consider what a great big crea- 
 ture she is I " 
 
 The Judges of A-Size. 
 
 TIM TURPIN. 
 
 A PATHETIC BALLAD. 
 I. 
 
 TIM TURPIN he was gravel-blind, 
 And ne'er had seen the skies : 
 
 For Nature, when his head was made, 
 Forgot to dot his eyes.
 
 TIM TURPIN. 219 
 
 So, like a Christmas pedagogue, 
 
 Poor Tim was forced to do 
 Look out for pupils ; for he had 
 
 A vacancy for two. 
 
 III. 
 
 There's some have specs to help their sight 
 
 Of objects dim and small : 
 But Tim had specks within his eyes, 
 
 And could not see at ail. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Now Tim he woft'd a servant maid, 
 
 And took her to his arms ; 
 For he, like Pyramus, had cast 
 
 A wall-eye on her charms. 
 
 By day she led him up and downy 
 
 WhereHsr he wish'd to jog, 
 A happy wife, altho' she led 
 
 The life of any dog. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But just when Tim had lived a month 
 
 In honey with his wife, 
 A surgeon oped his Milton eves, 
 
 Like oysters, with a kniie. 
 
 But when his eyes were open'd thus, 
 He wish'd them dark again : 
 
 For when he look'd upon his wife, 
 He saw her very plain. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Her face was bad, her figure worse, 
 
 He couldn't bear to eat : 
 For she was anything but like 
 
 A Grace before his meat. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Now Tim he was a feeling man : 
 For when his sight was thick, 
 
 It made him feel for everything 
 But that was with a stick.
 
 TIM 7 'UR 'PIN. 
 
 So, with a cudgel in his hand 
 It was not light or slim 
 
 He knock'd at his wife's head until 
 It open'd unto him. 
 
 And when the corpse was stiff and cold, 
 He took his slaughter'd spouse, 
 
 And laid her in a heap with all 
 The ashes of her house. 
 
 XII. 
 
 But like a wicked murderer, 
 
 He lived in constant fear 
 From day to day, and so he cut 
 
 His throat from ear to ear, 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The neighbours fetch'd a doctor in : 
 * Said he, " This wound I drsad 
 Can hardly be sew'd up his life 
 Is hanging on a thread." 
 
 XIV. 
 
 But when another week was gone, 
 He gave him stronger hope 
 
 Instead of hanging on a thread, 
 Of hanging on a rope. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Ah ! when he hid his bloody worlc, 
 
 In ashes round about, 
 How little he supposed the truth 
 
 Would soon be sifted oat. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 But when the parish dustman came, 
 
 His rubbish to withdraw, 
 He found more dust within the heap 
 
 Than he contracted for 1 
 
 XVII. 
 
 A dozen men to try the fact, 
 
 Were sworn that very day ; 
 But tho' they all were jurors, yet 
 
 No conjurors were they.
 
 TIM TURPIN. 
 
 Said Tim unto those jurymen, 
 You need not waste your breath, 
 
 For I confess myself at once 
 The author of her death. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 And, oh ! when I reflect upon 
 The blood that I have spilt, 
 
 Just like a button is my soul, 
 Inscribed with double guilt I 
 
 XX. 
 
 Then turning round his head again, 
 
 He saw before his eyes 
 A great judge and a little judge, 
 
 The judges of a-size ! 
 
 XXI. 
 
 The great judge took his judgment-cap, 
 
 And put it on his head, 
 And sentenced Tim by law to hang 
 
 Till he was three times dead. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 So he was tried, and he was hung 
 
 (Fit punishment for such) 
 On Horsham-drop, and none can sajr 
 
 It was a drop too much. 

 
 fpatu 
 
 THE MONKEY-MARTYR. 
 
 A FABLE. 
 
 ' God help thee, said I, but I'll let thee out, cost what it will : so I turned about the cage to 
 get to the door." STERNE. 
 
 'TIS strange what awkward figures and odd capers 
 Folks cut who seek their doctrine from the papers ; 
 
 But there are many shallow politicians 
 Who take their bias from bewilder'd journals 
 
 Turn state physicians, 
 And make themselves fools'-caps of the diurnals. 
 
 One of this kind, not human, but a monkey, 
 Had read himself at last to this sour creed, 
 That he was nothing but Oppression's flunkey, 
 And man a tyrant over all his breed. 
 
 He could not read 
 
 Of niggers, whipt, or over-trampled weavers, 
 But he applied their wrongs to his own seed, 
 And nourish'd thoughts that threw him into fevers. 
 His very dreams were full of martial beavers, 
 And drilling Pugs, for liberty pugnacious, 
 
 To sever chains vexatious. 
 In fact, he thought that all his injured line 
 Should take up pikes in hand, and never drop 'em 
 Till they had clear'd a road to Freedom's shrine, 
 Unless, perchance, the turn-pike men should stop 'em,
 
 THE MONKEY-MARTYR. S21 
 
 IIL 
 
 Full of this rancour, 
 Pacing one day beside St Clement Dines, 
 
 It came into his brains 
 
 To give a look in at the Crown and Anchor j 
 Where certain solemn snges of the nation 
 Were at that moment in deliberation 
 How to relieve the wide world of its chains, 
 
 Pluck despots down, 
 
 And thereby crown 
 
 Whitee- as well as blackee-man-cipation. 
 Pug heard the speeches with great approbation, 
 And gazed with pride upon the Liberators ; 
 
 To see mere coalheavers 
 
 Such perfect Bolivars 
 Waiters of inns sublimed to innovators 
 And slaters dignified as legislators 
 Small publicans demanding (such their high sense 
 Of liberty) an universal licence 
 And patten-makers easing Freedom's clogs 
 
 The whole thing seem'd 
 
 So fine, he deem'd 
 The smallest demagogues as great as Gogs ! 
 
 rv. 
 
 Pug, with some curious notions in his noddle, 
 Walk'd out at last, and turn'd into the Strand, 
 
 To the left hand, 
 
 Conning some portions of the previous twaddle, 
 And striding with a step that seem'd design'd 
 To represent the mighty March of Mind, 
 
 Instead of that slow waddle 
 Of thought to which our ancestors inclined 
 No wonder, then, that he should quickly find 
 He stood in front of that intrusive pile, 
 
 Where Cross keeps many a kind 
 
 Of bird confined, 
 
 And free-born animal, in durance vile 
 A thought that sttrr'd up all the monkey-bile, 
 
 The window stood ajar 
 
 It was not far, 
 
 Nor, like Parnassus, very hard to climb 
 The hour was verging on the supper-time, 
 And many a growl was sent through many a bar. 
 Meanwhile Pug scrambled upward like a tar, 
 
 And soon crept in, 
 
 Unnoticed in the din 
 
 Of tuneless throats, that made the attics ring 
 With all the harshest notes that they could bring ;
 
 THE MONKEY-MARTYR. 
 
 For, like the Jews, 
 
 Wild beasts refuse 
 In midst of their captivity to sing. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Lord, how it made him chafe, 
 Full of his new emancipating- zeal, 
 To look around upon this brute-bastile, 
 And see the king of creatures in a safe ! 
 The desert's denizen in one small den, 
 Swallowing slavefy's most bitter pills 
 A bear in bars unbearable. And then 
 The fretful porcupine, with all its quills 
 
 Imprison'd in a pen ! 
 A tiger limited to four feet ten, 
 
 And, still worse lot, 
 
 A leopard to one spot ! 
 
 An elephant enlarged, 
 
 But not discharged 
 
 (It was before the elephant was shot) ; 
 A doleful wanderow, that wander'd not ; 
 An ounce much disproportion'd to his pound. 
 
 Pug's wrath wax'd hot 
 
 To gaze upon these captive creatures round ; 
 Whose claws all scratching gave him full assurance 
 They found their durance vile of vile endurance. 
 
 VII. 
 
 He went above a solitary mounter 
 
 Up gloomy stairs and saw a pensive group 
 
 Of hapless fowls 
 
 Cranes, vultures, owls ; 
 In fact, it was a sort of Poultry-Compter, 
 Where feather'd prisoners were doom'd to droop ; 
 Here sat an eagle, forced to make a stoop, 
 Not from the skies, but his impending roof; 
 
 And there aloof, 
 
 A pining ostrich, moping in a coop ; 
 With other samples of the bird creation, 
 All caged against their powers and their wills ; 
 And cramp'd in such a space, the longest bills 
 Were plainly bills of least accommodation. 
 In truth, it was a very ugly scene 
 To fall to any liberator's share, 
 To see those winged fowls, that once had been 
 Free as the wind, no freer than fix'd air. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 His temper little mended, 
 Pug from this Bird-cage Walk at last descended 
 
 Unto the lion and the elephant, 
 
 His bosom in a pant 
 To iee all Nature's Free List thus suspended,
 
 BANDITTI. 
 
 And beasts deprived of what she had intended. 
 
 They could not even prey 
 
 In the'r own way 
 A hardship always reckon'd quite prodigious. 
 
 Thus he revolved, 
 
 And soon resolved 
 To give them freedom, civil and religious. 
 
 IX. 
 
 That night there were no country cousins, ravr 
 From Wales, to view the lion and his kin : 
 The keeper's eyes were fix'd upon a saw ; 
 The saw was fix'd upon a bullock's shin : 
 
 Meanwhile with stealthy paw, 
 
 Pug hasten'd to withdraw 
 The bolt that kept the king of brutes within. 
 Now, monarch of the forest ! thou shall win 
 Precious enfranchisement thy bolts are undone; 
 Thou art no longer a degraded creature, 
 But loose to roam with liberty and nature, 
 And free of all the jungles about London 
 All Hampstead's heathy desert lies before thee ! 
 Methinks I see thee bound from Cross's ark 
 Full of the native instinct that comes o'er thee, 
 
 And turn a ranger 
 
 Of Hounslow Forest and the Regent's Park 
 Thin Rhodes's cows the mail-coach steeds endanger, 
 And gobble parish watchmen after dark. 
 Methinks I see thee, with the early lark, 
 Stealing to Merlin's cave (thy cave). Alas, 
 That such bright visions should not come to pass 1 
 Alas for freedom, and for freedom's hero 1 
 
 Alas for liberty of life and limb 1 
 For Pug had only half unbolted Nero, 
 
 When Nero bolted him I 
 
 BANDITTI. 
 
 f~\F all the saints in the Calendar, none has suffered less from the 
 V_y Reformation than St Cecilia, the great patroness of Music. 
 Lofty and lowly are her votaries many and magnificent are her holi- 
 day festivals and her common service is performing at all hours of 
 the day. She has not only her regular high-priests and priestesses ; 
 but, like the Wesleyans, her itinerants and street-missionaries, to make 
 known her worship in the highways and in the byways. Nor is the 
 homage confined to the people of one creed ; the Protestant exalts 
 her on his barrel-organ the Catholic with her tambourine the wan? 
 dering Jew with his Pan's-pipe and double drum. The group over-leaf 
 was sketched from a company of these " Strolling Players." 
 
 It must be confessed that their service is sometimes of a kind rather 
 to drive angels higher into heaven, than tQ entice thern earth vardf
 
 226 
 
 BANDITTI. 
 
 and there are certain retired streets near the Adelphi, for instance- 
 where such half-hourly deductions from the natural quiet of the situa- 
 tion should justly be considered in the. rent. Some of the choruses, 
 in truth, are beyond any but a saintly endurance. Conceive a brace 
 of opposition organs, a fife, two hurdyyurdies, a clarionet, and a 
 quartette of decayed mariners, all clubbing their music in common, on 
 the very principle of Mr Owen's New Harmony I 
 
 In the Journal of a recent Traveller through the Papal States there 
 is an account of an adventure with Neapolitan robbers that would 
 serve, with very slight alterations, for the description of an encounter 
 with our own banditti. 
 
 " To-day Mrs Graham and I mounted our horses and rode towards 
 Islington. We had not proceeded far when we heard sounds as of 
 screaming and groaning, and presently a group of men appeared at 
 the turn of the road. It was too certain that we had fallen in with one 
 
 of these roving bands. Escape was impossible, as they extended 
 across the road. Their leader was the celebrated Flanigan, notorious 
 for his murder of Fair Ellen, and the Bewildered Maid. One of the 
 fellows advanced close up to Mrs G., and putting his instrument to 
 her ear, threatened to blow out her brains. We gave them wh.it 
 coppers we had, and were allowed to proceed. We were informed by 
 the country-people that a gentlewoman and her daughter had been 
 detained by them, near the same spot, and robbed of their hearing,, 
 with circumstances of great barbarity ; Flanigan, in the meantime, 
 standing by with his pipe in his mouth ! 
 
 "Innumerable other travellers have been stopped and tortured by 
 these wretches till they gave up their money ; and yet these excesses 
 are winked at by the police. In the meantime, the Government does 
 not interfere, in the hope, perhaps, that some day these K an g s mav be 
 broken up and separated by discord amongst themselves/'
 
 DEATH'S RAMBLE. 
 
 227 
 
 Sometimes, to the eye of fancy, these wandering minstrels assume 
 another character, and illustrate Collins's " Ode on the Passions " in 
 a way that might edify Miss Macaulay. First, Fear, a blind harper, 
 lays his bewildered hand amongst the chords, but recoils back at the 
 sound of an approaching carriage. Anger, with starting eyeballs, 
 blows a rude clash on the bugle-horn ; and Despair, a snipe-faced wight, 
 beguiles his grief with low sullen sounds on the bassoon. Hope, a 
 consumptive Scot, with golden hair and a clarionet, indulges, like the 
 flatterer herself, in a thousand fantastic flourishes beside the tune 
 with a lingering quaver at the close ; and would quaver longer, but 
 Revenge shakes his matted locks, blows afresh alarum on his pandeans, 
 and thumps, with double heat his double-drum. Dejected Pity, at his 
 side, a hunger-bitten urchin, applies to his silver-toned triangle ; whilst 
 Jealousy, sad proof of his distracted state, grinds on, in all sorts of 
 time, at his barrel-organ. With eyes upraised, pale Melancholy sings, 
 retired and unheeded, at the corner of the street ; and Mirth, yonder 
 he is, a brisk little Savoyard, jerking away at the hurdygurdy. and 
 dancing himself at the same time, to render his jig-tune more jigging. 
 
 'Dust Of 
 
 DEATH'S RAMBLE. 
 
 ONE day the dreary old King of Death 
 Inclined for some sport with the carnal. 
 
 So he tied a pack of darts on his back, 
 And quietly stole from his charnel.
 
 DEATH'S RAMBLE. 
 
 His head was bald of flesh and of hair, 
 
 His body was lean and lank, 
 His joints at each stir made a crack, and the cur 
 
 Took a gnaw, by the way, at his shank. 
 
 And what did he do with his deadly darts, 
 
 This goblin of grisly bone ? 
 He dabbled and spill'd man's blood, and he kill'd 
 
 Like a butcher that kills his own. 
 
 The first he slaughtered it made him laugh 
 
 (For the man was a coffin-maker), 
 To think how the mutes, and men in black suits, 
 
 Would mourn for an undertaker. 
 
 Death saw two Quakers sitting at church, 
 
 Quoth he, "We shall not differ ;" 
 And he let them alone, like figures of stone, 
 
 For he could not make them stiffer. 
 
 He saw two duellists going to fight, 
 
 In fear they could not smother ; 
 And he shot one through at once for he knew 
 
 They never would shoot each other. 
 
 He saw a watchman fast in his box, 
 
 And he gave a snore infernal ; 
 Said Death, " He may keep his breath, for his sleep 
 
 Can never be more eternal." 
 
 He met a coachman driving his coach 
 
 So slow that his fare grew sick ; 
 But he let him stray on his tedious way, 
 
 For Death only wars on the quick. 
 
 Death saw a toll-man taking a toll, 
 
 In the spirit of his fraternity ; 
 But he knew that sort of man would extort, 
 
 Though summon'd to all eternity. 
 
 He found an author writing his life, 
 
 But he let him write no further ; 
 For Death, who strikes whenever he likes, 
 
 Is jealous of all self-murther ! 
 
 Death saw a patient that pull'd out his purse, 
 
 And a doctor that took the sum ; 
 But he let them be for he knew that the "fee" 
 
 Was a prelude to " faw " and " fum."
 
 CRAN10LOGY. 
 
 He met a dustman ringing a bell, 
 And he gave him a mortal thrust ; 
 
 For himself, by law, since Adam's flaw, 
 Is contractor for all our dust. 
 
 He saw a sailor mixing his grog, 
 And he mark'd him out for slaughter ; 
 
 For on water he scarcely had cared for Death, 
 And never on rum-and-water. 
 
 Death saw two players playing at cards, 
 But the game wasn't worth a dump, 
 
 For he quickly laid them flat with a spade, 
 To wait for the final trump ! 
 
 229 
 
 Crane-iology. 
 
 CRANIOLOGY. 
 
 TlS strange how like a very dunce, 
 Man, with his bumps upon his sconce, 
 Has lived so long, and yet no knowledge he 
 Has had, till lately, of Phrenology
 
 BJO CR AN 10 LOGY. 
 
 A science that by simple dint of 
 
 Head-combing he should find a hint of, 
 
 When scratchugg o'er those little pole-hills 
 
 The faculties uirow up like mole-hills ; 
 
 A science that, in very spite 
 
 Of all his teeth, ne'er came to light ; 
 
 For though he knew his skull had grinders^ 
 
 Still there turn'd up no 0/vz#-finders, 
 
 Still sages wrote, and ages fled, 
 
 And no man's head came in his head 
 
 Not even the pate of Erra Pater 
 
 Knew aught about its pia mater. 
 
 At last great Dr Gall bestirs him 
 
 I don't know but it might be Spurzheiia- 
 
 Tho' native of a dull and slow land, 
 
 And makes partition of our Poll-land ; 
 
 At our Acquisitiveness guesses, 
 
 And all those necessary nesses 
 
 Indicative of human habits, 
 
 All burrowing in the head like rabbits. 
 
 Thus Veneration, he made known, 
 
 Had got a lodging at the Crown ; 
 
 And Music (see Deville's example) 
 
 A set of chambers in the Temple ; 
 
 That Language taught the tongues close by f 
 
 And took in pupils thro' the eye, 
 
 Close by his neighbour Computation, 
 
 Who taught the eyebrows numeration. 
 
 The science thus to speak in fit 
 
 Terms having struggled from its nit, 
 
 Was seized on by a swarm of Scotchmen, 
 
 Those scientifical hotch-potch men, 
 
 Who have at least a penny dip 
 
 And wallop in all doctorship, 
 
 Just as in making broth they smatter 
 
 IJy bobbing twenty things in water : 
 
 These men, I say, made quick appliance, 
 
 And close, to phrenologic science ; 
 
 For of all learned themes whatever, 
 
 That schools and colleges deliver, 
 
 There's none they love so near the bodies, 
 
 As analysing their own noddles ; 
 
 Thus in a trice each northern blockhead 
 
 Had got his fingers in his shock head, 
 
 And of his bumps was babbling yet worse 
 
 Than poor Miss Capulet's dry wet-nurse ; 
 
 Till having been sufficient rangers 
 
 Of their own heads, they took to strangers', 
 
 And found in Presbyterians' polls 
 
 The things they hated in their souls ;
 
 CRANIOLOGY. 131 
 
 For Presbyterians hear with passion 
 Of organs joined with veneration. 
 No kind there was of humnn pumpkin 
 But at its bumps it had a bumpkin, 
 Down to the very lowest gullion, 
 And oiliest scull of oily scullion. 
 No great man died but this they did fo t 
 They begg'd his cranium of his widow : 
 No murderer died by law disaster, 
 But they took off his sconce in plaster ; 
 For thereon they could show depending 
 "The head and front of his offending :* 
 How that his philanthropic bump 
 Was mastered by a baser lump ; 
 For every bump (these wags insist) 
 Has its direct antagonist, 
 Each striving stoutly to prevail, 
 Like horses knotted tail to tail ; 
 And many a stiff and sturdy battle 
 Occurs between these adverse cattle : 
 The secret cause, beyond all question, 
 Of aches ascribed to indigestion, 
 Whereas 'tis but two knobby rivals 
 Tugging together like sheer devils, 
 Till one gets mastery, good or sinister, 
 And comes in like a new prime minister. 
 
 Each bias in some master node is : 
 What takes M'Adam where a road is, 
 To hammer little pebbles less ? 
 His organ of Destructiveness. 
 What makes great Joseph so encumber 
 Debate ? a lumping lump of Number : 
 Or Malthus rail at babies so ? 
 The smallness of his Philopro. 
 What severs man and wife ? a simple 
 Defect of the Adhesive pimple : 
 Or makes weak women go astray? 
 Their bumps are more in fault than they. 
 
 These facts being found and set in order 
 By grave M.D.'s beyond the Border, 
 To make them for some few months eternal, 
 Were entered monthly in a journal, 
 That many a northern sage still writes in, 
 And throws his little Northern Lights in, 
 And proves and proves about the phrenos 
 A great deal more than I or he knows : 
 How Music suffers, par excmple, 
 By wearing tight hats round the temple ; 
 What ills great boxers have to fear 
 From blisters put behind the ear ;
 
 23* 
 
 AN AFFAIR OF HONOUR. 
 
 And how a porter's Veneration 
 Is hurt by porter's occupation ; 
 Whether shillelaghs in reality 
 May deaden Individuality ; 
 Or tongs and poker be creative 
 Of alterations in th' Amative ; 
 If falls from scaffolds make us less 
 Inclined to all Constructiveness : 
 With more such matters, all applying 
 To heads and therefore 
 
 Honour calls him to the field." 
 
 AN AFFAIR OF HONOUR. 
 
 *' AND those were the only duels," concluded the major, "that ever 
 I\ I fought in my life." 
 
 Now the major reminded me strongly of an old boatman at Hastings, 
 who, after a story of a swimrmr that was snapped asunder by a "sea 
 attorney" in the West Indies, made an end in the same fashion : 
 "And that was the only time," said he, " I ever saw a man bit in two 
 by a shark." 
 
 A single occurrence of the kind seemed sufficient for the experience 
 of one life ; and so I reasoned upon the major's nine duels. He must, 
 in the first place, have been not only jealous and swift to quarrel ; but, 
 in the second, have met with nine intemperate spirits equally forward 
 with himself. It is but in one affront out of ten that the duellist meets 
 with a duellist : a computation assigning ninety mortal disagreements 
 to his single share ; whereas I, with equal irritability, and as much 
 courage perhaps, had never exchanged a card in my life. The subject 
 occupied me all the walk homeward through the meadows. "To get 
 involved in nine duels, 5 ' said I ; "'tis quite improbable !" 
 
 As I thought thus, 1 had thrust my body halfway under a rough bar 
 that was doing duty for a stile at one end of a field. It was just too 
 high to climb comfortably, and just low enough to be inconvenient to
 
 AN AFFAIR OF HONOUR. 233 
 
 duck under ; but I chose the latter mode, and began to creep through 
 with the deliberateness consistent with doubtful and intricate specula- 
 tion. "To get involved in nine duels" here my back hitched a little 
 at the bar "'tis quite impossible I" 
 
 I am persuaded that there is a spirit of mischief afoot in the world 
 some malignant fiend to seize upon and direct these accidents : for 
 just at this nick, whilst I was boggling below the bar, there came up 
 another passenger by the same path : so seeing how matters stood, he 
 made an attempt at once to throw his leg over the impediment ; but 
 mistaking the altitude by a few inches, he kicked me where I had 
 never been kicked before. 
 
 " By Heaven ! this is too bad," said I, staggering through head fore- 
 most from the concussion ; my back was up, in every sense, in a second. 
 
 The stranger apologised in the politest terms but with such an 
 intolerable chuckle, with such a provoking grin lurking about his face, 
 that I felt fury enough, like Beatrice, to " eat his heart in the market- 
 place." In short, in two little minutes, from venting my conviction 
 upon duelling, I found myself engaged to a meeting for the vindication 
 of my honour. 
 
 There is a vivid description in the "History of Robinson Crusoe " of 
 the horror of the solitary Mariner at finding the mark of a foot in the 
 sandy beach of his Desert Island. That abominable token, in a place 
 that he fancied was sacred to himself in a part, he made sure, never 
 trodden by the sole of man haunted him wherever he went. So did 
 mine. I bore about with me the same ideal imprint to be washed 
 out, not by the ocean brine, but with blood ! 
 
 As I walked homeward after this adventure, and reflected on my 
 former opinions, I felt that I had done the gallant major an injustice. 
 It seemed likely that a man of his profession might be called out even 
 to the ninth time nay, that men of the peaceful cloth might, on a 
 chance, be obliged to have recourse to mortal combat. 
 
 As for Gentlemen at the ar, I have shown how they may get into 
 an Affair of Honour in a twinkling. 
 
 A Special Pleader.
 
 234 
 
 A Retrospective Review. 
 
 A PARTHIAN GLANCE. 
 
 ' Sweet Memory, wafted by thy gentle gale, 
 Oft up the stream of time I turn my sail." ROGERS. 
 
 COME, my Crony, let's think upon far-away days, 
 
 And lift up a little Oblivion's veil; 
 Let's consider the past with a lingering gaze, 
 
 Like a peacock whose eyes are inclined to his tail. 
 
 II. 
 
 Ay, come, let us turn our attention behind, 
 
 Like those critics whose heads are so heavy, I fear, 
 
 That they cannot keep up with the march of the mind, 
 And so turn face about for reviewing the r^ar. 
 
 Looking over Time's crupper and over his tail, 
 Oh ! what ages and pa^es there are to revise ! 
 
 And as farther our back-searching glances prevail, 
 Like the emmets, "how little we are in our eyes !"
 
 A PARTHIAN GLANCE. 
 
 IV. 
 
 What a sweet pretty innocent, half-a-yard long, 
 
 On a dimity lap of true nursery make ! 
 I can fancy I hear the old lullaby song 
 
 That was meant to compose me, but kept me awake. 
 
 V. 
 
 Methinks I still suffer the infantine throes, 
 
 When my flesh was a cushion for any long pin- 
 Whilst they patted my body to comfort my woes, 
 Oh ! how little they dreamt they were driving them in I 
 
 VI. 
 
 Infant sorrows are strong infant pleasures as weak- 
 But no grief was allow'd to indulge in its note ; 
 
 Did you ever attempt a small " bubble and squeak," 
 Thro' the Dalby's Carminative down in your throat? 
 
 VII. 
 
 Did you ever go up to the roof with a bounce ? 
 
 Did you ever come down to the floor with the same? 
 Oh ! I can't but agree with both ends, and pronounce 
 
 " Head or tails " with a child, an unpleasantish game ! 
 
 Then an urchin I see myself urchin, indeed, 
 
 With a smooth Sunday face for a mother's delight ; 
 
 Why should weeks have an end ? I am sure there was need 
 Of a Sabbath to follow each Saturday-night 
 
 IX. 
 
 Was your face ever sent to the housemaid to scrub ? 
 
 Have you ever felt huckaback soften'd with sand? 
 Had you ever your nose towell'd up to a snub, 
 
 And your eyes knuckled out with the back of the hand ? 
 
 Then a schoolboy my tailor was nothing in fault, 
 For an urchin will grow to a lad by degrees, 
 
 But how well I remember that " pepper and salt," 
 .That was down to the elbows, and up to the knees 1 
 
 What a figure it cut when as Norval I spoke ; 
 
 With a lanky right leg duly planted before ; 
 Whilst I told of the chief that was kill'd by my stroke, 
 
 And extended my arms as "the arms that he wore 1"
 
 236 A SAILOR'S APOLOGY FOR BOW-LEGS. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Next a Lover Oh ! say, were you ever in love ? 
 
 With a lady too cold and your bosom too hot J 
 Have you bow'd to a shoe-tie, and knelt to a glove ? 
 
 Like a beau that desired to be tied in a knot ! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 With the Bride all in white, and your body in blue, 
 Did you walk up the aisle the genteelest of men? 
 
 When I think of that beautiful vision anew, 
 Oh ! I seem but the biffin of what I was then 1 
 
 I am wither'd and worn by a premature care, 
 
 And my wrinkles confess the decline of my days; 
 
 Old Time's busy hand has made free with niy hair, 
 And I'm seeking to hide it by writing for bays I 
 
 A SAILOR'S APOLOGY FOR BOW-LEGS. 
 
 THERE'S some is born with their legs straight by natur 
 
 And some is born with bow-legs from the first 
 
 And some that should have grow'd a good deal straightei 
 
 But they were badly nursed, 
 And set, you see, like Bacchus, with their pegs 
 
 Astride of casks and kegs. 
 I've got myself a sort of bow to larboard 
 
 And starboard, 
 And this is what it was that warp'd my legs : 
 
 'Twas all along of Poll, as I may say, 
 That foul'd my cable when I ought to slip ; 
 
 But on the tenth of May, 
 
 When I gets under weigh, 
 Down there in Hartfordshire, to join my ship, 
 
 I sees the mail 
 
 Get under sail, 
 The only one there was to make the trip. 
 
 Well, I gives chase, 
 
 But as she run 
 
 Two knots to one, 
 There warn't no use in keeping on the race I 
 
 Well, casting round about what next to try on, 
 
 And how to spin, 
 
 I spies an ensign with a Bloody Lion, 
 And bears away to leeward for the inn, 
 
 Beats round the gable,
 
 A SAILOR'S APOLOGY FOR BOW-LEGS. 237 
 
 And fetches up before the coach-horse stable. 
 Well, there they stand, four kickers in a row, 
 
 And so 
 
 I just makes free to cut a brown 'un's cable. 
 But riding isn't in a seaman's natur ; 
 So I whips out a toughish end of yarn, 
 And gets a kind of sort of a land-waiter 
 
 To splice me, heel to heel, 
 
 Under the she-mare's keel, 
 And off I goes, and leaves the inn a-starn ! 
 
 My eyes ! how she did pitch ! 
 And wouldn't keep her own to go in no line, 
 Tho' I kept bowsing, bowsing at her bow-line, 
 But always making lee-way to the ditch, 
 And yaw'd her head about all sorts of ways. 
 
 The devil sink the craft ! 
 And wasn't she trimendus slack in stays ! 
 We couldn't, no how, keep the inn abaft ! 
 
 Well, I suppose 
 
 We hadn't run a knot or much beyond 
 (What will you have on it ?) but off she goes, 
 Up to her bends in a fresh-water pond ! 
 
 There I am ! all a-back ! 
 So I looks forward for her bridle-gears, 
 To heave her head round on the t'other tack ; 
 
 But when I starts, 
 
 The leather parts, 
 And goes away right over by the ears 1 
 
 What could a fellow do, 
 
 Whose legs, like mine, you know, were in the bilboes, 
 But trim myself upright for bringing-to, 
 And square his yard-arms, and brace up his elbows, 
 
 In rig all snug and clever, 
 Just while his craft was taking in her water ? 
 I didn't like my burth, though, howsomdever. 
 Because the yarn, you see, kept getting taughter. 
 Says I I wish this job was rayther shorter ! 
 
 The chase had gain'd a mile 
 A-head, and still the she-mare stood a-drinking : 
 
 Now, all the while 
 
 Her body didn't take, of course, to shrinking. 
 Says I, she's letting out her reefs, I'm thinking ; 
 
 And so she swell'd, and swell'd, 
 
 And yet the tackle held, 
 
 Till both my legs began to bend like winkin. 
 My eyes ! but she took in enough to founder 1 
 And there's my timbers straining every bit, 
 
 Ready to split, 
 And her tarnation hull a-growing rounder I
 
 338 " NOTHING BUT HEARTS! " 
 
 Well, there off Hartford Ness, 
 We lay both lash'd and water-logg'd together, 
 
 And can't contrive a signal of distress. 
 Thinks I, we must ride out this here foul weather, 
 Tho' sick of riding out, and nothing less ; 
 When, looking round, I sees a man a-starn : 
 " Hollo ! " says I, " come underneath her quarter I " 
 And hands him out my knife to cut the yarn. 
 So I gets off, and lands upon 'the road, 
 And leaves the she-mare to her own consarn, 
 
 A-standing by the water. 
 If I get on another, I'll be blow'd ! 
 And that's the way, you see, my legs got bow'd t 
 
 ' She is all heart." 
 
 "NOTHING BUT HEARTS!" 
 
 IT must have been the lot of every whist-player to observe a pheno- 
 menon at the card-table as mysterious as any in nature, I 
 mean the constant recurrence of a certain trump throughout the night 
 a run upon a particular suit, that sets all the calculations of Hoyle 
 and Cocker at defiance. The chance of turning-up is equal to the 
 Four Denominations. They should alternate with each other, on the 
 average ; whereas a Heart, perhaps, shall be the last card of evrry 
 deal. King or Queen, Ace or Deuce, still it is of the same clan. You 
 cut and it comes again. " Nothing but Hearts ! "
 
 " NO THING BUT HE A R TS/ " *39 
 
 The figure on the other side might be fancied to embody this kind of 
 occurrence ; and/in truth, it was designed to commemorate an even- 
 ing dedicated to the same red suit. I had looked in by chance at 
 the Royal Institution : a Mr Professor Pattison, of New York, I 
 believe, was lecturing, and the subject was "Nothing but Hearts !" 
 
 Some hundreds of grave, curious, or scientific personages were 
 ranged on the benches of the Theatre ; every one in his solemn blick. 
 On a table in front of the Professor stood the specimens . hearts of 
 all shapes and sizes man's, woman's, sheep's, bullock's on platters 
 or in cloths were lying about as familiar as household wares. 
 Drawings of hearts, in black or blood-red (dismal valentines !) hung 
 around the fearful walls. Preparations of the organ, in wax or bottled, 
 passed currently from hand to hand, from eye to eye, and returned to 
 the gloomy table. It was like some solemn Egyptian Inquisition a 
 looking into dead men's hearts for their morals. 
 
 The Professor began. Each after each he displayed the samples; 
 the words "auricle" and "ventricle" falling frequently on the ear as 
 he explained how those " solemn organs " pump in the human breast. 
 He showed, by experiments with water, the operation of the valves 
 with the blood, and the impossibility of its revulsion. As he spoke, 
 an indescribable thrilling or tremor crept over my left breast thence 
 down my side and all over. I felt an awful consciousness of the 
 bodily presence of my heart, till then nothing more than it is in song 
 a mere metaphor so imperceptible are all the grand vital workings 
 of the human frame ! Now I felt the organ distinctly. There it 
 was ! a fleshy core ay, like that on the Professor's plate throbbing 
 away, auricle and ventricle, the valve allowing the gushing blood at 
 so many gallons per minute, and ever prohibiting its return ! 
 
 The Professor proceeded to enlarge on the important office of the 
 great functionary, and the vital engine seemed to dilate within me, in 
 proportion to the sense of its stupendous responsibility. I seemed 
 nothing but auricle and ventricle and valve. I had no breath, but 
 only pulsations. Those who have been present at anatomical dis- 
 cussions can alone corroborate this feeling how the part discoursed 
 of, by a surpassing sympathy and sensibility, causes its counterpart to 
 become prominent and all-engrossing to the sense ; how a lecture on 
 hearts makes a man seem to himself as all heart ; or one on heads 
 causes a Phrenologist to conceive he is " all brain." 
 
 Thus was I absorbed : my "bosom's lord" lording over everything 
 beside. By and by, in lieu of one solitary machine, I saw before me 
 a congregation of hundreds of human forcing-pumps, all awfully work- 
 ing together the palpitations of hundreds of auricles and ventricles, 
 the flapping of hundreds of valves ! And anon they collapsed mine 
 the Professor's those on the benches all ! all ! into one great 
 auricle one great ventricle one vast universal heart ! 
 
 The lecture ended I took up my hat and walked out, but the dis- 
 course haunted me. I was full of the subject. A kind of fluttering, 
 which was not to be cured even by the fresh air, gave me plainly to 
 understand that my heart was not "in the Highlands," nor in any 
 lady's keeping but where it ought to be, in my own bosom, and as 
 hard at work as a parish pump. I plainly felt the blood like the
 
 S40 JACK HALL. 
 
 carriages on a birth-night coming in by the auricle, and going out 
 by the ventricle ; and shuddered to fancy what must ensue either way, 
 from any " breaking the line." Then occurred to me the danger of 
 little particles absorbed in the blood, and accumulating to a stoppage 
 at the valve, the " pumps getting choked," a suggestion that made 
 
 me feel rather qualmish, and for relief I made a call on Mrs W . 
 
 The visit was ill-chosen and mistimed ; for the lady in question, by 
 dint of good-nature and a romantic turn principally estimated by 
 her young and female acquaintance had acquired the reputation of 
 being "all heart." The phrase had often provoked my mirth, but, 
 alas ! the description was now over-true. Whether nature had 
 formed her in that mould, or my own distempered fancy, I know not 
 but there she sate, and looked the Professor's lecture over again. 
 She was like one of those games alluded to in my beginning " No- 
 thing but Hearts ! " Her nose turned up. It was a heart and her 
 mouth led a trump. Her face gave a heart and her cap followed 
 suit. Her sleeves puckered and plumped themselves into a heart- 
 shape and so did her body. Her pin-cushion was a heart the very 
 back of her chair was a heart her bosom was a heart. She was 
 "all heart" indeed 1 
 
 JACK HALL. 
 
 TlS very hard, when men forsake 
 This melancholy world, and make 
 A bed of turf, they cannot take 
 
 A quiet doze, 
 But certain rogues will come and break 
 
 Their " bone repose.* 
 
 IL 
 
 Tis hard we can't give up our breath, 
 And to the earth our earth bequeath, 
 Without Death Fetches after death, 
 
 Who thus exhume us ! 
 And snatch us from our homes beneath, 
 
 And hearths posthumou* , 
 
 III. 
 
 The tender lover comes to rear 
 
 The mournful urn, and shed his tear- 
 
 " Her glorious dust," he cries, " is here I* 
 
 Alack ! alack ! 
 The while his Sacharissa dear 
 
 Is in a sack !
 
 JACK HALL. 441 
 
 IV. 
 
 Tis hard one cannot lie amid 
 The mould, beneath a coffin-lid, 
 But thus the Faculty will bid 
 
 Their rogues break thro* it I 
 If they don't want us there, why did 
 
 They send us to it? 
 
 V. 
 
 One of these sacrilegious knaves, 
 Who crave as hungry vulture craves, 
 Behaving as the ghoul behaves, 
 
 'Neath churchyard wall- 
 Mayhap because he fed on graves 
 
 Was named Jack HalL 
 
 By day it was his trade to go 
 Tending the black coach to and fro ; 
 And sometimes at the door of woe, 
 
 With emblems suitably 
 He stood with brother Mute, to show 
 
 That life is mutable. 
 
 But long before they pass'd the ferry, 
 The dead that he had help'd to bury 
 He sack'd (he had a sack to carry 
 
 The bodies off in ;) 
 In fact, he let them have a very 
 
 Short fit of coffin. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Night after night, with crow and spnde, 
 He drove this dead but thriving trade, 
 Meanwhile his conscience never weigh'd 
 
 A single horsehair j 
 On corses of all kinds he prey'd, 
 
 A perfect corsair I 
 
 DC. 
 
 At last it may be, Death took spite, 
 Or jesting, only meant to fright 
 He sought for Jack night after night 
 
 The churchyards round \ 
 And soon they met, the man and sprite, 
 
 In Pancras' ground. 
 
 Q
 
 JACK HALL. 
 
 Jack, by the glimpses of the moon, 
 Perceived the bony knacker soon, 
 An awful shape to meet at noon 
 
 Of night and lonely ; 
 But Jack's tough courage did but swoon 
 
 A minute only. 
 
 XL 
 
 Anon he gave his spade a swing 
 Aloft, and kept it brandishing, 
 Ready for what mishaps might spring 
 
 From this conjunction ; 
 Funking indeed was quite a thing 
 
 Beside his function. 
 
 XII. 
 
 * Hollo ! " cried Death, " d r ye wish your sandi 
 Run out ? the stoutest never stands 
 A chance with me, to my commands 
 
 The strongest truckles ; 
 But I'm your friend so let's shake hands, 
 
 I should say knuckles." 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Jack, glad to see th' old sprite so sprightly, 
 And meaning nothing but uprightly, 
 Shook hands at once, and bowing slightly, 
 
 His mull did proffer : 
 But Death, who had no nose, politely 
 
 Declined the offer. 
 
 Then sitting down upon a bank, 
 Leg over leg, shank over shank, 
 Like friends for conversation frank, 
 
 That had no check on : 
 Quoth Jack unto the Lean and Lank, 
 
 " You're Death, I reckon." 
 
 XV. 
 
 The Jawbone grinn'd : " I am that same, 
 You've hit exactly on my name ; 
 In truth, it has some little fame 
 
 Where burial sod is." 
 Quoth Jack (and wink'd), " Of course ye came 
 
 Here after bodies."
 
 JACK HALL. 243 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Death grinn'd again and shook his head s 
 " I've little business with the dead ; 
 When they are fairly sent to bed 
 
 I've done my turn 
 Whether or not the worms are fed 
 
 Is your concern. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " My errand here, in meeting you, 
 Is nothing but a ' how-d'ye-do ;' 
 I've done what jobs I had a few 
 
 Along this way ; 
 If I can serve a crony too, 
 
 I beg you'll say." 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Quoth Jack, " Your Honour's very kind : 
 And now I call the thing to mind, 
 This parish very strict 1 find ; 
 
 But in the next 'un 
 There lives a very well-inclined 
 
 Old sort of sexton." 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Death took the hint, and gave a wink 
 As well as eyelet-holes can blink ; 
 Then stretching out his arm to link 
 
 The other's arm, 
 * Suppose," says he, " we have a drink 
 
 Of something warm." 
 
 XX. 
 
 Jack, nothing loth, with friendly ease 
 Spoke up at once : " Why, what ye please ; 
 Hard by there is the Cheshire Cheese, 
 
 A famous tap." 
 But this suggestion seem'd to tease 
 
 The bony chap. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " No, no ! your mortal drinks are heady, 
 And only make my hand unsteady ; 
 I do not even care for Deady, 
 
 And loathe your rum ; 
 But I've some glorious brewage ready, 
 * My drink is mum ! '
 
 244 JACK HALL. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 And off they set, each right content 
 Who knows the dreary way they went? 
 But Jack felt rather faint and spent, 
 
 And out of breath ; 
 At last he saw, quite evident, 
 
 The door of Death, 
 
 Death's Door. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 All other men had been unmann'd 
 To see a coffin on each hand, 
 That served a skeleton to st.-md 
 
 By way of sentry; 
 In fact, Death has a very grand 
 
 And awful entry. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Throughout his dismal sign prevails, 
 His name is writ in coffin nails; 
 The mortal darts make area rails ; 
 
 A skull that mocketh 
 Grins on the gloomy gate, and quails 
 
 Whoever knocketh.
 
 JACK HALL. 
 XXV. 
 
 And lo ! on either side arise 
 
 Two monstrous pillars bones of thighs; 
 
 A monumental slab supplies 
 
 The step of stone, 
 Where, waiting for his master, lies 
 
 A dog of bone. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 The dog leapt up, but gave no yell, 
 The wire was pull'd, but woke no bell, 
 The ghastly knocker rose and fell, 
 
 But caused no riot ; 
 The ways of Death, we all know well, 
 
 Are very quiet. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Old Bones slept in ; Jack stept behind : 
 
 ?uoth Death, " I really hope you'll find 
 he entertainment to your mind, 
 
 As I shall treat ye 
 A friend or two of goblin kind 
 
 I've ask'd to meet ye." 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 And lo ! a crowd of spectres tall, 
 Like jack-a-lanterns on a wall, 
 Were standing every ghastly ball 
 
 An eager watcher. 
 * My friends," says Death" friends, Mr HaJJ, 
 
 The body-snatcher." 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Lord ! what a tumult it produced 
 When Mr Hall was introduced ! 
 Jack even, who had lon been used 
 
 To frightful things, 
 Felt just as if his back was sluiced 
 
 With freezing springs I 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Each goblin fnce began to mnke 
 
 Some horrid mouth ape gorgon snake; 
 
 And then a spectre hag would shake 
 
 An airy thigh-bone ; 
 And cried (or seem'd to cry), " I'll break 
 
 Your bone, with my bone i*
 
 JACK HALL. 
 
 Some ground their teeth some seem'd to sph 
 (Nothing, but nothing came of it) ; 
 A hundred awful brows were knit 
 
 In dreadful spite. 
 Thought Jack I'm sure I'd better quit 
 
 Without good-night 
 
 One skip and hop and he was clear, 
 And running like a hunted deer, 
 As fleel as people run by fear 
 
 Well spurr'd and whipp'd ; 
 Death, ghosts, and all in that career 
 
 Were quite outstripp'd, 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 But those who live by death must die ; 
 Jack's soul at last prepared to fly ; 
 And when his latter end drew nigh, 
 
 Oh, what a swarm 
 Of doctors came, but not to try 
 
 To keep him warm. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 No ravens ever scented prey 
 So early where a dead horse lay, 
 Nor vultures sniff'd so far away 
 
 A last convulse ; 
 A dozen " guests " day after day 
 
 Were " at his pulse.* 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Twas strange, altho' they got no fees, 
 How still they watch'd by twos and threes : 
 But Jack a very little ease 
 
 Obtain'd from them ; 
 In fact, he did not find M.D.'s 
 
 Worth one D M. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 The passing bell with hollow toll 
 Was in his thought the dreary hole 1 
 Jack gave his eyes a horrid roll, 
 
 And then a cough : 
 u There's something weighing on my soul 
 
 I wish was off ;
 
 JACK HALZ. 
 
 "All night it roves about my brains, 
 All day it adds to all my pains ; 
 It is concerning my remains 
 
 When I am dead." 
 Twelve wigs and twelve gold-headed canes 
 
 Drew near his bed. 
 
 Alas ! " he sigh'd, " I'm sore afraid, 
 A dozen pangs my heart invade ; 
 But when I drove a certain trade 
 
 In flesh and bone, 
 There was a little bargain made 
 
 About my own." 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Twelve suits of black began to close, 
 Twelve pair of sleek and snble hose, 
 Twelve flowing cambric frills in rows, 
 
 At once drew round ; 
 Twelve noses turn'd against his nose, 
 
 Twelve snubs profound. 
 
 XL. 
 
 * Ten guineas did not quite suffice, 
 And so I sold my body twice; 
 Twice did not do I sold it thrice : 
 
 Forgive my crimes I 
 In short, I have received its price 
 
 A dozen times 1* 
 
 XLL 
 
 Twelve brows got very grim and black, 
 Twelve wishes stretch'd him on the rack, 
 Twelve pair of hands for fierce attack 
 
 Took up position, 
 Ready to share the dying Jack 
 
 By long division, 
 
 Twelve angry doctors wrangled so, 
 That twelve had struck an hour ago 
 Before they had an eye to throw 
 
 On the departed ; 
 Twelve heads turn'd round at once, and lo ! 
 
 Twelve doctors started.
 
 848 THE WEE MAN. 
 
 Whether some comrade of the dead, 
 
 Or Satan took it in his head, 
 
 To steal the corpse the corpse had fled ! 
 
 'Tis only written, 
 That " ikere was nothing in the bed, 
 
 But twelve were bitten V 
 
 A Hard Row. 
 
 THE WEE MAN. 
 
 A ROMANCE. 
 
 IT was a merry company, 
 
 And they were just afloat, 
 When lo ! a man of dwarfish span, 
 
 Came up and hail'd the boat. 
 
 " Good morrow to ye, gentle folks, 
 
 And will you let me in ? 
 A slender space will serve my case, 
 
 For I am small and thin." 
 
 They saw he was a dwarfish man 
 
 And very small and thin ; 
 Not seven such would matter much, 
 
 And so they took him in. 
 
 They laugh'd to see his little hat 
 With such a narrow brim ; 
 
 They laugh'd to note his dapper coat, 
 With skirts so scant and trim.
 
 THE WEE MAN. 
 
 But barely had they gone a mile, 
 
 When, gravely, one and all, 
 At once began to think the man 
 
 Was not so very small : 
 
 His coat had got a broader skirt, 
 
 His hat a broader brim, 
 His leg grew stout, and soon plump'd out 
 
 A very proper limb. 
 
 Still on they went, and as they went, 
 
 More rough the billows grew, 
 And rose and fell, a greater swell 
 
 And he was swelling too ! 
 
 And lo ! where room had been for seven, 
 For six there scarce was space ! 
 
 For five ! for four ! for three ! not more 
 Than two could find a place 1 
 
 There was not even room for one I 
 
 They crowded by degrees 
 Ay, closer yet, till elbows met, 
 
 And knees were jogging knees. 
 
 " Good sir, you must not sit a-stern, 
 The wave will else come in ! " 
 
 Without a word he gravely stirr'd 
 Another seat to win. 
 
 u Good sir, the boat has lost her trim, 
 
 You must not sit a-lee ! " 
 With smiling face, and courteous grace, 
 
 The middle sent took he. 
 
 But still by constant, quiet growth, 
 
 His back became so wide, 
 Each neighbour wight, to left and right, 
 
 Was thrust against the side. 
 
 Lord ! how they chided with tl emselves, 
 
 That they had let him in ; 
 To see him grow so monstrous now, 
 
 That came so small and thin. 
 
 On every brow a dewdrop stood, 
 They grew so scared and hot, 
 
 " I' the name of all that's great and tall, 
 Who are ye, sir, and what ? " 
 
 Loud laughed the Gogmagog a laugh. 
 
 As loud as gi.mi's roar 
 "When first I came, my proper name 
 
 Was Little now I'm Moon '!"
 
 250 
 
 Penn's Conference with the Natives. 
 
 PYTHAGOREAN FANCIES. 
 
 OF all creeds after the Christian I incline most to the Pytha- 
 gorean. I like the notion of inhabiting the body of a bird. It 
 is the next thing to being a cherub at least, according to the popular 
 image of a boy's head and wings ; a fancy that savours strangely of 
 the Pythagorean. 
 
 I think nobly of the soul with Malvolio, but not so meanly as he 
 does, by implication, of a bird-body. What disparagement would it 
 seem to shuffle off a crippled, palsied, languid, bedridden carcase, and 
 find yourself floating above the world in a flood of sunshine under 
 the feathers of a Royal Eagle of the Andes ? 
 
 For a beast-body I have less relish and yet how many men are 
 there who seem predestined to such an occupancy, being in this life 
 even more than semi-brutal ! How many human faces that at least 
 countenance, if they do not confirm, this part of the Brahminical 
 doctrine ! What apes, foxes, pigs, curs, and cats, walk our metropolis 
 to say nothing of him shambling along Carnaby or Whitechapel
 
 PYTHAGOREAN FANCIES. 251 
 
 A BUTCHER! 
 
 Whoe'er has gone thro' London Street, 
 Has seen a Butcher gazing at his meat, 
 And how he keeps 
 Gloating upon a sheep's 
 Or bullock's personals, as if his own ; 
 How he admires his halves 
 And quarters and his calves, 
 As if, in truth, upon his own legs grown j 
 
 His fat ! his suet ! 
 
 His kidneys peeping elegantly thro' it 1 
 His thick flank 1 
 And his thin ! 
 His shank ! 
 His shin ! 
 Skin of his skin, and bone too of his bone I 
 
 With what an air 
 
 He stands aloof, across the thoroughfare 
 Gazing and will not let a body by, 
 Tho' buy ! buy ! buy ! be constantly his cry. 
 Meanwhile, with arms akimbo, and a pair 
 Of Rhodian legs, he revels in a stare 
 At his Joint Stock for one may call it so, 
 
 Howbeit without a Co. 
 The dotage of self-love was never fonder 
 Than he of his brute bodies all a-row ; 
 Narcissus in the wave did never ponder 
 
 With love so strong, 
 
 On his " portrait charmant," 
 As our vain Butcher on his carcase yonder. 
 
 Look at his sleek round skull ! 
 How bright his cheek, how rubicund his nose is I 
 
 His visage seems to be 
 
 Ripe for beef-tea ; 
 
 Of brutal juices the whole man is full. 
 In fact, fulfilling the metempsychosis, 
 The Butcher is already half a Bull 
 
 Surpassing the Butcher in his approximation to the brute, behold 
 yon vagrant Hassnn, a wandering camel-driver and exhibitor, parading, 
 for a few pence, the creature's outlandish hump, yet burthened himself 
 with a bunch of flesh between the shoulders. For the sake of the 
 implicit moral merely, or as an illustration of comparative physiology; 
 the show js valuable ; but as an example of the Pythagorean dispensi.-
 
 *5* PYTHAGOREAN FANCIES, 
 
 tion, it is above appraisement. The retributive metamorphosis has 
 commenced the Beast has set his seal upon the Human Form a 
 little further, and he will be ready for a halter and a showman. 
 
 As there are instances of men thus transmuting into the brute, so 
 there are brutes that, by peculiar human manners and resemblance, 
 eem to hint at a former and a better condition. The ouran-outang 
 and the monkey notoriously claim this relationship ; and there are 
 other tribes, and in particular some which use the erect posture, that 
 are apt to provoke such Pythagorean associations. For example, I 
 could never read of the great William Penn's interview with the 
 American savages, or look on the painting commemorative of that 
 event, without dreaming that I had seen it acted over again at the 
 meeting of a tribe of Kangaroos and a Penguin. The Kangaroos, 
 sharp-sighted, vigilant, cunning, wild, swift, and active as the Indians 
 themselves ; the Penguin, very sleek, guiltless of arms, very taciturn, 
 very sedate, except when jumping ; upright in its conduct a perfect 
 
 ve Physiology. 
 
 Quaker. It confirmed me, in this last fancy, to read of the conduct 
 of these gentle birds when assaulted, formerly, with long poles, by the 
 seamen of Captain Cook buffetings which the Penguins took quietly 
 on either cheek, or side of the head, and died as meekly and passively 
 as the primitive Martyrs of the Sect ! 
 
 It is difficult to s.iy to what excesses the desire of fresh victual, 
 after long salt-junketing, may drive a mariner. For my own part, I 
 could not have handled a pole in that persecution without strong 
 Pythagorean misgivings. 
 
 There is a Juvenile Poem, "The Notorious Glutton," by Miss Taylor 
 of Ongar, in which a duck falls sick and dies in a very human-like
 
 PYTHAGOREAN FANCIES. 
 
 253 
 
 way. I could never eat duck for some time after the perusal of those 
 verses ; it seemed as if in reality the soul of my grandam might inhabit 
 such a bird. In mere tenderness to past womanhood, I could never 
 lay the death-scene elsewhere than in a lady's chamber, with the body 
 of the invalid propped up by comfortable pillows on a nursery chair. 
 The sick attendant seemed one that had relished drams aforetime 
 had been pompously officious at human dissolutions, and would 
 announce that "all was over !" with the same flapping of paws and 
 duck-like inflections of tone. As for the Physician, he was an Ex- 
 Quack of our own kind, just called in from the pond a sort of Man- 
 Drake, and formerly a brother by nature, as now by name, of the author 
 of "Winter Nights." 
 
 The Last Visit.
 
 254 
 
 "DON'T YOU SMELL FIRR 9* 
 
 RUN ! run for St dementi's engine ! 
 
 For the Pawnbroker's all in a blaze, 
 And the pledges are frying and singeing 
 
 Oh ! how the poor pawners will craze ! 
 Now where can the turncock be drinking ? 
 
 Was there ever so thirsty an elf? 
 But he still may tope on, for I'm thinking 
 
 That the plugs are as dry as himself. 
 
 The engines ! I hear them come rumbling ; 
 
 There's the Phcenix ! the Globe ! and the Sun I 
 What a row there will be, and a grumbling, 
 
 When the water don't start for a run ! 
 See ! there they come racing and tearing, 
 
 All the street with loud voices is fill'd ; 
 Oh ! it's only the firemen a-swearing 
 
 At a man they've run over and kill'd !
 
 DON'T YOU SMELL FIREt 
 
 III. 
 How sweetly the sparks fly away now, 
 
 And twinkle like stars in the sky. 
 It's a wonder the engines don't play now ; 
 
 But I never saw water so shy ! 
 Why there isn't enough for a snipe, 
 
 And the fire it is fiercer, alas ! 
 Oh ! instead of the New River pipe, 
 
 They have gone that they have to the gas I 
 
 Only look at the poor little P 's 
 
 On the roof. Is there anything sadder? 
 My dears, keep fast hold, if you please, 
 
 And they won't be an hour with the ladder I 
 But if any one's hot in their feet, 
 
 And in very great haste to be saved, 
 Here's a nice easy bit in the street, 
 
 That M'Adam has lately unpaved 1 
 
 V. 
 
 There is some one I see a dark shape 
 
 At that window, the hottest of all, 
 My good woman, why don't you escape ? 
 
 Never think of your bonnet and shawl : 
 If your dress isn't perfect, what is it 
 
 For once in a way to your hurt ? 
 When your husband is paying a visit 
 
 There, at Number Fourteen, in his shirt I 
 
 VI. 
 Only see how she throws out her chaney I 
 
 Her basins, and teapots, and all 
 The most brittle of her goods or any, 
 
 But they all break in breaking their fall ! 
 Such things are not surely the best 
 
 From a two-storey window to throw 
 She might save a good iron-bound chest, 
 For there's plenty of people below ? 
 
 VII. 
 O dear ! what a beautiful flash ! 
 
 How it shone thro' the window and door ; 
 We shall soon hear a scream and a crash, f 
 
 When the woman falls thro' with the floor ! 
 There ! there ! what a volley of flame, 
 
 And then suddenly all is obscured ! 
 Well, I'm glad in my heart that I came ; 
 
 But I hope the poor man is insured !
 
 2 S 6 
 
 The Angel of Death. 
 
 THE VOLUNTEER. 
 
 1 The clashing of my armour in my ears 
 Sounds like a passing bell ; my buckler puts m 
 In mind of bier ; tlii-, my broadsword, a pickax* 
 To dig my grave." T/te Lover's Progress. 
 
 'TWAS in that memorable year 
 France threaten'd to put off in 
 Flat-bottom'd boats, intending each 
 To be a British coffin, 
 To make sad widows of our wives, 
 And every babe an orphan : 
 
 II. 
 
 When coats were made of scarlet cloaks^ 
 
 And heads were dredged with flour, 
 
 I listed in the Lawyers' Corps, 
 
 Against the battle hour ; 
 
 A perfect Volunteer for why? 
 
 I brought my " will and power."
 
 THE VOLUNTEER. 
 
 III. 
 
 One dreary day a day of dread, 
 
 Like Cato's, overcast 
 
 About the hour of six (the morn 
 
 And I were breaking fast), 
 
 There came a loud and sudden sound, 
 
 That struck me all aghast ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 A dismal sort of morning roll, 
 That was not to be eaten : 
 Although it was no skin of mine, 
 But parchment that was beaten, 
 I felt tattoo'd through all my flesh, 
 Like any Otaheitan. 
 
 My jaws with utter dread enclosed 
 
 The morsel I was munching, 
 
 And terror lock'd them up so tight, 
 
 My very teeth went crunching 
 
 All through my bread and tongue at once. 
 
 Like sandwich made at lunching. 
 
 VI. 
 
 My hand, that held the teapot fast, 
 
 Stiffen'd, but yet unsteady, 
 
 Kept pouring, pouring, pouring o'er 
 
 The cup in one long eddy, 
 
 Till both my hose were mark'd with /*, 
 
 As they were mark'd already. 
 
 VII. 
 
 I felt my visage turn from red 
 To white from cold to hot ; 
 But it was nothing wonderful 
 My colour changed, 1 wot, 
 For, like some variable silks, 
 I felt that I was shot 
 
 And looking forth with anxious eye 
 
 From my snug upper storey, 
 
 I saw our mel.inchi'ly corps 
 
 Going to beds all gory ; 
 
 The pioneeis serm'd very loth 
 
 To axe their way to glory.
 
 258 THE VOLUNTEER. 
 
 The captain march'd as mourners march, 
 The ensign too seem'd lagging, 
 And many more, although they were 
 No ensigns, took to flagging 
 Like corpses in the Serpentine, 
 Methought they wanted dragging. 
 
 But while I watch'd, the thought of death 
 
 Came like a chilly gust, 
 
 And lo ! I shut the window down, 
 
 With very little lust 
 
 To join so many marching men, 
 
 That soon might be March dust. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Quoth I, " Since Fate ordaias it so, 
 
 Our foe the coast must land on ;" 
 
 I felt so warm beside the fire 
 
 I cared not to abandon ; 
 
 Our hearths and homes are always things 
 
 That patriots make a stand on. 
 
 XII. 
 
 "The fools that fight abroad for homV 
 Thought I, "may get a wrong one ; 
 Let those that have no homes at all 
 Go battle for a long one." 
 The mirror here confirm'd me this 
 Reflection by a strong one : 
 
 For there, where I was wont to shav^ 
 And deck me like Adonis, 
 There stood the leader of our foes, 
 With vultures for his cronies 
 No Corsican, but Death himself 
 The Bony of all Bonies. 
 
 A horrid sight it was, and sad, 
 To see the grisly chap 
 Put on my crimson livery, 
 And then begin to clap 
 My helmet on ah me ! it felt 
 Like any felon's cap.
 
 THE VOLUNTEER. 259 
 
 XV. 
 
 My plume seem'd borrow'd from a hewse, 
 
 An undertaker's crest ; 
 
 My epaulettes like coffin-plates ; 
 
 My belt so heavy press'd, 
 
 Four pipeclay cross-roads seem'd to lie 
 
 At once upon my breast. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 My brazen breastplate only lack'd 
 
 A little heap of salt, 
 
 To make me like a corpse full dress'd, 
 
 Preparing for the vault r 
 
 To set up what the poet calls 
 
 My everlasting halt. 
 
 This funeral show inclined me quite 
 
 To peace : and here I am ! 
 
 Whilst better lions go to war, 
 
 Enjoying with the lamb 
 
 A lengthen' d life, that might have befltt 
 
 A martial epigram.
 
 260 
 
 Bride and Bridesmaid. 
 
 A MARRIAGE PROCESSION. 
 
 T T has never been my lot to marry, whatever I may have written of 
 J. one Honoria to the contrary. My affair with that lady never 
 reached beyond a very embarrassing declaration, in return for which 
 she breathed into my dull, deaf ear an inaudible answer. It was beyond 
 my slender assurance, in those days, to ask for a repetition, whether 
 of acceptance or denial. 
 
 One chance for explanation still remained. I wrote to her mother, 
 to bespeak her sanction to our union, and received, by return of post, 
 a scrawl that, for aught I knew, might be in Sanscrit. 1 question 
 whether, even at this time, my intolerable bashfulness would suffer me 
 to press such a matter any farther. 
 
 My thoughts of matrimony are now confined to occasional day-dreams, 
 originating in some stray glimpse in the Prayer-Book, or the receipt of 
 bridecake. It was on some such occurrence that I fell once, Bunyan- 
 like, into an allegory of a wedding. 
 
 My fancies took the order of a procession. With flaunting banners, 
 it wound its Alexandrine way in the manner of some of Martin's 
 
 Sainted pageants to a taper spire in the distance. And first, like a 
 and of livery, came the honourable company of Match-makers, all 
 mature spinsters and matrons and as like aunts and mothers as may 
 be. The Glovers trod closely on their heels. Anon came, in blue and 
 gold, the parish beadle, Scarabeus Parochialis, with the ringers of the 
 hand-bells. Then came the Banns it was during the reign of Lord 
 Eldon's Act three sturdy pioneers, with their three axes, and likely to
 
 A MARRIAGE PROCESSION. 
 
 261 
 
 hew down sterner impediments than lie commonly in the path of mar- 
 riage. On coming nearer, the countenance of the first was right foolish 
 and perplexed ; of the second, simpering , and the last, methought, 
 looked sedate, and as if dashed with a little fear. After the Banns, 
 like the Judges following the halberts, came the Joiners : no rough 
 mechanics, but a portly, full-blown vicar, with his clerk both rubi- 
 cund a peony paged by a pink. It made me smile to observe the droll 
 clerical turn of the clerk's beaver, scrubbed into that fashion by his coat, 
 at the nape. The marriage-knot, borne by a ticket-porter, came after the 
 divine, and raised associations enough to sadden one, but for a pretty 
 Cupid that came on laughing and trundling a hoop-ring. 
 
 The next group was a numerous one, Firemen of the Hand-in-Hand, 
 with the Union flag the chief actors were near. With a mixture of 
 anxiety and curiosity, I looked out for the impending couple, when 
 how shall I tell it-? I beheld, not a brace of young lovers, a Romeo 
 and Juliet not a "he-moon here, and a she-sun there" not bride and 
 
 bridegroom, but the happy pear, a solitary Bergamy, carried on a 
 velvet cushion by a little foot-page. I could have foresworn my fancy 
 for ever for so wretched a conceit, till I remembered that it was in- 
 tended, perhaps, to typify, under that figure, the mysterious resolution 
 of two into one, a pair nominally, but in substance single, which belongs 
 to marriage. To make amends, the high contracting parties approached 
 in proper person a duplication sanctioned by the practice of the oldest 
 Masters in their historical pictures. It took a brace of Cupids, with a 
 hnlter, to overcome the "sweet reluctant delay "of the Bride, and 
 make her keep pace with the procession. She was absorbed like a
 
 a6a A MARRIAGE PROCESSION. 
 
 nun in her veil ; tears, too, she dropped, larga as sixpences, in het 
 path ; but her attendant Bridesmaid put on such a coquettish look, 
 and tripped along so airily, that it cured all suspicion of heartache in 
 such maiden showers. The Bridegroom, dressed for the Honeymoon, 
 was ushered by Hymen, a little link-boy ; and the imp used the same 
 importunity for his dues. The next was a motley crew. For nuptial 
 ode or Carmen, there walked two carters or draymen, with their whips; 
 a leash of footmen in livery indicated Domestic Habits ; and Domestic 
 Comfort was personated by an ambulating advertiser of " Hot Dinners 
 every day." 
 
 I forget whether the Bride's Character preceded or followed her ; 
 but it was a lottery placard, and blazoned her as One of Ten Thou- 
 sand. The parents of both families had a quiet smile on their faces, 
 hinting that their enjoyment was of a retrospective cast ; and as for 
 the six sisters of the Bride, they would have wept with her, but that 
 six young gallants came after them. The friends of the family were 
 Quakers, and seemed to partake of the happiness of the occasion in a 
 very quiet and Quaker-like way. I ought to mention that a band of 
 harmonious sweet music preceded the Happy Pair. There was none 
 came after the veteran Townsend, with his constables, to keep order, 
 making up the rear of the procession. 
 
 A Man in the Honeymoon.
 
 Encompass d in an angel's fra 
 
 THE WIDOW. 
 
 ONE widow at a grave will sob 
 A little while, and weep, and sigh ; 
 If two should meet on such a job, 
 They'll have a gossip by and by, 
 If three should come together why f 
 Three widows are good company ! 
 If four should meet by any chance, 
 Four is a number very nice 
 To have a rubber in a trice 
 But five will up and have a dance ! 
 
 Poor Mrs C (why should I not 
 
 Declare her name ? her name was Cress) 
 Was one of those the "common lot" 
 Had left to weep " no common loss j" 
 For she had lately buried then 
 A man, the " very best of men," 
 A lingering truth, discover'd first 
 Whenever men "are at the worst." 
 To take the measure of her woe, 
 It was some dozen inches deep 
 I mean in crape and hung so low, 
 It hid the drops she did not weep ; 
 In fact, what human life appears, 
 It was a perfect " veil of tears."
 
 264 THE WIDOW. 
 
 Though ever since she lost " her prop 
 And stay," alas ! he wouldn't stay 
 She never had a tear to mop, 
 Except one little angry drop 
 From Passion's eye, as Moore would say ; 
 Because, when Mister Cross took flight, 
 It look'd so very like a spite 
 He died upon a washing-day ! 
 
 Still Widow Cross went twice a week, 
 As if " to wet a widow's cheek," 
 And soothe his grave with sorrow's gravy, 
 *Twas nothing but a make-believe, 
 She might as well have hoped to grieve 
 Enough of brine to float a navy ; 
 And yet she often seem'd to raise 
 A cambric kerchief to her eye 
 A duster ought to be the phrase, 
 Its work was all so very dry. 
 The springs were lock'd that ought to flow- 
 In England or in widow- woman 
 As those that watch the weather know, 
 Such " backward Springs " are not uncommon. 
 
 But why did Widow Cross take pains 
 To call upon the " dear remains," 
 Remains that could not tell a jot 
 Whether she ever wept or not. 
 Or how his relict took her losses ? 
 Oh ! my black ink turns red for shnme 
 But still the naughty world must learn, 
 There was a little German came 
 To shed a tear in " Anna's Urn," 
 At that next grave to Mr Cross's ! 
 For there an angel's virtues slept, 
 "Too soon did Heaven assert its claim 1" 
 But still her painted face he kept, 
 "Encompass'd in an angel's frame." 
 
 He look'd quite sad and quite deprived ; 
 His head was nothing but a hat-band ; 
 He look'd so lone, and so w ived, 
 That soon the Widow Cross contrived 
 To fall in love with even that band ; 
 And all at once the brackish juices 
 Came gushing out thro' sorrow's sluices 
 Tear after tear too fast to wipe, 
 Tho' sopp'd, and sopp'd, and sopp'd agair- 
 No leak in sorrow's privatpipe, 
 But like a bursting on the main ! 
 Whoe'er has watch'd the window-pane
 
 THE WIDOW. 265 
 
 I mean to say In showery weather 
 Has seen two little drops of rain, 
 Like lovers very fond .and fain, 
 At one another creeping, creeping, 
 Till both, at last, embrace together : 
 So fared it with that couple's weeping ! 
 The principle was quite as active 
 
 Tear unto tear 
 
 Kept drawing near, 
 Their very blacks became attractive. 
 To cut a shortish stcry shorter, 
 Conceive them sitting tete-d-tefe 
 Two cups, hot muffins on a plate, 
 With " Anna's Urn " to hold hot water I 
 The brazen vessel for awhile 
 Had lectured in an easy song, 
 Like Abernethy on the bile. 
 The scalded herb was getting strong ; 
 All seem'd as smooth as smooth could be, 
 To have a cosy cup of tea. 
 Alas ! how often human sippers 
 With unexpected bitters meet, 
 And buds, the sweetest of the sweet, 
 Like sugar, only meet the nippers ! 
 
 The Widow Cross, I should have told, 
 Had seen three husbands to the mould ; 
 She never sought an Indian pyre, 
 Like Hindoo wives that lose their loves ; 
 But, with a proper sense of fire, 
 Put up, instead, with " three removes." 
 Thus, when with any tender words 
 Or tears she spoke about her loss, 
 The dear departed Mr Cross 
 Came in for nothing but his third* ; 
 For, as all widows love too well, 
 She liked upon the list to dwell, 
 And oft ripp'd up the old disasters. 
 She might, indeed, have been supposed 
 A great ship owner ; for she prosed 
 Eternally of her Three Masters ! 
 
 Thus, foolish woman, while she nursed 
 Her mild souchong, she talk'd and reckon'd 
 What had been left her by her first, 
 And by her last, and by her second. 
 Alas ! not all her annual rents 
 Could then entice the little German, 
 Not Mr Cross's Three per Cents, 
 Or Consols, ever make him her man. 
 He liked her cash, he liked her houses, 
 But not that dismal bit of land
 
 A MAD DOG. 
 
 She always settled on her spouses. 
 
 So taking up his hat and band, 
 
 Said he, " You'll think my conduct odd 
 
 But here my hopes no more may linger; 
 
 I thought you had a wedding-finger, 
 
 But oh ! it is a curtain-rod I" 
 
 A MAD DOG 
 
 T S none of my bugbears. Of the bite of dogs, large ones especially, 
 JL I have a reasonable dread ; but as to any participation in the 
 canine frenzy, I am somewhat sceptical. The notion savours of the 
 same fanciful superstition that invested the subjects of Dr Jenner 
 with a pair of horns. Such was affirmed to be the effect of the vaccine 
 matter ; and I shall believe what I have heard of the canine virus, 
 when I see a rabid gentleman, or gentlewoman, with flap-ears, dew- 
 claws, and a brush-tail ! 
 
 I lend no credit to the imputed effects of a mad dog's saliva. We 
 hear of none such amongst the West Indian Negroes, and yet their 
 condition is always slavery. 
 
 I put no faith in the vulgar stories of human beings betaking them- 
 selves, through a dog bite, to dog habits ; and consider the smother- 
 ings and drownings that have originated in that fancy as cruel as the 
 murders for witchcraft. Are we, for a few yelpings, to stifle all the 
 disciples of Loyola Jesuits Bark or plunge unto death all the con- 
 valescents who may take to bark and wine ? 
 
 As for the hydrophobia, or loathing of water, I have it mildly myself. 
 My head turns invariably at thin, washy potations. With a dog, 
 indeed, the case is different : he is a water-drinker, and when he takes 
 to grape-juice, or the stronger cordials, may be dangerous. But 1 have 
 never seen one with a bottle except at his tail. 
 
 There are other dogs who are born to haunt the liquid element, to 
 dive and swim, and for such to shun the lake or the pond would look 
 suspicious. A Newfoundlander, standing up from a shower at a door- 
 way, or a Spaniel with a Parapluie, might be innocently destroyed. 
 But when does such a cur occur ? 
 
 There are persons, however, who lecture on Hydrophobia very 
 dogmatically. It is one of their maggots, that if a puppy be not 
 wormed, he is apt to go rabid. As if, forsooth, it made so much 
 difference, his merely speaking or not with what Lord Duberly calls 
 his "vermicular tongue !" Verily, as Izaak Walton wguld say, these 
 gudgeons take the worm very kindly ! 
 
 Next to a neglect of calling in Dr Gardner, want of water is nrone to 
 drive a dog mad. A reasonable saying but the rest is not so plausible, 
 viz , that if you keep a dog till he is very dry, he will refuse to drink. 
 It is a gross libel on the human-like instinct of the animal, to suppose 
 him to act so clean contrary to human-kind. A crew of sailors, thinf .
 
 A MAD DOG. 267 
 
 ing at sea, will suck their pumps or the canvas anything that will 
 afford a drop of moisture ; whereas a parching dog, instead of cooling 
 his tongue at the next gutter, or licking his own kennel for imaginary 
 relief, runs senselessly up and down to overheat himself, and resents 
 the offer of a bucket like a mortal affront. Away he scuds, straiyht- 
 fqrward like a marmot, except when he dodges a pump. A glimmer- 
 ing instinct guides him to his old haunts. He bites his ex-master, 
 grips his trainer, takes a snap with a friend or two where he used 
 to visit and then, biting right and left at the public, at last dies a 
 pitchfork in his eye, fifty slugs in his ribs, and a spade at the small 
 of his back. 
 
 The career of the animal is but a type of his victim's suppose some 
 Bank Clerk. He was not bitten, but only splashed on the hand' by 
 the mad foam or dog-spray ; a recent flea-bite gives entrance to the 
 
 Hydrophobia. 
 
 virus, and in less than three years it gets possession. Then the 
 tragedy begins. The unhappy gentleman first evinces uneasiness at 
 being called on for his New River rates. He answers the Collector 
 snappishly, and when summoned to pay for his supply of water, tells 
 the Commissioners doggedly that they may cut it off. Frum that 
 time he gets worse. He refuses slops turns up a pug nose at pump- 
 water and at last, on a washing-day, after flying at the laundress, 
 rushes out, ripe for hunting, to the street. A twilight remembrance 
 leads him to the house of his intended. He fastens on her hand 
 next worries his mother takes a bite apiece out of his brothers and 
 sisters runs a muck, " giving tongue," all through the suburbs and 
 finally is smothered by a pair of bed-beaters in Moortields.
 
 S68 A MAD DOG. 
 
 According to popular theory, the mischief ends not here. The dog's 
 master the trainer the friends, human and canine the Bank Clerks 
 the laundresses sweetheart mother and sisters the two bed-beaters 
 all inherit the rabies, and run about to bite others. It is a wonder, 
 the madness increasing by this ratio, that examples are not running 
 in packs at every turn : my experience, notwithstanding, records but 
 one instance. 
 
 It was my Aunt's brute. His temper latterly had altered for the 
 worse, and in a sullen or insane fit he made a snap at the cook's 
 radish-like fingers. The act demanded an inquest de lunatico in- 
 quirendo he was lugged neck and crop to a full bucket ; but you 
 may bring a horse to the water, says the proverb, yet not make him 
 drink, and the cur asserted the same independence. To make sure, 
 Betty cast the whole gallon over him, a favour that he received with a 
 mood that would have been natural in any mortal. His growl was 
 conclusive. The cook alarmed first the family, and then the neigh- 
 bourhood, which poured all its males capable of bearing arms into the 
 passage. There were sticks, staves, swords, and a gun, a prong or 
 two, moreover, glistened here and there. The kitchen door was occu- 
 pied by the first rank of the column, their weapons all bristling in 
 advance ; and right opposite at the further side of the kitchen, and 
 holding all the army at bay stood Hydrophobia " in its most dreadful 
 form ! " 
 
 Conceive, Mulready ! under this horrible figure of speech, a round, 
 goggle-eyed pug-face, supported by two stumpy bandy-legs the fore- 
 limbs of a long, pampered, sausage-like body, that rested on a similar 
 pair of crotchets at the other end ! Not without short wheezy pant- 
 ings, he began to waddle towards the guarded entry ; but before he 
 had accomplished a quarter of the distance, there resounded the report 
 of a musket The poor Turnspit gave a yell the little brown bloated 
 body tumbled over, pierced by a dozen slugs, but not mortally ; for 
 before the piece could be reloaded, he contrived to lap up a little pool 
 from Betty's bucket that had settled beside the hearth.
 
 Drill and Broadcast. 
 
 JOHN TROT. 
 
 A BALLAD. 
 I. 
 
 JOHN TROT he was as tall a lad 
 
 As York did ever rear 
 As his dear Granny used to say, 
 
 He'd make a grenadier. 
 
 IL 
 
 A serjeant soon came down to York 
 With ribbons and a frill ; 
 
 My lads, said he, let broadcast be, 
 And come away to drill 
 
 But when he wanted John to 'list, 
 
 In war he saw no fun, 
 Where what is call'd a raw recruit 
 
 Gets often overdone.
 
 270 JOHN TROT. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Let others carry guns, said he, 
 And go to war's alarms, 
 
 But I have got a shoulder-knot 
 Imposed upon my arms. 
 
 For John he had a footman's place 
 
 To wait on Lady Wye- 
 She was a dumpy woman, tho' 
 k Her family was high. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Now when two years had past away, 
 
 Her Lord took very ill, 
 And left her to her widowhood, 
 
 Of course more dumpy still. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Said John, I am a proper man, 
 
 And very tall to see ; 
 Who knows, but now her Lord is low, 
 
 She may look up to me ? 
 
 VIII. 
 
 A cunning woman told me once, 
 Such fortune would turn up ; 
 
 She was a kind of sorceress, 
 But studied in a cup ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 So he walktt up to Lady Wye, 
 And took her quite amazed, 
 
 She thought, tho' John was tall enough, 
 He wanted to be raised. 
 
 But John for why ? she was a dame 
 
 Of such a dwarfish sort- 
 Had, only come to bid her make 
 
 Her mourning very short. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Said he, Your Lord is dead and cold, 
 
 You only cry in vain ; 
 Not all the Cries of London now 
 
 Could call him back again !
 
 JOHN TROT. 
 
 XII. 
 
 You'll soon have many a noble bean, 
 
 To dry your noble tears 
 But just consider this, that I 
 
 Have folio w'd you for years. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 And tho' you are above me far, 
 
 What matters high degree, 
 When you are only four foot nine, 
 
 And I am six foot three ? 
 
 XIV. 
 
 For tho' you are of lofty race, 
 
 And I'm a low-born elf; 
 Yet none among your friends could say, 
 
 You match'd beneath yourself. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Said she, Such insolence as this 
 
 Can be no common case ; 
 Tho' you are in my service, sir, 
 
 Your love is out of place. 
 
 O Lady Wye ! O Lady Wye ! 
 
 Consider what you do ; 
 How can you be so short with me, 
 
 I am not so with you 1 
 
 Then ringing for her serving-men. 
 
 They show'd him to the door : 
 Said they. You turn out better now, 
 
 Why didn't you before ? 
 
 XVIH. 
 
 They stripp'd his coat, and gave him kicks 
 
 For all his wages due ; 
 And off, instead of green and gold, 
 
 He went in black and blue. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 No family would take him in, 
 
 Because of this discharge ; 
 So he made up his mind to serve 
 
 The country all at large.
 
 27J 
 
 AN ABSENTEE. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Huzza ! the Serjeant cried, and put 
 
 The money in his hand, 
 And with a shilling cut him off 
 
 From his paternal land. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 For when his regiment went to fight 
 
 At Saragossa town, 
 A Frenchman thought he look'd too tall 
 
 And so he cut him down I 
 
 High-born and Low-born. 
 
 AN ABSENTEE. 
 
 T F ever a man wanted a flapper no butcher's mimosa, or catch-fly. 
 JL but one of those officers in use at the court of Laputa my friend 
 
 W should have such a remembrancer at his elbow. I question 
 
 whether even the appliance of a bladder full of peas or pebbles woyld 
 arouse him from some of his abstractions ; fits of mental insensibility, 
 parallel with those bodily trances in which persons have sometimes 
 been coffined. Not that he is entangled in abstruse problems, like the 
 nobility of the Flying Island ! He does not dive, like Sir Isaac Newton, 
 into a reverie, and turn up again with a Theory of Gravitation. His 
 thoughts are not deeply engaged elsewhere they are nowhere. His 
 head revolves itself, top-like, into a profound slumber a blank doze
 
 AN ABSENTEE, 
 
 273 
 
 without a dream. He is not carried away by" incoherent rambling 
 fancies out of himself, he is not drunk, merely, with the Waters of 
 Oblivion, but drowned in them, body and soul ! 
 
 There is a story, somewhere, of one of these absent persons, who 
 stooped down, when tickled about the calf by a bluebottle, and 
 scratched his neighbour's leg : an act of tolerable forgetfulness, but 
 
 denoting a state far short of W 's absorptions. He would never 
 
 have felt the fly. 
 
 To make W 's condition more whimsical, he lives in a small 
 
 bachelor's house, with no other attendant than an old housekeeper 
 one Mistress Bundy, of faculty as infirm and intermitting as his own. 
 It will be readily believed that her absent fits do not originate, any 
 more than her master's, in abstruse mathematical speculations a 
 
 'Lawk ! I've forgot the Brandy I" 
 
 proof with me that such moods result, not from abstractions of mind, 
 but stagnation. How so ill-sorted a couple contrive to get through 
 the commonplace affairs of life, I am not prepared to say : but it is 
 comical indeed to see him ring up Mistress Bundy to receive orders, 
 which he generally forgets to deliver, or, if delivered, this old 
 Bewildered Maid lets slip out of her remembrance with the same 
 facility. Numberless occurrences of this kind in many instances 
 more extravagant are recorded by his friends ; but an evening that 
 I spent with him recently will furnish an abundance of examples. 
 
 In spite of going by his own invitation, I found W within. He 
 
 was too apt, on such occasions, to be denied to his visitors ; but what 
 in others would be an unpardonable affront, was overlooked in a man 
 who was not always at home to himself. The door was opened by the 
 housekeeper, whose absence, as usual, would not allow her to decide
 
 274 A M ABSENTEE. 
 
 upon that of her master. Her shrill quavering voice went echoing 
 
 up-stairs with its old query, " Mr W ! are >ou within?" then a 
 
 pause, literally for him to collect himself. Anon came his answer, and 
 I was ushered up-stairs, Mrs Bundy contriving, as usual, to forget my 
 name at the first landing-place. I had therefore to introduce myself 
 
 formally to W , whose old friends came to him always as if with 
 
 new faces. As for what followed, it was one of the old fitful colloquies 
 a game at conversation, sometimes with a partner, sometimes with 
 a dummy ; the old woman's memory in the meantime growing torpid 
 on a kitchen-chair. Hour after hour passed away : no tea-spoon jingled 
 or tea-cup rattled ; no murmuring kettle or hissing urn found its way 
 upward from one Haunt of Forgetfulness to the other. In short, as 
 might have been expected with an Absentee, the tea was absent. 
 
 It happens that the meal in question is not one of my essentials ; I 
 therefore never hinted at the In Tea Speravi of j my visit ; but at the 
 turn of eleven o'clock, my host rang for the apparatus. The Chinese 
 ware was brought up, but the herb was deficient. Mrs. Bundy went 
 forth, by command, for a supply ; but it was past grocer-time, and we 
 arranged to make amends by an early supper, which came, however, 
 as proportion ably late as the tea. By dint of those freedoms which 
 you must use with an entertainer who is absent at his own table, I 
 
 contrived to sup sparely ; and W 's memory, blossoming like certain 
 
 flowers to the night, reminded him that I was accustomed to go to bed 
 on a tumbler of Geneva and water. He kept but one bottle of each of 
 the three kinds, Rum, Brandy, and Hollands, in the house ; and when 
 exhausted, they were replenished at the tavern a few doors off. Luckily, 
 for it was far beyond the midnight hour, when, according to our vapid 
 magistracy, all spirits are evil, the three vessels were full, and merely 
 wanted bringing up-stairs. The kettle was singing on the hob ; the 
 tumblers, with spoons in them, stood miraculously ready on the board ; 
 and Mrs Bundy was really on her way from below with the one thing 
 needful. Never were fair hopes so unfairly blighted ! I could he,ar 
 her step labouring on the stairs to the very last su p, when her memory 
 serving her just as treacherously as her forgetfulness, or rather both 
 betraying her together, there befell the accident which I have endea- 
 voured to record by the sketch over-leaf. 
 
 I never ate or drank with the Barmecide again t
 
 275 
 
 Unconscious Imitation. 
 
 ODE TO THE CAMELEOfARD. 
 
 WELCOME to Freedom's birthplace and a den ! 
 
 Great Anti-climax, hail ! 
 So very lofty in thy front but then, 
 
 So dwindling at the tail ! 
 In truth, thou hast the most unequal legs ! 
 Has one pair gallop'd whilst the other trotted, 
 Along with other brethren, leopard-spotted, 
 O'er Afric sand, where ostriches lay eggs ? 
 Sure thou wert caught in some hard uphill chase, 
 Those hinder heels still keeping thee in check ! 
 
 And yet thou seem'st prepared in any case, 
 
 Tho' they had lost the race, 
 To win it by a neck ! 
 
 That lengthy neck how like a crane's it looks I 
 Art thou the overseer of all the brutes ? 
 Or dost thou browse on tiptop leaves or fruits 
 Or go a bird-nesting amongst the rooks ? 
 How kindly nature caters for all wants ; 
 Thus giving unto thee a neck that stretches, 
 
 And high food fetches 
 To some a long nose, like the elephant's !
 
 276 ODE TO THE CAMELEOPARD. 
 
 Oh f hadst thou any organ to thy bellows, 
 To turn thy breath to speech in human style, 
 , What secrets thou might'st tell us, 
 
 Where now our scientific guesses fail ; 
 
 For instance of the Nile, 
 Whether those Seven Mouths have any tail ; 
 
 Mayhap thy luck too, 
 From that high head, as from a lofty hill, 
 Has let thee see the marvellous Timbuctoo 
 Or drink of Niger at its infant rill. 
 What were the travels of our Major Denham, 
 
 Or Clapperton, to thine 
 
 In that same line, 
 If thou couldst only squat thee down and pen 'em 1 
 
 African Wreckers. 
 
 Strange sights, indeed, thou must have overlooked, 
 With eyes held ever in such vantage stations ! 
 Hast seen, perchance, unhappy white folks cook'd, 
 And then made free of negro corporations ? 
 Poor wretches saved from castaway three-deckers* 
 
 By sooty wreckers 
 
 From hungry waves to have a loss still drearier, 
 To far exceed the utmost aim of Park 
 And find themselves, alas ! beyond the mark, 
 In the insides of Africa's interior 1
 
 ODE TO THE CAMELEOPARD. 
 
 Live on, Giraffe ! genteelest of raff kind ! 
 Admired by noble, and by royal tongues ! 
 
 May no pernicious wind, 
 Or English fog, blight thy exotic lungs ! 
 Live on in happy peace, altho' a rarity, 
 Nor envy thy poor cousin's more outrageous 
 
 Parisian popularity, 
 
 Whose very leopard-rash is grown contagious, 
 And worn on gloves and ribbons all about 
 
 Alas ! they'll wear him out ! 
 So thou shall tnke thy sweet diurnal feeds 
 When he is stuff'd with undigested straw, 
 Sad food that never visited his jaw ! 
 And staring round him with a brace of beads ! 
 
 277 
 
 White Bait
 
 THE PLEA 
 
 OF 
 
 THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 [ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN 1827.] 
 
 TO CHARLES LAMB, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, I thank my literary fortune that I am not re- 
 duced, like many better wits, to barter dedications, for the hope 
 or promise of patronage, with some nominally great man ; but that 
 where true affection points, and honest respect, I am free to gratify 
 my head and heart by a sincere inscription. An intimacy and dear- 
 ness, worthy of a much earlier date than our acquaintance can refer 
 to, direct me at once to your name ; and with this acknowledgment of 
 your ever kind feeling towards me, I desire to record a respect and 
 admiration for you as a writer, which no one acquainted with our lite- 
 rature, save Elia himself, will think disproportionate or misplaced. If 
 I had not these better reasons to govern me, I should be guided to the 
 same selection by your intense yet critical relish for the worksi of our 
 great Dramatist, and for that favourite play in particular which has fur- 
 nished the subject of my verses. 
 
 It is my design, in the following Poem, to celebrate, by an allegory, 
 that immortality which Shakespeare has conferred on the Fairy 
 mythology by his " Midsummer Night's Dream." But for him, those 
 pretty children of our childhood would leave barely their names to our 
 maturer years ; they belong, as the mites upon the plum, to the bloom 
 of fancy, a thing generally too frail and beautiful to withstand the rude 
 handling of time : but the Poet has made this most perishable part of 
 the mind's creation equal to the most enduring ; he has so intertwined 
 the Elfins with human sympathies, and linked them by so many delight- 
 ful associations with the productions of nature, that they are as real to 
 the mind's eye, as their green magical circles to the outer sense. 
 
 It would have been a pity for such a race to go extinct, even though 
 they were but as the butterflies that hover about the leaves and blossoms 
 of the visible world. I am, my dear Friend, yours most truly, 
 
 T. HOOD.
 
 279 
 
 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 'TWAS in that mellow season of the year 
 
 When th& hot Sun singes the yellow leaves 
 
 Till they be gold, and with a broader sphere 
 
 The Moon looks down on Ceres and her sheaves ; 
 
 When more abundantly the spider weaves, 
 
 And the cold wind breathes from a chillier clime ; 
 
 That forth I fared, on one of those still eves, 
 
 Touch'd with the dewy sadness of the time, 
 
 To think how the bright months had spent their prime : 
 
 II. 
 
 So that, wherever I address'd my way, 
 
 I seem'd to track the melancholy feet 
 
 Of him that is the Father of Decay, 
 
 And spoils at once the sour weed and the sweet J - 
 
 Wherefore regretfully I made retreat 
 
 To some unwasted regions of my brain, 
 
 Charm'd with the light of summer and the heat, 
 
 And bade that bounteous season bloom again, 
 
 And sprout fresh flowers in mine own domain. 
 
 It was a shady and sequester'd scene, 
 Like those famed gardens of Boccaccio, 
 Planted with his own laurels evergreen, 
 And roses that for endless summer blow ; 
 And there were founting springs to overflow 
 Their marble basins, and cool green arcadet 
 Of tall o'erarching sycamores, to throw 
 Athwart the dappled path their dancing shades, 
 With timid coneys cropping the green blades. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And there were crystal pools, peopled with fish, 
 Argent and gold ; and some of Tyrian skin, 
 Some crimson-barr'd ; and ever at a wish 
 They rose obsequious till the wave grew thin 
 As glass upon their backs, and then dived in, 
 Quenching their ardent scales in watery gloom ; 
 Whilst others with fresh hues row'd forth to win 
 My changeable regard, for so we docm 
 Things born of thought to vanish or to bloom.
 
 THE PLEA OF THE 
 
 And there were many birds of many dyes, 
 From tree to tree still faring to and fro, 
 And stately peacocks with their splendid eyes, 
 And gorgeous pheasants with their golden glow, 
 Like Iris just bedabbled in her bow, 
 Besides some vocalists, without a name, 
 That oft on fairy errands come and go, 
 With accents magical ; and all were tame, 
 And peckled at my hand where'er I came. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And for my sylvan company, in lieu 
 Of Pampinea with her lively peers, 
 Sate Queen Titania with her pretty crew, 
 All in their liveries quaint, with elfin gears, 
 For she was gracious to my childish years, 
 And made me free of her enchanted round ; 
 Wherefore this dreamy scene she still endears, 
 And plants her court upon a verdant mound, 
 Fenced with umbrageous woods and groves profound 
 
 " Ah me ! " she cries, " was ever moonlight seen 
 So clear and tender for our midnight trips ? 
 Go some one forth, and with a trump convene 
 My lieges all !" Away the goblin skips 
 A pace or two apart, and deftly strips 
 The ruddy skin from a sweet rose's cheek, 
 Then blows the shuddering leaf between his lips, 
 Making it utter forth a shrill small shriek, 
 Like a fray'd bird in the grey owlet's beak. 
 
 And lo ! upon my fix'd delighted ken 
 Appeared the loyal Fays. Some by degrees 
 Crept from the primrose buds that open'd then, 
 And some from bell-shaped blossoms like the bees, 
 Some from the dewy meads and rushy lens 
 Flew up like chafers when the rustics p.iss ; 
 Some from the rivers, others from tall trees 
 Dropp'd, like shed blossoms, silent to the grass, 
 Spirits and elfins small, of every class. 
 
 Peri and Pixy, and quaint Puck the Antic, 
 Brought Robin Goodfellow, that merry swain ; 
 And stealthy Mab, queen of old realms romantic, 
 Came too. from distance, in her tiny wain,
 
 MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 281 
 
 Fresh dripping from a cloud some bloomy rain, 
 Then circling the bright Moon, had wash'd her car, 
 And still bedewM it with a various stain : 
 Lastly came Ariel, shooting from a star, 
 Who bears all fairy embassies afar. 
 
 But Oberon, that night elsewhere exiled, 
 Was absent, whether some distemper'd spleen 
 Kept him and his fair mate unreconciled, 
 Or warfare with the Gnome (whose race had been 
 Sometimes obnoxious), kept him from his queen. 
 And made her now peruse the starry skies 
 Prophetical with such an absent mien ; 
 Howbeit, the tears stole often to her eyes, 
 And oft the Moon was incensed with her sight- 
 XL 
 
 Which made the elves sport drearily, and soon 
 Their hushing dances languish'd to a stand, 
 Like midnight leaves, when, as the Zephyrs swoon, 
 All on their drooping stems they sink unfann'd, 
 So into silence droop'd the fairy band, 
 To see their empress dear so pale and still, 
 Crowding her softly round on either hand, 
 As pale as frosty snowdrops, and as chill, 
 To whom the sceptred dame reveals her ill. 
 
 "Alas !" quoth she, " ye know our fairy lives 
 Are leased upon the fickle faith of men ; 
 Not measured out against fate's mortal knive% 
 Like human gossamers, we perish when 
 We fade, and are forgot in worldly ken, 
 Though poesy has thus prolong'd our date, 
 Thanks be to the sweet Bard's auspicious pen 
 That rescued us so long ! howbeit of late 
 I feel some dark misgivings of our fate. 
 
 xi p. 
 
 u And this dull day my melancholy sleep 
 Hath been so throng'd with images of woe, 
 That even now I cannot choose but weep 
 To think this was some sad prophetic show 
 Of future horror to befall us so, 
 Of mortal wreck and uttermost distress, 
 Yea, our poor empire's fall and overthrow ; 
 For this was my long vision's dreadful stress, 
 And when I waked my trouble was not less.
 
 THE PLEA OF THE 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " Whenever to the clouds I tried to seek, 
 Such leaden weight dragg'd these Icarian wings, 
 My faithless wand was wavering and weak, 
 And slimy toads had trespass'd in our rings 
 The birds refused to sing for me all things 
 Disown'd their old allegiance to our spells ; 
 The rude bees prick'd me with their rebel stings ; 
 And, when I pass'd, the valley-lily's bells 
 Rang out, methought, most melancholy knells. 
 
 XV. 
 
 "And ever on the faint and flagging air 
 
 A doleful spirit with a dreary note 
 
 Cried in my fearful ear, ' Prepare ! prepare !' 
 
 Which soon I knew came from a raven's throat, 
 
 Perch'd on a cypress bough not far remote, 
 
 A cursed bird, too crafty to be shot, 
 
 That alway cometh with his soot-black coat 
 
 To make hearts dreary : for he is a blot 
 
 Upon the book of life, as well ye wot 1 
 
 " Wherefore, some while I bribed him to be mute, 
 
 With bitter acorns stuffing his foul maw, 
 
 Which barely I appeased, when some fresh bruit 
 
 Startled me all aheap ! and soon I saw 
 
 The horridest shape that ever raised my awe, 
 
 A monstrous giant, very huge and tall, 
 
 Such as in elder times, devoid of law, 
 
 With wicked might grieved the primeval ball, 
 
 And this was sure the deadliest of them all I 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " Gaunt was he as a wolf of Languedoc, 
 With bloody jaws, and frost upon his crown ; 
 So from his barren poll one hoary lock 
 Over his wrinkled front fell far adown, 
 Well-nigh to where his frosty brows did frown 
 Like jagged icicles at Cottage eaves ; 
 And for his coronal he wore some brown 
 And bristled ears gather'd from Ceres' sheaves, 
 Entwined with certain sere and russet leaves. 
 
 "And lo ! upon a mast rear'd far aloft, 
 He bore a very bright and crescent blade, 
 The which he waved so dreadfully, and oft, 
 In meditative spite, that, sore dismay'd,
 
 MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 I crept into an acorn-cup for shade ; 
 Meanwhile the horrid effigy went by : 
 I trow his look was dreadful, for it made 
 The trembling birds betake them to the sky, 
 For every leaf was lifted by his sigh. ^ 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " And ever as he sigh'd, his foggy breath 
 Blurr'd out the landscape like a flight of smoke : 
 Thence knew I this was either dreary Death 
 Or Time, who leads all creatures to his stroke. 
 Ah wretched me ! "Here, even as she spoke, 
 The melancholy Shape came gliding in, 
 And lean'd his back against an antique oak, 
 Folding his wings, that were so fine and thin, 
 They scarce were seen against the Dryad's skin. 
 
 Then what a fear seized all the little rout ! 
 Look how a flock of panick'd sheep will stare 
 And huddle close and start and wheel about, 
 Watching the roaming mongrel here and there, 
 So did that sudden Apparition scare 
 All close aheap those small affrighted things ; 
 Nor sought they now the safety of the air, 
 As if some leaden spell withheld their wings ; 
 But who can fly that ancientest of Kings ? 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Whom now the Queen, with a forestalling tear 
 And previous sigh^beginneth to entreat, 
 Bidding him spare, for love, her lieges dear : 
 " Alas ! " quoth she, " is there no nodding wheat 
 Ripe for thy crooked weapon, and more meet, 
 Or wither'd leaves to ravish from the tree, 
 Or crumbling battlements for thy defeat ? 
 Think but what vaunting monuments there be 
 Builded in spite and mockery of thee. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 " Oh, fret away the fabric walls of Fame, 
 And grind down marble Caesars in the dustV 
 Make tombs inscriptionless raze each hih nnn/e, 
 And waste old armours of renown with rust : 
 Do all of this, and thy revenge is just : 
 Make such decays the trophies of thy prime, 
 And check Ambition's overweening lust, 
 That dares exterminating war with Time, 
 But we are guiltless of that lofty crime.
 
 THE PLEA OF THE 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " Frail feeble sprites ! the children of a dream ! 
 
 Leased on the sufferance of fickle men, 
 
 Like motes dependent on the sunny beam, 
 
 Living but in the sun's indulgent ken, 
 
 And when that light withdraws, withdrawing then }-~ 
 
 So do we flutter in the glance of youth 
 
 And fervid fancy, and so perish when 
 
 The eye of faith grows aged ; in sad truth, 
 
 Feeling thy sway, O Time ! though not thy tooth ! 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " Where be those old divinities forlorn, 
 That dwelt in trees, or haunted in a stream ? 
 Alas ! their memories are dimm'd and torn, 
 Like the remainder tatters of a dream : 
 So will it fare with our poor thrones, I deem ; 
 For us the same dark trench Oblivion delves, 
 That holds the wastes of every human scheme. 
 Oh, spare us then, and these our pretty elves, 
 We soon, alas ! shall perish of ourselves 1" 
 
 Now as she ended, with a sigh, to name 
 Those old Olympians, scatter'd by the whirl 
 Of Fortune's giddy wheel and brought to shame, 
 Methought a scornful and malignant curl 
 Show'd on the lips of that malicious churl, 
 To think what noble havocks he had made ; 
 So that I fear'd he all at once would hurl 
 The harmless fairies into endless shade, 
 Howbeit he stopp'd awhile to whet his blade. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Pity it was to hear the elfins' wail 
 Rise up in concert from their mingled dread : 
 Pity it was to see them, all so pale, 
 Gnze on the grass as for a dying bed ; 
 But Puck was seated on a spider's thread, 
 That hung between two branches of a briar, 
 And 'gan to swing and gambol heels o'er head, 
 Like any Southwark tumbler on a wire, 
 For him no present grief could long inspire. 
 
 Meanwhile the Queen, with many piteous drops, 
 Falling like tiny sparks full fast and free, 
 Bedews a pathway from her throne ; and stops 
 Before the foot of her arch enemy,
 
 MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 185 
 
 And with her little arms enfolds his knee, 
 That shows more gristly from that fair embrace } 
 But she will ne'er depart. " Alas ! " quoth she, 
 "My painful fingers I will here enlace 
 Till I have gain'd your pity for our race. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 a What have we ever done to earn this grudge, 
 And hate (if not too humble for thy hating ?) 
 Look o'er our labours and our lives, and judge 
 If there be any ills of our creating ; 
 For we are very kindly creatures, dating 
 With nature's charities still sweet and bland : 
 Oh, think this murder worthy of debating !" 
 Herewith she makes a signal with her hand, 
 To beckon some one from the Fairy band. 
 
 Anon I saw one of those elfin things, 
 
 Clad all in white like any chorister, 
 
 Come fluttering forth on his melodious wings, . 
 
 That made soft music at each little stir, 
 
 But something louder than a bee's demur, 
 
 Before he lights upon a bunch of broom, 
 
 And thus 'gan he with Saturn to confer, 
 
 And oh ! his voice was sweet, touch'd with the gloom, 
 
 Of that sad theme that argued of his doom I 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Quoth he, "We make all melodies our care, 
 That no false discords may offend the Sun, 
 Music's great master tuning everywhere 
 All pastoral sounds and melodies, each one 
 Duly to place and season, so that none 
 May harshly interfere. We rouse at morn 
 The shrill sweet lark ; and when the day is done, 
 Hush silent pauses for the bird forlorn, 
 That singeth with her breast against a thorn. 
 
 ** We gather in loud choirs the twittering race, 
 That make a chorus with their single note ; 
 And tend on new-fledged birds in every place, 
 That duly they may get their tunes by rote ; 
 And oft, like echoes, answering remote, 
 We hide in thickets from the feather'd throng, 
 And strain in rivalship each throbbing throat, 
 Singing in shrill responses all day long, 
 Whilst the glad truant listens to our song.
 
 986 THE PLEA OF THE 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 " Wherefore, great King of Years, as thou dost love 
 The raining music from a morning cloud, 
 When vanish'd larks are carolling above, 
 To wake Apollo with their pipings loud : 
 If ever thou hast heard in leafy shroud 
 The sweet and plaintive Sappho of the dell, 
 Show thy sweet mercy on this little crowd, 
 And we will muffle up the sheepfold bell 
 Whene'er thou listenest to Philomel." 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Then Saturn thus : " Sweet is the merry lark, 
 That carols in man's ear so clear and strong ; 
 And youth must love to listen in the dark 
 That tuneful elegy of Tereus' wrong ; 
 But I have heard that ancient strain too long, 
 For sweet is sweet but when a little strange, 
 Ajjd I grow weary for some newer song ; 
 For wherefore had I wings, unless to range 
 Through all things mutable from change to change ? 
 
 " But wouldst thou hear the melodies of Time, 
 Listen when sleep and drowsy darkness roll 
 Over hush'd cities, and the midnight chime 
 Sounds from their hundred clocks, and deep bells tell 
 Like a last knell over the dead world's soul, 
 Saying, Time shall be final of all things, 
 Whose late, last voice must elegise the whole, 
 Oh, then I clap aloft my brave broad wings, 
 And make the wide air tremble while it rings !" 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Then next a fair Eve- Fay m.ide meek address, 
 Saying, " We be the handmaids of the Spring, 
 In sign whereof, May, the quaint broideress, 
 Hath wrought her samplers on our gauzy wing. 
 We tend upon buds' birth and blossoming, 
 And count the leafy tributes that they owe 
 As so much to the earth so much to fling 
 In showers to the brook so much to go 
 In whirlwinds to the clouds that made them grow. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 " The pastoral cowslips are our little pets, 
 And daisy stars, whose firmament is green ; 
 Pansies, and those veil'd nuns, meek violets, 
 Sighing to that warm world from which they screen ;
 
 MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 And golden daffodils, pluck'd for May's Queen ; 
 And lonely harebells, quaking on the heath ; 
 And Hyacinth, long since a fair youth seen, 
 Whose tuneful voice, turn'd fragrance in his breath^ 
 Kiss'd by sad Zephyr, guilty of his death. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 "The widow'd primrose weeping to the moon, 
 And saffron crocus in whose chalice bright 
 A cool libation hoarded for the noon 
 Is kept and she that purifies the light, 
 The virgin lily, faithful to her white, 
 Whereon Eve wept in Eden for her shame ; 
 And the most dainty rose, Aurora's sprite, 
 Our every godchild, by whatever name 
 Spare us our lives, for we did nurse the same ! * 
 
 Then that old Mower stamp'd his heel, and struck 
 His hurtful scythe against the harmless ground, 
 Saying, " Ye foolish imps, when am 1 stuck 
 With gaudy buds, or like a wooer crown'd 
 With flowery chaplets, save when they are found 
 Withered ? Whenever have I pluck'd a rose, 
 Except to scatter its vain leaves around ? 
 For so all gloss of beauty I oppose, 
 And bring decay on every flower that blows. 
 
 '* Or when am I so wroth as when I view 
 
 The wanton pride of Summer; how she decks 
 
 The birtiday world with blossoms ever new, 
 
 As if Time had not lived, and heap'd great wrecks 
 
 Of years on years? Oh, then I bravely vex 
 
 And catch the gay Months in their gaudy plight, 
 
 And slay them with the wreaths about their necks, 
 
 Like foolish heifers in the holy rite, 
 
 And raise great trophies to my ancient might." 
 
 XL. 
 
 Then saith another, "We are kindly things, 
 And like her offspring nestle with the dove, 
 Witness these hearts embroider'd on our wings, 
 To show our constant patronage of love : 
 We sit, at even, in sweet bowers above 
 Lovers, and shake rich odours on the air, 
 To mingle with their sighs ; and still remore 
 The startling owl, and bid the bat forbear 
 Their privacy, and haunt some other where.
 
 THE PLEA OF THE 
 
 XLI. 
 
 " And we are near the mother when she sit* 
 Beside her infant in its wicker bed ; 
 And we are in the fairy scene that flits 
 Across its tender brain : sweet dreams we shed } 
 And whilst the tender little soul is fled 
 Away to sport with our young elves,. the while 
 We touch the dimpled cheek with roses red, 
 And tickle the soft lips until they smile. 
 So that their careful parents they beguile. 
 
 " Oh, then, if ever thou hast breathed a vow 
 At Love's dear portal, or at pale mocnrise 
 Crush'd the dear curl on a regardful brow 
 That did not frown thee from thy honey prize 
 If ever thy sweet son sat on thy thighs, 
 And woo'd thee from thy careful thoughts within 
 To watch the harmless beauty of his eyes, 
 Or glad thy finers on his smooth soft skin, 
 For Love's dear sake, let us thy pity win 1* 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Then Saturn fiercely thus : "What joy have I 
 In tender babes, that have devour'd mine own, 
 Whenever to the light I heard them cry, 
 Till foolish Rhea cheated me with stone ? 
 Whereon, till now, is my great hunger shown, 
 In monstrous dints of my enormous tooth ; 
 And, but the peopled world is too full grown 
 For hunger's edge, I would consume all youth 
 At one great meal, without delay or ruth ! * 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 a For I am well-nigh crazed and wild to hear 
 How boastful fathers taunt me with their breed, 
 Saying, We shall not die nor disappear, 
 But in these other selves, ourselves succeed, 
 Even as ripe flowers pass into their seed 
 Only to be renew'd from prime to prime ; 
 All of which boastings I am forced to read, 
 Besides a thousand challenges to Time 
 Which bragging lovers have compiled in rhyme, 
 
 XLV. 
 
 "Wherefore, when they are sweetly met o' night% 
 There will I steal, and with my hurried hand 
 Startle them suddenly from their delights 
 Before the next encounter hath bcsn plann'd,
 
 MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 Ravishing hours in little minutes spann'd ; 
 But when they say farewell, and grieve apart, 
 Then like a leaden statue I will stand : 
 Meanwhile their many tears encrust my dart, 
 And with a ragged edge cut heart from heart." 
 
 Then next a merry Woodsman, clad in green, 
 Slept vanward from his mates, that idly stood 
 Each at his proper ease, as they had been 
 Nursed in the liberty of old Sherwood, 
 And wore the livery of Robin Hood, 
 Who wont in forest shades to dine and sup, 
 So came this chief right frankly, and made good 
 His haunch against his axe, and thus spoke up, 
 Doffing his cap, which was an acorn's cup : 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 * We be small foresters and gay, who tend 
 On trees, and all their furniture of green, 
 Training the young boughs airily to bend, 
 And show blue snatches of the sky between j 
 Or knit more close intricacies, to screen 
 Birds' crafty dwellings as may hide them best, 
 But most the timid blackbird's she, that seen, 
 Will bear black poisonous berries to her nest, 
 Lest man should cage the darlings of her breast. 
 
 " We bend each tree in proper attitude, 
 And founting willows train in silvery falls ; 
 We frame all shady roofs and arches rude, 
 And verdant aisles leading to Dryads' halls, 
 Or deep recesses where the Echo calls ; 
 We shape all plumy trees against the sky, 
 And carve tall elms' Corinthian capitals, 
 When sometimes, as our tiny hatchets ply, 
 Men say, the tapping woodpecker is nigh. 
 
 "Sometimes we scoop the squirrel's hollow cell, 
 
 And sometimes carve quaint letters on trees' rind, 
 
 That haply some lone musing wight may spell 
 
 Dainty Aminta, gentle Rosalind, 
 
 Or chastest Laura, sweetly call'd to mind 
 
 In sylvan solitudes, ere he lies down ; 
 
 And sometimes we enrich gray stems with twined 
 
 And vagrant ivy, or rich moss, whose brown 
 
 Burns into gold as the warm sun goes down. 
 
 T
 
 THE PLEA OF THE 
 
 u And, lastly, for mirth's sake and Christmas cheer, 
 We bear the seedling berries, for increase, 
 To graft the Druid oaks, from year to year, 
 Careful that mistletoe may never cease ; 
 Wherefore, if tliou dost prize the shady peace 
 Of sombre forests, or to see light break 
 Through sylvan cloisters, and in spring release 
 Thy spirit amongst leaves from careful ake, 
 Spare us our lives for the Green Dryad's sake." 
 
 Then Saturn, with a frown : " Go forth, and fell 
 
 Oak for your coffins, and thenceforth lay by 
 
 Your axes for the rust, and bid farewell 
 
 To all sweet birds, and the blue peeps of sky 
 
 Through tangled branches, for ye shall not spy 
 
 The next green generation of the tree ; 
 
 But hence with the deacHeaves, whene'er they fly t 
 
 Which in the bleak air I would rather see, 
 
 Than flights of the most tuneful birds that be. 
 
 LIT. 
 
 " For I dislike all prime, and verdant pets, 
 
 Ivy except, that on the aged wall 
 
 Preys with its worm-like roots, and daily frets 
 
 The crumbled tower it ^eems to league withal, 
 
 King-like, worn down by its own coronal : 
 
 Neither in forest haunts love I to won 
 
 Before the golden plumage 'gins to fall, 
 
 And leaves the bro n, bleak limbs with few leaves 01 
 
 Or bare like Nature in her skeleton. 
 
 " For then sit I amongst the crooked boughs, 
 Wooing dull Memory with kindred sighs ; 
 And there in rustling nuptials we espouse, 
 Smit by the sadness in each other's eyes ; 
 But Hope must have green bowers and blue skies, 
 And must be courted with the gauds of spring ; 
 Whilst Youth leans god-like on her lap, and cries, 
 What shall we always do, but love and sing ? 
 And Time is reckon'd a discarded thing." 
 
 LIV. 
 
 Here in my dream it made me fret to see 
 How Puck, the Antic, all this dreary while 
 Had blithely jested ith calamity, 
 With mistimed mirth mocking the doleful style
 
 MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. tgi 
 
 Of his sad comrades, till it raised my bile - 
 To see him so reflect their >;rief aside, 
 Turning their solemn looks to half a smile 
 Like a straight stick shown crooked in the tide ; 
 But soon a novel advocate I spied. 
 
 Quoth he " We teach all natures to fulfil 
 Their fore-appointed crafts, and instincts meet, 
 The bee's sweet alchemy, the spider's skill, 
 The pismire's care to garner up his wheat, 
 And rustic masonry to swallows fftet, 
 The lapwing's cunning to preserve her nest, 
 But most, that lesser pelican, the sweet 
 And shrilly ruddock, with its bleeding breast, 
 Its tender pity of poor babes distrest. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 "Sometimes we cast our shapes, and in sleek skins 
 Delve with the timid mole, that aptly delves 
 From our example ; so the spider spins, 
 And eke the silkworm, pattern'd by ourselves : 
 Sometimes we travail on the summer shelves 
 Of early bees, and busy toils commence, 
 Watch'd of wise men, that know not we are elves, 
 But gaze and marvel at our stretch of sense, 
 And praise our human-like intelligence. 
 
 LVI I. 
 
 "Wherefore, by thy delight in that old tale, 
 And plaintive dirges the late robins sin:;, 
 What time the Ic-aves are sc tter'd by the gale, 
 Mindful of that old forest burying ; 
 As thou dost love to watch each tiny thing, 
 For whom our craft most curiously contrives, 
 If thou hast caught a bee upon the wing, 
 To take his honey-bag, spare us our lives, 
 And we will pay the ransom in full hives." 
 
 " Now by my glass,'' quoth Time, " ye do offend 
 In teaching the brown 'bees that careful lore, 
 And frugal ants, whose millions would have end, 
 But they lay up for need a timely store, 
 And travail with tne seasons evermore ; 
 Whereas Great Mammoth long hath pass'd away, 
 And none but I can tell what hide he wore ; 
 Whilst purolind men, the cre-itures of a day, 
 In riddling wonder his great bones survey."
 
 292 THE PLEA OF THE 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Then came an elf, right beauteous to behold, 
 Whose coat was like a brooklet that the sun 
 Hath all embroider'd with its crooked gold, 
 It was so quaintly wrought, and overrun 
 With spangled traceries, most meet for one 
 That was a warden of the pearly streams ; 
 And as he stept out of the shadows dun, 
 His jewels sparkled in the pale moon's gleams, 
 And shot into the air their pointed beams. 
 
 LX, 
 
 Quoth he " We bear the cold and silver keys 
 Of bubbling springs and fountains, that below 
 Course thro' the veiny earth, which, when they freeze 
 Into hard chrysolites, we bid to flow, 
 Creeping like subtle snakes, when, as they go, 
 We guide their windings to melodious falls, 
 At whose soft murmurings, so sweet and low, 
 Poets have tuned their smoothest madrigals, 
 To sing to ladies in their banquet halls. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 "And when the hot sun with his steadfast heat 
 
 Parches the river-god, whose dusty urn 
 
 Drips miserly, till soon his crystal feet 
 
 Against his pebbly floor wax faint and burn, 
 
 And languid fish, unpoised, grow sick and yearn, 
 
 Then scoop we hollows in some sandy nook, 
 
 And little channels dig, wherein we turn 
 
 The thread-worn rivulet, that all forsook, 
 
 The Naiad-lily, pining for her brook. 
 
 "Wherefore, by thy delight in cool green meads, 
 
 With living sapphires daintily inlaid, 
 
 In all soft songs of waters and their reeds, 
 
 And all reflections in a streamlet made, 
 
 Haply of thy own love, that, disarray'd, 
 
 Kills the fair lily with a livelier white, 
 
 By silver trouts ups printing from green shade, 
 
 And winking stars reduplicate at night, 
 
 Spare us, poor ministers to such delight" 
 
 LXI II. 
 
 Howbeit his pleading and his gentle looks 
 
 Moved not the spiteful Shade : Quoth he, " Your taste 
 
 Shoots wide of mine, for I despise the brooks 
 
 And slavish rivulets that run to waste
 
 MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 193 
 
 In noontide sweats, or, like poor vassals, haste 
 To swell the vast dominion of the sea, 
 In whose great presence I am held disgraced, 
 And neighbour'd with a king that rivals me 
 In ancient might and ho.iry majesty. 
 
 "Whereas I ruled in Chaos, and still keep 
 
 The awful secrets of that ancient dearth, 
 
 Before the briny fountains of the deep 
 
 Brimm'd up in hollow cavities of earth ; 
 
 I saw each trickling Sea-god at his birth, 
 
 Each pearly Naiad with her oozy locks, 
 
 And infant Titans of enormous girth, 
 
 Whose huge young feet yet stumbled on the rocks, 
 
 Stunning the early world with frequent shocks. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 "Where now is Titan, with his cumbrous brood, 
 That scared the world ? By this sharp scythe they fell. 
 And half the sky was curdled with their blood : 
 So have all primal giants sigh'd farewell. 
 No Wardens now by sedgy fountains dwell, 
 Nor pearly Naiads. All their days are done 
 That strove with Time, untimely, to excel ; 
 Wherefore I razed their progenies, and none 
 But my great shadow intercepts the sun I " 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 Then saith the timid Fay " O mighty Time ! 
 Well hast thou wrought the cruel Titans' fall, 
 For they were stain'd with many a bloody crime : 
 Great giants work great wrongs, but we are small, 
 For love goes lowly ; but Oppression's tall, 
 And with surpassing strides goes foremost still 
 Where love indeed can hardly reach at all ; 
 Like a poor dwarf o'erburthen'd with good-will, 
 That labours to efface the tracks of ilL 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 "Man even strives with Man, but we eschew 
 The guilty feud, and all fierce strifes abhor ; 
 Nay, we are gentle as sweet heaven's dew, 
 Beside the reel and horrid drops of war, 
 Weeping the cruel ha^es men battle for, 
 Which worldly bosoms nourish in our spite: 
 For in the gentle breast we ne'er withdraw, 
 But only when all love hath taken flight, 
 And youth's warm gracious heart is harden'd quite.
 
 9* THE PLEA OF THE 
 
 * So are our gentle natures intertwined 
 With sweet humanities, and closely knit 
 In kindly sympathy with human kind. 
 Witness how we befriend, with elfin wit, 
 All hopeless maids and lovers, nor omit 
 Magical succours unto hearts forlorn :- - 
 We charm man's life, and do not perish it ; 
 So judge us by the helps we show'd this morn 
 To one who held his wretched d ivs in scorn. 
 
 '"Twas nigh sweet Amwell : for the Queen had task'd 
 Our skill to-day amidst the silver Lea, 
 Whereon the noontide sun had not yet b isk'd ; 
 Wherefore some patient man we thought to see 
 Planted in moss-grown rushes to the knee, 
 Beside the cloudy margin cold and dim ; 
 Howbeit no patient fisherman was he 
 That cast his sudden shadow from the brim, 
 Making us leave our toils to gaze on him, 
 
 LXX. 
 
 * His face was ashy pale, and leaden Care 
 Had sunk the levell'd arches of his brow, 
 Once bridges for his joyous thoughts to fare 
 Over those melancholy springs and slow, 
 That from his piteous eyes be^an to now, 
 And fell anon into the chilly stream ; 
 Which, as his mimick'd image show'd below, 
 Wrinkled his face with many a needless seam, 
 Making grief sadder in its own esteem. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 ** And lo ! upon the air we saw him stretch 
 His passionate arms ; and, in a wayward strain, 
 He 'gan to elegise that fellow-wretch 
 That with mute gestures answer'd him again. 
 Saying, ' Poor slave! how long wilt thou remain 
 Life's sad weak captive in a prison strong, 
 Hoping with tears to rust away thy chain, 
 In bitter servitude to worldly wrong ? 
 Thou wear'st that mortal livery too long !' 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 "This, with more spleenful speeches and some tears, 
 When he had spent upon the imaged wave, 
 Speedily I convened my elfin peers 
 Under the lily-cups, that we might save
 
 MIDSUMMEk FAIRIES. 95 
 
 This woful mortal from a wilful grave 
 By shrewd diversions of his mind's regret. 
 Seeing he was mere Melancholy's slave, 
 That sank wherever a dark cloud he met, 
 And straight was tangled in her secret net. 
 
 "Therefore, as still he watch'd the water's flow, 
 Daintily we transform'd, and with bright fins 
 Came glancing through the gloom ; some irom below 
 Rose like dim fancies when a dream begins, 
 Snatching the light upon their purple skins ; 
 Then under the broad leaves made slow retire : 
 One like a golden galley bravely wins 
 Its radi.mt course, another glows like fire, 
 Making that wayward man our pranks admire. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 "And so he banish'd thought, and quite forgot 
 
 All contemplation of that wretched face ; 
 
 And so we wiled him from that lonely spot 
 
 Along the river's brink ; till, by heaven's grace, 
 
 He met a gentle haunter of the plnce, 
 
 Full of sweet wisdom gather'd from the brooks, 
 
 Who there discuss'd his melancholy c.ise 
 
 With wholesome texts learn'd from kind Nature's books, 
 
 Meanwhile he newly trimm'd his lines and hooks." 
 
 Herewith the Fairy ceased. Quoth Ariel now 
 " Let me remember how I saved a man, 
 Whose fatal noose, was fasten'd on a bough, 
 Intended to abridge his sad life's span ; 
 For haply I was by when he began 
 "His stern soliloquy in life's dispraise, 
 And overheard his melancholy plan, 
 How he had made a vow to end his days, 
 And therefore follow'd him in all his ways, 
 
 "Through brake and tangled copse, for much he loathed 
 
 All populous haunts, and roam'd in forests rude, 
 
 To hide himself from man. 15ut I had clothi-d 
 
 My delicate limbs with plumes, and still pursued 
 
 Where only foxes and wild cats intrude, 
 
 Till we were come beside an ancient tree 
 
 Late blasted by a storm. Here he reneu'd 
 
 His loud complaints, choosing that spot to be 
 
 The scene of his last horrid tragedy.
 
 THE PLEA OF THE 
 
 " It was a wild and melancholy glen, 
 Made gloomy by tall firs and cypress dark, 
 Whose roots, like any bones of buried men, 
 Push'd through the rotten sod for Fear's remark ; 
 A hundred horrid stems, jagged and stark, 
 Wrestled with crooked arms in hideous fray, 
 Besides sleek ashes with their dappled bnrk. 
 Like crafty serpents climbing for a prey, 
 With many blasted oaks moss-grown and grey. 
 
 " But here, upon his final desperate clause, 
 
 Suddenly I pronounced so sweet a strain, 
 
 Like a pang'd nightingale, it made him pause, 
 
 Till half the frenzy of his grief was slain, 
 
 The sad remainder oozing from his brain 
 
 In timely ecstasies of healing tears, 
 
 Which through his ardent eyes began to drain ; 
 
 Meanwhile the deadly Fates unclosed their shears : 
 
 So pity me and all my fated peers ! 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Thus Ariel ended, and was some time hush'd, 
 
 When with the hoary Shape a fresh tongue pleads, 
 
 And red as rose the gentle Fairy blush'd 
 
 To read the record of her own good deeds : 
 
 u It chanced," quoth she, " in seeking through the mt*di 
 
 For honey'd cowslips, sweetest in the morn, 
 
 Whilst yet the buds were hung with dewy beads, 
 
 And Echo answer'd to the huntsman's horn, 
 
 We found a babe left in the swarths forlorn ; 
 
 " A little, sorrowful, deserted thing, 
 Begot of love, and yet no love begetting ; 
 Guiltless of shame, and yet for shame to wring: 
 And too soon banish'd from a mother's petting, 
 To churlish nurture and the wide world's fretting^ 
 For alien pity and unnatural care : 
 Alas ! to see how the cold dew kept wetting 
 His childish coats, and dabbled all his hair, 
 Like gossamers across his forehead fair. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 **His pretty pouting mouth, witless of speech, 
 Lay half-way open like a rose-lipp'd shell ; 
 And his young cheek was softer than a peach, 
 Whereon his tears, for roundness could not dwell,
 
 MIDSUMMER PA1R1ES. 197 
 
 But quickly roll'd themselves to pearls, and fell, 
 Some on the grass, and some against his hand, 
 Or haply wander'd to the dimpled well, 
 Which love beside his mouth had sweetly plann'd, 
 Yet not for tears, but mirth and smilings bland. 
 
 " Pity it was to see those frequent tears 
 Falling regardless from his friendless eyes ; 
 There was such beauty in those twin blue spheres, 
 As any mother's heart might leap to prize ; 
 Blue were they, like the zenith of the skies 
 Soften'd betwixt two clouds, both clear and mild : 
 Just touch'd with thought, and yet not over wise, 
 They show'd the gentle spirit of a child, 
 Not yet by care or any craft defiled 
 
 LXXXIIL 
 
 " Pity it was to see the ardent sun 
 
 Scorching his helpless limbs it shone so warm ; 
 
 For kindly shade or shelter he had none, 
 
 Nor mother's gentle breast, come fair or storm. 
 
 Meanwhile I bade my pitying mates transform 
 
 Like grasshoppers, and then, with shrilly cries, 
 
 All round the infant noisily we sw,,rm, 
 
 Haply some passing rustic to advise 
 
 Whilst providential Heaven our care espies, 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 "And sends full soon a tender-hearted hind, 
 Who, wondering at our loud unusual note, 
 Strays curiously aside, and so doth find 
 The orphan child laid in the grass remote, 
 And laps the foundling in his russet coat, 
 Who thence was nurtured in his kindly cot : 
 But how he prosper' d let proud London quote, 
 How wise, how rich, and how renown'd he got, 
 And chief of all her citizens, I wot. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 " Witness his goodly vessels on the Thames, 
 Whose holds were fraught with costly merchandise, 
 Jewels from Ind, and pearls for courtly dames, 
 And gorgeous silks that Samarcand supplies : 
 Witness that royal Bourse he bade arise, 
 The mart of m< rchants from the East and West ; 
 Whose slender summit, pointing to the skies, 
 Still bears, in token of his grateful breast, 
 The tender grasshopper, his chosen crest
 
 298 THE FLEA OF THE 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 "The tender grasshopper his chosen crest, 
 
 That all the summer, with a tuneful wing, 
 
 Makes merry chirpings in its grassy nest, 
 
 Inspirited with dew to leap and sing : 
 
 So let us also live, eternal King ! 
 
 Partakers of the green and pleasant earth : 
 
 Pity it is to slay the meanest thing. 
 
 That, like a mote, shines in the smile of mirth } 
 
 Enough there is of joy's decease and dearth I 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 u Enough of pleasure, and delight, and beauty, 
 
 Perish'd and gone, and hasting to decay ; 
 
 Enough to sadden even thee, whose duty 
 
 Or spite it is to havoc and to slay ; 
 
 Too many a lovely race razed quite away, 
 
 Hath left large gaps in life and human loving : 
 
 Here then begin thy cruel war to stay, 
 
 And spare iresh sighs, and tears, and groans, reproving 
 
 Thy desolating hand for our removing." 
 
 , LXXXVIII. 
 
 Now here I heard a shrill and sudden cry, 
 And, looking up, I saw the antic Puck 
 Grappling with Time, who clutch'd him like a fly, 
 Victim of his own sport, the jester's luck ! 
 He, whilst his fellows grieved, poor wight, had stuck 
 His freakish gauds upon the Ancient's brow, 
 And now his ear, and now his beard, would pluck ; 
 Whereat the angry churl had snatch'd him now, 
 Crying, " Thou impish mischief, who art thou ? * 
 
 " Alas r* quoth Puck, " a little random elf, 
 Born in the sport of nature, like a weed, 
 For simple sweet enjoyment of myself, 
 But for no other purpose, worth, or need ; 
 And yet withal of a most happy breed : 
 And there is Robin Goodfellow besides, 
 My partner dear in many a prankish deed 
 To make Dame Laughter hold her jolly sides, 
 Like merry mummers twain on holy tides. 
 
 " 'Tis we that bob the angler's idle cork, 
 Till e'en the patient man breathes half a curse ; 
 We steal the morsel from the gossip's fork, 
 And curdling looks with secret straws disperse,
 
 MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 199 
 
 Or stop the sneezing chanter at mid-verse : 
 
 And when an infant's beauty prospers ill, 
 
 We change, some mothers say, the child at nurse 
 
 But any graver purpose to filial, 
 
 We have not wit enough, and scarce the wilL 
 
 XCI. 
 
 " We never let the canker melancholy 
 
 To gather on our faces like a rust, 
 
 But gloss our features with some change of folly, 
 
 Taking life's fabled miseries on trust, 
 
 But only sorrowing when sorrow must : 
 
 We ruminate no sage's solemn cud, 
 
 But own ourselves a pinch of lively dust 
 
 To frisk upon a wind, whereas the flood 
 
 Of tears would turn us into heavy mud. 
 
 XCII. 
 
 " Beshrew those sad interpreters of nature, 
 
 Who gloze her lively universal law, 
 
 As if she had not form'd our cheerful feature 
 
 To be so tickled with the slightest straw ! 
 
 So let them vex their mumping mouths, and draw 
 
 The corners downward, like a watery moon, 
 
 And deal in gusty si^hs and rainy flaw 
 
 We will not woo foul weather all too soon, 
 
 Or nurse November on the lap of June. 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 " For ours are winging sprites, like any bird, 
 That shun all stagnant settlements of grief ; 
 And even in our rest our hearts are stirr'd, 
 Like insects settled on a dancing leaf : 
 This is our small philosophy in brief, 
 Which thus to teach hath set me all agape : 
 But dost thou relish it ? O hoary chief ! 
 Unclasp thy crooked fingers from my nape, 
 And I will show thee many a pleasant scrape." 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 Then Saturn thus : shaking his crooked blade 
 O'erhead, which made aloft a lightning flash 
 In all the fairies' eyes, dismally fray'd ! 
 His ensuing voice came like the thunder crash- 
 Meanwhile the bolt shatters some pine or ash 
 " Thou feeble, wanton, foolish, fickle thing ! 
 Whom nought can frighten, sadden, or abash,- 
 To hope my solemn countenance to wring 
 To idiot smiles ! but I will prune thy wing I
 
 THE PLEA OF THS 
 
 XCV. 
 
 "Lo ! this most awful handle of my scythe 
 Stood once a Maypole, with a flowery crown, 
 Which rustics danced around, and maidens blithe, 
 To wanton pipings : but I pluck'd it down. 
 And robed the May Queen in a churchyard gown, 
 Turning her buds to rosem iry and rue ; 
 And all their merry minstrelsy did drown, 
 And laid each lusty leaper in the dew ; 
 So thou shall fare and every jovial crew J 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 Here he lets go the struggling imp, to clutch 
 His mortal engine with each grisly hand, 
 Which frights the elfin progeny so much, 
 They huddle in a heap, and trembling stand 
 All round Titania, like the queen bee's band 
 With sighs and tears and very shrieks of w 
 Meanwhile, some moving argument I plann'd, 
 To make the stern Shnde merciful, when lo I 
 He drops his fatal scythe without a blow ! 
 
 For, just at need, a timely Apparition 
 
 Steps in between, to bear the awful brunt ; 
 
 Making him change his horrible position, 
 
 To marvel at this comer, brave and blunt, 
 
 That dares Time's irresistible affront, 
 
 Whose strokes have scarr'd even the gods of old ,* 
 
 Whereas this seem'd a mortal, at mere hunt 
 
 For coneys, lighted by the moonshine cold, 
 
 Or stalker of stray deer, stealthy and bold. 
 
 Who, turning to the small assembled fays, 
 Doffs to the lily queen his courteous cap, 
 And holds her beauty for awhile in gaze, 
 With bright eyes kindling at this pleasant hap ; 
 And thence upon the fair moon's silver map, 
 As if in question of this magic chance, 
 Laid like a dream upon the green earth's lap ; 
 And then upon old Saturn turns askance, 
 Exclaiming, with a glad and kindly glance : 
 
 "Oh, these be Fancy's revellers by night I 
 Stealthy companions of the downy moth- 
 Diana's motes, that flit in her pale light, 
 Shunners of sunbeams in diurnal sloth ; -
 
 MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 These be the feasters on night's silver cloth, 
 The gnat with shrilly trump is their convener, 
 Forth from their flowery chambers, nothing loth) 
 With lulling tunes to charm the air serener, 
 Or dance upon the grass to make it greener. 
 
 " These be the pretty genii of the flowers, 
 
 Daintily fed with honey and pure dew 
 
 Midsummer's phantoms in her dreaming hours, 
 
 King Oberon, nnd all his merry crew, 
 
 The darling puppets of romance's view ; 
 
 Fairies, and sprites, and goblin elves we call them. 
 
 Famous for patronage of lovers true ; 
 
 No harm they act, neither shall harm befall them, 
 
 So do not thus with crabbed frowns appal them." 
 
 CI. 
 
 Oh, what a cry was Saturn's then ! it made 
 
 The fairies quake. " What care I for their pranks, 
 
 However they may lovers choose to aid, 
 
 Or dance their roundelays on flowery banks? 
 
 Long must they dance before they earn my thanks,- 
 
 So step aside, to some far safer spot, 
 
 Whilst with my hungry scythe I mow their ranks, 
 
 And leave them in the sun, like weeds, to rot, 
 
 And with the next day's sun to be forgot." 
 
 Anon, he raised afresh his weapon keen ; 
 But still the gracious Shade disarm'd his aim, 
 Stepping with brave alacrity between, 
 And made his sere arm powerless and tame. 
 His be perpetual glory, for the shame 
 Of hoary Saturn in that grand defeat ! 
 But I must tell how here Titania came 
 With all her kneeling lieges, to entreat 
 His kindly succour, in sad tones, but sVeet 
 
 cm 
 
 Saying, " Thou seest a wretched queen before thee, 
 
 The fading power of a failing land. 
 
 Who for her kingdom kneeleth to implore thee, 
 
 Now menaced by this tyrant's spoiling hand ; 
 
 No one but thee can hopefully withstand 
 
 That crooked blade, he longeth so to lift. 
 
 I pray thee blind him with his own vile sand, 
 
 Which only times all ruins by its drift, 
 
 Or prune his eagle wings that are so swift.
 
 THE PLEA OF THE 
 
 CIV. 
 
 a Or take him by that sole and grizzled tuft, 
 That hangs upon his bald and barren crown; 
 And we will sing to see him so rebuffd, 
 And lend our little mights to pull him down, 
 And make br.ive sport of his malicious frown, 
 For all his boastful mockery o'er men. 
 For thou wast born, I know, for this renown, 
 By my most magical and inward ken, 
 That readeth even at Fate's forestalling pen. 
 
 u Nay, by the golden lustre of thine eye, 
 And by thy brow's most fair and ample span, 
 Thought's glorious palace, framed for fancies high, 
 And by thy cheek thus passionately wan, 
 I know the signs of an immortal man, 
 Nature's chief darling, and illustrious mate, 
 Destined to foil old Death's oblivious plan, 
 And shine untarnish'd by the fogs of Fate, 
 Time's famous rival till the final date ! 
 
 " Oh, shield us then from this usurping Time, 
 And we will visit thee in moonlight dreams, 
 And teach thee tunes to wed unto thy rhyme, 
 And dance about thee in all midnight gleams, 
 Giving thee glimpses of our magic schemes, 
 Such as no mortal's eye hath ever seen ; 
 And, for thy love to us in our extremes, 
 Will ever keep thy chaplet fresh and green, 
 Such as no poet's wreath hath ever been ! 
 
 " And well distil thee aromatic dews, 
 
 To charm thy sense, when there shall be no flower* ; 
 
 And flavour'd syrups in thy drinks infuse, 
 
 And teach the nightingale to haunt thy bowers, 
 
 And with our games divert thy weariest hours, 
 
 With all that elfin wits can e'er devise. 
 
 And this churl dead, there'll be no hasting hours 
 
 To rob thee of thy joys, as now joy flies : " 
 
 Here she was stopp'd by Saturn's furious cries ; 
 
 Whom, therefore, the kind Shade rebukes anew, 
 Saying, " Thou haggard Sin ! go forth, and scoop 
 Thy hollow coffin in some churchyard yew, 
 Or make th' autumnal flowers turn pale, and droop j
 
 MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 Or fell the bearded corn, till gleaners stoop 
 Under fat sheaves, or blast the piny grove ; 
 But here thou shalt not harm this pretty group, 
 Whose lives are not so frail and feebly wove, 
 But leased on Nature's loveliness and love. 
 
 "'Tis these that free the small entangled fly, 
 Caught in the venom'd spider's crafty snare ; 
 These be the petty surgeons that apply 
 The healing balsams to the wounded hare, 
 Bedded in bloody fern, no creature's care ! 
 These be providers for the orphan brood, 
 Whose tender mother hath been slain in air, 
 Quitting with gaping bill her darling's food, 
 Hard by the verge of her domestic wood. 
 
 " Tis these befriend the timid trembling stag, 
 When, with a bursting heart beset with fears, 
 He feels his saving speed begin to flag ; 
 For then they quench the fatal taint with tears, 
 And prompt fresh shifts in his alarum'd ears. 
 So piteously they view all bloody morts ; 
 Or if the gunner, with his arm, appears, 
 Like noisy pyes and jays, with harsh reports, 
 They warn the wildfowl of his deadly sports. 
 
 CXI. 
 
 " For these are kindly ministers of nature, 
 To soothe all covert hurts and dumb distress ; 
 Pretty they be, and very small of stature, 
 For mercy still consorts with littleness ; 
 Wherefore the sum of good is still the less, 
 And mischief grossest in this world of wrong j 
 So do these charitable dwarfs redress 
 The tenfold ravages of giants strong, 
 To whom great malice and great might belong. 
 
 CXII. 
 
 " Likewise to them are Poets much beholden 
 For secret favours in the midnight glooms ; 
 Brave Spenser quaffd out of their goblets golden, 
 And saw their tables spread of prompt mushrooms, 
 And heard their horns of honeysuckle blooms 
 Sounding upon the air most soothing soft, 
 Like humming bees busy about the brooms, 
 And glanced this fair queen's witchery full oft, 
 And in her magic wain soar'd far aloft.
 
 J<H THE PLEA OF THE 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 " Nay, I myself, though mortal, once was nursed 
 
 By fairy gossips, friendly at my birth, 
 
 And in my childish ear glib Mab rehearsed 
 
 Her breezy travels round our planet's girth, 
 
 Telling me wonders of the moon and earth ; 
 
 My gramarj^ at her grave lap I conn'd, 
 
 Where Puck hath been convened to make me mirth ; 
 
 I have had from Queen Titania tokens fond, 
 
 And toy'd with Oberon's permitted wand. 
 
 CXIV. 
 
 " With figs and plums and Persian dates they fed me, 
 And delicate cates after my sunset meal, 
 And took me by my childish hand and led me 
 By craggy rocks crested with keeps of steel, 
 Whose awful bases deep dark woods conceal, 
 Staining some dead lake with their verdant dyes : 
 And when the West sparkled at Phoebus' wheel, 
 With fairy euphrasy they purged mine eyes, 
 To let me see their cities in the skies. 
 
 cxv. 
 
 " 'Twas they first school'd my young imagination 
 
 To take its flights like any new-fledued bird, 
 
 And show'd the span of winged meditation 
 
 Stretch'd wider than things grossly seen or heard ; 
 
 With sweet swift Ariel how I soar'd and stirr'd 
 
 The fragrant blooms of spiritual bowers ! 
 
 'Twas they endear'd what I have still preferr'd, 
 
 Nature's blest attributes and balmy powers, 
 
 Her hills, and vales, and brooks, sweet birds and flowen ! 
 
 CXVI. 
 
 "Wherefore with all true loyalty and duty 
 
 Will I regard them in my honouring rhyme, 
 
 With love for love, and homages to beauty, 
 
 And magic thoughts gather'd in night's cool clime, 
 
 With studious verse trancing the dragon Time, 
 
 Strong as old Merlin's necromantic spells ; 
 
 So these dear monarchs of the summer's prime 
 
 Shall live unstartled by his dreadful yells, 
 
 Till shrill larks warn them to their flowery cells.* 
 
 CXVII. 
 
 Look how a poison'd man turns livid black, 
 Drugg'd with a cup of deadly hellebore, 
 That sets his horrid features all at rack, 
 So seem'd these words into the ear to pour
 
 MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 305 
 
 Saturn, answering with a mar 
 Of mortal pain and spite and utmost rage, 
 Wherewith his grisly arm he raised once more, 
 And bade the cluster'd sinews all engage, 
 As if at one fell stroke to wreck an age. 
 
 Whereas the blade flash'd on the dinted ground, 
 Down through his steadfast foe, yet made no scar 
 On that immortal Shade, or death-like wound ; 
 But Time was long benumb'd, and stood ajar, 
 And then with baffled rage took flight afar, 
 To weep his hurt in some Cimmerian gloom, 
 Or meaner fames (like mine) to mock and mar, 
 Or sharp his scythe for royal strokes of doom, 
 Whetting its edge on some old Caesar's tomb. 
 
 Howbeit he vanish 'd in the forest shade, 
 Distantly heard as if some grumbling pard, 
 And, like Narcissus, to a sound decay'd ; 
 Meanwhile the fays cluster'd the gracious Bard, 
 The darling centre of their dear regard : 
 Besides of sundry dances on the green, 
 Never was mortal man so brightly starrM, 
 Or won such pretty homages, I ween. 
 "Nod to him, Elves ! " cries the melodious queen. 
 
 cxx. 
 
 "Nod to him, Elves, and nutter round about him, 
 And quite enclose him with your pretty crowd, 
 And touch him lovingly, for that, without him, 
 The silkworm now had spun our dreary shroud ;- 
 But he hath all dispersed death's tearful cloud, 
 And Time's dread effigy scared quite a\\ ay : 
 Bow to him then, as though to me ye bow'd, 
 And his dear wishes prosper and obey 
 Wherever love and wit can find a way I 
 
 CXXI. 
 
 a 'Noint him with fairy dews of magic savours, 
 Shaken from orient buds still pearly wet, 
 Roses and spicy pinks, and, of all favours, 
 Plant in his walks the purple violet, 
 And meado\v-s\\eet under the hedges set, 
 To mingle breaths with dainty eglantine 
 And honeysuckles sweet, nor yet forget 
 Some pastoral flowery chaplets to entwine, 
 To vie the thoughts about his brow benign ! 
 
 U
 
 jo6 PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 CXXII. 
 
 " Let no wild thins astonish him or fear him, 
 But tell them all how mild he is of heart, 
 Till e'en the timid hares go frankly near him, 
 And eke the dappled does, yet never start ; 
 Nor shall their fawns into the thickets dart, 
 Nor wrens forsake their nests among the leaves, 
 Nor speckled thrushes flutter far ap irt ; 
 But bid the sacred swallow haunt his eaves, 
 To guard his roof from lightning and from thieves. 
 
 " Or when he goes the nimble squirrel's visitor, 
 Let the brown hermit bring his hoarded nuts, 
 For, tell him, this is Nature's kind Inquisitor, 
 Though man keeps cautious doors that conscience shuts, 
 For conscious wrong all curious quest rebuts, 
 Nor yet shall bees uncase their jealous stings, 
 However he may watch their straw-built huts ; 
 So let him learn the crafts of all small things, 
 Which he will hint most aptly when he sings." 
 
 CXXIV. 
 
 Here she leaves off, and with a graceful hand 
 Waves thrice three splendid circles round his head ; 
 Which, though deserted by the radiant wand, 
 Wears still the glory which her waving shed, 
 Such as erst crown'd the old Apostle's head, 
 To show the thoughts there harbour'd were divine, 
 And on immortal contemplations fed : 
 Goodly it was to see that glory shine 
 Around a brow so lofty and benign 1 
 
 cxxv. 
 
 Goodly it was to see the elfin brood 
 Contend for kisses of his gentle hand, 
 That had their mortal enemy withstood, 
 And stay'd their lives, fast ebbing with the sand. 
 Long while this strife eng.iged the pretty band; 
 But now bold Chanticleer, from farm to farm, 
 Challenged the dawn creeping o'er eastern land, 
 And well the fairies knew that shrill alarm, 
 Which sounds the knell of every elfish charm. 
 
 And soon the rolling mist, that 'gan arise 
 From plashy mead and undiscover'd stream, 
 Earth's morning incense to the early skies, 
 Crept o'er the failing landscape of my dream.
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 307 
 
 Soon faded then the Phantom of my theme 
 A shapeless shade, that fancy disavow'd, 
 And shrank to nothing in the mist extreme. 
 Then flew Titania, and her little crowd, 
 Like flocking linnets, vanish'd in a cloud. 
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 TO S. T. COLERIDGE, ESQ. 
 
 IT is not with a hope my feeble praise 
 
 Can add one moment's honour to thy own, 
 
 That with thy mighty name I grace these lays ; 
 
 I seek to glorify myself alone : 
 
 For that some precious favour thou hast shown 
 
 To my endeavour in a bygone time, 
 
 And by this token, I would have it known 
 
 Thou art my friend, and friendly to my rhyme I 
 
 It is my dear ambition now to climb 
 
 Still higher in thy thought, if my bold pen 
 
 May thrust on contemplations more sublime. 
 
 But I am thirsty for thy praise, for when 
 
 We gain applauses from the great in name, 
 
 We seem to be partakers of their fame. 
 
 O BARDS of old ! what sorrows have ye sung, 
 And tragic stories, chronicKd in stone, 
 Sad Philomel restored her ravish'd tongue, 
 And transform'd Niobe in dumbness shown ; 
 Sweet Sappho on her love for ever calls, 
 And Hero on the drown'd Leander falls ! 
 
 Was it that spectacles of sadder plights 
 Should make our blisses relish the more high ? 
 Then all fair dames, and maidens, and true knight^ 
 Whose flourish'd fortunes prosper in Love's eye, 
 Weep here, unto' a tale of ancient grief, 
 Traced from the course of an old bas-relief. 
 
 III. 
 
 There stands Abydos ! here is Sestos' steep, 
 Hard by the gusty margin of the sea, 
 Where sprinkling waves continually do leap ; 
 And that is where those famous lovers be, 
 A builded gloom shot up into the grey, 
 As if the first tall watch-tower of the day.
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 Lo ! how the lark soars upward and is gone ; 
 Turning a spirit as he nears the sky, 
 His voice is heard, though body there is none, 
 And rainlike music scatters from on high ; 
 But Love would follow with a falcon spite, 
 To pluck the minstrel from his dewy height 
 
 V. 
 
 For Love hath framed a ditty of regrets, 
 Tuned to the hollow sobbings on the shore, 
 A vexing sense, that with like music frets, 
 And chimes this dismal burthen o'er and o'er, 
 Saying, Leander's joys are past and spent, 
 Like stars extinguish'd in the firmament. 
 
 For ere the golden crevices of morn 
 
 Let in those regal luxuries of light 
 
 Which all the variable east adorn, 
 
 And hang rich fringes on the skirts of night, 
 
 Leander, weaning from sweet Hero's side, 
 
 Must leave a widow where he found a bride. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Hark how the billows beat upon the sand ! 
 Like pawing steeds impatient of delay ; 
 Meanwhile their rider, lingering on the land, 
 Dallies with love, and holds farewell at bay 
 A too short span. How tedious slow is grief I 
 But parting renders time both sad and brief. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 "Alas ! (he sigh'd), that this first glimpsing light, 
 Which makes the wide world tenderly appear, 
 Should be the burning signal for my flight, . 
 From all the world's best image, which is here ; 
 Whose very shadow, in my fond compare, 
 Shines far more bright than Beauty's self elsewhere. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Their cheeks are white as blossoms of the dark, 
 Whose leaves close up and show the outward pale, 
 And those fair mirrors where their joys did spark, 
 All dim and tarnish'd with a dreary veil, 
 No more to kindle till the night's return, 
 Like stars replenish'd at Joy's golden urn.
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 309 
 
 X. 
 
 Even thus they creep into the spectral grey, 
 That cramps the landscape in its narrow briu, 
 As when two shadows by old Lethe stray, 
 He clasping her, and she entwining him ; 
 Like trees wind-parted that embrace anon, 
 True love so often goes before 'tis gone. 
 
 XI. 
 
 For what rich merchant but will pause in fear, 
 To trust his wealth to the unsafe abyss ? 
 So Hero dotes upon her treasure here, 
 And sums the loss with many an anxious kiss, 
 Whilst her fond eyes grow dizzy in her head, 
 Fear aggravating fear with shows of dread. 
 
 XII. 
 
 She thinks how many have been sunk and drown'd, 
 And spies their snow-white bones below the deep, 
 Then calls huge congregated monsters round, 
 And plants a rock wherever he would leap ; 
 Anon she dwells on a fantastic dream, 
 Which she interprets of that fatal stream. 
 
 XIIL 
 
 Saying, "That honey'd fly I saw was thee, 
 Which lighted on a waterlily's cup, 
 When lo ! the flower, enamour'd of my bee, 
 Closed on him suddenly, and lock'd him up, 
 And he was smother'd in her drenching dew ; 
 Therefore this day thy drowning I shall rue.* 
 
 But next, remembering her virgin fame, 
 
 She clips him in her arms and bids him go ; 
 
 But seeing him break loose, repents her shame, 
 
 And plucks him back upon her bosom's snow ; 
 
 And tears unfix her iced resolve again, 
 
 As steadfast frosts are thaw'd by showers of rain. 
 
 Oh, for a type of parting ! Love to love 
 Is like the fond attraction of two spheres, 
 Which needs a godlike effort to remove, 
 And then sink down their sunny atmospheres, 
 In rain and darkness on each ruin'd heart, 
 Nor yet their melodies will sound apart.
 
 310 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 XVL 
 
 So brave Leander sunders from his bride ; 
 
 The wrenching pang disparts his soul in twain j 
 
 Half stays with her, half goes towards the tide, 
 
 And life must ache, until they join again. 
 
 Now wouldst thou know the wideness of the wound, 
 
 Mete every step he takes upon the ground. 
 
 And for the agony and bosom-throe, 
 
 Let it be measured by the wide vast air ; 
 
 For that is infinite, and so is woe, 
 
 Since parted lovers breathe it everywhere. 
 
 Look how it heaves Leander's labouring chest, 
 
 Panting, at poise, upon a rocky crest ! 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 From which he leaps into the scooping brine, 
 That shocks his bosom with a double chill ; 
 Because, all hours, till the slow sun's decline^ 
 That cold divorcer will betwixt them still ; 
 Wherefore he likens it to Styx' foul tide, 
 Where life grows death upon the other side. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Then sadly he confronts his twofold toil 
 Against rude waves and an unwilling mind, 
 Wishing, alas ! with the stout rower's toil, 
 That like a rower he might gaze behind, 
 And watch that lonely statue he hath left 
 On her bleak summit, weeping and bereft ! 
 
 Yet turning oft, he sees her troubled locks 
 Pursue him still the furthest that they may ; 
 Her marble arms that overstretch the rocks, 
 And her pale passioned hands that seem to pray 
 In dumb petition to the gods above : 
 Love prays devoutly when it prays for love 1 
 
 Then with deep sighs he blows away the wave, 
 That hangs superfluous tears upon his cheek, 
 And bans his labour like a hopeless slave, 
 That, chain'd in hostile gallev, faint and weak, 
 Plies on despairing through the restless foam, 
 Thoughtful of his lost love, and tar-off home.
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 311 
 
 The drowsy mist before him, chill and dank, 
 Like a dull lethargy o'erleans the sea, 
 Where he rows on against the utter blank, 
 Steering as if to dim eternity, 
 Like Love's frail ghost departing with the dawn, 
 A failing shadow in the twilight drawn. 
 
 And soon is gone, or nothing but a faint 
 And failing image in the eye of thought, 
 That mocks his model with an after-paint, 
 And stains an atom like the shape she sought ; 
 Then with her earnest vows she hopes to fee 
 The old and hoary majesty of sea. 
 
 * O King of waves, and brother of high Jove 1 
 Preserve my sumless venture there afloat ; 
 A woman's heart, and its whole wealth of love, 
 Are all embaik'd upon that little boat ; 
 Nay, but two loves, two lives, a double fate, 
 A perilous voyage for so dear a freight. 
 
 " If impious mariners be stain'd with crime, 
 Shake not in awful rage thy hoary locks ; 
 Lay by thy storms until another time, 
 Lest my frail bark be dash'd against the rocks : 
 Oh, rather smooth thy deeps, that he may fly 
 Like Love himself, upon a seeming sky 1 
 
 "Let all thy herded monsters sleep beneath, 
 
 Nor gore him with crook'd tusks, or wreathed herns, 
 
 Let no fierce sharks destroy him with their let th, 
 
 Nor spine-fish wound him with their venom'd thorns ; 
 
 But if he faint, and timely succour lack, 
 
 Let ruthful dolphins rest him on their back. 
 
 " Let no false dimpling whirlpools suck him in, 
 Nor slimy quicksands smother his sweet breath ; 
 Let no jagg d corals tear his tender skin, 
 Nor mountain billows bury him in death ;" 
 And with that thought forestalling her own fears, 
 She drown'd his painted image in her tears.
 
 313 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 By this, the climbing sun, with rest repaiVd, 
 Look'd through the gold embrasures of the sky, 
 And ask'd the drowsy world how she had fared ; 
 The drowsy world shone brighten'd in reply ; 
 And smiling off her fogs, his slanting beam 
 Spied young Leander in the middle stream, 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 His face was pallid, but the hectic morn 
 Had hung a lying crimson on his cheeks, 
 And slanderous sparkles in his eyes forlorn ; 
 So death lies ambush'd in consumptive streaks ; 
 But inward grief was writhing o'er its task, 
 As heart-sick jesters weep behind the mask. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 He thought of Hero and the lost delight, 
 Her last embracings, and the space between ; 
 He thought of Hero and the future ni^ht, 
 Her speechless rapture and enamour'd mien ; 
 When lo ! before him, scarce two galleys' space, 
 His thought's confronted with another face 1 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Her aspect's like a moon divinely fair, 
 
 But makes the midnight darker that it lies on ; 
 
 'Tis so beclouded with her coal-black hair 
 
 That densely skirts her luminous horizon, 
 
 Making her doubly fair, thus darkly set, 
 
 As marble lies advantaged upon jet. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 She's all too bright, too argent, and too pale, 
 
 To be a woman ; but a woman's double, 
 
 Reflected on the wave so faint and frail, 
 
 She tops the billows like an air-blown bubble ; 
 
 Or dim creation of a morning dream, 
 
 Fair as the wave-bleach'd lily of the stream. 
 
 The very rumour strikes his seeing dead : 
 
 Great beauty like great fear first stuns the sense : 
 
 He knows not if her lips be blue or red, 
 
 Nor of her eyes can <;ive true evidence : 
 
 Like murders witness swooning in the court, 
 
 His sight falls senseless by its own report.
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. |IJ 
 
 Anon resuming, it declares her eyes 
 Are tinct with azure, like two crystal wells 
 That drink the blue complexion of the skies, 
 Or pearls outpeeping from their silvery shells : 
 Her polish'd brow, it is an ample plain, 
 To lodge vast contemplations of the main. 
 
 Her lips might corals seem, but corals near, 
 Stray through her hair like blossoms on a bower; 
 And o'er the weaker red still domineer, 
 And make it pale by tribute to more power ; 
 Her rounded cheeks are of still paler hue, 
 Touch' d by the bloom of water, tender blue. 
 
 Thus he beholds her rocking on the water, 
 Under the glossy umbrage of her hair, 
 Like pearly Amphitrite's fairest daughter 
 Naiad, or Nereid, or Syren fair, 
 Mislodging music in her pitiless breast, 
 A nightingale within a falcon's nest 
 
 They say there be such maidens in the deep, 
 Charming poor mariners, that all too near 
 By mortal lullabies fall dend asleep, 
 As drowsy men are poison'd through the ear { 
 Therefore Leander's fears begin to urge, 
 This snowy swan is come to sing his dirge. 
 
 XXXVIIL 
 
 At which he falls into a deadly chill, 
 And strains his eyes upon her lips apart ; 
 Fearing each breath to feel that prelude shrill 
 Pierce through his marrow, like a breath-blown dart 
 Shot sudden from an Indian's hollow cane, 
 With mortal venom fraught, and fiery pain. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Here then, poor wretch, how he begins to crowd 
 A thousand thoughts within a pulse's space ; 
 There seem'd so brief a pause of life allow'd, 
 His mind stretch'd universal, to embrace 
 The whole wide world in an extreme farewell, 
 A moment's musing but an age to telL
 
 JI 4 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 XL. 
 
 For there stood Hero, widow'd at a glance, 
 
 The foreseen sum of many a tedious fact, 
 
 Pale cheeks, dim eyes, and wither'd countenance, 
 
 A wasted ruin that no wasting lack'd ; 
 
 Time's tragic consequents ere time began, 
 
 A world of sorrow in a teardrop's span. 
 
 A moment's thinking is an hour in words, 
 An hour of words is little for some woes ; 
 Too little breathing a long life affords, 
 For love to paint itself by perfect shows ; 
 Then let his love and grief unwrong'd lie dumby 
 Whilst Fear, and that it fears, together come. 
 
 XL 1 1. 
 
 As when the crew, hard by some jutty cape, 
 Struck pale and panick'd by the billows' roar, 
 Lay by all timely measures of escape, 
 And let their bark go driving on the shore ; 
 So fray'd Leander, drifting to his wreck, 
 Gazing on Scylla, falls upon her neck. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 For he hath all forgot the swimmer's art, 
 The rower's cunning, and the pilot's skill, 
 Letting his arms fall down in languid part, 
 Sway'd by the waves, and nothing by his will, 
 Till soon he jars against that glossy skin, 
 Solid like glass, though seemingly as thin. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Lo ! how she startles at the warning shock, 
 And straightway girds him to her radiant breast! 
 More like his safe smooth harbour than his rock. 
 Poor wretch ! he is so faint and toil-opprest, 
 He cannot loose him from his grappling foe; 
 Whether for love or hate, she lets not go. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 His eyes are blinded with the, sleety brine, 
 
 His ears are deafen'd with the wildering noise ; 
 
 He asks the purpose of her fell design, 
 
 But foamy waves choke up his struggling voice; 
 
 Under the ponderous sea his body dips, 
 
 And Hero's name dies bubbling on his lips.
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 315 
 
 Look how a man is lower'd to his grave ; 
 A yearning hollow in the green earth's lap ; 
 So he is sunk into the yawning wave, 
 The plunging sea fills up the watery gap ; 
 Anon he is all gone, and nothing seen, 
 But likeness of green turf and hillocks green. 
 
 And where he swam, the constant sun lies sleeping, 
 Over the verdant plain that makes his bed ; 
 And all the noisy waves go freshly leaping, 
 Like gamesome boys over the churchyard dead ; 
 The light in vain keeps looking for his face, 
 Now screaming seafowl settle in his place. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 Yet weep and watch for him though all in vain 1 
 Ye moaning billows, seek him as ye wander! 
 Ye gazing sunbeams, look for him again ! 
 Ye winds, grow hoarse with asking for Leander 1 
 Ye did but spare him for more cruel rape, 
 Sea-storm and ruin in a female shape ! 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 She says 'tis love hath bribed her to this deed, 
 The glancing of his eyes did so bewitch her. 
 O bootless theft! unprofitable meed ! 
 Love's treasury is sack'd, but she no richer ; 
 The sparkles of his eyes are cold and dead, 
 And all his golden looks are turn'd to lead ! 
 
 She holds the casket, but her simple hand 
 Hath spill'd its dearest jewel by the way ; 
 She hath life's empty garment at command, 
 But her own death lies covert in the prey ; 
 As if a thief should steal a tainted vest, 
 Some dead man's spoil, and sicken of his pest. 
 
 LI. 
 
 Now she compels him to her deeps below, 
 
 Hiding his face beneath her plenteous hair, 
 
 Which jealously she shakes all round her brow, 
 
 For dread of envy, though no eyes are there 
 
 But seals', and all brute tenants of the deep, 
 
 Which heedless through the wave their juurneys keep.
 
 fl6 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 LIT. 
 
 Down and still downward through the dusky green 
 
 She bore him, murmuring with joyo.is haste 
 
 In too rash ignorance, as he had bren 
 
 Born to the texture of that watery waste ; 
 
 That which she breathed and sigh'd, the emerald wave, 
 
 How could her pleasant home become his grave ! 
 
 Down and still downward through the dusky green 
 She bore her treasure, with a face too nigh 
 To mark how life was nlter'd in his mien, 
 Or how the light grew torpid in his eye, 
 Or how his pearly breath, unprison'd there, 
 Flew up to join the universal air. 
 
 She could not miss the throbbings of his heart, 
 Whilst her own pulse so w.mton'd in its joy ; 
 She could not guess he struggled to depart, 
 And when he strove no more, the hapless boy ! 
 She read his mortal stillness for content, 
 Feeling no fear where only love was meant. 
 
 Soon she alights upon her ocean-floor, 
 
 And straight unyokes her arms from her fair prize ; 
 
 Then on his lovely face begins to pore, 
 
 As if to glut her soul ; her hungry eyes 
 
 Have grown so jealous of her arms' delight ; 
 
 It seems he hath no other sense but sight. 
 
 But O sad marvel ! O most bitter strange ! 
 What dismal magic makes his cheek so pale, 
 Why will he not embrace, why not exchange 
 Her kindly kisses ; wherefore not exhale 
 Some odorous message from life's ruby gates, 
 Where she his first sweet embassy awaits ? 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Her eyes, poor watchers, fix'd upon his looks, 
 Are grappled with a wonder near to grief, 
 As one who pores on undecipher'd books, 
 Strains vain surmise, and dodges with belief; 
 So she keeps gazing with a mazy thought, 
 Framing a thousand doubts that end in nought
 
 HERO AND LEANDEK. 317 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 Too stern inscription for a page so young, 
 The dark translation of his look was Death ! 
 But Death was written in an alien tongue, 
 And Learning was not by to give it breath ; 
 So one deep woe sleeps buried in its seal, 
 Which Time, untimely, hasteth to reveal 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Meanwhile she sits unconscious of her hap, 
 Nursing Death's marble effigy, which there 
 With heavy head lies pillow'd in her lap, 
 And elbows all unhinged ; his sleeking hair 
 Creeps o'er her knees, and settles where his hand 
 Leans with lax fingers crook'd against the sand ; 
 
 LX. 
 
 And there lies spread in many an oozy trail, 
 Like glossy weeds hung from a chalky base, 
 That shows no whiter than his brow is pale ; 
 So soon the wintry death had bleach'd his face 
 Into cold marble, with blue chilly shades, 
 Showing wherein the freezy blood pervades. 
 
 And o'er his steadfast cheek a furrow'd pain 
 Hath set, and stiffen'd like a storm in ice, 
 Showing by drooping lines the deadly strain 
 Of mortal anguish ; yet you might gaze twice 
 Ere Death it seem'd, and not his cousin, Sleep, 
 That through those creviced lids did underpeep. 
 
 LXIL 
 
 But all that tender bloom about his eyes, 
 
 Is Death's own violets, which his utmost rite 
 
 It is to scatter when the red rose dies ; 
 
 For blue is chilly, and akin to white : 
 
 Also he leaves some tinges on his lips, 
 
 Which he hath kiss'd with such cold frosty nipt. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 " Surely," quoth she, " he sleeps, the senseless thing, 
 Oppress'd and faint with toiling in the stream !" 
 Therefore she will not mar his rest, but sing 
 So low, her tune shall mingle with his dream ; 
 Meanwhile, her lily fingers task to twine 
 His uncrispt locks uncurling in the brine.
 
 3lS HERO AND LE/NDER. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 " O lovely boy ! " thus she attuned her voice, 
 " Welcome, thrice welcome, to a sea-maid's home ; 
 My love-mate thou shah be, and true heart's choice; 
 How have I longM such a twin-self should come, 
 A lonely thing, till this sweet chance befell, 
 My heart kept sighing like a hollow shelL 
 
 LXV. 
 
 " Here thou shalt live, beneath this secret dome, 
 An ocean bower, defended by the shade 
 Of quiet waters ; a cool emerald gloom 
 To lap thee all about. Nay, be not fray'd, 
 Those are but shady fishes that sail by 
 Like antic clouds across my liquid sky 1 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 " Look how the sunbeam burns upon their scales, 
 And shows rich glimpses of their Tyrian skins ; 
 They flash small lightnings from their vigorous tails, 
 And winking stars are kindled at their fins ; 
 These shall divert thee in thy weariest mood, 
 And seek thy hand for gamesomeness and food. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 * Lo ! those green pretty leaves with tassel bells, 
 My flowrets those, that never pine for drouth ; 
 Myself did plant them in the dappled shells 
 That drink the wave with such a rosy mouth, 
 Pearls wouldst thou have beside? crystals to shine? 
 I had such treasures once, now they are thine. 
 
 " Now, lay thine ear against this golden sand, 
 And thou shalt hear the music of the sea, 
 Those hollow tunes it plays against the land, 
 Is't not a rich and wondrous melody ? 
 I have lain hours, arid fancied in its tone 
 1 heard the languages of ages gone 1 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 " I too can sing when it shall please thy choice, 
 And breathe soft tunes through a melodious shell, 
 Though heretofore I have but set my voice 
 To some long sighs, grief harmonised, to tell 
 How desolate I fared ; but this sweet change 
 Will add new notes of gladness to my range t
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 319 
 
 LXX. 
 
 " Or bid me speak, and I will tell thee tales 
 Which I have framed out of the noise of waves ; 
 Ere now I have communed with senseless gales, 
 And held vain colloquies with barren caves ; 
 But I could talk to tliee whole days and days, 
 Only to word my love a thousand ways. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 a But if thy lips will bless me with their speech, 
 
 Then ope, sweet oracles ! and I'll be mute ; 
 
 I was born ignorant for thee to teach, 
 
 Nay all love's lore to thy dear looks impute ; 
 
 Then ope thine eyes, fair teachers, by whose light 
 
 I saw to give away my heart aright 1 * 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 But cold and deaf the sullen creature lies, 
 Over her knees, and with concealing clay, 
 Like hoarding Avarice locks up his eyes, 
 And leaves her world impoverish'd of day ; . 
 Then at his cruel lips she bends to plead, 
 But there the door is closed against her need. 
 
 LXXIIL 
 
 Surely he sleeps, so her false wits infer J 
 Alas ! poor sluegard, ne'er to wake again I 
 Surely he sleeps, yet without any stir 
 That might denote a vi^kJi in his brain ; 
 Or if he does not sleep, he feigns too long, 
 Twice she hath reach'd the ending of her song. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 Therefore 'tis time, she tells him, to uncover 
 Those radiant jesters, and disperse her fears, 
 Whereby her April face is shaded over, 
 Like rainy clouds just ripe for showering tears ; 
 Nay, if he will not wake, so poor she gets, 
 Herself must rob those lock'd up cabinets. 
 
 With that she stoops above his brow, and bids 
 Her busy hands forsake his tangled hair, 
 And tenderly lift up those coffer-lids, 
 That she may gaze upon the jewels there, 
 Like babes that pluck an early bud apart, 
 To know the dainty colour of its heart.
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 Now, picture one, soft creeping to a bed, 
 Who slowly parts the fringe-hung canopies, 
 And then starts back to find the sleeper dead ; 
 So she looks in on his uncover'd eyes, 
 And seeing all within so drear and dark, 
 Her own bright soul dies in her like a spark. 
 
 LXXVIL 
 
 Backward she falls, like a pale prophetess, 
 
 Under the swoon of holy divination : 
 
 And what had all surpass'd her simple guess, 
 
 She now resolves in this dark revelation ; 
 
 Death's very mystery, oblivious death : 
 
 Long sleep, deep night, and an entranced breatlu 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 Yet life, though wounded sore^not wholly slain, 
 Merely obscured, and not extinguish'd, lies ; 
 Her breath, that stood at ebb, soon flows again, 
 Heaving her hollow breast with heavy siiihs, 
 And light comes in, and kindles up the gloom, 
 To light her spirit from its transient tomb. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Then like the sun, awaken'd at new dawn, 
 With pale, bewilder'd face she peers about, 
 And spies blurr'd images obscurely drawn, 
 Uncertain shadows in a haze of doubt ; 
 But her true grief grows shapely by degrees, 
 A perish'd creature lying on her knees. 
 
 And now she knows how that old Murther prey% 
 Whose quarry on her lap lies newly slain ; 
 How he roams all abroad and grimly slays, 
 Like a lean tiger in Love's own domain ; 
 Parting fond mates, and oft in flo*very lawns 
 Bereaves mild mothers of their milky fawns. 
 
 LXXXI, 
 
 O too dear knowledge ! O pernicious earning! 
 Foul curse engraven upon beauty's page ! 
 Even now the sorrow of that deadly learning 
 Ploughs up her brow like an untimely ajje, 
 And on her cheek^ stamps verdict of death's truth, 
 By canker blights 'upon the bud of youth 1
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 331 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 For as unwholesome winds decay the leaf, 
 So her cheeks' rose is perish'd by her sijjhs, 
 And withers in the sickly breath of grief ; 
 Whilst unacquainted rheum bedims her eyes, 
 Tears, virgin tears, the first that ever leapt 
 From those young lids, now plentifully wept 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 Whence being shed, the liquid crystalline 
 Drops straightway down, refusing to partake 
 In gross admixture with the baser brine, 
 But shrinks and hardens into pearls opaque, 
 Hereafter to be worn on arms and ears ; 
 So one maid's trophy is another's tears ! 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 " O foul Arch-Shadow ! thou old cloud of Night ! 
 (Thus in her frenzy she began to wail), 
 Thou blank oblivion blotter out of light, 
 Life's ruthless murderer, and dear love's bale ! 
 Why hast thou left thy havoc incomplete, 
 Leaving me here, and slaying the more sweet ? 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 u Lo ! what a lovely ruin thou hast made, 
 Alas, alas ! thou hast no eyes to see, 
 And blindly slew'st him in misguided shade. 
 Would I had lent my doting sense to thee ! 
 But now I turn to thee, a willing mark, 
 Thine arrows miss me in the aimless dark ! 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 " O doubly cruel ! twice misdoing spite, 
 
 But I will guide thee with my helping eyes, 
 
 Or walk the wide world through, devoid of sight, 
 
 Yet thou shall know me by my many sighs. 
 
 Nay, then thou shouldst have spared my rose, false Heath 
 
 And known Love's flower by smelling his sweet breath ; 
 
 * Or, when thy furious rage was round him dealing, 
 Love should have grown from touching of his skin, 
 But like cold marble thou art all unfeeling, 
 And hast no ruddy springs of warmth within, 
 And being but a shape of freezing bone, 
 Thy touching only turn'd my love to stone ! 
 
 X
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 "And here, alas ! he lies across my knees, 
 With cheeks still colder than the stilly wave, 
 The light beneath his eyelids seems to freeze, 
 Here then, since Love is dead and lacks a gra 
 Oh, come and dig it in my sad heart's core 
 That wound will bring a balsam for its sore ! 
 
 " For art thou not a sleep where sense of ill 
 Lies stingless, like a sense benumb'd with cold, 
 Healing all hurts only with sleep's good-will 
 So shall I slumber, and perchance behold 
 My living love in dreams, O happy night, 
 That lets me company his banish' d spright ! 
 
 xc. 
 
 ** O poppy Death ! sweet poisoner of sleep ! 
 Where shall I seek for thee, oblivious drug, 
 That I may steep thee in my drink, and creep 
 Out of life's coil. Look, Idol ! how I hug 
 Thy dainty image in this strict embrace, 
 And kiss this clay-cold model of thy face ! 
 
 XCI. 
 
 " Put out, put out these sun-consuming lamps, 
 I do but read my sorrows by their shine ; 
 Oh, come and quench them with thy oozy damps, 
 And let my darkness intermix with thine ; 
 Since love is blinded, wherefore should I see, 
 Now love is death, death will be love to me I 
 
 XCIL 
 
 u Away, away, this vain complaining breath, 
 It does but stir the troubles that I weep ; 
 Let it be hush'd and quieted, sweet Death; 
 The wind must settle ere the wave can sleep, 
 Since love is silent, I would fain be mute, 
 O Death, be gracious to my dying suit !" 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 Thus far she pleads, but pleading nought avails her, 
 For Death, her sullen burthen, deigns no heed ; 
 Then with dumb craving arms, since darkness fails her 
 She prays to Heaven's fair light, as if her need 
 Inspired her there were gods to pity pain, 
 Or end it, but she lifts her arms in vain 1
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 323 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 Poor gilded Grief ! the subtle light by this 
 With mazy gold creeps through her watery mine, 
 And, diving downward through the green abyss, 
 Lights up her palace with an amber shine ; 
 There, falling on her arms, the crystal skin 
 Reveals the ruby tide that fares within. 
 
 XCV. 
 
 Look how the fulsome beam would hang a glory 
 On her dark hair, but the dark hairs repel it ; 
 Look how the perjured glow suborns a story 
 On her pale lips, but lips refuse to tell it ; 
 Grief will not swerve from grief, however told 
 On coral lips, or character'd in gold ; 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 Or else, thou maid ! safe anchor'd on Love's neck, 
 Listing the hapless doom of young Leander, 
 Thou wouldst not shed a tear for that old wreck, 
 Sitting secure where no wild surges wander ; 
 Whereas the woe moves on with tragic pace, 
 And shows its sad reflection in thy face. 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 Thus having travell'd on, and track'd the tale, 
 Like the due course of an old bas-relief, 
 Where Tragedy pursues her progress pale, 
 Brood here awhile upon that sea-maid's grief, 
 And take a deeper imprint from the frieze 
 Of that young Fate, with Death upon her knees. 
 
 XCVI II. 
 
 Then whilst the melancholy muse withal 
 Resumes her music in a sadder tone, 
 Meanwhile the sunbeam strikes upon the wall, 
 Conceive that lovely siren to live on, 
 Even as Hope whisper'd the Promethean light 
 Would kindle up the dead Leander's spright. 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 *"Tis light," she says, " that feeds the glittering star% 
 And those were stars set in his heavenly brow ; 
 But this salt cloud, this cold sea-vapour, mars 
 Their radiant breathing, and obscures them now, 
 Therefore I'll lay him in the clear blue air, 
 And see how these dull orbs will kindle there."
 
 2*4 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 Swiftly as dolphins glide, or swifter yet, 
 With dead Leander in her fond arms' fold, 
 She cleaves the meshes of that radiant net 
 The sun hath twined above of liquid gold, 
 Nor slacks till, on the margin of the land, 
 She lays his body on the glowing sand. 
 
 CL 
 
 There, like a pearly waif, just past the reach 
 Of foamy billows, he lies cast. Just then, 
 Some listless fishers, straying down the beach, 
 Spy out this wonder. Thence the curious men, 
 Low crouching, creep into a thicket brake, 
 And watch her doings till their rude hearts ache. 
 
 CII. 
 
 First she begins to chafe him till she faints, 
 Then falls upon his mouth with kisses many, 
 And sometimes pauses in her own complaints 
 To list his breathing, but there is not any, 
 Then looks into his eyes, where no light dwells, 
 Light makes no pictures in such muddy wells. 
 
 
 
 era. 
 
 The hot sun parches his discover'd eyes, 
 
 The hot sun beats on his discolour'd limbs, 
 
 The sand is oozy whereupon he lies, 
 
 Soiling his fairness ; then away she swims, 
 
 Meaning to gather him a daintier bed, 
 
 Plucking the cool fresh weeds, brown, green, and red, 
 
 CIV. 
 
 But, simple-witted thief, while she dives under, 
 Another robs her of her amorous theft ; 
 The ambush'd fishermen creep forth to plunder 
 And steal the unwatch'd treasure she has leit ; 
 Only his void impression dints the sands, 
 Leander is purloin'd by stealthy hands 1 
 
 cv. 
 
 Lp ! how she shudders off the beaded wave I 
 Like Grief all .over tears, and senseless falls, 
 His void imprint seems hollow'd for h*;r grave, 
 Then, rising on her knees, looks round and calls 
 On Hero ! Hero ! having learn'd this name 
 Of his last breath, she calls him by the same.
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 CVI. 
 
 Then with her frantic hands she rends her hairs, 
 And casts them forth, sad keepsakes, to the wind, 
 As if in plucking those she pluck'd her cares ; 
 But grief lies deeper, and remains behind 
 Like a barb'd arrow, rankling in her brain, 
 Turning her very thoughts to throbs of pain. 
 
 Anon her tangled locks are left alone, 
 And down upon the sand she meekly sits, 
 Hard by the foam as humble as a stone, 
 Like an enchanted maid beside her wits, 
 That ponders with a look serene and tragic, 
 Stunn'd by the mighty mystery of magic. 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 Or think of Ariadne's utter trance, 
 
 Crazed by the flight of that disloyal traitor, 
 
 Who left her gazing on the green expanse 
 
 That swallow'd up his track, yet this would mate her, 
 
 Even in the cloudy summit of her woe, 
 
 When o'er the far sea-brim she saw him go. 
 
 CIX. 
 
 For even so she bows, and bends her gaze 
 
 O'er the eternal waste, as if to sum 
 
 Its waves by weary thousands all her days, 
 
 Dismally doom'd ! meanwhile the billows come, 
 
 And coldly dabble with her quiet feet, 
 
 Like any bleaching stones they wont to greet ; 
 
 CX. 
 
 And thence into her lap have boldly sprung, 
 
 Washing her weedy tresses to and fro, 
 
 That round her crouching knees have darkly hung, 
 
 But she sits careless of waves' ebb and flow, 
 
 Like a lone beacon on a desert coast, 
 
 Showing where all her hope was wreck'd and lost 
 
 CXI. 
 
 Yet whether in the sea or vaulted sky, 
 She knoweth not her love's abrupt resort, 
 So like a shape of dreams he left her eye, 
 Winking with doubt. Meanwhile the churls' report 
 Has throng'd the beach with many a curious face, 
 That peeps upon her from its hiding-place.
 
 126 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 CXII. 
 
 And here a head, and there a brow half seen, 
 
 Dodges behind a rock. Here on his hands 
 
 A mariner his crumpled cheeks doth lean 
 
 Over a rugged crest. Another stands, 
 
 Holding his harmful arrow at the head, 
 
 Still check'd by human caution and strange dread. 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 One stops his ears, another close beholder 
 
 Whispers unto the next his grave surmise ; 
 
 This crouches down, and just above his shoulder, 
 
 A woman's pity saddens in her eyes, 
 
 And prompts her to befriend that lonely grief, 
 
 With all sweet helps of sisterly relief. 
 
 CXIV. 
 
 And down the sunny beach she paces slowly. 
 With many doubtful pauses by the way ; 
 Grief hath an influence so hush'd and holy, 
 Making her twice attempt, ere she can lay 
 Her hand upon that sea-maid's shoulder white, 
 Which makes her startle up in wild affright, 
 
 cxv. 
 
 And, like a seal, she leaps into the wave 
 That drowns the shrill remainder of her scream ; 
 Anon the sea fills up the watery cave, 
 And seals her exit with a foamy seam, 
 Leaving those baffled gazers on the beach, 
 Turning in uncouth wonder each to each. 
 
 CXVI. 
 
 Some watch, some call, some see her head emerge 
 Wherever a brown weed falls through the foam : 
 Some point to white eruptions of the surge ; 
 But she is vanish'd to her shady home, 
 Under the deep, inscrutable, and there 
 Weeps in a midnight made of her own hair. 
 
 Now here the sighing winds, before unheard, 
 Forth from their cloudy caves begin to blow. 
 Till all the surface of the deep is stirr'd, 
 Like to the panting grief it hides below ; 
 And heaven is cover'd with a stormy rack, 
 Soiling the waters with its inky black.
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 327 
 
 CXVIII. 
 
 The screaming fowl resigns her finny prey, 
 And labours shoreward with a bending wing, 
 Rowing against the wind her toilsome way ; 
 Meanwhile, the curling billows chafe, and fling 
 Their dewy frost still further on the stones, 
 That answer to the wind with hollow groans. 
 
 CXIX. 
 
 And here and there a fisher's far-off bark 
 Flies with the sun's last glimpse upon its sail, 
 Like a bright flame amid the waters dark, 
 Watch'd with the hope and fear of maidens pale 
 And anxious mothers, that upturn their brows, 
 Freighting the gusty wind with frequent vows ; 
 
 cxx. 
 
 For that the horrid deep has no sure track 
 To guide love safe into his homely haven. 
 And lo ! the storm grows blacker in its wrath, 
 O'er the dark billow brooding like a raven, 
 That bodes of death and widows' sorrowing, 
 Under the dusky covert of his wing. 
 
 CXXI. 
 
 And so day ended. But no vesper spark 
 Hung forth its heavenly sign ; but sheets of flame 
 Play'd round the savage features of the dark, 
 Making night horrible. That night, there came 
 A weeping maiden to high Sestos' steep, 
 And tore her hair and gazed upon the deep. 
 
 CXXII. 
 
 And waved aloft her bright and ruddy torch, 
 Whose flame the boastful wind so rudely fann'd, 
 That oft it would recoil, and basely scorch 
 The tender covert of her sheltering hand, 
 Which yet, for love's dear sake, disdain'd r tire, 
 And, like a glorying martyr, braved the fire. 
 
 For that was love's own sign and beacon guide 
 Across the Hellespont's wide weary space, 
 Wherein he nightly struggled with the tide. 
 Look what a red it forges on her face, 
 As if she blush'd at holding such a light, 
 Even in the unseen presence of the night 1
 
 |28 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 CXXIV. 
 
 Whereas her tragic cheek is truly pale. 
 
 And colder than the rude and ruffian air 
 
 That howls into her ear a horrid tale 
 
 Of storm, and wreck, and uttermost despair, 
 
 Saying, " Leander floats amid the surge, 
 
 And those are dismal waves that sing his dirge.* 
 
 cxxv. 
 
 And hark ! a grieving voice, trembling and faint, 
 Blends with the hollow sobbings of the sea ; 
 Like the sad music of a siren's plaint, 
 But shriller than Leander*s voice should be, 
 Unless the wintry death had changed its tone, 
 Wherefore she thinks she hears his spirit moan. 
 
 For now, upon each brief and breathless pause, 
 Made by the raging winds, it plainly calls, 
 On Hero ! Hero ! whereupon she draws 
 Close to the dizzy brink, that ne'er appals 
 Her brave and constant spirit to recoil, 
 However the wild billows toss and toiL 
 
 CXXVII. 
 
 "Oh ! dost thou live under the deep, deep sea? 
 I thought such love as thine could never die ; 
 If thou hast gain'd an immortality 
 From the kind pitying Sea-god, so will I ; 
 And this false cruel tide, that used to sever 
 Our hearts, shall be our common home for ever 1 
 
 CXXVII I. 
 
 "There we will sit and sport upon one billow, 
 And sing our ocean ditties all the day, 
 And lie together on the same green pillow, 
 That curls above us with its dewy spray ; 
 And ever in one presence live and dwell, 
 Like two twin pearls within the selfsame slulL* 
 
 CXXIX. 
 
 One moment then upon the dizzy verge 
 
 She stands, with face upturn'd against the sky ; 
 
 A moment more upon the foamy surge 
 
 She gazes with a calm, despairing eye, 
 
 Feeling that awful pause of blood and breath 
 
 Which life endures when it confronts with death
 
 LYCUS, THE CEN'IAUR. 339 
 
 CXXX. 
 
 Then from the giddy steep she madly springs, 
 Grasping her maiden robes, that vainly kept 
 Panting abroad, like unavailing wings,^ 
 To save her from her death. The Sea-maid wept, 
 And in a crystal cave her corse enshrined, 
 No meaner sepulchre should Hero find 1 
 
 LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 
 
 nOU AN UNROLLED MANUSCRIPT OK AFOLLONIUS CURIUS. 
 
 TO J. H. REYNOLDS, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAR REYNOLDS, You will remember "Lycus." It was 
 written in the pleasant springtime of our friendship, and I am glad 
 to maintain that association by connecting your name with the poem. 
 It will gratify me to find that you regard it with the old partiality for 
 the writings of each other which prevailed in those days. For my 
 own sake, I must regret that your pen goes now into far other records 
 than those which used to delight me. Your true Friend and Brother, 
 
 T. HOOD. 
 
 THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 Lycus, detained by Circe in her magical dominion, is beloved by a Water- 
 Nymph, who, desiring to render him immortal, has recourse to the Sor- 
 ceress. Circe gives her an mcantation to pronounce, which should turn 
 Lycus into a horse ; but the horrible effect of the charm causing her to 
 break off in the midst, he becomes a Centaur. 
 
 WHO hath ever been lured and bound by a spell 
 
 To wander, fore-doom'd, in that circle of hell 
 
 Where Witchery works with her will like a god, 
 
 Works more than the wonders of time at a nod, 
 
 At a word, at a touch, at a flash of the eye, 
 
 But each form is a cheat, and each sound is a lie, 
 
 Things born of a wish to endure for a thought, 
 
 Or last for long ages to vanish to nought, 
 
 Or put on new semblance? O Jove ! I had given 
 
 The throne of a kingdom to know if that heaven 
 
 And the earth and its streams were of Circe, or whether 
 
 They kept the world's birthday and brighten'd together ! 
 
 For I loved them in terror, and constantly dreaded 
 
 That the earth where I trod, and the cave where I bedded.
 
 J30 LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 
 
 The face I might dote on, should live out the lease 
 
 Of the charm that created, and suddenly cease : 
 
 \nd I gave me to slumber as if from one dream 
 
 To another each horrid and drank of the stream 
 
 Like a first taste of blood, lest as water I quaff'd 
 
 Swift poison*and never should breathe from the draught,- 
 
 Such drink as her own monarch husband drain'd up 
 
 When he pledged her, and Fate closed his eyes in the cup. 
 
 And I pluck'd of the fruit with held breath, and a fear 
 
 That the branch would start back and scream out in my ear ; 
 
 For once, at my suppering, I pluck'd in the dusk 
 
 An apple, juice-gushing and fMgrant of musk ; 
 
 But by daylight my finders were crimson'd with gore, 
 
 And the half-eaten fragment was flesh at the core : 
 
 And once only once for the love of its blush, 
 
 I broke a bloom bough, but there came such a gush 
 
 On my hand, that it fainted away in weak fright, 
 
 While the leaf-hidden woodpecker shriek'd at the sight ; 
 
 And oh ! such an agony thrill'd in that note, 
 
 That my soul, startling up, beat its wings in my throat, 
 
 As it longM to be free of a body whose hand 
 
 Was doom'd to work torments a Fury had plann'd ! 
 
 There I stood without stir, yet how willing to flee, 
 As if rooted and horror-turn'd into a tree, 
 Oh, for innocent death ! and to suddenly win it, 
 1 drank of the stream, but no poison was in it ; 
 I plunged in its waters, but ere I- could sink, 
 Some invisible fate pull'd me back to the brink ; 
 I sprang from the rock, from its pinnacle height, 
 But fell on the grass with a grasshopper's flight ; 
 I ran at my fears they were fears and no more, 
 For the bear would not mangle my limbs, nor the boar, 
 But moan'd, all their brutalized.flesh could not smother 
 The horrible truth we were kin to each other ! 
 
 They were mournfully gentle, and group'd for relief, 
 All foes in their skin, but all friends in their grief : 
 The leopard was there, baby-mild in its feature ; 
 And the tiger, black barr'd, with the gaze of a creature 
 That knew gentle pity : the bristle-back'd boar 
 His innocent tusks stain'd with mulberry gore ; 
 And the laughing hyena but laughing no more ; 
 And the snake, not with magical orbs to devise 
 Strange death, but with woman's attraction of eyes ; 
 The tall ugly ape, that still bore a dim shine 
 Through his hairy eclipse of a manhood divine ; 
 And the elephant stately, with more than its reason, 
 How thoughtful in sadness ! but this is no season 
 To reckon them up from the lag-bellied toad 
 To the mammoth, whose sobs shook his ponderous load.
 
 LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 331 
 
 There were woes of all shapes, wretched forms when I came,* 
 That hung do\vn their heads with a human-like shame ; 
 The eleph.int hid in the boughs, and the bear 
 Shed over his eyes the dark veil of his hair ; 
 And the womanly soul, turning sick with disgust, 
 Tried to vomit herself from her serpentine crust ; 
 While all groan'd their groans into one at their lot, 
 As I brought them the image of what they were not. 
 
 Then rose a wild sound of the human voice choking 
 Through vile brutal organs low tremulous croakiny, 
 Cries swallow'd abruptly deep animal tones, 
 Attuned to strange passion, and full-utter'd groans ; 
 All shuddering weaker, till hush'd in a pause 
 Of tongues in mute motion and wide-yearning jaws ; 
 And I guess'd that those horrors were meant to tell o'er 
 The tale of their woes ; but the silence told more 
 That writhed on their tongues ; and I knelt on the sod, 
 And pray'd with my voice to the cloud-stirring God, 
 For the sad congregation of supplicants there, 
 That upturn'd to His heaven brute faces of prayer ; 
 And I ceased, and they utter'd a moaning so deep, 
 That I wept for my heart-ease, but they could not weep, 
 And gazed with red eyeballs, all wistfully dry, 
 At the comfort of tears in a stag's human eye. 
 Then I motion'd them round, and, to soothe their distress, 
 I caress'd, and they bent them to meet my caress, 
 Their necks to my arm, and their heads to my palm, 
 And with poor grateful eyes suffer'd meekly and calm 
 Those tokens of kindness, withheld by hard fate 
 From returns that might chill the warm pity to hate ; 
 So they passively bow'd save the serpent, that leapt 
 To my breast like a sister, and pre'ssingly crept 
 In embrace of my nee*, and with close kisses blister'd 
 My lips in rash love, then drew backward, and glister*d 
 Her eyes in my face, and loud hissing affright, 
 Dropt down, and swift started away from my sight ! 
 
 This sorrow was theirs, but thrice wretched my lot, 
 Turn'd brute in my soul, though my body was not 
 When I fled from the sorrow of womanly faces, 
 That shrouded their woe in the shade of lone places, 
 And dash'd off bright tears till their fingers were wet, 
 And then wiped their lids with long tresses of jet : 
 But I fled though they stretch'd out their hands, all entangled 
 With hair, and blood-stain' d of the breasts they had mangled,* 
 Though they call'd and perchance but to ask, had I seen 
 Their loves, or to tell the vile wrongs that had been : 
 BwJ I stay'd not to hear, lest the story should hold 
 F.^uie hell-form of words, some enchantment, once told,
 
 LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 
 
 Might translate me in flesh to a brute : ar.d I 
 To gaze on their chnrms, lest my faith should be wedded 
 With some pity, and love in that pity perchance 
 To a thing not all lovely ; for once at a glance 
 Methought, where one sat, I descried a bright wonder 
 That flow'd like a long silver rivulet under 
 The long fenny grass, with so lovely a breast, 
 Could it be a snake-tail made the charm of the rest ? 
 
 So I roam'd in that circle of horrors, and Fear 
 Walk'd with me by hills and in valleys, and near 
 Cluster'd trees for their gloom not to shelter from heat- 
 But lest a brute shadow should grow at my feet ; 
 And besides that full oft in the sunshiny place 
 Dark shadows would gather like clouds on its face, 
 In the horrible likeness of demons (that none 
 Could see, like invisible flames in the sun) ; 
 But grew to one monster that seized on the light. 
 Like the dragon that strangles the moon in the night; 
 Fierce sphinxes, long serpents, and asps of the South 
 Wild birds of huge beak, and all horrors that drouth 
 Engenders of slime in the land of the pest, 
 Vile shapes without shape, and foul bats of the West, 
 Bringing Night on their wings ; and the bodies whereii 
 Great Brahma imprisons the spirits of sin, 
 Many-handed, that blent in one phantom of fight, 
 Like a Titan, and threatfully warr'd with the light : 
 I have heard the wild shriek that gave signal to close, 
 When they rush'd on that shadowy Python of foes, 
 That met with sharp beaks and wide gaping of jaws, 
 With flappings of wings, and fierce grasping of claws, 
 And whirls of long tails : I have seen the quick flutter 
 Of fragments dissever'd and necks stretch'd to utter 
 Long screamings of pain, the swift motion of blows, 
 And wrestling of arms to the flight at the close, 
 When the dust of the earth startled upward in rings, 
 And flew on the whirlwind that follow'd their wings. 
 
 Thus they fled not forgotten but often to grow 
 Like fears in my eyes, when I walk'd to and fro 
 In the shadows, and felt from some beings unseen 
 The warm touch of kisses, but clean or unclean 
 I knew not, nor whether the love I had won 
 Was of heaven or hell till one day in the sun, 
 In its very noon-blaze, 1 could fancy a thing 
 Of beauty, but f.iiin as the cloud-mirrors fling 
 On the gaze of the shepherd that watches the sky, 
 Half-seen and half-dream'd in the soul of his eye. 
 And when in my musings I gazed on the stream, 
 In motionless trances of thought, there would seem
 
 LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 333 
 
 A face like that face, looking upwards through mine ; 
 With its eyes full of love, and the dim-drowned shine 
 Of limbs and fair garments, like clouds in that blue 
 Serene : there I stood for long hours but to view 
 Those fond earnest eyes that were ever uplifted 
 Towards me, and wink'd as the water-weed drifted 
 Between ; but the fish knew that presence, and plied 
 Their long curvy tails, and swift darted aside. 
 
 There I gazed for lost time, and forgot all the things 
 That once had been wonders the fishes with wings, 
 And the glimmer of magnified eyes that look'd up 
 From the glooms of the bottom like pearls in a cup, 
 And the huge endless serpent of silvery gleam, 
 Slow winding along like a tide in the stream. 
 Some maid of the waters, some Naiad, methought, 
 Held me dear in the pearl of her eye and I brought 
 My wish to that fancy ; and often I dash'd 
 My limbs in the water, and suddenly splash'd 
 The cool drops around me, yet clung to the brink, 
 Chill'd by watery fears, how that Beauty might sink 
 With my life in her arms to her garden, and bind me 
 With its long tangled grasses, or cruelly wind me 
 In some eddy, to hum out my life in her ear, 
 Like a spider-caught bee, and in aid of that fear 
 Came the tardy remembrance O falsest of men ! 
 Why was not that beauty remember'd till then ? 
 My love, my safe love, whose glad life would have run 
 Into mine like a drop that our fate might be one, 
 That now, even now, maybe, clnsp'd in a dream, 
 That form which I gave to some jilt of the stream, 
 And gazed with fond eyes that her tears tried to smothef 
 On a mock of those eyes that I gave to another ! 
 
 Then I rose from the stream, but the eyes of my mind, 
 Still full of the tempter, kept gazing behind 
 On her crystalline face, while I painfully leapt 
 To the bank, and shook o(f the curst waters, and wept 
 With my brow in the reeds ; and the reeds to my ear 
 Bow'd, beiil by no wind, and in whispers of fear, 
 Growing small with large secrets, foretold me of one 
 That loved me, but, oh ! to fly from her, and shun 
 Her love like a pest though her love was as true 
 To mine as her stream to the heavenly blue ; 
 For why should I love her with love that would bring 
 All misfortune, like Hate, on so joyous a thing ? 
 Because of her rival, even Her whose witch-face 
 I had slighted, and therefore was doom'd in that place 
 To roam, and had roam'cl, where all horrors grew rank, 
 Nine days ere I wept with my brow on that bank ;
 
 334 LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 
 
 Her name be not named, but her spite would not fail 
 To our love like a blight ; and they told me the '..ale 
 Of Scylla and Picus, imprison'd to speak 
 His shrill-screaming woe through a woodpecker's beak. 
 
 Then they ceased I hr.d heard as the voice of my star 
 
 That told me the truth of my fortunes thus far 
 
 I had read of my sorrow, and lay in the hush 
 
 Of deep meditation, when lo ! a light crush 
 
 Of the reeds, and I turn'd and look'd round in the night 
 
 Of new sunshine, and saw, as I sipp'd of the light 
 
 Narrow 1 winking, the realised nymph of the stream, 
 
 Rising up from the wave with the bend and the gleam 
 
 Of a fountain, and o'er her white arms she kept throwing 
 
 Bright torrents of hair, that went flowing and flowing 
 
 In falls to her feet, and the blue waters roll'd 
 
 Down her limbs like a garment, in many a fold, 
 
 Sun-spangled, gold-broider'd, and fled far behind, 
 
 Like an infinite train. So she came and reclined 
 
 In the reeds, and I hunger'd to see her unseal 
 
 The buds of her eyes, that would ope and reveal 
 
 The blue that was in them ; and they oped, and she raised 
 
 Two orbs of pure crystal, and timidly gazed 
 
 With her eyes on my eyes ; but their colour and shine 
 
 Was of that which they look'd on, and mostly of mine 
 
 For she loved me, except when she blush'd, and they sank, 
 
 Shame-humbled, to number the stones on the bank, 
 
 Or her play-idle fingers, while lisping she told me 
 
 How she put on her veil, and, in love to behold me, 
 
 Would wing through the sun till she fainted away 
 
 Like a mist, and then flew to her waters and lay 
 
 In love-patience long hours, and sore dazzled her eyes 
 
 In watching for mine 'gainst the midsummer skies. 
 
 But now they were heal'd, Oh, my heart, it still dances 
 
 When I think of the charm of her changeable glances, 
 
 And my image how small when it sank in the deep 
 
 Of her eyes where her soul was, Alas ! now they weep, 
 
 And none knoweth where. In what stream do her eyes 
 
 Shed invisible tears ? Who beholds where her sighs 
 
 Flow in eddies, or sees the ascent of the leaf 
 
 She has pluck'd with her tresses ? Who listens her grief 
 
 Like a far fall of waters, or hears where her feet 
 
 Grow emphatic among the loose pebbles, and beat 
 
 Them together? Ah ! surely her flowers float adown 
 
 To the sea unaccepted, and little ones drown 
 
 For need of her mercy, even he whose twin-brother 
 
 Will miss him for ever ; and the sorrowful mother 
 
 Imploreth in vain for his body to kiss 
 
 And cling to, all dripping and cold as it is, 
 
 Because that soft pity is lost in hard pain ! 
 
 We loved, how we loved ! for I thought not agara
 
 LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 33$ 
 
 Of the woes that were whisper'd like fears in that place 
 
 If I gave me to beauty. Her face was the face 
 
 Far away, and her eyes were the eyes that were drown'd 
 
 For my absence, her arms were the arms that sought round} 
 
 And clasp'd me to nought ; for I gazed and became 
 
 Only true to my falsshood, and had but one name 
 
 For two lo 1 es, and call'd ever on vEgle, sweet maid 
 
 Of the sky-loving waters, and was not afraid 
 
 Of the sight of her skin ; for it never could be 
 
 Her beauty and love were misfortunes to me ! 
 
 Thus our bliss had endured for a time-shorten'd space, 
 Like a day made of three, and the smile of her face 
 Had been with me for joy, when she told me indeed 
 Her love was self-task'd with a work that would need 
 Some short hours, for in truth 'twas the veriest pity 
 Our love should not last, and then sang me a ditty, 
 Of one with warm lips that should love her, and love her,, 
 When suns were burnt dim and long ages past over. 
 So she fled with her voice, and I patiently nested 
 My limbs in the reeds, in still quiet, and rested 
 Till my thoughts grew extinct, and I sank in a sleep 
 Of drenms, but their meaning was hidden too deep 
 To be read what their woe was ; but still it was woe 
 That was writ on all faces that swam to and fro 
 In that river of night ; and the gaze of their eyes 
 Was sad, and the bend of their brows, and their cries 
 Were seen, but I heard not. The warm touch of tears 
 Travell'd down my cold cheeks, and I shook till my fears 
 Awaked me, and lo ! I was couch'd in a bower, 
 The growth of long summers rear'd up in an hour f 
 Then I said, in the fear of my dream, I will fly 
 From this magic, but could not, because that my eye 
 Grew love-idle among the rich blooms ; and the earth 
 Held me down with its coolness of touch, and the mirth 
 Of some bird was above me, who, even in fear, 
 Would startle the thrush ? and methought there drew neai 
 A form as of JEg\e, but it was not the face 
 Hope made, and I knew the Witch-Queen of that place, 
 Even Circe the Cruel, that came like a death 
 Which I fear'd, and yet fled not, for want of my breath. 
 There was thought in her face, and her eyes were not raised 
 From the grass at her foot, but 1 saw, as I g.ized, 
 Her spite and her countenance changed with her mind 
 As she plann'd how to thrall me with beauty, and bind 
 My soul to her charms, and her long tresses play'd 
 From shade into shine and from shine into shade, 
 Like a d.iy in mid-autumn, first fair, oh, how fair ! 
 With long snaky locks of the adder-bl.ick hair 
 That clung round her neck, those dark locks thnt I 
 For the sake of a maid that once loved me with eyes
 
 336 LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 
 
 Of that fathomless hue, but they changed as they rolPd, 
 
 And brighten'd, and suddenly blazed into gold 
 
 That she comb'd into flames, and the locks that fell down 
 
 Turn'd dark as they fell, but I slighted their brown, 
 
 Nor loved, till I saw the light ringlets shed wild, 
 
 That innocence wears when she is but a child ; 
 
 And her eyes, oh, I ne'er had been witch'd with their shinc^ 
 
 Had they been any other, my ./Egle, than thine ! 
 
 Then I gave me to magic, and gazed till I madden'd 
 In the full of their light, but I sadden'd and sadden'd 
 The deeper I look'd, till I sank on the snow 
 Of her bosom, a thing made of terror and woe, 
 And answer'd its throb with the shudder of fears, 
 And hid my cold eyes from her eyes with my tears, 
 And strain'd her white arms with the still languid weight 
 Of a fainting distress. There she sat like the Fate 
 That is nurse unto Death, and bent over in shame 
 To hide me from her the true /Egle that came 
 With the words on her lips the false witch had foregiven 
 To make me immortal for now I was even 
 At the portals of Death, who but waited the hush 
 Of world-sounds in my ear to cry welcome, and rush 
 With my soul to the banks of his black-flowing river. 
 Oh, would it had flown from my body for ever, 
 Ere I listen'd those words, when I felt, with a start, 
 The life-blood rush back in one throb to my heart, 
 And saw the pale lips where the rest of that spell 
 Had perish'd in horror and heard the farewell 
 Of that voice that was drovvn'd in the dash of the stream I 
 How fain had I follow'd, and plunged with that scream 
 Into death, but my being indignantly laggM 
 Through the brutalized flesh that I painfully dragg'd 
 Behind me : " O Circe ! O mother of Spite ! 
 Speak the last of that curse ! and imprison me quite 
 In the husk of a brute, that no pity may name 
 The man that I was, that no kindred may claim 
 The monster I am ! Let me utterly be 
 Brute-buried, and Nature's dishonour with me 
 Uninscribed !" But she listen'd my prayer, that was praisl 
 To her malice, with smiles, and advised me to gaze 
 On the river for love, and perchance she would make 
 In pity a maid without eyes for my sake, 
 And she left me like Scorn. Then I ask'd of the wave, 
 What monster I was, and it trembled and gave 
 The true shape of my grief, and I turn'd with my face 
 From all waters for evtr, and fled through that place, 
 Till with horror more strong than all magic I pass'd 
 Its bounds, and the world was before me at last.
 
 LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 337 
 
 There I wander'd in sorrow, and shunn'd the abodes 
 Of men, that stood up in the likeness of gods, 
 But I saw from afar the warm shine of the sun 
 On their cities, where man was a million, not one ; 
 And I saw the white smoke of their altars ascending, 
 That show'd where the hearts of the many were blending, 
 And the wind in my face brought shrill voices that came 
 From the trumpets that gather'd whole bands in one fame 
 As a chorus of man, and they stream'd from the gates 
 Like a dusky libation pour'd out to the Fates. 
 But at times there were gentler processions of peace 
 That I watch'd with my soul in my eyes till their cease. 
 There were women ! there men ! but to me, a third sex, 
 I saw them all dots yet I loved them as specks : 
 And oft, to assuage a sad yearning of eyes, 
 I stole near the city, but stole covert-wise 
 Like a wild beast of love, and perchance to be smitten 
 By some hand that I rather had wept on than bitten I 
 Oh, I once had a haunt near a cot where a mother 
 Daily sat in the shade with her child, and would smothei 
 Its eyelids in kisses, and then in its sleep 
 Sang dreams in its ear of its manhood, while deep 
 In a thicket of willows I gazed o'er the brooks 
 That murmur'd between us and kiss'd them with looks ; 
 But the willows unbosom'd their secret, and never 
 I return'd to a spot I had startled for ever, 
 Though I oft long'd to know, but could ask it of none, 
 Was the mother still fair, and how big was her son ? 
 
 For the haunters of fields they all shunn'd me by flight, 
 The men in their horror, the women in fright ; 
 None ever remain'd save a child once that sported 
 Among the wild bluebells, and playfully courted 
 The breeze ; and beside him a speckled snake lay 
 Ti^ht strangled, because it had hiss'd him away 
 From the flower at his finger ; he rose and drew near 
 Like a Son of Immortals, one born to no fear, 
 But with strength of black locks and with eyes azure bright 
 To grow to large manhood of merciful might. 
 He came, with his face of bold wonder, to feel 
 The hair of my side, and to lift up my heel, 
 And question'd my face with wide eyes ; but when undef 
 My lids he saw tears, for I wept at his wonder, 
 He stroked me, and utter'd such kindliness then, 
 That the once love of women, the friendship of men 
 In past sorrow, no kindness e'er came like a kiss 
 On my heart in its desolate day such as this ! 
 And I yearn'd at his cheeks in my love, and down bent, 
 And lifted him up in my arms with intent 
 To kiss him, but he, cruel-kindly, alas ! 
 Held out to my lips a pluck'd handful of grass I 
 
 7
 
 338 THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BED FONT. 
 
 Then I dropt him in horror, but felt as I fled 
 The stone he indignantly hurl'd at my head, 
 That disseverM my ear, but I felt not, whose fnte 
 Was to meet more distress in his love than his hate I 
 
 Thus I wander*d, companion'd of grief and forlorn, 
 Till I wish'd for that land where my being was born, 
 But what was that land with its love, where my home 
 Was self-shut against me ; for why should I come 
 Like an after-distress to my grey-bearded father, 
 With a blight to the last of his sight ? let him rather 
 Lament for me dead, and shed tears in the urn 
 Where I was not, and still in fond memory turn 
 To his son even such as he left him. Oh, how 
 Could I walk with the youth once my fellows, but now 
 Like gods to my humbled estate? or how bear 
 The steeds once the pride of my eyes and the care 
 Of my hands ? Then I turn'd me self-banish'd, and came 
 Into Thessaly here, where I met with the same 
 As myself. I have heard how they met by a stream 
 In games, and were suddenly changed by a scream 
 That made wretches of many, as she roll'd her wild eyes 
 Against heaven, and so vanish'd. The gentle ;md wise 
 Lose their thoughts in deep studies, and others their ill 
 In the mirth of mankind, where they mingle them still. 
 
 THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT. 
 
 ALAS ! that breathing Vanity should go 
 
 Where Pride is buried, like its very ghost, 
 
 Uprisen from the naked bones below, 
 In novel flesh, clad in the silent boast 
 
 Of gaudy silk that flutters to and fro, 
 Shedding its chilling superstition most 
 
 On young and ignorant natures as it wont 
 
 To haunt the peaceful churchyard of Bedfont ! 
 
 Each Sabbath morning, at the hour of prayer, 
 Behold two maidens, up the quiet green 
 
 Shining, far distant, in the summer air 
 That flaunts their dewy robes and breathes between 
 
 Their downy plumes, sailing as if thev were 
 Two far-off ships, until they brush between 
 
 The churchyard's humble walls, and watch and wait 
 
 On either side of the wide open 'd gate.
 
 THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BED FONT. 339 
 
 III. 
 
 And there they stand with haughty necks before 
 God's holy house, that points towards the skies 
 
 Frowning reluctant duty from the poor, 
 
 And tempting homage from unthoughtful eyes : 
 
 And Youth looks lingering from the temple door, 
 Breathing its wishes in unfruitful sighs, 
 
 With pouting lips, forgetful of the grace, 
 
 Of health, and smiles, on the heart-conscious face ; 
 
 IV. 
 
 Because that Wealth, which has no bliss beside, 
 
 May wear the happiness of rich attire ; 
 And those two sisters, in their silly pride, 
 
 May change the soul's warm glances for the fire 
 Of lifeless diamonds ; and for health denied, 
 
 With art, that blushes at itself, inspire 
 Their languid cheeks and flourish in a glory 
 That has no life in life, nor after-story. 
 
 V. 
 
 The aged priest goes shaking his grey hair 
 
 In meekest censuring, and turns his eye 
 Earthward in grief and heavenward in prayer, 
 
 And sighs, and clasps his hands, and passes by. 
 Good-hearted man ! what sullen soul would wear 
 
 T-hy sorrow for a garb, ;md constantly 
 Put on thy censure, that might win the praise 
 Of one so grey in goodness and in days ? 
 
 VI. 
 
 Also the solemn clerk partakes the shnme 
 
 Of this ungodly shine of human pride, 
 And sadly blends his reverence and blame 
 
 In one grave bow, and p isscs with a stride 
 Impatient : many a red-hooded dame 
 
 Turns her pain'd head, but not her glance, aside 
 From wanton dress, and marvels o'er again 
 That Heaven hatn no wet judgments for the vain 
 
 * I have a lily in the bloom at home," 
 
 Quoth one, " and by the blessed Sabbath-day 
 I'll pluck my lily in its pride, and come 
 
 And read a lesson upon vain array ; 
 And when stiff silks are rustling up, and some 
 
 Give place, I'll shake it in proud eyes, and say- 
 Making my reverence, ' Ladie?, an \ou please, 
 King Solomon's not half so fine as these.' "
 
 340 THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Then her meek partner, who has nearly run 
 
 His earthly course, " Nay, Goody, let your text 
 
 Grow in the garden. We have only one 
 
 Who knows that these dim eyes m.iy see the next? 
 
 Summer will come again, and summer sun, 
 And lilies too, but I were sorely vext 
 
 To mar my garden, and cut short the blow 
 
 Of the last lily I may live to grow." 
 
 IX. 
 
 " The last I " quoth she, " and though the last it were 
 Lo ! those two wantons, where they stand so proud, 
 
 With waving plumes, and jewels in their hair, 
 And painted cheeks, like Dagons to be bow'd 
 
 And curtsey'd to ! Last Sabbath, after prayer, 
 I heard the little Tomkins ask aloud 
 
 If they were angels but I made him know 
 
 God's bright ones better, with a bitter blow ! " 
 
 X. 
 
 So speaking, they pursue the pebbly walk 
 
 That leads to the white porch the Sunday throng, 
 
 Hand-coupled urchins in restrained talk, 
 And anxious pedagogue that chastens wrong, 
 
 And posied churchwarden with solemn stalk, 
 And gold-bedizen'd beadle flames along, 
 
 And gentle peasant, clad in buff and green, 
 
 Like a meek cowslip in the spring serene ; 
 
 XI. 
 
 And blushing maiden modestly array'd 
 
 In spotless white, still conscious of the glass ; 
 
 And she, the lonely widow, that hath made 
 A sable covenant with grief, alas ! 
 
 She veils her tears under the deep, deep shade, 
 While the poor kindly-hearted, as they pass, 
 
 Bend to unclouded childhood, and caress 
 
 Her boy, so rosy ! and so fatherless ! 
 
 XII. 
 
 Thus, as good Christians ought, they all draw near 
 The fair white temple, to the timely call 
 
 Of pleasant bells that tremble in the ear. 
 
 Now the last frock, and scarlet hood, and shawl 
 
 Fade into dusk in the dim atmosphere 
 
 Of the low porch, and Heaven has won them all, 
 Saving those two, that turn aside and pass, 
 
 In velvet blossom, where all flesh is grass.
 
 THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT. 34! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Ah me ! to see their silken manors trail'd 
 
 In purple luxuries with restless gold, 
 Flaunting the grass where widowhood has wail'd 
 
 In blotted black, over the heapy mould 
 Panting wave-wantonly ! They never quail' d 
 
 How the warm vanity abused the cold ; 
 Nor saw the solemn faces of the gone 
 Sadly uplooking through transparent stone : 
 
 XIV. 
 
 But swept their dwellings with unquiet light, 
 Shocking the awful presence of the dead ; 
 
 Where gracious natures would their eyes benight, 
 Nor wear their being with a lip too red, 
 
 Nor move too rudely in the summer bright 
 Of sun, but put staid sorrow in their tread, 
 
 Meting it into steps, with inward breath, 
 
 In very pity to bereaved death. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Now in the church, time-sober'd minds resign 
 
 To solemn prayer, and the loud-chaunted hymn, 
 
 With glowing picturings of joys divine 
 
 Painting the mistlight where the roof is dim ; 
 
 But youth looks upward to the window shine, 
 Warming with rose and purple and the swim 
 
 Of gold, as if thought tinted by the stains 
 
 Of gorgeous light through many-colour'd panes ; 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Soiling the virgin snow wherein God hath 
 Enrobed His angels, and with absent eyes 
 
 Hearing of Heaven, and its directed path, 
 
 Thoughtful of slippers, and the glorious skies 
 
 Clouding with satin, till the preacher's wrath 
 Consumes his pity, and he glows, and cries 
 
 With a deep voice that trembles in its mi^ht, 
 
 And earnest eyes grown eloquent in light : 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " Oh, that the vacant eye would learn to look 
 
 On very beauty, and the heart embrace 
 True loveliness, and from this holy book 
 
 Drink the warm-breathing tenderness and grace 
 Of love indeed ! Oh, that the young soul took 
 
 Its virgin passion from the glorious face 
 Of fair religion, and address'd its strife, 
 To win the riches of eternal life 1
 
 34* THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BED FONT. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " Doth the vain heart love glory that is none, 
 
 And the poor excellence of vain attire ? 
 Oh, go and drown your eyes against the sun, 
 
 The visible ruler of the starry quire, 
 Till boiling gold in giddy eddies run, 
 
 Dazzling the brain with orbs of living fire ; 9 
 
 And the faint soul down darkens into night, 
 And dies a burning martyrdom to light. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " Oh, go and gaze, when the low winds of even 
 Breathe hymns, and Nature's many forests nod 
 
 Their gold-crow n'd heads ; and the rich blooms of heaven, 
 Sun-ripen'd, give their blushes up to God ; 
 
 And mountain-rocks and cloudy steeps are riven 
 By founts of fire, as smitten by the rod 
 
 Of heavenly Moses, that your thirsty sense 
 
 May quench its longings of magnificence ! 
 
 XX. 
 
 "Yet suns shall perish stars shall fade away- 
 Day into darkness darkness into death 
 
 Death into silence ; the warm light of day, 
 The blooms of summer, the rich glowing breath* 
 
 Of even all shall wither and decay, 
 
 Like the frail furniture of dreams beneath 
 
 The touch of morn or bubbles of rich dyes, 
 
 That break and vanish in the aching eyes." 
 
 XXL 
 
 They hear, soul-blushing, and, repentant, shed 
 
 Unwholesome thoughts in wholesome tears, and pour 
 
 Their sin to earth, and with low drooping head 
 Receive the solemn blessing, and implore 
 
 Its grace then soberly, with chasten'd tread, 
 They meekly press towards the gusty door, 
 
 With humbled eyes, that go to graze upon 
 
 The lowly grass like him of Babylon. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 The lowly grass ! Oh, water-constant mind I 
 Fast-ebbing holiness ! soon-fading grace 
 
 Of serious thought, as if the gushing wind 
 
 Through the low porch had wash'd it from the face 
 
 For ever ! How they lift their eyes to find 
 Old vanities. Pride wins the very place 
 
 Of meekness, like a bird, and flutters now 
 
 With idle wings on the curl-conscious brow 1
 
 THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BED FONT. 343 
 
 And lo ! with eager looks they seek the way 
 
 Of old temptation at the lowly gate ; 
 To feast on feathers, and on vain array, 
 
 And painted cheeks, and the rich glistering state 
 Of jewel-sprinkled locks. But where are they, 
 
 The graceless haughty ones that used to wait 
 With lofty neck, and nods, and stirfen'd eye ? 
 None challenge the old homage bending by. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 In vain they look for the ungracious bloom 
 Of rich apparel where it glow'd before. 
 
 For Vanity has faded all to gloom, 
 
 And lofty Pride has stiffen'd to the core, 
 
 For impious Life to tremble at its doom, 
 Set for a warning token evermore, 
 
 Whereon, as now, the ^iddy and the wise 
 
 Shall gaze with lifted hands and wondering eyes. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 The aged priest goes on each Sabbath morn, 
 But shakes not sorrow under his grey hair ; 
 
 The solemn clerk goes lavender'd and shorn, 
 Nor stoops his back to the ungodly pair ; 
 
 And ancient lips, that pucker'd up in scorn, 
 Go smoothly breathing to the house of prayer; 
 
 And in the garden-plot, from day to day, 
 
 The lily blooms its long white life away. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 And where two haughty maidens used to be, 
 
 In pride of plume, where plumy Death had trod, 
 
 Trailing their gorgeous velvets wantonly, 
 Most unmeet pall, over the holy sod ; 
 
 There, gentle stranger, thou may'st only see 
 
 Two sombre Peacocks. Age. with sapient nod 
 
 Marking the spot, still tarries to declare 
 
 How they once lived, and wherefore they are there.
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 A RETROSPECTIVE REVIEW. 
 
 OH, when I was a tiny boy, 
 
 My days and nights were full of joy, 
 
 My mates were blithe and kind ! 
 No wonder that I sometimes sigh, 
 And dash the teardrop from my eye, 
 
 To cast a look behind ! 
 
 A hoop was an eternal round 
 
 Of pleasure. In those days I found 
 
 A top a joyous thing ; 
 But now those past delights I drop, 
 My head, alas ! is all my top, 
 
 And careful thoughts the string ! 
 
 My marbles once my bag was stored, 
 Now I must play with Elgin's lord, < 
 
 With Theseus for a taw ! 
 My playful horse has slipt his string, 
 Forgotten all his capering, 
 
 And harness'd to the law ! 
 
 My kite how fast and far it flew ! 
 Whilst I, a sort of Franklin, drew 
 
 My pleasure from the sky ! 
 'Twas paper'd o'er with studious themes, 
 The tasks I wrote my present dreams 
 
 Will never soar so high ! 
 
 My joys are wingless all and dend ; 
 My dumps are made of more than lead ; 
 
 My nights soon find a fall ; 
 My fears prevail, my fancies droop, 
 Joy never cometh with a hoop, 
 
 And seldom with a call !
 
 A RETROSPECTIVE REVIEW. 34$ 
 
 My football's laid upon the shelf ; 
 
 I am a shuttlecock myself 
 
 The world knocks to and fro ; 
 My archery is all unlearn'd, 
 And grief against myself has turn'd 
 
 My arrows and my bow ! 
 
 No more in noontide sun I bask ; 
 My authorship's an endless task, 
 
 My head's ne'er out of school : 
 My heart is pain'd with scorn and slight, 
 I have too many foes to fight, 
 
 And friends grown strangely cool I 
 
 The very chum that shared my cake 
 Holds out so cold a hand to shake, 
 
 It makes me shrink and sigh : 
 On this I will not dwell and hang, 
 The changeling would not feel a pang 
 
 Though these should meet his eye ! 
 
 No skies so blue or so serene 
 
 As then ; no leaves look half so green 
 
 As clothed the playground tree ! 
 All things I loved are alter'd so, 
 Nor does it ease my heart to know 
 
 That change resides in me ! 
 
 Oh, for the garb that mark'd the boy, 
 The trousers made of corduroy, 
 
 Well ink'd with black and red ; 
 The crownless hat, ne'er deem'd an ill- 
 It only let the sunshine still 
 
 Repose upon my head ! 
 
 Oh, for the riband round the neck ! 
 The careless dog's-ears apt to deck 
 
 My book and collar both ! 
 How can this formal man be styled 
 Merely an Alexandrine child, 
 
 A boy of larger growth ? 
 
 Oh, for that small, small beer anew ! 
 
 And (heaven's own type) that mild sky-blu 
 
 That washed my sweet meals down ; 
 The master even ! and that small Turk 
 That fagg'd me ! worse is now my work 
 
 A fag for all the town !
 
 FAIR INES. 
 
 Oh, for the lessons learn'd by henrt ! 
 Ay, though the very birch's smart 
 
 Should mark those hours ;igain ; 
 I'd " kiss the rod," and be resign'd 
 Beneath the stroke, and even find 
 
 Some sugar in the cane ! 
 
 The Arabian Nights rehearsed in bed 1 
 The Fairy Tales in school-time read, 
 
 By stealth, 'twixt verb and noun I 
 The angel form that always walk'd 
 In all my dreams, and look'd and talk'd 
 
 j all my dreams, and look 
 Exactly like Miss Brown 
 
 The omne bene Christmas come I 
 The prize of merit, won for home 
 
 Merit had prizes then ! 
 But now I write for days and days, 
 For fame a deal of empty praise, 
 
 Without the silver pen 1 
 
 Then home, sweet home ! the crowded coach 
 The joyous shout the loud approach 
 
 The winding horns like rams' ! 
 The meeting sweet that made me thrill, 
 The sweetmeats almost sweeter still, 
 
 No a satis " to the " jams ! " 
 
 When that I was a tiny boy 
 
 full of joy, 
 My mates were blithe and kind ! 
 
 My days and nights were 
 
 No wonder that I sometimes sigh, 
 And dash the teardrop from my eye, 
 To cast a look behind 1 
 
 FAIR INES. 
 
 i. 
 
 OH, saw ye not fair Ines ? 
 She's gone into the West, 
 To dazzle when the sun is down, 
 And rob the world of rest : 
 She took our daylight with her, 
 The smiles that we love best, 
 With morning blushes on her cheek, 
 And pearls upon her breast.
 
 FAIR INES. 34J 
 
 II. 
 
 Oh, turn again, fair Ines, 
 
 Before the fall of night, 
 
 For fear the Moon should shine alone, 
 
 And stars unrivall'd bright ; 
 
 And blessed will the lover be 
 
 That walks beneath their light, 
 
 And breathes the love against thy cheek 
 
 I dare not even write ! 
 
 Would I had been, fair Ines, 
 
 That gallant cavalier, 
 
 Who rode so gaily by thy side, 
 
 And whisper'd thee so near ! 
 
 Were there no bonny dames at home, 
 
 Or no true lovers here, 
 
 That he should cross the seas to win 
 
 The dearest of the dear ? 
 
 I saw thee, lovely Ines, 
 
 Descend along the shore, 
 
 With bands of noble gentlemen, 
 
 And banners waved before ; 
 
 And gentle youth and maidens gay, 
 
 And snowy plumes they wore ; 
 
 It would have been a beauteous dream, 
 
 If it had been no more 1 
 
 V. 
 
 Alas, alas ! fair Ines, 
 
 She went away with song, 
 
 With Music waiting on her steps, 
 
 And shoutings of the throng ; 
 
 But some were sad, and felt no mirth, 
 
 But only Music's wrong, 
 
 In sounds that sang Farewell, farewell, 
 
 To her you've loved so long ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Farewell, farewell, fair Ines 1 
 
 That vessel never bore 
 
 So fair a lady on its deck, 
 
 Nor danced so light before, 
 
 Alas for pleasure on the sea, 
 
 And sorrow on the shore ! 
 
 The smile that blest one lover's heart 
 
 Has broken many more !
 
 THE DEPARTURE OF SUMMER. 
 
 SUMMER is gone on swallows' wings, 
 
 And Earth has buried all her flowers : 
 
 No more the lark, the linnet sings, 
 
 But Silence sits in faded bowers. 
 
 There is a shadow on the plain 
 
 Of Winter ere he comes again, 
 
 There is in woods a solemn sound 
 
 Of hollow warnings whisper'd round, 
 
 As Echo in her deep recess 
 
 For once had turn'd a prophetess. 
 
 Shuddering Autumn stops to list, 
 
 And breathes his fear in sudden sighs, 
 
 With clouded face, and hazel eyes 
 
 That quench themselves, and hide in mist. 
 
 Yes, Summer's gone like pageant bright ; 
 Its glorious days of golden light 
 Are gone the mimic suns that quiver, 
 Then melt in Time's dark-flowing river. 
 Gone the sweetly-scented breeze 
 That spoke in music to the trees ; 
 Gone for damp and chilly breath, 
 As if fresh blown o'er marble seas, 
 Or newly from the luns;s of Death. 
 Gone its virgin roses' blushes, 
 Warm as when Aurora rushes 
 Freshly from the god's embrace, 
 With all her shame upon her face. 
 Old Time hath laid them in the mould ; 
 Sure he is blind as well as old. 
 Whose hand relentless never spares, 
 Young cheeks so beauty-bright as theirs t 
 Gone are the flame-eyed lovers now 
 From where so blushing-blest they tarried 
 Under the hawthorn's blossom-bough, 
 Gone ; for Day and Night are married. 
 All the light of love is fled : 
 Alas ! that negro breasts should hide 
 The lips that were so rosy red, 
 At morning and at eventide ! 
 
 Delightful Summer ! then adieu 
 Till thou shall visit us anew : 
 But who without regretful sigh 
 Can say, adieu, and see thee fly? 
 Not he that e'er hath felt thy power, 
 His joy expanding like a flower
 
 THE DEPARTURE OF SUMMER. 349 
 
 That cometh after rain and snow, 
 
 Looks up at heaven, and learns to glow : 
 
 Not he that fled from Babel-strife 
 
 To the green sabbath-land of life, 
 
 To dodge dull Care 'mid clustered trees, 
 
 And cool his forehead in the breeze, 
 
 Whose spirit, weary-worn, perchance, 
 
 Shook from its wings a weight of grief, 
 
 And perch'd upon an aspen leaf, 
 
 For every breath to make it dance. 
 
 Farewell ! on wings of sombre stain, 
 That blacken in the last blue skies, 
 Thou fliest ; but thou wilt come again 
 On the gay wings of butterflies. 
 Spring at thy approach will sprout 
 Her new Corinthian beauties out, 
 Leaf-woven homes, where twitter-words 
 Will grow to songs, and eggs to birds ; 
 Ambitious buds shall swell to flowers, 
 And April smiles to sunny hours. 
 Bright days shall be, and gentle nightt 
 Full of soft breath and echo-lights, 
 As if the god of sun-time kept 
 His eyes half-open while he slept. 
 Roses shall be where roses were, 
 Not shadows, but reality ; 
 As if they never perish'd there, 
 But slept in immortality : 
 Nature shall thrill with new delight, 
 And Time's relumined river run 
 Warm as young blood, and dazzling bright, 
 As if its source were in the sun ! 
 
 But say, hath Winter then no charms? 
 Is there no joy, no gladness warms 
 His aged heart ? no happy wiles 
 To cheat the hoary one to smiles ? 
 Onward he comes the cruel North 
 Pours his furious whirlwind forth 
 Before him and we breathe the breath 
 Of famish'd bears that howl tc death. 
 Onward he conies from rocks that blanch 
 O'er solid streams that never flow, 
 His tears all ice, his locks all snow, 
 Just crept from some huge avalanche 
 A thing half-breathing and half-warm, 
 As if one spark began to glow 
 Within some statue's marble form, 
 Or pilgrim stiffen'd in the storm.
 
 350 THE DEPARTURE OF SUMMER. 
 
 Oh, will not Mirth's light arrows fail 
 To pierce that frozen coat of mail ? 
 Oh, will not Joy but strive in vain 
 To light up those glazed eyes again ? 
 
 No ! take him in, and blaze the oak, 
 And pour the wine, and warm the ale ; 
 His sides shall shake to many a joke, 
 His tongue shall thaw in many a tale, 
 His eyes grow bright, his heart be gay, 
 And even his palsy charm'd away. 
 What heeds he then the boisterous shout 
 Of angry winds that scold without, 
 Like shrewish wives at tavern door ? 
 What heeds he then the wild uproar 
 Of billows bursting on the shore ? 
 In dashing waves, in howling breeze, 
 There is a music that can charm him ; 
 When safe and shelter'd, and at ease, 
 He hears the storm that cannot harm him. 
 
 But hark ! those shouts ! that sudden din 
 Of little hearts that laugh within. 
 Oh, take him where the youngsters play, 
 And he will grow as young as they ! 
 They come 1 they come ! each blue-eyed Sport, 
 The Twelfth-Night King and all his court 
 Tis Mirth fresh crown'd with mistletoe 1 
 Music with her merry fiddles, 
 Joy "on light fantastic toe," 
 Wit with all his jests and riddles, 
 Singing and dancing as they go, 
 And Love, young Love, among the rest, 
 A welcome nor unbidden guest. 
 
 But still for Summer dost thou grieve? 
 Then read our Poets they shall weave 
 A garden of green fancies still, 
 Where thy wish may rove at wilL 
 They have kept for after treats 
 The essences of summer sweets, 
 And echoes of its songs that wind 
 In endless music through the mind : 
 They have stamp'd in visible traces 
 The " thoughts that breathe," in words that shine 
 The flights of soul in sunny places 
 To greet and company with thine. 
 These shall wing thee on to flowers 
 The past or future, that shall seem 
 All the brighter in thy dream 
 For blowing in such desert hours.
 
 ODE . AUTUMN. 351 
 
 The summer never shines so bright 
 
 As thought of in a winter's ni^ht ; 
 
 And the sweetest, loveliest rose 
 
 Is in the bud before it blows. 
 
 The dear one of the lover's heart 
 
 Is painted to his longing eyes 
 
 In charms she ne'er can realise 
 
 But when she turns again to part. 
 
 Dream thou then, and bind thy brow 
 
 With wreath of fancy roses now, 
 
 And drink of Summer in the cup 
 
 Where the Muse hath mix'd it up ; 
 
 The "dance, and song, and sunbinnt mirth/'* 
 
 With the warm nectar of the earth ; 
 
 Drink ! 'twill ylow in every vein, 
 
 And thou shall dream the winter through : 
 
 Then waken to the sun again, 
 
 And find thy Summer Vision true 1 
 
 SONG. 
 
 FOR MUSIC. 
 
 A LAKE and a fairy boat 
 
 To sail in the moonlight clear, 
 
 And merrily we would float 
 
 From the dragons that watch us here ! 
 
 Thy gown should be snow-white silk, 
 And strings of orient pearls. 
 Like gossamers dipp'd in milk, 
 Should twine with thy raven curls ! 
 
 Red rubies should deck thy hands, 
 And diamonds should be thy dower- 
 But fairies have broke their wands, 
 And wishing has lost its power 1 
 
 ODE: 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 I SAW old Autumn in the misty morn 
 Stand shndowless like Silence, listening 
 To silence, for no lonely bird would sing 
 Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn, 
 
 * KEATS. " Ode to a Grecian Urn."
 
 353 ODE: AUTUMN. 
 
 Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn ; 
 Shaking his languid locks all dewy bright 
 With tangled gossamer that fell by night, 
 Pearling his coronet of golden corn. 
 
 II. 
 
 Where are the songs of Summer ? With the sun, 
 
 Oping the dusky eyelids of the South, 
 
 Till shade and silence waken up as one, 
 
 And Morning sings with a warm odorous mouth. 
 
 Where are the merry birds ? Away, away, 
 
 On panting wings through the inclement skies, 
 
 Lest owls should prey 
 
 Undazzled at noonday, 
 And tear with horny beak their lustrous eyes. 
 
 Where are the blooms of Summer? In the West, 
 Blushing their last to the last sunny hours, 
 When the mild eve by sudden night is prest 
 Like tearful Proserpine, snatch'd irom her flowers, 
 
 To a most gloomy breast. 
 
 Where is the pride of Summer, the green prime 
 The many, many leaves all twinkling ? Three 
 On the moss'd elm ; three on the naked lime 
 Trembling, and one upon the old oak-tree ! 
 
 Where is the Dryad's immortality ? 
 Gone into mournful cypress and dark yew, 
 Or wearing the lon^ gloomy Winter through 
 
 In the smooth holly's green eternity. 
 
 The squirrel gloats on his accomplish'd hoard, 
 The ants have brimm'd their garners with ripe grain 
 
 And honey-bees have stored 
 The sweets of Summer in their luscious cells ; 
 The swallows all have wing'd across the in. tin ; 
 But here the Autumn melancholy dwells, 
 
 And sighs her tearful spells 
 Amongst the sunless shadows of the plain. 
 Alone, alone, 
 Upon a mossy stone, 
 
 She sits and reckons up the dead and gone, 
 With the last leaves for a love-rosary, 
 Whilst all the wither'fl world looks drearily, 
 Like a dim picture of the drowned past 
 In the hush'd mind's mysterious far aw&.y, 
 Doubtful what ghostly thing will steal the last 
 Into that distance, grey upon the grey.
 
 BALLAD. 353 
 
 Oh, go and sit with her, and be o'ershadcd 
 Under the languid downfall of her liair : 
 She wears a coronal of flowers faded 
 Upon her forehead, and a face of care ; 
 There is enough of wither'd everywhere 
 To make her bower, and enough of gloom ; 
 There is enough of sadness to invite, 
 If only for the rose that died, whose doom 
 Is Beauty's she that with the living bloom 
 Of conscious cheeks most beautifies the light ; 
 There is enough of sorrowing, and quite 
 Enough of bitter fruits the earth doth bear, 
 Enough of chilly droppins for her bowl ; 
 Enough of fear and shadowy despair 
 To frame her cloudy prison for the soul ! 
 
 BALLAD. 
 
 SPRING it is cheery, 
 
 Winter is dreary, 
 Green leaves hang, but the brown must fly ; 
 
 When he's forsaken, 
 
 Wither'd and shaken, 
 What can an old man do but die ? 
 
 Love will not clip him, 
 
 Maids will not lip him, 
 Maud and Marian pass him by ; 
 
 Youth it is sunny, 
 
 Age has no honey, 
 What can an old man do but die ? 
 
 June it was jolly, 
 
 Oh, for its folly ! 
 A dancing leg and a laughing eye ; 
 
 Youth may be silly, 
 
 Wisdom is chilly, 
 What can an old man do but die ? 
 
 Friends they are scanty, 
 
 Beggars are plenty, 
 If he has followers, I know why ; 
 
 Gold's in his clutches 
 
 (Buying him crutches !) 
 What can an old man do but die ?
 
 354 
 
 HYMN TO THE SUN. 
 
 GIVER of glowing light ! 
 Though but a god of other days, 
 The kin^s and sages 
 Of wiser ages 
 Still live and gladden in thy genial rays I 
 
 King of the tuneful lyre, 
 Still poets' hymns to thee belong ; 
 Though lips are cold 
 Whereon of old 
 Thy beams all turn'd to worshipping and song ! 
 
 Lord of the dreadful bow, 
 None triumph now for Python's death ; 
 
 But thou dost save 
 
 From hungry grave 
 The life that hangs upon a summer breath. 
 
 Father of rosy day, 
 No more thy clouds of incense rise ; 
 But waking flowers, 
 At morning hours, 
 Give out their sweets to meet thee in the skies. 
 
 God of the Delphic fane, 
 No more thou listenest to hymns sublime ; 
 
 But they will leave 
 
 On winds at eve, 
 A solemn echo to the end of time. 
 
 TO A COLD BEAUTY. 
 
 LADY, wouldst thou heiress be 
 To Winter's cold and cruel part? 
 
 When he sets the rivers free, 
 
 Thou dost still lock up thy heart }- 
 
 Thou that shouldst outlast the snow 
 
 But in the whiteness of thy brow ? 
 
 Scorn and cold neglect are made 
 For winter gloom and wuiter wind ; 
 
 But thou wilt wrong the summer air, 
 Breathing it to words unkind, 
 
 Breath which only should belong 
 
 To love, to sunlight, and to song !
 
 RUTH. 35$ 
 
 IIL 
 
 When the little buds unclose, 
 
 Red, and white, and pied, and blue, 
 And that virgin flower, the rose, 
 
 Opes her heart to hold the dew, 
 Wilt thou lock thy bosom up 
 With no jewel in its cup? 
 
 IV. 
 
 Let not cold December sit 
 
 Thus in Love's peculiar throne ; - 
 Brooklets are not prison'd now, 
 
 But crystal frosts are all agone, 
 And that which hangs upon the spray, 
 It is no snow, but flower of May 1 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 THE Autumn skies are flush'd with gold, 
 And fair and bright the rivers run ; 
 These are but streams of winter cold, 
 And painted mists that quench the sun, 
 
 II. 
 
 In secret boughs no sweet birds sing, 
 In secret boughs no bird can shroud ; 
 These are but leaves that take to wing, 
 And wintry winds that pipe so loud. 
 
 IIL 
 
 Tis not trees' shade, but cloudy glooms, 
 That on the cheerless valleys Call ; 
 The flowers are in their grassy tombs, 
 And tears of dew are on them all. 
 
 RUTH. 
 
 SHE stood breast-high amid the corn, 
 Clasp'd by the golden light of morn, 
 Like the sweetheart of the sun, 
 Who many a glowing kiss had won.
 
 THE SEA OF DEATH. 
 
 On her cheek an autumn flush 
 Deeply ripen'd ; such a blush 
 In the midst of brown was born, 
 Like red poppies grown with corn. 
 
 Round her eyes her tresses fell, 
 Which were blackest none could tell. 
 But long lashes veil'd a light 
 That had else been all too bright. 
 
 And her hat, with shady brim, 
 Made her tressy forehead dim ; 
 Thus she stood amid the stocks, 
 Praising God with sweetest looks : 
 
 Sure, I said, Heaven did not mean 
 Where I reap thou shouldst but glean : 
 Lay thy sheaf adown, and come, 
 Share my harvest and my home. 
 
 THE SEA OF DEATH. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 METHOUGHT I saw 
 
 Life swiftly treading over endless space ; 
 And, at her footprint, but a bygone pace, 
 The ocean-past, which, with increasing wave, 
 Swallow'd her steps like a pursuing grave. 
 
 Sad were my thoughts, that anchor'd silently 
 On the dead waters of that passionless sea, 
 Unstirr'd by any touch of living breath : 
 Silence hung over it, and drowsy Death, 
 Like a gorged sea-bird, slept with folded wings 
 On crowded carcases sad passive things. 
 That wore the thin grey surface, like a veil 
 Over the calmness of their features pale. 
 
 And there were spring-faced cherubs, that did sleep 
 
 Like waterlilies on that motionless deep 
 
 How beautiful ! with bright unruffled hair 
 
 On sleek, unlretted brows, and eyes that were 
 
 Buried in marble tombs, a pale eclipse ! 
 
 And smile-bedimpled checks, and pleasant lips, 
 
 Meekly apart, as if the soul intense 
 
 Spake out in dreams of its own innocence : 
 
 And so they lay in loveliness, and kept 
 
 The birth-night of their peace, that Life e'en wept
 
 BALLAD. 357 
 
 With very envy of their happy fronts ; 
 
 For there were neighbour brows scarr'd by the brunts 
 
 Of strife and sorrowing, where Care had set 
 
 His crooked autograph, and marr'd the jet 
 
 Of glossy locks with hollow eyes forlorn, 
 
 And lips that curl'd in bitterness and scorn 
 
 Wretched, as they had breathed of this world's pain, 
 
 And so bequeath'd it to the world again 
 
 Through the beholder's heart in heavy sighs. 
 
 So lay they garmented in torpid light, 
 Under the pall of a transparent night, 
 Like solemn apparitions lull'd sublime 
 To everlasting rest, and with them Time 
 Slept, as he sleeps upon the silent face 
 Of a dark dial in a sunless place 
 
 BALLAD. 
 
 SHE'S up and gone, the graceless girl I 
 
 And robb'd my failing years ; 
 My blood before was thin and cold, 
 
 But now 'tis turn'd to tears ; 
 My shadow falls upon my grave, 
 
 So near the brink I stand ; 
 She might have stay'd a little yet 
 
 And led me by the hand ! 
 
 Ay, call her on the barren moor, 
 
 And call her on the hill ; 
 Tis nothing but the heron's cry, 
 
 And plover's answer shrill ; 
 My child is flown on wilder wings 
 
 Than they have ever spread, 
 And I may even walk a waste 
 
 That widen'd when she fled. 
 
 Full many a thankless child has been, 
 
 But never one like mine ; 
 Her meat was served on plates of gold, 
 
 Her drink was rosy wine. 
 But now she'll share the robin's food, 
 
 And sup the common rill, 
 Before her feet will turn again 
 
 To meet her father's will 1
 
 358 
 
 I REMEMBER, 7 
 
 I REMEMBER, I remember 
 The house where I was born, 
 The little window where the sun 
 Came peeping in at morn ; 
 He never came a wink too soon, 
 Nor brought too long a day, 
 But now, I often wish the night 
 Had borne my breath away 1 
 
 II. 
 
 I remember, I remember 
 The roses, red and white, 
 The violets and the lily-cups, 
 Those flowers made of light ! 
 The lilacs where the robin built, 
 And where my brother set 
 The laburnum on his birthday, 
 The tree is living yet 1 
 
 ill. 
 
 I remember, I remember 
 
 Where I was used to swing, 
 
 And thought the air must rush as fresh 
 
 To swallows on the wing ; 
 
 My spirit flew in feathers then, 
 
 That is so heavy now, 
 
 And summer pools could hardly cool 
 
 The fever on my brow 1 
 
 IV. 
 
 I remember, I remember 
 
 The fir-trees dark and high ; 
 
 I used to think their slender tops 
 
 Were close against the sky : 
 
 It was a childish ignorance, 
 
 But now 'tis little joy 
 
 To know I'm farther off from heaven 
 
 Than when I was a boy.
 
 359 
 
 BALLAD. 
 
 SlGH on, sad heart, for Love's eclipse 
 
 And Beauty's fairest queen, 
 Tho' 'tis not for my peasant lips 
 
 To soil her name between : 
 A king might lay his sceptre down, 
 
 But I am poor and nought ; 
 The brow should wear a golden crown 
 
 That wears her in its thought. 
 
 The diamonds glancing in her hair, 
 
 Whose sudden beams surprise, 
 Might bid such humble hopes beware 
 
 The glancing of her eyes ; 
 Yet looking once, I look'd too long, 
 
 And if my love is sin, 
 Death follows on the heels of wrong, 
 
 And kills the crime within. 
 
 Her dress seem'd wove of lily leaves, 
 
 It was so pure and fine ; 
 Oh, lofty wears, and lowly weaves, 
 
 But hoddan-grey is mine ; 
 And homely hose must step apart 
 
 Where garter'd princes stand, 
 But may he wear my love at heart 
 
 That wins her lily hand ! 
 
 Alas ! there's far from russet frieze 
 
 To silks and satin gowns, 
 But I doubt if God made like degree! 
 
 In courtly hearts and clowns. 
 My father wrong'd a maiden's mirth, 
 
 And brought her cheeks to blame, 
 And all that's lordly of my birth 
 
 Is my reproach and shame ! 
 
 Tis vain to weep, 'tis vain to sigh, 
 
 'Tis vain, this idle speech, 
 For where her happy pearls do lie 
 
 My tears may never reach ; 
 Yet, when I'm ^one, e'en lofty pride 
 
 May say of what has been, 
 His love was nobly born and died, 
 
 Tho' all the rest was mean !
 
 360 THE EXILE. 
 
 My speech is rude, but sneech is weak 
 
 Such love as mine to tell, 
 Yet had I words, I dare not speak, 
 
 So, Lady, fare thee well ! 
 I will not wish thy better state 
 
 Was one of low degree, 
 But I must weep that partial fate 
 
 Made such a churl of me. 
 
 THE WATER LADY, . 
 
 ALAS, the moon should ever beam 
 To show what man should never see t 
 I saw a maiden on a stream, 
 And fair was she ! 
 
 I stay'd awhile to see her throw 
 Her tresses back, that all beset 
 The fair horizon of her brow 
 With clouds of jet. 
 
 I stay'd a little while to view 
 Her cheek, that wore, in place of tc\ 
 The bloom of water, tender blue, 
 Daintily spread. 
 
 I stay'd to watch, a little space, 
 Her parted lips if she would sing; 
 The waters closed above her face 
 With many a ring. 
 
 And still I stay'd a little more- 
 Alas ! she never comes again ; 
 I throw my flowers from the shore, 
 And watch in vain. 
 
 I know my life will fade away, 
 I know that I must vainly pine, 
 For I am made of mortal clay, 
 But she's divine ! 
 
 THE EXILE. 
 
 THE swallow with summer 
 
 Will wing o'er the seas, 
 The wind that I sigh to 
 
 Will visit thy trees, 
 The ship that it hastens 
 
 Thy ports will contain, 
 But me I must never 
 
 See England again !
 
 SONG. 
 
 There's many that weep there, 
 
 But one weeps alone, 
 For the tears that are falling 
 
 So far from her own ; 
 So far from thy own, love, 
 
 We know not our pain, 
 If death is between us, 
 
 Or only the main. 
 
 When the white cloud reclines 
 
 On the verge of the sea, 
 I fancy the white cliffs, 
 
 And dream upon thee : 
 But the cloud spreads it wings 
 
 To the blue heaven, and flies : 
 We never shall meet, love, 
 
 Except in the skies ! 
 
 TO AN ABSENTEE, 
 
 O'ER hill, and dale, and distant sea, 
 Through all the miles that stretch between, 
 Yi thought must fly to rest on thee, 
 And would though worlds should intervene; 
 
 Nay, thou art now so dear, methinks 
 The farther we are forced apart, 
 Affection's firm elastic links 
 But bind the closer round the heart. 
 
 For now we sever each from each, 
 I learn what I have lost in thee ; 
 Alas, that nothing less could teach 
 How great indeed my love should be I 
 
 Farewell ! I did not know thy worth, 
 But thou art gone, and now 'tis prized : 
 So angels walk'd unknown on e irth, 
 But when they flew, were recognized I 
 
 SONG. 
 
 THE stars are with the voyager 
 
 Wherever he may sail ; 
 The moon is constant to her time f 
 
 The sun will never fail ; 
 But follow, follow round the world, 
 
 The green earth and the sea ; 
 So love is with the lover's heart, 
 
 Wherever he may be.
 
 562 ODE TO THE MOON. 
 
 Wherever he may be, the stars 
 
 Must daily lose their light ; 
 The moon will veil her in the shade, 
 
 The sun will set at night. 
 The sun may set, but constant love 
 
 Will shine when he's away ; 
 So that dull night is never night, 
 
 And day is brighter day. 
 
 ODE TO THE MOON. 
 
 MOTHER of light ! how fairly dost thou go 
 Over those hoary crests, divinely led ! 
 Art thou that huntress of the silver ^bow 
 Fabled of old? Or rather, dost thou tread 
 Those cloudy summits thence to gaze below, 
 Like the wild chamois from her Alpine snow, 
 Where hunter never climb'd, secure from dread f 
 How many antique fancies have I read 
 Of that mild presence ! and how many wrought I 
 
 Wondrous and bright, 
 
 Upon the silver light, 
 Chasing fair figures with the artist, Thought \ 
 
 II. 
 
 What art thou-Iike ? Sometimes I see thee ride 
 
 A far-bound galley on its perilous way, 
 
 Whilst breezy waves toss up their silvery spray : 
 
 Sometimes behold thee glide, 
 ClusterM by all thy family of stars, 
 Like a lone widow, through the welkin wide, 
 Whose pallid cheek the midnight sorrow mars ;-^ 
 Sometimes I watch thee on from steep to steep, 
 Timidly lighted by thy vestal torch, 
 Till in some Latmian cave I see thee creep, 
 To catch the young Endymion asleep, 
 Leaving thy splendour at the jagged porch ! 
 
 ill. 
 
 Oh, thou art beautiful, howe'er it be 
 Huntress, or Di,tn, or whatever named ; 
 And he the veriest Pagan that first framed 
 A silver idol, and ne'er worshipp'd thee !
 
 ODE TO THE MOON. 363 
 
 It is too late, or thou shouldst have my knee ; 
 Too late now for the old Ephesian vows, 
 And not divine the crescent on fhy brows ! 
 Yet, call thee nothing but the mere mild Moon, 
 
 Behind those chestnut boughs, 
 Casting their dappled shadows at my feet, 
 I will be grateful for that simple boon, 
 In many a thoughtful verse and anthem sweet, 
 And bless thy dainty face whene'er we meet. 
 
 In nights far gone, ay, far awny and dead, 
 
 Before Care fretted with a lidless eye, 
 
 I was thy wooer on my little bed, 
 
 Letting the early hours of rest go by. 
 
 To see thee flood the heaven with milky light, 
 
 And feed thy snow-white swans, before I slept ; 
 
 For thou wert then purveyor of my dreams, 
 
 Thou wert the fairies' armourer, that kept 
 
 Their burnish'd helms, and crowns, and corselets bright, 
 
 Their spears, and glittering mails ; 
 And ever thou didst spill in winding streams 
 
 Sparkles and midnight gleams, 
 For fishes to new gloss their argent scales ! 
 
 ^ 
 
 xy sighs ? why creeping 
 
 Why sign's ? why creeping tears ? why clasped hands? 
 
 Is it to count the boy's expended dow er ? 
 
 That fairies since have broke their gifted wands ? 
 
 That young Delight, like any o'erblown flower, 
 
 Gave, one by one, its sweet leaves to the ground ? 
 
 Why then, fair Moon, for all thou mark'st no hour, 
 
 Thou art a sadder dial to Old Time 
 
 Than ever I have found 
 On sunny garden-plot, or moss-grown tower, 
 Motto'd with stern and melancholy rhyme. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Why should I grieve for this ? Oh, I must yearn, 
 
 Whilst Time, conspirator with Memory, 
 
 Keeps his cold ashes in an ancient urn, 
 
 Richly emboss'd with childhood's revelry, 
 
 With leaves and cluster'd fruits, and flowers eterne 
 
 (Eternal to the world, though not to me). 
 
 Ayt-- there will those brave sports and blossoms be, 
 
 The deathless wreath, and undecay'd festoon, 
 
 When I am hearsed within, 
 Less than the pallid primrose to the Moon, 
 That now she watches through a vapour thin.
 
 364 TO 
 
 So let it be : Before I lived to si:rj, 
 Thou wert in Avon and a thousand rills, 
 Beautiful Orb ! nnd so, whene'er I lie 
 Trodden, thou wilt be gazing from thy hills. 
 Blest be thy loving light, where'er it spills, 
 And blessed thy fair face, O Mother mild ! 
 Still shine, the soul of rivers as they run, 
 Still lend thy lonely lamp to lovers fond, 
 And blend their plighted shadows into one : 
 Still smile at even on the bedded child, 
 And close his eyelids with thy silver wand ! 
 
 TO 
 
 WELCOME, dear Heart, and a most kind good-morrow ; 
 The day is gloomy, but our looks shall shine : 
 Flowers I have none to give thee, but I borrow 
 Their sweetness in a verse to speak for thine. 
 
 Here are red Roses, gather'd at thy cheeks, 
 The white were all too happy to look white : 
 For love the Rose, for faith the Lily speaks ; 
 It withers in false hands, but here 'tis bright 1 
 
 Dost love sweet Hyacinth ? Its scented leaf 
 Curls manifold, all love's delights blow double : 
 'Tis said this floweret is inscribed with grief, 
 But let that hint of a forgotten trouble. 
 
 I pluck'd the Primrose at night's dewy noon ; 
 Like Hope, it show'd its blossoms in the niht ; 
 'Twas, like Endymion, watching for the Moon i 
 And here are Sunflowers, amorous of light ! 
 
 These golden Buttercups are April's seal, 
 The Daisy stars her constellations be : 
 These grew so lowly, I was forced to kneel, 
 Therefore I pluck no Daisies but for thee ! 
 
 Here's Daisies for the morn, Primrose for gloom, 
 Pansies and Roses for the noontide hours : 
 A wight once made a dial of their bloom, 
 So may thy life be measured out by flowers 1
 
 365 
 
 THE FORSAKEN. 
 
 THE dead are in their silent graves, 
 And the dew is cold above, 
 And the living weep and sigh 
 Over dust that once was love. 
 
 Once I only wept the dead, 
 
 But now the living cause my paia : 
 
 How couldst thou steal me from my tears, 
 
 To leave me to my tears again ? 
 
 My mother rests beneath the sod, 
 Her rest is calm and very deep : 
 I wish'd that she could see our love^, 
 But now I gladden in her sleep. 
 
 Last night unbound my raven lock?, 
 The morning saw them turn'd to giey ; 
 Once they were black and well beloved, 
 But thou art changed, and so .ire they ! 
 
 The useless lock I gave thee once, 
 
 To gaze upon and think of me, 
 
 Was ta'en with smiles, but this was toiB 
 
 In sorrow that I send to thee 1 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 THE Autumn is old, 
 The sere leaves are flying ; 
 He hath gather d up gold, 
 And now he is dying ; 
 Old age, begin sighing ! 
 
 The vintage is ripe, 
 The harvest is heaping ; 
 But some that have sow'd 
 Have no riches for re.i) ing ; 
 Poor wretch, fall a-weeping ! 
 
 The year's in the wane, 
 There is nothing adorning, 
 The night has no eve, 
 And the day has no morning ; 
 Cold winter gives warning. 
 
 The rivers run chill, 
 
 The red sun is sinking, 
 
 And I am grown old, 
 
 And life is fast shrinking ; 
 
 Here's enow for sad thinking f
 
 3 66 
 
 ODE TO' MELANCHOLY. 
 
 COME let us set our careful breasts, 
 Like Philomel, against the thorn, 
 To aggravate the inward grief 
 That makes her accents so forlorn. 
 The world has many cruel points, 
 Whereby our bosoms have been torn, 
 And there are dainty themes of grief, 
 In sadness to outlast the morn, 
 True honour's dearth, affection's death, 
 Neglectful pride, and cankeYing scorn, 
 With all the piteous tales that tears 
 Have water'd since the world was born. 
 
 The world ! it is a wilderness, 
 Where tears are hung on every tree ; 
 For thus my gloomy phantasy 
 Makes all things weep with me ! 
 Come let us sit and watch the sky, 
 And fancy clouds where no clouds be ; 
 Grief is enough to blot the eye, 
 And make heaven black with misery. 
 Why should birds sing such merry notes 
 Unless they were more blest than we ? 
 No sorrow ever chokes their throats, 
 Except sweet nightingale ; for she 
 Was born to pain our hearts the more 
 With her sad melody. 
 Why shines the sun, except that he 
 Makes gloomy nooks for Grief to hide, 
 And pensive shades for Melancholy, 
 When all the earth is bright beside ? 
 Let clay wear smiles, and green grass wave, 
 Mirth shall not win us back again, 
 Whilst man is made of his own grave, 
 And fairest clouds but gilded rain ! 
 
 I saw my mother in her shroud, 
 Her cheek was cold and very pale; 
 And ever since I've look'd on all 
 As creatures only doom'd to fail ! 
 Why do buds ope. except to die? 
 Ay, let us watch the roses wither, 
 And think of our loves' cheeks ; 
 And oh, how quickly time doth fly 
 To bring Death's winter hither ! 
 Minutes, hours, days, and weeks, 
 Months, years, and ages, shrink to nought ; 
 An age past is but a thought !
 
 ODE TO MELANCHOLY. 367 
 
 Ay, let us think of him awhile, 
 
 That, with a coffin for a boat, 
 
 Rows daily o'er the Stygian moat, 
 
 And for our table choose a tomb : 
 
 There's dark enough in any skull 
 
 To charge with black a raven plume ; 
 
 And for the saddest funeral thoughts 
 
 A winding-sheet hath ample room, 
 
 Where Death, with his keen-pointed style, 
 
 Hath writ the common doom. 
 
 How wide the yew-tree spreads its gloom, 
 
 And o'er the dead lets fall its dew, 
 
 As if in tears it wept for them, 
 
 The many human families 
 
 That sleep around its stem ! 
 
 How cold the dead have made these stones, 
 
 With natural drops kept ever wet ! 
 
 Lo ! here the best, the worst, the world 
 
 Doth now remember or forget, 
 
 Are in one common ruin hurl'd, 
 
 And love and hate are calmly met ; 
 
 The loveliest eyes that ever shone, 
 
 The fairest hands, and locks of jet. 
 
 Is't not enough to vex our souls, 
 
 And fill our eyes, that we have set 
 
 Our love upon a rose's leaf, 
 
 Our hearts upon a violet? 
 
 Blue eyes, red cheeks, are frailer yet ; 
 
 And, sometimes, at their swift decay 
 
 Beforehand we must fret : 
 
 The roses bud and bloom again ; 
 
 But love may haunt the grave of love, 
 
 And watch the mould in vain. 
 
 Oh, clasp me, sweet, whilst thou art mine, 
 
 And do not take my tears amiss ; 
 
 For tears must flow to wash away 
 
 A thought that shows so stern as this ; 
 
 Forgive, if somewhile I forget, 
 
 In woe to come, the present bliss. 
 
 As frighted Proserpine let fall 
 
 Her flowers at the sight of Dis, 
 
 Even so the dark and bright will kiss. 
 
 The sunniest things throw sternest shade, 
 
 And there is even a happiness 
 
 That makes the heart afraid ! 
 
 Now let us with a spell invoke 
 The full-orb'd moon to grieve our eyes ; 
 Not bright, not bright, but, with a cloud 
 Lapp'd all about her, let her rise
 
 SONNET. 
 
 AH pale and dim, as if from rest 
 
 The ghost of the late buried sun 
 
 Had crept into the skies. 
 
 The Moon ! she is the source of sighs, 
 
 The very face to make us sad ; 
 
 If but to think in other times 
 
 The same calm, quiet look she had, 
 
 As if the world held nothing base 
 
 Of vile and mean, of fierce and bad ; 
 
 The same fair light that shone in streams, 
 
 The fairy lamp that charm'd the hid : 
 
 For so it is, with spent delights 
 
 She taunts men's brains, and makes them mad. 
 
 All things are touch'd with Melancholy, 
 Born of the secret soul's mistrust, 
 To feel her fair ethereal wings 
 Weigh'd down with vile degraded dust ; 
 Even the bright extremes of joy 
 Bring on conclusions of disgust, 
 Like the sweet blossoms of the May, 
 Whose fragrance ends in must. 
 Oh, give her, then, her tribute just, 
 Her sighs, and tears, and musings holy ! 
 There is no music in the life 
 That sounds with idiot laughter solely; 
 There's not a string attuned to mirth 
 But has its chord in Melancholy. 
 
 SONNET 
 
 OK MISTRESS NICELY, A PATTERN FOR HOUSEKEEPERS. 
 Written after seeing Mrs Davenport in the character at Covent Garde*. 
 
 SHE was a woman peerless in her station, 
 
 With household virtues wedded to her name ; 
 
 Spotless in linen, grass-bleach'd in her fame. 
 And pure and clear-starch'd in her conversation ; 
 Thence in my Castle of Imagination 
 
 She dwells for evermore, the dainty dame, 
 
 To keep all airy draperies from shame, 
 And all dream furnitures in preservation : 
 
 There waiketh she with keys quite silver bright, 
 In perfect hose, nnd shoes of seemly black, 
 
 Apron and stomacher of lily-white. 
 And decent order follows in her tr.^ck ; 
 
 The burnish'd plate grows lustrous in her sight, 
 And polish'd floors and tables shine her back.
 
 369 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 WRITTEN IN A VOLUME OF SHAKESPEARB. 
 
 How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky 
 
 The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled ! 
 
 Hues of all flowers that in their ashes lie, 
 
 Trophied in that fair light whereon they fed, 
 
 Tulip, and hyacinth, and sweet rose red, 
 
 Like exhalations from the leafy mould, 
 
 Look here how honour glorifies the dead, 
 
 And warms their scutcheons with a glance of gold 
 
 Such is the memory of poets old, 
 
 Who on Parnassus' hill have bloom'd elate ; 
 
 Now they are laid under their marbles cold, 
 
 And turn'd to clay, whereof they were create ; 
 
 But God Apollo hath them all enroll'd, 
 
 And blazon'd on the very clouds of fate 1 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 MOST delicate Ariel ! submissive thing, 
 Won by the mind's high m.igic to its hest, 
 Invisible embassy, or secret guest, 
 Weighing the light air on a lighter wing ; 
 Whether into the midnight moon, to bring 
 Illuminate visions to the eye of rest, 
 Or rich romances from the florid West, 
 Or to the sea, for mystic whispering, 
 Still by thy charm'd allegiance to the will, 
 The fruitful wishes prosper in the brain, 
 As by the fingering of fairy skill, 
 Moonlight, and waters, and soft music's strain, 
 Odours, and blooms, and my Miranda's smile, 
 Making this dull world an enchanted isle. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 TO AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 YOUNG ardent soul, graced with fair Nature's truth, 
 Spring warmth of heart, and fervency of mind, 
 And still a large late love of all thy kind, 
 Spite of the world's cold practice and Time's tooth, 
 For all these gifts, I know not, in fair sooth, 
 Whether to give thee joy, or bid thee blind 
 Thine eyes with tears, that thou has not resign'd 
 The passionate fire and freshness of thy youth :
 
 370 SONNETS. 
 
 For as the current of thy life sh;ill flow, 
 Gilded by shine of sun or shadow-stain'd, 
 Through flowery valley or unwholesome fen, 
 Thrice blessed in thy joy, or in thy woe 
 Thrice cursed of thy race, thou art ordain'd 
 To share beyond the lot of common men. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 IT is not death, that sometime in'a sigh 
 
 This eloquent breath shall take its speechless flight j 
 
 That sometime these bright stars, that now reply 
 
 In sunlight to the sun, sh.ill set in night ; 
 
 That this warm conscious flesh shall perish quite^ 
 
 And all life's ruddy springs forget to flow ; 
 
 That thoughts shall cease, and the immortal sprite 
 
 Be lapp'd in alien clay and laid below ; 
 
 It is not death to know this, but to know 
 
 That pious thoughts, which visit at new graves 
 
 In tender pilgrimage, will cease to go 
 
 So duly and so oft, and when grass waves 
 
 Over the passed-away, there may be then 
 
 No resurrection in the minds of men. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 BY every sweet tradition of true hearts, 
 
 Graven by Time, in love with his own lore j 
 
 By all old martyrdoms and antique smarts, 
 
 Wherein Love died to be alive the more ; 
 
 Yea, by the sad impression on the shore 
 
 Left by the drown'd Leander, to endear 
 
 That coast for ever, where the billow's roar 
 
 Moaneth for pity in the Poet's ear ; 
 
 By Hero's faith, and the foreboding tear 
 
 That quench'd her brand's last twinkle in its fall; 
 
 By Sappho's leap, and the low rustling fear 
 
 That sigh'd around her flight ; I swear by all, 
 
 The world shall find such pattern in my act, 
 
 As if Love's great examples still were lack'd. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 ON RECEIVING A GIFT. 
 
 LOOK how the golden ocean shines above 
 Its pebbly stones, and magnifies their girth ; 
 So does the bright and blessed light of Love 
 Its own things glorify, and raise their worth. 

 
 SONNETS. 371 
 
 As weeds seem flowers beneath the flattering brine, 
 And stones like gems, and gems as gems indeed, 
 Even so our tokens shine ; nay, they outshine 
 Pebbles and pearls, and gems and coral weed ; 
 For where be ocean waves but half so clear, 
 So calmly constant, and so kindly w.irm, 
 As Love's most mild and glowing atmosphere, 
 That hath no dregs to be upturn'd by storm ? 
 Thus, sweet, thy gracious gifts are gifts of price, 
 And more than gold fo doting Avarice. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 THE curse of Adam, the old curse of all, 
 
 Though I inherit in this feverish life 
 
 Of worldly toil, vain wishes, and hard strife, 
 
 And fruitless thought, in Care's eternal thrall, 
 
 Yet more sweet honey than of bitter gall 
 
 I taste, through thee, my Eva, my sweet wife. 
 
 Then what was Man's lost Paradise ! how rife 
 
 Of bliss, since love is with him in his fall ! 
 
 Such as our own pure passion still might frame, 
 
 Of this fair earth and its delightful bowers, 
 
 If no fell sorrow, like the serpent, came 
 
 To trail its venom o'er the sweetest flowers ; 
 
 But oh ! as many and such tears are ours, 
 
 As only should be shed for guilt and shame 1 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 LOVE, dearest Lady, such as I would speak, 
 Lives not within the humour of the eye ; 
 Not being but an outward phantasy, 
 That skims the surface of a tinted cheek, 
 Else it would wane with beauty, and grow weak, 
 As if the rose made summer, and so lie 
 Amongst the perishable things that die, 
 Unlike the love which I would give and seek : 
 Whose health is of no hue to feel decav 
 With cheeks' decay, that have a rosy prime. 
 Love is its own great loveliness alway, 
 And takes new lustre from the touch of time ; 
 Its bough owns no December and no May, 
 But bears its blossom into Winter's clime.
 
 S7 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 THERE is a silence where hath been no sound, 
 There is a silence where no sound may be, 
 In the cold grave under the deep, deep sea, 
 
 Or in wide desert where no life is found, 
 
 Which hath been mute, and still must sleep profound ; 
 No voice is hush'd no life treads silently, 
 But clouds and cloudy shadows wander free, 
 
 That never spoke, over the idle ground : 
 
 But in green ruins, in the desolate walls 
 Of antique palaces, where Man hath been, 
 
 Though the dun fox or wild hyena calls, 
 And owls, that flit continually between, 
 
 Shriek to the echo, and the low winds moan, 
 
 There the true Silence is, self-conscious and alone.
 
 CONTRIBUTIONS 
 
 TO 
 
 "THE GEM."* 
 
 A WIDOW 
 
 HATH always been a mark for mockery : a standing butt for wit 
 to level at. Jest after jest hath been huddled upon her close 
 cap, and stuck, like burrs, upon her weeds. Her sables are a perpetual 
 " Black Joke." 
 
 Satirists prose and verse have made merry with her bereavements. 
 She is a stock character on the stage. ^ Farce bottleth up her crocodile 
 tears, or labelleth her empty lachrymatories. Comedy mocketh her 
 precocious flirtations Tragedy even girdeih at her frailty, and twit- 
 teth her with " the funeral baked meats coldly furnishing forth the 
 marriage tables." 
 
 I confess, when I called the other day on my kinswoman G. then 
 in the second week of her widowhood and saw her sitting, her young 
 boy by her side, in her recent sables, I felt unable to reconcile her 
 estate with any risible associations. The lady with a skeleton moiety 
 in the old print, in Bowles's old shop-windou seemed but a type 
 of her condition. Her husband a whole .hemisphere in love's world 
 was deficient. One complete side her left was death-stricken. 
 It was a matrimonial paralysis, unprovocative of bughter. I could as 
 soon have tittered at one of those melancholy objects that drag theii 
 poor dead-alive bodies about our streets. 
 
 It seems difficult to account for the popular prejudice against lone 
 women. There is a majority, I trust, of such honest, decorous mourn- 
 ers as my kinswoman : yet are widows, like the Hebrew, a proverb 
 and a byeword amongst nations. From the first putting on of the sooty 
 garments, they become a stock joke chimney-sweep or blackamoor 
 is not surer by mere virtue of their nigritude. 
 
 * The Gem : a Literary Annual. Edited by Thomas Hood, Esq. London t 
 W. Marshall, 1829.
 
 374 THE FAREWELL. 
 
 Are the wanton amatory glances of a few pairs of graceless eyes, 
 twinkling through their cunning waters, to reflect so evil a light on a 
 whole community ? Verily the sad benighted orbs of that noble relict 
 the Lady Rachel Russell blinded through unserene drops for het 
 dead Lord, might atone for all such oglings ! 
 
 Are the traditional freaks of a Dame of Ephesus, or a Wife of 
 Eath, or a Queen of Denmark, to cast so broad a shadow over a whole 
 sisterhood ? There must be, methinks, some more general infirmity 
 common, probably, to all Eve-kind to justify so sweeping a stigma. 
 
 Does the satiric spirit, perhaps, institute splenetic comparisons be- 
 tween the lofty poetical pretensions of posthumous tenderness and 
 their fulfilment ? The sentiments of Love especially affect a high heroi- 
 cal pitch, of which the human performance can present, at best, but 
 a burlesque parody. A widow, that hath lived only for her husband, 
 should die with him. She is flesh of his flesh, and bone of his bone ; 
 and it is not seemly for a mere rib to be his survivor. The prose of 
 her practice accords not with the poetry of her professions. She hath 
 done with the world, and you meet her in Regent Street. Earth hath 
 now nothing left for her but she swears and administers. She cannot 
 survive him and invests in the Long Annuities. 
 
 The romantic fancy resents, and the satiric spirit records, these 
 discrepancies. By the conjugal theory itself there ought to be no 
 widows ; and. accordingly, a class that, by our milder manners, is 
 merely ridiculed, on the ruder banks of the Ganges is literally roasted? 
 
 THE FAREWELL. 
 
 TO A FRENCH AIR. 
 
 FARE thee well, In the night, 
 
 Gabrielle ! Ere the fight, 
 
 Whilst I join France, In the night, 
 
 With bright cuirass and lance 1 I'll think ot thee I 
 Trumpets swell, And in prayer, 
 
 Gabrielle ! Lady fair ! 
 
 War-horses prance, In thy prayer, 
 
 And cavaliers advance ! Then think of me ! 
 
 Death may knell, 
 
 Gabrielle ! 
 
 Where my plumes dance, 
 By arquebuss or lance I 
 
 Then farewell, 
 
 Gabrielle ! 
 
 Take my last glance ! 
 Fair Miracle of France ! 
 
 * The above was written in imitation of the style of Charles Lamli, and to 
 reivler the hoax complete, was actually signed with his name.
 
 375 
 
 THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 
 
 'TWAS in the prime of summer-time, 
 
 An evening calm and cool, 
 And four-and-twenty happy boys 
 
 Came bounding out of school : 
 There were some that ran, and some that leapt) 
 
 Like troutlets in a pool. 
 
 Away they sped with gamesome minds, 
 
 And souls untouch'd by sin ; 
 To a level mead they came, and there 
 
 They drave the wickets in : 
 Pleasantly shone the setting sun 
 
 Over the town of Lynn. 
 
 Like sportive deer they coursed about, 
 
 And shouted as they ran, 
 Turning to mirth all things of earthy 
 
 As only boyhood can ; 
 But the Usher sat remote from all, 
 
 A melancholy man ! 
 
 His hat was off, his vest apart, 
 To catch heaven's blessed breeze ; 
 
 For a burning thought was in his brow, 
 And his bosom ill at ease ; 
 
 So he lean'd his head on his hands, and read 
 The book between his knees ! 
 
 Leaf after leaf, he turn'd it o'er, 
 
 Nor ever glanced aside ; 
 For the peace of his soul he read that book 
 
 In the golden eventide : 
 Much study had made him very lean, 
 
 And pale, and leaden-eyed. 
 
 At last he shut the ponderous tome ; 
 
 With a fast and fervent grasp 
 He strain'd the dusky covers close, 
 
 And fix'd the brazen hasp : 
 " O God ! could I so close my mind, 
 
 And clasp it with a clasp ! " 
 
 Then leaping on his feet upright, 
 
 Some moody turns he took, 
 Now up the mead, then down the mead, 
 
 And past a shady nook, 
 And, lo ! he saw a little boy 
 
 That pored upon a book !
 
 37<5 THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 
 
 "My gentle lad, what is't you read 
 
 Romance or fairy fable ? 
 Or is it some historic page, 
 
 Of kings and crowns unstable ?" 
 The young boy gave an upward glance, 
 
 M It is The Death of Abel.' " 
 
 The Usher took six hasty strides, 
 
 As smit with sudden pain, 
 Six hasty strides beyond the place, 
 
 Then slowly back again ; 
 And down he sat beside the lad, 
 
 And talk'd with him of Cain ; 
 
 And, long since then, of bloody men, 
 
 Whose deeds tradition saves ; 
 Of lonely folk cut off unseen, 
 
 And hid in sudden graves ; 
 Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn, 
 
 And murders done in caves ; 
 
 And how the sprites of injured men 
 
 Shriek upward from the sod, 
 Aye, how the ghostly hand will point 
 
 To show the burial clod ; 
 And unknown facts of guilty acts, 
 
 Are seen in dreams from God ! 
 
 He told how murderers walk the earth 
 
 Beneath the curse of Cain, 
 With crimson clouds before their eyes, 
 
 And flames about their brain : 
 For blood has left upon their souls 
 
 Its everlasting stain 1 
 
 u And well," quoth he, " I know, for tn.th, 
 Their pangs must be extreme, 
 
 Woe, woe, unutterable woe 
 Who spill life's sacred stream ! 
 
 For why? Methought, last night, I wrought 
 A murder in a dream ! 
 
 * One that had never done me wrong 
 
 A feeble man, and old : 
 I led him to a lonely field, 
 
 The moon shone clear and cold : 
 'Now here,' said I, ' this man shall die, 
 
 And I will have his gold !'
 
 THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 377 
 
 "Two sudden blows with a ragged stick, 
 
 And one with a heavy stone, 
 One hurried gash with a hasty knife, 
 
 And then the deed was done : 
 There was nothing lying at my foot 
 
 But lifeless flesh and bone ! 
 
 * Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone, 
 
 That could not do me ill ; 
 And yet I fear'd him all the more 
 
 For lying there so still : 
 There was a manhood in his look 
 
 That murder could not kill 1 
 
 " And lo ! the universal air 
 
 Seem'd lit with ghastly flame, 
 
 Ten thousand thousand dreadtul eye* 
 Were looking down in blame : 
 
 I took the dead man by the hand, 
 And call'd upon his name ! 
 
 " O God ! it made me quake to see 
 Such sense within the slain ! 
 
 But when I touch'd the lifeless clay, 
 The blood gush'd out amain 1 
 
 For every clot, a burning spot 
 Was scorching in my brain ! 
 
 "My head was like an ardent coal, 
 
 My heart as solid ice ; 
 My wretched, wretched soul, I knew, 
 
 Was at the Devil's price : 
 A dozen times I groan'd ; the dead 
 
 Had never groan'd but twice ! 
 
 "And now, from forth the frowning sky f 
 From the heaven's topmost height, 
 
 I heard a voice the awful voice 
 Of the Blood-Avenging S| rite : 
 
 'Thou guilty man ! take up thy dead, 
 And hide it from my sight ! ' 
 
 " I took the dreary body up, 
 
 And cast it in a stream, 
 A sluggish water, black as ink, 
 
 The depth was so extreme. 
 My gentle Boy, remember this 
 
 Is nothing but a dream 1
 
 37* THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 
 
 " Down went the corse with a hollow pltuig^ 
 
 And vanish'd in the pool ; 
 Anon I cleansed my bloody hands, 
 
 And wash'd my forehead cool, 
 And sat among the urchins young 
 
 That evening in the school ! 
 
 " O Heaven ! to think of their white souls, 
 And mine so black and grim ! 
 
 I could not share in childish prayer, 
 Nor join in Evening Hymn : 
 
 Like a Devil of the Pit, I seem'd, 
 'Mid Holy Cherubim ! 
 
 "And Peace went with them, one and all, 
 And each calm pillow spread ; 
 
 But Guilt was my grim chamberlain 
 That lighted me to bed ; 
 
 And drew my midnight curtains round. 
 With fingers bloody red ! 
 
 "All night I lay in agony, 
 
 In anguish dark and deep ; 
 My fever'deyes I dared not close, 
 
 But stared aghast at Sleep : 
 For Sin had render'd unto her 
 
 The Keys of Hell to keep 1 
 
 * All night I lay in agony, 
 From weary chime to chime, 
 
 With one besetting horrid hint, 
 That rack'd me all the time, 
 
 A mighty yearning, like the first 
 Fierce impulse unto crime 1 
 
 "One stern tyrannic thought, that 
 All other thoughts its slave ; 
 
 Stronger and stronger every pulse 
 Did that temptation crave, 
 
 Still urging me to go and see 
 The Dead Man in his grave I 
 
 u Heavily I rose up, as soon 
 
 As light was in the sky, 
 And sought the black accursed pool 
 
 With a wild misgiving eye : 
 And I saw the Dead in the river-bed, 
 
 For the faithless stream was dry !
 
 THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 379 
 
 "Merrily rose the lark, and shook 
 
 The dewdrop from its wing ; 
 But I never mark'd its morning flight, 
 
 I never heard it sing : 
 For I was stooping once again 
 
 Under the horrid thing. 
 
 u With breathless speed, like a soul in chase, 
 
 I took him up and ran, 
 There was no time to dig a grave 
 
 Before the day began ; 
 In a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves 
 
 I hid the murder'd man I 
 
 "And all that day I read in school, 
 But my thought was other where j 
 
 As soon as the midday task was done, 
 In secret I was there : 
 
 And a mighty wind had swept the leave*, 
 And still the corse was bare ! 
 
 "Then down I cast me on my face, 
 
 And first began to weep, 
 For I knew my secret then was one 
 
 That earth refused to keep : 
 Or land, or sea, though he should be 
 
 Ten thousand fathoms deep ! 
 
 a So wills the fierce Avenging Sprite, 
 Till blood for blood atones ! 
 
 Ay, though he's buried in a cave, 
 And trodden down with stones, 
 
 And years have rotted off his flesh- 
 The world shall see his bones J 
 
 " O God ! that horrid, horrid dream 
 
 Besets me now awake ! 
 Again again, with a dizzy brain, 
 
 The human life I take ; 
 And my red right hand grows raging hot^ 
 
 Like Cranmer's at the stake. 
 
 "And still no peace for the restless clay 
 
 Will wave or mould allow ; 
 The horrid thing pursues my soul, 
 
 It stands before me now ! " 
 The fearful boy look'd up, and saw 
 
 Huge drops upon his brow !
 
 j8o A MAY-DAY. 
 
 That very night, while gentle sleep / 
 The urchin eyelids kiss'd, 
 
 Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn, 
 Through the cold and heavy mist ; 
 
 And Eugene Aram walk'd between, 
 With gyves upon his wrist.* 
 
 ON A PICTURE OF HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 WHY, Lover, why Why, Cupid, why 
 
 Such a water-rover? Make the passage brighter? 
 
 Would she love thee more Were not any boat 
 
 For coming half seas overt Better than a lighter? 
 
 Why, Lady, why Why, Maiden, why 
 
 So in love with dipping? So intrusive standing? 
 
 Must a lad of Greece, Must thou be on the stnir 
 
 Come all over dripping / When he's on the landing t 
 
 A MAY-DAY. 
 
 I KNOW not what idle schemer or mad wag put such a folly into 
 the head of my Lady Rasherly, but she resolved to ct lebrate a 
 May-day after the old fashion, and convert Porkington Park her 
 Hampshire Leasowes into a new Arcadia. Such revivals have 
 always come to a bad end : the Golden Age is not to be regilt ; 
 Pastoral is gone out, and Pan extinct Pans will not last for ever. 
 
 But Lady Rasherly's fte was fixed. A large order was sent to 
 Ingram, of rustic celebrity, for nubbly sofas and crooked chairs ; a 
 
 letter was dispatched to the Manager of the P h Theatre, begging 
 
 a loan from the dramatic wardrobe ; and old Jenkins, the steward, 
 was sent through the village to assemble as many, male and female, 
 of the barn-door kind, as he could muster. Happy for the Lady had 
 her Hampshire peasantry been more pig-headed and hoggishly untract- 
 able, like the staple animal of the county : but the time came, and 
 the tenants. Happy for her had the good-natured manager excused 
 himself with a plea that the cottage-hats, and blue boddices, and 
 russet skirts were bespoke, for that very night, by Rosina and her 
 villagers. But the day came, and the dresses. I am told th<it old 
 Jenkins and his helpmate had a world of trouble in the distribution 
 of the borrowed plumes: this maiden turning up a pug-nose, still 
 pugger, at a faded boddice ; that damsel thrusting out a pair of 
 original pouting lips, still more spout-like, at a rusty ribbon ; carroty 
 
 * The late Admiral Burney went to school at an establishment where the 
 unhappy Eugene Aram was usher, subsequent to his crime. The Admiral 
 stated, that Aiam was generally liked by the boys; and that he used to dis- 
 course to them about murder, in somewhat of the spirit which is attributed 
 to him in the poem. [A'afe by the Author.'}
 
 A MAY-DAY. 381 
 
 Celias wanted more roses in their hair, and dumpy Delias more flounces 
 in their petticoats. There is a natural t;iCt, however, in womankind- 
 as to matters of dress, that made them look tolerably when all w;is 
 done : but pray except from this praise the gardener's daughter, Dolly 
 Blossom, a born sloven, with her horticultural hose, which she had 
 pruned so often at top to graft at bottom, that, from long stockings, 
 they had dwindled into short socks ; and it seemed as if, by a similar 
 process, she had coaxed her natural calves into her ankles. The men 
 were less fortunate in their toilette : they looked slack in their tights, 
 and tight in their slacks ; to say nothing of Johnny Giles, who was so 
 tiyht all over, that he looked as if he had stolen his clothes, and the 
 clothes, turning King's evidence, were going to " split upon him." 
 
 In the meantime, the retainers at the Park h?l net been idle. The 
 old mast was taken down from the old barn, and,s*no*>e<l of its weather- 
 cock, did duty as a May-pole. The trees and shrubs were hung with 
 artificial garlands ; and a large marquee made an agreeable contrast, 
 in canvas, with the long lawn. An extempore wooden arbour had 
 likewise been erected for the May Queen ; and here stood my Lady 
 Rasherly with her daughters : my Lady, with a full-moon face and a 
 half-moon tiara, was Diana ; the young ladies represented her nymphs, 
 and they had all bows and arrows, Spanish hats anrf feathers, Lincoln 
 green spensers and slashed sleeves, the uniform of the Forkington 
 Archery. There were, moreover, six younger young iaaies a loan 
 from the parish school who were to be the immediate attendants on 
 her Sylvan Majesty, and, as they expressed it in their own simple Doric, 
 "to shy flowers at her/#//" 
 
 And now the nymphs and swains began to assemble : Damon and 
 Phillis, Strephon and Amaryllis a nomenclature not a little puzzling 
 to the performers, for Delia answered to Damon, and Chloe instead 
 of Colin, 
 
 "And though I called another, Abra came." 
 
 But I must treat you with a few personalities. Damon was one 
 Darius Dobbs. He was entrusted with a fine tinsel crook and half- 
 a-dozen sheep, which he was puzzled to keep, by hook or by crook, to 
 the lawn ; for Corydon, his fellow-shepherd, had quietly hung up his 
 pastoral emblem, and walked off to the sign of the Rose and Crown, 
 Poor Damon ! there he sat looking the very original of Philips's line, 
 
 " Ah, silly I, more silly than my sheep : " 
 
 And, to add to his perplexity, he could not help seeing and hearing 
 Mary Jenks, his own sweetheart, who, having no lambs to keep, was 
 romping where she would, and treating whom she would with a kind- 
 ness by no means sneaking. Poor Darius Dobbs ! 
 
 Gregory Giles was Colin ; and he was sadly hampered with " two 
 hands out of employ ; " for, after feeling up his back, and down his 
 bosom, and about his hips, he had discovered that, to save time and 
 trouble, his stage-clothes had been made without pockets. But 
 
 " Satan finds some mischief still 
 For idle hands to do ; "
 
 j82 A MA Y-DA Y. 
 
 and, accordingly, he soon set Colin's fingers to work so busily, that 
 they twiddled off all the buttons from his borrowed jacket. 
 
 Strephon was nothing particular, only a sky-blue body on a pair of 
 chocolate-coloured legs. But Lubin was a jewel ! He had formerly 
 been a private in the Baconfield Yeomanry, and, therefore, thought 
 proper to surmount his pastoral uniform with a cavalry cap ! Such 
 an incongruity was not to be overlooked. Old Jenkins remonstrated, 
 but Lubin was obstinate ; the steward persisted, and the other replied 
 with a "positive negative ;" and, in the end, Lubin went off in a huff 
 to the Rose and Crown. 
 
 The force of two bad examples was too much for the virtue of Darirs 
 Dobbs : he threw away his crook, left his sheep to anybody, and ran 
 off to the alehouse, and, what was worse, Colin was sent after him, a^.d 
 never came back ! 
 
 The chief of the faithful shepherds who now remained at the Park 
 was Hobbinol one Josias Strong, a notorious glutton t who had won 
 sundry wagers by devouring a leg of mutton and trimmings at a sitting. 
 He was a big lubberly fellow, that had been born great, and had 
 achieved greatness, but had not greatness thrust upon him. It was 
 as much as he could do to keep his trousers, for he was at once clown 
 and pantaloon, down to the knee, and more than he could do to keep 
 them up to the waist ; and, to crown all, having rashly squatted down 
 on the lawn, the juicy herbage had left a stain behind, on his caliman- 
 coes, that still occupies the " greenest spot " in the memoirs of Bacon- 
 field. 
 
 There were some half-dozen of other rustics to the same pattern, but 
 the fancy of my Lady Rasherly did not confine itself to the humani- 
 ties. Old Joe Bradley, the blacksmith, was Pan ; and truly he made a 
 respectable satyr enough, for he came half drunk, and was rough, 
 gruff, tawny and brawny, and bow-legged, and hadn't been shaved for 
 a month. His cue was to walk about in buckskins, leading his own 
 billy-goat, and he was followed up and down by his sister, Patty, whom 
 the wags called Patty Pan. 
 
 The other deity was also a wet one a Triton amongst mythologists, 
 but Timothy Gubbins with his familiars, the acknowledged dolt of 
 the village, and remarkable for his weekly slumbers in the parish 
 church. It had been ascertained that he could neither pipe, nor sing, 
 nor dance, nor even keep sheep, so he was stuck with an urn under 
 his arm, and a rush crown, as the God of the fishpond, a task, simple 
 as it was, that proved beyond his genius, for, after stupidly dozing 
 awhile over his vase, he fell into a sound snoring sleep, out of which he 
 cold-pigged himself by tumbling, urn and all, into his own fountain. 
 
 Misfortunes always come pick-a-back. The Rose and Crown hap- 
 pened to be a receiving house for the drowned, under the patronage 
 the Humane Society, wherefore the Water-God insisted on going there 
 to be dried, and Cuddy, who had pulled him out, insisted on going with 
 him ! These two had certainly some slight excuse for walking off to 
 the alehouse, whereas, Sylvio thought proper to follow them without 
 any excuse at all ! 
 
 This mischance was but the prelude of new disasters. It was neces 
 sary, before beginning the sports of the day, to elect a MAY QUEEN,
 
 A MA Y-DA Y. 383 
 
 and, by the influence of Lady Rasherly, the choice of the lieges fell 
 upon Jenny Acres, a really pretty maiden, and worthy of the honour ; 
 but in the meantime, Dolly Wiggins, a brazen, strapping dairymaid, 
 had quietly elected herself, snatched a flower-basket from one of the 
 si* Floras, strewed her own path, and getting first to the royal arbour, 
 squatted there firm and fast, and persisted in reigning as QUEEN in 
 her own right. Hence arose civil and uncivil war, and Alexis and 
 Diggon, being interrupted in a boxing-match in the park, adjourned 
 to the Rose and Crown to have it out ; and as two can't make a ring, a 
 round dozen of the shepherds went along with them for that purpose. 
 
 There now remained but five swains in Arcadia, and they had five 
 nymphs apiece, besides Mary Jenks, who divided her favour equally 
 amongst them all. There should have been next in order a singing 
 match on the lawn, for a prize, after the fashion of Pope's Pastorals ; 
 but Corydon, one of the warblers, had bolted, and Palemon, who 
 remained, had forgotten what was set down for him, though he oblig- 
 ingly offered to sing " Tom Bowling " instead. But Lady Rasherly 
 thought proper to dispense with the song, and there being nothing 
 else, or better, to do, she directed a movement to the marquee, in order 
 to begin, though somewhat early, on the collation. Alas ! even this 
 was a failure. During the time of Gubbins's ducking the Queen's 
 coronation and the boxing-match Hobbinol, that great greedy lout, 
 had been privily in *Iie pavilion, glutting his constitutional voracity on 
 the substantiate, and he was now lying insensible and harmless, like a 
 gorged boa-constrictor, by the side of the table. Pan, too, had been 
 missing, and it was thought he was at the Rose and Crown, but no 
 such luck ! He had been having a sly pull at the tent tankards, and 
 from half drunk had got so whole drunk, that he could not hinder his 
 goat from having a butt even at Diana herself, nor from entangling 
 his horns in the table-cloth, by which the catastrophe of the collation 
 was completed ! 
 
 The rest of the fete consisted of a succession of misfortunes which 
 it would be painful to dwell upon, and cruel to describe minutely. So 
 1 will but hint, briefly, how the fragments of the banquet were scrambled 
 for by the Arcadians how they danced afterwards round the Maypole, 
 not tripping themselves like fairies, but tripping one another how the 
 Honourable Miss Rasherly, out of idleness, stood fitting the notch oi 
 an arrow to the string, and how the shaft went off of itself, and lodged, 
 unluckily, in the calf of one of the caperers. I will leave to the imagi- 
 nation what suits were torn past mending or soiled beyond washing 
 the lamentations of old Jenkins and the vows of Lady Rasherly 
 and her daughters that there should be no more May-days at Pork- 
 ington. Suffice it, that night found all the Arcadians at the Rose and 
 Crown : and on the morrow, Diana and her nymphs were laid up with 
 severe colds Dolly Wiggins was out of place Hobbinol in a surfeit 
 Alexis before a magistrate Palemon at a surgeon's Billy in the 
 pound and Pan in the stocks, with the fumes of the last night's 
 liquor not yet evaporated from his grey gooseberry eyes.
 
 CREAM OF THE COMIC ANNUALS. 
 
 A pastoral in A flat 
 
 THE PUGSLEY PAPERS.* 
 
 HOW the following correspondence came into my hands must 
 remain a Waverley mystery. The Pugsley Papers were neither 
 rescued from a garret, like the Evelyn, collected from cartridges, like 
 'the Culloden, nor saved, like the Garrick, from being shredded into 
 a snowstorm at a Winter Theatre. They were not snati hed from a 
 tailor's shears, like the original parchment of M.igna Ghana. They 
 were neither the Legacv of a Dominie, nor the communications of My 
 Landlord, a consignment, like the Clinker Letters, from some Rev. 
 Jonathan Dustwich, nor the waifs and strays of a Twopenny Post 
 B.ig. They were not unrolled from nncient papyri. They were 
 none of those that " line trunks, clothe spices," or paper the walls of old 
 attics. They were neither given to me nor sold to me, nor stolen, 
 nor borrowed and surreptitiously copied, nor left in a hackney-coach, 
 like Sheridan's play, nor misdelivered by a carrier-pigeon, nor 
 dreamt of, like Coleridge's Kubla Kh.m, nor turned up in the Tower, 
 like Milton's Foundling MS., nor dug up.- nor trumped Op, like the 
 Eastern Tales of Horam-harum Horam the Son of Asmar, nor brought 
 over by Ramrmohun Roy, nor translated by Doctor Bowring from 
 the Scandinavian, Batavian, Pomeranian, Spanish, or Danish, or Rus- 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1832.
 
 THE PUGSLEY PAPERS. 385 
 
 flian, or Prussian, or any other language dead or Jiving. They were 
 not picked from the Dead Letter Office, nor purloined from the British 
 Museum. In short, I cannot, dare not, will not, hint even at the 
 mode of their acquisition : the reader must be content to know that, 
 in point of authenticity, the Pugsley Papers are the extreme reverse 
 
 of Lady L 's celebrated Autographs, which were all written by the 
 
 proprietor. 
 
 No. I. From Master RICHARD PUGSLEY to Master ROBERT 
 ROGERS, at Number 132 Barbican. 
 
 DEAR BOB, Huzza ! Here I am in Lincolnshire ! It's good-bye to 
 Wellingtons and Cossacks, Ladies' double channels, Gentlemen's stout 
 calf, and ditto ditto. They've all been sold off under prime cost, and 
 the old Shoe Mart is disposed of, goodwill and fixtures, for ever and 
 ever. Father has been made a rich Squire of by will, and we've got 
 a house and fields and trees of our own. Such a garden, Bob ! It 
 beats White Conduit. 
 
 Now, Bob, I'll tell you what I want. I want you to come down 
 here for the holidays. Don't be afraid. Ask your Sister to ask your 
 Mother to ask your Father to let you come. It's only ninety mile. 
 If you're out of pocket-money, you can walk, and beg a lift now and 
 then, or swing by the dickeys. Put on corduroys, and don't care for 
 cut behind. The two prentices, George and Will, are here to be made 
 farmers of, and brother Nick is took home from school to help in agri- 
 culture. We like farming very much, it's capital fun. Us four have 
 got a gun, and go out shooting : it's a famous good un, and sure to 
 go off, if you don't full cock it. Tiger is to be our shooting dog as 
 soon as he has left off killing the sheep. He's a real savage, and 
 worries cats beautiful. Before Father comes down, we mean to bait 
 our bull with him. 
 
 There's plenty of New Rivers about, and we're going a fishing as 
 soon as we have mended our top-joint. We've killed one of our sheep 
 on the sly to get gentles. We've a pony too, to ride upon when we can 
 catch him, but he's loose in the paddock, and has neither mane nor 
 tail to signify to lay hold of. Isn't it prime, Bob ? You must come. 
 If your Mother won't give your Father leave to allow you, run away. 
 Remember, you turn up Goswell Street to go to Lincolnshire, and ask 
 for Middlefen Hall. There's a pond full of frogs, but we won't pelt 
 them till you come, but let it be before Sunday, as there's our own 
 orchard to rob, and the fruit's to be gathered on Monday. 
 
 If you like sucking raw eggs, we know where the hens lay, and 
 mother don't ; and I'm bound there's lots of birds' nests. Do come, 
 Bob, and I'll show you the wasps' nest, and everything that can 
 make you comfortable. I daresay you could borrow your father's 
 volunteer musket of him without his knowing of it ; but be sure any- 
 how to bring the ramrod, as we have mislaid ours by firing it off. 
 Don't forget some bird-lime, Bob and some fish-hooks and some 
 different sorts of shot and some gut and some gunpowder and a 
 gentle-box, and some flints, some Mayflies, and a powder-horn, 
 and a landing-net and a dog-whistle and some porcupine quills, and 
 
 2 B
 
 J86 THE PUCSLEY PAPERS. 
 
 a bullet-mould and a trolling-winch, and a shot-belt and a tin can. 
 You pay for 'em, Bob, and I'll owe it you. Your old friend and 
 schoolfellow, RICHARD PUGSLSY. 
 
 No. II. From the Same to the Same. 
 
 DEAR BOB, When you come, bring us a *bacco-pipe to load the 
 un with. If you don't come, it can come by the waggon. Our 
 ublic House is three mile off, and when you've walked there it's out 
 of everything. Yours, &c., RICH. PUGSLEY. 
 
 g 
 P 
 
 No. III. From Miss ANASTASIA PUGSLEY to Miss JEMIMA Moo- 
 GRIDGE, at Gregory House Establishment for Young Ladies , Mile 
 End. 
 
 MY DEAR JEMIMA, Deeply solicitous to gratify sensibility, by 
 sympathising with our fortuitous elevation, I seize the epistolary 
 implements to inform you, that by the testamentary disposition of a 
 remote branch of consanguinity, our tutelary residence is removed 
 from the metropolitan horizon to a pastoral district and its congenial 
 pursuits. In futurity 1 shall be more pertinaciously superstitious in 
 the astrological revelations of human destiny. You remember the 
 mysterious gipsy at Hornsey Wood? Well, the eventful fortune she 
 obscurely intimated, though couched in vague terms, has come to pass 
 in minutest particulars ; for I perceive perspicuously, that it predicted 
 that papa should sell off his boot and shoe business at 133 Barbican, 
 to Clack & Son, of 144 Hatton Garden, and that we should retire, in 
 a station of affluence, to Middlefen Hall, in Lincolnshire, by bequest of 
 our great-great maternal uncle, Pollexfen Goldsworthy Wrigglesworth, 
 Esq., who deceased suddenly of apoplexy at Wisbeach Market, in the 
 ninety-third year of his venerable and lamented age. 
 
 At the risk of tedium, I will attempt a cursory delineation of our 
 rural paradise, altho' I feel it would be mor.illy arduous to give any 
 idea of the romantic scenery of the Lincolnshire Fens. Conceive, as 
 far as the visual organ expands, an immense sequestered level, abun- 
 dantly irrigated with minute rivulets, and studded with tufted' oaks, 
 whilst more than a hundred windmills diversify the prospect and 
 give a revolving animation to the scene. As for our own gardens and 
 grounds, they are a perfect Vauxhall excepting of course the rcMinda, 
 the orchestra, the company, the variegated lamps, the fireworks, and 
 those very lofty trees. But I trust my dear Jemima will supersede 
 topography by ocular inspection ; and in the interim I send for accept- 
 ance a graphical view of the locality, shaded in Indian ink, which \\ill 
 suffice to convey an idea of the terrestrial verdure and celestial azure 
 we enjoy, in lieu of the sable exhalations and architectural nigritude 
 of the metropolis. 
 
 You who know my pastoral aspirings, and have been the im-ulgent 
 confident of my votive tributes to the Muses, will conceive the refined 
 nature of my enjoyment when I mention the intellectual repast of this 
 morning. 1 never could enjoy Bloomfield in Barbican, but lo-day 
 he read beautifully under our pear-tree. I look forward to the vlicity
 
 THE PUGSLEY PAPERS. 
 
 387 
 
 of reading Thomson's Summer with you on the green seat, and if 
 engagements at Christmas permit your participation in the bard, 
 there is a bower of evergreens 
 that will be delightful for the 
 perusal of his Winter. 
 
 I enclose, by request, an 
 epistolary effusion from sis- 
 ter Dorothy, which I know 
 will provoke your risible 
 powers, by the domesticity 
 of its details. You know she 
 was always in the homely 
 characteristics a perfect Cin- 
 derella, though I doubt 
 whether even supernatural 
 agency could adapt her foot 
 to a diminutive vitrified slip- 
 per, or her hand for a prince 
 of regal primogeniture. But 
 I am summoned to receive, 
 with family members, the 
 felicitations of Lincolnshire 
 aristocracy ; though whatever 
 necessary distinctions may 
 prospectively occur between 
 respective grades in life, they 
 will only superficially affect 
 the sentiments of eternal 
 friendship between my dear 
 Jemima and her affectionate friend, ANASTASIA PUGSLEY. 
 
 No. IV. From Miss DOROTHY PUGSLEY to the Same. 
 MY DEAR Miss JEMIMA, Providence having been pleased to 
 remove my domestic duties from Barbie .n to Lincolnshire, I trust I 
 shall have strength of constitution to fulfil them as becomes my new 
 allotted line of life. As we are not sent into this \\orld to be idle, and 
 Anastasia has declined housewifery, I have undertaken the Dairy, and 
 the Brewery, and the Baking, and the Poultry, the Pigs and the 
 Pastry, and though I feel fatigued nt first, use reconciles to labours 
 and trials more severe than I at present enjoy. Altho' tilings may 
 not turn out to wish at present, yet nil well-directed efforts are sure 
 to meet reward in the end, and altho' I have chum::ed and churned 
 two days running, and it's nothing yet but curds and whey, I should 
 be wrong to despair of eating butter of my own making before I die. 
 Considering the adulteration committed by every article in London, 
 I was never happier in any prospect than of drinking my own milk, 
 fattening my own calves, and laying my own eggs. We cackle so 
 much, I am sure we new-lay somewhere, tho' I cannot find out our 
 nests ; and I am looking every day to have chickens, as one pepper- 
 and-salt-coloured hen has been sitting these two months. When a 
 poor ignorant bird sets me such an example of patience, how can I 
 
 Cinderella.
 
 388 THE PUGSLEY PAPERS. 
 
 repine at the hardest domestic drudgery ! Mother and I have worked 
 like horses to be sure, ever since we came to the estate ; but if we die 
 in it. we know it's for the good of the family, and to agreeably surprise 
 my Father, who is still in town winding up his books. For my own 
 part, if it was right to look at things so selfishly, 1 should say I never 
 was so happy in my life ; though I own I have cried more since com- 
 ing here than I ever remember before. You will confess my crosses 
 and losses have been unusual trials, when I tell you, out of all my 
 makings, and bakings, and brewings, and preservings, there has been 
 nothing either eatable or drinkable ; and what is more painful to an 
 affectionate mind, have half poisoned the whole family with home- 
 made ketchup of toadstools, by mistake for mushrooms. When I 
 reflect that they are preserved, I ought not to grieve about my dam- 
 sons and bullaces, done by Mrs M iria Dover's receipt. 
 
 Among other things, we came into a beautiful closet of old China, 
 which, 1 am shocked to say, is all destroyed by my preserving. The 
 bullaces and damsons fomented, and blew up a great jar with a 
 violent shoojc that smashed all the tea and coffee cups, and left 
 nothing but the handles hanging in rows on the tenter-hooks. But 
 to a resigned spirit there's always some comfort in calamities, and if 
 the preserves work and foment so, there's some hope that my beer 
 will, as it has been a month next Monday in the mash-tub. As for 
 the loss of the elder-wine, candour compels me to say it was my own 
 fault for letting the poor blind little animals crawl into the copper ; 
 but experience dictates next year not to boil the berries and kittens at 
 the same time. 
 
 I mean to attempt cream cheese as soon as we can get cream, but 
 as yet we can't drive the Cows home to be milked for the Bull he 
 has twice hunted Grace and me into fits, and kept my poor Mother a 
 whole morning in the pigstye. As I know you like country delicacies, 
 you will receive a pound of my fresh butter when it comes, and I 
 mean to add a cheese as soon as I can get one to stick together. I 
 shall send also some family pork for Governess, of our own killing, 
 as we wring a pig's neck on Saturday. I did hope to give you the 
 unexpected treat of a home-made loaf, but it w.is forgot in the oven 
 from ten to six, and so too black to offer. However, I hope to sur- 
 prise you with one by Monday's carrier. Anastasia bids me add she 
 will send a nosegay for respected Mrs Tombleson, if the plants don't 
 die off before, which I am sorry to say is not improbable. 
 
 It's really shocking to see the failure of her cultivated taste, and 
 one in particular, that must be owned a very pretty idea. When we 
 came, there was a vast number of flower roots, but jumbled without 
 any regular order, till Anastasia trowelled them all up and set them in 
 again, in the quadrille figures. It must have looked sweetly elegant, 
 if it had agreed with them, but they have all dwindled and drooped 
 like deep declines and consumptions. Her dahlias and tulips too 
 have turned out nothing but onions and kidney-potatoes, and her 
 ten-week stocks have not come up in twenty. But as Shakespeare 
 says, Adversity is a precious toad that teaches us Patience is a 
 je-vel. 
 
 Considering the unsettled state of coming in, I must conclude, but
 
 THE PUGSLEY PAPERS. 
 
 339 
 
 could not resist giving your friendliness a short account of the happy 
 change that has occurred, and our increase of comforts. I would 
 write more, but I know 
 you will excuse my listen- 
 ing to the calls of dumb 
 animals. It's the time I 
 always scald the little 
 pigs' bread and milks, 
 and put saucers of clean 
 water for the ducks and 
 geese. There are the 
 fowls' beds to make with 
 fresh straw, and a hun- 
 dred similar things that 
 country people are obliged 
 to think of. 
 
 The children, I am 
 happy to say, are all well, 
 only baby is a little frac- 
 tious, we think from 
 Grace setting him down \ 
 in the nettles, and he was 
 short-coated last week. 
 Grace is poorly with a 
 cold, and Anastasia has 
 got a sore throat, from 
 sitting up fruitlessly in 
 the orchard to hear the 
 
 nightingale ; - perhaps Very Fond of Gardening. 
 
 there may not be any in the Fens. I seem to have a trifling ague and 
 rheumatism myself, but it may be only a stiffness from so much churn- 
 ing, and the great family wash-up of everything we had directly we 
 came down, for the sake of grass-bleaching on the lawn. With these 
 exceptions, we are all in perfect health and happiness, and unite in 
 love, with dear Miss Jemima's affectionate friend, 
 
 DOROTHY PUGSLEY. 
 
 No. V.From Mrs PUGSLEY to Mrs MUMFORD, Bucklersbury. 
 
 MY DEAR MARTHA, In my ultimntum I informed of old Wriggles- 
 worth paying his natural debts, and of the whole Micldlefen estate 
 coining from Lincolnshire to Barbican. I charged Mr P. to send 
 bulletings into you with progressive reports, but between sisters, as I 
 know you are very curious, I am going to make myself more particular. 
 I take the opportunity of the family being all restive in bed, and the 
 house all still, to give an account of our moving. The things all got 
 here safe, with the exception of the Crockery and Glass, which came 
 down with the dresser, about an hour after its arrival. Perhaps if we 
 hadn't overloaded it with the whole of our breakables, it wouldn't have 
 given way, as it is, we have only one plate left, and that's chipt, and 
 a mug without a spout to keep it in countenance. Our furniture, &c.,
 
 390 
 
 THE PUGSLE Y PAPERS. 
 
 came by the waggon, and I am sorry to say a poor family at the same 
 time, and the little idle boys with their knives have carved and scari- 
 fied my rosewood legs, and, what is worse, not of the same patterns : 
 but as people say, two Lincolnshire removes are as bad as a fire of 
 London. 
 
 The first thing I did on coming down, was to see to the sweeps 
 going up, but I wish I had been less precipitous, for the sooty 
 wretches stole four good flitches of bacon, as was up the kitchen 
 chimbly, quite unbeknown to me. We have filled up the vacancy 
 with more, which smoke us dreadfully, but what is to be cured must 
 be endured. My next thing was to have ;ill holes and corners 
 cleared out, and washed, and scrubbed, being left, like bachelor's 
 
 places, in a sad state by old single W ; for a rich man, I never 
 
 saw one that wanted so much cleaning out. There were heaps of 
 dung about, as high as haystacks, and it cost me five shillings a load 
 to have it all carted off the premises ; besides heaps of good-for-nothing 
 littering straw, that I gave to the boys for bonfires. We are not all 
 to rights yet, but Rome wasn't built in St Thomas's day. 
 
 It was providential I hampered myself with cold provisions, for 
 
 except the bacon there were no eatables in the house. What old W 
 
 lived upon is a mystery, except salads, for we found a whole field of 
 beet-root, which, all but a few plants for Dorothy to pickle, I had 
 
 chucked away. As 
 the ground was then 
 clear for sowing up 
 a crop, I directed 
 George to plough it 
 up, but he met with 
 agricultural distress. 
 He says as soon as 
 he whipped his 
 horses, the plough 
 stuck its nose in the 
 earth, and tumbled 
 over head and heels. 
 It seems very odd 
 when ploughing is so 
 easy to look at, but 
 I trust he will do 
 better in time. Ex- 
 perience makes a 
 King Solomon of a 
 Tom noddy. 
 
 I expect we shall 
 have bushels upon 
 bushels of corn, tlio' 
 ?ailly pecked by the 
 birds, as I have had 
 The Rake's Progress. all the scarecrows 
 
 taken down for fear of the children dreaming of them for Bogies. For 
 the same dear little sakes I have had the well filled up, and the nasty
 
 THE PUGS LEV PAPERS. 
 
 391 
 
 sharp iron spikes drawn out of all the rakes and harrows. Nobody 
 shall say to my teeth, I am not a <:ood Mother. With these pre- 
 cautions I trust the young ones will enjoy the country when the 
 gipsies have left, but till then, I confine them to round the house, as 
 it's no use shutting the stable door after you've had a child stole. 
 
 We have a good many fine fields of hay, which I mean to have 
 reaped directly, wet or shine ; for delays are as dangerous as pickles in 
 glazed pans. 'Perhaps St Swithin's is in our favour, for if the stacks 
 are put up dampish they won't catch fire so easily, if Swing should 
 come into these parts. The poor boys have made themselves very 
 industrious in shooting off the birds, and hunting away all the ver- 
 min, besides cutting down trees. As I knew it was profitable fo fell 
 timber, I directed them to begin with a very ugly straggling old 
 hollow tree next the premises, but it fell the wrong way, and knocked 
 down the cow-house. Luckily the poor animals were all in the clover 
 field at the time. George says it wouldn't have happened but for a 
 violent sow, or rather sow-west, and it's likely enough, but it's an ill 
 wind that blows nothing to nobody. 
 
 Having writ last post to Mr P , I have no occasion to make you 
 
 a country commis- 
 sioner. Anastasia, 
 indeed, wants to have 
 books about every- 
 thing, but for my 
 part and Dorothy's 
 we don't put much 
 faith in authorised 
 receipts and direc- 
 tions, but trust more 
 to nature and com- 
 mon sense. For in- 
 stance, in fatting a 
 goose, reason points 
 to sage and onions, 
 why our own don't 
 thrive on it, is very 
 mysterious. We have 
 a beautiful poultry 
 yard, only infested 
 with rats, but I 
 have made up a poi- 
 son, that, I know 
 by the poor ducks, 
 will kill them if they 
 eat it. 
 
 I expected to send 
 you a quantity of 
 
 wall-fruit, for preserving, and am sorry you bought the brandy before- 
 hand, as it has all vanished in one night bv picking and stealing, not- 
 withstanding I had ten dozen of bottles broke on purpose to stick atop 
 of the wall. But I rather think they came over the pales, as George,
 
 392 
 
 THE PUGSLEY PAPERS. 
 
 who is very thoughtless, had driven in all the new tenter hooks with 
 the points downwards. Our apples and pears would have gone too, 
 but luckily we heard a noise in the dark, and threw brickbats out of 
 window, that alarmed the thieves by smashing the cowcumber frames. 
 However, I mean on Monday to make sure of the orchard, by gather- 
 ing the trees, a pheasant in one's hand is worth two cock-sparrows 
 in a bush. One comfort is, the house-dog is very vicious, and won't 
 let any of us stir in or out after dark indeed, nothing can be more 
 furious except the bull, and at me in particular. You would think he 
 knew my inward thoughts, and that I intend to have him roasted 
 whole when we give our grand house-warming regalia. 
 
 With these particulars, I remain with love, my dear Dorcas, your 
 affectionate sister, BELINDA PUGSLEY. 
 
 P.S. I have only one anxiety here, and that is, the likelihood of 
 being taken violently ill, nine miles off from any physical powers, with 
 nobody that can ride in the house, and nothing but an insurmountable 
 hunting horse in the stable. I should like, therefore, to be well doctor- 
 stufFd from Apothecaries' Hall, by the waggon or any other vehicle. 
 A stitch in the side taken in time saves nine spasms. Dorothy's 
 tincture of the rhubarb stalks in the garden doesn't answer, and it's a 
 pity now they were not saved for pies. 
 
 A Coolness bet 
 
 dfc 
 
 No. VI. From Mrs PUGSLEY to Mrs ROGERS. 
 MADAM, Although warmth has made a coolness, .md our having 
 words has caused a silence, yet as mere writing is nut being on spe..k-
 
 THE PUGSLEY PAPERS. 393 
 
 ing terms, and disconsolate parents in the case, I waive venting of 
 animosities till a more agreeable moment. Having perused the 
 afflicted advertisement in the Times, with interesting description ol 
 person, and ineffectual dragging of New River, beg leave to say that 
 Master Robert is safe and well, having arrived here on Saturday 
 night last, with almost not a shoe to his foot, and no coat at all, as 
 was supposed to be with the approbation of parents. It appears that, 
 not supposing the distance between the families extended to him, he 
 walked the whole way down on the footing of a friend, to visit my son 
 Richard, but hearing the newspapers read, quitted suddenly, the same 
 day with the gipsies, and we haven't an idea what is become of him. 
 Trusting this statement will relieve of all anxiety, remain, Madam, 
 your humble Servant, BELINDA PUGSLEY. 
 
 No. VII. To Mr SILAS PUGSLEY, Parisian Depdt, Shoreditch. 
 
 DEAR BROTHER, My favour of the present date, is to advise of 
 my safe arrival on Wednesday night, per opposition coach, after ninety 
 miles of discomfort, absolutely unrivalled for cheapness, and a walk 
 of five miles more, through lanes and roads, that for dirt and sludge 
 may confidently defy competition, not to mention turnings and wind- 
 ings, too numerous to particularise, but morally impossible to pursue 
 on undeviating principles. The night was of so dark a quality as for- 
 bade finding the gate, but for the house-dog flying upon me by mis- 
 take for the late respectable proprietor, and almost tearing my clothes 
 off my back by his strenuous exertions to obtain the favour of my 
 patronage. 
 
 Conscientiously averse to the fallacious statements, so much indulged 
 in by various competitors, truth urges to acknowledge that on arrival, 
 I did not find things on such a footing as to ensure universal satisfaction. 
 Mrs P., indeed, differs in her statement, but you know her success 
 always surpassed the most sanguine expectations. Ever emulous to 
 merit commendation by the strictest regard to principles of economy, 
 I found her laid up with lumbago, through her studious efforts to please, 
 and Doctor Clarke of Wisbeach in the house prescribing for it, but I 
 am sorry to add no abatement. Dorothy is also confined to her bed, 
 by her unremitting assiduity and attention in the housekeeping line, 
 and Anastasia the same, from listening for nightingales, on a fine July 
 evening, but which is an article not always to be warranted to keep its 
 virtue in any climate, the other children, large and small sizes, ditto, 
 ditto, with Grace too ill to serve in the nursery, and the rest of the 
 servants totally unable to execute such extensive demands. Such an 
 unprecedented depreciation in health makes me doubt the quality of 
 country air, so much recommended for family use, and whether consti- 
 tutions have not more eligibility to offer that have been regularly town- 
 made. 
 
 Our new residence is a large lonely Mansion, with no connexion, 
 with any other House, but standing in the heart of Lincolnshire fens, 
 over which it looks through an advantageous opening ; comprising a 
 great variety of windmills, and drains, and willow-pollards, and an 
 extensive assortment of similar articles, that are not much calculated
 
 394 THE PUGSLEY PAPERS. 
 
 to invite inspection. In warehouses for corn, &c., i* probably presents 
 unusual advantages to the occupier, but candour compels to state that 
 agriculture in this part of Lincolnshire is very flat. To supply language 
 on the most moderate terms, unexampled distress in Spitalfields is 
 nothing to the distress in ours. The corn has been deluged with rain 
 of remarkable durability, without being able to wash the smut out of 
 its ears ; and with regard to the expected great rise in hay, our stacks 
 have been burnt down to the ground, instead of going to the consumer. 
 If the hounds hadn't been out, we might have fetch'd the engines, but 
 the hunter threw George on his head, and he only revived to be sensible 
 that the entire stock had been disposed of at an immense sacrifice. 
 The whole amount 1 fear will be out of book, as the Norwich Union 
 refuses to liquidate the hay, on the ground that the policy was voided 
 by the impolicy of putting it up wet. In other articles I am sorry I 
 must write no alteration. Our bull, after killing the house-dog, and 
 tossing William, has gone wild and had the madness to run away from 
 his livelihood, and, what is worse, all the cows after him except those 
 that had burst themselves in the clover field, and a small dividend, as 
 I may say, of one in the pound. Another item, the pigs, to save bread 
 and milk, have been turned into the woods for acorns, and is an article 
 producing no returns as not one has yet come back. Poultry ditto. 
 Sedulously cultivating an enlarged connexion in the Turkey line, such 
 the antipathy to gipsies, the whole breed, geese and ducks inclusive, 
 removed themselves from the premises by night, directly a strolling 
 camp came and set up in the neighbourhood. To avoid prolixity, when 
 I came to take stock, there was no stock to take namely, no eggs, no 
 butter, no cheese, no corn, no hay, no bread, no beer no water even 
 nothing but the mere commodious premises, and fixtures, and goodwill 
 and candour compels to add, a very small quantity on hand of the 
 last-named particular. 
 
 To add to stagnation, neither of my two sons in the business nor the 
 two appremices have been so diligently punctual in executing country 
 orders with despatch and fidelity, as laudable ambition desires, but 
 have gone about fishing and shooting and Willi.im has suffered a loss 
 of three fingers, by his unvarying system of high charges. He and 
 Richard are likewise both threatened with prosecution for trespassing 
 on the Hares in the adjoining landed interest, and Nick is obliged to 
 decline any active share, by dislocating his shoulder in climbing a tall 
 tree for a tomtit. As for George, tho' for the first time beyond the 
 circumscribed limits of town custom, he indulges vanity in such un- 
 qualified pretensions to superiority of knowledge in farming, on the 
 strength of his grandfather having belonged to the agricultural line of 
 trade, as renders a wholesale stock of patience barely adequate to meet 
 its demands. Thus stimulated to injudicious performance, he is as 
 injurious to the best interests of the country as blight and mildew, 
 and smut and rot, and glanders and pip, all combined in one texture. 
 Between ourselves, the objects of unceasing endeavours, united with 
 uncompromising integrity, have been assailed with so much deteriora- 
 tion, as makes me humbly desirous of abridging sufferings, by resuming 
 business as a Shoe Marter at the old-established House. If Clack 
 Son, therefore, have not already taken possession, and respectfully
 
 A LETTER FROM AN EMIGRANT. 395 
 
 informed the vicinity, will thankfully pay reasonable compensation for 
 loss of time and expense incurred by the bargain being off. In case 
 parties agree, I beg you will authorise Mr Robins to have the honour 
 to dispose of the whole Lincolnshire concern, tho' the knocking down 
 of Middlefen Hall will be a severe blow on Mrs P. and family. 
 Deprecating the deceitful stimulus of advertising arts, interest com- 
 mands to mention, desirable freehold estate and eligible investment 
 and sole reason for disposal, the proprietor going to the Continent. 
 Example suggests likewise, a good country for hunting for fox-hounds 
 and a prospect too extensive to put in a newspaper. Circumstances 
 being rendend awkward by the untoward event of the rfinning away 
 of the cattle, &c., it will be best to say "The Stock to be taken as it 
 stands ; " and an additional favour will be politely conferred, and the 
 same thankfully acknowledged, if the auctioneer will be so kind as 
 brin^ the next market town ten miles nearerj and carry the coach and 
 the waggon once a day past the door. Earnestly requesting early 
 attention to the above, and with sentiments of, &c., 
 
 R. PUGSLEY, SEN. 
 
 P.S. Richard is just come to hand dripping and half dead out of the 
 Nene, and the two apprentices all but drowned each other in saving 
 him. Hence occurs to add, fishing opportunities among the desirable 
 items. 
 
 A LETTER FROM AN EMIGRANT* 
 
 SQUAMPASH FLATTS, gth November 1827. 
 
 DEAR BROTHER, Here we are, thank Providence, safe and well, 
 and in the finest country you ever saw. At this moment I have befo.e 
 me the sublime expanse of Squampash Flatts the majestic Mudiboo 
 winding through the midst with the magnificent range of the Squab 
 mountains in the distance. But the prospect is impossible to describe 
 in a letter ! I might as w^l attempt a Panorama in a pill-box ! 
 
 We have fixed our Settlement on the left bank of the river. In 
 crossing the rapids \ve lost most of our heavy baggage and all our 
 ironwork, but by great good fortune we saved Mrs Paisley's grand 
 piano and the children's toys. Our infant city consists of three log 
 huts and one of clay, which however, on the second day, fell in to tht 
 ground landlords. We have now built it up again ; and, all things 
 considered, are as comfortable as we could expect and have christened 
 our settlement New London, in compliment to the Old Metropolis. 
 We have one of the loghouses to ourselves or at least sha'l hav 
 when wi have built a new hogstye. We burnt down the fir * %?< 
 in making a bonfire to keep off the wild beasts, and for the present 
 the pigs are in the parlour. As yet our rooms are rather usefully than 
 elegantly furnished. We have gutted the Grand Upright, and it 
 makes a convenient cupboard, the chairs were obliged to blaze at 
 our bivouacs, but thank Heaven we have never leisure to sit down, 
 and so do not miss them. My boys are contented, and will be well 
 when they have got f ver some awkward accidents in lopping and fell* 
 * Comic Annual. i8;o
 
 396 
 
 A LETTER FROM AN EMIGRANT. 
 
 ing. Mrs P. grumbles a little, but it is her custom to lament most 
 when she is in the midst of comforts. She complains of solitude, and 
 says she could enjoy the very stiffest of stiff visits. 
 
 The first time we lighted a fire in our new abode, a large serpent 
 came down the chimney, which I looked upon as a good omen. 
 However, as Mrs P. is not partial to snakes, and the heat is supposed 
 
 Emigration Meeting a Settler. 
 
 to attract those reptiles, we have dispensed with fires ever since. Ao 
 for wild beasts, we hear them howling and roaring round the fcn,^
 
 A LETTER FROM AN EMIGRANT. yfl 
 
 every night from dusk till daylight, but we have only bee incon- 
 venienced by one Lion. The first time he came, in order U get rid. 
 of the brute peaceably, we turned out an old ewe, with which he was 
 (veil satisfied ; but ever since he comes to us as regular as clock- 
 work for his mutton ; and if we do not soon contrive to cut his 
 acquaintance, we shall hardly have a sheep in the flock. It would 
 have been easy to shoot him, being well provided with muskets, but 
 Barnaby mistook our remnant of gunpowder for onion seed, and 
 sowed it all in the kitchen garden. We did try to trap him into a 
 pitfall ; but after twice catching Mrs P., and every one of the children 
 in turn, it was given up. They are now, however, perfectly at ease 
 about the animal, for they never stir out of doors at all, and to make 
 them quite comfortable, I have blocked up all the windows and bar- 
 ricaded the door. 
 
 We have lost only one of our number since we came ; namely, 
 Diggory, the market gardener, from Glasgow, who went out one 
 morning to botnnise, ;.nd never came back. I am much surprised at 
 his absconding, as he had nothing but a spade to go off with. Chip- 
 pendale, the carpenter, was sent after him, but did not return ; and 
 Gregory, the smith, has been out after them these two days. I 
 have just despatched Mudge, the herdsman, to look for all three, 
 and hope he will soon give a good account of them, as they are tha 
 most useful men in the whole settlement, and, in fact, indispensable 
 to its existence. 
 
 The river Mudiboo is deep and rapid, and said to swarm with 
 alligators, though I have heard but of three being seen at one time, 
 and none of those above eighteen feet long : this, however, is im- 
 material, as we do not use the river fluid, which is thick and dirty, 
 but draw all our water from natural wells and tanks. Poisonous 
 springs are rather common, but are easily distinguished by contain- 
 ing no fish or living animal. Those, however, which swarm with 
 frogs, toads, newts, efts, &c., are harmless, and may be safely used for 
 culinary pui poses. 
 
 In short, 1 know of no drawback but one, which, I am sanguine, 
 may be got over hereafter, and do -earnestly hope and advise, if 
 things are no better in England than when I left, you, and as many 
 as you can persuade, will sell off all, and come over to this African 
 Paradise. 
 
 The drawback I speak of is this : although I have never seen any 
 one of the creatures, it is too certain that the mountains are inhabited 
 by a race of Monkeys, whose cunning and mischievous talents exceed 
 even the most incredible stories of their tribe. No human art or 
 vigilance seems of avail : we have planned ambuscades, and watched 
 night after night, but no attempt has been made ; yet the moment 
 the guard was relaxed, we were stripped without mercy. I am con- 
 vinced they must have had spies night and day on our motions, yet 
 so secretly and cautiously, that no glimpse of ore has yet been seer 
 by any of our people. Our last crop was cut and carried off with the 
 precision of an English harvesting. Our spirit stores (you will be 
 am ized to hear that these creatures pick locks with the dexterity of 
 London burglars) have been broken open and ransacked, though
 
 398 SONNET ON STEAM. 
 
 half the establishment were on the watch ; and the brutes have been 
 off to their mountains, five miles distant, without even the dogs 
 eiving an alarm. I could almost persuade myself at times, such are 
 their supernatural knowledge, swiftness, and invisibility, that we have 
 to contend with evil spirits. I long for your advice, to refer to on 
 this subject, and am, dear Philip, your loving brother, 
 
 AMBROSE MAWE. 
 
 P.S. Since writing the above, you will be concerned to hear the 
 body of poor Diggory has been found, horribly mangled by wild 
 beasts. The fate of Chippendale, Gregory, and Mudge is no longer 
 doubtful. The old Lion has brought the Lioness, and the sheep 
 being all gone, they have made a joint attack upon the Bullock-house. 
 The Mudiboo has overflowed, and Squampash Flatts are a swamp. 
 1 have just discovered that the Monkeys are my own rascals that I 
 brought out from England. We are coming back as fast as we can. 
 
 SONNET ON STEAM. 
 
 BY AN UNDER-OSTLER.* 
 
 I WISH I livd a Thowsen year Ago 
 
 Wurking for Sober six and Seven milers 
 
 And dubble Stages runnen safe and slo 
 
 The Orsis cum in Them days to the Bilers 
 
 But Now by meens of Powers of Steem forces 
 
 A-turning Coches into Smoakey Kettels 
 
 The Bilers seam a Gumming to the Orses 
 
 And Helps and naggs Will sune be out of Vittels 
 
 Poor Bruits I wunder How we bee to Liv 
 
 When sutch a change of Orses is our Fails 
 
 No nothink need Be sifted in a Siv 
 
 May them Blowd ingins all Blow up their Grate* 
 
 And Theaves of Osiers crib the Coles and Giv 
 
 Their blackgard Hannimuls a Feed of Slaits 1 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1830.
 
 399 
 
 Soap orifics and Sud-unfics. 
 
 A REPORT FROM BELOW* 
 
 " Blow high, blow low." Sea Song. 
 
 As Mister B. and Mistress B. 
 
 One night were sitting down to tea, 
 
 With toast and muffins hot 
 
 They heard a loud and sudden bounce, 
 
 That made the very china flounce, 
 
 They could not for a time pronounce 
 
 If they were safe or shot 
 
 For Memory brought a deed to match 
 
 At Deptford done by night 
 
 Before one eye appear'd a Patch 
 
 In t'other eye a Blight ! 
 
 To be belabour'd out of life, 
 
 Without some small attempt at strife, 
 
 Our nature will not grovel ; 
 
 One impulse moved both man and dame 
 
 He seized the tongs she did the same, 
 
 Leaving the ruffian, if he came, 
 
 The poker and the shovel. 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1830.
 
 400 A REPORT FROM BELOW. 
 
 Suppose the couple standing so, 
 When rushing footsteps from below 
 Made pulses fast and fervent, 
 And first burst in the frantic cat, 
 All steaming like a brewer's vat, 
 And then as white as my cravat- 
 Poor Mary May, the servant! 
 
 Loid, how the couple's teeth did chatter I 
 
 Master and mistress both flew at her, 
 
 " Speak ! Fire ? or Murder ? What's the matter ?" 
 
 Till Mary, getting breath, 
 
 Upon her tale began to touch 
 
 With rapid tongue, full trotting, such 
 
 As if she thought she had too much 
 
 To tell before her death : 
 
 "We was both, Ma'am, in the washhouse, Ma'am, a-standinjj at out 
 
 tubs, 
 
 And Mrs Round was seconding what little things I rubs ; 
 ' Mary,' says she to me, ' I say,' and there she stops for coughin', 
 'That dratted copper flue has took to smokin' very often, 
 But please the pigs,' for that's her way of swearing in a passion, 
 ' I'll blow it up, and n&t be set a coughin' in this fashion ! ' 
 Well, down she takes my master's horn I mean his horn for loading, 
 And empties every grain alive for to set the flue exploding. 
 'Lawk, Mrs Round !' says I, and stares, 'that quantum is unproper ; 
 I'm s irtin sure it can't mt take a pound to sky a copper ; 
 You'll powder both our heads off, so I tells you, with its puff;' 
 But she only dried her ringers, and she takes a pinch of snuff. 
 Well, when the pinch is over 'Tench your grandmother to suck 
 A powder-horn,' says she. ' Well,' says I, ' I wish you luck.' 
 Them words sets up her back, so with her hands upon her hips, 
 'Come,' says she, quite in a huff, 'come, keep your tongue inside youi 
 
 lips; 
 
 Afore ever you was born, I was well used to things like these; 
 I shall put it in the grate, and let it burn up by degrees.' 
 So in it goes, and bounce O Lord ! it gives us such a rattle, 
 I thought we both were.- canonized, like Sogcrs in a battle ! 
 Up ijoes the copper like a squib, and us on both our backs, 
 And bless the tubs, they bundled off, and split all into cracks. 
 Well, there I fainted dead away, and might have been cut shorter, 
 But Providence was kind, and brought me to with scalding water. 
 I first looks round tor Mrs Round, and sees her at a distance, 
 As stiff as starch, and look'd as dead as anything in existence, 
 All scorch'd and grimed ; and more than that, I sees the copper slap 
 Ri.^ht on her head, for all the world like a percussion copper cap. 
 Well, I crooks her little fingers, and crumps them well up together, 
 As humanity pints out, and burnt her nostrums with a feather; 
 But tor all as I c..n do to restore her to her mortality, 
 She never gives a sign of a return to sensuality.
 
 A REPORT MOM BELOW. 
 
 401 
 
 Thinks I, well there she lies, as dead as my own late departed mother, 
 Well, she'll wash no more in this world, whatever she does in t'other : 
 So I gives myself to scramble up the linens for a minute, 
 Lawk, sich a shirt ! thinks I, it's well my master wasn't in it ; 
 Oh ! I never, never, never, never, never, see a sight so shockin' ; 
 Here lays a leg, and there a leg I mean, you know, a stocking 
 Bodies all slit and torn to rags, and many a tatter'd skirt, 
 And arms burnt off, and sides and backs all scotch'd and black with 
 
 dirt; 
 
 But as nobody was in 'em none but nobody was hurt ! 
 Well, there I am, a-scrambling up the things, all in a lump, 
 When, mercy on us ! such a groan as makes my heart to jump ; 
 And there she is, a-lying with a crazy sort of eye, 
 A-staring at the washhouse roof, laid open to the sky : 
 Then she beckons with a finger, and so down to her I reaches, 
 And puts my ear agin her mouth to hear her dying speeches, 
 For, poor soul! she has a husband and young orphans, as I knew; 
 Well, Ma'am, you won't believe it, but it's Gospel fact and true, 
 But these words is all she whisper'd ' Whv, where is the powder 
 
 blew?'" 
 
 "Skying a Copper." 
 
 2 C
 
 402 
 
 41 IT the Coach goes at six, pr. t y what time goes the Basket?" 
 
 THE LAST SHILLING* 
 
 HE was evidently a foreigner, and poor. As I sat at the opposite 
 corner of the Southgate stage, I took a mental inventory of his 
 wardrobe. A military cloak much the worse for wear a blue coat, 
 the worse for tear a napless hat a shirt neither white nor brown a 
 pair of mud-colour gloves, open at each thumb grey trousers too 
 short for his legs and brown boots too long for his feet 
 
 From some words he dropt, I found that he had come direct from 
 Paris, to undertake the duties of French teacher at an English 
 academy ; and his companion, the English classical usher, had been 
 sent to London, to meet and conduct him to his suburban destination. 
 
 Poor devil ! thought I, thou art going into a bitter bad line of busi- 
 ness ; and the hundredth share which I had taken in the boyish 
 persecutions of my own French master an emigre* of the old noblesse 
 smote violently on my conscience. At Edmonton the coach 
 stopped. The coachman alighted, pulled the bell of a mansion in- 
 scribed in large letters, Vespasian House ; and deposited the 
 foreigner's trunks and boxes on the footpath. The English classical 
 * Comic Annual, 1833.
 
 THE LAST SHILLING. 403 
 
 usher stepped briskly out, and deposited a shilling in the coachman's 
 anticipatory hand. Monsieur followed the example, and with some 
 precipitation prepared to enter the gate of the fore-garden, but the 
 driver stood in the way. 
 
 " I want another shilling," said the coachman. 
 
 * You agreed to take a shilling a head/' said the English master. 
 
 " You said you would take one shilling for my head," said the 
 French master. 
 
 " It's for the luggage," said the coachman. 
 
 The Frenchman seemed thunderstruck ; but there was no help for 
 it. He pulled out a small weazle-bellied, brown silk purse, but there 
 was nothing in it save a medal of Napoleon. Then he felt his breast- 
 pockets, then his side-pockets, and then his waistcoat-pockets ; but 
 they were all empty, excepting a metal snuff-box, and that was empty 
 too. Lastly he felt the pockets in the flaps of his coat, talcing out a 
 meagre would-be white handkerchief, and shaking it ; but not a dump. 
 I rather suspect he anticipated the result but he went through the 
 operations seriatim, with the true French gravity. At last he turned 
 to his companion, with a "Mistare Barbiere, be as good to lend me 
 one shelling." 
 
 Mr Barber thus appealed to, went through something of the same 
 ceremony. Like a blue-bottle cleaning itself, he passed his hands 
 over his breast round his hips, and down the outside of his thighs, 
 but the sense of feeling could detect nothing like a coin. 
 
 " You agreed for a shilling, and you shall have no more," said the 
 man with empty pockets. 
 
 " No no no you shall have no mor," said the moneyless French- 
 man. 
 
 By this time the housemaid of Vespasian House, tired of standing 
 with the door in her hand, had come down to the garden-gate, and, 
 willing to make herself generally useful, laid her hand on one of the 
 foreigner's trunks. 
 
 " It shan't go till I'm paid my shilling," said the coachman} taking 
 hold of the handle at the other end. 
 
 The good-natured housemaid instantly let go of the trunk, and 
 seemed suddenly to be bent double by a violent cramp, or stitch, in 
 her right side, while her hand groped busily under her gown. But 
 it was in vain. There was nothing in that pocket but some curl- 
 papers, and a brass thimble. 
 
 The stitch or cramp then seemed to attack her other side ; again 
 she stooped and fumbled, \\ hile Hope and Doubt struggled together 
 on her rosy face. At last Hope triumphed, from the extremest corner 
 of the huge dimity pouch she fished up a solitary coin, and thrust it 
 exultingly into the obdurate palm. 
 
 " It won't do," said the coachman, casting a wary eye on the metal, 
 and holding out for the inspection of the trio a silver-washed corona- 
 tion medal, which had been purchased of a Jew for twopence the year 
 before. 
 
 The poor girl quietly set down the trunk which she had again taken 
 up, and restored the deceitful medal to her pocket. In the meantime 
 the arithmetical usher had arrived at the gate in his way out, bu/ was
 
 4Q4 THE LAST SHILLING. 
 
 stopped by the embargo on the luggage. " What's the matter now?* 1 
 asked the man of figures. 
 
 " If you please, sir,'' said the housemaid, dropping a low curtsey, 
 "it's this impudent fellow of a coachman will stand here for his 
 rights." 
 
 " He wants a shilling more than his fare," said Mr Barber. 
 
 " He does want more than his fare shilling," reiterated the French- 
 man. 
 
 " Coachman ! what the devil are we waiting here for?" shouted a 
 stentorian voice from the rear of the stage. 
 
 " Bless me, John, are we to stay here all day ?" cried a shrill voice 
 from the stage's interior. 
 
 " If you don't get up shortly I shall get down," bellowed a voice 
 from the box. 
 
 At this crisis the English usher drew his fellow-tutor aside, and 
 whispered something in his ear that made him go through the old 
 manual exercise. He slapped his pantaloons flapped his coat-tails 
 and felt about his bosom. " I haven't got one," said he, and with a 
 shake of the head and a hurried bow, he set off at the pace of a two- 
 penny postman. 
 
 " I a'n't going to stand here all day," said the coachman, getting 
 out of all reasonable patience. 
 
 "You're an infernal scoundrelly villain," said Mr Barber, getting 
 out of all classical English. 
 
 "You are a what Mr Barber savs," said the foreigner. 
 
 " Thank God and his goodness," ejaculated the housemaid, " here 
 comes the Doctor;" and the portly figure of the pedagogue himsell 
 came striding pompously down the gravel-walk. He had two thick 
 lips and a double chin, which all began waging together. 
 
 " Well, well ; what's all this argumentative elocution ? I command 
 taciturnity !" 
 
 " I'm a shilling short," said the coachman. 
 
 " He says he has got one short shilling," said the foreigner. 
 
 " Poo poo poo," said the thick lips and double-chin. " Pay the 
 fellow his superfluous claim, and appeal to magisterial authority." 
 
 " It's what we mean to do, sir," said the English usher, "but" 
 and he laid his lips mysteriously to the Doctor's ear. 
 
 " A pecuniary bagatelle," said the Doctor. " It's palpable extortion, 
 but I'll disburse it, and you have a legislatorial remedy for his 
 avaricious demands." As the man of pomp said this, he tlirust his 
 fore-finger into an empty waistcoat pocket then into its fellow and 
 then into every pocket he had but without any other product than a 
 bunch of keys, two ginger lozenges, and the French mark. 
 
 "It's very peculiar," said the Doctor; " I had a prepossession of 
 having currency to that amount. The coachman must call to-morrow 
 for it at Vespasian House or stay I perceive my housekeeper. Mrs 
 Plummer ! pray just step hither and liquidate this little commercial 
 obligation." 
 
 Now, whether Mrs Plummer had or had not a shilling. Mrs Plum- 
 mer only knows ; for she did not condescend to make any search for 
 it, -and if she had none, she was right not to take the trouble. How-
 
 THE LAST SHILLING. 
 
 405 
 
 ever, she attempted to carry the point by a coup de main. Snatching 
 up one of the boxes, she motioned the housemaid to do the like, ex- 
 claiming in a shrill treble key, " Here's a pretty work indeed, about 
 a paltry shilling ! If it's worth having, it's worth calling again for, 
 and I suppose Vespasian House is not ^oing to run away I" 
 
 " But may be / am,' 1 said the inflexible coachman, seizing a trunk 
 with each hand. 
 
 "John, I insist on being let out," screamed the lady in the coach. 
 " I shall be too late for dinner," roared the Thunderer in the dickey. 
 As for the passenger on the box, he had made off during the latter 
 part of the altercation. 
 
 " What shall we do ?" said the English classical usher. 
 
 " God and his goodness only knows ! " said the housemaid. 
 
 " I am a stranger in this country," said the Frenchman. 
 
 " You must pay the money," said the coachman. 
 
 "And here it is, you brute," said Mrs Plummer, who had made 
 a trip to the house in the meantime ; but whefher she had coined it, 
 or raised it by a subscription among the pupils, I know no more than 
 
 The Man in the Moon. 

 
 4 o6 
 
 Fancy Portrait : M Brunei. 
 
 ODE TO M. JBRUNEL* 
 
 "Well said, old Mole ! canst work i' the dark so fast? a worthy pioneer \-Hamlct, 
 
 WELL ! Monsieur Brunei, 
 How prospers now thy mighty undertaking, 
 To join by a hollow way the Bankside friends 
 Of Rotherhithe and W^pjing ? 
 
 Never be stopping, 
 
 But poking, groping, in the dark keep making 
 An archway, underneath the Dabs and Gudgeons, 
 For Collier men and pitchy old Curmudgeons, 
 To cross the water in inverse proportion, 
 Walk under steamboats under the keel's ridge, 
 To keep down all extortion, 
 And without sculls to diddle London Bridge ! 
 In a fresh hunt, a new Great Bore to worry, 
 Thou didst to earth thy human terriers follow, 
 Hopeful at last from Middlesex to Surrey, 
 
 To give us the " View hollow." 
 In short it was thy aim, right north and south, 
 To put a pipe into old Thames' s mouth ; 
 Alas ! half-way thou hadst proceeded, when 
 Old Thames, through roof not waterproof, 
 Came, like " a tide in the affairs of men," 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1831.
 
 ODE TO M. BRUNEL. 407 
 
 And with a mighty stormy kind of roar, 
 Reproachful of thy wrong, 
 Burst out in that old song 
 
 Of Incledon's. beginning " Ceasej rude Bore ! " 
 Sad is it, worthy of one's tears, 
 
 Just when one seems the most successful, 
 To find one's self o'er head and ears 
 
 In difficulties most distressful ! 
 Other great speculations have been nursed, 
 
 Till want of proceeds laid them on a'shelf; 
 But thy concern was at the worst, 
 
 When it began to liquidate itself ! 
 But now Dame Fortune has her false face hidden, 
 And languishes thy Tunnel, so to paint, 
 Under a slow incurable complaint, 
 
 Bed-ridden ! 
 
 Why, when thus Thames bed-bother'd why repine! 
 Do try a spare bed at the Serpentine ! 
 Yet let none think thee dazed, or crazed, or stupid ; 
 
 And sunk beneath thy Ovvn and Thames's craft; 
 Let them not style thee some Mechanic Cupid 
 
 Pining and pouting o'er a broken shaft ! 
 I'll tell thee with thy tunnel what to do ; 
 Light up thy boxes, build a bin or two, 
 The wine does better than such water trades : 
 
 Stick up a sign the sign of the Bore's Head; 
 
 I've drawn it ready for thee in black lead, 
 And make thy cellar subterrane, Thy Shades t 
 
 The Broken Shaft.
 
 4 o8 
 
 A PL AN FOR WRITING BLANK VERSE IN RHYME. 
 
 IN A LETTER TO THE EDITOR.* 
 
 "O ESPECTED SIR, In a morning paper justly celebrated for the 
 \. acuteness of its reporters, and their almost prophetic insight 
 into character and mtrtives the Rhodian length of their leaps towards 
 results, and the magnitude of their inferences, beyond the drawing of 
 Meux's dray-horses, there appeared, a few days since, the following 
 paragraph : 
 
 " Mansion House. Yesterday, a tall emaciated being, in a brown 
 coat, indicating his age to be about forty-five, and the r. ggedness of 
 which gave a great air of mental ingenuity and intelligence to his 
 countenance, was introduced by the officers to the Lord Mayor. It 
 was evident from his preliminary bow that he had made some disco- 
 veries in the art of poetry, which he wished to lay before his Lordship, 
 but the Lord Mayor perceiving by his accent that he had already sub- 
 mitted his project to several of the leading Publishers, referred him 
 back to the same jurisdiction, and the unfortunate Votary of the Muses 
 withdrew, declaring by another bow, that he should offer his plan to 
 the Editor of the Comic Annual." 
 
 The unfortunate above referred to, sir, is myself, and with regard 
 to the Muses, indeed a votary, though not a ^10 one, if the qualifica- 
 tion depends on my pocket but for the idea of addressing myself to 
 the Editor of the " Comic Annual," I am indebted solely to the assump- 
 tion of the gentlemen of the Press. That I have made a discovery is 
 true, in common with Hervey, and Herschell, and Galileo, and Roger 
 Bacon, or rather, I should say with Columbus my invention con- 
 cerning a whole hemisphere, as it were, in the world of poetry in 
 short, the whole continent of blank verse. To an immense number of 
 readers this literary land has been hitherto a complete terra incognita, 
 and from one sole reason, the want of that harmony which makes 
 the close of one line chime with the end of another. They have no 
 relish for numbers that turn up blank, and wonder accordingly at the 
 epithet of " Prize," prefixed to Poems of the kind which emanate in 
 I was going to say from the University of Oxford. Thus many 
 very worthy members of society are unable to appreciate the Paradise 
 Lost, the Task, the Chase, or the Seasons, the Winter especially 
 without rhyme. Others, again, can read the Poems in question, but 
 with a limited enjoyment ; as certain persons can admire the archi- 
 tectural beauties of Salisbury steeple, but would like it better with a 
 ring of bells. For either of these tastes my discovery will provide, 
 without affronting the palate of any other ; for although the lover of 
 rhyme will find in it a prodigality hitherto unknown, the heroic cha- 
 racter of blank verse will not suffer in the least, but each line will 
 " do as it likes with its own," and sound as independently of the next 
 as "milkmaid" and " water-carrier." I have the honour to subjoin 
 * Comic Annual, 1832.
 
 A PLAN FOR WRITING BLANK I'ERSE IN RHYME. 409 
 
 a specimen nnd if, through your publicity, Mr Murray should be 
 induced to m;.ke mean offer for an Edition of ' Paradise Lost" on this 
 principle, for the Family Library, it will be an eternal obligation on, 
 Respected Sir, your most obliged, and humble servant. 
 
 A NOCTURNAL SKETCH. 
 
 Even is come ; and from the dark Park, hark, 
 The signal of the setting sun one ^un ! 
 And six is sounding from the chime, prime time 
 To go and see the Drury-Lane Dane slain, 
 Or hear Othello's jealous doubt spout out, 
 Or Macbeth raving at that shade-made blade, 
 Denying to his frantic clutch much touch ; 
 Or else to see Ducrow with wide stride ride 
 Four horses as no other man can span ; 
 Or in the small Olympic Pit, sit split 
 Laughing at Listen, while you quiz his phiz. 
 
 A-lad-in, or the Wonderful Lamp. 
 
 Anon Night comes, and with her wings brings thiags 
 Such as, with his poetic tongue, Young sung; 
 The gas up-blazes with its bright white light, 
 And paralytic watchmen prowl, howl, growl,
 
 410 A LETTER FROM A MARKET GARDENER. 
 
 About the streets and take up Pall- Mall Sal, 
 Who, hasting to her nightly jobs, robs fobs. 
 
 Now thieves to enter for your ca^h, srmsh, crash, 
 Past drowsy Charley, in a deep sleep, creep, 
 But frighten'd by Policem in B 3, flee, 
 And while they're going, whisper low, "No go I" 
 
 Now puss, while folks are in their beds, trends leads* 
 And sleepers waking, grumble "Dr.it that cat !* 
 VJho in the gutter caterwauls, squalls, m mis 
 Some feline foe, and screams in shrill ill- will. 
 
 White Favours. 
 
 Now Bulls of Bashan, of a prize size, rise 
 
 In childish dreams, and with a roar gore poor 
 
 Georgy, or Charley, or Billy, willy-nilly ; 
 
 But Nursemaid, in a nightmare rest, chest-press'd, 
 
 Dreameth of one of her old flames, James Games, 
 
 And that she hears what faith is man's ! Ann's banns 
 
 And his, from Reverend Mr Rice, twice, thrice : 
 
 White ribbons flourish, and a stout shout out, 
 
 That upward goes, shows Rose knows those bows' woes ! 
 
 A LETTER FROM A MARKET GARDENER TO 
 THE SECRETARY OF THE HORTICULTURAL 
 SOCIETY* 
 
 SIR, The Satiety having Bean pleasd to Complement Me before I 
 beg Leaf to lie before Them ain as follow in particuiiers witch 
 I hop They will luck upon with a Sowth Aspic. 
 * Comic Annual, 1830.
 
 A LETTER FROM A MARKET GARDENER. 411 
 
 Sir last year I paid my Atentions to a Tater & the Satiety was 
 pleasd to be gratifid at the Innlargement of my Kidnis. This ear I 
 have turnd my Eves to Gozberris. I am happy to Say 1 have allmost 
 sucksidid in M.iking them too- Big for Bottlin. I beg to Present sum 
 of itch kind Pitas obsarve a Green Goose is larger in Siz then a Red 
 Goosebry. Sir as to Cherris my atention has Bean cheafly occupid by 
 the Black Arts. Sum of them are as big as Crickt Balls as will be seen 
 I send a Sample tyed on a Wauking-stick. I send lickwise a Potle of 
 stray berris witch I hop will reach. They air so large as to object to 
 lay more nor too in a Bed. Also a Potle of Hobbies and one of my 
 new Pins, of a remarkably sharp flaviour. I hop they will cum to 
 Hand in time to be at your Feat. Respective Black red & White 
 Currency I have growd equely Large, so as one Bunch is not to be Put 
 into a Galley Pot without jamming. My Pitches has not ben Strong, 
 and their is no Show on My Walls of the Plumb line. Damsins will 
 Be moor Plentifle & their is no Want of common Bullies about Lunnon. 
 Please inform if propper to classify the Slow with the creepers. 
 Concerning Graps I have bin recommanded by mixing Wines with 
 Warter Mellons, the later is improved in its juice but have douts of 
 the fack. Of the Patgonian Pickleing Coucumber, I hav maid Trial 
 of, and have hops of Growing one up to Markit by sitting one End 
 agin my front dore. On account of its Proggressiveness I propos 
 calling it Pickleus Perriginatus if Aproved of. 
 
 Sir, about Improving the common Stocks. Of Haws I have some 
 hops but am disponding about my Hyps. I l*ave quite faled in cul- 
 tuv.iting them into Cr.imberris. I have allso atempted to Mull 
 Blackberis, but am satisfid them & the Mulberris is of diferent Genius. 
 Pleas observe of Aples I have found a Grafft of the common Crab 
 from its Straglin sideways of use to Hispalliers. I should lick to be 
 infourmd weather Scotch Granite is a variety of the Pom Granite & 
 weather as sum say so pore a frute, and Nothing but Stone. 
 Sir, My Engine Corn has been all eat up by the Burds namely Rocks 
 and Ravines. In like manner I had a full Shew of Pees but was 
 distroyd by the Sparers. There as bean grate Mischef dun beside by 
 Entymollogy in some parts a complet Patch of Blight. Their has 
 bean a grate Deal too of Robin by boys and men picking and stealing 
 but their has bean so many axidents by Steel Traps I don't like setting 
 on 'em. 
 
 Sir I partickly wish the Satiety to be called to considder the Case 
 what follows, as I think mite be maid Transaxtionable in the next 
 Reports. 
 
 My Wif had a Tomb Cat that dyd. Being a torture Shell and a 
 Grate feverit, we had Him berrid in the Guardian, and for the sake 
 of inrichment of the Mould I had the carks dt-poseted under the roots 
 of a Gosberry Bush. The Frute being up till then of the smooth kind. 
 But the next Seson's Frute after the Cat was berrid, the Gozberris 
 was all hairy. & moor Remarkable the Catpilers of the same bush, 
 was All of the same hairy Description. I am Sir Your humble 
 servant THOMAS FROST.
 
 4 I2 
 
 DOMESTIC ASIDES; 
 
 OR, TRUTH IN PARENTHESES.* 
 
 " I REALLY take it very kind, 
 This vi.-it, Mrs Skinner! 
 I have not seen you such an age, 
 (The wretch has come to dinner !) 
 
 " Your daughters, too, what loves of 
 
 K irls 
 
 What heads for painters' easels ! 
 Come here and kiss the infant, clears, 
 (And give it p'rhaps the measles !} 
 
 " Your charming hoys I see are home 
 From Reverend Mr Russet's ; 
 'Twas very kind to bring them both, 
 (What boots for my new Brussels !) 
 
 " What ! little Clara left at home? 
 Well now I call that shabby : 
 I should have loved to kiss her so, 
 (A flabby, dabby, babby !) 
 
 " And Mr S., I hope he's well, 
 Ah ! though he lives so handy, 
 He never now drops in to sup, 
 (The better for our brandy !) 
 
 "Come, take a seat T long to hear 
 
 About Matilda's marriage ; 
 
 You're come of course to spend the 
 
 d.ny, 
 (Thank Heaven, I hear the carriage !) 
 
 ''What ! must you go? next time I 
 
 hope 
 
 You'll give me longer measure ; 
 Nay, I shall see you down the stairs, 
 (With most uncommon pleasure !) 
 
 " Good-bye ! good-hye ! remember all, 
 Next lime you'll take your dinners! 
 (Now, David, mind I'm not at home 
 In future to the Skinners 1 ") 
 
 A Moderate Income. 
 Comic Annual, 1831.
 
 413 
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER ABROAD* 
 
 I ONCE, for a very short time indeed, had the honour of being a 
 schoolmaster, and was invested with the important office of 
 "rearing the tender thought," and "teaching the young idea how to 
 shoot ;" of educating in the principles of the Established Church, and 
 bestowing the strictest attention to morals. The case was this : my 
 
 young friend G , a graduate of Oxford, and an ingenious and 
 
 worthy man, thought proper, some months back, to establish, or 
 endeavour to establish, an academy for young gentlemen, in my 
 immediate vicinity. He had already procured nine day-pupils to begin 
 with, whom he himself taught, prudence as yet prohibiting the em- 
 ployment of ushers, when he was summoned hastily to attend upon 
 a dying relative in Hampshire, from whom he h.id some expectations. 
 This was a dilemma to poor G , who had no one to leave in charge 
 
 A Branch G 
 
 of his three classes ; and he could not bear the idea of playing truant 
 himself so soon after commencing business. In his extremity he 
 applied to me as his forlorn hope, arid one forlorn enough ; for 'it is 
 well known among my friends, that I have little Latin, and less Greek, 
 * Comic Annual, 1832.
 
 414 THE SCHOOLMASTER ABROAD. 
 
 and am, on every account, a worse accountant. I urged these objec- 
 tions to G , but in vain, for he had no "friend in need," learned 
 
 or unlearned, within any reasonable distance ; and, as he said to com- 
 fort me, "in three or four days merely the boys could not unlear* 
 much of anything." 
 
 At last I gave way to his importunity. On Thursday night, he 
 started from the tree of knowledge by a branch coach ; and at nine 
 on Friday morning, I found myself sitting at his desk in the novel 
 character of pedagogue. I am sorry to say, not one of the bo\ s played 
 truant, or was confined at home with a violent illness. There they 
 were, nine little mischievous wretches, goggling, titter'ng, pointing, 
 winking, grimacing, and mocking at authority, in a way enough to 
 invoke two Elisha bears out of Southgate Wood. To put a stop to 
 this indecorum, I put on my spectacles, stuck my cane upright in the 
 desk, with the fool's-cap atop but they inspired little terror ; worn 
 out at last, I seized the cane, and rushing from my dais, well flogged 
 I believe it is called flogging -the boy, a Creole, nearest me ; who, 
 though far from the biggest, was much more daring and impertinent 
 than the rest. So far my random selection was judicious ; but it 
 appeared afterwards, that I had chastised an cnly son, whose mother 
 had expressly stipulated for him an exemption from all punishment. 
 I suspect, with the moral prudence of tond mothers, she had informed 
 the little imp of the circumstance, for this Indian-Pickle fought and 
 kicked his preceptor as unceremoniously as he would have scuffled 
 with Black Diana or Agamemnon. My first move, however, had a 
 salutary effect ; the urchins settled, or made believe to settle, to their 
 tasks ; but I soon perceived that the genuine industry and application 
 belonged to one, a clever-looking boy, who, with pen and paper before 
 him, was sitting at the further end of a long desk, as great a contrast 
 to the others as the Good to the Bad Apprentice in Hogarth. I 
 could see his tongue even at work at one corner of his mouth, a 
 very common sign of boyish assiduity, -and his eyes never left his 
 task but occasionally to glance towards his master, as if in anticipa- 
 tion of the approving smile, to which he looked forward as the prize 
 of industry. I had already selected him inwardly for a favourite, and 
 resolved to devote my best abilities to his instruction, when I saw 
 him hand the paper, with a sly glance, to his neighbour, from whom 
 it passed rapidly down the desk, accompanied by a running titter, and 
 sidelong looks, that convinced me the supposed copy was, indeed, a 
 copy not of " Obey your superiors," or " Age commands respect," but 
 of the head of the college, and, as a glimpse showed, a head with very 
 ludicrous features. Being somewhat fatigued with my last execution, 
 I suffered the cane of justice to sleep, and inflicted the fools'-cap 
 literally the fool's for no clown in pantomime, the great Gi imaldi not 
 excepted, could have made a more laughter-stirring use of the costume. 
 The little enormities, who only tittered before, now shouted outright, 
 and nothing but the enchanted wand of bamboo could flap them into 
 solemnity. Order was restored, for they saw I was, like Earl Grey, 
 resoived to "stand by my order ;" and while I was deliberating in 
 some perplexity, how to begin business, the two biggest boys cune 
 foiward voluntarily, and standing as much as they could in a circle,
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER ABROAD. 41$ 
 
 presented themselves, and began to rciid as the first Greek class. 
 Mr Irving may boast of his prophets as much as he will ; but in pro- 
 portion to numbers of our congregations, I had far more reason to be 
 proud ot my gabblers in an unknown tongue. I, of course, discovered 
 no lapsus lingua in the performance, and after a due course of gibberish, 
 the first class dismissed itself, with a brace of bows and an evident 
 decree of self-satisfaction at being so perfect in the present, after being 
 so imperfect in the past. I own this first act of our solemn farce made 
 me rather nervous aainst the next, which proved to be the Latin class, 
 and I have no doubt to an adept would have seemed as much a Latin 
 comedy as those performed at the Westminster School. We got 
 
 A Second Course. 
 
 through the second course quite correct, as before, and I found, with 
 some satisfaction, that the third was a dish of English Syntax, where 
 I -was able to detect flaws, and the heaps of errors that I had to arrest 
 made me thoroughly sensible of the bliss of ignorance in the Greek 
 and Latin. A general lesson in English reading ensued, through 
 which we glided smoothly enough, till we came to a sandbank in the 
 shaoe of a Latin quotation, which I was requested to English. It was 
 something like this : " Nemo mortalius omnibus hora sapit," which I 
 rendered, "No mortal knows at what hour the omnibus starts" and 
 witn this translation the whole school was perfectly satisfied. Nine 
 more bows. 
 
 My horror now approached : I saw the little wretches lug out their
 
 4 i6 
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER ABROAD. 
 
 slates, and begin to cuff out the old sums, a sight that rrnde me wish nil 
 the slates at the roof of the house. I knew very well tiiat wlvm th^ 
 army of nine attacked my Bonny-castl .-, it would not long hold out. 
 Unluckily, from inexperience, I give them all th-- same question to 
 work, and the consequence was, ea h brought up a diffjrent resi'lt 
 nor would my practical knowledge of Practice allow me to jud e of 
 their merits. I had no resource but, Lavater-like, to go by Physi- 
 ognomy, and accordingly selected the solution of the must mathe- 
 matical-looking boy. But Lavater betrayed ma. Master Waite, a 
 chowder-headed lout of a lad, as dull as a pig of lead, and as muiishly 
 obstinate as Muley Abdallah, persisted that his answer was correct, 
 and at last appealed to the superior authority of a Tutor's Key, th.it 
 he had kept by stealth in his desk. From this instant my im jortance 
 declined, and the urchins evid -ntly began to question, with some jus- 
 tice, what right I had to rule nine, who was not competent to th : Rule 
 of Three. By way of a diversion, J invited my pupils to a w ilk ; but 
 
 I wish G had been m >re circumstantial in his instructions before 
 
 he left. Two of the boys pL j ad:d sick he id iches to remain behind; 
 and I led the rest, through my arithmetical failure, undjr very slender 
 
 Drawing Lots. 
 
 government, by the most unfortunate route I could have chosen, in 
 fact, past the very windows of their parents, who ccfrnpl 'lined after- 
 wards, that they walked more like bears than boys, and that if Mr
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER ABROAD. 41? 
 
 G had drawn lots for one at a raffle, he could not have been more 
 
 unfortunate in his new usher. 
 
 To avoid observation, which I did not court, I led them aside into a 
 meadow, and pulling out a volume of " Paradise Lost," left the boys 
 to amuse themselves as they pleased. They pleased, accordingly, to 
 get up a little boxing-match, a-la-Crib and Molineux between Master 
 White and the little Creole, of which I was informed only by a final 
 shout and a stream of blood that trickled, or treacled, from the flat 
 nose of the child of colour. Luckily, as I thought, he was near home, 
 whither I sent him for washing and consolation, and in return for 
 which, in the course of a quarter of an hour, while still in the field, a 
 black footman, in powder blue turned up with yellow, brought me the 
 following note : 
 
 " Mrs. Col. Christopher informs Mr G 's Usher, that as the 
 
 vulgar practice of pugilism is allowed at Spring Grove Academy, 
 Master Adolphus Ferdinand Christopher will in future be educated at 
 home ; particularly as she understands Master C. was punished in the 
 morning, in a way that only becomes blacks and slaves. To the new 
 Usher at Mr G 's." 
 
 Irritated at this event and its commentary, I resolved to punish 
 Master White, but Master White was nowhere to be found, having 
 expelled himself and run away home, where he complained to his 
 parents of the new usher's deficiencies, and told the whole story of 
 the sum in Practice, begging earnestly to be removed from a school 
 where, as he said, it was impossible for him to improve himself. The 
 prayer of the petition was heard, and on the morrow, Mr White's son 
 was minus at Spring Grove Academy. Calling in the remainder, I 
 ordered a march homewards, where I arrived just in time to hear the 
 sham headaches of the two invalids go off with an alarming explosion 
 for they had thus concerted an opportunity for playing with gun- 
 powder and prohibited arms. Here was another discharge from the 
 school, for no parents think that their children look the better without 
 eyebrows, and accordingly, when they went home for the night, the 
 fathers and mothers resolved to send them to some other si hool, 
 where no powder was allowed, except upon the head of the master. 
 I was too much hurt to resume schooling after the boys' bad behaviour, 
 and so gave them a half-holiday ; and never, oh never, did I so esti- 
 mate the blessing of sleep, as on that night when I closed my eyelids 
 on all my pupils ! But, alas ! sleep brought its sorrows : I saw boys 
 fighting, flourishing slates, and brandishing squibs and crackers, in my 
 visions ; and through all, such is the transparency pf dreams, I beV 
 held the stern shadow of G looking unutterable reproaches. 
 
 The next morning, with many painful recollections, brought one of 
 pleasure ; I remembered that it was the King's Birthday, and in a fit 
 of very sincere loyalty, gave the wh.oje school alas ! reduced by one 
 half a whole holiday. Thus J got over the end of the week, and 
 Sunday, literally a day of rest, was spent by the urchins at their own 
 homes. It may seem sinful to wish for the death of a fellow-creature, 
 but I could not help thinking of G 's relative along with what is 
 
 2 D
 
 418 THE SCHOOLMASTER ABROAD. 
 
 called a happy release ; and he really was so kind, as we learned by 
 
 an express from G , as to break-up just after his arrival, and that 
 
 G consequently would return in time to resume his scholastic 
 
 duties on the Monday morning. With infinite pleasure I heard this 
 
 good bad news from Mrs G , who never interfered in the classical 
 
 part of the house, and was consequently all unconscious of the reduc- 
 tion in the Spring Grove Establishment. I forged an excuse for 
 immediately leaving off school ; " resigned, I kissed the rod " that I 
 resigned, and as I departed no master but my own, was overwhelmed 
 
 "Coming Events cast their Sh. dows before." 
 
 by a torrent of grateful acknowledgments of the service I had done 
 
 the school, which, as Mrs G protested, could never have got on 
 
 without me. How it got on I left G to discover, and I am told 
 
 he behaved rather like Macduff at the loss of his "little ones" but 
 luckily, I had given myself warning before his arrival, and escaped 
 from one porch of the Academy at that nick of time when the Archo- 
 didasculus was entering by another, perfectly convinced that, how- 
 ever adapted to, ff live and learn," I should never be able to live and 
 
 tench 
 
 vv**vf*
 
 4*9 
 
 SKETCHES ON THE ROAD* 
 THE OBSERVER. 
 
 " T T'S very strange," said the coachman, looking at me over his 
 
 L left shoulder " I never see it afore But I've made three obser- 
 vations through life." 
 
 Bat so called for shortness, though in feet and inches he was rather 
 an Upper Benjamin was anything but what Othello denominates 
 "a puny whipster." He had brandished the whip for full thirty 
 years, at an average of as many miles a day ; the product of which, 
 calculated according to Cocker, appears in a respectable sum total of 
 six figures deep. 
 
 Now an experience picked up in a progress of some three hundred 
 thousand miles is not to be slighted ; so I leaned with my best ear 
 over the coachman's shoulder, in order to catch every syllable. 
 
 " I have set on the box, man and boy," said Bat, looking straight 
 ahead between his leaders, "a matter of full thirty year, and what's 
 more, never missing a day barring the Friday I was married ; and 
 one of my remarks is I never see a sailor in top-boots." 
 
 " Now, I think of it, Bat," said I, a little disconcerted at my wind- 
 fall from the tree of knowledge, " I have had some experience in 
 travelling myself, and certainly do not recollect such a phenomenon." 
 
 " I'll take my oath you haven't," said Bat, giving the near leader a 
 little switch of self-satisfaction : " I once driv the Phenomenon myself. 
 There's no such thing in nature. And I'll tell you another remarkable 
 remark I've made through life I never yet see a Jew pedlar with a 
 Newfoundland dog." 
 
 "As for that, Bat," said I, perhaps willing to retort upon him a 
 little of my own disappointment, " though I cannot call such a sight 
 to mind I will not undertake to say I have never met with such an 
 association." 
 
 " If you have, you're a lucky man," said Bat, somewhat sharply, 
 and with a smart cut on the wheeler ; " I belong to an association too, 
 and we've none of us seen it. There's a hundred members, and I've 
 inquired of every man of 'em, for it's my remark. But some people 
 see a deal more than their fellows. Mayhap you've seen the other 
 thing I've observed through life, and that's this I've never observed a 
 black man driving a long stage." 
 
 " Never, Bat," said I, desiring to conciliate him, " never in the 
 whole course of my stage practice ; and for many years of my life I 
 was a daily visitant to Richmond. 1 ' 
 
 " And no one else has ever seen it," said Bat. " That's a correct 
 remark, anyhow. As for Richmond, he never drove a team in his 
 life, for I asked him the question myself, just after his fight with 
 Shelton." 
 
 Comic Annual, 1833.
 
 420 
 
 SKETCHES ON THE ROAD. 
 
 THE CONTRAST. 
 
 " I hope the Leviathan is outward-bound," I ejaculated, half aloud, 
 as I beheld the kit-kat portion of the Man-Mountain occupying t! e 
 whole frame of the coach-window. But Hope deceived as usual ; and 
 in he came. 
 
 I ought rather to have said he essayed to come in, for it was only 
 after repeated experiments upon material substances, that he contrived 
 to enter the vehicle edgeways,*" such blunt bodies may be said to 
 
 The Great Mail Contractor. 
 
 have an edge at all. As I contemplated his bulk, I could not help 
 thinking of the mighty Lambert, and was ready to exclaim with 
 Gratiano, " A Daniel ! a second Daniel !" 
 
 The Brobdingnaggian had barely subsided in his seat, when the 
 opposite door opened, and in stepped a Lilliputian ! The conjunction 
 was whimsical. Yonder, thought I, is the Irish Giant, and the other 
 is the dwarf, Count Borulawski. This coach is their travelling cara- 
 van and as for myself, I am no doubt the show man. 
 
 I was amusing myself with this and kindred fancies, when :\ hand 
 suddenly held up something at the coach-window. " It's my luggage," 
 said the Giant, with a small penny-trumpet of a pipe, and taking pos 
 session of a mere golden pippin of a bundle.
 
 SKETCHES ON THE 
 
 421 
 
 " The three large trunks and the biggest carpet-bag are my pro- 
 perty," said the Dwarf, with a voice ns unexpectedly stentorian. 
 
 " Warm day, sir," squeaked the Giant by way of small talk. 
 
 " Prodigious preponderance of caloric in the atmosphere," thundered 
 the Dwarf, by way of big talk. 
 
 "Have you paid your fare, gentlemen?" asked the coachman, 
 looking in at the door. 
 
 " I have paid half of mine," said the Stupendous, "and its booked. 
 My name is Lightfoot." 
 
 " Mine is Heavyside," said the Pigmy, "and I have disbursed the 
 sum total." 
 
 The door slammed the whip cracked sixteen horseshoes mnde a 
 clatter, and away bowled the " New Safety ;" but had barely rolled two 
 hundred yards, when it gave an alarming bound over some loose 
 paving stones, followed by a very critical swing. The Dwarf, in a 
 tone louder than ever, gave vent to a prodigious oath ; the Giant said, 
 " Dear me !" 
 
 There will something come of this, said I to myself; so feigning 
 sleep, I leaned back in a corner, with a wary ear to their conversation. 
 The Gog had been that morning to the Exhibition of Fleas in Regent 
 Street, and thought them "prodigious!" The Runtling had visited 
 the Great Whale at Charing-Cross, and "thought little of it." The 
 Goliah spoke with wonder of the "vast extent of view from the top of 
 the Monument." The David was "disappointed by the prospect from 
 Plinlimmon." The Hurlothrumbo was "amazed by the grandeur of 
 St Paul's." The Tom Thumb spoke slightingly of St Peter's at 
 Rome. In theatricals their taste held the same mathematical propor- 
 tion. Gog " must say he liked the Minors best." The " Wee Thing" 
 declared for the Majors. The Man-Mountain's favourite was Miss 
 Foote twelve inches. The Manikin preferred Miss O/^/// eighteen. 
 
 The Great Desert Halt of the Caravan. 
 
 The conversation and the contrast flourished in full flower through 
 several stages, till we stopped to dine at the Salisbury Arms, and 
 then
 
 sa JOHN DAY. 
 
 The Folio took a chair at the ordinary 
 
 The Duodecimo required " a room to himself 
 
 The Puppet bespoke a leg of mutton 
 
 The Colossus ordered a mutton-chop. 
 
 The Imp rang the bell for the loaf " 
 
 The Monster called for a roll. 
 
 A magnum of port was decanted for the Minimum 
 
 A short pint of sherry was set before the Maximum. 
 
 We heard the Mite bellowing by himself, "The Sea i the Sea ! the 
 open Sea ! " 
 
 The Mammoth hummed "The Streamlet." 
 
 The Tiny, we learned, was bound to Plimpton Magna 
 
 The Huge, we found, was going to Plimpton Parva. 
 
 A hundred other circumstances have escaped from Memory through 
 the holes that time has made in her sieve : but I remember distinctly, 
 as we passed the bar in our passage outwards, that while 
 
 The Pigmy bussed the landlady a buxom widow, fat, fair, and 
 forty 
 
 The Giant kissed her daughter a child ten years old, and remark- 
 ably snujl for her age. 
 
 JOHN DAY. 
 
 A PATHETIC BALLAD.* 
 "A Day after the Fair. H OU Proverb 
 
 JOHN DAY he was the biggest man 
 
 Of all the coachman kind, 
 With back too broad to be conceived 
 
 By any narrow mind. 
 
 The very horses knew his weight 
 
 When he was in the rear, 
 And wish'd his box a Christmas-box 
 
 To come but once a year. 
 
 Alas 1 against the shafts of love 
 
 What armour can avail ? 
 Soon Cupid sent an arrow through 
 
 His scarlet coat of mail. 
 
 The barmaid of the Crown he loved, 
 From whom he never ranged ; 
 
 For though he changed his horses there, 
 His love he never changed. 
 
 Comic Annual, 1832.
 
 JOHN DA r. 4*3 
 
 He thought her fairest of all fares, 
 
 So fondly love prefers ; 
 And often, among twelve outsides, 
 
 Deem'd no outside like hers. 
 
 One day as she was sitting down 
 
 Beside the porter-pump, 
 He came, and knelt with all his fat, 
 
 And made an offer plump. 
 
 Said she, " My taste will never learn 
 
 To like so huge a man, 
 So I must beg you will come here 
 
 As little as you can." 
 
 But still he stoutly urged his suit, 
 
 With vows, and sighs, and tears, 
 Yet could not pierce her heart, although 
 
 He drove the " Dart " for years. 
 
 In vain he woo'd, in vain he sued ; 
 
 The maid was cold and proud, 
 And sent him off to Coventry, 
 
 While on his way to Stroud. 
 
 He fretted all the way to Stroud, 
 
 And thence all back to town ; 
 The course of love was never smooth, 
 
 So his went up and down. 
 
 At last her coldness made him pine 
 
 To merely bones and skin, 
 But still he loved like one resolved 
 
 To love through thick and tbin. 
 
 * O Mary ! view my wasted back, 
 And see my dwindled calf ; 
 
 Though I have never had a wife, 
 I've lost my better half." 
 
 Alas ! in vain he still assail'd. 
 Her heart withstood the dii.-t ; 
 
 Though he had carried sixteen stone, 
 He could not move a flint 
 
 Worn out, at last he made a vovr 
 To break his being's link ;
 
 424 
 
 JOHN DA Y. 
 
 For he was so reduced in size 
 At nothing he could shrink. 
 
 Now some will talk in water's praise, 
 
 And waste a deal of breath, 
 But John, though he drank nothing else, 
 
 He drank hinibelf to death. 
 
 The cruel maid that caused his love 
 
 Found out the fatal close, 
 For looking in the butt, she saw 
 
 The butt-end of his woes. 
 
 Some say his spirit haunts the Crown, 
 
 But that is only talk 
 For after riding all his life, 
 
 His ghost objects to walk. 
 
 The Box Seat.
 
 The Sublime and the Ridiculous. 
 
 THE PARISH REVOLUTION* 
 
 " From the sublime to the ridiculous is but a step." 
 
 Alarming news from the country Awful insurrection at Stoke I ogis 
 The Military called out Flight of the Mayor. 
 
 WE are concerned to state, that accounts were received in town at 
 a late hour last night, of an alarming state of things at Stoke 
 Po^is. Nothing private is yet made public ; but reports speak of 
 very serious occurrences. The number of killed is not known, as nc 
 despatcues have been received. 
 
 Further Particulars. 
 
 Nothing is known yet ; papers have been received down to the 4tb 
 of November, but they are not up to anything. 
 
 Fiirther further Particulars. (Private Letter.} 
 
 It is scarcely possible for you, my dear Charles, to conceive the 
 difficulties and anarchical manifestations of turbulence, which threaten 
 * Comic Animal, 183 r.
 
 426 THE PARISH REVOLUTION. 
 
 and disturb your old birthplace, poor Stoke Pogis. To the reflecting 
 mind, the circumstances which hourly transpire afford ample food for 
 speculation and moral reasoning. To see the constituted authorities 
 of a place, however mistaken or misguided by erring benevolence, 
 plunging into a fearful struggle with an irritated, infuriated, and I may 
 say, armed populace, is a six'ht which opens a field for terrified con- 
 jecture. I look around me with doubt, agitation, and dismay ; bee mse, 
 whilst I venerate those to whom the sway of a part of a state may be 
 said to be intrusted, I cannot but yield to the conviction that the 
 abuse of power must be felt to be an overstep of authority in the be^t 
 intentioned of the Magistracy. This even you will allow. Being on 
 the spot, my dear Charles, an eye-witness of these fearful scenes, 1 
 feel how impossible it is for me to give you any idea of the prospects 
 which surround me. To say that I think all will end well, is to tres- 
 pass beyond the confines of hope ; but whilst I admit that there is 
 strong ground for apprehending the worst, I cannot shut my eyes to 
 the conviction, that if firm measures, tempered with concession, be 
 resorted to, it is far from being out of the pale of probability th it 
 serenity may be re-established. In haznrding this conclusion, how- 
 ever, you must not consider me as at all forgetting the responsibilities 
 which attach to a decidedly formed opinion. O Charles ! you who 
 are in the quiet of London, can little dream of the conflicting elements 
 which form the storm of this devoted village, I fear you will be 
 wearied with all these details ; but I thought at this distance, at 
 which you are from me, you would wish me to run the risk of wearying 
 you rather than omit any of the interesting circumstances. Let Ed- 
 ward read this ; his heart, which ULiow beats for the Parish, will 
 bleed for us. I am, &c. H. J. P. 
 
 P.S. Nothing further has yet occurred, but you shall hear from me 
 again to-morrow. 
 
 Another Account. 
 
 Symptoms of disunion have for some time past prevailed between 
 the authorities of Stoke Pogis, and a part of the inhabitants. The 
 primum mobile or first mobbing, originated in an order of the Mayor's, 
 that all tavern doors snould shut at eleven. Many complied, and 
 shut, but the door of the Rampant Lion openly resisted the order. 
 A more recent notice has produced a new and more dangerous irri- 
 tation on our too combustible population. A proclamation against 
 Guy Fauxes and Fireworks was understood to be in preparation, 
 by command of the chief Magistrate. If his Worship had listened to 
 the earnest and prudential advice of the rest of the bench, the obnoxi- 
 ous placard would not have been issued till the 6th, but he had it 
 posted up on the 4th, and by his precipitation has plunged Stoke 
 Pogis into a convulsion, that nothing but Time's soothing syrup can 
 alleviate. 
 
 From another quarter. 
 
 We are all here in the greatest alarm ! a general rising of the in- 
 habitants took place this morning, and they have continued in a di
 
 THE PARISH REVOLUTION. 4*9 
 
 turbed state ever since. Everybody is in a bustle and indicating 
 some popular movement. Seditious cries are heard ! the bell-man is 
 going his rounds, and on repeating " God save the King !" is saluted 
 with " Hang the crier !" Organized bands of boys are going about 
 collecting sticks, &c., whether for barricades or bonfires is not known ; 
 m;;ny of them singing the famous Gunpowder Hymn, "Pray remember," 
 &c. These are features that remind us of the most inflammable times, 
 Several strangers of suspicious gentility arrived here last night, and 
 privately engaged a barn ; they are now busily distributing handbills 
 amongst the crowd : surely some horrible tragedy is in preparation 1 
 
 A Later Account. 
 
 The alarm increases. Several families have taken flight by the 
 waggon, and the office of Mr Stewart, the overseer, is besieged by 
 persons desirous of being passed to their own parish. He seems 
 embarrassed and irresolute, and returns evasive answers. The worst 
 fears are entertaining. 
 
 Fresh Intelligence. 
 
 The cause of the overseer's hesitation has transpired. The pass-cart 
 and horse have been lent to a tradesman, for a day's pleasure, and are 
 not returned. Nothing can exceed the indignation of the paupers! 
 they are all pouring towards the poorhouse, headed by Timothy 
 Gubbins, a desperate drunken character, but the idol of the Workhouse. 
 The constables are retiring before this formidable body. The follow- 
 ing notice is said to be posted up at the Town-hail: "Stick No 
 Bills." 
 
 Eleven o'clock. 
 
 The mob have proceeded to outrage the poor poorhouse has not a 
 whole pane of glass in its whole frame ! The magistrates, with Mr 
 Higginbottom at their head, have agreed to call out the military ; 
 and he has sent word that he will come as soon as he has put on his 
 uniform. 
 
 A terrific column of little boys has just run down the High Street, 
 it is said to see a fight at the Green Dragon. There is an immense 
 crowd in the Market-place. Some of the leading shopkeepers have 
 had a conference with the Mayor, and the people are now being in- 
 formed by a placard of the result. Gracious heaven ! how opposite is 
 it to the hopes of all moderate men "-The Mare is Hobstinate He 
 is at the Roes and Crown But refuses to treat." 
 
 Twelve o'clock. 
 
 The military has arrived, and is placed tinder his own command. 
 He has marched himself in a body to the market-place, and is now 
 drawn up. one deep in front of the Pound. The mob are in possession 
 of the walls, and have chalked upon them the following proclamation:. 
 " Stokian Pogians be firm ! stick up for bonfires ! stand to your 
 squibs!" 
 
 Quarter past Twelve. 
 
 Mr Wigsby, the Master of the Free School, has declared on the 
 side of Liberty, and has obtained an audience of the Mayor. He ia 
 to return in fifteen minutes for his Worship's decision.
 
 428 
 
 THE PARISH REVOLUTION. 
 
 Half-^ast Twetve. 
 
 During the interval, the Mayor has sworn in two special constables, 
 and will concede nothing. When the excitement ot the mob was 
 represented to him by Mr Wiijsby, he pointed to a truncheon on a 
 table, and answered, "They may do their worse?t." The exaMiera- 
 tion is awful the most frightful cries are uttered, " Huzza for Guys ! 
 Gubbins for ever! and no Higginbottom ! " The military has been, 
 ordered to clear the streets, but his lock is not flinty enough, and his 
 gun refuses to fire on the people. 
 
 The constables have just obtained a slight advantage, they made a 
 charge altogether, and almost upset a Guy. On the left-hand side 
 of the way they have been less successful ; Mr Hugging the beadle, 
 attempted to talce possession of an important street post, but was 
 repulsed by a boy with a cracker. At the same moment Mr Blo<;g, 
 the churchwarden, was defeated in a desperate attempt to force a 
 passage up a court. 
 
 One o'clock. 
 
 The military always dines at one, and has retreated to the Pig and 
 Puncheon. There is a report that the head constable is taken with 
 all his staff. 
 
 Two o'clock. 
 
 A flying watchman has just informed us that the police are victo- 
 rious on all points, and the same has been confirmed by a retreating 
 
 constable. 
 
 Good Entertainment for Man and Horse. 
 
 He states that the Pound is full Gubbins in the stocks,
 
 THE PARISH REVOLUTION. 429 
 
 and Dobbs in the cnge. Th'it the whole mob would have been routed 
 but for a very corpulent man, who rallied them on running away. 
 
 Half-past three. 
 
 The check sustained by the mob proves to have been a reverse, 
 the constables are the sufferers. The cage is chopped to faggots, we 
 haven't a pound, and the stocks are rapidly falling. Mr Wi^sby has 
 gone again to the Mayor with overtures, the people denrind the 
 release of Dobbs and Gubbins, and the demolition ol*the stocks, the 
 pound, and the ca'- r e. As these are already destroyed, and Gubbins 
 and Dobbs are at large, it is confidently hoped by all moderate men, 
 that his Worship will accede to the terms. 
 
 Four o'clock. 
 
 The Mayor has rejected the terms. It is confidently affirmed thit 
 after this decision, he secretly ordered a post-chaise, and has set off 
 with a pair of post-horses as fast as they can't gallop. A meeting of 
 the principal tradesmen has taken place, and the butcher, the baker, 
 the grocer, the cheesemonger, and the publican, have agrred to 
 compose a Provisional Government. In the meantime the mob 
 are loud in their joy, they are letting off squibs and crackers, 
 and rockets, and devils, in all directions, and quiet is completely 
 restored. 
 
 We subjoin two documents, one containing the articles drawn up 
 by the Provisional Government and Mr Wigsby ; the other, the 
 genuine narrative of a spectator. 
 
 DEAR CHARLES, The events of the last few hours, since I closed 
 my minute narration, are pregnant with fate ; and no words that I 
 can utter on paper will give you an idea of their interest. Up to the 
 hour at which I closed my sheet, anxiety regulated the movement of 
 every watchful bosom ; but since then, the approaches to tranquillity 
 have met with barriers and interruptions. To the meditative mind, 
 these popular paroxysms have their desolating deductions. Oh, my 
 Charles, I myself am almost sunk into an Agitator so much do we 
 take the colour from the dye in which our reasoning faculties :.re 
 steeped. I stop the press yes, Charles, I stop the press of circum- 
 stances to say, that a dawn of the Pacific is gleaming over the Atlantic 
 of our disturbances ; and I am enabled, by the kindness of Constable 
 Adams, to send you a Copy of the Preliminaries, which are pretty 
 well agreed upon, and only wait to be ratified. I close my letter in 
 haste. That peace may descend on the Olive Tree of Stoke Pogis, is 
 the earnest prayer of, &c. H. J. P. 
 
 P.S. Show the Articles to Edward. He will, with his benevolence, 
 at once see that they are indeed precious articles for Stoke Pogis. 
 
 CONDITIONS. 
 
 1. That for the future, widows in Stoke Pogis shall be allowed their 
 thirds, and Novembers their fifths. 
 
 2, That the property of Guys shall be held inviolable, and thrk 
 persons respected.
 
 430 THE PARISH REVOLUTION. 
 
 3. Thnt no arson be allowed, but all bonfires shall be burnt by the 
 common hangman. 
 
 4. That every rocket shall be allowed an hour to leave the place. 
 
 5. That the freedom of Stoke Pogis be presented to Madame 
 Hengler, in a cartridge-box. 
 
 6. That the military shall not be called out, uncalled for. 
 
 7. That the parish beadle, for the time being, be authorised to stand 
 no nonsense. , 
 
 8. That his Majesty's mail be permitted to pass on the night in 
 question. 
 
 9. That all animosities be buried in oblivion, at the Parish expense. 
 10. That the ashes of old bonfires be never r;iked up. 
 
 , , . ~ i WAGSTAFF, High Constable. 
 
 (Signed) \ WlGSBY. 
 
 An Anti Climax. 
 
 The Narroivtiv of a High Whitness who seed every Think proceed out 
 of a Back-winder up Fore Pears to Mrs Humphris. 
 
 O Mrs Humphris ! Littel did I Dram, at my Tim of 'Life, to see 
 Wat is before me. The hole Parrish is Throne into a pannikin ! 
 The Revelations hns reeched Stock Poggis and the people is nz agin 
 the Kings rain, and all the Pours that be. All this Blessed Mourning 
 Mrs Grijjgs and Me as bean siting abscondmly at the tiptop of the 
 Hows crying lor lowne-^s. We have lackd our too selves in the back 
 Attical Rome, and nothing can come up to our Hanksiety. Some 
 say it 's like the Frentch Plot sum say sum thing moor arter the
 
 THE PARISH REVOLUTION. 431 
 
 Dutch Patten is on the car-pit, and if so we shall Be flored like Brus- 
 sels. Well, I never did like them Brown Holland brum gals. 
 
 Our Winder overlooks all the High Street, xcept jest ware Mister 
 Higgins jutts out Behind. What a prospectus ! All riotism and 
 hubbub. There is a lowd speechifying round the Gabble end of the 
 Hows. The Mare is arranging the Populous from one of his own long 
 winders. Poor Man ! for all his fine goold Cheer, who wood Sit in 
 his shews ! 
 
 I hobserve Mr Tuder's bnuld hed uncommon hactiv in the Mobb> 
 and so is Mister Waggstaff the Constable, considdering his rumm.ttiz 
 has only left one Harm disaffected to show his loyalness with. He 
 and his men air staving the mobbs Heds to make them Suppurate. 
 They are trying to Custardise the Ringleders But as yet hav Capti- 
 vated Noboddy. There is no end to accidence. Three unsensible 
 boddis are Carrion over the way on Three Cheers, but weather Nay- 
 bers or Gyes. is dubbious. Master Gollop too, is jest gon By on one 
 of his Ants Shuters, with a Bunch of exploded Squibs gone off in his 
 Trowsirs. It makes Mrs G. and Me tremble like Axle trees, for our 
 Hone nevvies. Wile we ware at the open Winder they sliped out 
 With sich Broils in the Street who nose what Scraps they may git 
 
 Breaking the News. 
 
 into. Mister J. is gon off with his muskitry to militate agin the mobb ; 
 and I fear without anny Sand Witches in his Cartrich Box. Mrs 
 Griggs is in the Sam state of Singularity as meself. Onely think. Mrs 
 H. of two Loan Wiming looken Down on such a Heifervescencei and 
 as H ignorant as the unbiggotted Babe of the state of our Husbandry ! 
 to had to our Convexity, the Botcher has not Bean No moor as the
 
 43 THE PARISH REVOLUTION, 
 
 Backer and We shold here Nothing if Mister Higgins hndn't hollowed 
 up Fore Storys. What news he brakes! That wicked Wigsby as 
 reffused to Retd the Riot Ax, ai.d the Town Clark is no SchuiLrd ! 
 Isn't that a bad Herring ! 
 
 O Mrs Humphris ! It is unpossible to throo ones hies from one 
 End of Stock Poggis to the other, without grate Pane. Nothing is 
 seed but Wivs asking for Huzbinds nothing is heard but childerin 
 looking for Farthers. Mr Hatband the Undertacker as jist bean 
 squibed and obligated for safeness to inter his own Hows. Mr Hig- 
 gins blames the unflexable Stubbleness of the Mare and says a littel 
 timely Concusion wood have been of Preventive S<.rvis. Haven nose ! 
 For my Part I don't belit-ve all the Concussion on Hearth wood hav 
 prevented the Reolater bein scarified by a Squib and runnin agin 
 the Rockit or that it could unshatter Pore Master Gollop, or squentch 
 Wider Welshis rix of Haze witch is now Flamming and smocking in 
 two volumes. The ingins as been, but could not Play for want of 
 Pips witch is too often the Case with P.irrish inginuiiy. Wile aff.ires 
 are in this friteful Posturs, thank Haven I ha\e one grate comfit. Mr 
 J is cum back on his legs from Twelve to one tired in the ex t reams 
 with Being a Standing Army, and his Uniformity spatterdashed all 
 over. He says his hone saving was onely thro leaving His retrench- 
 ments. 
 
 The Eagle Assurance. 
 
 Pore Mr Griggs has cum in after his Wif in a state of grate ex- 
 aggeration. He"sa\s the Boys hav maid a Bone Fire of his garden 
 fence and Pales upon Pales cant put it out. ' 
 
 Severil Shells of a bom-
 
 THE PARISH REVOLUTION. 433 
 
 bastic nAter as been picked up in his Back Yard and the old Cro's nest 
 as been Perpetrated rite thro by a Rockit. We hav sent out the Def 
 Shopmun to here wat he can and he says their is so Manny Crackers 
 going he dont no witch report to Helive, but the Fishmongerers has 
 Cotchd and with all his Stock compleatly Guttid. The Brazers next 
 Dore is lickwise in Hashes, but it is hopped he has assurance enuf 
 to cover him All over. They say nothing can save the Dwellins ad- 
 journing. O Mrs H. how greatful ought J. and I to bee that our hone 
 Premiss and propperty is next to nothing ! The effex of the lit on 
 Bildings is marvulous. The Turrit of St Magnum Bonum is quit 
 clear and you can tell wat Time it is by the Clock verry planely only 
 it stands ! 
 
 The noise" is enuf to Drive won deleterious ! Too Specious Con- 
 estabbles is persewing littel Tidmash down the Hi Street and Sho grate 
 fermness, but I trembel for the Pelisse. Peple drop in with New 
 News every Momentum. Sum say All is Lost and the town Criar 
 is missin. Mrs Griggs is quit retched at herein five littel Boys is 
 thrown off a spirituous Cob among the Cuherend Weals. But I 
 hope it wants cobbobboration. Another Yuth itssed has had his hies 
 Blasted by sum blowd Gun Powder. You Mrs H. are Patrimonial, 
 and may sup'ose how these flying rummers Upsetts a Mothers Sperrits. 
 
 O Mrs Humphris how I envy you that is not tossing on the ragging 
 bellows of these Flatulent Times, but living under a Mild Dispotic 
 
 Tumultum in Parvo. 
 
 Govinment in such Sequestrated spots as Lonnon and Padington. 
 May you never go thro such Transubstantiation as I have benn riting 
 in ! Things that stood for Sentries as bean removed in a Minuet 
 and the verry effigis of wat was venerablest is now Burning in Bone 
 Fires. The Worshipfull chaer is emty. The Mare as gon off clan- 
 destiny with a pare of Hossis, and without his diner. They say he 
 complanes that his Corperation did not stik to him as it shold have 
 dun But went over to the other Side. Pore Sob in sich a case I 
 
 2 E
 
 434 THE FURLOUGH. 
 
 dont wtmder he lost his Stommich. Yisterdy he was at the sunitnut 
 of Pour. Them that hours ago ware enjoying parrish officiousness as 
 been turned out of there Dignittis ! Mr Barber says in futer ail the 
 Perukial Authoritis will be Wigs. 
 
 Pray let me no wat his Magisty and the Prim Minestir think of 
 Stock Poggis's constitution, and believe me conclusively my deer 
 Mrs Humphris most frendly and trully BRIDGET JONES. 
 
 THE FURLOUGH. 
 
 AN IRISH ANECDOTE.* 
 "Time was called." Baxiana. 
 
 IN the autumn of 1825, some private affairs called me into the sister 
 kingdom ; and as I did not travel, like Polyphemus, with my e\e 
 out, I gathered a few samples of Irish character, amongst which waj 
 the following incident. 
 
 I was standing one morning at the window of "mine inn," when my 
 attention was attracted by a scene that took place beneath. '1 he 
 Belfast coach was standing at the door, and on the roof, in front, s it 
 a solitary outside passenger, a fine young fellow in the uniform of the 
 Connaught Rangers. Below, by the front wheel, stood an old woman, 
 seemingly his mother, a young man, and a younger worn m, sister or 
 sweetheart ; and they were all earnestly entreating the young soldier 
 to descend from his seat on the coach. 
 
 " Come down wid ye, Thady," the speaker was the old woman, 
 " come down now to your ould mother. Sure it's flog ye they will, 
 and strip the flesh off the bones I giv ye. Come down, Th .'"dy, darlin ! " 
 
 "It's honour, mother," was the short reply of the soldier ; and with 
 clenched hands and set teeth he took a suffer posture on the coach. 
 
 " Thady, come down come down, ye fool of the world come along 
 down wid ye !" The tone of the present appeal was more impatient 
 and peremptory than the last ; and the answer was more promptly 
 and sternly pronounced : " It's honour, brother !" and the body of the 
 speaker rose more rigidly erect than ever on the roof. 
 
 " O Thady, come down ! sure it's me, your own 'Kathleen, that bids 
 ye. Come down, or ye'll break the heart of me, Thady, jewel ; come 
 down then !" The poor girl wrung her hands as she said it, and cast 
 a look upward, that had a visible effect on the muscles of the soldier's 
 countenance. There was more tenderness in his tone, but it conveyed 
 the same resolution as before. 
 
 "It's honour, honour bright, Kathleen !" and, as if to defend him- 
 self from another glance, he fixed his look steadfastly in front, while 
 the renewed entreaties burst from all three in chorus, with the same 
 answer. 
 
 " Come down, Thady, honey ! Thady, ye fool, come down ! 
 Thady, come down to me ! " 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1830,
 
 THE FURLOUGH. 435 
 
 " It's honour, mother ! It's honour, brother : Honour bright, my 
 own Kathleen ! " 
 
 Although the poor fellow was a private, this appeal was so public, 
 that I did not hesitate to go down and inquire into the particulars of 
 the distress. It appeared that he had been home, on furlough, to visit 
 his f.imily, and having exceeded as he thought the term of his leave, 
 he was going to rejoin his regiment, and to undergo the penalty of his 
 neglect. I asked him when the furlough expired. 
 
 "The first of March, your honour bad luck to it of all the black 
 days in the world and here it is, come sudden on me like a shot !" 
 
 " The first of March ! why, my good fellow, you have a day to 
 spare then, the first of March will not be here till to-morrow. It is 
 Leap Year, and February has twenty-nine days." 
 
 The soldier was thunderstruck. "Twenty-nine days is it? You're 
 sartin of that same! O Mother, Mother! the Divil fly away wid. 
 yere ould Almanack a base cratur of a book, to be deceaven one, 
 afther living so long in the family of us !" 
 
 His first impulse was to cut a caper on the roof of the coach, and 
 throw up his cap, with a loud Hurrah ! His second, was to throw 
 himself into the arms of his Kathleen, and the third, was to wring my 
 hand off in acknowledgment. 
 
 " It's a happy man I am, your Honour, for my word's saved, and 
 all by your Honour's manes. Long life to your Honour for the samel 
 May ye live a long hundred and lape-years every one of them 1 "
 
 436 
 
 Single Blessedness. 
 
 NUMBER ONE* 
 
 YIRSIFIED FROM THE PROSE OF A YOUNG LADY. 
 
 IT'S very hard ! and so it is, 
 
 To live in such a row, 
 
 And witness this, that every Miss 
 
 But me, has got a Beau. 
 
 For Love goes calling up and down, 
 
 But here he seems to shun ; 
 
 I'm sure he has been ask'd enough 
 
 To call at Number One ! 
 
 I'm sick of all the double knocks 
 That come to Number Four ! 
 At Number Three, I often see 
 A lover at the door ; 
 And one in blue, at Number Two, 
 ^ Calls daily like a dun. 
 It's very hard they come so near 
 And not to Number One ! 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1830.
 
 NUMBER ONE. 439 
 
 Miss Bell, I hear, has got a dear 
 
 Exactly to her mind, 
 
 By sitting at the window-pane 
 
 Without a bit of blind ; 
 
 But I go in the balcony, 
 
 Which she has never done, 
 
 Yet arts that thrive at Number Five 
 
 Don't take at Number One ! 
 
 Tis hard with plenty in the street, 
 
 And plenty passing by, 
 
 There's nice young men at Number Ten } 
 
 But only rather shy ; 
 
 And Mrs Smith across the way 
 
 Has got a grown-up son, 
 
 But la ! he hardly seems to know 
 
 There is a Number One ! 
 
 There's Mr Wick at Number Nine, 
 
 But he's intent on pelf, 
 
 And though he's pious, will not love 
 
 His neighbour as himself. 
 
 At Number Seven there was a sale 
 
 The goods had quite a run ! 
 
 And here I've got my single lot 
 
 On hand at Number One 1 
 
 My mother often sits at work 
 
 And talks of props and stays, 
 
 A.nd what a comfort I shall be 
 
 In her declining dnys : 
 
 The very maids about the house 
 
 Have set me down a nun 
 
 The sweethearts all belong to then* 
 
 That call at Number One ! 
 
 Once only, when the flue took fire, 
 One Friday afternoon, 
 Young Mr Long came kindly in 
 And told me not to swoon : 
 Why can't he come again without 
 The Phoenix and the Sun ! 
 We cannot always have a flue 
 On fire at Number One ! 
 
 I am not old ! I am not plain I 
 
 Nor awkward in my gait ; 
 
 I am not crooked, like the bride 
 
 That went from Number Eight : > 
 
 I'm sure white satin made her look 
 
 As brown as any bun 
 
 But even beauty has no chance, 
 
 I think, at Number One !
 
 438 THE DROWNING DUCKS. 
 
 At Number Six they say Miss Rose 
 
 Has slain a score of hearts, 
 
 And Cupid, for her sake, has been 
 
 ?uite prodigal of darts, 
 he Imp they show with bended bow, 
 I wish he had a gun ! 
 But if he had, he'd never deign 
 To shoot with Number One. 
 
 It's very hard, and so it is, 
 
 To live in such a row ! 
 
 And here's a ballad-singer come 
 
 To aggravate my woe ; 
 
 Oh, take away your foolish song 
 
 And tones enough to stun 
 
 There is " Nae luck about the house," 
 
 I know, at Number One! 
 
 A Double Knock. 
 
 THE DROWNING DUCKS* 
 
 AMONGST the sights that Mrs Bond 
 
 Enjoy'd yet grieved at more than others, 
 
 Were little ducklings in a pond, 
 Swimming about beside their mothers 
 
 Small things like living waterlilies, 
 
 But yellow as the daffo-dt/ties. 
 
 " It's very hard," she used to moan, 
 "That other people have their ducklings 
 
 To grace their waters mine aloive 
 Have never any pretty chucklings." 
 
 For why ! each little yellow navy 
 
 Went down all downy to old Davy ! 
 * Comic Annual, 1830.
 
 THE DROWNING DUCKS. 433 
 
 She had a lake a pond I mean 
 
 Its wave was rather thick than pearly ; 
 
 She had two ducks, their napes were green- 
 She had a drake, his tail was curly ;-* 
 
 Yet spite of drake, and ducks, and pond, 
 
 No little ducks had Mrs Bond ! 
 
 The birds were both the best of mothers 
 The nests had eggs the eggs had luck > 
 
 The infant D.'s came forth like others 
 But there, alas ! the matter stuck ! 
 
 They might as well have all died addlM 
 
 As die when they began to paddle 1 
 
 For when, as native instinct taught her. 
 
 The mother set her brood afloat, 
 They sank ere long right under water, 
 
 Like any overloaded boat ; 
 They were web-footed too to see, 
 As ducks and spiders ought to be ! 
 
 No peccant humour in a gander 
 
 Brought havoc on her little folks, 
 No poaching cook a frying pander 
 
 To appetite, destroy'd their yolks ; 
 Beneath her very eyes, Od' rot 'em ! 
 They went, like plummets, to the bottom. 
 
 The thing was strange a contradiction 
 
 It seem'd of Nature and her works ! 
 For little ducks, beyond conviction, 
 
 Should float without the help of corks : 
 Great Johnsot*, it bewilder'd him 
 To hear of ducks that could not swim. 
 
 Poor Mrs Bond ! what could she do 
 
 But -change the breed and she tried divers, 
 
 Which dived as all seem'd born to do ; 
 No little ones were e'er survivors 
 
 Like those that copy gems, I'm thinking, 
 
 They were all given to die-sinking ! 
 
 In vain their downy coats were shorn ; 
 
 They flounder'd still ! Batch after batch went ' 
 The little fools seem'd only born 
 
 And hatch'd for nothing but a hatchment ! 
 Whene'er they launch'd O sight of wonder ! 
 Like fires the water "got them under!" 
 
 No woman ever gave their lucks 
 
 A better chance than Mrs Bond did ;
 
 440 THE DROWNING DUCKS. 
 
 At last, quite out of heart and ducks, 
 
 She gave her pond up, and desponded ; 
 For Death among the waterlilies 
 Cried " Due ad me " to all her dillies ! 
 
 But though resolved to breed no more. 
 She brooded often on this riddle 
 
 Alas ! 'twas darker than before ! 
 At last, about the summer's middle, 
 
 What Johnson, Mrs Bond, or none did, 
 
 To clear the matter up the Sun did ! 
 
 The thirsty Sinus, doglike, drank 
 So deep, his furious tongue to cool, 
 
 The shallow waters sank and sank, 
 And lo ! from out the wasted pool, 
 
 Too hot to hold them any longer, 
 
 There crawl'd some eels as big as conger 1 
 
 I wish all folks would look a bit 
 In such a case below the surface ; 
 
 But when the eels were caught and split 
 By Mrs Bond, just think of her face, 
 
 In each inside at once to spy 
 
 A duckling turn'd to giblet pie ! 
 
 The sight at once explain'd the case, 
 Making the Dame look rather silly; 
 
 The tenants of that Eely Place 
 
 Had found the way to Pick a dilly, 
 
 And so, by under-water suction, 
 
 Had wrought the little ducks' abduction.
 
 441 
 
 Too Cold to Bear. 
 
 AN ASSENT TO THE SUMMUT OF MOUNT 
 BLANK* 
 
 IT was on the ist of Augst, I remember by my wags cumming 
 dew, and I wanted to be riz, that Me and master maid our minds 
 up to the Mounting. I find Master as oppend an acount with the 
 Keep Sack but as that is a cut abov, and rit ^n by only Lords and 
 Laddies, I am redeuced to a Peer in the pagis of the Comick Anual 
 Mr H. giving leaves. 
 
 Wile we waited at Sham Money, our minds sevral tims misgiv, but 
 considdring only twelve Gentelmen and never a footmun had bin up, 
 we determind to make ourselves particler, and so highered gides to 
 sho us up. For a long tim the whether was dout full weather first 
 it snew then thew and then friz and that was most agreeabil for 
 a tempting. The first thing I did was to change my blew and wite 
 livry, as I guest we shood hav enuf of blew and wite on the mounting 
 but put on a dred nort for fear of every thing takin care to hav my 
 pockets well cramd with sand witches, and, as proved arterwards, they 
 broke my falls very much when I slipd on my bred and ams. The 
 * Comic Annual, 1832.
 
 442 AN ASSENT TO THE SUMMUT 
 
 land Lord was so kind as lend me His green gaws tap room blind 
 for my eyes, and I recumend no boddy to go up any Snowhill without 
 green vales for the hice dazls like winkin. Sum of the gides wanted 
 me to ware a sort of crimpt skaits, but thoght my feet would be the 
 stifer for a cramp on and declind binding any think xcept my list 
 garters rouno. my Shews. I did all this by advize of John Mary 
 Cuthay the Chief Gide, who had bin 8 tims up to every think. Thus 
 a tired we sit out, on our feat, like Capting Paris, with our Nor poles 
 in our hands, Master in verry good sperrits, and has for me I w.is 
 quit ellivatted to think what a figger the Summut of Mount Blank 
 wood cut down the airys of Portland Plaice. 
 
 Arter sliping and slidding for ours, we cum to the first principle 
 Glazier. To give a correct noshun, let any won suppose a man in 
 fustions with a fraim and glass and puttey and a dimond pensel, and 
 it's quit the revers of that. It's the sam with the Mare of Glass. If 
 you dont think of a mare or any think maid of glass you have it 
 xactly. We was three ours gitting over the Glazier, and then come 
 to the Grand Mullets, ware our beds was bespeak that is, nothing 
 but clean sheats of sno, and never a warmin pan. To protect our 
 beds we struck our poles agin the rock, with a cloath over them, but 
 it looked like a verry litle tent to so much mounting. There we was, 
 all Sno with us Sollitory fingers atop. Nothink can give the sub- 
 lime idear of it but a twelf Cake. 
 
 The Gides pinted out from hear the Pick de Middy, but I was too 
 cold to understand Frentch and we see a real Shammy leeping, as 
 Master sed, from scrag to scrag, and from pint to pint, for vittles 
 and drink but to me it looked like jumpin a bout to warm him self. 
 His springs in the middel of Winter I realy beleave as uncredible. 
 Nothink else was muving xcept Havelaunches, witch is stupendus 
 Sno balls in high situations, as leaves their plaices without warnin, 
 and makes a deal of mischef in howses and lamlies. We shot of our 
 pistle, but has it maid little or no noise, didnt ear the remarkbly fine 
 ekko. 
 
 We dind at the Grand Mullets on cold foul and a shivver cf am, 
 with a little O de Colon, agen stomical panes. Wat was moor cum- 
 fortble we found haf a bottel of brandey, left behind by sum one before, 
 and by way of return we left behind a littel crewit of Chilly Viniger 
 for the next cummer, whoever he mite be or not. After this repass'd 
 we went to our subblime rests, I may say, in the Wurld's garrits, up 
 150 pare of stares. As faling out of Bed was dangerus, we riz a wal 
 of stons on each side. Knowing how comfortble Master sleeps at 
 Home, I regretted his unaccommodation, and partickly as he was verry 
 restless, and evry tim he stird kickd me about the Hed. I laid awack 
 a good wile thinking how littel Farther, down in Summerset Sheer, 
 thoght I was up in Mount Blank Sheer; but at long and last I went 
 of like a top, and dremt of Summuts. Won may sleep on wus pillers 
 than Nap Sacks. 
 
 Next mornin we riz erly, having still a good deal to git up, and 
 skrambled on agin, by crivises and crax as maid our flesh crawl on 
 hands and nees to look at. Master wanted to dcsend in a crack, 
 but as he miir not git up in a crack agin, his letting himself down was
 
 OF MOUNT BLANK. 
 
 443 
 
 unrecomended. Arter menny ours works, we cum to the Grand 
 Plato. Master called it a vast Amphi-Thcater ; and so it is, except 
 Du-Crow and the Horses and evry thing. Hear we brekfisted, but 
 was surprizd as our stomicks not having moor hedges, Master only 
 eting a Chickin wing, and me only eting all the rest. We had littel 
 need to not eat, the most uneasy part to go was to cum. In about 
 too ours we cum to a Sno wall, up rite as high as St Paul's ; that 
 maid us come to an alt, and I cood not help saying out, Wat is only 
 too human legs to 200 feet ! Howsumever, after a bottel of Wine 
 we was abel to proceed in a zig zag direxion, the Gides axing the 
 way, and cutting steps afore. After a deal of moor white Slavery, we 
 sucsided in gitting up to the Mounting's top, and no body can hav a 
 distant idea of it, but them as is there. Such Sno ! And ice enuf 
 to serve all the Fish Mungers, and the grate Routs till the end of the 
 Wurld ! 
 
 I regrets my joy at cumming to the top maid me forget all I ment 
 to do at it ; and in partickler to thro a tumble over hed and heals, 
 as was my mane object in going up. Howsumever, I shall allways 
 be abel to say Me and Master as bin to the Summut of Mount 
 Blank, and so has a little butterfly. I ought to mension the curious- 
 ness of seeing one there, but we did not ketch it, as it was too far 
 abov us. 
 
 We dissented down in much shorter time, and without anny axident 
 xcept Masters sliding telliscope, witch roled of the ice. Wen we cum 
 agin to Sham Money, the Land Lord askd our names to be rit in the 
 book, as was dun, by Mr W. in prose, but by me in poetry 
 
 ' Mount Blank is very hard to be cum at, 
 But me and Master as bin to its Summut.' 
 
 JOHN JONES. 
 
 Figuiing in the Album of Mont Blanc
 
 444 
 
 No Bankrupt though I Breaks. 
 
 A HORSE DEALER* 
 
 IS a double dealer, for he dealeth more in double meanings than 
 your punster. When he giveth his word it signifieth little, how- 
 beit it standeth for two significations. He putteth his promises like 
 his colts, in a break. Over his mouth Truth, like the turnpike-man, 
 writeth up No Trust. Whenever he speaketh, his spoke hath more 
 turns than the fore-wheel. He telleth lies, not white only, or black, 
 but likewise grey, bay, chestnut, brown, cream, and roan, piebald and 
 skewbald. He sweareth as many oaths out of court as any man, and 
 more in ; for he will swear two ways about .a horse's dam. If, by 
 God's grace, he be something honest, it is only a dnpple, for he can be 
 fair and unfair at once. He hath much imagination, for he selleth a 
 complete set of capital harness, of which there be no traces. He 
 advertiseth a coach, warranted on its first wheels, and truly the hind 
 pair are wanting to the bargain. A carriage that hath travelled 
 twenty summers and wiftters, he descriheth well-seasoned. He 
 knocketh down machine-horses that have been knocked up on the 
 road, but is so tender of heart to his animals, that he partcth with 
 none for a fault ; " for," as he sayeth, " blindness or lameness be mis- 
 fortunes." A nag, proper only for dog's meat, he writeth down, but 
 * Comic Annual, 1832.
 
 A HORSE DEALER. 
 
 445 
 
 crieth up, " fit to go to any hounds;" or, as maybe, "would suit a 
 timid gentleman." String-halt he calleth "grand action/' and kicking 
 "lifting the feet well up." If a mare have the farcical disease, he 
 nameth her " out of Comedy," and selleth Blackbird for a racer because 
 he hath a running thrush. Horses that drink only water, he justly 
 warranteth to be " temperate," and if dead lame, declareth them " good 
 in all their paces," seeing that they can go but one. Roaring he 
 calleth " sound," and a steed that high bloweth in running, he com- 
 pareth to Eclipse, for he outstrippeth the wind. Another might be 
 entered at a steeplechase, for why he is as fast as a church. Thorough- 
 pin with him is synonymous with ''perfect leg." If a nag cougheth, 
 tis " a clever hack." If his knees be fractured, he is " well broke for 
 
 Rear Admiral. 
 
 gig or saddle." If he reareth, he is "above sixteen hands high." If 
 he hath drawn a tierce in a cart, he is a good fencer. If he biteth, he 
 shows good courage ; and he is playful merely, though he should play 
 ihe devil. If he runneth away, he calleth him " off the Gretna Road, 
 and has been used to carry a lady." If a cob stumbleth, he consider- 
 eth him a true goer, and addeth " The proprietor parteth from him to 
 go abroad." Thus, without much profession of religion, yet is he truly 
 Christian-like in practice, for he dealeth not in detraction, and would 
 not disparage the character even of a brute. Like unto Love, he is 
 blind unto all blemishes, and seeth only a virtue, meanwhile hegazeth 
 at a vice. He taketh the kick of a nag's hoof like a love token, saying
 
 446 THE FALL. 
 
 only, before standers-by, " Poor fellow ! he knoweth me ! "and is 
 content rather to pass as a bad rider, than that the horse should be 
 held restive or over-mettlesome, which discharges him from its back 
 If it hath bitten him beside, and moreover bruised his limb against a 
 coach-wheel, then, constantly returning good for evil, he giveth it but 
 the better character, and recommendeth it before all the studs in his 
 stable. In short, the worse a horse may be, the more he chanteth his 
 praise, like a crow that croweth over Old Ball, whose lot it is on a 
 common to meet with the Common Lot. 
 
 THE FALL.* 
 
 "Down, down, down, ten thousand fathoms deep." 
 
 COUNT FATHOM. 
 
 WHO does not know that dreadful gulf, where Niagara falls, 
 Where eagle unto eagle screams, to vulture vulture calls ; 
 Where down beneath, Despair and Death in liquid darkness grope, 
 And upward, on the foam there shines a rainbow without Hope; 
 
 The Fall of St Lawrence. 
 
 While, hung with clouds of Fear and Doubt, the unreturning wave 
 Suddenly gives an awful plunge, like life into the grave ; 
 * Comic Annual, 1833.
 
 THE FALL, 
 
 447 
 
 And many a hapless mortal there hath dived to bale or bliss ; 
 One only one hath ever lived to rise from that abyss ! 
 
 Heaven ! it turns me now to ice, with chill of fear extreme, 
 To think of my frail bark adrift on that tumultuous stream ! 
 In vain with desperate sinews, strung by love of life and light, 
 
 1 urged that coffin, my canoe, against the current's mi>jht : 
 On on still on direct for doom, the river rush'd in force, 
 And fearfully the stream of Time raced with it in its course. 
 My eyes I closed I dared not look the way towards the goal ; 
 Hut still I view'd the horrid close, and dreamt it in my soul. 
 Plainly, as through transparent lids, I saw the fleeting shore, 
 And lofty trees, like winged things, flit by for evermore ; 
 Plainly but with no prophet sense I heard the sullen sound, 
 
 The torrent's voice and felt the mist, like death-sweat gathering round. 
 
 agony ! O life ! My home ! and those that made it sweet : 
 Ere I could pray, the torrent lay beneath my very feet. 
 
 With frightful whirl, more swift than thought, I pass'd the diAy edge, 
 Bound after bound, with hideous bruise, I dash'd from ledge to ledge, 
 From crag to crag, in speechless pain, from midnight deep to deep ; 
 
 1 did not die, but anguish stunn'd my senses into sleep. 
 How long entranced, or whither dived, no clue I have to find: 
 At last the gradual light of life came dawning o'er my mind ; 
 
 And through my brain there thrill'd a cry, a cry as shrill as birds' 
 Of vulture or of eagle kind, but this was set to words : 
 " It's Edgar Huntley in his cap and nightgown, I declares ! 
 He's been a walking in his sleep, and pitch'd all down the stairs 1* 
 
 A Cataract
 
 THE ILL UMINA TV.* 
 
 " Light, I say,, light I " -OTHKLLtx 
 
 '"pHOSEwho fcave peeped into the portfolios of Mr Geoffrey G-aye*- 
 JL will easily remember his graphic sketches of a locality called 
 Little Britr.in, and his amusing portraits of its two leading families, 
 the Lambs and the Trotters. I imngine.the deserved popularity of 
 the draughtsman made him much in request at routs, soirdes, and 
 conversazioni, or so acute an observer would not have failed to notice 
 a nocturnal characteristic of the s ime neighbourhood, I mean the 
 frequent and alarming glares of light that illuminate its firmament ; but 
 in spite of which, no parish engine rumbles down the steps of St Bo- 
 tolph, the fire-ladders hang undisturbed in their chains, and the turn- 
 cock srrtbkes placidly in the taproom of the Rose and Crown. For 
 this remarkable apathy, my own more domestic habits enable me to 
 account. 
 
 It is the fortune, or misfortune, of the house where I lodge, to con- 
 front that of Mr Wix, " Wax and Tallow Chandler to his Majesty ;" 
 and certainly no individual ever burned so much to evince his loyalty. 
 He and his windows are always framing an excuse for an illumination. 
 
 The kindling aptitude ascribed to Eupyrions, and Lucifers, and 
 Chlorate Matches, is nothing to his. Contrary to Hoyle's rules for loo, 
 a single court card is sufficient with him for "a bl.ize." He knows 
 and keeps the birthdays of all royal personages, and shows by tallow 
 in tins how they wax in years. As sure as the Park guns go off in 
 the morning, he fires his six-pounders in the evening ; as sure as a 
 newsman's horn is sounded in the street, it blows the same spark into 
 a flame. In some cases, his inflammability was such, he has been 
 known to ignite, and exhibit fire, where he should have shed water. 
 He was once it is still a local joke within an ace of rejoicing at 
 Marr's Murder. 
 
 During the long war he was really a nuisance, and what is worse, 
 not indictable. For one not unused to the melting mood, he was 
 strangely given to rejoicing. Other people were content to light up 
 for the great victories, but he commemorated the slightest skirmishes. 
 In civil events the same, whether favourable to Whig or Tory. Like 
 the lover of Bessy Bell and Mary Gray, he divided his flame between 
 them. He lighted when the Administration of the Duke of Wellington 
 came in, and he lighted when it went out, in short, it seemed, as with 
 the Roman Catholics, that candle-burning was a part of his religion, 
 and that he had got his religion itself from an illuminated missal. 
 
 To aggravate this propensity, Mr Sperm, the great oil merchant, 
 lives nearly opposite to Mr Wix, and his principle and his interest 
 coincide exactly with those of his neighbour. Mr Sperm possesses a 
 Very large star, and, like certain managers, he brings it forward as 
 often as he can. He is quite as lax in his political creed as the chanclkr, 
 and will light up on the lightest occasions, for instance, let there ba 
 * Comic Annual, 1832.
 
 THE ILLUMINATI. 449 
 
 but a peal of bells, and the Genius of the Ring directly invokes the 
 Genius of the Lamp. In short, Mr VVix and Mr Sperm both resemble 
 the same thing a merchant-man getting rid of goods by means of 
 lighters. 
 
 As the other inhabitants do not always choose to follow the example 
 of these two, I have known our illuminations to be very select the 
 great oil and tallow establishments blazing all alone in their glory. 
 On other occasions for instance, the rejoicings for that Bill which 
 Lord L. calls a Bill of Panes and Penalties I have seen our street 
 assume the motley appearance of a chessboard, alternately dark and 
 bright to say nothing of Mrs Frampton's lodging-house, where every 
 tenant was of a different sentiment and the several floors afforded a 
 striking example of the Clnre Obscure. 
 
 Among general illuminations, I remember none more so than the 
 one on the accession of his late Majesty but what so universally 
 brightened the Great Britain might be expected to light the Little 
 one. It was in reality an unrivalled exhibition of its kind, and I pro^ 1 
 pose therefore to give some account of it, the situation of my apartment 
 having afforded unusual opportunities for it is at the angle of a 
 corner house, and thus while its easterly windows stare into those of 
 the Rumbold family, its northern ones squint aside into the sashes of 
 that elderly spinster Miss Winter. 
 
 It must have been an extreme fit of loyalty that put such a thought 
 into the penurious mind of Miss W., but she resolved for once in 
 her life to illuminate. I could see her at a large dining-table so 
 called by courtesy, for it never dined reviewing a regiment of glass 
 custard-cups so called also by courtesy, for they never held custard 
 and another division of tall jelly-glasses, equally unknown to jellies. 
 I might have thought that she meant for once to give a very light 
 supper, had I not seen her fill them all with oil from a little tin can, 
 and afterwards she furnished them with a floating wick. They were 
 then ranged on the window-frame, alternately tall and short ; and 
 after this costly preparation, which, by the heaving of her neckerchief, 
 she visibly sighed over, she folded her arms demurely before her, and, 
 by the light of her solitary rush taper, sat down to await the extrava- 
 gant call of " Light up ! " 
 
 The elde'r Miss Rumbold the parents were out of town was not 
 idle in the meantime. She packed all the little R.'s off to bed (I 
 did not see them have any supper) and then, having got rid of the 
 family . ijnches, began on the tin ones. She had fixed her headquar- 
 ters in the drawing-room, from whence I saw Caroline and Henry 
 detached, with separate parcels of tins and candles, to do the same 
 office for the floors above and below. But no such luck ! After a 
 while, the street door gently opened, and forth sneaked the two 
 deserters, of course to see better illuminations than their own. At 
 the slam of the door behind them Miss Rumbold comprehended the 
 full calamity : first, she threw up her arms, then her eyes, then 
 clenched her teeth and then her hands ; going through all the pan- 
 tomine for distress of mind but she had no time for grieving, and 
 indeed but little for rejoicing. Mr Wix's was beginning to glitter. 
 Tearing up and down stairs like a lamplighter on AIS ladder, she fur- 
 
 2F
 
 450 
 
 THE 1LLUMINAT1. 
 
 nished all the blank windows, and then returned to the drawing-room ; 
 and what was evidently her favourite fancy, she had completed and 
 hung up two festoons of artificial flowers ; but alas ! her stock on 
 hand fell short a whole foot of the third window I am afraid for 
 want of the very bouquet in Caroline's bonnet. Removing the unfor- 
 tunate garlands, she rushed out full speed, and the next moment I 
 saw her in the story above, rapidly unpapering her curls, and making 
 herself as fit as time allowed, to sit in state in the drawing-room, by 
 the light of twenty-seven long sixes. 
 
 A violent uproar now recalled my attention to Number 29, where 
 the mob had begun to call out to Miss Winter for her Northern 
 Lights. Miss W. was at her post and rushed with her rush to 
 comply with the demand : but a sudden twitter of nervousness 
 aggravating her old palsy, she could not persuade her wavering 
 taper to alight on any one of the cottons. There was a deal of 
 coquetting indeed between wick and wick, but nothing like a mutual 
 flame. In vain the thin lover-like candle kept hovering over its 
 
 Sixes and Sevens. 
 
 intended, and shedding tears of grease at every repulse ; not a glimmer 
 replied to its glance, till at last, weary of love and light, it fairly k-aped 
 out of its tin socket, and drowned its own twinkle in a tall jelly-glass. 
 The patience of the mob, already of a thin texture, was torn to rags 
 by this conclusion ; they saw that if she would, Miss Winter never 
 could illuminate : but as this was an unwelcome truth, they broke it
 
 THE ILL UMINA 77. 5I 
 
 to her with a volley of stones, that destroyed her little Vauxhall in a 
 moment, and in a twinkle left her nothing to twinkle with ! 
 
 Shocked at this catastrophe, I turned with some anxiety to Miss 
 Rumbold's, but with admirable presence of mind she had lighted 
 every alternate candle in her windows, and was thus able to present 
 a respectable front at a short notice. The mob, however, made aa 
 much uproar as at Miss Winter's, though the noise was different in 
 character, and more resembled the boisterous merriment which attends 
 upon Punch. In fact, Miss Rumbold had a Fantoccini overhead she 
 little dreamt of. Awakened by the unusual light, the younger Rum- 
 bolds had rushed from bed to the window, where, exhilarated by 
 childish spirits and the appearance of a gala, they had got up an 
 extempore Juvenile Ball, and were dancing with all their might in 
 their little nightcaps and nightgowns. In vain the unconscious 
 Matilda pointed to her candles, and added her own private pair from 
 the table to the centre window; in vain she wrung her hands, or 
 squeezed them on her bosom : the more she protested in dumb show, 
 the more the mob shouted ; and the more the mob shouted, the wilder 
 the imps jigged about. At last Matilda seemed to take some hint ; 
 she vanished from the drawing-room like a ghost, and reappeared 
 like a Fury in the nursery a pair of large hands vigorously flourished 
 and flogged the heels of the Corps de Ballet flew up higher than 
 their heads the mob shouted louder than ever and exeunt omnes. 
 
 This interlude being over, the rabble moved on to Mr Wix's, whose 
 every window, as usual, shone "like nine good deeds in a naughty 
 world," and he obtained nine cheers for the display. Poor Mr Sperm 
 was not so fortunate. He had been struggling manfully with a sharp 
 nor-wester to light up his star, but one obstinate limb persisted in 
 showing which way the wind blew. It was a point not to be gained, 
 and though far from red hot, it caused a hiss that reached even to 
 Number 14, and frightened all the Flowerdews. Number 14, as the 
 Clown expresses it in Twelfth Night, was " as lustrous as ebony." In 
 vain Mrs Flowerdew pleaded from one window, and Mr Flowerdew 
 harangued from the other, while Flowerdew junior hammered and 
 tugged at the space between ; the glaziers and their friends unglazed 
 everything ; and I hope the worthy family, the next time they have a 
 Crown and Anchor, will remember to have them the right side dipper- 
 most. Green and yellow lamps decline to hang upon hooks that are 
 topsyturvy, and the blue and red are just as particular. 
 
 I forgot to say that during the past proceedings my eyes had fre- 
 quently glanced towards Number 28. Its occupier, Mr Brookbank, 
 was in some remote way connected with the royal household, and had 
 openly expressed his intention of surprising Little Britain. And in 
 truth Little Britain was surprised enough when it beheld at Mr 
 Brookbank's nothing but a few sorry flambeaux: he talked to the 
 mob, indeed, of a transparency of Peace and Plenty, but as they could 
 see no sign of either, and they had plenty of stones, they again broke 
 the peace. I am sorry to say that, in this instance, the mob were 
 wrong, for there "was a transparency, but as it was lighted from the 
 outer side, Mr B.'s Peace and Plenty smiled on nobody but him- 
 self.
 
 45* 1 
 
 THE ILLUMINATI. 
 
 There was only one more disorder, and it occurred at the very house 
 that I help to inhabit. Not that 1>e were dim by any means, for we 
 had been liberal customers to Mr Sperm ;- ' o Mr Wix : the tallow 
 of one flared in all our panes, and the oil oi the other fed a brilliant 
 W. P. Alas ! it was these fiery initials, enigmatical as those at Bel- 
 shazzar's banquet, that caused all our troubles. The million could 
 make out the meaning of the W, but the other letter, divided in con- 
 jecture among them, was literally a split P. Curiosity increased to 
 furiosity, and what might have happened nobody only knows, if my 
 landlady had not proclaimed that her W had spent such a double 
 allowance of lamps, that her R had been obliged to retrench. 
 
 To aid her oratory, the rabble were luckily attracted from our own 
 display by a splendour greater even than usual at Number 9. The 
 warehouseman of Mr Wix like Master like Man had got up an 
 illumination of his own, by leaving a firebrand among the tallow, that 
 
 Ignis Fatuus. 
 
 soon caused the breaking out of an Insurrection in Grease, and where 
 candles had hitherto been lighted only by Retail, they were now ignited 
 by Wholesale ; or, as my landlady said "All the fat was in the fire ! " 
 I ventured to ask her, when all was over, what she thought of the 
 lighting-up, and she gave me her opinion in the following sentiment, 
 in the prayer of which I most heartily concur. " Illuminations,'' she 
 said, " were very pretty things to look at, and no doubt new Kings 
 ought to be illuminated ; but what with the toil, and what with the 
 oil, and what with the grease, and what with the mob, she hoped it 
 would be long, very long before we had a new King again ! "
 
 453 
 
 Four Inside 
 
 CONVE YANCING.* 
 
 OH, London is the place for all 
 
 In love with loco-motion ! 
 Still to and fro the people go 
 
 Like billows of the ocean ; 
 Machine or man, or caravan, 
 
 Can all be had for paying, 
 When great estates, or heavy weights, 
 
 Or bodies want conveying. 
 
 There's always hacks about in packs, 
 
 Wherein you may be shaken, 
 And Jarvis is not alwa\ s drunk, 
 
 Though always overtaken; 
 In racing tricks he'll never mix, 
 
 His nags are in their last days, 
 And slow to go, although they show 
 
 As if they had ihcirfast days I 
 
 Then if you like a single horse, 
 
 This age is quite a cab-age, 
 A car not quite so small and li^ht 
 
 As those of our Queen Mab age ; 
 The horses have been broken welly 
 
 All danger is rescinded, 
 For some have broken both their knees t 
 
 And some are broken-winded. 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1830.
 
 454 CONVEYANCING. 
 
 If you've a friend at Chelsea end, 
 
 The stages are worth knowing ; 
 There is a sort, we call 'em short, 
 
 Although the longest going 
 For some will stop at Hatchett's shop 
 
 Till you grow faint and sicky, 
 Perched up behind, at last to find 
 
 Your dinner is all dickey I 
 
 Long stages run from every yard ; 
 
 But if you're wise and frugal, 
 You'll never go with any Guard 
 
 That plays upon the bugle, 
 * Ye banks and braes," and other lays, 
 
 And ditties everlasting, 
 Like miners going all your way, 
 
 With boring and with blasting. 
 
 Instead of journeys, people now 
 
 May go upon a Cttrney, 
 With steam to do the horses' work, 
 
 By powers of attorney ; 
 Though with a load it may explode, 
 
 And you may all be -done ! 
 And find you're going up to Heaven^ 
 
 Instead of up to London I 
 
 To speak of every kind of coach, 
 
 It is not my intention : 
 But there is still one vehicle 
 
 Deserves a little mention ; 
 The world a sage has call'd a stagey 
 
 With all its living lumber, 
 And Malthus swears it always bears 
 
 Above the proper number. 
 
 The law will transfer house or land 
 
 For ever and a day hence, 
 For lighter things, watch, brooches, rings, 
 
 You'll never want conveyance ; 
 Ho ! stop the thief ! my handkerchief 1 
 
 It is no sight for laughter 
 Away it goes, and leaves my nose 
 
 To join in running after 1
 
 455 
 
 Van Demon's Land. 
 
 A LETTER FROM A SETTLER FOR LIFE IN 
 VAN DIEM EN'S LAND* 
 
 To Mary, at No, 45 Mount Street Grosvenor Square. 
 
 DEAR MARY Littel did I Think wen I advertisd in the Tims for 
 annother Plaice of taking wan in Vandemin's land. But so it 
 his and hear I am amung Kangerooses and Sr.\idi;es and other Forri- 
 ners. But goverment offering to Yung Wimmin to find them in 
 Yittles and Drink and Close and Husbands was turms not to be 
 sneazed at, so I writ to the Outlandish Seckertary and he was so Kind 
 as Grant. 
 
 Wen this cums to Hand go to Number 22 Pimpernel Plaice And 
 mind and go betwixt Six and sevin For your own Sake cos then the 
 fammilys Having Diner <;ive my kind love to betty Housmad and Say 
 I am safe of my Jurney to Forrin parts And I hope Master as never 
 Mist the wine and brought Them into trubble on My accounts. But 
 I did not Like to leav for Ever And Ever without treeting my Frends 
 * Comic Annual, 1833.
 
 4$6 A LETTER FROM A SETTLER. 
 
 nnd feller servants and Drinking to all their fairwells. In my Flury 
 wen the Bell rung I forgot to take My own Key out of mi-sis Tekaddy 
 but 1 hope sum wan had the thought And it is in Good hands but 
 shall Be obleeged to no. Lickwise thro my Loness of Sperrits my 
 lox of Hares quite went out of My Hed as was prommist to Be giv 
 to Gorge and Willum and the too Futmen at the too Next dores But 
 I hop and Trust betty pucifid them with lox of Her hone as I begd to 
 Be dun wen I rit Her from dover. O Mary wen I furst see the dover 
 Wite clifts out of site wat with squemishness and Fehngs I all most 
 repentid givin Ingland warning And had douts if I was goin to 
 better my self. But the stewerd was verry kind tho I could make 
 Him no returns xcept by Dustin the ship for Him And helpin to 
 wash up his dishes. Their was 50 moor Young Wimmin of us and 
 By way of passing tim We agread to tell our Histris of our selves 
 taken by Turns But they all turned out Alick we had All left on 
 acount of Testacious masters And crustacious Mississis andbecos the 
 \Vurks was to much For our Strenths but betwixt yew and Me the 
 reel truths was beeing Flirted with and unprommist by Perfidus yung 
 men. With sich exampils befour there Minds I wunder sum of them 
 was unprudent enuff to Lissen to the Salers whom are coverd with 
 Pitch but famus for Not Stiking to there Wurds. has for Me the 
 Mate chose to be verry Partickler wan nite Setting on a Skane of 
 Rops but I giv Him is Anser and lucky I did for Am infourmd he as 
 Got too more Marred Wives in a state of Biggamy thank Goodness 
 wan can marry in new Wurlds without mates. Since I have bean in 
 My pressent Sitiation I have had between too and three offers for My 
 Hands and expex them Evry day to go to fistcufs about Me this is 
 sum thing lick treeting Wimmin as Wimmin ought to be treetid Nun 
 of your sarsy Buchers and Backers as brakes there Prommissis the 
 sam as Pi Crust wen its maid Lite and shrivvry And then laffs in Your 
 face and say they can have anny Gal they lick round the Square. I 
 dont menshun nams but Eddard as drives the Fancy bred will no Wat 
 I mean. As soon as ever the Botes rode to Land I don't agrivate the 
 Truth to say their was haf a duzzin Bows apeace to Hand us out to 
 shear and sum go so Far as say they was offered to thro Specking 
 Trumpits afore they left the Shiuside. B.e that as it May or may 
 Not I am tould We maid a Verry pritty site all Wauking too and 
 too in our bridle wite Gownds with the Union Jacks afore Us to 
 pay humbel Respex to kernel Arther who behaived verry Gentle- 
 manny and Complementid us on our Hansom apearances and Pur- 
 litely sed he Wisht us All in the United States. The Salers was so 
 gallaunt as giv three chears wen We left there Ship and sed if so be 
 they had not Bean without Canons they Wood have salutid us all 
 round. Servents mite live Long enuff in Lonnon without Being sich 
 persons of Distinkshun. For my hone Part, cumming amung strangers 
 /and Pig in Pokes, prudence Dicktatid not to be askt out At the verry 
 furst cumming in howsumever All is setteld And the match is aproved 
 off by Kernel Arther and the Brightish goverment, who as agread to 
 giv me away, thems wat I call Honners as we used to Say at wist. 
 Wan thing in My favers was my voice and my noing the song of the 
 Plane Gould Ring witch the Van Demons had never Herd afore I
 
 A LETTER FROM A SETTLER. 457 
 
 wood recummend all as meens cumming to Bring as menny of the 
 fashingable Songs and Ballets as they Can and to get sum nolliges 
 of music as fortnately for me I was Abel to by meens of praxtising on 
 Missis Piney Forty wen the fammily Was at ramsgit. of Coarse you 
 and betty Will xpect Me to indulge in Pearsonallitis about my intendid 
 to tell Yew wat he is lick he is Not at AH lick Eddard as driv the 
 Fancy bred and Noboddy else yew No. I wood send yew His picter 
 Dun by himself only its no more lick Him then Chork is to Cheas. 
 In spit of the Short Tim for Luv to take Roots 1 am conf inst he is 
 very Passionet of coarse As to his temper I cant Speek As yet as I 
 hav not Tride it. O mary littel did I think too Munth ago of sending 
 yew Brid Cake and Weddin favers wen I say this I am only Fingering 
 in speach for Yew must Not look for sich Things from this Part of 
 the Wurld I dont mean this by Way of discurridgement Wat I meen 
 to say is this If so be Yung Wimmin prefers a state of Silly Bessy 
 they Had better remane ware they was Born but as far as Reel down 
 rite Coarting and no nonsens is concarnd This is the Plaice for my 
 Munny a Gal has only to cum out hear And theirs duzzens will jump 
 at her like Cox at Gusberris it will Be a reel kindnes to say as Much 
 to Hannah at 48 and Hester Brown and Peggy Oldfield and partickler 
 poor Charlotte they needent Fear about being Plane for Yew may tell 
 Them in this land Faces dont make stumbling Blox and if the Hole 
 cargo was as uggly As sin Lots wood git marrid. Deer Mary if so Be 
 you feel disposd to cum Out of Your self I will aford evry Falicity 
 towards your hapiness. I dont want to hurt your Felines but since 
 the Cotchman as giv yew up I dont think Yew have annother String 
 to your Bo to say nothink of Not being so young As yew was Ten 
 Yeer ago and faces Will ware out as well as scrubbin brushes, theirs a 
 verry nice yung man is quite a Willin to offer to Yew providid you 
 cum the verry Next vessle for He has Maid up his mind not to Waft 
 
 Ring-DovM. 
 
 beyond the Kupid and Sikey, as the ship is on the Pint of Saling I 
 cant rite Moor at pressent xcept for them as has shily shal\ ing sweat 
 harts to Thretten with cumming to Vandemins And witch will soon 
 sho wether its Cubbard Love or true Love I have seen Enuff of Bows
 
 45? EPICUREAN REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 droping in at supertime and falling out the next mornin? after borrowin 
 Wans wages. Wen yew see anny Frends giv my Distant love to 
 Them and say My being Gone to annother wurld dont impe.ir my 
 Memmery but I often Thinks of Number 22 and the two Next 
 Dores. yew may Disclose my matterymonial Prospex to betty as we 
 have always had a Deal of Confidens. And I remane with the Gratest 
 asurance Your affexionat Frend 
 
 Susan Gale as his to be Simco. 
 
 P.S. Deer mary my Furst Match beeing broke off short hope Yew 
 will not take it 111 but I have Marrid the yung Man as was to Hav 
 waited for Yew but as Yew hav never seen one Annother trusts yew 
 will Not take Him to hart or abrade by Return of Postesses he has 
 behaved Perfickly honnerable And has got a verry United frend ot his 
 Hone to be atacht to Yew in lew of Him. adew. 
 
 SONNET* 
 
 Allegory A moral vehicle. Dictionary. 
 
 I HAD a gig-horse, and I called him Pleasure, 
 
 Because on Sundays, for a little jaunt, 
 He was so fast and showy, quite a treasure ; 
 
 Although he sometimes kick'd, and shied aslant 
 I had a chaise, and christen'd it Enjoyment, 
 
 With yellow body, and the wheels of red, 
 Because 'twas only used for one employment, 
 
 Namely, to go wherever Pleasure led. 
 I had a wife, her nickname was Delight ; 
 
 A son called Frolic, who was never still : 
 Alas ! how often dark succeeds to bright ! 
 
 Delight was thrown, and Frolic had a spill, 
 Enjoyment was upset and shatter'd quite, 
 
 And Pleasure fell a splitter on Painds Hill I 
 
 EPICUREAN REMINISCENCES OF A SENT1* 
 MENTALISTA 
 
 " My Tablet I Meat it is, / jet it down I " HAMLKT. 
 
 I THINK it was spring but not certain I am 
 
 When my passion began first to work : 
 But I know we were certainly looking for lamb, 
 fo 
 
 And the season was over for pork. 
 
 s at Christmas, I think, when I i 
 s, for Morris h.id ask'd me to c 
 Comic Annual, 1830. t Comic Annual, 1831. 
 
 'Twas at Christmas, I think, when I met with Miss Chase, 
 Yes, for Morris h.id ask'd me to dine,
 
 A SENTIMENTALIST. 
 
 And I thought I had never beheld such a face, 
 Or so noble a turkey and chine. 
 
 Placed close by her side, it made others quite wild 
 
 With sheer envy to witness my luck ; 
 How she blush'd ns I gave her some turtle, and smiled 
 
 As 1 afterwards offer'd some duck. 
 
 I look'd and I languish'd, alas ! to my cost, 
 Through three courses of dishes and meats ; 
 
 Getting deeper in love but my heart was quite lost 
 When it came to the trifle and sweets ! 
 
 With a rent-roll that told of my houses and land, 
 
 To her parents I told my designs 
 And then to herself I presented my hand, 
 
 With a very fine pottle of pines ! 
 
 I asked her to have me for weal or for woe, 
 
 And she did not object in the least ; 
 I can't tell the date but we married, I know, 
 
 Just in time to have game at the feast. 
 
 We went to , it certainly was the,seaside ; 
 
 For the next, the most blessed of morns, 
 I remember how fondly I gazed at my^bride, 
 
 Sitting down to a plateful of prawns. 
 
 Oh, never may memory lose sight of that year, 
 
 But still hallow the time as it ought ; 
 That, season the " grass " was remarkably dear, 
 
 And the peas at a guinea a quart. 
 
 So happy, like hours, all our days seem'd to haste, 
 
 A fond pair, such as poets have drawn, 
 So united in heart so congenial in taste, 
 
 We were both of us partial to brawn ! 
 
 A long life I look'd for of bliss with my bride, 
 But then Death I ne'er dreamt about that ! 
 
 Oh, there's nothing is certain in life, as I cried 
 When my turbot eloped with the cat ! 
 
 My dearest took ill at the turn of the year, 
 But the cause no physician could nab ; 
 
 But something it seem'd like consumption, I fear, 
 It was just after supping on crab. 
 
 In vain she was doctor'd, in vain she was dosed, 
 Still her strength and her appetite pined ; 
 
 She lost relish for what she had relish'd the most, 
 Even salmon she deeply declined !
 
 460 SAIN T MARK' 'S E l r E. 
 
 For months still I linger'd in hope and in doubt, 
 While her form it grew wasted and thin ; 
 
 But the last dying spark of existence went out 
 As the oysters were just coming in ! 
 
 She died, and she left me, the saddest of men, 
 
 To indulge in a widower's moan ; 
 Oh, I felt all the power of solitude then, 
 
 As I ate my first natives alone ! 
 
 But when I beheld Virtue's friends in their cloaks, 
 And with sorrowful crape on their hats, 
 
 Oh, my grief pour'd a flood ! and the out-of-door folks 
 Were all crying I think it was sprats ! 
 
 "The City Remembrancer." 
 
 SAINT MAJtK'S EVE. 
 
 A TALE OF THE OLDEN TIME.* 
 
 u r "pHE Devil choke thee with un ! " as Master Giles the Yeoman 
 .L said this, he banged down a hand, in size and colour like a ham, 
 on the old-fashioned onk table JT-" I do say the Devil choke thee 
 with un ! " 
 
 The Dame made no reply : she was choking with passion and a 
 fowl's liver the original cause of the dispute. A great deal has been 
 said and sung of the advantage of congenial tastes amongst married 
 people, but true it is, the variances of our Kentish couple arose from 
 this very coincidence in gusto. They were both fond of the little 
 delicacy in question, but the Dame had managed to secure the morsel 
 for herself, and this was sufficient to cause a storm of very high words, 
 which, properly understood, signifies very low language. Their 
 meal-times seldom passed over \\ ithout some contention of the sort, as 
 sure as the knives and forks clashed, so did they being, in fact, equally 
 * Comic Annual, 1830.
 
 t SAINT MARK'S EVE. 461 
 
 greedy and disagreedy and when they did pick a quarrel, they picked 
 it to the bone. 
 
 It was reported that on some occasions they had not even contented 
 themselves with hard speeches, but that they had come to scuffling 
 he taking to boxing, and she to pinching though in a far less ami- 
 
 cable manner than is practised by the takers of snuff. On the present 
 difference, however, they were satisfied with "wishing each other dead 
 with all their hearts" and there seemed little doubt of the sincerity 
 of the aspiration, on looking at their malignant faces, for they made 
 a horrible picture in this frame of mind. 
 
 Now it happened that this quarrel took place on the morning of St 
 Mark, a saint who was supposed on that Festival to favour his 
 votaries with a peep into the Book of Fate. For it was the popular 
 belief in those days, that if a person should keep watch towards mid- 
 night, beside the church, the apparitions of all those of the parish who 
 were to be taken by Death before the next anniversary would be seen 
 entering the porch. The Yeoman, like his neighbours, believed most 
 devoutly in this superstition ; and in the very moment that he breathed 
 the unseemly aspiration aforesaid, it occurred to him that the Even 
 was at hand when, by observing the rite of St Mark, he might know 
 to a certainty whether this unchristian wish was to be one of those 
 that bear fruit. Accordingly, a little before midnight he stole quietly 
 out of the house, and in something of a sexton-like spirit set forth on 
 his way to the church. 
 
 In the meantime the Dame called to mind the same ceremonial; and 
 having the like motive for curiosity with her husband, she also put on 
 her cloak and calash, and set out, though by a different path, on the 
 same errand, 
 
 The night of the saint was as dark and chill as the mysteries he
 
 462 SAINT MARK'S EVE. 
 
 was supposed to reveal, the moon throwing but a short occasional 
 glance, as the sluggish masses of cloud were driven slowly across her 
 face. Thus it fell out that our two adventurers were quite unconscious 
 of being in company, till a sudden glimpse of moonlight showed them 
 
 Second Sight. 
 
 to each other, only a few yards apart both, through a natural panic, 
 as pale as ghosts, and both making eagerly towards the church porch. 
 Much as they had just wished for this vision, they could not help 
 quaking and stopping on the spot, as if turned to a pair of tombstones, 
 and in this position the dark again threw a sudden curtain over them, 
 and they disappeared from each other. 
 
 It will be supposed the two came only to one conclusion, each con- 
 ceiving that St Mark had marked the other to himself. With this 
 comfortable knowledge, the widow and widower ekct hied home a^ain 
 by the roads they came ; and as their custom was to sit apart alter a 
 quarrel, they repaired, each ignorant of the other's excursion, to sc pa- 
 rate chambers. 
 
 By and by, being called to supper, instead of sulking as aforetime, 
 they came down together, each being secretly in the best humour, 
 though mutually suspected of the worst ; and amongst other things 
 on the table, there was a calf's sweetbread, being one of those very 
 dainties that had often set them together by the ears. The Dame 
 looked and longed, but she refrained from its appropriation, thinking 
 within herself that she could give up sweetbreads for one year : and
 
 SAIN7" MARK'S EVE. 463 
 
 the Farmer made a similar reflection. After pushing the dish to and 
 fro several times, by a common impulse they divided the treat ; and 
 then, having supped, they retired amicably to rest, whereas until then, 
 they had never gone to bed without falling out. The truth was, each 
 looked upon the other as being already in the churchyard mould, or 
 quite " moulded to their wish." 
 
 On the morrow, which happened to be the Dame's birthday, tha 
 Farmer was the first to wake, and knowing what he knew, and having 
 besides but just roused himself out of a dream strictly confirmatory of 
 the late vigil,' he did not scruple to salute his wife, and wish her many 
 happy returns of the day. The wife, who knew as much as he, very 
 readily wished him the same, having in truth but just rubbed out of 
 her eyes the pattern of a widow's bonnet, that had been submitted to 
 her in her sleep. She took care, however, to give the fowl's liver at 
 dinner to the doomed man, considering that, when he was dead and 
 gone, she could have them, if she pleased, seven days in the week ; 
 and the Farmer, on his part, took care to help her to many tid-bits. 
 Their feeling towards each other was that of an impatient host with 
 regard to an unwelcome guest, showing scarcely a bare civility while 
 in expectation of his stay, but overloading him with hospitality when 
 made certain of his departure. 
 
 In this manner they went on for some six months, and though with- 
 out any addition of love between them, and as much selfishness as 
 ever, yet living in a subservience to the comforts and inclinations of 
 each other, sometimes not to be found even amongst couples of sin- 
 cerer affections. There were as many causes for quarrel as ever, but 
 every day it became less worth while to quarrel ; so letting bygones 
 be bygones, they were indifferent to the present, and thought only of 
 the future, considering each other (to adopt a common phrase) M as 
 good as dead." 
 
 Ten months wore away, and the Farmers birthday arrived in its 
 turn. The Dame, who had passed an uncomfortable night, having 
 dreamt, in truth, that she did not much like herself in mourning; 
 saluted him as soon as the day dawned, and with a sigh wished him 
 many years to come. The Farmer repaid her in kind, the s ; gh 
 included ; his own visions having been of the painful sort, for he had 
 dreamt of having a headache from wearing a black hatband, and the 
 malady still clung to him when awake. The whole morning was 
 spent in silent meditation and melancholy on both sides, and when 
 dinner came, although the most favourite dishes were upon the table, 
 they could not eat. The Farmer, resting his elbows upon the board, 
 with his face between his hands, gazed wistfully on his wife, scoop- 
 ing her eyes, as it were, out of their sockets, stripping the flesh off her 
 cheeks, and in fancy converting her whole head into a mere Caput 
 Mortuum. The Dame, leaning back in her high arm-chair, regarded 
 the Yeoman quite as ruefully, by the same process of imagination 
 picking his sturdy bones, and bleaching his ruddy visage to the com- 
 plexion of a plaster cast. Their minds, travelling in the same direc- 
 tion, and at an equal rate, arrived together at the same reflection ; but 
 the Farmer was the first to give it utterance : 
 
 u Thee'd be miss'd, Dame, if thee were to die 1 '
 
 464 SAINT MARK'S EYE. 
 
 The Dame started. Although she had nothing but Death at that 
 moment before her eyes, she was far from dreaming of her own exit, 
 and at this rebound of her thoughts against herself, she felt as if an 
 extra-cold coffin-plate had been suddenly nailed on her chest ; recover- 
 ing, however, from the first shock, her thoughts flowed into their old 
 channel, and she retorted in the same spirit : " I wish, Master, thee 
 may live so long as I ! " 
 
 The Farmer, in his own mind, wished to live rather longer ; for, at 
 the utmost, he considered that his wife's bill of mortality had but two 
 months to run. The calculation made him sorrowful : during the last 
 few months she had consulted his appetite, bent to his humour, and 
 dovetailed her own inclinations into his, in a manner that could never 
 be supplied ; and he thought of her, if not in the language, at least in 
 the spirit, of the Lady in Lalla Rookh 
 
 " I never taught a bright pazelle 
 
 To watch me with its dark black eye^ 
 But when it came to know me well, 
 And love me, it was sure to die ! " 
 
 His wife, from being at first useful to him, had become agreeable, 
 and at last dear ; and as he contemplated her approaching fate, he 
 could not help thinking out audibly, " that he should be a lonesome 
 man when she was gone." The Dame, this time, heard the survivor- 
 ship foreboded without starting ; but she marvelled much at wh.it she 
 thought the infatuation of a doomed man. So perfect was her faith 
 in the infallibility of St Mark, that she had even seen the symptoms 
 of mortal disease, as palpable as plague spots, on the devoted Yeoman. 
 Giving his body up, therefore, for lost, a strong sense of duty persuaded 
 her that it was imperative on her, as a Christian, to warn the unsus- 
 pecting Farmer of his dissolution. Accordingly, with a solemnity 
 adapted to the subject, a tenderness of recent growth, and a Momento 
 Mori face, she broached the matter in the following question 
 
 " Master, how bee'st ?" 
 
 "As hearty, Dame, as a buck," the Dame shook her head, "and 
 I wish thee the like," at which he shook his head himself. 
 
 A dead silence ensued : the Farmer was as unprepared as ever. 
 There is a great fancy for breaking the truth by dropping it gently, 
 an experiment which has never answered any more than with iron- 
 stone china. The Dame felt this, and thinking it better to throw the 
 news at her husband at once, she told him in as many words that he 
 was a dead man. 
 
 It was now the Yeoman's turn to be staggered. By a parallel 
 course of reasoning, he had just wrought himself up to a similar dis- 
 closure, and the Dame's death-warrant was just ready upon his tongue, 
 when he met with his own despatch, signed, sealed, and delivered. 
 Conscience instantly pointed out the oracle from which she had 
 derived the omen, and he turned as pale as " the pale of society " 
 the colourless complexion of late hours. 
 
 St Martin had numbered his years ; and remainder days seemed 
 discounted by St Thomas. Like a criminal cast to die, he doubled if 
 the die was cant, and appealed to his wife :
 
 I'M NOT A 1 SINGLE MAN. 465 
 
 "Thee hast watch'd, Dame, at the church porch, then ?" 
 
 "Ay, Master." 
 
 "And thee didst see me spirituously ?" 
 
 " In the brown wrap, with the boot-hose. Thee were coming to 
 the church by Fairthorn Gap ; in the while I were coming by the 
 holly hedge." For a minute the Farmer paused but the next, he 
 burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, peal after peal, and each 
 higher than the last, according to the hysterical gamut of the hyasna. 
 The poor woman had but one explanation for this phenomenon she 
 thought it a delirium a lightening before death, and was beginning 
 to wring her hands, and lament, when she was checked by the merry 
 Yeoman : 
 
 " Dame, thee bee'st a fool. It was I myself thee seed at the church 
 porch. I seed" thee too, with a notice to quit upon thy face, but, 
 thanks to God, thee beest a-living, and that is more than I cared to 
 say of thee this day ten-month ! " 
 
 Bear and For-Bear. 
 
 The Dame made no answer. Her heart was too full to speak, but 
 throwing her arms round her husband, she showed that she shared in 
 his sentiment. And from that hour, by practising a careful abstinence 
 from offence, or a temperate sufferance of its appearance, they became 
 the most united couple in the county-^but it must be said, that their 
 comfort was not complete till they had seen each other in safety over 
 the perilous anniversary of St Mark's Eve. 
 
 7'J/ NOT A SINGLE MAN* 
 
 " Double, single, and the rub." HOYLE. 
 " This, this is Solitude." BYRON. 
 
 I. 
 
 WELL, I confess, I did not guess 
 
 A simple marriage vow 
 Would make me find all womenkind 
 Such unkind women now ! 
 * Comic Annual, 1831. 
 
 2 O
 
 I'M NOT A SINGLE MAN. 
 
 They need not, sure, as distant be 
 
 As Java or Japan, 
 Yet every Miss reminds me this 
 
 I'm not a single man ! 
 
 II. 
 Once they made choice of my bass voice 
 
 To share in each duet ; 
 So well I danced, I somehow chanced 
 
 To stand in every set : 
 They now declare I cannot sing, 
 
 And dance on Bruin's plan ; 
 Me draw me paint me anything ! 
 
 I'm not a single man ! 
 
 III. 
 Once I was ask'd advice, and task'd 
 
 What works to buy or not, 
 And " would I read that passage out 
 
 I so admired in Scott ? " 
 They then could bear to hear one read ; 
 
 But if I now began, 
 How they would snub " My pretty page* 
 
 I'm not a single man ! 
 
 IV. 
 One used to stitch a collar then, 
 
 Another hemm'd a frill ; 
 I had more purses netted then 
 
 Than I could hope to fill. 
 I once could get a button on, 
 
 But now I never can 
 My buttons then were Bachelor's 
 
 I'm not a single man ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Oh, how they hated politics 
 
 Thrust on me by papa ! 
 But now my chat, they all leave that 
 
 To entertain mamma 
 Mamma, who praises her own self, 
 
 Instead of Jane or Ann, 
 And lays " her girls " upon the shelf 
 
 I'm not a single man ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Ah me ! how strange it is the change, 
 
 In parlour and in hall ; 
 They treat me so, if I but go 
 
 To make a morning call. 
 If they had hair in papers once, 
 
 Bolt up the stairs they ran ;
 
 / *M NOT A SINGLE MAN. 467 
 
 They now sit still in deshabille 
 I'm not a single man ! 
 
 VII. 
 Miss Mary Bond was once so fond 
 
 Of Romans and of Greeks, 
 She daily sought my cabinet 
 
 To study my antiques ; 
 Well, now she doesn't care a dump 
 
 For ancient pot or pan, 
 Her taste at once is modernised 
 
 I'm not a single man ! 
 
 VIII. 
 My spouse is fond of homely life, 
 
 And all that sort of thing ; 
 I go to balls without my wife, 
 
 And never wear a ring : 
 And yet each Miss to whom I come, 
 
 As strange as Genghis Khan, 
 Knows by some sign, I can't divine, 
 
 I'm not a single man 1 
 
 IX. 
 
 Go where I will, I but intrude ; 
 
 I'm left in crowded rooms. 
 Like Zimmerman on Solitude, 
 
 Or Hervey at his Tombs. 
 From head to heel, they make me feel 
 
 Of quite another clan ; 
 Compell'd to own, though left alone, 
 
 I'm not a single man ! 
 
 x. 
 
 Miss Towne, the toast, though s.he can boast 
 
 A nose of Roman line, 
 Will turn up even that in scorn 
 
 Of compliments of mine : 
 She should have seen that I have been 
 
 Her sex's partisan, 
 And really married all I could 
 
 I'm not a single man ! 
 
 XI. 
 Tis hard to see how others fare, 
 
 Whilst I rejected stand ; 
 Will no one take my arm because 
 
 They cannot have my hand ? 
 Miss Parry, that for some would go 
 
 A trip to H indostan, 
 With me don't care to mount a stair-p- 
 
 I'm not a single man !
 
 465 
 
 I 'M NOT A SINGLE MAN. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Some change, of course, should be in force^ 
 
 But surely not so much , 
 There may be hands I may not squeeze, 
 
 But must I never touch ? 
 Must I forbear to hand a chair 
 
 And not pick up a fan ? 
 But I have been myself pick'd up 
 
 I'm not a single man ! 
 
 Others may hint a lady's tint 
 
 Is purest red and white 
 May say her eyes are like the skies, 
 
 So very blue and bright ; 
 /must not say that she has eyes, 
 
 Or, if I so began, 
 I have my fears about my ears 
 
 I'm not a single man ! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 I must confess I did not guess 
 
 A simple marriage vow 
 Would make me find all woman-kind 
 
 Such unkind women now ; 
 I might be hash'd to death, or smash'd 
 
 By Mr Pickford's van, 
 Without, I fear, a single tear 
 
 I'm not a single man ! 
 
 A Bachelor of Hearts.
 
 A GREENWICH PENSIONER* 
 
 IS a sort of stranded marine animal, that the receding tide of life has 
 left high and dry on the shore. He pines for his element like a 
 sea-bear, and misses his briny washings and wettings. What the ocean 
 could not do, the lard does, for it makes him sick : he cannot digest 
 properly unless the body is rolled and tumbled about like a barrel- 
 churn. Terra-firma is good enough he thinks to touch at for wood and 
 water, but nothing more. There is no wind, he swears, ashore every 
 day of his life is a dead calm, a thing above all others he detests : 
 he would like it better for an occasional earthquake. Walk he 
 cannot, the ground being so still and steady that he is puzzled to keep 
 his legs ; and ride he will not, for he disdains a craft whose rudder is 
 forward and not astern. 
 
 Inland scenery is his especial aversion. He despises a tree "before 
 the mast," and would give all the singing birds of creation for a 
 boatswain's whistle. He hates prospects, but enjoys retrospects. An 
 old boat, a stray anchor, or decayed mooring-ring, will set him dream- 
 ing for hours. He splices sea and land ideas together. He reads of 
 " shooting off a tie at Battersea," and it reminds him of a ball carrying 
 away his own pigtail. " Canvassing for a situation," recalls running 
 with all sails set for a station at Aboukir. He has the advantage of 
 our Economists as to the " Standard of Value," knowing it to be the 
 British ensign. The announcement of "an arrival of foreign vessels, 
 with our ports open," claps him into a paradise of prize money, with 
 Poll of the Pint. He wonders sometimes at " petitions to be dis- 
 charged from the Fleet," but sympathises with those in the Marshalsea 
 Court, as subject to a sea court-martial. Finally, try him even in 
 the learned languages, by asking him for the meaning of " Georgius 
 Rex," and he will answer, without hesitation, " The wrecks of the 
 Royal George." 
 
 * Comic Annual, 18301
 
 470 
 
 Enjoying the " Tails of My Landlord.' 
 
 THE BURNING OF THE LOVE-LETTER* 
 
 'Sometimes they were put to the proof, by what was called the Fiery Ordeal." Hist. Eng. 
 
 No morning ever seem'd so long ! 
 I tried to read with all my might ! 
 In my left hand "My Landlord's Tales," 
 And threepence ready in my right. 
 
 'Twas twelve at last my heart beat high ! 
 
 The postman rattled at the door ! 
 
 And just upon her road to church, 
 
 I dropt the " Bride of Lammermoor ! " 
 
 I seized the note I flew upstairs 
 Flung-to the door, and lock'd me in ; 
 With panting hnste I tore the seal, 
 And kiss'd the B in Benjamin ! 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1830.
 
 THE ANGLER'S FAREWELL. 
 
 Twas full of love to rhyme with dove 
 And all that tender sort of thing 
 Of sweet and meet and heart and dart 
 But not a word about a ring ! 
 
 In doubt I cast it in the flame, 
 And stood to watch the latest spark 
 And saw the love all end in smoke, 
 Without a Parson and a Clerk ! 
 
 471 
 
 THE ANGLER'S FAREWELL* 
 
 " Resign 'd, I kissed the rod." 
 
 WELL ! I think it is time to put up ! 
 For it does not accord with my notions, 
 
 Wrist, elbow, and chine, 
 
 Stiff from throwing the line, 
 To take nothing at last by my motions I 
 
 Gentle and Simple. 
 
 I ground-bait my way as I go, 
 And dip in at each watery dimple ; 
 
 But however I wish 
 
 To inveigle the fish, 
 To my gentle they will not 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1830
 
 473 THE ANGLER'S FAREWELL. 
 
 Though my float goes so swimmingly on, 
 My bad luck never seems to diminish ; 
 
 It would seem that the Bream 
 
 Must be scarce in the stream, 
 And the Chub, though it's chubby, be thinnishl 
 
 Not a Trout there can be in the place, 
 Not a Grayling or Rud worth the mention ; 
 
 And although at my hook 
 
 With attention I look, 
 I can ne'er see my hook with a Tench on I 
 
 At a brandling once Gudgeon would gape, 
 But they seem upon different terms now ; 
 
 Have they taken advice 
 
 Of the " Council of Nice? 
 And rejected their " Diet of Worms" now ? 
 
 In vain my live minnow I spin, 
 
 Not a Pike seems to think it worth snatching; 
 
 For the gut I have brought, 
 
 I had better have bought 
 A good rope that was used to Jack-ketchingl 
 
 Not a nibble has ruffled my cork, 
 
 It is vain in this river to search then ; 
 
 I may wait till it's night, 
 
 Without any bite, 
 And at roost-time have never a Perch then t 
 
 No Roach can I meet with no Bleak, 
 Save what in the air is so sharp now ; 
 
 Not a Dace have I got, 
 
 And I fear it is not 
 " Carpe diem," a day for the Carp now 1 
 
 Oh, there is not a one-pound prize 
 To be got in this fresh-water lottery ! 
 
 What then can I deem 
 
 Of so fishless a stream, 
 But that 'tis like St Mary's Otteryl 
 
 For an Eel I have learn'd how to try, 
 By a method of Walton's own showing,-^ 
 
 But a fisherman feels 
 
 Little prospect of Eels 
 In a path that's devoted to towing I 
 
 I have tried all the water for miles. 
 Till I'm weary of dipping and casting, 
 
 And hungry and faint, 
 
 Let the Fancy just paint 
 What it is, without Fish, to be Fas ting I
 
 SEA SONG. 473 
 
 And the rain drizzles down very fast, 
 
 While my dinner-time sounds from a far bell, 
 
 So, wet to the skin, , 
 
 I'll e'en back to my inn, 
 Where at least I am sure of a Bar-belU 
 
 SEA SONG. 
 
 AFTER DIBDIN.* 
 
 PURE water it plays a good part in 
 The swabbing the decks and all that- 
 And it finds its own level for sartin 
 For it sartinly drinks very flat. 
 For my part, a drop of the creatur 
 I never could think was a fault, 
 For if Tars should swig water by natur, 
 The sea would have never been salt ! 
 Then off with it into a jorum, 
 And make it strong, sharpish, or sweet, 
 For if I've any sense of decorum 
 It never was meant to be neat ! 
 
 One day when I was but half sober 
 Half measures I always disdain 
 
 A Bottle J 
 
 I walk'd into a shop that sold soda, 
 And ax'd for some water-champagne. 
 Well, the lubber he drew and lie drew, boys, 
 Till I'd shipu'd my six bottles or more, 
 And blow off my last limb but it's true, boys, 
 Why, I warn't half so drunk as afore ! 
 * Comic Annual, 1830.
 
 474 A SINGULAR EXHIBITION 
 
 Then off with it into a jorum, 
 And make it strong, sharpish, or sweet, 
 For if I've any sense of decorum, 
 It never was meant to be neat. 
 
 A SINGULAR EXHIBITION AT SOMERSET 
 HOUSE* 
 
 "Our Crummie is a dainty cow." Scotch Song. 
 
 ON that first Saturday in May, 
 
 When Lords and Ladies, great and grand, 
 
 Repair to see what each R.A. 
 
 Has done since last they sought the Strand, 
 
 In red, brown, yellow, green, or blue, 
 
 In short, what's call'd the private view, 
 
 Amongst the guests the deuce knows how 
 
 She got in there without a row 
 
 Moving in the First Circles. 
 
 There came a large and vulgar dame, 
 With arms deep red, and face the same, 
 Showing in temper not a saint ; 
 No one could guess for why she came, 
 Unless perchance to " scour the paint." 
 
 From wall to wall she forced her way, 
 Elbow'd Lord Durham poked Lord Grey 
 Stamp'd Stafford's toes to make him move, 
 And Devonshire's Duke received a shove ; 
 The great Lord Chancellor felt her nudge, 
 She made the Vice, his Honour, budge, 
 And gave a pinch to Park the Judge. 
 * Comic Annual, 1832.
 
 A T SOMERSET HOUSE. 47$ 
 
 As for the ladies, in this stir, 
 The highest rank gave way to her. 
 
 From Number one and Number two, 
 
 She search'd the pictures through and through, 
 
 On benches stood to inspect the high ones, 
 
 And squatted down to scan the shy ones ; 
 
 And as she went from part to part, 
 
 A deeper red each cheek became, 
 
 Her very eyes lit up in flame, 
 
 That made each looker-on exclaim, 
 
 " Reai'y an ardent love of art ! " 
 
 Alas ! amidst her inquisition, 
 
 Fate brought her to a sad condition ; 
 
 She mi^ht have run against Lord Milton, 
 
 And still have stared at deeds in oil, 
 
 But ah ! her picture-joy to spoil, 
 
 She came full butt on Mr Hilton. 
 
 The keeper, mute, with staring eyes, 
 
 Like a lay-figure for surprise, 
 
 At last thus stammer'd out, " How now ! 
 
 Woman where, woman, is your ticket, 
 
 That ought to let you through our wicket?" 
 
 Says woman, " Where is David's Cow?" 
 
 Said Mr H., with expedition, 
 
 " There's no Cow in the Exhibition." 
 
 " No Cow !" but here her tongue in verity 
 
 Set off with steam and rail celerity : 
 
 * No Cow ! there nn't no Cow ! then the more's the shame and pity, 
 
 Hang you and the R.A.'s, and all the Hanging Committee ! 
 
 No Cow but hold your tongue, for you needn't talk to me 
 
 You can't talk i-p the Cow, you can't, to where it ought to be j 
 
 I haven't seen a picture,. high or low, or anyhow, 
 
 Or in any of the rooms, to be compared with David's Cow. 
 
 You may ta..c of your Landseers, and of yojrr Coopers, and you! 
 
 Wards, 
 
 Why, hanging is too good for them, and yet here they are on cords ! 
 They're only fit for window frames, and shutters, and street-doors- 
 David will paint 'em any day at Red Lions or Blue Boars ; 
 Why, Morland was a fool to him at a little pig or sow. 
 It's really hard it an't hung up I could cry about the Cow ! 
 But I know well what it is, and why they're jealous of David's fame, 
 But to vent it on the Cow, poor thing, is a cruelty and a shame. 
 Do you think it might hang bye and bye, if you cannot hang it now? 
 David has made a party up to come and see his Cow. 
 If it only hung three days a week, for an example to the learners, 
 Why can't it hang up, turn about, with that picture of Mr Turner's? 
 Or do you think from Mr Etty you need apprehend a row, 
 If now and then you cut him down to hang up David's Cow?
 
 476 SINGULAR EXHIBITION A T SOlfERSE T HOUSE. 
 
 I can't think where their tastes have been, to not have such a creature, 
 
 Although I say, that should not say, it was prettier than Nature ; 
 
 It must be hung and shall be hung, for, Mr H., I vow, 
 
 I daren't take home the catalogue, unless it's got the Cow ! 
 
 As we only want it to be seen, I should not so much care, 
 
 If it was only round the stone man's neck, a-coming up the stair ; 
 
 Or down there in the marble room, where all the figures stand, 
 
 Where one of them Three Graces might just hold it in her hand ; 
 
 Or may be Bailey's Charity the favour would allow 
 
 It would really be a charity to hang up David's Cow. 
 
 We haven't nowhere else to go if you don't hang it here, 
 
 The Water-Colour place allows no oilman to appear, 
 
 And the British Gallery sticks to Dutch, Teniers, and Gerrard Douw 
 
 And the Suffolk Gallery will not do it's not a Suffolk Cow. 
 
 I wish you'd seen him painting her, he hardly took his meals 
 
 Till she was painted on the board correct from head to heels ; 
 
 His heart and soul was in his Cow, and almost made him*shabby, 
 
 He hardly whipp'd the boys at all, or help'd to nurse the babby. 
 
 And when he had her all complete and painted over red, 
 
 He got so grand, I really thought him going off his head. 
 
 Now hang it, Mr Hilton, do just hang it anyhow 
 
 Poor David, he will hang himself unless you hang his Cow J 
 
 And if it's unconvenient, and drawn too big by half, 
 
 David sha'n't send next year except a very little calf." 
 
 Beef 1-la-Daube.
 
 477 
 
 THE YEOMANRY* 
 
 AMONGST the agitations of the day, there is none more unaccount- 
 /x able to a peaceable man in a time of peace than the resistance 
 to the disbanding of the Yeomanry. It is of course impossible for any 
 one so unconnected with party as myself to divine the ministerial 
 motives for the measure; but judging from my own experience, 
 1 should have expected that every private at least would have 
 mounted his best hunter to make a jump at the offer. It 
 appears, however, that a part of the military body in question 
 betrays a strong disinclination to dismiss ; and certain trocps 
 have even offered their 
 services gratuitously, 
 and been accepted, al- 
 though it is evident that 
 such a troop, to be con- 
 sistent, ought to refuse, 
 when called upon to act, 
 to make any charge 
 whatever. 
 
 Amongst my Scottish 
 reminiscences, I have a 
 vivid recollection of 
 once encountering, on 
 the road from Dundee 
 to Perth, a party of 
 soldiers, having in their 
 custody a poor fellow in 
 the garb of a peasant, 
 and secured by hand- 
 cuffs. He looked some- 
 what melancholy, as he 
 well might, under the 
 uncertainty whether he 
 was to be flogged within 
 an inch of his life, or 
 shot to death, for such 
 were the punishments of 
 
 his offence, which I understood to be desertion, or disbanding himself 
 without leave. It was natural to conclude, that no ordinary disgust at 
 a military life would induce a man to incur such heavy penalties. 
 With what gratitude would he have accepted his discharge ! He would 
 surely have embraced the offer of being let off with no outlay o( 
 gunpowder ! And yet he was a regular, in the receipt of pay, and 
 with the prospect and opportunity, so rare to our Yeomanry, of winning 
 laurels, nnd covering himself with &lory ! 
 
 It has been argued, on high authority, as a reason for retaining the 
 troops in question, that they are the most constitutional force that 
 could be selected ; and truly of their general robustness there can be 
 * Comic Annual, 1833. 
 
 A FieU Off c
 
 478 
 
 THE YEOMANRY. 
 
 but one opinion. However, if a domestic force of the kind ought to 
 be kept up, would it not be advisable, and humane, and fair, to j^ive 
 the manufacturing body a turn, and form troops of the sedentary 
 weavers and other artisans, who stand so much mope in need of out- 
 of-door exercise ? The farmer, from the nature of his business, has 
 /fc/rf-days enough, to say nothing of the charges and throwings-off 
 he enjoys in hunting and coursing, besides riding periodically to artd 
 
 fn>m market, or the 
 neighbouring fairs. In- 
 deed, the true English 
 yeoman is generally, 
 thanks to the=e sports 
 and employments, so 
 constantly in the sad- 
 dle, that instead of vo- 
 lunteering into any 
 cavalry, it might be 
 supposed he \\ould be 
 glad to feel his own 
 legs a little, and enjoy 
 the household comforts 
 of the chimney-corner 
 and the elb">w-chair. 
 As regards their effec- 
 tiveness, I have had 
 the pleasure of seeing 
 .a troop tire at a target 
 tor a subscription siher 
 cup ; and it convinced 
 me,, that if I had felt 
 inclined to roast them, 
 
 their own fire wa^ the 
 "Ivishvecouldbedisb.ndyM." yery b , gt ^ |Qr my 
 
 purpose. On another occasion I had the gratification of beholding 
 a charge, and as they succeeded in dispersing themselves, it may be 
 inferred that they might possibly do as much by a mob. Still there 
 seemed hardly excitement enough, or amusement enough, excei t to 
 the spectators, in such playing at soldiers, to induce honest, heart \ , 
 fox-hunting farmers to wish to become veterans. To tell the truth, 
 I have heard before now repentant grumblings from pr. ctical agri- 
 culturists, who had too rashly adopted the uniform, and have seen even 
 their horses betray an inclination to back out of the line. The more 
 therefore is my surprise, on all accounts, to hear that the Yeomanry 
 are so unwilling to be dispensed with, and relieved from inactive 
 service; for though the song tells us of a "Soldier tired of war's 
 alarms," there is no doubt that to a soldier of spirit, the most tire- 
 some thing in the world is to have no alarms at all. 
 
 In the meantime, I have been at some pains to ascertain the senti- 
 ments of the yeowomanry on the subject, and if they afl feel in com- 
 mon with Dame , the disbanding will be a most popular measure 
 
 amongst the farmers' wives. I had no sooner communicated the news,
 
 AN UNFAVOURABLE REVIEW. 479 
 
 through the old lady's trumpet, than she exclaimed, that "it was the 
 best hearing she had had for many a long day ! The sogering work 
 unsettled both men and horses it took her husbrmd's head off his 
 business, and it threw herself off the old mare, at the last fair, along 
 of a showman's trumpet. Besides, it set all the f >rm servants a-soger- 
 ing too, and when they went to the Wake, only old Roger came back 
 again to say they had all 'listed. They had more sense, however, .than 
 their master, for they all wanted to be disbanded the next morning. 
 As for the master, hed never been the same man since he put on the 
 uniform ; but had got a hectoring, swaggering way with him, as it 
 everybody that didn t agree in politics, and especially about the Corn 
 Bill, was to be bored and slashed with sword and pistol. Then there 
 was the constant dread that in his practising, cut six would either come 
 home to him, or do a mischief to his neighbours ; and after a review- 
 ing there wns no bearing him, it put him so up in his stirrups, and 
 on coming home, he'd think nothing of slivering off all the hollyoaks 
 as he brandished and flourished up the front garden. Another thing, 
 and that was no trifle, was the accidents ; she couldn't tell how it was, 
 whether he thought too much of himself, and too little of his horse, 
 but he always got a tumble with the yeomanry, though he'd fox-hunt 
 by the year together without a fall. What was worse, a fall always 
 made him crusty, and when he was crusty, he made a point to get 
 into his cups, which made him more crusty still. Thank God, as yet 
 he had never been of any use to his country, and it was her daily 
 prayer that he might never be called out, as he had so many enemies 
 and old grudges in the neighbourhood, there would be sure to be mur- 
 der on one side or the other. For my own part," she concluded, " I 
 think the Parliament is quite right in these hard times to turn the 
 farmers' swords again into ploughshares, for they have less to care 
 about the rising of rioters than the falling of wheat." The old lady 
 then hunted out what she called a yeomanry letter from her husband's 
 brother, and having her permission to make it public, 1 have thought 
 ' proper to christen it 
 
 AN UNFA VO URABLE RE VIE W. 
 
 "You remember Philiphaugh, SirT" 
 
 " Umph I " said the Major, " the lesi we say about that, John, the better " 
 
 OLD MORTALITY. 
 
 To Mr Robert Cherry, the Orchard, Kent. 
 
 DEAR BOB, It's no use your making more stir about the barley. 
 Business has r.o business to stand before king and country, and I 
 couldn't go to Aahford Market and the Review at the same time. 
 The Earl called out the Yeomanry for a grand field-day at Bumper 
 Dangle Bottom Common, and to say nothing of its being mv horse 
 duty to attend, I wouldn't have lost my sight for the whole barley in 
 Kent. Besides the Earl, the great Duke did us the honour to come 
 and see the troops go through everything, and it rained all the time.
 
 4 8o 
 
 AN UNFAVOURABLE REVIEW. 
 
 Except for the crops, a more unfavouring day couldn't hr ve been 
 picked out for man or beast, and many a n^g has got a consequential 
 couh. 
 
 The ground was very good, with only one leap, that nobody took, 
 but the weather was terribly against It blew equinoxious gales, and 
 
 rained like watering-pots 
 with the rose off. But 
 as somebody said, one 
 cannot always have their 
 reviews cut and dry. 
 
 We set out from Ash- 
 ford at ten, and was two 
 hours going to Bumper 
 Daggle Bottom Com- 
 mon, but it's full six 
 mile. The Bumper 
 Daggle's dress is rather 
 handsome and fighting 
 like blue, having a 
 turn-up with whale, and 
 we might have been 
 called cap-a-pee, but Mr 
 P., the contractor of our 
 caps, made them all too 
 small for our heads. 
 Luckily the clothes fit, 
 except M r Lambert's, who 
 couldn't find a jacket big 
 enough ; but he scorned 
 to shrink, and were it 
 loose on his shoulder, 
 like a hussar. As for arms, we had all sorts, and as regards horses, 
 I am sorry to say all sorts of legs what with splints, and quitters,* 
 and ring-bone, and grease. The Major's, 1 noticed, had a bad spavin, 
 and was no better for being fired with a ramrod, which old Clmker 
 the blacksmith forgot to take out of his piece. 
 
 We mustard very strong about sixty besides t\vo volunteers, one 
 an invalid, because he had been ordered to ride for exercise, and the 
 other because he had nothing else to do, and he did nothing when 
 he came. We must have been a disagreeable site to eyes as is 
 unaffected towards Government, though how Hopper's horse would 
 behave in putting down riots I can't guess, for he did nothing but 
 make revolutions himself, as if he was still in the thrashing-mill. But 
 you know yomanr.y an't reglers, and can't be expected to be veterans 
 all at once. The worst of our mistakes was about the cullers. Old 
 Ensign Cobb, of the White Horse, has a Politic, il Union club meets 
 at his house, and when he came to unfurl, he had brought the wrong 
 flag ; instead of" Royal Bumper Daggle," it was " No Borcmongers. 
 It made a reglar horse laugh among the cavalry ; nnd old Cobb took 
 such dudgeon at us, he deserted home to the White Horse, and cut 
 the concern without drawing a sword. The Captain ordered Jack
 
 AN UNFAVOURABLE REVIEW. 
 
 Blower to sound the recal to him, but sum wag on the rout had stuck 
 a bung up his trumpet ; and he galloped off just as crusty about it 
 as Old Cobb. Our next trouble was with Simkin, but you know he is 
 anything but Simkin and Martial. He rid one of his own docked 
 waggon-horses but for appearance sake had tied on a long regulation 
 false tale, that made his horse kick astonishing, till his fouHoose shoes 
 flew off like a fc.me at 
 koits. Of course no- 
 body liked to stand 
 nigh him, and he was 
 obliged to be drawn up 
 in single order by him- 
 self, but not having any 
 one to talk to, he soon 
 got weary of it, and left 
 the ground. This was 
 some excuse for him 
 but not for Dale, that 
 deserted from his com- 
 pany, some said his 
 horse bolted with him, 
 but I'll swear I seed him 
 spur. Up to this we had 
 only one more deserter, 
 and that was Marks, on 
 his iron-grey mare ; for 
 she heard her foal 
 whinnying at home, and 
 attended to that call 
 more than to a deaf and 
 dumb trumpet. Biggs 
 
 didn't Come at all ; he Seeing a Review. 
 
 had his nag stole that 
 
 very morning, as it was waiting for him, pistols and all. 
 
 What with these goings off and gaps, our ranks got in such disorder, 
 that the Earl, tho' he is a Tory, was obliged to act as a rank Reformer. 
 We got into line middling well, as far as the different sizes of our 
 horses would admit, and the Duke rode up and down us, and I am 
 sorry to say was compelled to a reprimand. Morgan Giles had been 
 at a fox-hunt the day before, and persisted in wearing the brush as a 
 feather in his cap. As fox-tails isn't regulation, his Grace ordered it 
 out, but Morgan was very high, and at last threw up his commission 
 into a tree, and trotted home to Wickham Hall, along with Private 
 Dick, who, as Morgan's whipper-in, thought he was under obligations 
 to follow his master. 
 
 We got thro' sword exercise decent well, only Barber shaver! 
 Crofts' mare with his saber, which he needn't have done, as she was 
 dipt before : and Holdsworth slashed off his cob's off ear. It was cut 
 and run with her in course ; and I hope he got safe home. We don't 
 know what Hawksley might have thrusted, as his sword objected to 
 be called out in wet weather, and stuck to its sheath like pitch ; but 
 
 2 H
 
 482 AN UNFAVOURABLE REVIEW. 
 
 he went thro' all the cuts very correct with his umbrella. For my 
 own part, candour compels to state I swished off my left-hand m;m's 
 feather; but tho' it might have been worse, and I apologized as 
 well as I could for my horse fretting, he was foolish enough to huff at, 
 nnd swear was done on purpose, and so galloped home, I suspect, to 
 write me a calling-out challenge. Challenge or not, if I fight him 
 with anything but fists, I'm not one of the Yeomanry. An accident's 
 an accident, and much more pardonable than Hawksley opening his 
 umbrella plump in the face of the Captain's blood charger ; and ten 
 times more mortifying for an officer to be carried back willy-nilly to 
 Ashford in the very middle of the Review. Luckily before Hawksley 
 frightened any more he was called off to hold his umbrella o\er 
 Mrs H., as Mrs Morgan had taken in nine ladies, and couldn't 
 accommodate more in her close carriage, without making it too 
 close. 
 
 After sword exercise we shot pistols, and I must say, very well and 
 distinct ; only, old Dunn didn't fire ; but he's deaf as a post, and 1 
 wonder how he was called out. Talking of volleys, I am sorry to say 
 we fired one before without word of command ; but it was all thro 1 
 Day on his shooting pony putting up a partridge, and in the he it of 
 the moment letting fly, and as he is our fugelman, we all did the same. 
 Lucky for the bird it was very strong on the wing, or the troop must 
 have brought it down ; howsomever the Earl looked ven grave, and 
 said something that Day didn't choose to take from him, beinu a 
 qualified man, and taking out a reglar license, so he went off to his 
 own ground, where he might shoot without being called to account. 
 Contrary to reason and expectation, there was very few horses shied 
 at the firing ; but we saw Bluff lying full length, and was afraid it was 
 a bust ; but we found his horse, being a very quiet one, had run 
 away from the noise. He was throwd on his back in the mud, but 
 refused to leave the ground. Being a man of spirit, and military 
 inclind, he got up behind Bates ; but Bates's horse objecting to such 
 back-gammon, rear'd and threw doublets. As his knees was bio e, 
 Bates and Bluff was forced to lead him away, and the troop lost two 
 more men, tho' for once against their own wills. 
 
 As for Roper, he had bragged how he could stand fire, but seeing a 
 great light over the village, he set off full swing to look after his ricks 
 and barns. 
 
 The next thing to be done was charging, and between you and me, 
 I was most anxious about that, as many of us could onlv ride up to a 
 certain pitch. As you've often been throwd, you'll know what I me n. 
 To tell the truth, when the word came, I seed some lay hold of their 
 caddies, but Barnes had better have laid hold of anything else in the 
 world, for it turn'd round with him at the first start. Siinpkin fell at 
 the same time insensibly, but the doctor dismounted and was vc ry 
 happy to attend him without making any charge whatever. All the 
 resC went off gallantly, either galloping .or cantering, tho' as they s iy 
 at Canterbury races, there was some wonderful tailing on account of 
 the difference of the nags. Grimsby's mare was the last of the lot, and 
 for her backwardness in charging we called her the Mare of Bristol, 
 but he took the jest no better than Cobb did, and when we wheel'd to
 
 AN UNFAVOURABLE REVIEW. 
 
 483 
 
 the right, he was left. Between friends, I was not sorry when the 
 word came to pull up, such crossing, and jostling, and foul riding ; 
 but two farmers seemed to like it, for they never halted when the rest 
 did, but galloped on out of sight. I have since heard they had 
 matched their two nags the day before to run two miles for a 
 sovereign. I don't think 
 a sovereign should di- 
 vert a man from his 
 king : but I can't write 
 the result, as they never 
 came back, I suppose 
 on account of the wet. 
 The rains, to speak 
 cavalry like, had got 
 beyond bearing-reins ; 
 and when we formed 
 line again, it was like a 
 laundress's clothes line, 
 for there wasn't a dry 
 shirt on it. One man 
 on a lame horse rode 
 particularly restive, and 
 objected in such critical 
 weather to a long re- 
 view. He wouldnt be 
 cholora morbus'd, he 
 said, for Duke or Devil, 
 but should put his horse 
 up and go home by the 
 blue stage ; by way of 
 answer he was ordered 
 to give up his arms and 
 his jacket, which he did 
 very offhand as it was 
 
 wet thro'. Howsomever it was thought prudent to dispense with us 
 till fine weather, so we was formed into a circle 9 bobble square, and 
 the Duke thanked us in a short speech for being so regular, and loyal, 
 and soldier-like, after which every man that had kept his seat gave 
 three cheers. 
 
 On the whole the thing might have been very gratifying, but on 
 reviewing the field-day, the asthmas and agues are uncommonly 
 numerous, and to say nothing of the horses that are amiss with coffs 
 and colds there are three dead and seven lame for life. The Earl 
 has been very much blamed under the rose among the privates for 
 fixing upon a hunting-day, which I forgot to say carried away a dozen 
 that were mounted on their hunters. I am sorry to say there was so 
 few left at the end of all, as to suffer themselves to be hissed into the 
 town by the little boys and gals, and called the Horse Gomerils ; and 
 that consequently the corpse as a body is as good as defunct. Not 
 that there were many resign'd at the end of the review, as his Lord- 
 ship gave a grand dinner on the following day tc the troop : but I am 
 
 An Objecti< 
 
 g the Line.
 
 484 
 
 AN UNFAVOURABLE REVIEW. 
 
 sorry to say, a great many wns so unhandsome as to throw up the very 
 day after. The common excuse among them was something of not 
 liking to wet their swords against their countrymen. 
 
 For my own part, as the Yeomanry cannot go on, I shall stick to it 
 honorably, and as any man of spirit would do in my case ; but don't 
 be afraid of my attending Market, come what will, and selling the 
 barley at the best quotation. I am, dear Brother, Your's and the 
 Colonel's to command, 
 
 JAMES CHERRY. 
 
 P.S. I forgot to tell what will make you laugh. Barlow wouldn't 
 ride with spurs, because he said they made his horse prick his ears. 
 
 Our poor corps, small as 
 it is, I understand is like 
 to act in divisions. Some 
 wish to be infantry in- 
 stead of cavalry ; and the 
 farmers from the hop 
 grounds want to be 
 Polish Lancers. 
 
 I have just learned 
 Ballard and nine more 
 of the men was ordered 
 to keep the ground ; but 
 it seems they left before 
 the troop came on it. 
 They say in excuse, they 
 stood in the rain till they 
 were ready to drop ; and 
 as we didn't come an 
 hour after time, they 
 thought everything was 
 postponed. " None but 
 the brave," they said, 
 "deserve the fair;" and 
 till it was fair, they 
 wouldn't attend again. 
 
 The mare you lent Bal- 
 
 Peace Officers. l ard > I am sorrv to Say, 
 
 got kicked in several 
 
 places, and had her shoulder put out ; we w as advised to give her a 
 swim in the sea, and I am still more sorry to say, in swimming her 
 we drownded her. As for my own nag, I am afraid he kas got string- 
 halt ; but one comfort is, I think it diverts him from kicking.
 
 ng of tile.* 
 
 I'M GOING TO BOMBAY* 
 
 " Nothing venture, nothing have." Old Proverb. 
 'Every Indiaman has at least two mates." Falconer's Marine Guuft, 
 
 MY hair is brown, my eyes are blue, 
 
 And reckon'd rather bright ; 
 
 I'm shapely, if they tell me true, 
 
 And just the proper height ; 
 
 My skin has been admired in verse, 
 
 And call'd as fair as day 
 
 If I am fair, so much the worse, 
 
 I'm going to Bombay ! 
 
 At school I pass'd with some dclat ; 
 I learn'd my French in France ; 
 De Wint gave lessons how to draw, 
 And D'Egville how to dance ; 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1832.
 
 I'M GOING TO BOMS A Y. 
 
 Crevelli taught me how to sing, 
 And Cramer how to play 
 It really is tfie strangest thing 
 I'm going to Bombay I 
 
 III. 
 
 I've been to Bath and Cheltenham Wells, 
 But not their springs to sip, 
 To Ramsgate not to pick up shell*, 
 To Brighton not to dip. 
 I've tour'd the Lakes, and scour'd the coaal 
 From Scarboro' to Torquay 
 But though of time I've made the most, 
 I'm going to Bombay ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 By Pa and Ma I'm daily told 
 To marry now's my time, 
 For though I'm very far from old; 
 I'm rather in my prime. 
 Tljey say while we have any sun 
 We ought to make our hay 
 But India has so hot an one, 
 I'm going to Bombay ! 
 
 V. 
 
 My cousin writes from Hyderapot 
 
 My only chance to snatch, 
 
 And says the climate is so hot, 
 
 It's sure to light a match. 
 
 She's married to a son of Mars, 
 
 With very handsome pay, 
 
 And swears I ought to thank my star* 
 
 I'm going to Bombay ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 She says that I shall much delight 
 
 To taste their Indian treats ; 
 
 But what she likes may turn me quiU^ 
 
 Their strange outlandish meats. 
 
 If I can eat rupees, who knows? 
 
 Or dine, the Indian way, 
 
 On doolies and on bungalows 
 
 I'm going to Bombay ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 She says that I shall much enjoy, 
 I don't know what she means, 
 To take the air and buy some toy, 
 In my own palankeens, 
 I like to drive my pony-chair, 
 Or ride our dapple grey
 
 I'M GOING TO BOMB A Y. 487 
 
 But elephants are horses there 
 I'm going to Bombay ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Farewell, farewell, my parents dear I 
 
 My friends, farewell to them ! 
 
 And oh, what costs a sadder tear, 
 
 Good bye, to Mr M, ! 
 
 If I should find an Indian vault, 
 
 Or fall a tiger's prey, 
 
 Or steep in salt, it's all his fault 
 
 I'm going to Bombay ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 That fine new teak-built ship, the Fox, 
 A- 1 Commander Bird, 
 Now lying in the London Docks, 
 Will sail on May the third ; 
 Apply for passage or for freight 
 To Nichol, Scott, & Gray- 
 Pa has applied and seal'd my fate 
 I'm going to Bombay ! 
 
 My heart is full my trunks as well ; 
 
 My mind and caps made up, 
 
 My corsets, shaped by Mrs Bell, 
 
 Are promised ere I sup ; 
 
 With boots and shoes, Rivarta's best 
 
 And dresses by Duce", 
 
 And a special license in my chest 
 
 I'm going to Bombay 1 
 
 1 The Court of an Indian Prine*."
 
 4 88 
 
 ODE 
 
 TO THE ADVOCATES FOR THE REMOVAL OF SMITHFIELD MARKET. 1 
 "Sweeping our flocks and herds." Douglas. 
 
 PHILANTHROPIC men ! 
 
 For this address I need not make apology 
 Who aim at clearing out the Smithfield pen, 
 And planting further off its vile Zoology 
 Permit me thus to tell, 
 
 1 like your efforts well, 
 
 For rousting that great nest of Hornithology ! 
 
 Be not dismay'd, although repulsed at first, 
 And driven from their Horse, and Pig, and Lnmb parts, 
 Charge on ! you shall upon their hornworks burst, 
 And carry all their .#*<//- warks and their ./tow-parts. 
 
 Go on, ye wholesale drovers ! 
 And drive away the Smithfield flocks and herds ! 
 
 As wild as Tartar-Curds, 
 That come so fat, and kicking, from their clovers, 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1830.
 
 ODE. 
 
 489 
 
 Off with them all \ those restive brutes, that vex 
 
 Our streets, and plunge, and lunge, and butt, and battle ; 
 
 And save the female sex 
 
 From being cow'd like 16 by the cattle ! 
 
 Fancy, when droves appear on 
 The hill of Holborn, roaring from its top, 
 Your ladies, ready, as they own, to drop, 
 Taking themselves to Thomson's with a Fear-Oft! 
 
 I see Cattle I 
 
 Or, in St Martin's Lane, 
 Scared by a bullock, in a frisky vein, 
 Fancy the terror of your timid daughters, 
 
 While rushing souse 
 
 Into a coffee-house, 
 To find it Slaughter's J 
 
 Or fancy this : 
 
 Walking along the street, some stranger Miss, 
 Her head with no such thought of danger bden, 
 When suddenly 'tis " Aries Taurus Virgo !" 
 You don't know Latin, I translate it ergo, 
 Into your Areas a Bull throws the Maiden !
 
 490 ODE. 
 
 Think of some poor old crone 
 Treated, just like a penny, with a toss, 
 
 At that vile spot now grown 
 
 So generally known 
 For making a Cow Cross ! 
 
 Nay, fancy your own selves far off from stall, 
 Or shed, or shop and that an ox infuriate 
 
 Just pins you to the wall, 
 Giving you a strong dose of Oxy-Muriate I 
 
 Methinks I hear the neighbours that live round 
 
 The Market-ground 
 
 Thus make appeal unto their civic fellows : 
 " 'Tis well for you that live apart unable 
 
 To hear this brutal Babel, 
 But our firesides are troubled with their bellows* 
 
 Folks that too freely sup 
 
 Must e'en put up 
 With their own troubles, if they can't digest ; 
 
 But we must needs regard 
 
 The case as hard 
 
 That others' victuals should disturb our rest, 
 That from our sleep your food should start and jump us I 
 
 We like, ourselves, a steak, 
 
 But, Sirs, for pity's sake, 
 
 We don't want oxen at our doors to rump-itsl 
 If we do doze it really is too bad ! 
 We constantly are roar'd awake or rung, 
 
 Through bullocks mad 
 That run in all the ' Night Thoughts ' of our Young 1* 
 
 Such are the woes of sleepers now let's take 
 
 The woes of those that wish to keep a Wake I 
 
 Oh, think ! when Wombwell gives his annual feasts, 
 
 Think of these " Bulls of Bashan," far from mild ones ; 
 
 Such fierce tame beasts, 
 That nobody much cares to see the wild ones ! 
 
 Think of the Show-woman, " what shows a dwarf,* 
 
 Seeing a red cow come 
 
 To swallow her Tom Thumb, 
 And forced with broom of birch to keep her off I 
 
 Think, too, of Messrs Richardson & Co., 
 When looking at their public private boxes, 
 
 To see in the back row 
 
 Three live sheep's heads, a porker's, and an ox's ! 
 Think of their Orchestra, when two horns come 
 Through, to accompany the double drum I
 
 ODE. 
 
 Or, in the midst of murder and remorses, 
 Just when the Ghost is certain, 
 A great rent in the curtain, 
 
 And enter two tall skeletons of horses ! 
 
 Great Philanthropies ! pray urge these topics 
 Upon the Solemn Councils of the Nation; 
 Get a Bill soon, and give, some noon, 
 The bulls, a Bull of Excommunication ! 
 
 49 
 
 A Bull of Excommunication. 
 
 Let the old Fair have fairplay as its right, 
 
 And to each show and sight 
 Ye shall be treated with a Free List latitude ; 
 
 To Richardson's Stage Dramas, 
 
 Dio and Cosmo ramas, 
 
 Giants and Indians wild, 
 
 Dwarf, Sea-bear, and Fat Child, 
 And that most rare of Shows a Show of Gratitude 1
 
 492 
 
 1 Arraa Virumque Canoe.' 
 
 DRA WN FOR A SOLDIER* 
 
 I WAS once for a few hours only in the militia. I suspect"! was 
 in part answerable for "my own mishap. There is a story in Joe 
 Miller of a man who, being pressed to serve his Majesty on another 
 element, pleaded his polite breeding, to the gang, as a good ground of 
 exemption ; but was told that the crew being a set of sad unmannerly 
 dogs, a Chesterfieldwas the very character they wanted. The militia- 
 men acted, I presume, on the same principle. Their customary 
 schedule was forwarded to me, at Brighton, to fill up, and in a moment 
 of incautious hilarity induced, perhaps, by the absence of all business 
 or employment, except pleasure I wrote myself down in the descrip- 
 tive column as " Quite a Gentleman." 
 
 The consequence followed immediately. A precept, addressed by 
 the High Constable of Westminster to the Low ditto of the parish of 
 St M*****, and endorsed with my name, informed me that it had 
 turned up in that involuntary lottery, the Ballot. 
 
 At sight of the Orderly, who thought proper to deliver the document 
 into no other hands than mine, my mother-in-law cried, and my wife 
 fainted on the spot. They had no notion of any distinctions in mili- 
 tary service a soldier was a soldier and they imagined that, on the 
 very morrow, I might be ordered abroad to a fresh Waterloo. They 
 were unfortunately ignorant of that benevolent provision which ab- 
 solved the militia from going out of the kingdom " except in case of 
 an invasion." In vain I represented that we were " locals ; " they had 
 heard of local diseases, and thought there might be wounds of the 
 same description. In vain I explained that we were not troops of the 
 line ; they could see nothing to choose between being shot in a line, 
 or in any other figure. I told them, next, that I was not obliged to 
 "serve myself;" but they answered, "'twas so much the harder I 
 * Comic Annual, 1830.
 
 DRA WN FOR A SOLDIER. 493 
 
 should be obliged to serve any one else." My being sent abroad, they 
 said, would be the death of them ; for they had witnessed, at Rams- 
 gate, the embarkation of the Walcheren Expedition, and too well 
 remembered " the misery of the soldiers' wives at seeing their husbands 
 in transports ! " 
 
 I told them that, at the very worst, if I should 'be sent abroad, there 
 was no reason why I should not return again ; but they both declared, 
 they never did, and never would believe in those " Returns of the 
 Killed and Wounded." 
 
 The discussion was in this stage when it was interrupted by another 
 loud single knock at the door, a report equal in its effects on us to 
 that of the memorable cannon-shot at Brussels ; and before we could 
 recover ourselves, a strapping Serjeant entered the parlour with a huge 
 bow, or rather rainbow, of party-coloured ribbons in his cap. He 
 came, he said, to offer a substitute for me ; but I was prevented from 
 reply by the indignant fensales asking him in the same breath, 
 " Who and what did he think could be a substitute for a son and a 
 husband?" 
 
 The poor Serjeant looked foolish enough at this turn ; but he was 
 still more abashed when the two anxious ladies began to cross- 
 examine him on the length of his services abroad, and the number of 
 his wounds the campaigns of the militiaman having been confined 
 doubtless to Hounslow, and his bodily marks-militant to the three 
 stripes on his sleeve. Parrying these awkward questions, he endea- 
 voured to prevail upon me to see the proposed proxy, a fine young 
 fellow, he assured me, of unusual stature ; but I told him it was quite 
 an indifferent point with me whether he was six-feet-two or two-feet-six, 
 in short, whether he was as tall as the flag, or "under the standard." 
 
 The truth is, 1 reflected that it was a time of profound peace, that a 
 civil war or an invasion was very unlikely ; and as for an occasional 
 drill, that I could make shift, like Lavater, to right-about-face. 
 
 Accordingly I declined seeing the substitute, and dismissed the 
 Serjeant with a note to the War Secretary to this purport : " That I 
 considered myself drawn, and expected therefore to be well quartered. 
 That, under the circumstances of the country, it would probably be 
 unnecessary for militia-men ' to be mustarded ; ' but that if his Majesty 
 did * call me out,' I hoped I should * give him s ; ttsf action.' " 
 
 The females were far from being pleased with this billet. They 
 talked a great deal of moral suicide, wilful murder, and seeking the 
 bubble reputation in the cannon's mouth ; but I shall ever think that 
 I took the proper course, for, aftt. r the lapse of a few hours, two more 
 of the General's red-coats, or general postmen, brought me a large 
 packet sealed with the War Office seal, and superscribed "Henry 
 Hardinge," by which I was officially absolved from serving on horse 
 or on foot, or on both together, then and thereafter. 
 
 And why, I know not unless his Majesty doubted the handsome- 
 ness of discharging me in particular, without letting off the rest ; but 
 so it was, that in a short time afterwards there issued a proclamation, 
 by which the services of all militiamen were for the present dispensed 
 with, and we were left to pursue our several avocations, of course, 
 all the lighter in our spirits for being disembodied*
 
 494 
 
 Sharp, Flat, and Natural. 
 
 ODE FOR ST CECILIA'S EVE* 
 
 " Look out for squalls." The Pilot. 
 
 O COME, dear Barney Isaacs, come ! 
 Punch for one night can spare his drum, 
 
 As well as pipes of Pan ! 
 Forget not, PopKins, your bassoon, 
 Nor, Master Bray, your horn, as soon 
 
 As you can leave the van : 
 Blind Billy, bring your violin ; 
 Miss Crow, you're great in " Cherry Ripe !" 
 And Chubb, your viol must drop in 
 Its bass to Soger Tommy's pipe. 
 
 Ye butchers, bring your bones : 
 An organ would not be amiss ; 
 If grinding Jim has spouted his, 
 
 Lend your's, good Mister Jones. 
 Do, hurdygurdy Jenny, do 
 Keep sober for an hour or two, 
 Music's charms to help to paint. 
 And Sandy Gray, if you should not 
 Your bagpipes bring O tuneful Scot t 
 Conceive the feeling of the Saint ! 
 
 Miss Strummel issues an invite 
 For music and turn-out to night 
 In honour of Cecilia's session ; 
 But ere you go, one moment stop, 
 And with ajl kindness let me drop 
 A hint to you, and your profession. 
 Imprimis then : Pray keep within 
 The bounds to which your skill was born ; 
 Let the one-handed let alone trombone, 
 * Comic Annual, 1831.
 
 ODE FOR ST CECILIA 'S EVE. 495 
 
 Don't Rheurnntiz ! seize the violin, 
 
 Or Ashmy snatch the horn ! 
 
 Don't ever to such rows give birth, 
 
 As if you had no end on earth, 
 
 Except to " wake the lyre ; " 
 
 Don't " strike the harp," pray never do^ 
 
 Till others long to strike it too 
 
 Perpetual harping's apt to tire. 
 
 Oh, I have heard such flat-and-sharpers, 
 
 I've blest the head 
 
 Of good King Ned, 
 For scragging all those old Welsh Harpers! 
 
 Pray, never, ere each tuneful doing, 
 Take a prodigious deal of wooing ; 
 And then sit down to thrum the strain 
 As if you'd never rise again 
 The least Cecilia-like of things ; 
 Remember that the Saint has wings. 
 I've known Miss Strummel pause an hour 
 Ere she could " Pluck the Fairest Flower," 
 Yet, without hesitation, she 
 Plunged next into the " Deep, Deep Sea ;" 
 And when on the keys she does begin, 
 Such awful torments soon you share, 
 She really seems like Milton's "Sin," 
 Holding the keys of you Jcnow where I 
 
 Never tweak people's ears so toughly, 
 That urchin-like they can't help saying 
 " O dear ! O dear you call this playing, 
 But oh, it's playing very roughly !" 
 Oft, in the ecstasy of pain, 
 I've cursed all instrumental workmen, 
 Wish'd Broadwood Thurtell'd in a lane, 
 And Kirke White's fate to every Kirkmani 
 I really once, delighted, spied 
 ' Clementi Collard " in Cheapside. 
 Another word, don't be surprised, 
 Revered and ragged street Musicians, 
 You have been only half-baptized, 
 And each name, proper or improper, 
 Is not the value of a copper 
 Till it has had the due additions, 
 
 Husky, Rusky, 
 
 Ninny, Tinny, 
 
 Hummel, Bummel, 
 
 Bowski, Wowski. 
 
 All these are very good selectables ; 
 But none of your plain pudding-and-tames
 
 496 ODE FOR ST CECILIA 'S EVE. 
 
 Folks that are call'd the hardest names 
 Are Music's most respectables. 
 
 Every woman, every man, 
 
 Look as foreign as you can ; 
 
 Don't cut your hair, or wash your skirt; 
 
 Make ugly faces and begin. 
 
 Fancy Portrait : Kirke White. 
 
 Each Dingy Orpheus gravely hears, 
 And now to show they understand it \ 
 Miss Crow her scrannel throttle clears, 
 And all the rest prepare to band it ; 
 Each scraper, ripe for concertante, 
 Rosins the hair of Rozinante : 
 Then all sound A, if they know which, 
 That they may join like birds in June ; 
 Jack Tar alone neglects to tune, 
 For he's all over concert-pitch. 
 
 A little prelude goes before, 
 Like a knock and ring at Music's door. 
 Each instrument gives in its name j 
 Then sitting in, 
 They all begin 
 
 To play a musical round game. 
 Scrapenberg, as the eldest hand, 
 Leads a first fiddle to the band, 
 
 A second follows suit ; 
 Anon the ace of horns _comes plump 
 On the two fiddles with a trump j 
 
 Puffindorf plays a flute.
 
 ODE FOR ST CECILIA 'S V& 
 
 This sort of musical revoke 
 
 The grave bassoon begins to smoke^ 
 
 And in rather grumpy kind 
 
 Of tone begins to speak its mind ; 
 
 The double drum is next to mix, 
 
 Playing the " Devil on Two Sticks " 
 
 Clamour, clamour, 
 
 Hammer, hammer ; 
 While now and then a pipe is heard, 
 Insisting to put in a word, 
 With all his shrilly best ; 
 So, to allow the little minion 
 Time to deliver his opinion, 
 They take a few bars' rest. 
 
 Well, little Pipe begins with sole 
 And small voice going thro' the holt) 
 
 Beseeching, 
 
 Preaching, 
 
 Squealing, 
 
 Appealing, 
 
 Now as high as he can go, 
 Now in language rather low, 
 And having done, begins once more 
 Verbatim what he said before. 
 This twiddling twaddling sets on fire 
 AH tip. 'jld instrumental ire, 
 And fid lies for explosion ripe 
 Put out the little squeaker's pipe ; 
 This wtkes bass viol and viol for that, 
 Seizing on innocent little B flat, 
 Shakes it like terrier shaking a rat 
 They all seem miching malico ! 
 To judge from a rumble unawares, 
 The drum has had a pitch downstairs { 
 And the trumpet rash, 
 By a violent crash, 
 Seems splitting somebody's calico I 
 The viol too groans in deep distress, 
 As if he suddenly grew sick ; 
 And one rapid fiddle sets off express- 
 Hurrying, 
 
 Scurrying, 
 
 Spattering, 
 
 Clattering, 
 
 To fetch him a Doctor of Music. 
 This tumult sets the hautboy crying 
 Beyond the piano's pacifying ; 
 
 The cymbal 
 
 Gets nimble, 
 
 21
 
 498 ODE FOR ST CECILIA 'S EVE. 
 
 Triangle 
 Must wrangle ; 
 
 The band is becoming most martial of bands, 
 When just in the middle, 
 A quakerly fiddle 
 
 Proposes a general shaking of hands ! 
 Quaking, 
 Shaking, 
 Quivering, 
 Shivering, 
 
 Long bow short bow each bow drawing ; 
 Some like filing, some like sawing. 
 At last these agitations cease, 
 And they all get 
 The flageolet, 
 
 To breathe " A Piping Time of Peace.* 
 Ah, too deceitful charm, 
 Like lightening before death, 
 For Scrapenberg to rest his arm, 
 And Puffindorf get breath I 
 
 A Grand Upright. 
 
 Again, without remorse or pity, 
 
 They play " The Storming of a City," 
 
 Miss S. herself composed and plann'd it; 
 
 When lo ! at this renew'd attack, 
 
 Up jumps a little man in black, 
 
 u The very Devil cannot stand it ! *
 
 REELECTIONS ON WATER. 499 
 
 And with that, 
 Snatching hat 
 (Not his own), 
 Off is flown, 
 Thro' the door, 
 In his black, 
 To come back, 
 Never, never, never more ! 
 
 O Music ! praises thou hast had 
 
 From Dryden and from Pope 
 For thy good notes, yet none, I hope; 
 
 But I, e'er praised the bad ; 
 Yet are not saint and sinner even 
 Miss Strummel on Cecilia's level ? 
 One drew an angel down from heaven, 
 The other scared away the Devil 1 
 
 REFLECTIONS ON WATER* 
 
 When the butt it out, we will drink watr : not a drop before." Temfett. 
 
 I HAVE Stephano's aversion to water. I never take any by chance 
 into my mouth, without the proneness of our Tritons and Dolphins 
 of the Fountain, to spout it forth again. It is, on the palate, as in tubs 
 and hand-basins, egregiously washy. It hath not for me even what 
 is called " an amiable weakness." For the sake only of quantity, not 
 quality, do I sometimes adulterate my Cognac or Geneva with the 
 flimsy fluid. Aquarius is not my sign ; at the praises heaped on Sir 
 Hugh Myddleton, for leading his trite streamlet up to London, my 
 lip curleth. Methinks if such a sloppy labour could at one time more 
 than another betray a misguided taste, it was in those days, when we 
 are told, " The Crete Conduict, in Chepe, did runne forth Wyne." 
 And then to hear talk withal of the New River Head, as if, forsooth, 
 the weak current poured even from Ware unto London were capable 
 of that goodly-headed capital, the caput of Stout Porter or lusty Ale. 
 
 The taste for aquatics is none of mine. I laugh at Cowes' it 
 should be Calves' Regattas ; it passeth my understanding to con- 
 ceive the pleasure of contending with all your sail and sea,.your might 
 and main, for a prize cup of water. Gentle reader, if ever we two should 
 encounter at good men's feasts, say not before me, that " your mouth 
 waters," for fear of my compelled rejoinder, " The more pump you ! " 
 
 I am told Die mihi by Sir Lauder Dick, that the great floods in 
 Morayshire destroyed I know not how many Scottish bridges and I 
 believe it. The element was always our Arch-Enemy. Witness the 
 Deluge, when the whole humankind would have perished, with water 
 on the chest, but for .Noah's chest on the water. Drowning by some 
 Comic Annual, 1831.
 
 5 oo 
 
 REFLECTIONS ON WATER. 
 
 many. " Tak 
 said the Scottish 
 
 called Dying made Easy is to my notions horrible. Conceive an unfor- 
 tunate gentleman not by any means thirsty compelled to swill ^u'.p 
 after gulp of the vapid fluid, even to swelling, "as the water you know 
 will swell a man." If I said I would rather be hanged, it would be but 
 the truth ; although " Veriias in Puteo" hath given me almost a dis- 
 relish for truth itself. 
 
 Excepting their imagi- 
 nary Castaly, I should 
 be glad to know what 
 poet hath sung ever in 
 the praise of water ? Of 
 wine, 
 Tent, 
 
 Burns : " Oh, was ye at 
 the Sherry f" singeth 
 another. The lofty 
 
 Douglas, in commending 
 Norval, thus hinteth his 
 cellar: " His Port I like." 
 Shakespeare discourseth 
 eloquently of both as 
 " Red and white," and 
 addeth " with sweet and 
 cunning hand laid on;" 
 i.e., laid on in pipes. For 
 Madeira, see Bowles of 
 it: and the Muse of 
 Prin^le luxuriates in the 
 Cape. Then is there also 
 Mountain celebrated by 
 
 The Arch-Enemy. Pope," The shepherd 
 
 loves the Mountain," to 
 
 Moslem, forbidden draught ; yet which Mahomet would condescend 
 to fetch himself, if it failed in coming to hand. Sack, too, as dear to 
 Oriental Sultanas as his Malmsey to Clarence, is by Byron touched 
 on in his "Corsair;" but then, through some Koran-scrupulousness 
 perchance, they take it in water ! 
 
 Praise there hath been of water ; but, as became the subject, in 
 prose ; M. hath written a volume, I am told, in its commendation, 
 and above all, of its nutritive quality ; and truly to see it floating the 
 Victory, with all her armament and complement of guns and men, one 
 must confess there is some support in it at least as an outward appli- 
 cation ! but then, taken internally, look at the wreck of the Royal 
 George ! 
 
 The mention of men-of-war bringeth to mind, opportunely, certain 
 marine reminiscences pertinent to this subject, referring some years 
 backward, when, with other uniform than my present invariable sables, 
 I was stationed at * * *, on the coast of Sussex. Little as my 
 present-tense habits and occupations savour of the past sea-service, 
 yet, reader, in the Navy List, amongst the Commanders of years 
 bygone, in the ship's books of H.M.S. Hyperion, presently lying in
 
 REFLECTIONS ON WATER. 
 
 501 
 
 the sequestered harbour of Newhaven, thou wilt find occurring the 
 surname of Hood ; a name associated by friends, marine and me- 
 chanic, with a contrivance for expelling the old enemy, water, by a 
 novel construction of ships' pumps. 
 
 Stanchest of my sect the Adam's-Ale-Shunners wert thou, old 
 Samuel Spiller ! in the muster-roll characterised an Able Seaman, but 
 most notable for a landsman's aversion to unmitigated waiter, hr.rd 
 or soft fresh or salt ! A petty officer wert thou in that armed band 
 
 Running Spirits. 
 
 versus contraband, the Coast Blockade, by some miscalled the Pre- 
 ventive Service, if service it be to prevent the influx of wholesome 
 spirits. To do the smuggler bare justice, no seaman. Nelson-bred, 
 payeth greater reverence or obedience to that signal sentence, 
 "England expects every man to do his duty I" th m he. Thine, 
 Spiller, was done to the uttermost. Spirits, legil or ilk-gal, in tub or 
 flask or pewter measure, didst thou inexorably seize, and gauger-like 
 try the depth thereof, thy Royal Master, His Majesty, at the latter 
 end of the seizures, faring no better than thy own-begotten sea- 
 urchin, of whom, one day, remarking that " he took after his father," 
 the young would-be Trinculo retorted, " Father never leaveth none to 
 take." There were- strange rumours afloat and ashore. Samuel ! 
 of thy unprofitable vigilance. Many an illicit Child />, a small 
 keg hath been laid at thy door. Thou hadst a becoming respect 
 for thy comrades, as brave men and true, who could stand fire;
 
 509 A BLOW UP. 
 
 but the smugglers, I fear, were ranked a streak higher as men who 
 could stand treat. .Still were thy misdeeds like much of thy own 
 beverage beyond proof. Even" as those delinquent utterers of 
 base notes, who s^wallowV their own dangerous forgeries, so didst 
 thou gulp down whatever might else have appeared against thee in 
 evidence.. There was no entrapping thee, like rat or weazel, in that 
 Gin from which, deriving a sea-peerage, thou wert commonly known 
 with no offence, I trust, to the noble vassal of Kensington as 
 Lord Hollands. 
 
 It was by way of water-penance for one of these Cassio-like derelic- 
 tions of mine Atacien't, that one evening the evening succeeding the 
 great sea-temueat of 1814 I gave him charge of a boat's crew, to 
 bring in sundry Ifragmental relics of some shipwrecked argosy that 
 were reported to be adrift in our offing. In two hours he returned, 
 and. like Venator; and Piscator, we immediately fell into dialogue, 
 Piscator, i.e., Spifler, " for fear of dripping the carpet," standing aloof, 
 a vox ct preterea nihil, in a dark entry 
 
 " Well, Spiller, "Y my phraseology was not then inoculated with 
 the quaintness >'it hath since imbibed from after-lecture " Well 
 Spiller, what have you picked up ?" 
 
 "A jib-boom, I tnuik, Sir; a capital spar; and part of a ship's 
 etarn the ' Planter orSJarbadies,' famous plaae for rum, Sir i " 
 
 "Was there'any sea are you wet?" 
 
 " Only up to my middle, Sir." 
 
 "Very well stoSv away the wreck, and go to your grog. Tell Bunce 
 fe give you all double allowance." 
 
 " Thank your Honour's Honour !" 
 
 The voice ceased, and a pair of ponderous sea-soles, with tramp 
 audible as the marble foot of the Spectre in Giovanni, went hurrying 
 down our main-hatchway. Certain iKjsgivings of a discrepancy between 
 the imputed drenching and the weather, an appeal askance of the rum 
 cask, joined with a curiosity, perchance, to inspect -the ship-fragments 
 our flotsam and jetsam led me soon afterwards below^^d there",' 
 in the messroom, sate mine officer, high and dry, with a hug'ie tankard 
 in his starboard hand. I made an obvious remark on it, and\had an 
 answer for Michael Spiller was no adept in the ChesterneldianVefine- 
 ments from the interior of the drinking vessel 
 
 " Your Honour's right, and 1. ax your Honour's pardon. I warn't 
 wet ! but I was very dry I " /H 
 
 - 
 
 BLOW-UP* 
 
 * Here we go, up, up, *p."-TAe Lay of tht Firtt Mi r 
 
 NEAR Battle, Mr Peter Baker 
 
 Was powder-maker ; 
 
 Not Alderman Flower's flour, the white that puffs 
 And primes and loads heads bald, or grey, or chowder, 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1831.
 
 A BLOW-UP. 503 
 
 Figgins and Higgins, Fippins, Filby, Crowder, 
 Not vile apothecary's pounded stuffs, 
 But something blacker, bloodier, and louder- 
 Gunpowder ! 
 
 This stuff, as people know, is semper 
 Eadem ; very hasty in its temper 
 Like Honour that resents the gentlest taps, 
 Mere semblances of blows, however slight ; 
 So powder fires, although you only p'rhaps 
 
 Strike light. 
 
 To make it, therefore, is a ticklish business, 
 And sometimes gives both head and heart a dizziness, 
 For all us human flash and fancy minders, 
 Frequenting fights and powder-works, well know 
 There seldom is a mill without a blow, 
 Sometimes upon tlte grinders. 
 But then the melancholy phrase to soften 
 Mr B.'s mill transpired so very often ! 
 And advertised than all Price Currents louder 
 " Fragments look up there is a rise in powder," 
 So frequently, it caused the neighbours' wonder, 
 And certain people had the inhumanity 
 To lay it all to Mr Baker's vanity, L. 
 
 That he might have to say " That was my thunder I" 
 
 One day so goes the tnle 
 9 Whether, with iron hoof, 
 
 Not sparkle-proof, 
 
 Some ninny-hammer struck upon a nail, 
 Whether some glow-worm of the Guy Faux stamp, 
 Crept in the building with Unsafely Lamp 
 One day this mill, that had by water ground, 
 Became a sort of windmill, and blew round, 
 With bounce that went in sound as far as Dover it 
 Sent half the workmen sprawling to the sky, 
 Besides some visitors, who gain'd thereby, 
 What they had ask'd permission " to go over it I" 
 Of course it was a very hard and high blow, 
 And somewhat differed from what's call'd a flyblow. 
 At Cowes' Regatta, as I once observed, 
 A pistol-shot made twenty vessels start ; 
 If such a sound could terrify oak's heart, 
 Think how this crash the human nerve unnerved. 
 In fact, it was a very awful thing, 
 As people know that have been used to battle, 
 In springing either mine or mill, you spring 
 
 A precious rattle ! 
 
 The dunniest heard it poor old Mr F. 
 Doubted for once if he was ever deaf ; 
 Through Tunbridge town it caused most strange alarms,
 
 504 A BLOW-UP. 
 
 Mr and Mrs Fog, 
 
 Who lived like cat and dog, 
 Were shock'd for once into each other's arms. 
 Miss M. the milliner her fright so strong 
 Made a great gobble-stitch six inches long ; 
 The veriest quakers quaked against their wish j 
 The " Best of Sons" was taken unawares, 
 And kick'd the " Best of Parents " down the stair* t 
 The steadiest servant dropp'd the china dish ; 
 A thousand started, though there was but one 
 Fated to win, and that was Mister Dunn, 
 Who struck convulsively, and hook'd a fish! 
 
 Miss Wiggins, with some grass upon her fork, 
 Toss'd it just like a haymaker at work ; 
 Her sister not in any better case, 
 
 For, taking wine 
 
 With nervous Mr PyfTe, 
 He jerk*d his glass of sherry in her face. 
 
 Poor Mrs Davy 
 
 Bobb'd off her brand-new turban in the gravy \ 
 While Mr Davy, at the lower end 
 Preparing for a goose a carver's labour, 
 Darted his two-pronged weapon in his neighbonr, 
 As if for once he meant to help a friend. 
 
 The nurse-maid, telling little " Jack-a-Norey," 
 " Bo-peep " and " Blue-Cap " at the house's top, 
 Scream'd, and let Master Jeremiah drop 
 
 From a fourth storey ! 
 Nor yet did matters any better go 
 With cook and housemaid in the realms below ; 
 As for the laundress, timid Martha Gunning, 
 Expressing faintness and her fear by fits 
 And starts, she came at last but to her wits 
 By falling in the ale that John left running. 
 
 Grave Mr Miles, the meekest of mankind, 
 Struck all at once deaf, stupid, dumb, and blind, 
 Sat in his chaise some moments like a corse, 
 
 Then coming to his mind, 
 
 Was shock'd to find 
 Only a pair of shafts without a horse. 
 
 Out scrambled all the Misses from Miss Joy's 1 
 From Prospect House, for urchins small and bift 
 
 Hearing the awful noise, 
 
 Out rush'd a flood of boys, 
 Floating a man in black, without a wig ; 
 Some carried out one treasure, some another, 
 Some caught their tops and taws up in a hurry, 
 Some saved Chambaud, some rescued Lindley Murray,' 
 But little Tiddy carried his big brother 1
 
 A BLOW- UP. 50$ 
 
 Sick of such terrors, 
 
 TBhe Tunbridge folks resolved that truth should dwell 
 No longer secret in a Tunbridge Well, 
 But to warn Baker of his dangerous errors ; 
 Accordingly, to bring the point to pass, 
 They call'd a meeting of the broken glass, 
 The shatter'd chimney-pots, and scatter'd tiles, 
 
 The damage of each part, 
 
 And pack'd it in a cart, 
 
 Drawn by the horse that ran from Mr Miles ; 
 While Doctor Babblethorpe, the worthy Rector, 
 
 A non sequitur. 
 
 And Mr Gammage, cutler to George Rex, 
 And some few more, whose names would only vex, 
 Went as a deputation to the Ex- 
 Powder-proprietor and Mill-director. 
 
 Now Mr Baker's dwelling-house had pleased 
 
 Along with mill-materials to roam, 
 
 And for a time the deputies were teased 
 
 To find the noisy gentleman at home ; 
 
 At last they found him, with undamaged skin, 
 
 Safe at the Tunbridge Arms not out but Inn.
 
 506 A BLOW-UP. 
 
 The worthy Rector, with uncommon zeal. 
 Soon put his spoke in for the common weal 
 A grave old gentlemanly kind of Urban, 
 The piteous tale of Jeremiah moulded, 
 
 And then unfolded, 
 
 By way of climax, Mrs Davy's turban ; 
 He told how auctioneering Mr Pidding 
 
 Knock'd down a Jot without a bidding, 
 How Mr Miles, in fright, had given his mare 
 
 The whip she wouldn't bear, 
 At Prospect House, how Doctor Gates, not Titus, 
 
 Danced like Saint Vitus, 
 And Mr Beak, through powder's misbehaving, 
 
 Cut off his nose whilst shaving ; 
 When suddenly, with words that seem'd like swearing, 
 Beyond a Licenser's belief or bearing 
 Broke in the stuttering, sputtering Mr Gammage 
 "Who is to pay us, sir" he argued thus, 
 " For loss of cus-cus-cus-cus-cus-cus-cus 
 Cus-custom, and the dam-dam-dam-dam-damage ?" 
 
 Now many a person had been fairly puzzled 
 By such assailants, and completely muzzled ; 
 Baker, however, was not dash'd with ease, 
 But proved he practised after their own system, 
 And with small ceremony soon dismiss'd 'em, 
 Putting these words into their ears like fleas : 
 " If I do have a blow, well, where's the oddity ? 
 I merely do as other tradesmen do, 
 
 You, sir, and you and you ! 
 I?m only puffing off my own commodity !** 
 
 Urg.ng the Sail of your own Work.
 
 507 
 
 THE WOODEN LEG* 
 
 "Peregrine and Gauntlet heard the sound of the stump ascending the wooden itafrcass 
 with such velocity, that they at first mistook it for the application of drum-sticks to the head 
 of an empty \axiA." Ptregriiu Pickle. 
 
 T? VER since the year 1799, I have had, in coachman phrase, an 
 l\ off leg and a near one ; the right limb, thanks to a twelve- 
 pounder, lies somewhere at Seringapatam, its twin-brother being at 
 this moment under a table at Brighton. In plain English, I have a 
 wooden leg. Being thus deprived of half of the implements for march- 
 ing, I equitably retired, on half-pay, from a marching regiment, and 
 embarked what remained of my body for the land of its nativity, 
 literally fulfilling the description of man, " with one foot on sea and 
 one on shore," in the Shakesperean song. 
 
 A great deal has been said and sung of our wooden walls and 
 hearts of oak, but legs of ditto make but an inglorious figure on the 
 ocean. No wrestler from Cornwall or Devonshire ever received half 
 so many fair back-falls as I, the least roll of the vessel and the 
 equinoctial gales were in full blow making me lose, I was going 
 to say, my feet. 1 might have walked in a dead calm ; and as a 
 soldier accustomed to exercise, and, moreover, a foot-soldier, and 
 used to walking, I felt a great inclination to pace up and down the 
 deck, but a general protest from the cabins put an end to my pro- 
 menade. As Lear recommends, my wooden hoof ought to have been 
 "shod with felt." 
 
 At last the voyage terminated, and in my eagerness to land, I got 
 into a fishing-boat, which put me ashore at Dungeness. Those who 
 have enjoyed a ramble over its extensive shingle, will believe that I 
 soon obtained abundance of exercise in walking with a wooden leg 
 among its loose pebbles ; in fact, when I arrived at Lydd, I was, as 
 the cricketers say, " stumped out." It was anything" but one of 
 Foote's farces. 
 
 The next morning saw me in sight of home, as a provincial bard 
 says 
 
 *' But when home gleams upon the wanderer's eye, 
 Quicken his steps he almost seems to fly." 
 
 But I wish he had seen me doing my last half mile over Swingfield 
 Hill. I found its deep sand anything but a quicksand, in spite of a 
 distinct glimpse of the paternal roof. I am convinced, when " fleet 
 Camilla scours the plains," she does not do it with sand. At last I 
 stood at the lodge-gate, which opened, and let me into a long avenue, 
 the path of which had been newly gravelled, but not well rolled ; 
 accordingly, I cut out considerable work for myself and the gardener, 
 who, as he watched the holes I picked in his performance, seemed to 
 look on my advance much as Apollyon did on Pilgrim's Progress. 
 By way of relief, I got upon the grass, but my wooden leg, though it 
 was a black-leg, did not thrive much upon the turf. Arrived at tha 
 * Comic Annual, 1833.
 
 THE WOODEN LEG. 
 
 house door, filial anxiety caused me to forget to scrape and wipe, and 
 I proceeded to make a fishy pattern of soles and dabs up the stair 
 carpet. The goodwife in the Scotch song says 
 
 " His very foot has music in't, 
 '' '' As he comes up the stair." 
 
 ,- .. 
 
 If there was any music in mine, it was in the stump*; which played a" 
 sort of " If)ead March in Saul," up to the landing-place, where,- ths- 
 sound and sjigljt of my Birnam wood coming to. Dunsinane threw my 
 poor mother into a Macbeth fit of horror, for the preparatory letter 
 which shoul,d have broken my leg to her, had been lost on its passage. 
 As for my^fq.ther, I will not attempt to describe his transport, for I 
 came upon. him,,;.' 
 
 ." : "'A* fools rush in where angels fear to tread ;" 
 
 and Gabriel or Michael would not have escaped a volley for treading 
 on his -gouty -foot. At the same moment, Margaret and Louisa, with 
 sisterly impetuosity, threw themselves on my neck, and not being 
 attentive to my "outplay or loose leg," according to Sir Thomas 
 Parkyn's "Instructions for Wrestling," the result was a "hanging 
 tHppet." ." A hanging trippet is when you put your toe behind your 
 adversary's heel, on the same side, with a design to hook his leg up 
 forwards, and throw him on his back." 
 
 The reader will guess my satisfaction when night came, and allowed 
 me to rid myself of my unlucky 
 limb. Fatigued with my walk 
 through dry sand and wet gravel, 
 exhausted by excessive emotion, and, 
 maybe, a little flustered by dipping 
 into the cup of welcome, I literally 
 tumbled into bed, and was soon 
 dreaming of running r.ices and leap- 
 ing for wagers, gallopading, waltzing, 
 and other feats of a biped, when I 
 was suddenly aroused by shrill 
 screams of "Thieves ! " and " Mur- 
 der ! " with a more hoarse call for 
 "Frank! Frank!" There were 
 burglars, in fact, in the house, who 
 were packing and preparing to elope 
 with the family plate, without the 
 consent of parents. It was natural 
 for the latter to call a son and a sol- 
 dier to the rescue, but son or soldier 
 never came in time to start for the 
 
 "Pegging Two for his Heels." P late ' nOt that J Wanted ze . al , or 
 
 courage or arms, but I wanted that 
 
 unlucky limb, and I groped about a full half hour in the dark, before 
 I could lay my hand upon my leg. 
 
 The next morning I took a solitary stroll before breakfast to look 
 at the estate ; but during my absence abroad, &ome exchanges of land
 
 THE GHOST. \$c% 
 
 had taken place with our neighbour, Sir Theophilus. The consequence 
 was, in taking my wood through a wood of his, but which had 
 formerly been our own, and going with my " best leg foremost," as 
 a man in my predicament always does, I popped it into a man-trap. 
 Thus my timber failed me at a pinch, when it might really have stood 
 "my friend. Luckily the trap was one of the humane sort ; but it was 
 far from pleasant to stand in it for two hours calling out for Leg Bail. 
 I could give many more instances of scrapes, besides the perpetual 
 hobble which my wooden leg brought me into, but I will mention only 
 one. At the persuasion of my friends, a few years ago I stood for 
 Rye, but the electors, perhaps, thought I only half stood for it, for 
 they gave me nothing but split votes. It was perhaps as well that I 
 did not go into the House, for with two such odd legs I could never 
 properly have "paired off." The election expenses, however, pressed 
 heavily on my pocket, and to defray them, and all for one Wooden 
 Leg, I had to cut down some thousand loads of timber. 
 
 THE GHOST. 
 
 A VERY SERIOUS BALLAD.* 
 "I'll be your second." LISTON. 
 
 IN Middle Row, some years ago, 
 
 There lived one Mr Brown ; 
 And many folks consider'd him 
 
 The stoutest man in town. 
 
 But Brown and stout will both wear out, 
 
 One Friday he died hard, 
 And left a widow'd wife to mourn, 
 
 At twenty pence a yard. 
 
 Now Widow B. in two short months 
 Thought mourning quite a tax, 
 
 And wish'd, like Mr Wilberforce, 
 To manumit her blacks. 
 
 With Mr Street she soon was sweet ; 
 
 The thing thus came about : 
 She ask'd him in at home, and then 
 
 At church he ask'd her out I 
 
 Assurance such as this the man 
 
 In ashes could not stand ; 
 So like a Phoenix he rose up 
 
 Against the Hand in Hand, 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1833.
 
 $10 THE GHOST. 
 
 One dreary night the angry sprite 
 Appear'd before her view ; 
 
 It came a little after one, 
 But she was after two ! 
 
 O MrsB. ! O Mrs B. ! 
 
 Are these your sorrow's deeds, 
 Already getting up a flame 
 
 To burn your widow's weeds ? 
 
 " It's not so long since I have left 
 For aye the mortal scene ; 
 
 My Memory like Rogers's, 
 Should still be bound in green ! 
 
 "Yet if my face you still retrace 
 I almost have a doubt 
 
 I'm like an old ' Forget-Me-Not/ 
 With all the leaves torn out ! 
 
 Cock of the Walk. 
 
 u To think that on that finger-joint 
 Another pledge should cling ; 
 
 O Bess ! upon my very soul, 
 
 It struck like ' Knock and Ring.' 
 
 "A ton of marble on my breast 
 
 Can't hinder my return ; 
 Your conduct, Ma'am, has set my blood 
 
 A-boiling in my urn ! 
 
 u Remember, oh ! remember, how 
 The marriage rite did run, 
 
 If ever we one flesh should be, 
 'Tis now when I have none !
 
 ODE TO MADAME HENGLER. 
 
 "And you, sir once a bosom friend 
 
 Of perjured faith convict, 
 As ghostly toe can give no blow, 
 
 Consider you are kick'd. 
 
 "A hollow voice is all I have, 
 
 But this I tell you plain, 
 Marry come up ! you marry, Ma'am, 
 
 And I'll come up again." 
 
 More he had said, but chanticleer 
 The spritely shade did shock 
 
 With sudden crow, and off he went, 
 Like fowling-piece at cock ! 
 
 ODE TO MADAME HENGLER, 
 
 FIREWORK-MAKER TO VAUXHALL.* 
 
 O MRS HENGLER ! Madame, I beg pardon- 
 Starry Enchantress of the Surrey Garden ! 
 
 Fancy Portrait : Madame Hengler. 
 
 Accept an Ode not meant as any scoff 
 The Bard were bold indeed at thee to quiz. 
 Whose squibs are far more popular than his, 
 Whose works are much more certain to go off. 
 
 * Comic Arnual, 1830.
 
 ODE TO MADAME HENGLER. 
 
 Great is thy fame, but not a silent fame ; 
 With many a bang the public ear it courts; 
 And yet thy arrogance we never blame, 
 But take thy merits from thy own reports. 
 TLuu nast indeed the most indulgent backers, 
 We make no doubting, misbelieving comments, 
 Even in thy most bounceable of moments, 
 But lend our ears implicit to thy crackers ! 
 Strange helps to thy applause too are not missing, 
 Thy Rockets raise thee, 
 And Serpents praise thee, 
 As none beside are ever praised by hissing ! 
 
 Mistress of Hydropyrics, 
 Of glittering Pindarics, Sapphics, Lyrics, 
 Professor of a Fiery Necromancy, 
 Oddly thou charmest the politer sorts 
 
 With midnight sports, 
 Partaking very much oi flash and fancy I 
 
 What thoughts had shaken all 
 In olden time at thy nocturnal revels, 
 
 Each brimstone ball 
 
 They would have deem'd an eyeball of the Devil's I 
 But now thy flaming Meteors cause no fright ; 
 A modern Hubert to the royal ear 
 Might whisper without fear, 
 
 u My Lord, they say there were five moons to-night !* 
 Nor would it raise one superstitious notion 
 To hear the whole description fairly out : 
 " One fix'd which t'other four whiii'd round about 
 With wondrous motion." 
 
 Such are the very sights 
 
 Thou workest, Queen of Fire, on earth and heaven, 
 Between the hours of midnight and eleven, 
 Turning our English to Arabian Nights, 
 With blazing mounts, and founts, and scorching dragons^ 
 
 Blue stars and white, 
 
 And blood-red light, 
 
 And dazzling Wheels fit for Enchanters' waggons. 
 Thrice lucky woman ! doing things that be 
 With otner folks past benefit of pnrson ; 
 For burning, no Burn's Justice falls on thee, 
 Although night after night the public see 
 Thy Vauxhall palaces all end in Arson 1 
 
 Sure thou wast never born 
 Like old Sir Hugh, \\ ith water in thy head, 
 
 Nor lectured ni^ht and morn' 
 Of sparks .ind flames to have an awful dread, 
 Allowed by a prophetic dam and siie 
 
 To play with fire.
 
 ODE TO MADAME HENGLER. 513 
 
 Oh, didst thou never, in those days gone by, 
 Go carrying about no schoolboy prouder 
 Instead of waxen doll a little Guy ; 
 Or in thy pretty pyrotechnic vein, 
 Up the parental pigtail lay a train, 
 To let off all his powder? 
 
 Full of the wildfire of thy youth, 
 
 Did'st never, in plain truth, 
 Plant whizzing Flowers in thy mother's pots, 
 Turning the garden into Powder Plots ? 
 
 Or give the cook, to fright her, 
 Thy paper sausages well stuffed with nitre ? 
 Nay, wert thou never guilty, now, of dropping 
 A lighted cracker by thy sister's Dear, 
 
 So that she could not hear 
 
 The question he was popping ? 
 
 Go on, Madame ! Go on be bright and busy, 
 While hoax'd Astronomers look up and stare 
 From tall Observatories, dumb and dizzy, 
 To see a Squib in Cassiopeia's Chair ! 
 A Serpent wriggling into Charles's Wain 1 
 A Roman Candle lighting the Great Bear I 
 A Rocket tangled in Diana's train, 
 And Crackers stuck in Berenice's Hair ! 
 
 There is a King of Fire Thou shouldst be Queen! 
 Methinks a good connexion might come from it ; 
 Could'st thou not make him, in the garden scene, 
 Set out per Rocket and return per Comet ; 
 
 Then give him a hot treat 
 Of Pyrotechnicals to sit and sup, 
 Lord ! how the world would throng to see him eat, 
 He swallowing fire, while thou dost throw it up t 
 
 One solitary night true is the story 
 Watching those forms that Fancy will create 
 Within the bright confusion of the grate, 
 1 saw a dazzling countenance of glory ! 
 
 O Dei gratias ! 
 
 That fiery facias 
 Twas thine, Enchantress of the Surrey Grove } 
 
 And ever since that night, 
 
 In dark and bright, 
 Thy face is registered within my stovel 
 
 Long may that starry brow enjoy its rays, 
 
 May no untimely blow its doom forestall ; 
 
 But when old age prepares the friendly pall, f 
 
 When the last spark of all thy sparks decays, 
 
 Then die lamented by good people all, 
 
 Like Goldsmith's Madam Blaizel 
 
 a K.
 
 5'4 
 
 RHYME AND REASON? 
 
 To the Editor of the Comic Annual. 
 
 SIR, In one of your Annuals you have given insertion to " A Plan 
 for Writing Blank Verse in Rhyme ; " but as I have seen no 
 regular long poem constructed on its principles, I suppose the scheme 
 did not take with the literary world. Under these circumstances I 
 feel encouraged to bring forward a novelty of my own, and I can only 
 regret that such poets as Chaucer and Cottle, Spenser and Hay ley, 
 Milton and Pratt, Pope and Pye, Byron and Batterbee, should have 
 died before it was invented. 
 
 The great difficulty in verse is avowedly the rhyme. Dean Swift 
 says somewhere in his letters, " that a rhyme is as hard to find with 
 him as a guinea," and we all know that guineas are proverbially 
 scarce among poets. The merest versifier that ever attempted a Val- 
 entine must have met with this Orson, some untameable savage syllable 
 that refused to chime in with society. For instance, what poetical 
 Fox-hunter a contributor to the Sporting Magazine has net drawn 
 all the covers of Beynard, Ceynard, Deynard, Feynard, Geynard, Hey- 
 nard, Keynard, Leynard, Meynard, Neynard, Peynard, Queynard, to 
 find a rhyme for Reynard ? The spirit of the times is decidedly against 
 
 Tithe ; and I know of no tithe more oppressive than that poetical one, 
 
 in heroic measure, which requires that every tenth syllable shall pay 
 
 a sound in kind. How often the Poet goes up a line, only to be stopped 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1833.
 
 THE DOUBLE KNOCK. 515 
 
 at the end by an impracticable rhyme, like a bull in a blind alley ! I 
 have an ingenious medical friend, who might have been an eminent 
 poet by this time, but the first line he wrote ended in ipecacuanha, and, 
 with all his physical and mental power, he has never yet been able to 
 find a rhyme for it. 
 
 The plan I propose aims to obviate this hardship. My system is, 
 to take the bull by the horns ; in short, to try at first what words will 
 chime, before you go farther and fare worse. To say nothing of other 
 advantages, it will at least have one good effect, and that is, to cor- 
 rect the erroneous notion of the would-be-poets and poetesses of the 
 present day, that the great end of poetry is rhyme. I beg leave to 
 present a specimen of verse, which proves quite the reverse, and am, 
 Sir, Your most obedient servant, JOHN DRYDEN GRUBB. 
 
 THE DOUBLE KNOCK. 
 
 RAT-TAT it went upon the lion's chin ; 
 
 " That hat, I know it ! " cried the joyful girl ; 
 
 ** Summer's it is, I know him by his knock ; 
 
 Comers like him are welcome as the day ! 
 
 Lizzy ! go down and open the street-door ; 
 
 Busy I am to any one but him. 
 
 Know him you must he has been often here ; 
 
 Show him upstairs, and tell him I'm alone." 
 
 Quickly the maid went tripping down the stair; 
 Thickly the heart of Rose Matilda beat ; 
 " Sure he has brought me tickets for the play 
 Drury or Covent Garden darling man ! 
 Kemble will play or Kean, who makes the soul 
 Tremble in Richard or the frenzied Moor 
 Farren, the stay and prop of many a farce 
 Barren beside or Liston, Laughter's Child 
 Kelly the natural, to witness whom 
 Jelly is nothing to the public's jam 
 Cooper, the sensible and Walter Knowles 
 Super, in William Tell, now rightly told. 
 Better perchance, from Andrews, brings a box, 
 Letter of boxes for the Italian stage 
 Brocard ! Donzelli ! Taglioni ! Paul ! 
 No card, thank heaven engages me to night t 
 Feathers, of course no turban, and no toque- 
 Weather's against it, but I'll go in curls. 
 Dearly I dote on white my satin dress, 
 Merely one night it won't be much the worse- 
 Cupid the New Ballet I long to see- 
 Stupid ! why don't she go and ope the door 1* 
 
 Glisten'd her eye as the impatient girl 
 Listen dj low bending o'er the topmost stair.
 
 5x6 A FOX-HUNTER. 
 
 Vainly, alas ! she listens and she bends, 
 Plainly she hears this question and reply . 
 "Axes your pardon, sir, but what d'ye want?" 
 " Taxes," says he, " and shall not call again 1 " 
 
 A FOX-HUNT EX* 
 
 IS a jumble of paradoxes. He sets forth clean though he comes out 
 of a kennel, and returns home dirty. He cares not for cards, yet 
 strives to be always with the pack. He loves fencing, but without 
 carte or tierce ; and delights in a steeplechase, though he does not 
 follow the church. He is anything but litigious, yet is fond of a 
 certain suit, and retains Scarlet. He keeps a running account with 
 
 Horse, Dog, Fox, and Co., but objects to a check. As to cards, in 
 choosing a pack he prefers Hunt's. In Theatricals, he favours Miss 
 Somerville, because her namesake wrote the Chase, though he never 
 read it. He is no great Dancer, though he is fond of casting oft 
 twenty couple ; and no great Painter, though he draws covers, and 
 seeks for a brush. He is no Musician, and yet is fond of five bars. 
 He despises Doctors, yet follows a course of bark. He professes to 
 * Comic Annual, 1833.
 
 A FOX-HUNTER. 
 
 517 
 
 love his country, but is perpetually crossing it. He is fond of strong 
 ale and beer, yet dislikes any purl. He is good-tempered, yet so far 
 a Tartar as to prefer a saddle of Horse to a saddle of Mutton. He is 
 somewhat rough and bearish himself, but insists on good breeding in 
 horses and dogs. He professes the Church Catechism, and counte- 
 nances heathen dogmas, by naming his hounds after Jupiter and Juno, 
 Mars and Diana. He cares not for violets, but he doats on a good 
 scent. He says his Wife is a shrew, but objects to destroying a Vixen. 
 In Politics he inclines to Pitt, and runs after Fox. He is no milksop, 
 but he loves to tally. He protects Poultry, and preserves Foxes. 'He 
 follows but one business, and yet has many pursuits. He pretends to 
 be knowing, but a dog leads him by the nose. He is as honest a 
 fellow as need be, yet his neck is oftener in danger than a thief's. He 
 swears he can clear anything, but is beaten by a fog. He is no land- 
 lord of houses, but is particular about fixtures. He studies " Summer- 
 ing the Hunter," but goes Huntering in the Winter. He esteems 
 himself prosperous, and is always going to the dogs. He delights in 
 the Hunter's Stakes, but takes care not to stake his hunter. He 
 praises discretion, but would rather let the cat out of the bag than a 
 fox. He does not shine at a human conversazione, but is great among 
 dogs giving tongue. To conclude, he runs as long as he can, and then 
 goes to earth, and his Heir is in at his death. But his Heir does not 
 Stand in his shoes, for he never wore anything but boots. 
 
 ; Stand a;.d Deliver."
 
 Fancy Portrait : " I'd be a Butterfly.' 
 
 BAILEY BALLADS* 
 
 TO anticipate mistake, the above title refers not to Thomas Haynes 
 or F. W. N. or even to any publishers but the original Old 
 Bailey. It belongs to a set of songs composed during the courtly 
 leisure of what is technically called a Juryman in Waiting that is, one 
 of a corps de reserve, held in readiness to fill up the gaps which extra- 
 ordinary mental exertion or sedentary habits or starvation, may 
 make in the Council of Twelve. This wrong box it was once my fortune 
 to get into. On the 5th of November, at the 6th hour, leaving my bed 
 and the luxurious perusal of Taylor on Early Rising I walked from a 
 yellow fog into a black one, in my unwilling way to the New Court, 
 which sweet herbs even could not sweeten, for the sole purpose of 
 making criminals uncomfortable. A neighbour, a retired sea-captain 
 with a wooden leg, now literally a jury-mast, limped with m^ irom 
 Highbury Terrace on the same hanging errand a personified Halter. 
 Our legal drill corporal was Serjeant Arabin, and when our muster-roll 
 without butter was over, before breakfast, the uninitiated can form no 
 idea of the ludicrousness of the excuses of the would-be Nonjurors, 
 aggravated by the solemnity of a previous oath, the delivery from a 
 witness-box like a pulpit, and the professional gravity of the Court. 
 One weakly old gentleman had been ordered by his physician to eat 
 little, but often, and apprehended even fatal consequences from being 
 locked up with an obstinate eleven ; another conscientious demurrer 
 * Comic Annual, 1832.
 
 BAILEY BAII.ADS. 519 
 
 desired time to make himself master of his duties, by consulting 
 Jonathan Wild, Vidocq, Hardy V.iux, and Lazarillo de Torrries. But 
 the number of deaf men who objected the hardness of their hearing 
 criminal cases was beyond belief. The publishers of " Curtis on the 
 Ear" and "Wright on the Ear" (two popular surgical works, though 
 rather suggestive of Pugilism) ought to have stentorian agents in th.it 
 Court Defective on one side myself, I was literally ash.imed to 
 strike up singly in such a chorus of muffled double drums, and tacitly 
 suffered my ears to be boxed with a common Jury. I heard, on the 
 right hand, a Judge's charge an arraignment and evidence to match, 
 with great dexterity, but failing to catch the defence from the left 
 hand, refused naturally to concur in any sinister verdict. The learned 
 Serjeant, I presume, as I was only half deaf, only half discharged 
 me, committing me to the relay-box, as a Juror in Waiting, and 
 from which I was relieved only by his successor, Sir Thomas Denman, 
 and to justify my dulness, I made even his stupendous voice to repeat 
 my dismissal twice over ! 
 
 It was during this compelled attendance that the project struck me 
 of a Series of Lays of Larceny, combining Sin and Sentiment in the 
 melodramatic mixture which is so congenial to the cholera-morbid 
 sensibility of the present age and stage. The following are merely 
 specimens, but a hint from the Powers that be, in the Strand, will 
 promptly produce a handsome volume of the remainder, with a grate- 
 ful Dedication to the learned Serjeant. 
 
 Descend, ye Nine I "
 
 BAILEY BALLADS. 
 
 NO. I. 
 
 LINES TO MARY. 
 
 (AT NO. I NEWGATE, FAVOURED BY MR WONTNBt,) 
 
 Mary, I believed you true, 
 And I was blest in so believing ; 
 But till this hour I never knew 
 That you were taken up for thieving 1 
 
 Oh ! when I snatch'd a tender kiss, 
 Or some such trifle when I courted, 
 You said, indeed, that love was bliss, 
 But never own'd you were transported 1 
 
 But then, to gaze on that fair face, 
 It would have been an unfair feeling 
 To dream that you had pilfer'd lace 
 And Flints had suffer'd from your stealing I 
 
 Or, when my suit I first preferr'd, 
 
 To bring your coldness to repentance, 
 
 Before I hammer'd out a word, 
 
 How could I dream you'd heard a sentence I 
 
 Or when, with all the warmth of youth, 
 
 1 strove to prove my love no fiction, 
 How could I guess I urged a truth 
 On one already past conviction ? 
 
 How could I dream that ivory part, 
 
 Your hand where I have look'd and lingerM, 
 
 Although it stole away my heart, 
 
 Had been held up as one light-finger'd ? 
 
 In melting verse your charms I drew, 
 The charms in which my muse delighted 
 Alas ! the lay, I thought was new, 
 Spoke only what had been indicted! 
 
 Oh ! when that form, a lovely one, 
 Hung on the neck its arms had flown to^ 
 I little thought that you had run 
 A chance of hanging on your own too. 
 
 You said you pick'd me from the world 
 My vanity it now must shock it 
 And down at once my pride is hurl'd, 
 You've pick'd me and you've pick'd a pocket I
 
 BAILEY BALLADS. 521 
 
 Oh ! when our love had got so far, 
 The banns were read by Dr Daly, 
 Who asked if there was any bar 
 Why did not some one shout. " Old Bailey?'* 
 
 But when you robed your flesh and bones 
 In that pure white that angel garb is, 
 Who could have thought you, Mary Jones, 
 Among the Joans that link with Darbies f 
 
 And when the parson came to say 
 
 My goods were yours, if I had got any, 
 
 And you should honour and obey, 
 
 Who could have thought " O Bay of Botany I" 
 
 But, oh ! the worst of all your slips 
 I did not till this day discover 
 That down in Deptford's prison-ships, 
 O Mary ! you've a hulking lover 1 
 
 "'Twere well if we had never met." 
 
 No. II. 
 
 "Love, with a witness 1 " 
 
 He has shaved off his whiskers and blacken'd his brows, 
 Wears a patch and a wig of false hair, 
 But it's him oh, it's him ! we exchanged lovers' vows 
 When I lived up in Cavendish Square. 
 
 He had beautiful eyes, and his lips were the same, 
 And his voice was as soft as a flute . 
 Like a Lord or a Marquis he look'd, when he came 
 To make love in his master's best suit.
 
 J22 BAILEY BALLADS. 
 
 If I lived for a thousand long years from my birth, 
 I shall never forget what he told 
 How he loved me beyond the rich women of earth, 
 With their jewels and silver and gold ! 
 
 When he kiss'd me, and bade me adieu with a sigh, 
 By the light of the sweetest of moons ; 
 Oh, how little I dreamt I was bidding good-bye 
 To my Missis's teapot and spoons ! 
 
 No. III. 
 
 " I'd be a Parody." Bailey. 
 
 We met 'twas in a mob and I thought he had done me : 
 I felt I could not feel for no watch was upon me ; 
 He ran the night was cold and his pace was unalter'd, 
 I too long'd much to pelt but my small-boned leg falter'd. 
 I wore my brand-new boots and unrivall'd their brightness ; 
 They fit me to a hair how I hated their tightness ! 
 I call'd, but no one came, and my stride had a tether 
 Oh, thou hast been the cause of this anguish, my leather ! 
 
 And once again we met and an old pal was near him ; 
 
 He swore, a something low but 'twas no use to fear him ; 
 
 I seized upon his arm he was mine and mine only, 
 
 And stepped as he deserved to cells wretched and lonely : 
 
 And there he will be tried but 1 shall ne'er receive her, 
 
 The watch that went too sure for an artful deceiver. 
 
 The world may think me gay, heart and feet ache together 
 
 Oh, thou hast been the cause of this angyish, my leather. 
 
 Stop him 1
 
 5*3 
 
 The Source of the Niger. 
 
 LETTER 
 
 FROM A PARISH CLERK IN BARBADOES TO ONE IN HAMPSHIRE, 
 WITH AN ENCLOSURE.* 
 
 "Thou mayest conceive, O reader, with what concern I perceived the eyes of the coi 
 gregation fixed upon me." Memoirs of P. P. 
 
 MY DKAR JEDIDIAH, Here I am safe and sound well in 
 body, and in fine voice for my calling though thousands and 
 thousands ot miles, 1 may say, from the old living, Threap-cum- 
 Toddle. Little did I think to be ever giving out the Psalms across the 
 Atlantic, or to be walking in the streets of Barbadoes, surrounded by 
 Blackamoors, big and little ; some crying after me, " There him go 
 look at Massa Amen ! " Poor African wretches ! I do hope, by my 
 Lord Bishop's assistance, to instruct many of them, and to teach them 
 to have more respect for ecclesiastic dignitaries. 
 
 Through a ludicrous clerical mischance, not fit for me to mention, 
 we have preached but once since our arrival. O Jedidiah ! how 
 different from the row of comely, sleek, and ruddy, plain English faces, 
 that used to confront me in the Churchwarden's pew, at the old service 
 in Hants, Mr Ferryman's clean, shining, bald head , Mr Truman's 
 * Comic Annual, 1831.
 
 5*4 
 
 A LETTER. 
 
 respectable powdered, and Mr Cutlet's comely and well-combed caxonl 
 Here, such a set of grinning sooty faces, that if I had been in any 
 other place, I might have fancied myself at a meeting of Master 
 Chimney-sweeps on May-Day. You know, Jedidiah, how strange 
 thoughts and things will haunt the mind, in spite of one's self, at times 
 the least appropriate : the line that follows " The rose is red, the 
 violet's blue," in the old Valentine, I am ashamed to say, came across 
 me I ""know not how often. Then, after service, no sitting on a tomb- 
 stone for a cheerful bit of chat with a neighbour no invitation to 
 
 dinner from the worshipful 
 Churchwardens. The jab- 
 ber of these Niggers is so 
 outlandish or unintelli- 
 gible, I can hardly say I 
 am on speaking terms with 
 any of our parishioners 
 except Mr Pompey, the 
 Governor's black, whose 
 trips to England have made 
 his English not quite so 
 full of Greek as the others. 
 There is one thing, how- 
 ever, that is so great a dis- 
 appointment of my hopes 
 and enjoyments, that I 
 think, if I had foreseen it, 
 I should not have come 
 out, even at the Bishop's 
 request. The song in the 
 playbook says, you know, 
 Black Barberism. "While all Barbadoes belte 
 
 do ring ! " but alas ! Jedi- 
 diah, there is not a ring of bells in the whole island! You, who re- 
 member my fondness for that melodious pastime, indeed I mav say my 
 passion, for a Grandsire Peel of Triple Bob-Majors truly pulled, and 
 the changes called by myself, as when I belonged to the Great Tom 
 Society of Hampshire Youths, may conceive my regret that, instead 
 'of coming here, I did not go out to Swan River I am told they have 
 a Peel there. 
 
 I shall write a longer letter by the Nestor, Bird, which is the next 
 ship. This comes by the Lively, Kidd, only to inform you that I 
 arrived here safe and well. Pray communicate the same, with my love 
 and duty, to my dear parents and relations, not forgetting Deborah 
 and Darius at Porkinston, and Uriah at Pigstead. The same to Mrs 
 Pugh, the opener, Mr Sexton, and the rest of my clerical friends. * 
 have no commissions at present, except to beg that you will deliver the 
 enclosed, which I have written at Mr Pompey's dictation, to his old 
 black fellow-servant, at Number 45 Portland Place. Ask for Aga- 
 memnon down the area. If an opportunity should likewise offer of 
 mentioning in any quarter that might reach Administration, the desti- 
 tute state of our Barbarian, steeples and belfries, pray don't omit; and
 
 A LETTER. 525 
 
 if, in the meantime, you could send out even a set of small handbells, 
 it might prove a parochial acquisition, as well as to me. Dear Jedi- 
 diah, Your faithful friend and fellow-clerk, HABAKKUK CRUMPE. 
 
 P.S. I send Pompey's letter open,' for you to read. You will see 
 what a strange herd of black cattle I am among. 
 
 [THE ENCLOSURE.] 
 
 I say, Aggy ! You remember me ? Very well. Runaway Pompey, 
 somebody else. Me Governor's Pompey. You remember? Me 
 carry out Governor's piccaninny a walk. Very well. Massa Amen 
 and me write this to say the news. Barbadoes all bustle. Nigger- 
 mans do nothing but talkee talkee. [Pompey's right, Jedidiah.} The 
 Bishop is come. Missis Bishop. Miss Bishop all the Bishops. 
 Very well. The Bishop come in one ship, and him wigs come out in 
 other ship. Bishop come one, two, three, weeks first. \I?s too true, 
 Jedidiah.] Him say no wig, no Bishop. Massa Amen, you remem- 
 ber, say so too. Very well. Massa Amen ask me everything about 
 nigger-man, where him baptizes in a water. [So I did.} Me tell him 
 in the sea, in the river, any wheres abouts. You remember, Massa 
 
 
 " ^T g lim > him turban afire.** 
 
 Amen ask at me again, who 'ficiates. Me tell him de Cayman. 
 [ What man, Jedidiah, could he mean r] Very well. The day before 
 the other day Bishop come to dinner with Governor and Governess, 
 tip at the Big House. You remember, Missis Bishop too. Missis 
 Bishop set him turban afire at a candle, and me put him out. [With
 
 526 
 
 OUR VILLAGE. 
 
 a kettle of scalding water, Jedidiah.] Pompey get nothing for that 
 Very well. 
 
 I say, Aggy 5 You know your Catechism ? Massa Amen ask him 
 at me and my wife, Black Juno, sometimes. You remember. Massa 
 Amen say, You give up a Devil? very well. Then him say, Yu give 
 up al' work? very well. Then him say again, Black Juno, you give 
 
 up your Pompeys and 
 vanities? Bl.ick Juno 
 shake her head, and say 
 no. Massa Amen s;iy 
 You must, and then my 
 wife cry ever so much. 
 [ffs a fact, Jedidiah, the 
 black female made this 
 ridiculous mistake J\ 
 
 Very well. Governor 
 come to you in three 
 months to see the King. 
 Pompey too. You re- 
 member. Come for me 
 to Black wall. Me bring 
 }ou some of Governor's 
 rum. Black Juno say, 
 Tell Massa Agamemnon, he must send some fashions, sometimes. 
 You remember? Black Juno very smart. Him wish for a Bell As- 
 sembly. \Jedidiah) so do /.] You send him out, you remember ? 
 Very well. 
 
 Massa Amen say write no more now. I say, O pray one little word 
 more for Agamemnon's wife. Give him good kiss from Pompey. 
 [ Jedidiah* what a heathenish message /] Black Diana a kiss too. 
 You remember? Very well. No more. 
 
 Ship Letters. 
 
 OUR VILLAGE* 
 
 '"Sweet Aub'irn, loveliest village of the plain." GOLDSMITH. 
 
 I HAVE a great anxiety to become a topographer, and I do not 
 know that I can make an easier commencement of the chafacter, 
 than by attempting a description of our village. It will be found, as 
 my friend the landlord over the way says, that " things are drawn 
 mild." 
 
 1 live opposite the Green Man. I know that to be the sign, in spite 
 of the picture, because I am told of the fact in large gilt letters, in 
 three several places. The whole-length portrait of " thomme vert ' 
 is rather imposing. He stands plump before you, in a sort of wrest- 
 ling attitude, the legs standing distinctly apart, in a brace of decided 
 boots, with dun tops, joined to a pair of Creole- coloured leather breeches. 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1833.
 
 OUR VILLAGE. 527 
 
 The rest of his dress is peculiar ; the coat, a two-flapper, green and 
 brown, or, as they say at the tap, half-and-half ; a cocked hat on the 
 half-cock ; a short belt crossing the breast like a flat gas-pipe. The 
 one hand stuck on the greeny-brown hip of my friend, in the other a 
 gun with a barrel like an entire butt, and the butt like a brewer's 
 whole stock. On one side, looking up at the vanished visage of his 
 master, is all that remains of a liver-and-white pointer seeming now 
 to be some old dog from India, for his white complexion is turned 
 yellow, and his liver is more than half gone ! 
 
 The inn is really a very quiet, cozy, comfortable inn, though the 
 landlord announces a fact in larger letters, methinks, than his informa- 
 tion warrants, viz., that he is " Licensed to deal in Foreign Wines and 
 Spirits." All innkeepers, I trust, are so licensed ; there is no occasion 
 to make so brazen a brag of this sinecure permit. 
 
 ***# 
 
 I had written thus far, when the tarnished gold letters of the Green 
 Man seemed to be suddenly re-gilt ; and on looking upwards, I per- 
 ceived that a sort of skylight had been opened in the clouds, giving 
 entrance to a bright gleam of sunshine, which glowed with remarkable 
 effect on a yellow postchaise in the stable-yard, and brought the ducks 
 out beautifully white from the black horsepond. Ttmuttd by the 
 appearance of the weather, I put down my pen, and strolled out for a 
 
 The Lady of "Our Village." 
 
 juarter of an hour before dinner, to inhale that air, without which, like 
 the chameleon, I cannot feed. On my return, I found, with some' sur- 
 
 Erise, that my papers were a good deal discomposed; but before I 
 ad time for much wonder, my landlady entered with one of her most 
 
 S
 
 528 OUR VILLAGE. 
 
 obliging curtseys, and observed that she had seen me writing in the 
 morning, and it had occurred to her, by chance, that I might by pos- 
 sibility have been writing a description of the village. I told her that 
 I had actually been engaged on that very subject. " If that is the 
 case, of course, sir, you would begin, no doubt, about the Green Man, 
 being so close by; and I daresay you would say something about 
 the sign, and the Green Man with his top-boots, and his gun, and his 
 Indian liver-and-white pointer, though his white to be sure is turned 
 yellow, and his liver is more than half gone." " You are perfectly right, 
 Mrs Ledger," I replied, "and in one part of the description I think I 
 have used almost your own very words." " Well, that is curious, sir," 
 exclaimed Mrs L., and physically, not arithmetically, casting up all 
 her hands and eyes. " Moreover, what I mean to say is this ; and I 
 only say that to save trouble. There's a young man lodges at the 
 greengrocer's over the way, who has writ an account of the village 
 already to your hand. The people about the place call him the Poet, 
 but, anyhow, he studies a good deal, and writes beautiful ; and, as I 
 said before, has made the whole village out of his own head. Now, 
 it might save trouble, sir, if you was to write it out, and I am sure I 
 have a copy, that, as far as the loan goes, is at your service, sir." 
 My curiosity induced me to take the offer ; and as the poem really 
 forestalled what I had to say of the Hamlet, I took my landlady's 
 advice and transcribed it, and here it is. 
 
 OUR VILLAGE. BY A VILLAGER. 
 
 Our village, that's to say, not Miss Mitford's village, but our village 
 
 of Bullock Smithy, 
 Is come into by an avenue of trees, three oak pollards, two elders, and 
 
 a withy ; 
 And in the middle there's a green of about not exceeding an acre and 
 
 a half; 
 It's common to all, and fed off by nineteen cows, six ponies, three 
 
 horses, five asses, two foals, seven pigs, and a calf ! 
 Besides a pond in the middle, as is held by a similar sort of common- 
 law lease, 
 And contains twenty ducks, six drakes, three ganders, two dead dogs, 
 
 four drown'd kittens, and twelve geese. 
 Of course the green's cropt very close, and does famous for bowling 
 
 when the little village-boys play at cricket ; 
 Only some horse, or pig, or cow, or great jackass, is sure to come and 
 
 stand right before the wicket. 
 There's fifty-five private houses, let alone barns, and workshops, and 
 
 pig-sties, and poultry huts, and suchlike sheds ; 
 With plenty of public-houses two Foxes, one Green Man, three Bunch 
 
 of Grapes, one Crown, and six King's Heads. 
 The Green Man is reckon'd the best, as the only one that for love or 
 
 money can raise 
 A postilion, a blue-jacket, two deplorable lame white horses, and a 
 
 ramshackled " neat postchaise."
 
 OUR VILLAGE. 599 
 
 There's one parish church for all the people, whatsoever may be their 
 
 ranks in life or their degrees, 
 Except one very damp, small, dark, freezing cold, little Methodist 
 
 Chapel of Ease ; 
 And close by the churchyard there's a stone-mason's yard, that when 
 
 the time is seasonable 
 Will furnish with afflictions sore and marble urns and cherubims very 
 
 low and reasonable. 
 There's a cage, comfortable enough ; I've been in it with Old Jack 
 
 Jeffrey and Tom Pike ; 
 For the Green Man next door will send you in ale, gin, or anything 
 
 else you like. 
 I can't speak of the stocks, as nothing remains of them but the upright 
 
 post; 
 But the pound is kept in repairs for the sake of Cob's horse, as is 
 
 always there almost. 
 There's a smithy of course, where that queer sort of a chap in his way, 
 
 Old Joe Bradley, 
 Perpetually hammers and stammers, for he stutters and shoes horses 
 
 very badly. 
 There's a shop of all sorts, that sells everything, kept by the widow 
 
 of Mr Task ; 
 
 But when you go there, it's ten to one she's out of everything you ask. 
 You'll know her house by the swarm of boys, like flies, about the old 
 
 sugary cask : 
 
 There are six empty houses, and not so well paper'd inside as out, 
 For bill-stickers won't beware, but sticks notices of sales and election 
 
 placards all about. 
 That's the Doctor's with a green door, where the garden pots in the 
 
 windows are seen 
 A weakly monthly rose that don't blow, and a dead geranium, and a 
 
 tea-plant with five black leaves and one green. 
 As for hollyoaks at the cottage doors, and honeysuckles and jasmines, 
 
 you may go and whistle ; 
 But the tailor's front garden grows two cabbages, a dock, a ha'porth 
 
 of pennyroyal, two dandelions, and a thistle. 
 There are three small orchards Mr Busby's the schoolmaster's is the 
 
 chief 
 With two pear-trees that don't bear ; one plum and an apple, that 
 
 every year is stripped by a thief. 
 There's another small day-school too, kept by the respectable Mrs 
 
 Gaby, 
 A select establishment, for six little boys and one big, and four little 
 
 girls and a baby ; 
 There's a rectory, with pointed gables and strange odd chimneys that 
 
 never smokes, 
 
 For the rector don't live on his living like other Christian sort of folks ; 
 There's a barber's, once a-week well filled with rough black-bearded 
 
 shock-headed churls, 
 And a window with two feminine men's heads, and two masculine 
 
 ladies in false curls ; 
 
 a L
 
 530 THE SCRAPE-BOOK. 
 
 There's a butcher's, and a carpenter's, and a plumber's, and a small 
 
 greengrocer's, and a baker, 
 
 But he won't bake on a Sunday ; and there's a sexton that's a coal- 
 merchant besides, and an undertaker ; 
 And a toyshop, but not a whole one, for a village can't compare with 
 
 the London shops ; 
 One window sells drums, dolls, kites, carts, bats, Clout's balls, and 
 
 the other sells malt and hops. 
 And Mrs Brown, in domestic economy not to be a bit behind hot 
 
 betters, 
 Lets her house to a milliner, a watchmaker, a rat-catcher, a cobbler, 
 
 lives in it herself, and it's the post-office for letters. 
 Now I've gone through all the village ay, from end to end, save and 
 
 except one more house, 
 But I haven't come to that and I hope I never shall and that's the 
 
 Village Poorhouse 1 
 
 THE SCRAPE-BOOK* 
 
 " Luck's all I 
 
 SOME men seem born to be lucky. Happier than kings, Fortune's 
 wheel has for them no revolutions. Whatever they touch turns to 
 gold, their path is paved with the philosopher's stone. At games of 
 chance they have no chance ; but what is better, a certainty. They 
 hold four suits of trumps. They get windfalls, without a breath 
 stirring as legacies. Prizes turn up for them in lotteries. On the 
 turf, their horse an outsider always wins. They enjoy a whole 
 season of benefits. At the very worse, in trying to drown themselves, 
 they dive on some treasure undiscovered since the'Spanish Armada ; 
 or tie their halter to a hook, that unseals a hoard in the ceiling. That's 
 their luck. 
 
 There is another kind of fortune, called ill-luck ; so ill, that you 
 hope it will die ; but it don't. That's my luck. 
 
 Other people keep scrap-books ; but I, a scrape-book. It is their* 
 to insert bon-mots, riddles, anecdotes, caricatures, facetiae of all kinds ; 
 mine to record mischances, failures, accidents, disapi ointments ; in 
 short, as the betters say, I have always a bad book. Witness a few 
 extracts, bitter as extract of bark. 
 
 April 1st. Married on this day : in the first week of the honeymoon, 
 stumbled over my father-in-law's beehives ! He has 252 bees ; thanks 
 to me, he is now able to check them. Some of the insects, having an 
 account against me, preferred to settle on my calf. Others swarmed on 
 my hands. My bald head seemed a perfect humming-top ! Two 
 hundred and fifty-two stings it should be " stings and arrows of 
 outrageous fortune!" But that's my luck. Rushed bee-blind into 
 the horsepond, and torn out by Tiger, the house-dog. Staggered 
 incontinent into the pigsty, and collared by the sow sus. per coll 
 Cor kicking her sucklings ; recommended oil for my wounds, and none 
 Comic Annual, 1831.
 
 THE SCRAPE-BOOK. 
 
 531 
 
 but lamp ditto in the house ; relieved of the stings at last what luck ! 
 by 252 operations. 
 9th. Give my adored Belinda a black eye, in the open street, aiming 
 
 An Unfortunate Bee-ing. 
 
 at a lad who attempted to snatch her reticule. Belinda's part taken 
 by a big rascal, as deaf as a post, who wanted to fight me " for striking 
 a woman." My luck again. 
 
 1 2th. Purchased a mare, warranted so gentle that a lady might 
 ride her, and, indeed, no animal could be quieter, except the leather 
 one, formerly in the Show-room, at Exeter Change. Meant for the 
 first time to ride with Belinda to the Park put my foot in the 
 stirrup, and found myself on my own back instead of the mare's. 
 Other men are thrown by their horses, but a saddle does it for me. 
 Well, nothing is so hard as my luck unless it be the fourth flag or 
 stone from the post at the north corner of Harley Street. 
 
 I4th. Run down in a wherry by a coal-brig off Greenwich, but 
 providentially picked up by a steamer, that burst her boiler directly 
 afterwards. Saved to be scalded ! But misfortunes with me never 
 came single, from my very childhood. I remember when my little 
 brothers and sisters tumbled downstairs, they always hitched half way 
 at the angle. My luck invariably turned the corner. It could not 
 bear to bate me a single bump. 
 
 1 7th. Had my eye picked out by a pavior who was axing his way, 
 he didn't care where. Sent home in a hackney chariot that upset. 
 Paid Jarvis a sovereign for a shilling. My luck all over!
 
 S3* 
 
 THE SCRAPE-BOOK. 
 
 ist of May. My flue on fire. Not a sweep to be had for love or 
 money ! Lucky enough for me, the parish engine soon arrived, with 
 all the charity school. Boys are fond of playing and indulged their 
 propensity by playing into my best drawing-room. Every friend I 
 had dropped in to dinner. Nothing but Lacedemonian black broth. 
 Others have pot-luck, but I have not even pint-luck at least of the 
 right sort. 
 
 8th. Found, on getting up, that the kitchen-garden had been 
 stripped by thieves, but had the luck at night to catch some one in 
 the garden, by walking into my own trap. Afrnid to call out, for 
 fear of being shot at by the gardener, who would have hit me to a dead 
 certainty for such is my luck! t 
 
 loth. Agricultural distress is a treat to mine. My old friend Bill 
 I must henceforth call him Corn-Bill h;is, this morning, laid his 
 unfeeling wooden leg on my tenderest toe, like a thresher. In spite 
 
 A Cornish Man. 
 
 of Dibdin, I don't believe that oak has any heart, or it would not be 
 such r. walking treadmill ! 
 
 1 2th. Two pieces of "my usual." First knocked down by a mad 
 bull ; secondly, picked up by a pickpocket. Anybody but me would 
 have found one honest humane man out of a whole crowd ; but I am 
 born to suffer, whether done by accident or done by design. Luckily 
 for me and the pickpocket, I was able to identify him, bound over to 
 prosecute, and had the satisfaction of exporting him to Botany Bay.
 
 A TRUE STORY. $33 
 
 I suppose I performed well in a court of justice, for the next day 
 " Encore un coup ! " I had a summons to serve with a Middlesex 
 jury, at the Old Bailey, for a fortnight. 
 
 I4th. My number in the lottery has come up a capital prize. Luck 
 at last if I had not lost the ticket. 
 
 A TRUE STORY* 
 
 WHOE'ER has seen upon the human face 
 The yellow jaundice and the jaundice black, 
 May form a notion of old Colonel Case 
 With nigger Pompey waiting at his back. 
 
 
 
 Case, as the case is, many time with folks 
 From hot Bengal, Calcutta, or Bombay, 
 Had tint his tint, as Scottish tongues would say, 
 And show'd two cheeks as yellow as eggs' yolks, 
 Pompey, the chip of some old ebon block, 
 In hue was like his master's stiff cravat, 
 And might indeed have claim'd akin to that t 
 Coming, as he did, of an old black stock. 
 
 Case wore the liver's livery that such 
 Must wear, their past excesses to denote, 
 Like Greenwich pensioners that take too much, 
 And then do penance in a yellow coat. 
 Pompey's, a deep and permanent jet-dye, 
 A stain of Nature's staining one of those 
 We ca\\fast colours merely, I suppose, 
 Because such colours never go orjly. 
 
 Pray mark this difference of dark and sallow, 
 Pompey's black husk, and the old Colonel's yellow. 
 
 line Colonel, once a penniless beginner, 
 
 From a long Indian rubber rose a winner, 
 
 With plenty of pagodas in his pocket, 
 
 And homeward turning his Hibernian thought, 
 
 Deem'd Wickloiu was the place that ought 
 
 To harbour one whose wick was in the socket. . 
 
 Unhappily for Case's scheme of quiet, 
 Wicklow just then was in a pretty riot, 
 A fact recorded in each day s diurnals, 
 Things Case was not accustom'd to peruse, 
 
 Careless of news ; 
 But Pompey always read these bloody journals, 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1830.
 
 534 
 
 ^ TRUE STORY. 
 
 Full of Killmany and of Killmore work, 
 The freaks of some O'Shaunessy's shillaly, 
 Of morning frays by some O'Brien Burke, 
 Or horrid nightly outrage by some Daly ; 
 How scums deserving of the Devil's ladle 
 Would fall upon the harmless scull and knock it, 
 And if he found an infant in the cradle, 
 Stern Rock would hardly hesitate to rock it ; 
 
 In fact, he read of burner and of killer, 
 
 And Irish ravages, day after day, 
 
 Till, haunting in his dreams, he used to say, 
 
 That " Pompey could not sleep on Pompeys Pillar* 
 
 Judge then the horror of the nigger's face 
 To rind with such impressions of that dire land- 
 That Case, his master, was a packing-case 
 
 For Ireland ! 
 
 He saw in fearful reveries arise, 
 Phantasmagorias of those dreadful men 
 Whose fame. associate with Irish plots is, 
 Fitzgeralds Tones O'Connors Hares and then 
 " Those Emmets" not so " little in his eyes " 
 
 As Doctor Watts's ! 
 
 He felt himself piked, roasted, carved, and hack'd, 
 His big black burly body seem'd, in fact, 
 A pincushion for Terror's pins and needles, 
 Oh, how he wish'd himself beneath the sun
 
 A TRUE STORY. 535 
 
 Of Afric or in far Barbadoes one 
 
 Of Bishop Coleridge's new black beadles. 
 
 Full of this fright, 
 
 With broken peace and broken English choking, 
 As black as any raven, and as croaking, 
 Pompey rush'd in upon his master's sight, 
 Plump'd on his knees, and clasp'd his sable digits, 
 Thus stirring Curiosity's sharp fidgets 
 " O Massa ! Massa ! Colonel ! Massa Case ! 
 Not go to Ireland ! Ireland dam bad place ; 
 Dem take our bloods dem Irish every drop 
 Oh, why for Massa go so far a distance 
 
 To have him life?" Here Pompey made a stop, 
 
 Putting an awful period to existence. 
 
 " Not go to Ireland not to Ireland, fellow ! 
 
 And murderM why should I be murder'd, sirrah?" 
 
 Cried Case, with anger's tinge upon his yellow. 
 
 Pompey, for answer, pointing in a mirror 
 
 The Colonel's saffron, and his own japan. 
 
 "Well, what has that to do ? quick speak outright, boy !* 
 
 " O Massa ! " (so the explanation ran) 
 
 " Massa be kill'd 'cause Massa Orange Man, 
 
 And Pompey kill'd 'cause Pompey not a White Boyl"' 
 
 Pompey'sPiUaf,
 
 Oh, nothing in life can sadden us i ' 
 
 THE SORROWS OF AN UNDERTAKER* 
 
 TO mention only by name the sorrows of an Undertaker, will be 
 likely to raise a smile on most faces, the mere words suggest a 
 solemn stalking parody of grief to the satiric fancy ; but give a fair 
 hearing to my woes, and even the veriest mocker may le.irn to pity an 
 Undertaker who has been unfortunate in all his undertakings. 
 
 My Father, a Furnisher and Performer in the funeral line, used to 
 say of me, noticing some boyish levities that"! should never do 
 for an Undertaker." But the prediction was wrong my parent lied, 
 and I did for him in the way of business. Having no other alternative, 
 I took possession of a very fair stock and business. I felt at first as if 
 plunged in the Black Sea and when 1 read my name upon the shop 
 door, it threw a crape over my spirits, that I did not get rid of for 
 some months. 
 
 Then came the cares of business. The scandalous insinuated that 
 the funerals were not so decorously performed as in the time of the 
 Late. I discharged my mutes, who were grown f.it and jocular, and 
 sought about for the lean and lank-visaged kind. But these demure 
 rogues cheated and robbed me plucked my feathers and pruned my 
 scarfs, and I was driven back again to my " merrie men," who^e only 
 fault was making a pleasure of their business. 
 
 Soon after this, I made myself prominent in the parish, and obtained 
 a contract for Parochial Conchology or shells for the paupers. But 
 this even, as I may say, broke down 0.1 its first tressels. Having, .is 
 my first job, to inter a workhouse female yEtat. 96 ;md wishing to 
 gain the good opinion of the parish, 1 had made the arrangements 
 with more than usual decency. The company were at the door. 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1830.
 
 THE SORROWS OF AN UNDERTAKER. 
 
 537 
 
 Placing myself at the head, with my best burial face, and my slowest 
 solemnity of step, I set forward, and, thanks to my professional deaf- 
 ness induced by the constant hammering I never perceived, till at 
 the church gates, that the procession had not stirred from the door of 
 the house. So good a joke was not lost upon my two mutes, who 
 made it an excuse for chuckling on after occasions. But to me the 
 consequence was serious. A notion arose amongst the poor that I was 
 too proud to walk along with their remains, and the ferment ran sa 
 high, that I was finally compelled to give up my contract. 
 
 So much for foot-funerals. Now for coach-work. The extravagant 
 charges of the jobbers at last induced me to set up a hearse and 
 mourning-coaches of my own, with sleek ebony, long-tailed horses to 
 match. One of these the finest of the set had been sold to me under 
 warranty of being sound and free from vice ; and so he was, but the 
 dealer never told me that he had been a charger at Astley's. Accord- 
 ingly on his very first performance, in passing through Bow, at that 
 
 Fairy Land. 
 
 time a kind of Fairy Land, he thought proper, on hearing a show- 
 man's trumpet, to dance a cotillon in his feathers ! There was nothing 
 to be done but to travel on with three to the next stage, where I sold 
 the caperer at a heavy loss, and to the infinite regret of my merry 
 mourners, with whom this exhibition had made him a great favourite. 
 From this period my business r.ipidly declined, till, instead of five or
 
 538 THE SORROWS OF AN UNDERTAKER. 
 
 six demises, on an average, I put in only two defuncts and a half per 
 week. 
 
 In this extremity a "black job" was brought to me that promised 
 to make amends for the rest. One fine morning a brace of executors 
 walked into the shop, and handing to me the following extract of a 
 will, politely requested that I would perform accordingly and with 
 the pleasing addition that I was to be regardless of the expense. The 
 document ran thus : " Item, I will and desire that after death, my body 
 be placed in a strong leaden coffin, the same to be afterwards enclosed 
 in one of oak, and therein my remains to be conveyed handsomely 
 to the village of * * * in Norfolk, my birthplace ; there to lie, being 
 duly watched, during one night, in the family mansion now unoc- 
 cupied, and on the morrow to be carried thence to the church, the 
 coffin being borne by the six oldest resident and decayed parishioners, 
 male or female, and for the same they shall receive severally the sum 
 of five pounds, to be paid on or before the day of interment." 
 
 It will be believed that I lost no time in preparing the last solid 
 and costly receptacles for the late Lady Lambert ; and the unusual 
 bulk of the deceased seemed in prospective to justify a bill of propor- 
 tionate magnitude. I was prodigal of plumes and scutcheons, of staves 
 and scarfs, and mourning coaches ; and finally, raising a whole com- 
 pany of black cavalry, we set out by stages, short and sweet, for our 
 destination. I had been prudent enough to send a letter before me 
 to prepare the bearers, and imprudent enough to remit their fees in 
 advance. But I had no misgivings. My men enjoyed the excursion, 
 and so did I. We ate well, drank well, slept well, and expected to be 
 well paid for what was so well done. At the last stage it happened I 
 had rather an intricate reckoning to arrange, by which means, being 
 detained a full hour behind the cavalcade, I did not reach the desired 
 village till the whole party had established themselves at the Dying 
 Dolphin a fact I first ascertained from hearing the merriment of my 
 two mutes in the parlour. Highly indignant at this breach of de- 
 corum, I rushed in on the offending couple ; and let the Undertaking 
 Reader conceive my feelings when the following letter was put infj 
 my hands, explaining at once the good joke of the two fellows, or 
 rather that of the whole village. 
 
 " SIR, We have sought out the six oldest of the pauper parishioners 
 of this place, namely as follows : 
 
 Margaret Squires, aged 101, blind and bedrid. 
 
 Timothy Topping, nged 98, paralytic and bedrid. 
 
 Darius Watts, aged 95, with loss of both legs. 
 
 Barbara Copp, 94 years, born without arms. 
 
 Philip Gill, about 81, an idiot. 
 
 Mary Ridges, 79, afflicted with St Vitus. 
 
 Among whom we have distributed your Thirty Pounds according 
 to desire, and for which they are very grateful. 
 
 Such were the six bearers who were to carry Lady Lambert to the 
 shurch, and who could as soon have carried the church to Lady
 
 THE CARELESSE NURSE-MAYD. 539 
 
 Lambert. To crown all, I rashly listened to the advice of my thought- 
 less mutes, and in an evil hour deposited the body without troubling 
 any parishioner, old or young, on the subject. The consequence is, 
 the executors demur to my bill, because I have not acted up to the 
 letter of my instructions. I have had to stand treat for a large party 
 on the road, to sustain all the charges of the black cavalry, and am 
 besides minus thirty pounds in charity, without even the merit of a 
 charitable intention ! 
 
 THE CARELESSE NURSE-MAYD.* 
 
 I SAWE a Mayd sitte on a Bank, 
 
 Beguiled by Wooer fayne and fond ; 
 
 And whiles His flatterynge Vowes She drank, 
 
 Her Nurselynge slipt within a Pond ! 
 
 "Accustomed to the Care of Children." 
 
 All Even Tide they Talkde and Kist, 
 For She was fayre and He was Kinde; 
 The Sunne went down before She wist 
 Another Sonne had sett behinde ! 
 
 With angrie Hands and frown ynge Browe, 
 
 That deemd Her owne the Urchine's Sinne, 
 
 * Coinic Annual, 1830.
 
 540 THE LIFE OF ZIMMERMANN. . 
 
 She pluckt Him out, but he was nowe 
 Past being Whipt for fallynge in. 
 
 She then beginnes to wayle the Ladde 
 With Shrikes that Echo answerde round 
 O ! foolishe Mayd to be soe sadde 
 The Momente that her Care was drownd ! 
 
 THE LIFE OF ZIMMERMANN. 
 
 (BY HIMSELF.)* 
 "This, this, is solitude." LORD BYRON. 
 
 I WAS born, I may almost say, an orphan : my father died three 
 months before I saw the light, and my mother three hours after 
 thus I was left in the whole world alone, and an only child, for I 
 had neither brothers nor sisters ; much of my after-passion for soli- 
 tude might be ascribed to this cause, for I believe our tendencies date 
 themselves from a much earlier age, or rather youth, than is generally 
 imagined. It was remarked that I could go alone at nine months, nnd 
 I have had an aptitude to going alone all the rest of my life. The 
 first words I learnt to say, were " I by myself, I" or thou or he 
 or she or it but I was a long time before I could pronounce any 
 personals in the plural. My little g.imt-s and habits were equally sin- 
 gular. I was fond of pla\ ing at Solitary or at Patience, or another 
 game of cards of my own invention, namely, whist, with three dummies. 
 Of books, my favourite was Robinson Crusoe, especially the first part, 
 for I was not fond of the intrusion of Friday, and thought the natives 
 really were Savages to spoil such a solitude. At ten years of age I 
 was happily placed with the Rev. Mr Steinkopff, a widower, who took 
 in only the limited number of six pupils, and had only me to begin 
 with : here I enjoyed myself very much, learning in a first and last 
 class in school hours, and playing in playtime at hoop, and other 
 pretty games not requiring partners. My playground was, in short, 
 a Garden of Eden, and I did not even sigh for an Eve; but, like Par.i- 
 dise, it was too happy to last. I was removed from Mr Steinkopffs 
 to the University of Gottingen, and at once the eyes of six hundred 
 pupils, and the pupils of twelve hundred eyes, seem fastened upon me : 
 I felt like an owl forced into daylight ; often and often I shamm'd 
 ill, as an excuse for confining myself to my chamber, but some officious 
 would-be friends, insisting on coming to sit with me, as they said, to 
 enliven my solitude, I was forced as a last resource to do that which 
 subjected me, on the principle of Howard's Prison Discipline, to soli- 
 tary confinement. But even this pleasure did not last ; the heads of 
 the College found out that solitary confinement was no punishment, 
 and put another student in the same cell ; in this extremity I had no 
 alternative but to endeavour to make him a convert to my principles, 
 and IE some days I succeeded in convincing him of the individual in 
 * Comic Annual, 1832.
 
 THEJ.IFE OF ZIMMERMANN. 541 
 
 dependence of man, the solid pleasures of solitude, and the hollow one 
 of society, in short, he so warmly adopted my views, that in a trans- 
 port of sympathy we swore an eternal friendship, and agreed to separate 
 for ever, and keep ourselves to ourselves as much as possible. To this 
 end we formed with our blanket a screen across our cell, and that we 
 might not even in thought associate with each other, he soliloquised 
 only in French, of which I was ignorant, and I in English, to which 
 he was equally a stranger. Under this system my wishes were grati- 
 fied, for 1 think I felt more intensely lonely than I ever remember when 
 more strictly alone. Of course this condition had a conclusion ; we 
 were brought out again unwillingly into the common world, and the 
 firm of Zimmermann, Nobody, and Co., wa? compelled todmit six 
 hundred partners. In this extremity, my fellow-prisoner Zingk-man 
 and myself had recourse to the persuasions of oratory. We preached 
 solitude, and got quite a congregation, and of the six hundred hearers, 
 four hundred at least became converts to our Unitarian doctrine ; 
 every one of these disciples strove to fly to the most obscure recesses, 
 and the little cemetery of the College had always plenty of those 
 who were trying to make themselves scarce. This of course was af- 
 flicting ; as in the game of puss in a corner, it was difficult to get a 
 corner unoccupied to be alone in ; the defections and desertions from 
 the College were consequently numerous, and for a long time the state 
 gazette contained d;iily advertisements for missing gentlemen, with a 
 description of their persons and habits, and invariably concluding with 
 this sentence : " Of a melancholy turn, calls himself a Zimmermanian, 
 and affects solitude." In fact, as Schiller's Robbers begot Robbers, so 
 did my solitude beget solitudinarians, but with this difference, that 
 the dramatist's disciples frequented the Highways, and mine the Bye- 
 ways ! 
 
 The consequence was what might have been expected, which I had 
 foreseen, and ardently desired. I was expelled from the University 
 of Gbttingen. This was perhaps the triumph of my life. A grand 
 dinner was got up by Zmgleman in my honour, at which more than 
 three hundred were present, but in tacit homage to my principles, 
 they never spoke nor held any communication with each other, and 
 at a concerted signal, the toast of "Zimmermann and Solitude" was 
 drunk, by dumb show, in appropriate solemn silence. I was much 
 affected by this tribute, and left with tears in my eyes, to think, with 
 such sentiments, how many of us might be thrown together again. 
 Being thus left to myself, like a vessel with only one hand on board, 
 I was at liberty to steer my own course, and accordingly took a lodg- 
 ing at Number One, in Wilderness Street, that held out the inviting 
 prospect of a single room to let for a single man. In this congenial 
 situation I composed my great work on Solitude, and here I think 
 it necessary to warn the reader against many spurious books, calling 
 themselves " Companions to Zimmermann's SolitTide," as if solitude 
 could have society. Alas ! from this work. I may date the decline 
 which my presentiment tells me will terminate in my death. My book, 
 though written against populousness, became so popular, that its 
 author, though in love with loneliness, could never be alone. Striv- 
 ing to fly from the face of man, I could never escape it, nor that o
 
 54* 
 
 THE LIFE OF ZIMMERlgANN. 
 
 woman and child into the bargain. When I stirred abroad mobs sur- 
 rounded me, and cried, "Here is the Solitary !" when I stayed at home 
 I was equally crowded ; all the public societies of Gottingen thought 
 proper to come up to me with addresses, and not even by deputation. 
 Flight was my only resource, but it did not avail, for I could not fly 
 from' myself. Wherever I went Zimmermann and Solitude had got be- 
 fore me, and their votaries assembled to meet me. In vain I travelled 
 throughout the European and Asiatic continent : with an enthusiasm 
 and perseverance of which only Germans are capable, some of my 
 countrymen were sure to haunt me, and really showed, by the dis- 
 tance they journeyed, that they were ready to go all lengths with me 
 and my doctrine. Some of these pilgrims even brought their wives 
 and children along with them in search of my solitude ; and were so 
 unreasonable even as to murmur at my taking the inside of a coach 
 or the cabin of a packet-boat to myself. 
 
 From these persecutions I was released by what some persons 
 would call an unfortunate accident a vessel in which I sailed from 
 Leghorn, going down at sea with all hands excepting my own pair, 
 which happened to have grappled a hen-coop. There was no sail in 
 sight, nor any land to be seen nothing but sea and sky ; and from 
 the midst of the watery expanse it was perhaps the first and only 
 glimpse I ever had of real and perfect solitude, yet so inconsistent is 
 human nature, I could not really and perfectly enter into its enjoy- 
 ment. I was picked up at length by a British brig of war ; and, 
 schooled by the past, had the presence of mind to conceal my name, 
 and to adopt the English one of Grundy. Under this nom tie guerre, 
 but really a name of peace, I enjoyed comparative quiet, interrupted 
 only by the pertinacious attendance of an unconscious countryman, 
 
 who, noticing my very retired 
 habits, endeavour by daily lec- 
 tures from my own work, to 
 make me a convert to my own 
 principles. In short, he so 
 wore me out, that at last, to get 
 rid of his importunities, I told 
 him in confidence that I was 
 the author himself. But the 
 result was anything but what 
 1 expected ; and here 1 must 
 bluhh a;jain for the inconsis- 
 tency of human nature. While 
 Winkells knew me only as 
 Grundy. he pointed nothing but 
 the charms of Solitude, and ex- 
 horted me to detach myself 
 from society ; but no sooner 
 did he learn that I was Zim- 
 mermann, than he insisted on 
 
 my going to Lady C 's 
 
 rout and his own conversatione. In fact, he wanted to mike 
 me, instead of a Lion of the Desert, a Lion of the Menagerie. How 
 
 are, I am at where? " 
 'Well, I know you be I"
 
 THE COMPASS, WITH VARIATIONS. 543 
 
 I resented such a proposition may be supposed, as well as his offer 
 to procure for me the first vacancy that happened in the situation of 
 
 Hermit at Lord P 's Hermitage ; being, as he was pleased to say, 
 
 not only able to bear solitude, but well-bred and well-informed, and fit 
 to receive company. The effect of this unfortunate disclosure was to 
 make me leave England, for fear of meeting with the fate of a man 
 or an ox that ventures to quit the common herd. I should immedi- 
 ately have been declared mad, and mobbed into lunacy, and then put 
 into solitary confinement, with a keeper always with me, as a person 
 beside himself, and not fit to be left alone for a moment. As such a 
 fate would have been worse to me than death, I immediately left 
 London, and am now living anonymously in an uninhabited house, 
 prudence forbids me to say where. 
 
 THE COMPASS, WITH VARIATIONS* 
 
 "The Needles have sometimes been fatal to Mariners." 1 
 
 ONE close of day 'twas in the Bay 
 
 Of Naples bay of glory ! 
 
 While light was hanging crowns of gold 
 
 On mountains high and hoary, 
 
 A gallant bark got under weigh, 
 
 And with her sails my story. 
 
 For Leghorn she was bound direct, 
 With wine and oil for cargo, 
 Her crew of men some nine or ten, 
 The captain's name was lago ; 
 A good and gallant bark she was, 
 La Donna (call'd) del Lago. 
 
 Bronzed mariners were her's to view 
 With brown cheeks, clear or muddy, 
 Dark, shining eyes, and coal-black hair, 
 Meet heads for painter's study ; 
 But 'midst their tan there stood one matt 
 Whose cheek was fair and ruddy ; 
 
 Hii brow was high, a loftier brow 
 Ne'er shone in song or sonnet, 
 His hair a little scant, and when 
 He doff'd his cap or bonnet, 
 One saw that Grey had gone beyond 
 A premiership upon it !' 
 
 His eye a passenger was he, 
 The cabin he had hired it, 
 
 * Comic Annual 1833.
 
 $44 THE COMPASS, WITH VARIATIONS. 
 
 His eye was grey, and when he look'd 
 Around, the prospect fired it 
 A fine poetic light, as if 
 The Appe-Nine inspired it. 
 
 His frame was stout in height about 
 Six feet well made and portly ; 
 Of dress and manner just to give 
 A sketch, but very shortly, 
 His order seem'd a composite 
 Of rustic with the courtly. 
 
 He ate and quaffd, and joked a 
 And chatted with the seamen, 
 And often task'd their skill and ask'd, 
 " What weather is't to be, man ?" 
 No demonstration there appear'd 
 That he was any demon. 
 
 No sort of sign there was that he 
 Could raise a stormy rumpus, 
 Like Prospero make breezes blow, 
 And rocks and billows thump us, 
 But little we supposed what he 
 Could with the needle compass 1 
 
 Soon came $. storm the sea at first 
 Seem'd lying almost fallow 
 When lo ! full crash, with billowy dash, 
 From clouds of black and yellow, 
 Came such a gale, as blows but once 
 A century, like the aloe! 
 
 Our stomachs we had just prepared 
 
 To vast a small amount in ; 
 
 When, gush ! a flood of brine came down 
 
 The skylight quite a fountain, 
 
 And right on end the table reared, 
 
 Just like the Table Mountain. 
 
 Down rush'd the soup, down gush'd the 
 
 Each roll, its role repeating, 
 
 Roll'd down the round of beef declared 
 
 For parting not for mealing ! 
 
 Off flew the fowls, and all the game 
 
 Was " too far gone for eating ! " 
 
 Down knife and fork down went the pork, 
 
 The lamb too broke its tether ; 
 
 Down mustard went each condiment 
 
 Salt pepper all together! 
 
 Down everything, like craft that seek 
 
 The Downs in sto'my weather.
 
 THE COMPASS, WI7^H VARIATIONS. 
 
 Down plunged the Lady of the Lake t 
 Her timbers seem'd to sever ; 
 Down, down, a dreary derry down, 
 Such lurch she had gone never ; 
 She almost seem'd about to take 
 A bed of down for ever ! 
 
 545 
 
 A Storm in Tab! 
 
 Down dropt the captain's nether jaw. 
 
 Thus robb'd of all its uses, 
 
 He thought he saw the Evil One 
 
 Beside Vesuvian sluices, 
 
 Playing at dice for soul and ship, 
 
 And throwing Sink and Deuces. 
 
 Down fell the steward on his face, 
 To all the Saints commending ; 
 And candles to the Virgin vow'd, 
 As save-alls 'gainst his ending. 
 Down fell the mate, he thought his fate, 
 Check-mate, was close impending ! 
 
 Down fell the cook the cabin boy, 
 Their beads with fervour telling, 
 While alps of serge, with snowy verge, 
 Above the yards came yelling. 
 Down fell the crew, and on their knees 
 Shudder'd at each white swelling ! 
 
 2 M
 
 546 THE COMPASS, WITH VARIATIONS. 
 
 Down sunk the sun of bloody hue, 
 His crimson light a cleaver 
 To each red rover of a wave : 
 To eye of fancy-weaver, 
 Neptune, the God, seem'd tossing in 
 A raging scarlet fever ! 
 
 Sore, sore afraid, each Papist pray'd 
 
 To Saint and Virgin Mary ; 
 
 But one there was that stood composed 
 
 Amid the waves' vagary ; 
 
 As stauncfc as rock, a true game cock 
 
 'Mid chicks of Mother Gary ! 
 
 His ruddy cheek retain'd its streak, 
 No danger seem'd to shrink him ; 
 His step still bold, of mortal mould 
 The crew could hardly think him : 
 The Lady of the Lake, he seem'd 
 To know, could never sink him. 
 
 Relax'd at last, the furious gale, 
 Quite out of breath with racing ; 
 
 A Ruff Sea. 
 
 The boiling flood in milder mood, 
 With gentler billows chasing ; 
 From stem to stern, with frequent turn, 
 The Stranger took to pacing.
 
 THE COMPASS, WITH VARIA TIONS. 
 
 And as he walk'd to self he talk'd, 
 
 Some ancient ditty thrumming, 
 
 In under tone, as not alone 
 
 Now whistling, and now humming 
 
 " You're welcome, Charlie," " Cowdenknowes,* 
 
 " Kenmure," or " Campbells' Coming." 
 
 Down went the wind, down went the wave, 
 Fear quitted the most finical ; 
 The Saints, I wot, were soon forgot, 
 And Hope was at the pinnacle : 
 When rose on high, a frightful cry 
 " The Devil's in the binnacle ! " ' 
 
 "The Saints be near," the helmsman cried, 
 
 His voice with quite a falter 
 
 " Steady's my helm, but every look 
 
 The needle seems to alter ; 
 
 God only knows where China lies, 
 
 Jamaica, or Gibraltar ! " 
 
 The captain stared aghast at mate, 
 
 The pilot at th'apprentice ; 
 
 No fancy of the German Sea 
 
 Of Fiction the event is : 
 
 But when they at the compass look'd, 
 
 It seem'd non compass mentis. 
 
 Now north, now south, now east, now west. 
 
 The wavering point was shaken, 
 
 'Twas past the whole philosophy 
 
 Of Newton, or of Bacon ; 
 
 Never by compass, till that hour, 
 
 Such latitudes were taken ! 
 
 With fearful speech, each after each 
 Took turns in the inspection ; 
 They found no gun no iron none 
 To vary its direction ; 
 It seem'd a new magnetic case 
 Of Poles in Insurrection ! 
 
 Farewell to wives, farewell their lives, 
 
 And all their household riches ; 
 
 Oh ! while they thought of girl or boy, 
 
 And dear domestic niches, 
 
 All down the side which holds the hearty 
 
 That needle gave them stitches. 
 
 With deep amazi 1 , the Stranger gazed 
 To see them so white-liver'd :
 
 543 THE COMPASS, WITH VARIATIONS, 
 
 And walk'd abaft the binnncle, 
 To know at what they shiver'd ; 
 But when he stood beside the card, 
 St Josef ! how it quiver'd.! 
 
 No fancy-motion, brain-begot, 
 In eye of timid dreamer 
 The nervous finger of a sot 
 Ne'er show'd a plainer tremor ; 
 To every brain it seem'd too plain, 
 There stood th' Infernal Schemer ! 
 
 Mix'd brown and blue each visage grew, 
 Just like a pullet's gizzard ; 
 
 Meanwhile the captain's wandering wit, 
 From tacking like an izzard, 
 Bore down in this plain course at last, 
 " It's Michael Scott the Wizard ! " 
 
 A smile past o'er the ruddy face, 
 " To see the poles so falter 
 I'm puzzled, friends, as much as you, 
 For with no fiends I palter ; 
 Michael I'm not although a Scott 
 My Christian name is Walter." 
 
 Like oil it fell, that name, a spell 
 
 On all the fearful faction ; 
 
 The Captain's head (for he had read) 
 
 Confessed the Needle's action, 
 
 And bow'd to HIM in whom the North 
 
 Has lodged its main attraction ! 
 
 tf 
 
 * N * 
 A Star of the First Magnitude.
 
 549 
 
 Protecting the Fare. 
 
 THE DUEL* . 
 
 A SERIOUS BALLAD. 
 'Like the two Kings of Brentford smelling at one nosegay. * 
 
 IN Brentford town of old renown, 
 There lived a Mister Bray, 
 
 Who fell in love with Lucy Bell, 
 And so did Mr Clay. 
 
 To see her ride from Hammersmith, 
 
 By all it was allow'd, 
 Such fair outsides are seldom seen, 
 
 Such Angels on a Cloud. 
 
 Said Mr Bray to Mr Clay, 
 
 You choose to rival me, 
 And court Miss Bell, but there your 
 court 
 
 No thoroughfare shall be. 
 
 Unless you now give up your suit, 
 You may repent your love ; 
 
 I who have shot a pigeon match, 
 Can shoot a turtle dove. 
 
 So pray before you woo her more, 
 Consider what you do ; 
 
 If you pop aught to Lucy Bell, 
 I'll pop it into you. 
 
 Said Mr Clay to Mr Bray, 
 Your threats I quite explode ; 
 
 One who has been a volunteer, 
 Knows how to prime and load. 
 
 And so I say to you unless 
 
 Your passion quiet keeps, 
 I who have shot and hit bulls' eyes, 
 
 May chance to hit a sheep's. 
 
 Now gold is oft for silver changed, 
 
 And that for copper red ; 
 But these two went away to give 
 
 Each other change for lead. 
 
 But first they sought a friend a-piece, 
 This pleasant thought to give 
 
 When they were dead, they thus 
 
 should have 
 Two seconds still to live. 
 
 To measure out the ground not long 
 
 The seconds then forbore, 
 And having taken one rash step 
 
 They took a dozen more. 
 
 * Comic Annunl, 1831.
 
 550 
 
 ODE TO MR MALTHUS. 
 
 They next prepared each pistol-pan 
 
 Against the deadly strife, 
 By putting in the prime of death 
 
 Against the prime of life. 
 
 Now all was ready for the foes, 
 But when they took their stands, 
 
 Fear made them tremble, so they found 
 They both were shaking hands. 
 
 Said Mr C. to Mr B., 
 
 Here one of us may fall, 
 And like St Paul's Cathedral now, 
 
 Be doom'd to have a ball. 
 
 I do confess I did attach 
 Misconduct to your name ; 
 
 If I withdraw the charge, will then 
 Your ramrod do the same ? 
 
 Said Mr B., I do agree 
 
 But think of Honour's Courts ! 
 
 If we go off without a shot, 
 There will be strange reports. 
 
 But look, the morning now is bright, 
 Though cloudy it begun ; 
 
 Why can't we aim above, as if 
 We had call'd out the sun ? 
 
 So up into the harmless air, 
 Their bullets they did send : 
 
 And may all other duels have 
 That upshot in the end I 
 
 Exchanging Receiving the Difierence. 
 
 ODE TO MR MALTHUS.* 
 
 MY dear, do pull the bell, 
 
 And pull it well, 
 And send those noisy children all up stairs, 
 
 Now playing here like bears 
 You George, and William, go into the grounds, 
 Charles, James, and Bob are there, and take your string, 
 
 Drive horses, or fly kites, or anything, 
 You're quite enough to play at hare and hounds ; 
 You little May, and Caroline, and Poll, 
 
 Take each your doll, 
 And go, my de,irs, into the two-back pair, 
 
 Your sister Margaret's there 
 Harriet and Grace, thank God, are both at school, 
 At far-rT Ponty Pool 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1832.
 
 ODE TO MR MALTHUS. 
 
 I want to read, but really can't get on 
 Let the four twins, Mark, Matthew, Luke, and John, 
 Go to their nursery go I never can 
 Enjoy my Malthus among such a clan ! 
 
 Oh Mr Malthus, I agree 
 In everything I read with thee ! 
 The world's too full, there is no doubt, 
 And wants a deal of thinning out, 
 It's plain as plain as Harrow's Steeple- 
 And I agree with some thus far, 
 Who say the Queen's too popular, 
 That is, she has too many people. 
 
 5S 
 
 " A Child's can to be disposed of." 
 
 There are too many of all trades, 
 
 Too many bakers, 
 Too many every-thing-makers, 
 But not too many undertakers, 
 
 Too many boys, 
 Too many hobby-de-hoys, 
 
 Too many girls, men, widows, wives, and maids, 
 There is a dreadful surplus to demolish, 
 And yet some Wrongheads, 
 With thick not long heads, 
 Poor metaphysicians ! 
 
 Sign petitions 
 
 Capital punishment to abolish ; 
 And in the face of censuses such vast ones 
 New hospitals contrive, 
 For keeping life alive, 
 
 Laying first stones, the dolts ! instead of last ones I 
 Others, again, in the same contrariety, 
 Deem that of all Humine Society 
 
 They really deserve thanks, 
 Because the two banks of the Serpentine
 
 552 ODE TO MR MALTHUS. 
 
 By their design, 
 Are Saving Banks. 
 Oh ! were it given but to me to weed 
 
 The human breed, 
 
 And root out here and there some cumbering elf, 
 I think I could go through it, 
 
 And really do it 
 With profit to the world and to myself. 
 
 Laying the First Stone of an Hospital. 
 
 For instance, the unkind among the Editors, 
 My debtors, those I mean to say 
 Who cannot or who will not pay, 
 
 And all my creditors. 
 These, for my own sake, I'd destroy ; 
 But for the world's, and every one's, 
 
 I'd hoe up Mrs G 's two sons, 
 
 And Mrs B 's big little boy, 
 
 Call'd only by herself an "only joy." 
 As Mr Irving's chapel's not too full, 
 
 Himself alone I'd pull 
 But for the peace of years that have to run, 
 I'd make the Lord Mayor's a perpetual station, 
 And put a period to rotation,
 
 ODE TO MR MALTHUS. 593 
 
 By rooting up all Aldermen but one, 
 These are but hints what good might thus be done 1 
 
 But ah ! I fear the public good 
 
 Is little by the public understood, 
 For instance if with flint, and steel, and tinder, 
 Great Swing, for once a philanthropic man, 
 Proposed to throw a light upon thy plan, 
 No doubt some busy fool would hinder 
 His burning all the Foundling to a cinder. 
 
 Or, if the Lord Mayor, on an Easter Monday, 
 
 Thrt wine and bun-day, 
 Proposed to poison all the little Blue-coats, 
 Before they died by bit or sup, 
 Some meddling Marplot would blow up, 
 
 Just at the moment critical, 
 
 The economy political 
 Of saving their fresh yellow plush and new coatfc 
 
 Equally 'twould be undone, 
 Suppose the Bishop of London, 
 On that great day 
 In June or May, 
 When all the large small family of charity, 
 
 Brown, black, or carrotty, 
 Walk in their dusty parish shoes, 
 In too, too many two-and-twos, 
 CTo sing together till they scare the walls 
 
 Of old St Paul's, 
 
 Sitting in red, grey, green, blue, drab, and whit 
 Some say a gratifying sight, 
 
 Tho' I think sad but that's a schism 
 To witness so much pauperism 
 Suppose, I say, the Bishop then, to make 
 In this poor overcrowded world more room, 
 
 Proposed to shake 
 
 Down that immense extinguisher, the dome- 
 Some humane Martin in the charity Gal-\\9j 
 I fear would come and interfere, 
 Save beadle, brat, and overseer, 
 To walk bftck in their parish shoes, 
 In too, too many two-and-twos, 
 Islington Wapping or Pall Mall way I 
 
 Thus, people hatch'd from goose's eggj 
 Foolishly think a pest, a plague, 
 And in its face their doors all shut, 
 On hinges oil'd with cajeput
 
 554 ODE TO MR MALTHUS. 
 
 Drugging themselves with drams well spiced and cloven, 
 
 And turning pale as linen rags 
 
 At hoisting up of yellow flags, 
 While you and I are crying " Orange Boven ! " 
 Why should we let precautions so absorb us, 
 Or trouble shipping with a quarantine 
 When if I understand the thing you mean, 
 We ought to import the Cholera Morbus I 
 
 Fancy Portrait- Mr Malthus. 
 
 A GOOD DIRECTION* 
 
 A CERTAIN gentleman, whose yellow cheek 
 Proclaim'd he had not been in living quite 
 
 An anchorite 
 
 Indeed, he scarcely ever knew a well day ; 
 At last, by friends' advice, was led to stek 
 A surgeon of great note named Aberfeldie, 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1830.
 
 A GOOD DIRECTION. 
 
 A very famous author upon diet, 
 Who, better starr'd than alchemists of old, 
 By dint of turning mercury to gold, 
 Had settled at his country house in quiet. 
 
 Our patient, after some impatient rambles 
 Thro' Enfield roads, and Enfield lanes of brambles 
 At last, to make inquiry had the nous, 
 " Here, my good man, 
 
 Just tell me if you can, 
 Pray which is Mr Aberfeldie's house ?" 
 The man thus stopp'd perusing for a while 
 The yellow visage of the man of bile, 
 At last made answer, with a broadish grin : 
 " Why, turn to right and left and right agin, 
 The road's direct you cannot fail to go it." 
 
 " But stop ! my worthy fellow ! one word more 
 From other houses how am I to know it ! " 
 
 ** How ! why you'll see blue pillars at the door 1 " 
 
 555 
 
 'An Anchorite."
 
 556 
 
 A Leading Article. 
 
 THE PLEASURES OF SPORTING* 
 
 THE consulter of Johnson's Dictionary under the term of Sport, Of 
 Sporting, would be led into a great mistake by the Doctor's 
 definition. The word, with the great Lexicographer, signifies nothing 
 but Diversion, Amusement, Play : but I shall submit to the reader, 
 with a few facts, whether it has not a more serious connexion, or to 
 speak technically, whether it should be Play or Pay. 
 
 When I was a young man, having a good deal of ready money, and 
 little wit, I went upon the turf. I began cautiously, and as I 
 thought, knowingly. I started first by diligently learning the pedi- 
 gree of every new colt yet somehow, between sire and dam, continu- 
 ally losing the "pony." My first experiment was at Newmarket. By 
 way of securing a leading article, I backed the Duke of Leeds, but the 
 race came off, and the Duke was not placed. I asked eagerly who 
 was first, and was told Forth. The winner was a slow but strong 
 horse, and I was informed had got in front by being a faster. This 
 was a puzzle, but I paid for my Riddlesworth, and prepared for the 
 Derby. By good luck I selected an excellent colt to stand upon he 
 had been tried it was a booked thing but the day before the Derby 
 there was a family wash, and the laundress hung her wet linen on 
 his lines. I paid again. I took advice about the Oaks, and instead 
 of backing a single horse, m?.de my stand, like Ducrow, upon four at 
 once. No luck. Terror did not start Fury came roaring to the 
 post Belle was told out, and Comet was tail'd .off. I paid again 
 and began dabbling in the Sweepstakes, and burning my fingers with 
 the Matches. Amongst others, a bet offered that I conceived was 
 peculiarly tempting, 20,000 to 20 against Post Obit a bad horse 
 indeed, yet such odds seemed unjustifiable, even against an "outsider." 
 But I soon found my mistake. The outsider was in reality an insider, 
 filling the stomachs of somebody's hounds. Pay again ! I resolved 
 however to retaliate, and the opportunity presented itself. I had been 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1830.
 
 THE PLEASURES OF SPORTING. 557 
 
 confidently informed that Centipede had not a leg to stand on, and 
 according laid against him as thick as it would stick. The following 
 was the report of the race : ' Centipede jumped off at a tremendous 
 pace, had it all his own way and justified his name by coming in 
 a hundred feet in front.' Pay again ! These " hollow " matters, how- 
 ever, fretted me little, save in pocket. They were won easy, and lost 
 
 Sweepstakes : " Every Jenny has a Jockey." 
 
 to match but the " near things " were unbearable. To lose only by 
 
 half a head, a few inches of horse-flesh ! I remember two occasions 
 
 when Giraffe won by " a 
 
 neck," and Elephant by 
 
 " a nose." I was almost 
 
 tempted to blow out my 
 
 brains by the nose, and 
 
 to hang myself by the 
 
 neck ! 
 
 On one of those doubt- 
 ful occasions, when it is 
 difficult to name the 
 winner, I thought I could 
 determine the point, from 
 some peculiar advantage 
 of situation, and offered 
 to back my opinion. I 
 laid that Cobbler had 
 won, and it was taken ; but 
 
 The Cows' Regatta. 
 
 signal from a friend decided me that 
 
 I was wrong, and by way of hedge, I offered to lay that Tinker was
 
 558 THE PLEASURES OF SPOR TING. 
 
 the first horse. This was taken like the other, and the judges 
 declared a dead rob I mean to say a dead heat. Pay again ! 
 
 A likelier chance next offered. There was a difference of opinion, 
 whether Bohea would start for the Cup, and his noble owner had 
 privately and positively assured me that he would. I therefore betted 
 freely that he would run for the Plate, and he walked over ! Pay 
 again ! N.B. I found when it was too late that I should not have 
 paid in this case, but I did. 
 
 The great St Leger was still in reserve. Somewhat desperate, I 
 betted round, in sums of the same shape, and my best winner became 
 first favourite at the start. Never shall I forget the sight ! I saw 
 him come in ten lengths a-head of everything hollow ! hollow ! I 
 had no voice to shout with, and it was fortunate. Man and horse 
 went, as usual, after the race to be weighed, and were put into the 
 scale. They rose a little in our eyes, and sunk proportionably in our 
 estimation. Roguery was sniffed the Jockey Club was appealed to, 
 and it gave the stakes to the second horse. All bets went with the 
 stakes, and so Pay ayain ! 
 
 It was time to cut 
 the turf and I was 
 in a mood for burn- 
 ing it too. I was 
 do ie by Heath, but 
 the impression on 
 my fortune was not 
 in the finished style. 
 1 now turned my at- 
 tention to aquatics, 
 and having been un- 
 fortunate at the One 
 Tun, tried my luck 
 in a vessel of twenty. 
 I became a member 
 of a Yacht Club, 
 made matches which 
 I lost and sailed 
 for a Cup at the 
 Cowes' Regatta, but 
 carried away nothing 
 but my own bow- 
 sprit. Other boats 
 
 A Party of Pleasure. 
 
 showed more speed, but mine most bottom ; for after the match it 
 upset, and I was picked up by a party of fishermen, who spared my 
 life and took all I had, by way of teaching me, that a preserving is not 
 a saving. Pay again ! 
 
 It was time to dispose of The Lucky Lass. I left her to the mate, 
 with peremptory orders to make a sale of her ; an instruction he ful- 
 filled by making all the sail on her he could, and disposing of her 
 by contract to a rock, while he was threading the Needles. In the 
 meantime I betook myself to the chase. Sir W. W. had just cut his 
 back, and I undertook to deal with the dogs : but I found dog's meat
 
 THE PLEASURES OF SPORTING. 
 
 559 
 
 a dear item, though my friends killed my hunters for me, and 1 
 boil'd my own horses. The subscribers, moreover, were not punctual, 
 and whatever differences fell out, I was obliged to make them 
 up. Pay again ! At last I happened to have a dispute with a 
 
 'Pointer and Disappointer." 
 
 brother Nimrod as to the capability of his Brown and mine, and 
 we agreed to decide their respective rates, r.s church rates, by a 
 steeple chase. The wager was heavy* I rode for the wrong steeple 
 
 "S 
 
 A Steeple Chase. 
 
 leapt a dozen gates and succeeded in clearing my own pocket- 
 Pay again ! 
 It was now necessary to retrench. I gave up hunting the county.
 
 560 THE PLEASURES OF SPORTING. 
 
 lest the county should repay it in kind, for I was now getting into its 
 debt. I laid down my horses and took up a gun, leased a shooting- 
 box, and rented a manor, somewhat too far north for me, for after a 
 few moves, I ascertained that the game had been drawn before I took 
 to it. It was useless, therefore, to try to beat the dogs, for want of 
 birds, began to point at butterflies. My friends, however, looked for 
 grouse, so I bought them and paid the carriage. Pay again ! 
 
 Other experiments I must abridge. I found pugilistic sporting, as 
 usual good with both hands at receiving : at cocking the " -in-goes" 
 were far exceeded by the "out-goes :" and at the gaming table, that 
 it was very difficult to pay my way particularly in coming back. In 
 short I learned pages of meanings at school without trouble, but the 
 signification of that one word, Sporting, in manhood has been a long 
 and an uncomfortable lesson, and I have still an unconquerable relish 
 of its bitterness, in spite of the considerate attentions of my friends . 
 
 " From Sport to Sport they hurry me 
 
 To banish my regret, 
 And when they win a smile from me 
 They think that I forget."
 
 56i 
 
 A Political Union. 
 
 THERE'S NO ROMANCE IN THAT* 
 
 " So, while I fondly imagined we were deceiving my relations, and flattered myself that I 
 should outwit and incense them all, behold, my hopes are to be crushed at once by my 
 aunt's consent and approbation, and I am myself the only dupe. But here, sir, here is the 
 picture! " LYDIA LANGUISH. 
 
 DAYS of old, O days of knights, 
 Of tourneys and of tilts, 
 
 When love was balk'd and valour 
 
 stalk'd 
 
 On high heroic stilts 
 Where are ye gone? adventures 
 
 cease, 
 
 The world gets tame and flat, 
 We've nothing now but New Police 
 There's no Romance in that ! 
 
 1 wish I ne'er had learn 'd to read, 
 Or Radcliffe how to write ; 
 
 That Scott had been a boor on Tweed, 
 And Lewis cloister'd quite! 
 
 Would I had never drunk so deep 
 Of dear Miss Potter's vat ; 
 1 only turn to life, and weep- 
 There's no Romance in that ! 
 
 No bandits lurk no turban'd Turk 
 
 To Tunis bears me off ; 
 
 I hear no noises in the night 
 
 Except my mother's cough ; 
 
 No Bleeding Spectre haunts the 
 
 house , 
 
 No shape, but owl or bat, 
 Come flitting after moth or mouse 
 There's no Romance in that ! 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1833. 
 
 2 N
 
 562 
 
 THERE 'S NO ROMANCE IN THA T. 
 
 I have not any grief profound, 
 
 Or secrets to confess ; 
 
 My story would not fetch a pound 
 
 For A. K. Newman's press ; 
 
 Instead of looking thin and pale, 
 
 I'm growing red and fat, 
 
 As if I lived on beef and ale 
 
 There's n<9 Romance in that ! 
 
 It's very hard, by land or sea 
 
 Some strange event I court, 
 
 But nothing ever comes to me 
 
 That's worth a pen's report : 
 
 It really made my temper chafe, 
 
 Each coast that I was at, 
 
 I vow'd and rail'd, and came home 
 
 safe 
 There's no Romance in that ? 
 
 The only time I had a chance, 
 
 At Brighton one fine day, 
 
 My chestnut mare began to prance, 
 
 Took fright, and ran away ; 
 
 Alas ! no Captain of the Tenth 
 
 To stop my steed came pat , 
 
 A butcher caught the rein at length 
 
 There's no Romance in that ! 
 
 Love even love goes smoothly on 
 
 A railway sort of track 
 
 No flinty sire, no jealous Don ! 
 
 No hearts upon the rack ; ^ 
 
 No Polydore, no Theodore 
 
 His ugly name is Mat, 
 
 Plain Matthew Pratt, and nothing 
 
 more 
 There's no Romance in that ! 
 
 He is not dark, he is not tall, 
 His forehead's rather low, 
 He is not pensive not at all, 
 But smiles his teeth to show j 
 
 Ho comes from Wales, and yet in size 
 Is really but a sprat, 
 With sandy hair and greyish eyes 
 7 here's no Romance m that !
 
 THERE'S NO ROMANCE IN THAT. 
 
 563 
 
 He wears no plumes or Spanish cloaks, 
 Or long sword hanging down ; 
 He dresses much like other folks, 
 And commonly in brown ; 
 His collar he will not discard, 
 Or give up his cravat, 
 Lord Byron-like he's not a bard 
 There'i no Romance in that ! 
 
 He's rather bald, his sight is weak, 
 
 He's deaf in either drum ; 
 
 Without a lisp he cannot speak, 
 
 But then he's worth a plum. 
 
 He talks of stocks and three per cents 
 
 By way of private chat, 
 
 Of Spanish bonds, and shares, ai:u 
 
 rents 
 There's no Romance in that ! 
 
 I sing no matter what I sing, 
 
 Di Tanti, or Crudel, 
 
 Tom Bowling, or God save the King, 
 
 Di Piacer All's well ; 
 
 He knows no more about a voice 
 
 For singing than a gnat ; 
 
 And as to music " has no choice " 
 
 There's no Romance in that 1 
 
 Of light guitar I cannot boast, 
 
 He never serenade? ; 
 
 He writes, and sends it by the post, 
 
 He doesn't bribe the maids r 
 
 No stealth, no hempen ladder no ! 
 
 He comes with louri rat-tat, 
 
 That startles half of Bedford Row 
 
 There's no Romance in that ! 
 
 He comes at nine in time to choose 
 His coffee just two cups, 
 And talks with Pa about the news, 
 Repeats debates, and sups. 
 John helps him with his coat ariglu, 
 And Jenkins hands his hat ; 
 My lover bows, and says good- 
 night % 
 There's no Romance in that ! 
 
 I've long had Pa's and Ma's consent. 
 
 My aunt she quite approves, 
 
 My brother wishes joy from Kent, 
 
 None try to thwart our loves ; 
 
 On Tuesday, Reverend Mr Mace 
 
 Will make me Mrs Pratt, 
 
 Of Number Twenty, Sussex Place 
 
 There's no Romance in that. 
 
 Something above the Common.
 
 564 
 
 THE ABSTRACTION* 
 
 * "Draws honey forth that drives men ma.A."LaZla Rookk. 
 
 "T^HE speakers were close under the bow-window of the inn, and as 
 _L the sash was open, Curiosity herself could not help overhear- 
 ing their conversation. So I laid down Mrs Opie's " Illustrations of 
 Lying," which I had found lying in the inn window, and took a 
 glance at the partners in the dialogue. 
 
 One of them was much older than the other, and much taller ; he 
 seemed to have grown like quick-set. The other was thick-set. 
 
 " I tell you, Thomas," said Quickset, " you are a flat. Before you've 
 been a day in London, they'll have the teeth out of your very head. 
 As for me, I've been" there twice, and know what's what. Take my 
 advice ; never tell the truth on no account. Questions is only asked by 
 way of pumping ; and you ought always to put } em on a wrong scent." 
 
 " But aunt is to send her man to meet me at the Old Bailey," said 
 Thickset, " and to show me to her house. Now, if a strange man says 
 to me, 'Young man, are you Jacob Giles ?' an't I to tell him ?" 
 
 " By no manner of means," answered Quickset ; " say you are quite 
 another man. No one but a flat would tell his name to a stranger 
 about London. You see how I answered them last night about what 
 was in the waggon. Brooms, says I, nothing else. A flat would have 
 told them there was the honey-pots underneath ; but I've been to 
 London before, and know a thing or two." 
 
 " London must be a desperate place," said Thickset. 
 
 "Mortal !" said Quickset ; " fobs and pockets are nothing ! Your 
 watch is hardly sate if you carried it in your inside, and as for 
 money" 
 
 " I'm almost sorry I left Berkshire," said Thickset. 
 
 ** Poo poo ! " said Quickset, " don't be afeard. I'll look after ye ; 
 cheat me, and they've only one more to cheat. Only mind my advice : 
 Don't say anything of your own head, and don't object to anything 
 / say. If I say black's white, don't contradict. Mark that. Say 
 everything as I say." 
 
 u I understand what you mean," said Thickset ; and, with this lesson 
 in his shock head, he be.^an to busy himself about the waggon, while 
 his comrade went to the stable for the horses. At last Old Ball 
 emerged from the stable-door with the head of Old Dumpling resting 
 on his crupper ; when a yell rose from the rear of the wagyon, that 
 startled even Number 55 at the Bush Inn, at Staines, and brought 
 the company running from the remotest box in its retired tea-garden. 
 
 'In the name of everything," said the landlord, "what's the 
 matter ? " 
 
 " It's gone all gone, by goles !" cried Thickset, with a bewildered 
 look at Quickset, as if doubtful whether he ought not to have said it 
 was not gone. 
 
 " You don't mean to say the honey-pots ! " said Quickset, with* 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1833.
 
 THE ABSTRACTION. 
 
 565 
 
 some alarm, and letting go the bridle of Old Ball, who very quietly 
 led Old Dumpling back again into the stable ; " you don't mean to 
 say the honey-pots ? " 
 
 " I dorit mean to say the honey-pots," said Thickset, literally fol 
 lowing the instructions he had received. 
 
 "What made you screech out then?" said Quickset, appealing t 
 Thickset. 
 
 "What made me screech out then?" said Thickset, appealing to 
 Quickset, and determined to say as he said. 
 
 " The fellow's drunk," said the landlord ; "the ale's got into his head." 
 
 " Ale ! what ale has he had ? " inquired Quickset, rather anxiously. 
 
 " Ale ! what ale have I had ? " echoed Thickset, looking sober with 
 all his might. 
 
 "He's not drunk," shouted Quickset; "there's something the 
 matter." 
 
 " I'm not drunk ; there is something the matter," bellowed Thickset, 
 and with his fore-finger he pointed to the waggon. 
 
 "You don't mean to say the honey," said Quickset, his voice falling. 
 
 *' I dorit mean to say the honey," said Thickset, his caution rising. 
 
 A lea-Garden. 
 
 * The gesture of Thickset, however, had conveyed some vague notion 
 of danger to his companion With the agility of a cat he climbed on 
 the waggon, and, with the superhuman activity of a demon, soon
 
 566 
 
 THE ABSTRACTION. 
 
 pitched down every bundle of besoms. There is a proverb that "new 
 brooms sweep clean," and they certainly seemed to have swept every 
 particle of honey clean out of the waggon. 
 
 Quickset was thunderstruck ; he stood gazing at the empty vehicle 
 in "silence, while his hands wandered wildly through his hair, as if in 
 search of the absent combs. 
 
 When he found words at last, they were no part of the Litany. 
 Words, however, did not suffice to vent his passion ; and he began to 
 stamp and dance about, till the mud of the stable-yard flew round like 
 anything you like. 
 
 " A plague take him and his honey-pots, too," said the chamber- 
 maid, as she looked at a new pattern on her best gingham. 
 
 " It's no matter," said Quickset, " I won't lose it. The house must 
 stand the damnge. Mr Bush, I shall look to you for the money." 
 
 " He shall look to you for the money," da-capo'd Thickset. 
 
 " You may look till Doomsday," said the landlord. " It's all your 
 own fault ; I thought nobody would steal brooms. If you had told 
 me there was honey, I would have put the waggon under lock 
 and key " 
 
 " Why, there was honey," said Quickset and Thickset. 
 
 " I don't know that," said Mr Bush. " You said last night in the 
 kitchen there was nothing but brooms." 
 
 " I heard him," said John Ostler ; " I'll take my oath to his very 
 words ! " 
 
 "And so will I," roared the chambermaid, glancing at her damaged 
 gown. 
 
 " What of that? " said Quickset ; " I know I said there was nothing 
 but brooms." 
 
 " I know." said Thickset, " I'm positive he said there was nothing 
 but brooms." 
 
 Stage Effect. 
 
 He confesses it himself," said the landlady. 
 
 And his own man speaks agin him," said the chambermaid.
 
 MILLER RED1VIVUS. 567 
 
 "I saw the waggon come in, and it didn't seem to have any honey 
 in it," said the head waiter. 
 
 " Maybe the flies have eaten it/' said the postilion. 
 
 " I've seen two chaps the very moral of them two at the bar of the 
 Old Bailey," said Boots. 
 
 " It's a swindle, it is," said the landlady, " and Mr Bush sha'n't pay 
 a farthing." 
 
 " They deserve tossing in a blanket," said the chambermaid. 
 
 u Duck 'em in the horsepond," shouted John Ostler. 
 
 " I think," whispered Thickset, " they are making themselves up 
 for mischief!" 
 
 There was no time to be lost. Quickset again lugged Old Ball and 
 Old Dumpling from the stable, while his companion tossed the brooms 
 into the waggon. As soon as possible they drove out of the unlucky 
 yard, and as they passed under the arch, I heard for the last time the 
 voice of Thickset : 
 
 "You've been to London before, and to be sure know best; but 
 somehow, to my mind, the telling the untruth don't seem to answer." 
 
 The only reply was a thwack, like the report of a pistol, on the 
 crupper of each of the horses. The poor aninrils broke directly into 
 something like a canter ; and as the waggon turned a corner of the 
 street, I shut down the sash, and resumed my " Illustrations of Lying." 
 
 MILLER REDIVIVUS? 
 
 "He U become already a very promising miller." Belt* Lift in London. 
 
 I WAS walking very leisurely one evening down Cripplegate, when I 
 overtook who could help overtaking him ? a lame, elderly gentle- 
 man, who, by the nature of his gait, appeared to represent the Ward. 
 Like certain lots at auctions, he seemed always going, but never gone: 
 it was that kind of march that, from its slowness, is emphatically called 
 halting. Gout, in fact, had got him into a sad hobble, and, like terror, 
 made his flesh creep. 
 
 There was, notwithstanding, a lurking humorousness in his face, in 
 spite of pace, that reminded you of Quick or Liston in Old Rapid. 
 You saw that he was not slow, at least, at a quirk or quip, not b.tck- 
 ward at repartee, not behindhand with his jest, in short, that he was 
 a great wit though he could not jump. 
 
 There was something, besides, in his physiognomy, as well as his 
 dress and figure, that strongly indicated his locality. He was palpably 
 a dweller, if not a native, of that clime distinguished equally by "the 
 rage of the vulture, and the love of the turtle," the good old City oi 
 London. But an accident soon confirmed my surmises. 
 
 In plucking out his handkerchief from one of his capacious coat- 
 pockets, the bandana tumbled out with a large roll of manuscript ; 
 and as he proceeded a good hundred yards before he discovered the 
 Comic Annual, 1831.
 
 568 
 
 MILLER REDIV1VUS. 
 
 loss, I had ample time before he struggled back, in his Crawly Com 
 mon pace, to the spot, to give the paper a hasty perusal, and even to 
 make a few random extracts. The MS. purported to be a Collection 
 
 Fancy Portrait : Mr Hobler. 
 
 of Civic Facetias from the Mayoralty of Alderman * * * * up to the 
 present time : and, from certain hints scattered up and down, the 
 Recorder evidently considered himself to have been, for wise saws or 
 witty, the top sawyer. Not to forestall the pleasure of self-publication, 
 I shall avoid all that are, or may be, his own sayings, and give only 
 such jeux de mots as have a distinct parentage. 
 
 EXTRACTS FROM THE MS. 
 
 "Alderman F. was very hard of hearing, and Alderman B. wns very 
 hard on his infirmity. One day a dumb man was brought to the 
 Justice room charged with passing bad notes. B. declined to enter. 
 upon the case. 'Go to Alderman F.,' he said; ' when a dumb man 
 utters, a deaf one ought to hear it.' " 
 
 " B. was equally hard on Alderman V.'s linen-drapery. One day 
 he came late into court. ' I have just come,' said he, 'from V.'s villa. 
 He had family prayers last night, and began thus Now let us read 
 the Psalm Nunc Dimities!"
 
 MILLER REDIVIVUS. 569 
 
 "Old S., the tobacconist of Holborn Hill, wore his own hair tied 
 behind in a queue, and had a favourite seat in the shop, with his back 
 to the window. Alderman B. pointed him out once tome. 'Look! 
 there he is, as usual, advertising \\\?> pigtail! n 
 
 " Alderman A. was never very remarkable for his skill in ortho- 
 graphy. A note of his writing is still extant, requesting a brother 
 magistrate to preside for him, and giving, literatim, the following rea 
 son for his own absence : ' Jackson the painter is to take me off in my 
 Rob of Office, and I am gone to give him a cit! His pronunciation was 
 equally original. I remember his asking Alderman C., just before the 
 9th of November, whether he should have any men in armour in his 
 shew" 
 
 " Guildhall and its images were always uppermost with Alderman 
 A. It was he who so misquoted Shakespeare : 'A parish beadie, 
 when he's trod upon, feels as much corporal suffering as Gog and 
 Magog.'" 
 
 " A well-known editor of a morning paper inquired of Alderman B. 
 one day, what he thought of his journal. ' I like it all,' said the alder- 
 man, ' but it's Broken English' The editor stared and asked for an 
 explanation. ' Why, the List of Bankrupts, to be sure ! ' " 
 
 "When Alderman B. was elected Mayor, to give greater ^clat to 
 his banquet, he sent for Dobbs, the most celebrated cook of that time, 
 to take the command of the kitchen. Dobbs was quite an enthusiast 
 in his art, and some culinary deficiencies on the part of the ordinary 
 Mansion-House professors driving him at last to desperation, he leapt 
 upon one of the dressers, and began an oration to them, by this ener- 
 getic apostrophe,' Gentlemen ! do you call yourselves cooks ! ' " 
 
 " One of the present household titles in the Mansion-House esta- 
 blishment was of singular origin. When the celebrated men in armour 
 were first exhibited, Alderman P., who happened to be with his Lord- 
 ship previous to the procession, was extremely curious in examining 
 the suits of mail, &c., expressing, at the same time, an eager desire to 
 try on one of the helmets. The Mayor, with his usual consideration, 
 insisted on first sending it down to the kitchen to be aired, after which 
 process the ambition of the alderman met with its gratification. For 
 some little time he did not perceive any inconvenience from his new 
 beaver, but by degrees the enclosure became first uncomfortably, and 
 then intolerably, warm ; the confined heat being aggravated by his 
 violent but vain struggles to undo the unaccustomed fastenings. An 
 armourer was obliged to be sent for before his face could be let out, 
 red and rampant as a Brentford lion from its iron cage. It appeared, 
 that in the hurry of the pageant, the chief cook had clapped the 
 casque upon the fire, and thus found out a recipe for stc-wing an alder- 
 man's head in its own steam, and for which feat he has retained tha 
 title of the head-cook ever since !"
 
 570 
 
 A ZOOLOGICAL RETORT. 
 
 " G., the Common-council-man, wns a Warden of his own company, 
 the Merchant Tailors'. At one of their frequent festivals, he took 
 with him, to the dinner, a relation, an offic r of the Tenth Foot. By 
 some blunder, the soldier was taken for one of the fraternity, but G. 
 hastened to correct the mistake : ' Gentlemen, this isn't one of the 
 Ninth ptrts of a man he's one of the Tenth ! '" 
 
 " One day there was a dispute, as to the difficulty of cntch-singing, 
 Alderman B. struck in, ' Go to Cheshire the Hangman he'll prove 
 to you there's a good deal of Execution in a Catch? " 
 
 'A Report on the Farm." 
 
 A ZOOLOGICAL REPORT* 
 To Harvey Williams, Esq., Regenfs 7'errace, Portland Park. 
 
 TJONNERDSUR, Being maid a Feller of the Zoological Satiety, 
 JT1 and I may say by your Honner's meens, threw the carrachter 
 
 :iur Humbel was fart-red with, and witch provd sattisfacktrv to the 
 urds and Bests, considring I was well quailifid threw having Bean 
 for so menny hears Hed Guardner to your Honner, besides lookm 
 arter the Pi<,'s and Poltry. Begs to axnolige my great fullness for the 
 Sam, and ham quit cumfittable and happy, sow much sow as wen I 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1833.
 
 A ZOOLOGICAL REPORT. 571 
 
 ham amung the Anymills to reckin myself like Addam in Parodies, 
 let alone my Velveteens. 
 
 Honnerd Sur, awar of your pnrshalty for Liv Stox and Kettle 
 Breading, ham indust to faver with a Statement of wat is dun at the 
 Farm, havin tacken provintial Noats wile I was at Kings-ton with a 
 Pekin elefunt for chainges of Hair. As respex a curacy beg to say, 
 tho the Sectary drawd up his Report from his hone datums and mem- 
 morandusses, and never set his e>es on my M.E.S.S., yet we has tallys 
 to our tails in the Mane. 
 
 Honnerd Sur, I will sit out with the Q idripids, tho weave add the 
 wust lux with them. Scarse anny of the Anymills with fore legs has 
 moor nor one Carf. Has to the Wap >ity Dears, hits wus than the 
 Babby afore King Sollyman, but their his for one littel Dear bctwiu 
 five femail she hinds. The Sambo Dear as was sent by Mr Spring 
 was so unnatral has to heat up her Forn and in consequins the Sing- 
 Sing is of no use for the lullabis. Has for Corsichan hits moor Boney 
 nor ever, But the Axis on innqueries as too littel Axes about a munth 
 hold. The Neil Gow has increst one Carf, but their his no Poles to 
 the Quaggys. Their his too littel Zebry but one as not rum to grow ; 
 the Report says, " the Mail Owen to the Nessessary Confinement in 
 regard to Spaice is verry smal." 
 
 Honnerd Sur, the Satiety is verry rich in Assis, boath Commun 
 assis and uncommon assis, and as the Report recumends will do my 
 Inndever to git the Maltese Cross for your Honner. The Kangroses 
 as reerd up a large smal fammily but looks to be ill nust and not well 
 put to there feat, and at the surjesting of a femail Feller too was put 
 out to the long harmd Babboon to dry nus, but she was too voilent and 
 dandled the pure things to deth. The infunt Zebew is all so ded owen 
 to Atemps with a backbord to prevent groing out of the sholders, boath 
 parrents being defourmd with umphs ; but the spin as is suposed was 
 hert in the exspearmint, and it sudenly desist. Mr Wallack will be 
 glad to here the Wallachian Sheap has add sicks lams, but one was 
 pisened by eating the ewes in the garden witch is fattle to kattle. Has 
 to Gots we was going on prospus in the Kiddy line, but the Billy Gots 
 becum so vishus and did so menny butts a weak, we was obleeged to 
 do away with the Entire. As regards Rabits a contiguous dissorder 
 havin got into the Stox r we got rid of the Hole let alone one Do and 
 Brrwd, witch was all in good Helth up to Good Fridy wen the Mother 
 brekfisted on her bunnis. The increas in the Groth of Hairs as bean 
 maid an object, and the advice tacken of Mr Prince and Mr Roland, 
 who recumendid Killin one of the Bares for the porpus of Greece. 
 We hav a grate number of ginny pigs their is moor than twenty of 
 them in one Pound. 
 
 About Struthus Burds the Ostreaches is in perfic helth and full of 
 Plums. The femail Hen lade too egs wile the Committy was sittin 
 and we hop they will atch, as we put them under a she Hemew as 
 was sittin to Mr Harvy. We propos breading Busturds xeot we hav 
 not got a singel snecieman of the specious. Galnatious Burds. I am 
 sory to say The Curryso has not bread. Hits the moor disapinting 
 as we considder these Birds as our Crax. We sucksided in razing a 
 grate menny Turkys and some intresting expearimints was maid on
 
 57* A ZOOLOGICAL REPORT. 
 
 them by the Committy and the Counsel on Crismus day. Liclcwisa 
 on Poltry Fouls with regard to there being of Utility for the Tabcl 
 and " under the latter head " the report informs " sum results hav bean 
 obtained witch air considdered very satisfactry," but their will be more 
 degested trials of the subjex as the Report says " the expenrimints 
 must be repetid in order to istablish the accuracy of the deduckshuns." 
 Wat is remarkable the hens pressented by Mr Crockford hav not provd 
 grate layers tho provided with a Better Yard and plentey of Turf. We 
 hav indevourd to bread the grate Cok of the Wud onely we have no 
 Wud for him to be Cok of and now for aquotic Warter Burds we 
 hav wite Swons but they hav not any cygnitures, and the Black is very 
 unrisenable as to expens, but Mr Hunt has offerdto black one very lo 
 on condishun hits not aloud to go into the Warter. The Polish swons 
 wood hav bread onely they did not lay. The Satiety contanes a grate 
 number of Gease and witch thriv all most as well as they wood on a 
 commun farm and the Sam with Dux. We wonted to have dukelings 
 from the Mandereen Dux but they shook there Heds. Too ears a go 
 a qantitty of flownders and also a qantitty of heals of witch an exact 
 acount is recordid wear turned into one of the Ponds but there State 
 as not bean looked into since they wear plaiced their out of unwilling- 
 nes to disturb the Hotter. At pressent their exists in one Pond a stock 
 of Karps and in too others a number of Gould Fish of the commun 
 Sort. The number left as bean correcly tacken and the ammount 
 checkt by the Pellycanes and Herrins and Spunbills and Guls 
 and other piskiverous Burds. Looking at the hole of the Farm in one 
 Pint of Vue we hav ben most suckcesful with Rabits and Poltry and 
 Piggins and Ginny Pigs but the breading of sich being well none to 
 Skullboys, I beg as to their methodistical principals to refer your 
 Honner to Master Gorge wen he cums home for the Holedays. I fur- 
 got to say that the Parnassian Sheap was acomidated with a Pen to it 
 self but produst nothin worth riling. But the attemps we hav maid 
 this here, will be prosycutid next here with new Vigors. 
 
 Honnerd Sur, their is an aggitating Skeam of witch I humbly 
 aprove verry hiley. The plan is owen to sum of the Femail Fellers, 
 and that is to make the Farm a Farm Ornay. For instances the 
 Buffloo and Fallo dears and cetra to have their horns Gildid and the 
 Mufflons and Sheaps is to have Pink ribbings round there nex. The 
 munkys is to ware fancy dressis and the Ostreaches is to have their 
 plums stuck in their heds, and the Pecox tales will be always spred 
 out on fraim wurks like the hispaliers. All the Bares is to be tort to 
 Dance to Wippert's Quadrils and the Lions mains is to be subjective 
 to pappers and the curling-tongues. The gould and silver Fesants is 
 to be Pollisht evry day with Plait Powder and the Cammils and 
 Drumdearis and other defourmd anymills is to be paddid to hide their 
 Crukidnes. Mr Howerd is to file down the tusks of the wild Bores 
 and Peckaris and the Spoons of the Spoonbills is to be maid as like 
 the Kings Patten as posible. The elifunt will be himbelisht with a 
 Sugger candid Castle maid by Gunter, and the Flaminggoes will be 
 toucht up with Frentch ruge and the Damisels will hav chaplits of 
 heartifitial Flours. The Sloath is proposd to hav an ellegunt Stait 
 Bed and the Bever is to ware one of Perren's lite Warter Proof Hats
 
 SHOOTING PAINS. 
 
 573 
 
 and the Balld Vulters baldnes wil be hided by a small Whig from 
 Trewfits. The Grains will be put into trousirs and the Hippotomus 
 tite laced for a waste. Experience will dictait menny more imbellish- 
 ing modes with witch I conclud that I am Your Honners Very obleeged 
 and humbel former Servant, STEPHEN HUMPHREYS. 
 
 Shooting with Rover and Ranger. 
 
 SHOOTING PAINS* 
 
 "The charge is prepared." Macheatk. 
 
 IF I shoot any more I'll be shot, 
 
 For ill-luck seems determined to star me, 
 
 I have march'd the whole day 
 
 With a gun, for no pay 
 Zounds, I'd better have been in the army ! 
 
 What matters Sir Christopher's leave ; 
 
 To his manor I'm sorry I came yet ! 
 With confidence fraught, 
 My two pointers I brought, 
 
 But we are not a point towards game yet I 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1833.
 
 574 SHOOTING PAINS. . 
 
 And that gamekeeper too, with advice ! 
 Of my course he has been a nice chalker, 
 
 Not far, were his words, 
 
 I could go without birds : 
 If my legs could cry out, they'd cry " Walker I * 
 
 Not Hawker could find out a flaw, 
 
 My appointments are modern and Mantony, 
 
 And I've brought my own man, 
 
 To mark down all he can, 
 But I can't hnd a mark for my Antony I 
 
 The partridges, where can they lie ? 
 I have promised a leash to Miss Jervas, 
 
 As the least I could do ; 
 
 But without even two 
 To brace me, I'm getting quite nervous t 
 
 Canvassing a Burrow " Come to the Pole. 
 
 To the pheasants how well they're preserved I 
 My sport's not a jot more beholden, 
 
 As the birds are so shy, 
 
 For my friends I must buy, 
 And so send " silver pheasants and golden.*
 
 SHOOTING PAINS. 575 
 
 I have tried every form for a hare, 
 
 Every patch, every furze that could shroud her, 
 
 With toil unrelax'd, 
 
 Till my patience is tax'd, 
 But I cannot be tax'd for hare-powder. 
 
 I've been roaming for hours in three flats 
 In the hope of a snipe for a snap at ; 
 
 But still vainly 'I court 
 
 The percussioning sport, 
 I find nothing for " setting my cap at \" 
 
 A woodcock, this month is the time, 
 Right and left I've made ready my lock for. 
 
 With well-loaded double, 
 
 But spil^ of my trouble, 
 Neither barrel can I find a cock for ! 
 
 A rabbit I should not despise, 
 
 But they lurk in their burrows so lowly ; 
 
 This day's the eleventh, 
 
 It is not the seventh, 
 But they seem to be keeping it hole-y. 
 
 A Double Barrel. 
 
 For a mallard I've waded the marsh, 
 
 And haunted each pool, and each lake oh ! 
 
 Mine is not the luck, 
 
 To obtain thee, O Duck, 
 Or to doom thee, O Drake, like a Draco ! 
 
 For a field-fare I've fared far a-field, 
 Large or small I am never to sack bird, 
 
 Not a thrush is so kind 
 
 As to fly, and I find 
 I may whistle myself for a black-bird !
 
 576 SHOOTING PAL\S. 
 
 I nm angry, I'm hungry, I'm dry, 
 Disappointed, and sullen, and goaded, 
 
 And so weary an elf, 
 
 I am sick of myself, 
 And with Number One seem o'erloaded. 
 
 As well one might beat round St Paul's, 
 And look out for a cock or a hen there ; 
 
 I have search'd round and round 
 
 All the Baronet's ground, 
 But Sir Christopher hasn't a wren thert ! 
 
 Joyce may talk of his excellent caps, 
 But for nightcaps they set me desiring, 
 
 And it's really too bad, 
 
 Not a shot I have had 
 With Hall's Powder, renown'd for " quick firing." 
 
 If this is what people call sport, 
 Oh ! of sporting I can't have a high sense, 
 And there still remains one 
 More mischance on my gun 
 f * Fined for shooting without any licence,"
 
 577 
 
 The Isle of Man. 
 
 THE BOY AT THE NORE* 
 
 ' Alone I did it ! Boy ! 'Coriolania. 
 
 I SAY, little Hoy at the Nore, 
 
 Do you come from the small Isle of Man? 
 Why, your history a mystery must be, 
 
 Come tell us as much as you can, 
 
 Little Boy at the Nore 1 
 
 You live, it seems, wholly on water, 
 
 Which your Gambier calls living in clover ; 
 
 But how comes it, if that is the case, 
 You're eternally half seas over, 
 
 Little Boy at the Nore ? 
 
 While you ride while you dance while yoa float- 
 Never mind your imperfect orthography ; 
 
 But give us as well as you can, 
 Your watery auto-biography, 
 
 Little Boy at the Nore ! 
 
 Comic Annual, 1833. 
 
 2 O
 
 578 THE BOY AT THE NORE. 
 
 LITTLE BOY AT THE NORE LOQUITUR. 
 
 I'm the tight little Boy at the Nore, 
 In a sort of sea-negus I dwells, 
 
 Half and half 'twixt salt water and port ; 
 I'm reckon'd the first of the swells 
 
 I'm the Boy at the Nore I 
 
 I lives with my toes to the flounders, 
 
 And watches through long days and nights ; 
 
 Yet, cruelly eager, men look 
 To catch the first glimpse of my lights 
 
 I'm the Boy at the Nore I 
 
 I never gets cold in the head, 
 f So my life on salt water is sweet ; 
 
 I think I owes much of my health 
 To being well used to wet feet 
 
 As the Boy at the Nore ! 
 
 The Buoy at the Nore. 
 
 There's one thing, I'm never in debt 
 Nay ! I liquidates more than I oughter;* 
 
 So the man to beat Cits as goes by, 
 In keeping the head above water, 
 
 Is the Boy at the Nore ! 
 
 f A word caught from some American trader in passing;
 
 THE BOY AT THE NOKB. 
 
 I've seen a good deal of distress, 
 
 Lots of breakers in Ocean's Gazelle ; 
 
 They should do as I do rise o'er all, 
 Ay, a good floating capital get, 
 
 Like the Boy at the Nore I 
 
 I'm a'ter the sailor's own heart, 
 And cheers him, in deep water rolling ; 
 
 And the friend of all friends to Jack Junk, 
 
 Ben Backstay, Tom Pipes, and Tom Bowling, 
 Is the Boy at the Nore 1 
 
 Could I e'er but grow up, I'd be off 
 
 For a week to make love with my wheedles ; 
 
 If the tight little Boy at the Nore 
 Could but catch a nice girl at the Needles, 
 
 We'd have two at the Nore ! 
 
 They thinks little of sizes on water, 
 On big waves the tiny one skulks 
 
 While the river has men-of-war^m it 
 Yes the Thames is oppress? with great hulks, 
 And the Boy's at the Nore! 
 
 But I've done for the water is heaving 
 
 Round my body as though it would sink it ! 
 
 And I've been so long pitching and tossing, 
 That sea-sick you d hardly now think it 
 Is the Boy at the Nore ! 
 
 571 
 
 Ai Safe as the bank. 

 
 "Do thy Spiriting gently.* 
 
 THE GREAT EARTHQUAKE AT MARY-LE-BONE* 
 
 "Do you never deviate?" John Bull. 
 
 T T was on the evening of the 7th of November 18 , that I went by 
 JL invitation to sup with my friend P., at his house in High Street, 
 Mary-le-bone. The only other person present was a Portuguese, by 
 name Senor Mendez, P.'s mercantile agent at Lisbon, a person of re- 
 markably retentive memory, and most wonderful power of description. 
 The conversation somehow turned upon the memorable great earth- 
 quake at Lisbon, in the year of our Lord , and Senor Mendez, 
 
 who was residing at that time in the Portuguese capital, gave us a 
 very lively picture if lively it may be called of the horrors of that 
 awful convulsion of nature. The picture was dreadful ; the Serior's 
 own house, a substantial stone mansion, was rent from attic to cellar ! 
 snd the steeple of his parish church left impending over it at an angle 
 surpassing that of the famous Leaning Tower of Bologna ! 
 
 The Portuguese had a wonderfully expressive countenance, with a 
 style of narration indescribably vivid ; and as I listened with the most 
 intense interest, every dismal circumstance of the calamity became 
 awfully distinct to my apprehension. I could hear the dreary ringing 
 of the bells, self-tolled from the rocking of the churches ; the swaying 
 * Comic Annual, 1831.
 
 THE ORE A T EARTHQ UAKE. 581 
 
 to and fro of the steeples themselves, and the unnatural heavings and 
 swellings of the Tagus, were vividly before me. As the agitations 
 increased, the voice of the Sefior became awfully tremulous, and his 
 seat seemed literally lo rock under him. I seemed palsied, and could 
 see from P.'s looks that he was similarly affected. To conceal his 
 disorder, he kept swallowing large gulps from his rummer, and I 
 followed his example. 
 
 . This was only the first shock ; the second soon followed, and, to 
 use a popular .expression, it made us both " shake in our shoes." 
 Terrific, however, as it was, the third was more tremendous ; the order 
 of nature seemed reversed ; the ships in the Tagus sank to the bottom, 
 and their ponderous anchors rose to the surface ; volcanic fire burst 
 forth from the water, and water from dry ground ; the air, no longer 
 elastic, seemed to become a stupendous solid, swaying to and fro, and 
 irresistibly battering down the fabrics of ages ; hollow rumblings and 
 meanings, as from the very centre of the world, gave warning of deafen- 
 ing explosions, which soon followed, and seemed to shake the very 
 stars out of the sky. All this time the powerful features of the Sefior 
 kept working, in frightful imitation of the convulsion he was describ- 
 ing, and the effect was horrible ! I saw P. quiver like an aspen there 
 seemed no such thing as terra firma. Our chairs rocked under us ; 
 the floor tossed and heaved ; the candles wavered, the windows clat- 
 tered, and the teaspoons rang again, as our tumblers vibrated in our 
 hands. 
 
 Sefior Mendez at length concluded his narrative, and shortly took 
 leave ; I stayed but a few minutes after him, just to make a remark on 
 the appalling character of the story, and then departed myself, little 
 thinking that any part of the late description was to be so speedily 
 realised by my own experience ! 
 
 The hour being late, and the servants in bed, P. himself accom- 
 panied me to the door. I ought to remark here that the day had been 
 uncommonly serene, not a breath stirring, as was noticed on the 
 morning of the great catastrophe at Lisbon ; however, P. had barely 
 closed the door, when a sudden and violent motion of the earth threw 
 me from the step on which I was standing to the middle of the pave- 
 ment ; I had got partly up when a second shock, as smart as the first, 
 threw me again on the ground. With some difficulty I recovered my 
 legs a second time, the earth in the meantime heaving about under 
 me like the deck of a ship at sea. The street-lamps, too, seemed 
 violently agitated, and the houses nodded over me as if they would 
 fall every instant. I attempted io run, but it was impossible I could 
 barely keep on my feet. At one step I was dashed forcibly against 
 the wall ; at the next I was thrown into the road ; as the motion be- 
 came more violent I clung to a lamp-post, but it swayed with me like 
 a rush. A great mist came suddenly on, but I could perceive people 
 hurrying about, all staggering like drunken men ; some of them 
 addressing me, but so confusedly as to be quite unintelligible ; one 
 a lady passed close to me in evident alarm : seizing her hand, I be- 
 sought her to fly with me from the falling houses into the open fields ; 
 what answer she made I know not, for at that instant a fresh shock 
 threw me on my face with such violence as to render me quite insen-
 
 52 THE GREAT EARTHQUAKE. 
 
 sible. Providentially, in this state I attracted the notice of some ol 
 the night-police, who humanely deposited me, for safety, in St Anne's 
 watch-house till the following morning, when, being sufficiently reco- 
 vered to give a collected account of that eventful evening, the ingenious 
 Mr W., of the Morning Herald, was so much interested by my narra- 
 tive that he kindly did me the favour of drawing it up for publication 
 in the following form : 
 
 Police Intelligence. Bow Street. 
 
 " This morning a stout country gentleman in a new suit of mud, 
 evidently town-made, was charged with having walked Waverly over- 
 night till he got his Kennelworth in a gutter in Mary-le-bone. The 
 Jack-o'-lanthorn who picked him up could make nothing out of him, 
 but that he was some sort of a Quaker, and declared that the whole 
 country was in a shocking state. He acknowledged having taken 
 rather too much Lisbon; but according to Mr Daly, he sniffed of 
 whisky ' as strong as natur.' The defendant attempted with a sotto 
 vote (anglice, a tipsy voice), to make some excuse, but was stopped and 
 fined in the usual sum by Sir Richard. He found his way out of the 
 office, muttering that he thought it very hard to have to pay./?z/ hogs 
 for being only as drunk as one" 
 
 ".Well, I never could keep my Legs I"
 
 583 
 
 Pride and Humility. 
 
 ODE TO ST S WITHIN* 
 
 " The rain it raineth every day." 
 
 THE dawn is overcast, the morning lowers, 
 On every window-frame hang beaded damps, 
 Like rows of small illumination lamps, 
 To celebrate the jubilee of showers ! 
 A constant sprinkle patters from all leaves, 
 The very dryads are not dry, but soppers, 
 
 And from the houses' eaves 
 
 Tumble eaves-droppers. 
 
 The hundred clerks thnt live along the street, 
 Bondsmen to mercantile and City schemers, 
 With squashing, sloshing, and gnlloshing feet, 
 Go paddling, paddling, through the wet, like steamers, 
 Each hurrying to earn the daily stipend 
 Umbrellas pass of every shade of green, 
 And now and then a crimson one is seen, 
 Like an umbrella ripen d. 
 
 9 Comic Annual, 1830.
 
 54 ODE TO ST SWITHItf. 
 
 Over the way a waggon 
 Stands with six smoking horses, shrinking, blinking, 
 
 While in the George and Dragon 
 The man is keeping himself dry and drinking ! 
 The butcher's boy skulks underneath his tray, 
 
 Hats shine shoes don't and down droop collars, 
 And one blue Parasol cries all the way 
 
 To school, in company with four small scholars I 
 
 Unhappy is the man to-day who rides, 
 Making his journey sloppier, not shorter; 
 Ay ! there they go, a dozen of outsides, 
 Performing on "a stage with real water !* 
 A dripping pauper crawls along the way, 
 
 The only real willing out-of-doorer, 
 
 And says, or seems to say, 
 *' Well, I am poor enough but here's a pourer I n 
 
 The scene in water colours thus I paint, 
 Is your own festival, you sloppy Saint 1 
 Mother of all the family of rainers ! 
 
 Saint of the soakers ! 
 
 Making all people croakers, 
 
 Like frogs in swampy marshes, and complainers I 
 And why you mizzle forty days together, 
 Giving the earth your water-soup to sup, 
 I marvel Why such wet, mysterious weather ? 
 
 I wish you'd clear it up ! 
 
 Why cast such cruel dampers 
 On pretty picnics, and, against all wishes, 
 Set the cold ducks a-s\vimming in the hampers, 
 And volunteer, unask'd, to wnsh the dishes ? 
 Why drive the nymphs from the selected spot, 
 
 To cling like ladybirds around a tree ? 
 
 Why spoil a gipsy party at their tea, 
 By throwing your cold water upon hot ? 
 
 Cannot a rural maiden, or a man, 
 
 Seek Hornsey Wood by invitation, sipping 
 
 Their green with Pan, 
 
 But souse you come, and show their Pan all dripping? 
 Why upon snow-white tablecloths and sheets, 
 That do not wait, or want a second washing, 
 
 Come squashing ? 
 
 Why task yourself to lay the dust in streets, 
 As if there were no water-cart contractors, 
 No potboys spilling beer, no shopboys ruddy 
 
 Spooning out puddles muddy, 
 Milkmaids, and other slopping benefactors 1
 
 ODE TO ST SWITHltf. 
 
 A Queen you are, raining in your own right, 
 Yet oh ! how little flatter'd by report ! 
 Even by those that seek the Court, 
 Pelted with every term of spleen and spite. 
 Folks rail and swear at you in every place ; 
 They say you are a creature of no bowel ; 
 They say you're always washing Nature's face, 
 And that you then supply her 
 
 With nothing drier 
 
 Than some old wringing cloud by way of towel ! 
 The whole town wants you duck'd, just as you duck it; 
 They wish you on your own mud porridge supper'd, 
 They hope that you may kick your own big bucket, 
 Or in your water-butt go souse ! heels up'ard ! 
 They are, in short, so weary of your drizzle, 
 They'd spill the water in your veins to stop it 
 Be warn'd ! You are too partial to a mizzle 
 Pray drop it I 
 
 585 
 
 t neTor rains but it pours."
 
 586 
 
 A Figure of Speech : A Broad Scotchr 
 
 THE APPARITION. 
 
 A TRUE STORY.* 
 
 " r T*O keep without a reef in a gale of wind like that, Jock was the 
 _L only boatman on the Firth of Tay to do it ! " 
 
 " He had sail enough to blow him over Dundee Law." 
 
 "She's emptied her ballast and come up again, with her sails all 
 Standing every sheet was belayed with a double turn." 
 
 1 give the sense rather than the sound of the foregoing speeches, for 
 the speakers were all Dundee ferry-boatmen, and broad Scotchmen, 
 using the extra-wide dialect of Angusshire and Fife. 
 
 At the other end of the low-roofed room, under a coarse white sheet, 
 sprinkled with sprigs of rue and rosemary, dimly lighted by a small 
 candle at the head and another at the feet, lay the object of their com- 
 ments a corpse of startling magnitude. In life, poor Jock was of 
 unusual stature, but stretching a little, perhaps, as is usual in death, 
 and advantaged by the narrow limits of the room, the dimensions 
 seemed absolutely supernatural. During the warfare of the Allies 
 against Napoleon, Jock, a fellow of some native humour, had distin- 
 guished himself by singing about the streets of Dundee ballads I 
 believe his own against old Boney. The nickname of Ballad-Jock 
 was not his only reward ; the loyal burgesses subscribed among them- 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1831.
 
 THE APPARITION. 587 
 
 selves, and made him that fatal gift, a ferry-boat, the management of 
 which we have just heard so seriously reviewed. The catastrophe 
 took place one stormy Sunday, a furious gale blowing against the 
 tide down the river and the Tay is anything but what the Irish call 
 " weak tay," at such seasons. In fact, the devoted Nelson, with all 
 sails set, fair-weather fashion, caught aback in a sudden gust, after 
 a convulsive whirl, capsized, and went down in forty fathoms, taking 
 with her two-and-twenty persons, the greater part of whom were on 
 their way to hear the celebrated Dr Chalmers, even at that time highly 
 popular, though preaching in a small church at some obscure village 
 I forget the name in Fife. After all the rest had sunk in the waters, 
 the huge figure of Jock was observed clinging to an oar, barely afloat, 
 when some sufferer probably catching hold of his feet, he suddenly 
 disappeared, still grasping the oar, which afterwards springing upright 
 into the air, as it rose again to the surface, showed the fearful depth 
 to which it had been carried. The body of Jock was the last found : 
 about the fifth day, it was strangely enough deposited by the tide 
 almost at the threshold of his own dwelling at the Craig, a small pier or 
 jettor frequented by the ferry-boats. It had been hastily caught up, 
 and, in its clothes, laid out in the manner just described, lying as it 
 were in state ; and the public, myself one, being freely admitted, as far 
 as the room would hold, it was crowded by fishwives, mariners, and 
 other shore-haunters, except a few feet next the corpse, which a natural 
 awe towards the dead kept always vacant. The narrow death's door 
 was crammed with eager listening and looking heads ; and by the 
 buzzing without, there was a large surplus crowd in waiting before the 
 dwelling for their turn to enter it. 
 
 On a sudden, at a startling exclamation from one of those nearest 
 the bed, all eyes were directed towards that quarter. One of the 
 candles was guttering and sputtering near the socket, the other just 
 twinkling out, and sending up a stream of rank smoke, but by the 
 light, dim as it was, a slight motion of the sheet was perceptible, just 
 at that part where the hand of the dead mariner nu^ht be supposed to 
 be lying at his side. A scream and shout of horror burst from all 
 within, echoed, though ignorant of the cause, by another from the 
 crowd without. A general rush was made towards the door, but 
 egress was impossible. Nevertheless horror and dread squeezed up 
 the company in the room to half their former compass, and left a far 
 wider blank between the living and the dead. 1 confess at first I 
 mistrusted my sight ; it seemed that some twitching of the nerves of 
 the eye, or the flickering of the shadows, thrown by the unsteady 
 flame of the candle, might have caused some optical delusion ; but 
 after several minutes of sepulchral silence and watching, the motion 
 became more awfully manifest, now proceeding slowly upwards, as if 
 the hand of the deceased, still beneath the sheet, was struggling up 
 feebly towards his head. It is possible to conceive, but not to describe, 
 the popular consternation, the shrieks of women, the shouts of men^ 
 the struggles to gain the only outlet, choked up and rendered 
 impassable by the very efforts of desperation and fear ! Clinging to 
 each other, and with ghastly faces that dared not turn from the object 
 of dread, the whole assembly backed with united force against the
 
 $88 THE APPARITION. 
 
 opposite wall, with a convulsive energy that threatened to force ot.t 
 the very side of the dwelling when, startled before by silent motion, 
 but now by sound, with a smart rattle something fell from the bed 
 to the floor, and disentangling itself from the death drapery, displayed 
 a large pound crab ! The creature, with some design, perhaps sini- 
 ster, had been secreted in the ample clothes of the drowned seaman, 
 but even the comparative insignificance of this apparition gave but 
 little alleviation to the superstitious horrors of the spectators, who 
 appeared to believe firmly that it was only the Evil One himself 
 transfigured. Wherever the crab straddled sidelong, infirm beldame 
 and sturdy boatman equally shrank and retreated before it, ay, even 
 as it changed place, to crowding closely round the corpse itself, rather 
 than endure its diabolical contact. The crowd outside, warned by 
 cries from within of the presence of Mahound, had by this time retired 
 to a respectful distance,and the crab, doing what herculean sinews had 
 failed to effect, cleared itself a free passage through the door in a 
 twinkling, and, with natural instinct, began crawling as fast as he could 
 clapperclaw down the little jetty before mentioned that led into his 
 native sea. The satanic spirit, however disguised, seemed every- 
 where distinctly recognised. Many at the lower end of the Craig 
 leapt into their craft, one or two even into the water, whilst others 
 crept as close to the verge of the pier as they could, leaving a thorough- 
 fare wide as "the broad path of honour" to the infernal Cancer. 
 To do him justice, he straddled along with a very unaffected uncon- 
 sciousness of his own evil importance. He seemed to have no aim 
 higher than salt water and sand, and had accomplished half the dis- 
 tance towards them, when a little decrepit poor old sea-roamer, gene- 
 rally known as " Creel Katie," made a dexterous snatch at a hind 
 claw, and, before the crab-devil was aware, deposited him in her 
 patchwork -apron, with a " Hech, sirs, what for are ye gaun to let 
 gang siccan a braw partane?" In vain a hundred voices shouted out, 
 " Let him bide, Katie, he's no cannie ; " fish or fiend, the resolute old 
 dame kept a fast clutch of her prize, promising him, moreover, a com- 
 fortable simmer in the muckle pat, for the benefit of herself and that 
 "puir silly body the gudeman ;" and she kept her word. Before 
 night the poor devil was dressed in his shell, to the infinite horror of 
 all her neighbours. Some even said that a black figure, with horns, 
 and wings, and hoofs, and forky tail, in fact, Old Clooty himself, had 
 been seen to fly out of the chimney. Others said that unwholesome 
 and unearthly smells, as of pitch and brimstone, had reeked forth from 
 the abominable thing through door and window. Creel Kate, how- 
 ever, persisted, ay, even to her dying day and on her deathbed, that 
 the crab was as sweet a crab as ever was supped on, and that it 
 recovered her old husband out of a very poor low way, adding, "And 
 that was a thing, ye ken, the deil a deil in the Dub o' Darkness wad 
 hae dune for siccan a gude man, and kirkgoing Christian body, as my 
 ain douce Davie."
 
 'Palmam qui meruit feral." 
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER'S MOTTO.* 
 
 "The Admiral compelled them all to strike." Life of Nelson 
 
 HUSH ! silence in school not a noise ! 
 You shall soon see there's nothing to jeer at ; 
 Master Marsh, most audacious of boys I 
 Come ! " Palmam qui meruit ferat ! " 
 
 So this morn, in the midst of the Psalm, 
 The Miss Siffkins's school you must leer at ; 
 You're complain'd of, sir ! hold out your palm, 
 There ! " Palmam qui meruit ferat ! " 
 
 You wilful young rebel and dunce ! 
 This offence all your sins shall appear at, 
 You shall have a good caning at once, 
 There ! " Palmam qui meruit ferat ! " 
 
 You are backward, you know, in each verb, 
 And your pronouns you are not more clear at, 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1831.
 
 590 THE SCHOOLMASTER'S MOTTO. 
 
 But you're forward enough to disturb, 
 There ! " Palmam qui meruit ferat ! " 
 
 You said Master Twigg stole the plums, 
 When the orchard he never was near at ; 
 I'll not punish wrong fingers or thumbs, 
 There ! " Palmam qui meruit ferat !" 
 
 You make Master Taylor your butt, 
 And this morning his face you threw beer at, 
 And you struck him do you like a cut ? 
 There ! " Palmam qui meruit ferat !" 
 
 Little Biddle you likewise distress, 
 You are always his hair or his ear at ; 
 He's my Opt, sir, and you are my Pess,- 
 There ! " Palmam qui meruit ferat ! " 
 
 Then you had a pitch'd fight with young Rou, 
 An offence I am always severe at, 
 You discredit to Cicero- House ! 
 There ! " Palmam qui meruit ferat ! " 
 
 You have made, too, a plot in the night, 
 To run off from the school that you rear at ! 
 Come, your other hand, now, sir, the right, 
 There ! " Palmam qui meruit ferat ! " 
 
 I'll teach you to draw, you young dog! 
 Such pictures as I'm looking here at ! 
 " Old Mounseer making soup of a frog," 
 There ! " Palmam qui meruit ferat !" 
 
 You have run up a bill at a shop, 
 That in paying you'll be a whole year at ; 
 You've but twopence a week, sir, to stop t 
 There ! " Palmam qui meruit ferat ! " 
 
 Then at dinner you're quite cock-a-hoop, 
 And the soup you are certain to sneer at ; 
 I have sipp'd it it's very good soup, 
 There ! " Palmam qui meruit ferat !" 
 
 T'other day, when I fell o'er the form, 
 Was my tumble a thing, sir, to cheer at? 
 Well for you that my temper's not warm, 
 There ! " Palmam qui meruit ferat ! " 
 
 Why, you rascal ! you insolent brat ! 
 All my talking you don't shed a tear at ; 
 There take that, sir ! and that ! that ! and that ! 
 There ! " Palmam qui meruit ferat ! "
 
 59i 
 
 A Misguided Man. 
 
 A BLIND MAN* 
 
 TS a blackamoor turned outside in. His skin is fair, but his lining 
 JL is utter dark ; his eyes are like shotten stars, mere jellies ; or 
 like mock-painted windows since the tax upon daylight : what his 
 mind's eye can be is yet a mystery with the learned, or if he hath a 
 mental capacity at all for, " out of sight is out of mind." 
 
 Wherever he stands he is antipodean, with his midnight to your 
 noon. The brightest sunshine serves only to make him the gloomier 
 object, like a dark house at a general illumination. When he stirs, it 
 is like a Venetian blind, being pulled up and down by a string ; he is 
 a human kettle tied to a dog's tail, and with much of the same tin 
 twang in his tone. With botanists he is a species of solan urn, or night- 
 shade, whereof the berries are in his eyes ; amongst painters he is 
 only contemned for his ignorance of clare-obscure ; but by musicians 
 marvelled at for playing, ante-sight, on an invisible fiddle. He stands 
 against a wall with his two blank orbs like a figure in high relief, how- 
 beit but seldom relieved ; and though he is fond of getting pence, yet 
 he is confessedly blind to his own interest. 
 
 In his religion he is a materialist, putting no faith but in things 
 palpable ; in politics, no visionary ; in his learning a smatterer, his 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1831.
 
 59a THE SUPPER SUPERSTITION. 
 
 knowledge of all being superficial ; in his age a child, being yet in 
 leading-strings ; in his life immortal, for death may lengthen his night, 
 but can put no end to his days ; in his courage heroic, for he winks at 
 no danger ; in his pretensions humble, confessing that he is nothing, 
 even in his own eyes ; in his malady hopeless, for eyes of looking- 
 glass would not he'lp him to see. To conclude, he is pitied by the 
 rich, relieved by the poor, oppressed by the beadle, and horsewhipped 
 by the fox-hunter for not giving the view holla 1 
 
 ' Be to their faults a little blind." 
 
 THE SUPPER SUPERSTITION. 
 
 A PATHETIC BALLAD.* 
 44 O flesh, flesh ! how art thou fishified I 
 
 TWAS twelve o'clock by Chelsea 
 chimes, 
 
 When, all in hungry trim, 
 Good Mister Jupp sat down to sup, 
 
 With wife, and Kate, and Jim. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " You hope some day with fond 
 brace 
 
 To greet your absent Jack, 
 But oh, I am come here to say 
 
 I'm never coming back ! 
 
 Said he, "Upon this dainty cod 
 How bravely I shall sup," 
 
 When, whiter than the tablecloth, 
 A GHOST came rising up 1 
 
 III. 
 
 ' O father dear ! O mother dear I 
 Dear Kate, and brother Jim I 
 
 You know when some one went to 
 
 sea, 
 Don't cry but I am him I 
 
 "From Alexandria we set sail, 
 With corn, and oil, and figs, 
 But steering ' too much Sow,' w 
 
 struck 
 Upon the Sow and Pigs I 
 
 VI. 
 "The ship we pump'd till we could see 
 
 Old Kngland from the tops, 
 When down she went with all our 
 
 hands, 
 Right in the Channel's Chops. 
 
 Comic Annual, 1831.
 
 THE SUPPER SUPERSTITION. 
 
 591 
 
 M Just give a look in Norey's chart, 
 
 The very place it tells ; 
 I think it says twelve fathom deep, . 
 
 Clay bottom, mix'd with shells. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " Well, there we are till ' hands aloft, 
 
 We have at last a call ; 
 The pug I had for brother Jim, 
 
 Kate's parrot too, and all. 
 
 " But oh, my spirit cannot rest 
 
 In Davy Jones's sod, 
 Till I've appear'd to you and said, 
 
 Don't sup on that 'ere cod 1 
 
 You live on land, and little think 
 
 What passes in the sea ; 
 Last Sunday week, at two P.M., 
 
 That cod was picking me 1 
 
 XI. 
 
 "Those oysters too, that look so 
 plump, 
 
 And seem so nicely done, 
 They put my corpse in many sheila, 
 
 Instead of only one. 
 
 *Oh, do not eat those oysters then, 
 And do not touch the shrimps ; 
 
 When I was in my briny grave, 
 They suck'd my blood like imps t 
 
 XIII. 
 " Don't eat what brutes would never 
 
 eat 
 
 The brutes I used to pat, 
 They'll know the smell they used to 
 
 smell, 
 Just try the dog and cat 1 * 
 
 XIV. 
 The spirit fled they wept his fate, 
 
 And cried, " Alack, alack ! " 
 At last up started brother Jim, 
 
 " Let's try if Jack was Jack! * 
 
 XV. 
 
 They call'd the dog, they call'd the 
 
 cat, 
 
 And little kitten too, 
 And down they put the cod and 
 
 sauce, 
 To see what brutes would do. 
 
 XVL 
 
 Old Tray lick'd all the oysters up, 
 Puss never stood at crimps, 
 
 But munch'd the cod, and little Kit 
 Quite feasted on the shrimps I 
 
 XVII. 
 The thing was odd, and minus cod 
 
 And sauce, they stood like posts ; 
 Oh, prudent folks, for fear of hoax, 
 
 Put no belief in ghosts 1 
 
 Fhcod* awaiting a Sailor's return. 
 
 2 P
 
 594 
 
 The Boa after a MeaL 
 
 A SNAKE-SNACK* 
 
 * Twist ye, twine ye." SIR W. SCOTT. 
 
 T T was my good fortune once, at Charing Cross, to witness the feed- 
 J. ing of the boa constrictor rather a rare occurrence, and difficult of 
 observation, the reptile not being remarkable for the regularity of its 
 dinner-hour ; and a very considerable interval intervenes, as the world 
 knows, between Gorge the First and Gorge the Second, Gor^e the 
 Third and Gorge the Fourth. I was not in time to see the serpent's 
 first dart at the prey ; she had already twisted herself round her 
 victim, a living white rabbit, who with a large dark eye gazed 
 
 Eiteously through one of the folds, and looked most eloquently that 
 ne in Hamlet 
 
 " Oh, could I shuffle off this mortal coil I" 
 
 The snake evidently only embraced him in a kill-him-when-I-want-him 
 manner, just firmly enough to prevent an escape, but her lips were 
 glued on his in a close "Judas' kiss." So long a time elapsed in this 
 position, both as marble-still as poor old Laocoon with his leeches on, 
 that I really began to doubt the tale of the boa's ability in swallowing, 
 and to associate the hoax before me with that of the bottle-conjuror. 
 The head of the snake, in fact, might have gone without difficulty into 
 a wine-glass, and the throat, down which the rabbit was to proceed 
 whole, seemed not at all thicker than my thumb. In short, I thought 
 the reported cram was nothing but stiiff, and the only other visitor 
 declared himself of my opinion : " If that 'ere little wiper swallows 
 up the rabbit, I'll bolt um both ! " and he seemed capable of the feat 
 Comic Annual, 1831.
 
 A SNAKb-SNACK. 595 
 
 He looked like a personification of what political economists call the 
 Public Consumer, or Geoffrey Crayon's Stout Gentleman, seen through 
 Carpenter's solar microscope a genuine Edax Rerum ; one of your 
 devourers of legs of mutton and trimmings for wagers, the delight of 
 eating-houses, and the dread of ordinaries. The contrast was whimsical 
 between his mountain of mummy and the slim Maccaroni figure of the 
 snake, the reputed glutton. However, the boa began at last to prepare 
 for the meal by lubricating the muzzle of the rabbit with her slimy 
 tongue, and then commenced in earnest 
 
 "As far as in her lay to take him in, 
 A stranger dying with so fair a skin." 
 
 The process was tedious "one swallow makes a summer," but it 
 gradually became apparent, from the fate of the head, that the whole 
 body might eventually " be lost in the Serpentine." The reptile, indeed, 
 made ready for the rest of the interment by an operation rather 
 horrible. On a sudden, the living cable was observed, as a sailor 
 would say, to haul in her slack, and with a squeeze evincing tremendous 
 muscular power, she reduced the whole body into a compass that 
 would follow the head with perfect ease. It was like a regular smash 
 in business ; the poor rabbit was completely broken and the wily 
 winder-up of his affairs recommenced paying herself in full. It was a 
 sorry sight and sickening. As for the stout gentleman, he could not 
 control his agitation. His eyes rolled and watered, his jaws constantly 
 yawned like a panther's, and his hands with a convulsive movement 
 were clasped every now and then on his stomach; but when the 
 whole rabbit was smothered in snake, he could restrain himself no 
 longer, and rushed out of the menagerie as if he really expected to be 
 called upon to fulfil his rash engagement. Anxious to ascertain the 
 true nature of the impulse, I hurried in pursuit of him, and after a 
 short but sharp chase, I saw him dash into the British Hotel, and 
 overheard his familiar voice the same that had promised to swallow 
 both snake and snack bellowing out, guttural with hunger " Here ! 
 waiter 1 quick ! Rabbits in onions for two ! " 
 
 The Great Sea-Serpent discovered from the Mast-Head.
 
 An Abridgement of all that is Pleasant in MM. 
 
 A STORM AT HASTINGS, 
 
 AND THE LITTLE UNKNOWN.* 
 
 TWAS August ! Hastings every day was filling 
 Hastings, that " greenest spot on memory's waste !* 
 With crowds of idlers, willing or unwilling 
 To be bedipp'd be noticed or be braced, 
 And all things rose a penny in a shilling. 
 Meanwhile, from window, and from door, in haste 
 " Accommodation bills" kept coming down, 
 Gladding " the world of letters " in that town. 
 
 Each day pour*d in new coachfuls of new cits, 
 
 Flying from London smoke and dust annoying, 
 
 Unmarried misses hoping to make hits, 
 
 And new-wed couples fresh from Tunbridge toying;-* 
 
 Lacemen and placemen, ministers and wits, 
 
 And Quakers of both sexes, much enjoying 
 
 A morning's reading by the ocean's rim, 
 
 That sect delighting in the sea's broad brim. 
 
 And lo ! amongst all these appear'd a creature, 
 So small, he almost might a twin have been 
 With Miss Crachami dwarfish quite in stature, 
 Yet well proportion'd neither fat nor lean, 
 His face of marvellously pleasant feature, 
 So short and sweet a man was never seen : 
 * Comic Annual, 1830.
 
 A STORM A T HASTINGS. 597 
 
 All thought him charming at the first beginning 
 Alas ! ere long they found him far too winning 1 
 
 He seem'd in love with Chance and Chance repaid 
 
 His ardent passion with her fondest smile, 
 
 The sunshine of good luck : without a shade 
 
 He staked and won, and won and staked ; the bile 
 
 It stirr'd of many a man and many a maid 
 
 To see at every venture how that vile 
 
 Small gambler snatch'd and how he won them too 
 
 A living Pam, omnipotent at loo 1 
 
 A Tide-Waiter. 
 
 Miss Wiggins set her heart upon a box, 
 
 Twas handsome, rosewood, and inlaid with brass, 
 
 And dreamt three times she garnish'd it with stocks 
 
 Of needles, silks, and cottons but alas ! 
 
 She lost it wide awake. We thought Miss Cox 
 
 Was lucky but she saw three caddies pass 
 
 To that small imp ; no living luck could loo him I 
 
 Sir Stamford would have lost his Raffles to him ! 
 
 And so he climb'd, and rode, and won, and walk*d, 
 
 The wondrous topic of the curious swarm 
 
 That haunted the Parade. Many were balk'd 
 
 Of notoriety by that small form 
 
 Pacing it up and down ; some even talk*d 
 
 Of ducking him when lo ! a dismal storm
 
 J98 A STORM A T HASTINGS. 
 
 "Stepp'd in one Friday, at the close of day 
 And every head was turn'd another way 
 
 Watching the grander guest. It seem'd to rise 
 
 Bulky and slow upon the southern brink 
 
 Of the horizon fann'd by sultry sighs 
 
 So black and threatening, I cannot think 
 
 Of any simile, except the skies 
 
 Miss Wiggins sometime shades in Indian-ink ; 
 
 A/m-shnpen blotches of such heavy vapour, 
 
 They seem a deal more solid than her paper. 
 
 As for the sea, it did not fret, and rave, 
 And tear its waves to tatters, and so dash on 
 The stony-hearted beach ; some bards would have 
 It always rampant in that idle fashion, 
 Whereas the waves roll'd in, subdued and grave, 
 Like schoolboys, when the master's in a passion, 
 Who meekly settle in and take their places, 
 With a very quiet awe on all their faces. 
 
 Some love to draw the ocean with a head, 
 Like troubled table-beer, and make it bounce, 
 And froth, and roar, and fling, but this, I've said, 
 Surged in scarce rougher than a lady's flounce ; 
 But then, a grander contrast thus it bred 
 With the wild welkin, seeming to pronounce 
 Something more awful in the serious ear, 
 As one would whisper that a lion's near 
 
 Who just begins to roar : so the hoarse thunder 
 Growl' d long, but low a prelude note of death, 
 As if the stifling clouds yet kept it under, 
 But still it mutter'd to the sea beneath 
 Such a continued pe<il, as made us wonder 
 It did not pause more oft to take its breath, 
 Whilst we were panting with the sultry weather, 
 A.nd hardly cared to wed two words together, 
 
 But watch'd the surly advent of the storm, 
 Much as the brown-cheek'd planters of Barbadoei 
 Must watch a rising of the Negro swarm. 
 Meantime it steer'd, like Odin's old armadas, 
 Right on our coast ; a dismal, coal-black form ; 
 Many proud gaits were quell'd and all bravadoes 
 Of folly ceased and sundry idle jokers 
 Went home to cover up their tongs and pokers. 
 
 So fierce the lightning flash'd, in all their days 
 The oldest smugglers had not seen such flashing, 
 And they are used to many a pretty blaze, 
 To keep their Hollands from an awkward clashing
 
 A STORM A T HASTINGS. 599 
 
 With hostile cutters in'our creeks and bays ; 
 And truly one could think, without much lashing 
 The fancy, that those coasting clouds, so awful 
 And black, were fraught with spirits as unlawful* 
 
 The gay Parade grew thin all the fair crowd 
 Vanish'd as if they knew their own attractions, 
 For now the lightning through a near-hand cloud 
 Began to make some very crooked fractions ; 
 Only some few remain'd that were not cow'd, 
 A few rough sailors, who had been in actions, 
 And sundry boatmen, that with quick yeo's, 
 Lest it should blow, were pulling up the " Rose" 
 
 (No flower, but a boat); some more were hauling 
 The "Regent" by the head ; another crew, 
 With that same cry peculiar to their calling, 
 Were heaving up the " Hope;" and as they knew 
 The very gods themselves oft get a mauling 
 In their own realms, the seamen wisely drew 
 The " Neptune " rather higher on the beach, 
 That he might lie beyond his billows' reach. 
 
 And now the storm with its despotic power 
 Had all usurp'd the azure of the skies, 
 Making our daylight darker by an hour, 
 And some few drops of an unusual size 
 Few and distinct scarce twenty to the shower, 
 Fell like huge teardrops from a giant's eyes ; 
 But then this sprinkle thicken'd in a trice 
 And rain'd much harder in good solid ice. 
 
 Oh, for a very storm of words to show 
 How this fierce crash of hail came rushing o'er us I 
 Handel would make the gusty organs blow 
 Grandly, and a rich storm in music score us ; 
 But even his music seem'd composed and low, 
 When we were handled by this hailstone chorus ; 
 Whilst thunder rumbled, with its awful sound, 
 And frozen comfits roll'd along the ground 
 
 As big as bullets : Lord ! how they did batter 
 Our crazy tiles. And now the lightning flash'd 
 Alternate with the dark, until the latter 
 Was rarest of the two ; the gust, too, dash'd 
 So terribly, I thought the hail must shatter 
 Some panes, and so it did and first it smash'4 
 The very square where I had chose my station 
 To watch the general illumination. 
 
 Another, and another, still came in, 
 
 And fell in jingling ruin at my feet,
 
 600 A STORM A T HASTINGS. 
 
 Making transparent holes that let me win 
 
 Some samples of the storm. Oh, it was sweet 
 
 To think I had a shelter for my skin, 
 
 Culling them through these "loopholes of retreat," 
 
 "Which in a little we began to glaze 
 
 Chiefly with a jack-towel and some baize ! 
 
 By which the cloud had pass'd o'erhead, bu play'd 
 
 Its crooked fires in constant flashes still, 
 
 Just in our rear, as though it had array'd 
 
 Its heavy batteries at Fairlight Mill, 
 
 So that it lit the town, and grandly made 
 
 The rugged features of the Castle Hill 
 
 Leap, like a birth, from chaos into light, 
 
 And then relapse into the gloomy night 
 
 As parcel of the cloud ; the clouds themselves, 
 Like monstrous crags and summits everlasting, 
 Piled each on each in most gigantic shelves. 
 That Milton's devils were engaged in blasting ; 
 We could e'en fancy Satan and his elves 
 Busy upon those crags, and ever casting 
 Huge fragments loose, and that viz felt the sound 
 They made in falling to the startled ground. 
 
 And so the tempest scowl'd away, and soon, 
 Timidly shining through its skirts of jet, 
 We saw the rim of the pacific moon, 
 Like a bright fish entangled in a net, 
 Flashing its silver side, how sweet a boon 
 Seem'd her sweet light, as though it would beget, 
 With that fair smile, a calm upon the seas 
 Peace in the sky and coolness in the breeze ! 
 
 Meantime the hail had ceased, and all the brood 
 Of glaziers stole abroad to count their gains ; 
 At every window there were maids who stood 
 Lamenting o'er the glass's small remains, 
 Or with coarse linens made the fractions good, 
 Stanching the wind in all the wounded panes, 
 Or holding candles to the panes in doubt : 
 The wind, resolved blowing the candles out. 
 
 No house was whole that had a southern front, 
 No greenhouse but the same mishap befell ; 
 /?<?w-windows and ^//-glasses bore the brunt, 
 
 No sex in glass was spared ! For those who dwell 
 
 On each hillside, you might have swamp'd a punt 
 In any of their parlours ; Mrs Snell 
 Was slopp'd out of her seat, and Mr Hitchin 
 Had a_$?#w-garden wash'd into a kitchen.
 
 A STORM A T HASTINGS. 
 
 But still the sea was wild, and quite disclaim'd 
 The recent violence. Each after each 
 The gentle waves a gentle murmur framed, 
 Tapping, like woodpeckers, the hollow beach. 
 Howbeit his weather-eye the seaman aim'd 
 Across the calm, and hinted by his speech 
 A gale next morning and when morning broke^ 
 There was a gale " quite equal to bespoke." 
 
 Before high water (it were better far 
 To christen it not water then, but waiter, 
 For then the tide is serving at the bar} 
 Rose such a swell I never saw one greater I 
 Black, jagged billows rearing up in war 
 Like ragged roaring bears against the baiter, 
 With lots of froth upon the shingle shed, 
 Like stout pour'd out with a fine beachy head* 
 
 No open boat was open to a fare, 
 Or launch'd that morn on seven-shilling trips ; 
 No bathing woman waded none would dare 
 A dipping in the wave but waived their dips ; 
 No seagull ventured on the stormy air, 
 And all the dreary coast was clear of ships ; 
 For two lea shores upon the river Lea 
 Are not so perilous as one at sea. 
 
 Awestruck we sat, and gazed upon the scene 
 Before us in such horrid hurlyburly, 
 A boilin'g ocean of mix'd black and green, 
 A sky of copper colour, grim and surly, 
 When lo ! in that vast hollow scoop'd between 
 Two rolling alps of water, white and curly, 
 We saw a pair of little arms a-skimming, 
 Much like a first or last attempt at swimming I 
 
 Sometimes a hand sometimes a little shoe 
 Sometimes a skirt sometimes a hank of hair, 
 Just like a dabbled seaweed, rose to view, 
 Sometimes a knee, sometimes a back was bare 
 At last a frightful summerset he threw 
 Right on the shingles. Any one could swear 
 The lad was dead, without a chance of perjury, 
 And batter'd by the surge beyond all surgery ! 
 
 However, we snatch'd up the corse thus thrown, 
 Intending, Christian-like, to sod and turf it, 
 And after venting Pity's sigh and groan, 
 Then Curiosity began with her fit ;
 
 A STORM A T HASTINGS. 
 
 And lo ! the features of the Small Unknown f 
 *Twas he that of the surf had had this surfeit I 
 And in his fob, the cause of late monopolies, 
 We found a contract signed " Mephistopheles 1 * 
 
 A bond of blood, whereby the sinner gave 
 
 His forfeit soul to Satan in reversion, 
 
 Providing in this world he was to have 
 
 A lordship over luck, by whose exertion 
 
 He might control the course of cards, and brave 
 
 All throws of dice, but on a sea-excursion 
 
 The juggling demon, in his usual vein, 
 
 Seized the last cast and NicKd him in the main I
 
 tO A LADY ON HER DEPARTURE FOR INDIA,* 
 
 Go where the waves run rather Holborn-hilly f 
 And tempests make a soda-water sea, 
 Almost as rough as our rough Piccadilly, 
 
 And think of me ! 
 
 Go where the mild Madeira ripens her juice, 
 A wine more praised than it deserves to be I 
 Go pass the Cape, just capable of ver-juice, 
 And think of me I 
 
 Go where the tiger in the darkness prowleth, 
 Making a midnight meal of he and she ; 
 Go where the lion in his hunger howleth, 
 
 And think of me I 
 
 Go where the serpent dangerously coileth, 
 Or lies along at full length like a tree ; 
 Go where the Suttee in her own soot broileth, 
 And think of me 1 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1830.
 
 604 LINES. 
 
 Go where with human notes the parrot dealeth 
 In mono-/0//y-logue with tongue as free, 
 And, like a woman, all she can revealeth, 
 
 And think of me ! 
 
 Go to the land of muslin and nankeening, 
 And parasols of straw where hats should be ; 
 Go to the land of slaves and palankeening, 
 And think of me I 
 
 Go to the land of jungles and of vast hills 
 And tall bamboos may none bamboozle thee I 
 Go gaze upon their elephants and castles, 
 
 And think of me 1 
 
 Go where a cook must always be a currier, 
 And parch the pepper'd palate like a pea ; 
 Go where the fierce musquito is a worrier, 
 
 And think of me I 
 
 Go where the maiden on a marriage plan goes, 
 Consign'd for wedlock to Calcutta's quay, 
 Where woman goes for mart, the same as mangoe% 
 And think of me 1 
 
 Go where the sun is very hot and fervent, 
 Go to the land of pagod and rupee, 
 Where every black will be your slave and servant, 
 And think of me 1 
 
 A Sow-wester off the Cape : Pigs in the Trough of the Soft.
 
 The Stamp-duty on Scotch Linen. 
 
 SONNET 
 
 IO A SCOTCH GIRL, WASHING LINEN AFTER HER COUNTRY FASHION.* 
 
 WELL done and wetly, thou Fair Maid of Perth ! 
 
 Thou makest a washing picture well deserving 
 
 The pen and pencilling of Washington Irving I 
 Like dripping Naiad, pearly from her birth, 
 Dashing about the water of the Firth, 
 
 To cleanse the calico of Mrs Skirving, 
 
 And never from thy dance of duty swerving, 
 As there were nothing else than dirt on earth 1 
 Yet what is thy reward ? Nay, do not start 1 
 
 I do not mean to give thee a new damper; 
 But while thou fillest this industrious part 
 
 Of washer, wearer, mangier, presser, stamper, 
 Deserving better character thou art 
 
 What Bodkin would but call " a common tramper." 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1831.
 
 6o6 
 
 The Tup of hi.-, Profession. 
 
 SONNET TO A DECAYED SEAMAN* 
 
 HAIL ! seventy-four cut down ! Hail ! Top and Lop . 
 
 Unless I'm much mistaken in my notion, 
 Thou wast a stirring tar, before that hop 
 
 Became so fatal to thy locomotion : 
 Now, thrown on shore, like a mere weed of ocean, 
 
 Thou readest still to men a lesson good, 
 To king and country showing thy devotion, 
 
 By kneeling thus upon a stump of wood 1 
 Still is thy spirit strong as alcohol ; 
 
 Spite of that limb, begot of acorn-egg, 
 Methinks thou naval history in one vol. 
 
 A virtue shines, e'en in that timber leg ; 
 For, unlike others that desert their Poll, 
 
 Thou walkest ever with thy " Constant Pegl* 
 
 Comic Annual, 1831.
 
 6o7 
 
 HUGGINS AND DUGGINS. 
 
 A PASTORAL AFTER POPE.* 
 
 Two swains or clowns but call them swai 
 While keeping flocks on Salisbury Plains, 
 For all that tend on sheep as drovers 
 Are turn'd to songsters or to lovers, 
 Each of the lass he call'd his dear 
 Began to carol loud and clear. 
 First Huggins sang, and Duggins then, 
 In the way of ancient shepherd men ; 
 Who thus alternate hitch'd in song, 
 "All things by turns, and nothing long.* 
 
 Of all the girls about our place, 
 There's one beats all in form and face ; 
 Search through all Great and Little Bumpstead, 
 You'll only find one Peggy Plumstead. 
 
 DUGGINS. 
 
 To groves and streams I tell my flame, 
 I make the cliffs repeat her name : 
 When I'm inspired by gills and noggins, 
 The rocks re-echo Sally Hoggins 1 
 
 HUGGINS. 
 
 When I am walking in 
 
 I think of Peggy as I rove : 
 
 I'd carve her name on every tree, 
 
 But I don't know my A, B, C 
 
 DUGGINS. 
 
 Whether I walk in hill or valley, 
 I think of nothing else but Sally : 
 I'd sing her praise, but I can sing 
 No song, except " God save the King.* 
 
 HUGGINS. 
 
 My Peggy does all nymphs excel, 
 And all confess she bears the bell ; 
 Where'er she goes swains flock together^ 
 Like sheep that follow the bellwether. 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1832.
 
 6o8 
 
 HUGGINS AND DUGGZNS. 
 
 DUGGINS. 
 
 Sally is tall and not too straight, 
 Those very poplar shapes I hate ; 
 But something twisted like an S, 
 A crook becomes a shepherdess. 
 
 HUGGINS. 
 
 When Peggy's dog her arms emprison, 
 I often wish my lot was hisn ; 
 How often I should stand and turn, 
 To get a pat from hands like hern. 
 
 I tell Sail's lambs how blest they be, 
 
 To stand about and stare at she ; 
 
 But when I look, she turns and shies, 
 
 And won't bear none but their sheep's-eyet I 
 
 Follow my Leader. 
 
 HUGGINS. 
 
 Love goes with Peggy where she goes, 
 Beneath her smile the garden grows, 
 Potatoes spring, and cabbage starts, 
 'Tatoes have eyes,^and cabbage hearts I
 
 HUGGINS AND DUGGINS. 
 
 Where Sally goes it's always Spring, 
 Her presence brightens everything ; 
 The sun smiles bright, but where her grin is, 
 It makes brass farthings look like guineas. 
 
 HUGGINS. 
 
 For Peggy I can have no joy, 
 She's sometimes kind, and sometimes coy, 
 And keeps me, by her wayward tricks, 
 As comfortless as sheep with ticks. 
 
 DUGGINS. 
 
 Sally is ripe as June or May, 
 And yet as cold as Christmas Day ; 
 For when she's ask*ti to change her lot, 
 Lamb's wool, but Sally, she wool not 
 
 HUGGINS. 
 
 Only with Peggy and with health, 
 I'd never wish for state or wealth ; 
 Talking of having health and more pence^ 
 I'd drink her health if I had fourpence. 
 
 Oh, how that day would seem to shine, 
 If Sally's banns were read with mine ; 
 She cries, when such a wish I carry, 
 * Marry come up ! " but will not marry. 
 
 Ramsay's Gentle Shepherd-
 
 6io 
 
 DOMESTIC DIDACTICS. 
 
 BY AN OLD SERVANT.* 
 
 IT is not often, when the Nine descend, that they go so tow as into 
 areas ; it is certain, nevertheless, that they were in the hahit o' 
 visiting John Humphreys, in the kitchen of No. 189 Portland Place, 
 disguised, no doubt, from mortal eye, as seamstresses or charwomen 
 at all events, as Winifred Jenkins says, "they were never ketch' d in 
 the fact." Perhaps it was the rule of the house to allow no followers, and 
 they were obliged to come by stealth, and to go in the same manner ; 
 indeed, from the fragmental nature of John's verses, they appear to 
 have often left him very abruptly. Other pieces bear witness of the 
 severe distraction he suffered between his domestic duty to the Umphra- 
 villes, twelve in family, with their guests, and his own secret visitors 
 from Helicon. It must have been provoking, when seeking for a 
 
 Not up yet I 
 
 fmile, to be sent in search of a salt-cellar ; or when hunting for a 
 rhyme, to have to look for a missing teaspoon. By a whimsical 
 peculiarity, the causes of these lets and hindrances are recorded in 
 his verses by way of parenthesis : and though John's poetry was of 4 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1832.
 
 DOMESTIC DID A C TICS. 6ll 
 
 decidedly serious and moralising turn, these little insertions give it so 
 whimsical a character as to make it an appropriate offering in the 
 present work. Poor John ! the grave has put a period to his didactics, 
 and the publication of his lays, therefore, cannot give him pain, as 
 it certainly would have done otherwise, for the MSS. were left by 
 last will and testament "to his very worthy master, Joshua Umph- 
 raville, Esq., to be printed in Elegant Extracts or Flowers of English 
 Poetry." The editor is indebted to the kindness of that gentleman 
 for a selection from the papers, which he has been unable to arrange 
 chronologically, as John always wrote in too great a hurry to put 
 dates. Whether he ever sent any pieces to the periodicals is unknown, 
 for he kept his authorship as secret as Junius's till his death disco- 
 vered his propensity for poetry, and happily cleared up some points 
 in John's character which had appeared to his disadvantage. Thus, 
 when his eye was " in fine frenzy rolling," bemused only with Casta- 
 lian water, he had been suspected of being "bemused with beer;" 
 and when he was supposed to indulge in a morning sluggishness, 
 he was re^Jly rising with the sun, at least with Apollo. He was 
 accused occasionally of shamming deafness, whereas it was doubtless 
 nothing but the natural difficulty of hearing more than Nine at once. 
 Above all, he was reckoned almost wilfully unfortunate in his break- 
 age ; but it appears that when deductions for damage were made from 
 his wages, the poetry ought to have been stopped, and not the money. 
 The truth is, John's master was a classical scholar, and so accus- 
 tomed to read of Pegasus, and to associate a poet with a horseman, that 
 he never dreamt of one as a footman. 
 
 The editor is too diffident to volunteer an elaborate criticism of the 
 merits of Humphreys as a bard, but he presumes to say this much, 
 that there are several authors of the present day whom John ought nol 
 to walk behind. 
 
 THE BROKEN DISH. 
 
 WHAT'S life but full of care and doubt, 
 
 With all its fine humanities ; 
 With parasols we walk about, 
 
 Long pigtails and such vanities. 
 
 We plant pomegranate trees and things, 
 
 And go in gardens sporting, 
 With toys and fans of peacocks' wings 
 
 To painted ladies courting. 
 
 We gather flowers of every hue, 
 
 And fish in boats for fishes, 
 Build summer-houses painted blue, 
 
 But life's as frail as dishes. 
 
 Walking about their groves of trees, 
 
 Blue bridges and blue rivers, 
 How little thought them two Chinese 
 
 They'd both be smash'd to shivers^
 
 DOMESTIC DIDACTICS. 
 ODE TO PEACE. 
 
 WRITTEN ON THE NIGHT OF MY MISTRESS'S GRAND ROUT. 
 
 O PEACE ! oh come with me and dwell 
 But stop, for there's the bell. 
 
 O Peace ! for thee I go and sit in churches, 
 On Wednesday, when there's very few 
 In loft or pew 
 
 Another ring, the tarts are come from Birch s. 
 
 O Peace ! for thee I have avoided marriage- 
 Hush ! there's a carriage. 
 
 O Peace ! thou art the best of earthly goods 
 The five Miss Woods. 
 
 O Peace ! thou art the goddess I adore 
 There come some more. 
 
 O Peace ! thou child of solitude and quiet 
 
 That's Lord Drum's footman, for he loves a riot. 
 
 O Peace ! . 
 
 Knocks will not cease. 
 O Peace ! thou wert for human comfort plann'd 
 
 That's Weippert's band. 
 O Peace ! how glad I welcome thy approaches 
 
 I hear the sound of coaches. 
 O Peace ! O Peace ! another carriage stops 
 
 It's early for the Blenkinsops. 
 
 O Peace ! with thee I love to wander, 
 
 But wait till I have shoVd up Lady Squander ; 
 
 And now I've seen her up the stair, 
 
 O Peace ! but here comes Captain Hare. 
 
 O Peace I thou art the slumber of the mind, 
 
 Untroubled, calm and quiet, and unbroken 
 
 If that is Alderman Guzzle from Portsoken, 
 
 Alderman Gobble won't be far behind. 
 
 O Peace ! serene in worldly shyness 
 
 Make way there for his Serene Highness 1 
 
 Peace ! if you do not disdain 
 To dwell amongst the menial train, 
 
 1 have a silent place, and lone, 
 That you and I may call our own, 
 Where tumult never makes an entry- 
 Susan, what business have you in my pantry ? 
 
 O Peace ! but there is Major Monk, 
 At variance with his wife. O Peace ! 
 And that great German, Vander Trunk, 
 And that great talker, Miss Apreece.
 
 DOMESTIC DIDACTICS. 613 
 
 O Peace ! so dear to poets' quills 
 They re just beginning their quadrilles. 
 
 Peace ! our greatest renovator 
 
 1 wonder where I put my waiter. 
 
 Peace ! but here my ode I'll cease ; 
 
 1 have no peace to write of Peace. 
 
 A FEW LINES ON COMPLETING FORTY-SEVEN. 
 
 WHEN I reflect, with serious sense, 
 
 While years and years run on, 
 How soon I may be summon'd hence 
 
 There's cook a-calling John. 
 
 Our lives are built so frail and poor, 
 
 On sand, and not on rocks, 
 We're hourly standing at Death's door 
 
 There's some one double-knocks. 
 
 All human days have settled terms, 
 
 Our fates we cannot force ; 
 This flesh of mine will feed the worm* 
 
 They're come to lunch, of course. 
 
 And when my body's turn'd to clay, 
 
 And dear friends hear my knell, 
 Oh, let them give a sigh and say 
 
 I hear the upstairs bell. 
 
 TO MARY HOUSEMAID, 
 ON VALENTINE'S DAY. 
 
 MARY, you know I've no love-nonsense, 
 And, though I pen on such a day, 
 
 I don't mean flirting, on my conscience, 
 Or writing in the courting way. 
 
 Though Beauty hasn't form'd your feature, 
 It saves you, p'rhaps, from being vain, 
 
 And many a poor unhappy creature 
 May wish that she was half as plain. 
 
 Your virtues would not rise an inch, 
 Although your shape was two foot taller, 
 
 And wisely you let others pinch 
 
 Great waists and feet to make them smaller. 
 
 You never try to spare your hands 
 From getting red by household duty,
 
 6 u PAIN IN A PLEASURE-BOAT. 
 
 But, doing all that it commands, 
 Their coarseness is a moral beauty. 
 
 Let Susan flourish her fair arms, 
 And at your odd legs sneer and scoff; 
 
 But let her laugh, for you have charms 
 That nobody knows nothing of. 
 
 What odd legs I 
 
 PAIN IN A PLEASURE-BOAT. 
 
 A SEA ECLOGUE.* 
 I apprehend you I "School of Reform. 
 
 BOATMAN. 
 SHOVE off there I ship the rudder, Bill cast off! she's under way t 
 
 MRSF. 
 She's under what? I hope she's not! good gracious, what a spray I 
 
 BOATMAN. 
 Run out the jib, and rig the boom ! keep clear of those two brigs I 
 
 MRSF. 
 I hope they don't intend some joke by running of their rigs 1 
 
 BOATMAN. 
 Bill, shift them bags of ballast aft she's rather out of trim I 
 
 MRS F. 
 
 Great bags of stones ! they're pretty things to help a boat to swim I 
 * Comic Annual, 1831.
 
 PAIN IN A PLEASURE-BOAT. 6lS 
 
 BOATMAN. 
 The wind is fresh if she don't scud, it's not the breeze's fault I 
 
 MRSF. 
 Wind fresh, indeed ! I never felt the air so full of salt ! 
 
 BOATMAN. 
 That schooner, Bill, harn't left the roads, with oranges and nuts I 
 
 MRSF. 
 If seas have roads, they're very rough I never felt such ruts 1 
 
 See-view : Broad Stares. 
 
 BOATMAN. 
 It's neap, ye see ; she's heavy lade, and couldn't pass the bar. 
 
 MRSF. 
 The bar ! what, roads with turnpikes too ? I wonder where they are I 
 
 BOATMAN. 
 Ho ! brig ahoy ! hard up ! hard up ! that lubber cannot steer I
 
 6l6 PAIN IN A PLEASURE-BOAT. 
 
 MRSF. 
 
 Yes, yes f hard up upon a rock ! I know some danger's nenr ! 
 Lord ! there's a wave ! it's coming in ! and roaring like a bull ! 
 
 BOATMAN. 
 Nothing, ma'am, but a little slop ! go large, Bill ! keep her full ! 
 
 MRSF. 
 
 What ! keep her full ! what daring work ! when full, she must go 
 down! 
 
 BOATMAN. 
 
 Why, Bill, it lulls ! ease off a bit it's coming off the town ! 
 Steady your helm 1 we'll clear the Pint! lay right for yonder pink 1 
 
 MRSF. 
 Be steady ! well, I hope they can ! but they've got a pint of drink I 
 
 BOATMAN. 
 Bill, give that sheet another haul she'll fetch it up this reach. 
 
 MRSF. 
 
 I'm getting rather pale, I know, and they see it by that speech I 
 I wonder what it is, now, but 1 never felt so queer 1 
 
 BOATMAN. 
 Bill, mind your luff why, Bill, I say, she's yawing keep her near ! 
 
 MRSF. 
 Keep near ! we're going farther off; the land's behind our backs. 
 
 BOATMAN. 
 
 Be easy, ma'am, it's all correct ; that's only 'cause we tacks : 
 We shall have to beat about a bit ; Bill, keep her out to sea. 
 
 MRSF. 
 Beat who about ? keep who at sea ? how black they look at me I 
 
 BOATMAN. 
 It's veering round I knew it would ! off with her head ! stand by ! 
 
 MRSF. 
 
 Off with her head ! whose ? where ? what with ? an axe I seem t 
 spy!
 
 PAIN IN A PLEASURE-BOAT* 
 
 617 
 
 BOATMAN. 
 She can't not keep her own, you see ; we shall have to pull her in 1 
 
 MRSF. 
 They'll drown me, and take all I have ! my life's not worth a pin t 
 
 BOATMAN. 
 Look out, you know ; be ready, Bill just when she takes the sand 1 
 
 MRS F. 
 The sand t O Lord t to stop my mouth ! how every thing is plann'd I 
 
 BOATMAN. 
 
 The handspike, Bill quick, bear a hand 1 now, ma'am, just step 
 ashore ! 
 
 MRsF. 
 
 What ! an't I going to be kill'd and welter'd in my gore ? 
 Well, Heaven be praised 1 but I'll not go a sailing any more 1 
 
 Sterne's Maria.
 
 6i8 
 
 A SPENT BALL* 
 
 "The flying balL" GRAY. 
 
 A BALL fa a round, but not a perpetual round, of pleasure. It 
 spends itself at last, like that from the cannon's mouth ; or rather, 
 like that greatest of balls, " the great globe itself," is " dissolved with 
 all that it inherits." 
 
 Four o'clock strikes. The company are all but gone, and the 
 musicians "put up "with their absence. A few "figures? however, 
 remain, that have never been danced, and the hostess, who is all 
 urbanity and turbanity, kindly hopes that they will stand up for " one 
 set more." The six figures jump at the offer : they " wake the harp," 
 get the fiddlers into a fresh scrape, and " the Lancers" are put through 
 their exercise. This may be called the Dance of Death, for it ends 
 everything. The band is disbanded, and the ball takes the form of a 
 family circle. It is long past the time when churchyards yawn, but 
 the mouth of mamma opens to a bore, that gives hopes of the Thames' 
 Tunnel. -Papa, to whom the ball has been anything but a force-meat 
 one, seizes eagerly upon the first eatables he can catch, and with his 
 mouth open and his eyes shut, declares, in the spirit of an " Ex- 
 aminer " into such things, that a " party is the madness of many for 
 the gain of a few." The son, heartily tired of a suit of broad-cloth cut 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1830.
 
 LITER AR Y AND LITERAL. 619 
 
 narrow, assents to the proposition, and having no further use for his 
 curled head, lays it quietly on the shelf. The daughter droops ; art 
 has had her Almack's, and nature establishes a free and easy. Grace 
 throws herself, skow-wow anyhow, on an ottoman, and Good Breed- 
 ing crosses her legs. Roses begin to relax, and curls to unbend them- 
 selves ; the very candles seem released from the restraints of gentility, 
 and getting low, some begin to smoke, while others indulge in a gutter. 
 Muscles and sinews feel equally let loose, and, by way of a joke, the 
 cramp ties a double-knot in Clarinda's calf. 
 
 Clarinda screams. To this appeal the maternal henrt is more awake 
 than the maternal eyes, and the maternal hand begins hastily to bestow 
 its friction, not on the leg of suffering, but on the leg of the sofa. In 
 the meantime, paternal hunger gt-ts satisfied ; he eats slower, and sleeps 
 faster, subsiding, like a gorged boa-constrictor, into torpidity ; and in 
 this state, grasping an extinguished candle, he lights himself up to bed. 
 Clarinda follows, stumbling through her steps in a doze-a-doze ; the 
 brother is next ; and mamma, having seen with half an eye, or some- 
 thing less, that all is safe, winds up the procession. 
 
 Every ball, however, has its rebound, and so has this in their 
 dreams : with the mother, who has a daughter, as a golden ball ; with 
 the daughter, who has a lover, as an eyeball ; with the son, who has a 
 rival, as a pistol-ball ; but with the father, who has no dreams at all, 
 as nothing but the blacking-ball of oblivion. 
 
 LITERARY AND LITERAL* 
 
 THE march of Mind upon its mighty stilts 
 (A spirit by no means to fasten mocks on), 
 In travelling through Berks, Beds, Notts, and Wilts, 
 
 Hants, Bucks, Herts, Oxon, 
 Got up a thing our ancestors ne'er thought on, 
 A thing that only in our proper youth 
 We should have chuckled at in sober truth, 
 A conversazione at Hog's Norton ! 
 
 A place whose native dialect, somehow, 
 Has always by an adage been affronted. 
 And that it is all gutturals is now 
 Taken for grunted. 
 
 Conceive the snoring of a greedy swine, 
 The slobbering of a hungry ursine sloth 
 If you have ever heard such creature dine 
 And, for Hog's Norton, make a mix of both ! 
 
 O shades of Shakespeare ! Chaucer ! Spenser I 
 
 Milton ! Pope ! Gray ! Warton ! 
 O Colman ! Kenny ! Planche ! Poole ! Peakel 
 
 Pocock ! Reynolds ! Morton ! 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1830.
 
 LITERARY AND LITERAL. 
 
 O Grey! Peel ! Sadler ! Wilberforce ! Burdett! 
 
 Hume ! Wilniot Horton ! 
 
 Think of your prose and verse, and worse deliver'd in 
 Hog's Norton 1 
 
 The founder of Hog's Norton Athenaeum 
 
 Framed her society 
 
 With some variety 
 
 From Mr Roscoe's Liverpool museum ; 
 Not a mere picnic, for the mind's repast, 
 But tempting to the solid knife-and-forker, 
 It held its sessions in the house that last 
 
 Had kill'd a porker. 
 
 It chanced one Friday, 
 One Farmer Grayley stuck a very big hog, 
 A perfect Gog or Magog of a pig-hog, 
 Which made of course a literary high day ; 
 Not that our farmer was a man to go 
 With literary tastesso far from suiting 'em 
 When be heard mention of Professor Crowe, 
 
 * Tis pleasant, sure, to see one'* self in print. " 
 
 Or 1.z\\ai-Rookh, he always was for shooting 'e 
 In fact, in letters he was quite a log ; 
 
 With him great Bacon 
 
 Was literally taken,
 
 LITERARY AND LITERAL. 621 
 
 And Hogg the poet nothing but a hog ! 
 
 As to all others on the list of fame, 
 
 Although they were discuss'd and mention'd daity 
 
 He only recognised one classic name, 
 
 And thought that she had hung herself Miss B*illu\ 
 
 To balance this, our farmer's only daughter 
 Had a great taste for the Castalian wate? 
 A Wordsworth worshipper a Southey wooer 
 (Though men that deal in water-colour cakes 
 May disbelieve the fact yet nothing's truer) 
 
 She got the bluer 
 
 The more she dipp'd and dabbled in the Lakes, 
 The secret truth is, Hope, the old deceiver, 
 At future authorship was apt to hint, 
 Producing what some call the Type-us fever, 
 Which means a burning to be seen in print. 
 
 Of learning's laurels Miss Joanna Baillie 
 
 Of Mrs Hemans Mrs Wilson daily 
 
 Dreamt Anne Priscilla Isabella Grayley ; 
 
 And fancy hinting that she had the better 
 
 Of L. E. L. by one initial letter, 
 
 She thought the world would quite enraptured see 
 
 * LOVE LAYS AND LYRICS 
 
 BY 
 A. P. I. G." 
 
 Accordingly, with very great propriety, 
 She joined the H. N. B. and double S., 
 That is, Hog's Norton Blue Stocking Society ; 
 And saving when her pa his pigs prohibited, 
 
 Contributed 
 Her pork and poetry towards the mess. 
 
 This feast, we said, one Friday was the case, 
 When Farmer Grayley from Macbeth to quote- 
 Screwing his courage to the " sticking place," 
 Stuck a large knife into a grunter's throat ; 
 A kind of murder that the law's rebuke 
 Seldom condemns by shake of its peruke, 
 Showing the little sympathy of big-wigs 
 With pig-wigs ! 
 
 The swine poor wretch ! with nobody to s-eak for ft, 
 And beg its life, resolved to have a squeak for it ;
 
 622 LITERARY AND LITERAL. 
 
 So like the fabled swan died singing out, 
 And thus there issued from the farmer's yard 
 A note that notified, without a card, 
 An invitation to the evening rout. 
 
 And when the time came duly," At the close of 
 The day," as Beattie has it " when the' ham " 
 Bacon, and pork were ready to dispose of, 
 And pettitoes and chit'lings too, to cram, 
 Walked in the H. N. B. and double S.'s, 
 All in appropriate and swinish dresses ; 
 For lo ! it is a fact, and not a joke, 
 Although the Muse might fairly jest upon it, 
 They came each " Pig-faced Lady," in that bonnet 
 We call, a poke. 
 
 Breaking Up, no Holiday. 
 
 The members all assembled thus, a rare woman 
 At pork and poetry was chosen chairwoman; 
 In fact, the bluest of the blues, Miss Ikey, 
 Whose whole pronunciation was so piggy, 
 She always named the authoress of "Psyche" 
 As Mrs Tiggeyl 
 
 And now arose a question of some moment, 
 
 What author for a lecture was the richer. 
 
 Bacon or Hogg ? There were no votes for Beaumont, 
 
 But some for Flitcher; 
 While others, with a more sagacious reasoning^ 
 
 Proposed another work, 
 
 And thought their pork 
 Would prove more relishing from Thomson's Season-ing !
 
 LITERARY AND LITERAL, 
 
 But, practised in Shakespearean readings daily,- 
 O Miss Macaulay ! Shakespeare at Hog's Norton I- 
 Miss Anne Priscilla Isabella Grayley 
 Selected him that, evening to snort on. 
 In short, to make our story not a big tale, 
 Just fancy her exerting 
 
 Her talents, and converting 
 The " Winter's Tale " to something like a pig-tale! 
 
 Her sister auditory, 
 All sitting round, with grave and learned faces, 
 
 Were very plauditory, 
 
 Of course, and clapp'd her at the proper places ; 
 Till, fann'd at once by Fortune and the Muse, 
 She thought herself the blessedest of blues. 
 But happiness, alas ! has blights of ill, 
 And pleasure's bubbles in the air explode ; 
 There is no travelling through lite but still 
 The heart will meet with breakers on the road ! 
 
 With that peculiar voice 
 
 Heard only from Hog's Norton throats and nose% 
 Miss G., with Perdita, was making choice 
 Of buds and blossoms for her summer posies, 
 When, coming to that line where Prosperine 
 Lets fall her flowers from the wain of Dis ; 
 
 Imagine this 
 
 Uprose on his hind legs old Farmer Grayley, 
 Grunting this question for the club's digestion, 
 "Do Dtfs Waggon go from the Quid Baaley ?' 
 
 62S
 
 Dicky Bird* 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 TO LORD WHARNCLIFFE, ON HIS GAME-BILL.* 
 
 FM fond of partridges, I'm fond of snipes, 
 
 I'm fond of blackcocks, for they're very good coclcs 
 
 I'm fond of wild ducks, and I'm fond of woodcocks, 
 
 And grouse, that set up such strange moorish pipes* 
 
 I'm fond of pheasants with their splendid stripes 
 
 I'm fond of hares, whether from Whig or Tory 
 
 I'm fond of capercailzies in their glory, 
 
 Teal, widgeons, plovers, birds in all their types : 
 
 All these are in your care, law-giving Peer, 
 
 And when you next address your Lordly Babel, 
 
 Some clause put in your Bill, precise and clear, 
 
 With due and fit provision to enable 
 
 A man that holds all kinds of game so dear 
 
 To keep, like Crockford, a good Gaming Table. 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1832.
 
 THE UNDYING ONE.* 
 
 "He shall not die." Uncle Toby. 
 
 OF all the verses, grave or gay, 
 
 That ever wiled an hour, 
 I never knew a mingled lay, 
 
 At once so sweet and sour, 
 As that by Ladye Norton spun, 
 And christen'd " The Undying One." 
 
 These twenty years he's been the same^ 
 And may be twenty more ; 
 
 But Memory's pleasures only claim 
 His features for a score ; 
 
 Yet in that time the change is none 
 
 Th' image of th' Undying One ! 
 
 I'm very certain that she drew 
 
 A portrait when she penn'd 
 That picture of a perfect Jew, 
 
 "Whose days will never end ; 
 I'm sure it means my Uncle Lunn, 
 tor he is an Undying One. 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1832. 
 
 They say our climate's damp and cold, 
 And lungs are tender things ; 
 
 My uncle's much abroad and old, 
 But when " King Cole " he sings. 
 
 A Stentor's voice, enough to stun, 
 
 Declares him an Undying One. 
 
 a R
 
 V. CACKLE. 
 
 i 'thers have died from needle-pricks 
 
 And very slender blow &. 
 From accidental slips or kicks, 
 
 Or bleedings at the nose ; 
 ( r choked by grape-stone, or a bun 
 Hut he is the Undying One ! 
 
 He's been from strangulation black, 
 
 From bile, of jdiow hue, 
 Scailet from fever's hot attack, 
 
 From cholera-morbus blue ; 
 Yet with these dyes to use a pun 
 He still is the Undying One. 
 
 A soldier once, he once endured 
 
 A bullet in the breast 
 li might have kill'd but only cure 
 
 An asthma in tha chest ; 
 I le was not to be slain with gun, 
 For he is the Undying One. 
 
 He rolls in wealth, yet has no wife 
 His Three per Cents to share; 
 
 He never married in his life, 
 Or flirted with the lair ; 
 
 The sex he made a point to shun, 
 
 For beauty an Undying One. 
 
 In water once too long he dived, 
 And all supposed him beat, 
 
 He seem'd so cold but he revived 
 To have another heat, 
 
 Just when we thought his race was run, 
 
 And came in fresh th' Undying One! 
 
 VIII. 
 To look at Meux's once he went, 
 
 And tumbled in the vat 
 And greater Jobs their lives have 
 
 spent 
 
 In lesser boils than that ; 
 He left the beer quite underdone, 
 No bier to the Undying One 1 
 
 To judge him by the present signs, 
 
 The future by the past, 
 So quick he lives, so slow declines. 
 
 The Last Man won't be last, 
 But buried underneath a ton 
 Of mould by the Undying One t 
 
 Next Friday week, his bivthday boast. 
 His ninetieth year he spends, 
 
 And I shall have his health to toast 
 Amongst expect ant friends, 
 
 And wish it really sounds like fua 
 
 Long life to the Undying O.< 1 
 
 COCKLE v. CACKLE* 
 
 THOSE who much read advertisements and bills, 
 Must have seen puffs of Cockle's Pills, 
 
 Call'd anti-bilious 
 
 Which some physicians sneer at, supercilious, 
 But which we are assured, if timely taken, 
 
 May save your liver and bacon. 
 Whether or not they really give one ease, 
 
 I, who have never tried, 
 
 Will not decide ; 
 
 But no two things in union go like these 
 Viz., quacks and pills save ducks and peasft 
 Now Mrs W. was getting sallow, 
 Her lilies not of the white kind, but yellow, 
 And friends portended was preparing for 
 
 A human Pate Perigord ; 
 
 * Comic Annual. 1831.
 
 COCKLE V. CACKLE. 
 
 She was, indeed, so verv far from well, 
 
 Her son, in filial fear, procured a box 
 
 Of those said p llcts to n-sist bile's shocks, 
 
 And though upon the ear it strangely knocks 
 
 To save her by a Cockle from a shell 1 
 
 But Mrs W., just like Macbeth, 
 
 Who very vehemently bids us " throw 
 
 Bark to the bow-wows," hated physic so, 
 
 It seem'd to share " the bitterness of Death :" 
 
 Rhubarb Magnesia Jalap, and the kind 
 
 Senna Steel Assafoetida, and Squills 
 
 Powder or draught but least her throat inclined 
 
 To give a course to boluses or pills ; 
 
 No not to save her life, in lung or lobe, 
 
 For all her lights' or all her liver's sake, 
 
 Would her convulsive thorix undertake 
 
 Only one little uncelestial globe ! 
 
 Tis not to wonder at, in such a case, 
 If she put by the pill-box in a place 
 For linen rather than for drugs intended- 
 Yet for the credit of the pills let's say, 
 
 After they thus were stow'd away, 
 
 Some of the linen mended ; 
 But Mrs W., by disease's dint, 
 Kept getting still more yellow in her tint, 
 When lo ! her second son, like elder brother, 
 Marking the hue on the parental gills, 
 Brought a new charge of anti-tumeric pills, 
 To bleach the jaundiced visage of his mother 
 Who took them in her cupboard like the other 
 
 " Deeper and deeper, still," of course, 
 The fatal colour daily grew in force ; 
 Till daughter W., newly come from Rome, 
 Acting the self-same filial, pillial part, 
 To cure mamma, another dose brought home 
 Of Cockles ; not the cockles of her heart ! 
 
 These going where the others went before, 
 Of course she had a very pretty store ; 
 And then some hue of health her cheek adorning, 
 The medicine so good must be, 
 They brought her dose on dose, which she 
 Gave to the upstairs cupboard, " night and morning.* 
 Till wanting room, at last, for other stocks. 
 Out of the window one fine day she pitch d 
 The pillage of each box, and quite enrich'd 
 The feed of Mister Burrell's hens and cocks, 
 A little barber of a bygone day, 
 Over the way,
 
 COCKLE V. CACKLE. 
 
 Whose stock in trade, to keep the least of shops, 
 Was one great head of Ktmble, that is, John, 
 Staring in plaster, with a Brutus on, 
 And twenty little bantam fowls with crops. 
 
 Little Dnrne W. thought, when through the sash 
 
 She ^ave the physic wings, . 
 
 To find the very things 
 So good for bile, so bad for chicken rash, 
 For thoughtless c ck, and unreflecting pullet ! 
 But, while they gather'd up the nauseous nubbles, 
 Each peck'd itself" into a peck of troubles, 
 And brought the hnnd of Death upon its gullet. 
 They might as well have addled been, or ratttd, 
 For long before the night ah ! woe betide 
 The pills ! each suicidal bantam died 
 Unfatted ! 
 
 Think of poor Rurrell's shock, 
 Of Nature's debt to see his hens all payers, 
 And laid in death as everlasting layers, 
 With Bantam's small Ex-Emperor, the cock, 
 In ruffled plumage and funereal hackle, 
 Giving, undone by Cockle, a last cackle ! 
 To see as stiff as stone his un'live stock, 
 It really was enough to move his block. 
 Down on the floor he dash'd, with horror bier, 
 Mr Bell's third wife's mother's coachman's wig j 
 And with a tragic stare like his own Kemble, 
 Burst out with natural emphasis enough, 
 
 And voice that grief made tremble, 
 Into that very speech of sad Macduff 
 "What ! ail my pretty chickens and their dam, 
 
 At one fell swoop ! 
 
 Just when I'd bought a coop 
 To see the poor lamented creatures cram ! " 
 
 After a little of this mood, 
 
 And brooding over the departed broo^ 
 With razor he began to ope each craw, 
 Already turning black, as black as coals; 
 When lo ! the undigested cause he saw 
 
 " Pison'd by goles ! " 
 
 To Mrs W.'s luck a contradiction, 
 Her window still stood open to conviction : 
 And by short course of circumstantial labour, 
 He fix'd the guilt upon his adverse neighbour ; 
 Lord ! how he rail'd at her : declaring now, 
 He'd bring an action ere next Term of Hilary, 
 Then, in another moment, swore a vow, 
 He'd make her do pill-penance in the pillory I
 
 COCKLE V. CACKLE. 629 
 
 She, meanwhile distant from the dimmest dream 
 Of combating with guilt, yard-arm or arm-yard, 
 Lapp'd in a paradise of tea and cream ; 
 When up ran Betty with a dismal scream 
 " Here's Mr Burrell, ma'am, with all his farmyard 1" 
 Straight in he came, unbowing and unbending, 
 With all the warmth that iron and a barber 
 
 Can harbour ; 
 
 To dress the head and front of her offending, 
 The fuming phial of his \\rath uncorking; 
 In short he made her pay him altogether, 
 In hard cash, very hard for every feather, 
 Charging, of course, each bantam as a Dorking ; 
 Nothing could move him, nothing make him supple ; 
 So the sad dame unpocketing her loss, 
 Had nothing left but to sit hands across, 
 And see her poultry " going down ten couple." 
 
 Now birds by poison slain. 
 
 As venorn'd dart from Indian's hollow cane, 
 
 Are edible ; and Mrs W.'s thrift, 
 
 She had a thrifty vein, 
 Destined one pair for supper to make shift, 
 Supper as usual at the hour of ten : 
 But ten o'clock arrived and quickly pass'd, 
 Eleven twelve and one o'clock at last, 
 Without a sign of supper even then ! 
 At length, the speed of cookery to quicken, 
 Betty was call'd, and with reluctant feet, 
 
 Came up at a white heat 
 " Well, never I see chicken like them chicken ! 
 My saucepans, they have been a pretty while in 'env 
 Enough to stew them, if it comes to that, 
 To flesh and bones, and perfect ra<is ; but drat 
 Those anti-biling pills ! there is no bile in 'em ! " 
 
 Halfpenny Hatch.
 
 630 
 
 
 Which way did the Fox go? 
 
 LETTER FROM AN OLD SPORTSMAN* 
 
 DEAR SIR, I receaved your's of the first last, wich I should have 
 anser'd it sooner, only I have ad the Roomatiz in my fingers, so you 
 must Pleas to excus my crainpd hand. 
 
 As to my Sporting Reminis-cences, as you are pleasd to say, I have 
 lookd them out in the dixenary, and kno verry well what it is. I 
 beg leaf to Say, I have forgot all my recolections, and can not bring to 
 Mind any of my old Rememberances. 
 
 As for Hunting, I shall never take a fence at it agen, altho I 
 sumtims Ride to cover on the old Gray, wich is now be come quite 
 Wite. The last tini I went out, we dru Hazelmere copses dov\n to 
 liroxley wood ; then we dru Broxley wood over to Fox thorp ; then 
 we dru Fox thorp over to Middle ford, and then we dru Middle ford, 
 in short, it was all drawing and no painting for w.mt of a brush. 
 
 Sir William Chase cuming to be his father's hare, he set up a coars- 
 ing club, but being short of long dogs, and there hairs falling of, it was 
 obleged to discourse, and is now turned into a conversasiony. 
 
 In regard to shuting, I have never dun anny thing Since percussion 
 Captiousness cum up, wich I am Told they are sharper then Flints. 
 The last hare I kild was 2 long ears ago, and the Lnst fczzant, but 
 theres a long tail belonging to that, wich you sluill have when you 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1832.
 
 LETTER FROM AN OLD SPORTSMAN. 
 
 6*1 
 
 cum over, as I hop you wil, with your Horse's ; I have good enter- 
 tainment for boath, as the french Say, at my table D' oats. The lads 
 go out after Burds now and then, but I seldum cum at the rites 01 
 there shuting you kno 
 
 Wat is Hits is Histery, 
 But what is mist is mistery. 
 
 Talking of shuting, hav you seen Ubbard's new guns like wauking 
 sticks there a cappital defence agin cappital offences; as- you' may- 
 ether stick a feller or Shute him ; or boath together. I wish farmer 
 Gale had carrid one last friday, for he was Rob'd cumin^ from markit 
 by a foot paddy Irish man, that knockd him down to make him 
 Stand. Luckly he had nothing on him when Stopd but sum notes of 
 the Barnsby bank that had bin stopd the weak alore. 
 
 In the fishing line I am * ^ *. 
 
 quite Dead bait, tho I have 
 had inanny a Good run in 
 my tim, Partickler when 
 the keeper spide me out 
 were I hadent got Leaf. 
 The last tim I went I could 
 hardly un do my rod for 
 roomatiz in my joints, and 
 I got the Lumbago verry 
 bad wen I cum Back, and 
 its atax I doant like. Be- 
 side wich I found verry 
 Little big fish on a count 
 of the pochers, who Kil 
 em al in colde blood. I 
 used sumtims to float and 
 sumtims to fli, but our 
 waters is so over fished 
 theres no fish to be had, 
 and as I am verry musicle, 
 I dont like trolling with- 
 out a catch, the last jack 
 I caut was with my boot, 
 and was only a foot long. Fly Fishing. 
 
 As for raceing, I never 
 
 cared much a bout it, and in regard of betting, I am Better with out 
 it, tho I al ways take the fetid \\en I am Able, and suporc the 
 Farmer's Plate with al my Mite. 
 
 Our Wist club is going of, Some of the members go on so ; two of 
 em are perpetuly quareling like anny thing but double dummies, for 
 one plays like Hoyle and the other like Vinegar. The young men 
 hav interduced Shorts, but I doant think theyle Last long. They 
 are al so verry Sharp at the Pints, and as for drinking, I never se sich 
 Liquorish Chaps in my life. They are al ways laying ods, even at 
 Super, when theyle Bet about the age of a Roosted foul, wich they 
 cal Chicken hazzard, or about the Wait of a Curran py, wich they c.il
 
 632 LETTER FROM AN OLD SPORTSMAN. 
 
 the Currancy question. They al so smoke a grate manny seagars, but 
 they cant Put the old men's pips out, wich it Wood be a Burning 
 shame if they did. I am sorry to say politicks has Crept in ; Sum 
 is al for reform, and some is al for none at al, and the only thing they 
 agre in is, that the Land lord shant bring in no Bil. There is be sides 
 grate dis-cushins as to the new game laws, sum entertaning douts 
 wen sum peple go out a shuting, wether even acts of Parliament will 
 inable them to shute anny game. 
 
 The crickit Club is going on uncomon wel. They are 36 members 
 with out rekoning the byes ; our best man at Wkkit is Captain Batty 
 he often gets four notches running ; and our best boler is Use Ball, 
 tho we sumtims get Dr Pilby to bolus. As for the crickit Bal, it is 
 quit wore out, wich the gals say they are verry Sory for it, as they 
 took a grate intrest in our matches. 
 
 My lads are boath of em marred, wich mayhap you have Herd, 
 and if the gals are not, I Beleve its no fait of theres. They hope 
 youle cum to the Wake, wich is next Sunday weak, for they Say there 
 will be High fun, al tho I think it is Rather Low. The only use of 
 waking that I can See, is to pervent folkes Sleeping, and as for there 
 
 Where's your Hawk 
 
 jumping and throwing up their Heals, I see no Pleasur in it. If they 
 had the Roomatiz as Bad as I have, they woudent be lor Dancing 
 there fandangoes at that rat, and Kicking for partners. 
 
 Our county Member, Sir William Wiseacre, is going to bring in a 
 bil "for the supression of the Barbarus past-time of bul beating, and 
 for the better incorigement of the nobul art of Cockin," by wich al
 
 LETTER FROM AN OLD SPORTSMAN. 633 
 
 buls, wether inglish or irish, are to be Made game of no longer, and al 
 such as are found at anny ring or stake are libel to be find. They cal 
 it here the Cock and Bui Act, wich I think is a very good name. It 
 has causd grate diversion in manny peple's opinnions, but most of us 
 Think the cocks is quite as Bad as the buls The same Barrownet as 
 tried to interduce Forkenry, but the first atempts as been verry 
 Hawkward. The forkens flu at a herin, who tried to be above there 
 atax, for the more they pecked him the more they maid him sore, but 
 a boy flying a Kite skared em al away togither. 
 
 Last week was our grand archery Meetin, and the first prize was 
 won by Little Master Tomkins, of grove House. I supose his fondnes 
 for lolli pops made him nme best at bulls Eyes. The Miss Courtenays 
 were there as usul, and in comparison of arch Angles look raly 
 archer. The wags propposed miss Emily shood have the seccond 
 prize for shuting in too a cows Eye that came to nere the target ; she 
 says she was so nervus, it put her arrow into a quiver. In the middle 
 of the meeting we herd a Bad playd Key bungle, and out of the 
 shrubbery, were they had bin hiding, Jumpd Revd. Mister Crumpe 
 and asistants ; he is Rector of Bow and Curat of Harrow, and was 
 disgised in every thing green, as Robin Hood and his mery Men ; 
 after geting Little John to string his bow for him, I am sorry to say, 
 Robin Hood shot Worst of every Body, for he did not even hit the 
 target, and we should have never Seen we.ir his arrow went, but by 
 hereing it smash in to the conservatorry. When we came to look for 
 the prize, a silver Arrow, every Body had lost it, for it had dropt out 
 of the case, and would never have been found, but for Revd. mister 
 Crumpe sittin downe on the lawne, and wich made Him jump up 
 agen, as miss Courtenay said out of B>ron, like " a warrior bounding 
 from its Barb." The Toxophilus Club is very flurrishing, but talk of 
 expeling sum members for persisting in wereing peagreen insttd of 
 lincon, and puttin on there Spanish Hats and feihers the rong side 
 before. 
 
 Thank you for the Hoisters, wich was verry good. Mary rns took 
 the shels to make her a groto, of wich I think is very shameiul, as I 
 wanted them to Friten the Burds. Old Mark Lane, the man as 
 Cheated you out of them oats, has bean sent to jail for Stealing barly. 
 I am sadly Afearde old Marks corn will give Him 14 ears of Bottany. 
 
 Pleas to Remember me to al inquiring friends, if they should think 
 it woth wile to Ask after me. From your H umbel servant, 
 
 ANDREW AXELTREE. 
 
 P.S. I forgot to menshun the subskripshon Stag hounds kep by the 
 same members as the wist club, and its there wim to have fiftv too 
 dogs to the pack. If old Bil, the huntsman, was drest like Pam, 
 theyd be complet. They have had sum cappital runs dooring the 
 season. As you write for the sporting Maggazins, you may like tQ 
 notice an apereance rather noo in the felde, I mean the Gra.te CreoJ 
 Cun el Brown, who is very pompus, and hunts wjth Pompey, his, 
 black servant, after him. I have got a Deal m,p,re fp Say, bat c'arflt 
 for want of Room. Mary says I should. C'rfls it, WuVl WQO{}. but I 
 doant Wish to put you to the expense of a PubbJe l e tFi 
 
 i-
 
 THE SUB-MARINE* 
 
 IT was a brave and jolly wight, 
 
 His cheek was baked and brown, 
 For he had been in many climes 
 
 With captains of renown, 
 ' And fought with those who fought so 
 
 well 
 At Nile and Camperdown, 
 
 His coat it was a soldier coat, 
 
 Of red with yellow faced, 
 But (merman-like) he look'd marine 
 
 All downward from the waist 
 His trowsers were so wide and blue, 
 
 And quite in sailor taste 1 
 
 He put the rummer to his lips, 
 And drank a jolly draught ; 
 
 He raised the rummer many times 
 And ever as he quaff" d, 
 
 The more he drank, the more the ship 
 Seem'd pitching fore and aft 1 
 
 The ship seem'd pitching fore and aft, 
 
 As in a heavy squall ; 
 It gave a lurch and down he went, 
 
 Head-foremost in his fall ! 
 Three times he did not rise, alas I 
 
 He never rose at all ! 
 
 But down he went, right down at 
 once, 
 
 Like any stone be dived, 
 He could not see, or hear, or feel 
 
 Of senses all deprived ! 
 At last he gave a look around 
 
 To see where he arrived ! 
 
 And all that he could see was green, 
 Sea-green on every hand ! 
 
 And then he tried to sound beneath, 
 And all he felt was sand ! 
 
 There he was fain to lie, for he 
 Could neither sit nor stand ! 
 
 And lo ! above his head there bent 
 A strange and staring lass 1 
 
 One hand was in her yellow hair, 
 
 The other heh a glass ; 
 A mermaid she must surely be 
 
 If ever mermaid was ! 
 
 Her fish-like mouth was open'd wide^ 
 Her eyes were blue and pale, 
 
 Her dress was of the ocean-green, 
 When ruffled by a gale ; 
 
 Thought he " Beneath that petticoat 
 She hides a salmon-tail ! 
 
 She look'd as siren ought to look, 
 A sharp and 'bitter shrew, 
 
 To sing deceiving lullabies 
 For mariners to rue 
 
 But when he saw her lips apart, 
 It chill'd him through and through ! 
 
 With either hand he stopp'd his ears 
 
 Against her evil cry ; 
 Alas ! alas ! for all his care, 
 
 His doom it seem'd to die ; 
 Her voice went ringing through his 
 head, 
 
 It was so sharp and high ! 
 
 He thrust his fingers farther in 
 
 At each unwilling ear, 
 But still, in very spite of all, 
 
 The words were plain and clear: 
 "I can't stand here the whole day 
 long 
 
 To hold your glass of beer ! *' 
 
 With open'd mouth and open'd eyes, 
 
 Up rose the sub-marine, 
 And gave a stare to find the sands 
 
 And deeps where lie had been: 
 There was no siren with her glass, 
 
 No waters ocean -green ! 
 
 The wet deception from his eyes 
 Kept fading more and more, 
 
 He only saw the barmaid stand 
 With pouting lip before 
 
 The small green parlour of The Ship 
 And little sanded floor 1 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1830.
 
 Boarding-School. 
 
 THE ISLANDS 
 
 "Oh, had 1 some sweet litt'e isle of my own ! " MOORE. 
 
 IF the author of the " Irish Melodies" had ever had a little isle so 
 much his own as I have possessed, he might not have found it so 
 sweet as the song anticipates. It has been my fortune, like Robinson 
 Crusoe and Alex-nder Selkirk, to be thrown on such a desolate spot, 
 and I felt so lorn ly, though I had a follower, that I wish Moore had 
 been there. I had the honour ot being in that tremendous action off 
 Finisterre, which proved an end of the earth to many a brave fellow. 
 I was ordered with a boarding party to forcibly enter the Santissima 
 Trinidada, but in the act of climbing into the quarter-gallery, which 
 however, gave no quarter, was rebutted by ti.e butt-end of a marine's 
 gun, who remained the. quarter-master of the place. I fell senseless 
 into the sea, ;m<i should no doubt have perished in the waters of obli- 
 vion, but lor the kindness of John Monday, who picked me up to go 
 adrift with him in one of the ship's boats. All our oars were carried 
 away, that is to say, we did not carry away any oars, and while shot 
 was raining, our feeble hailing was unheeded. In short, as Shakespeara 
 
 * Corjric Annual, 1832.
 
 636 THE ISLAND. 
 
 says, we were drifted off by " the current of a heady fight." As may 
 be supposed, our boat was anything but the jolly-boat, for we had no 
 provisions to spare in the middle of an immense waste. We were, in 
 fact, adrift in the cutter with nothing to cut. We had not even junk 
 for junketing, and nothing but salt water, even if the wind should 
 
 The Poiuidcf Flesh. 
 
 blow fresh. Famine indeed seemed to stare each of us in the face ; 
 that is, we stared at one another ; but if men turn cannibals, a great 
 allowance must be made for a short ditto. We were truly in a very 
 disagreeable pickle, with oceans of brine and no beef, and, like Shylock, 
 I fancy we would have exchanged a pound of gold for a pound of flesh. 
 The more we drifted Nor, the more sharply we inclined to gnaw, but 
 when we drifted Sow, we found nothing like pork. No bread rose in 
 the east, and in the opposite point we were equally disappointed. We 
 could not compass a meal any how, but got mealy-mouthed notwith- 
 standing. We could see the sea-mews to the eastward, flying over 
 what Byron calls the Gardens of Gull. We saw plenty of grampus, 
 but they were useless to all intents and porpusses, and we had no bait 
 for catching a bottle-nose. 
 
 Time hung heavily on our hands, for our fast days seemed to pass 
 very slowly, and our strength was rapidly sinking from being so mut h. 
 afloat. Still we nourished hope, though we had nothing to give her. 
 But at last we lost all prospect of land, if one may so say when no 
 land was in sight. The weather got thicker as we were getting thinner; 
 and though we kept a sharp watch, it was a very bad look-out. We 
 could see nothing before us but nothing to eat and drink. At last the
 
 THE ISLAND. 
 
 637 
 
 fog cleared off, and we saw something like land right ahead, but 
 atas ! the wind was in our teeth as well as in our stomachs. We 
 could do nothing but keep her near, and as we could not keep our- 
 selves full, we luckily suited the course of the boat ; so that after a 
 tedious beating about for the wind not only gives blows, but takes a 
 great deal of beating we came incontinently to an island. Here we 
 landed, and our first impulse on coming to dry land was to drink. 
 There was a little brook at hand to which we applied ourselves till it 
 
 Cat, hinga Botilj-Nose. 
 
 seemed actually to mu-mur at our inordinate thirst. Our next care 
 was to look for some food, for though our hearts were full at our escape, 
 the neighbouring region was dreadfully empty. We succeeded in 
 getting some natives out of their bed, and ate them, poor things, as 
 fast as they got up, but with some difficulty in getting them ogen ; a 
 common oyster knife would have been worth the price of a sceptre. 
 Our next concern was to look out for a lodging, and at last we dis- 
 covered an empty cave, reminding me of an old inscription at 
 Portsmouth, " The hole of this place to let." We took the precaution 
 of rolling some great stones to the entrance, for fear of last lodgers, 
 that some bear might come home from business, or a tiger to tea. 
 Here, under the rock, we slept without rocking, and when, through 
 the night's failing, the day broke, we saw with the first instalment of 
 li^ht that we were upon a small desert isle, now for the first time an 
 Isle of Man. Accordingly, the birds in this wild solitude were so little 
 wild, that a number of boobies and noddies allowed themselves to be 
 taken by hand, though the asses were not such asses as to be caught. 
 There was an abundance of rabbits, which we chased unremittingly, 
 as Hunt runs Warren ; and when coats and trousers fell short, we 
 clothed our skins with theirs, till, as Monday said, we each represented 
 a burrow. In this work Monday was the tailor, for, like the maker of 
 shadowy rabbits and cocks upon the wall, he could turn his hand to 
 anything. He became a potter, a carpenter, a butcher, and a baker 
 that is to say, a master butcher and a master baker, for I became
 
 638 THE ISLAND. 
 
 merely his journeyman. Reduced to a state of nature Monday's 
 favourite phrase for our condition I found my being an officer 
 fulfilled no office ; to confess the truth, I made a very poor sort of 
 savage, whereas Monday, I am persu ided, would have been made a 
 chief by any tribe whatever. Our situations in life were completely 
 reversed ; he became the leader and I the follower, or rather, to do 
 justice to his attachment and ability, he became like a strong big 
 brother to a helpless little one. 
 
 We remained in a state of nature five years, when at last a whaler 
 of Hull though the hull was not visible showed her masts on the 
 
 horizon, an event which was tele raphed by Monday, who began 
 saying his prayers and dancing the college hornpipe at the same 
 time with equal fervour. We contrived by lighting a fire, literally a 
 feu-de-joie, to make a sign of distress, and a bo ,t c.ime to our signal 
 deliverance. We had a prosperous passage home, where the reader 
 may anticipate the happiness that awaited us ; but not the trouble 
 that was in store for me and Monday. Our parting was out of the 
 question ; we would both rather have parted from our sheet-anchor. 
 We attempted to return to our rel itive rank, but we had lived so long 
 in a kind of liberty and equality, that we could never resume our 
 grades. The st.ite of nature remained uppermost with us both, and 
 Monday still watched over and tended me like Dominie Sampson
 
 THE KANGAROOS. 639 
 
 with the boy Harry Bertram ; go where I would, he followed with the 
 Joined pertinacity of Tom Pipes ; ?nd do what 1 rrnht, he interfered 
 with the resolute vigour of John Dory in "Wild Cats." This dis- 
 position involved us daily, nay, hourly, in the most embarrassing cir- 
 cumstances ; and how the connexion might have terminated I know 
 not, if it had not been speedily dissolved tn a very unexpected manner. 
 One morning poor Monday was found on his bed in a sort of con- 
 vuNion, which barely enabled him to grasp my hand, and to falter out, 
 "Good-bye, I am go going back to a state ot nature." 
 
 THE KANGAROOS. 
 
 A FABLE.* 
 
 A PAIR of married kangnroos 
 
 (The case is oft a human one too) 
 Were greatly puzzled once to choose 
 
 A trade to put their eldest son to, 
 A little brisk and busy chap, 
 
 As all the little K.'s just then are, 
 About some two months off the lap ; 
 
 They're not so long in arms as men are. 
 
 A twist in each parental muzzle 
 Betray'd the hardship of the uuzzle 
 
 So much the flavour of life's cup 
 Is framed by early wrong or right, 
 And Jcangaroos we know are quite 
 
 Dependent on their " rearing up." 
 The question, with its ins and outs, 
 Was intricate and full of doubts ; 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1830.
 
 640 THE KANGAROOS. 
 
 And yet they hnd no squeamish caring* 
 For trades unfit or fit for gentry, 
 Such notion never had an entry, 
 
 For they had no armorial bearings. 
 Howbeit they're not the last on earth 
 That misjht indulge in pride of birth ; 
 
 Whoe'er has seen their infant young 
 Bob in and out their mother's pokes, 
 
 Would own, with very ready tongue, 
 They are not born like common folks. 
 Well, thus the serious subject stood, 
 
 It kept the old pair watchful nightly, 
 Debating for young Hopeful's good, 
 That he might earn his livelihood. 
 
 And go tlirough life (like them) uprightly. 
 Arms would not do at all ; no, marry, 
 In that line all his race miscarry ; 
 
 And agriculture was not pro er, 
 Unless they meant the lad to tarry 
 
 For ever as a mere clodhopper. 
 He was not well cut out for preaching, 
 
 At least in any striking style ; 
 
 And as for being mercantile 
 He was not form'd for over-reaching. 
 The law why there still fate ill-starr' 
 And plainly from the bar drbarr'd him: 
 A doctor who would ever fee him ? 
 
 In music he could scarce engage ; 
 
 And as for ^oing on the stage, 
 In tragic socks I think I see him ! 
 
 He would not make a rigging-mounter ; 
 
 A haberdasher had some merit, 
 But there the counter still ran counter; 
 
 For just suppose 
 
 A lady chose 
 
 To ask him for a yard of ferret ! 
 A gardener digging up his beds. 
 The puzzled parents shook their heads. 
 ** A tailor would not do because" 
 They paused and glanced upon his paws. 
 Some parish post, though fate should place it 
 Before him, how could he embrace it? 
 
 In short, each anxious kangaroo 
 Discuss'd the matter through and thTough; 
 By day they seem'd to get no nearer, 
 
 'Twas posing quite 
 
 And in the night 
 Of course they saw their way no clearer;
 
 ODE FOR THE NINTH OF NOVEMBER. 
 
 At last, thus musing on their knees 
 
 Or hinder elbows if you please 
 
 It came no thought was ever brighter I 
 
 In weighing every why and whether, 
 
 They jump'd upon it both together 
 
 " Let's make the imp a short-hand writer \ m 
 
 ' MORAL. 
 I wish all human parents so 
 
 Would argue what their sons are fit for ; 
 Some would-be critics that I know 
 
 Would be in trades they have more wit foe. 
 
 Binding a May'r's Nest. 
 
 ODE FOR THE NINTH OF NOVEMBER* 
 
 O LUD ! O Lud ! O Lud ! 
 I mean, of course, that venerable town, 
 Mention'd in stories of renown, 
 
 Built formerly of mud ; 
 O Lud, I say, why didst thou e'er 
 
 Invent the office of a major, 
 An office that no useful purpose crowns, 
 But to set aldermen against each other, 
 That should be brother unto brother, 
 Sisters at least, by virtue of their gowns ? 
 
 But still, if one must have a mayor 
 
 To fill the civic chair, 
 * Comic Annual, 1833. 
 
 a s
 
 643 ODE FOR THE NINTH OF NOVEMBER, 
 
 O Lud, I say, 
 Was there no better d iy 
 To fix on than November Ninth so shivery, 
 And dull for showing off the Livery's livery ? 
 Dimming, alas ! 
 The Brazier's brass, 
 
 Soiling th' Embroiderers and all the Saddlers, 
 Sopping the Furriers, 
 Draggling the Curriers, 
 
 And making Merchant Tailors dirty pnddlers ; 
 Drenching the Skinners' Company to the skin, 
 Making the crusty Vintner chiller, 
 And turning the Distiller 
 To cold without instead of warm within ; 
 Spoiling the brand-new beavers 
 Of Wax-chandlers and Weavers, 
 
 Plastering the Plasterers and spotting Mercers, 
 Hearty November-cursers 
 And showing Cordwainers and dapper Drapers 
 Sadly in want of brushes and of scrapers ; 
 Making the Grocer's Company not fit 
 
 For company a bit ; 
 Dyeing the Dyers with a dingy flood, 
 Daubing incorporated Bakers, 
 And leading the Patten-makers 
 Over their very pattens in the mud, 
 O Lud ! 6 Lud ! O Lud ! 
 
 " This is a sorry sight," 
 
 To quote Macbeth but oh, it grieves me quite, 
 To see your wives and daughters in their plumes 
 
 White plumes not white 
 Sitting at open windows catching rheums, 
 Not " angels ever bright and fair," 
 But angels ever brown and sallow, 
 With eyes you cannot see above one pair, 
 
 For city clouds of black and yellow 
 And artificial flowers, rose, leaf, and bud, 
 Such sable lilies 
 And grim daffodilies, 
 Drooping, but not for drought O Lud ! O Lud ! 
 
 I may as well, while I'm inclined, 
 Just go through all the faults I find : 
 
 O Lud ! then, with a better air, say June, 
 Could'st thou not rind a better tune 
 
 To sound witii trumpets and with drums 
 Than "See the Conquering Hero com s," 
 
 When he who comes ne'er dealt in blood? 
 Thy may'r is not a war-horse, Lud, 
 That ever churned on Turk or Tartar,
 
 ODE FOR THE NINTH OF NOVEMBER. 643 
 
 And yet upon a march you strike 
 
 That treats him like 
 
 A little French if I may martyr 
 Lewis Cart-Horae or Henry Carter J 
 
 O Lud ! I say, 
 
 Do change your day 
 
 To some time when your Show can really show ; 
 
 When silk can seem like silk, and ^old can glow. 
 
 Look at your Sweepers, how thi y shine in May I 
 Have it when there's a sun to gild the coach, 
 And sparkle in tiara bracelet i.rooch 
 
 Diamond or paste of si-ter, mother, daughter ; 
 When grandiur really may be grand 
 But if thy pageant's thus obscured by land 
 
 Lud ! it's ten times worse upon the water! 
 
 Suppose, O Lud, to show its plan, 
 I call, like J31ue Beard's wife, to Sister Anne, 
 Who's gone to Beaufort Wharf with niece and aunt, 
 To see what she can see and what she can't; 
 Chewing a saffron bun by way of cud, 
 To keep the fog out of a tender lung, 
 While perch'd in a verandah nicely hung 
 Over a margin of thy own black mud, 
 O Lud ! 
 
 Now Sister Anne, I call to thee, 
 
 Look out and see : 
 Of course about the bridge you view them rally 
 
 And sally, 
 
 With many a wherry, sculler, punt, and cutter ; 
 The Fishmongers' grand boat, but not for butter, 
 
 The Goldsmiths' glorious galley ; 
 Of course you see the Lord Mayor's coach aquatic, 
 With silken banners that the breezes fan, 
 In gold all. glowing, 
 And men in scarlet rowing, 
 Like Doge of Venice to the Adriatic ; 
 Of course you see all this, O Sister Anne? 
 
 "No, I see no such thing ! 
 
 1 only see the edge of Beaufort Wharf, 
 With two coal-lighters fasten'd to a ring ; 
 
 And, dim as ghosts, 
 Two little boys are jumping over posts ; 
 
 And something, farther off, 
 That's rather like the shadow ot a dog, 
 
 And all beyond is log 
 If there be <nn\ thing so fine and bright, 
 To ses it I must tec b> second bight.
 
 144 ODE FOR THEf NINTH OF NOVEMBER. 
 
 
 Arms found. 
 
 Call this a Show ? It is not worth a pin J 
 
 I see no barges row, 
 
 No banners blow ; 
 
 The Show is merely a gallanty-show, 
 Without a lamp or any candle in." 
 
 But Sister Anne, my dear, 
 Although you cannot see, you still may hear? 
 Of course you hear, I'm very sure of that, 
 
 The " Water Parted from the Sea " in C, 
 Or " Where the Bee sucks," set in B ; 
 Or Huntsman's chorus from the Freischutz frightful, 
 Or Handel's Water Music in A flat. 
 Oh, "music from the water comes delightful I 
 It sounds as nowhere else it can : 
 You hear it first 
 In some rich burst, 
 Then faintly sighing, 
 Tenderly dying, 
 Away upon the breezes, Sister Anne. 
 
 " There is no breeze to die on ; 
 And all their drums and trumpets, flutes and hnrp% 
 Could never cut their way with ev'n three sharps 
 Through such a fog as this, you may rely on. 
 
 1 think, but am not sure, I hear a hum, 
 Like a very muffled double drum, 
 And then a something faintly shrill, 
 Like Bartlemy Fair's old buz at Pentonville.
 
 RONDEAU. 
 
 And now and then I hear a pop, 
 As if from Pedley's soda-water shop. 
 I'm almost ill with the strong scent of mud, 
 And, not to mention sneezing, 
 My cough is more than usual teasing ; 
 I really fear that I have chill'd my blood, 
 O Lud J O Lud ! O Lud ! O Lud ! O Lud I* 
 
 4S 
 
 Fancy Portrait : The Lord Mayor. 
 
 RONDEA U. 
 [EXTRACTED FROM A WELL-KNOWN ANNUAL.]* 
 
 O CTTKTOUS reader ! didst thou ne'er 
 Behold a worshipful lord mayor 
 Seated in his great civic chair 
 
 So dear? 
 
 Then cast thy longing eyes this way, 
 It is the ninth November day, 
 And in his new-born state sur-ey 
 
 One here J 
 
 To rise from little into great 
 Is pleasant ; but to sink; in state 
 From high to lowly is a fate 
 
 Severe. 
 
 Too soon his shine is overcas*, 
 Chill'd by the next November Mast j 
 His blushing honours only last 
 
 One year ! 
 
 He casts his fur and sheds his chains, 
 And moults till not a plume remains 
 The next impending mayor distrains 
 His gear. 
 
 He slips like water through a sieve-~ 
 Ah, could his little splendour live 
 Another twelvemonth he would giv 
 One ear*. 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1832.
 
 LONDON FASHIONS FOR NOVEMBER* 
 
 REMARKS. 
 
 NO season has offered such varies in costume as the early part 
 of the present month. Fancy dresses of the most outre" descrip- 
 tion have appeared, even in the streets. Short waists and long, full 
 sleeves and empty, broad skirts and narrow, whole skirts, half skirts, 
 and none at all, have been indifferently worn. For the Promenade, 
 rags and tatters of all kinds have been in much favour ; very few but- 
 tons are worn ; and the coats, waistcoats, and pantaloons, have been 
 invariably padded and stuffed with hay or straw. We observed several 
 exquisites making morning calls in scarecrow greatcoats ; the skirts, 
 lappels, collars, and cuffs, picturesquely, but not too formally, jagged 
 * la Vandyke. The prevailing colours all colours at once. Wigs 
 have been very general both en buzz andfrizztf; these have been 
 commonly composed of deal shavings ; but in some cases of tow. and 
 sometimes horsehair. For the evening party, a few squibs and crackers 
 are stuck in the perruque or hat, and the boots and shoes are polished 
 uo with a little pitch or tar; sometimes a Catherine-wheel has been 
 added en coquarde. Frills, collars, and ruffles of papier coupe" have 
 entirely superseded those of cambric or lace, and shirts of every des- 
 cription are quite discarded. Paint has been in much request, and 
 ruddle seems to have been preferred to rouge ; patches are also much 
 worn, not on the countenance, but on the clothes ; for these the favourite 
 materiel is tartan, plush of any colour, or corduroy. Several dandies 
 appeared on the Fifth with gloves, but they are not essential requisites 
 to be in the ton: canes are discarded ; even a riding-whip would be 
 reckoned to evince maiivais gotit, but a halfpenny bunch of matches 
 *a ia main" is ir dispensable to a fashionable aspirant. The old prac- 
 
 * Comic Amr*4, 1831.
 
 SYMPTOMS OF OSSIFICATION. 64? 
 
 rice of beinc^ carried abroad in chairs has been universally revived; 
 and it mu->t be confessed that it exhibits the figure to much advant ge. 
 
 Amongst the nouveaute's, we observed tne following caractere, as 
 making a felicitous dtbut. The coat was a-la-iniUtaiie, < f the colour 
 formerly so much in vogue under the name of fum^e de Londres, turned 
 up with ftamme d'enfer. It was garni with very dead gold and slashed 
 a I' Espagnole, back and front. The pantaloons were equally bizarre , 
 one leg ueing composed of Scotch tartan, and the other of blue striped 
 bed-ticking, made very lull, en matelot, in compliance with the prevail- 
 ing taste for navals. The wig was made of green and white willow 
 shavings, with a large link for a queue, tied on with a noettd of red tape. 
 The hat, brown, somewhat darker than the Devonshire beaver, but 
 disinclining to black. It had no brim, and was without a crown. A 
 tarnished badge of the Phoenix Fire Office, on the bust, gave a distingui 
 air to the whole figure, which was going down Bond street, and excited 
 a sensation quite h I'envie by its appearance in the world of fashion. 
 
 N.B. We are requested to state that the above described figure 
 was entirely invented and manufactured by little Solomon Levy, of 
 llolywell street, Strand, who has a variety always on show, about the 
 metropolis. 
 
 SYMPTOMS OF OSSIFICATION* 
 
 An indifference to tears, and blood, and human suffering, that could only belong to 
 0"A" tt."-Life of Napoleon. 
 
 TIME was, I always had a drop 
 For any tale or sL'h of sorrow ; 
 My handkerchief I u.-.<_d to sop 
 Till often I was forced to borrow ; 
 I don't know how it is, but now 
 My eyelids -seldom want a drying ; 
 The doctors, p'rhaps, could tell me 
 
 how 
 I fear my heart is ossifying I 
 
 O'er Goethe how I used to weep, 
 With turnip cheeks and nose of scarlet, 
 When Werter put himself to sleep 
 With pistols kiss'd and cleaa'd by 
 
 Charlotte ; 
 
 Self-murder is an awful sin, 
 No joke there is in bullets flying, 
 But now at such a tale I grin 
 I fear my heart is ossifying ! 
 
 The Drama once could shake and thrill 
 My nerves, and set my tears a-s'ealing, 
 The Siddons then could turn at will 
 Each plug upou the main of feeling ; 
 * Come A 
 
 At Belvidera now I smile, 
 And laugh while Mrs Haller's crying; 
 "fis odd, so great a change of style 
 I fear my heart is ossifying ! 
 
 That heart was such some years ago, 
 To see a beggar quite would shock it, 
 And in his hat I used to throw 
 The quarter's savings of my pocket: 
 I never wish as I did then ! 
 The means from my own purse sup- 
 
 , P'y'ng. 
 
 To turn them all to gentlemen 
 I fear my heart is ossifying ! 
 
 We've had some serious things of late, 
 Our sympathies to beg or borrow, 
 New melo-drames, of tragic fate, 
 And acts, and songs, and tales of 
 
 sorrow ; 
 
 M iss Zouch's case, our eyes to melt, 
 And sundry actors sad gcod-by *ng, 
 But Lord ! so little have 1 feX 
 I'm sure my heart is ossifying ' 
 inual, 1831.
 
 648 
 
 Cardy-M 
 
 SOME ACCOUNT OF WILLIAM WHISTON.+ 
 
 "That boy is the brother of Pam ." Joseph Andrews. 
 
 T T 7ILLIAM certainly is fond of whist ! " 
 
 VV This was an admission drawn, or extracted, as Cartwright 
 would say, like a double tooth from the mouth of William's mother ; 
 an amiable and excellent lady, who ever reluctantly confessed foibles 
 in her family, and invariably endeavoured to exhibit to the world the 
 sunny side, of her children. 
 
 There can be no possibility of doubt that William was fond of whist. 
 He doted on it. Whist was his first passion his first love ; and in 
 whist he experienced no disappointment The two were made for 
 each other. 
 
 William was one of a large bunch of children, and he never grew 
 up. On his seventh birthday a relation gave him a miniature pack 
 of cards, and made him a whistplayer for life. Our bias dates much 
 earlier than some natural philosophers suppose. I remember William, 
 a mere child, being one day William of Orange, and objecting to a St 
 Michael's because it had no pips. 
 
 At school he was a total failure, except in reckoning the odd tricks. 
 He counted nothing by honours, and the schoolmaster said of his head, 
 * Comic Annual, 1833.
 
 - SOME ACCOUNT OF WILLIAM WHISTON. 649 
 
 what he has since said occasionally of his hand, that it "held literally 
 nothing." 
 
 At sixteen, after a long maternal debate between the black and red 
 suits, William was articled to an attorney ; but instead of becoming a 
 respectable land-shark, he played double-dummy. with the common- 
 law clerk, and was discharged on the 6th of November. The principal 
 remonstrated with him on a breach of duty, and William imprudently 
 answered that he was aware of his duty, like the ace of spades. Mr 
 Bitem immediately banged the door against him, and William, for the 
 first time in his life to use his own expression, "got a slam." 
 
 William having served his time, and, as he calls it, followed suit for 
 five years, was admitted as an attorney, and be.iian to play at that 
 finessing game, the law. Short-hand he still studied and practised ; 
 though more in parlours than in court. 
 
 William at one period admired Miss Hunt, or Miss Creswick, or 
 Miss Hardy, or Miss Reynolds ; a daughter of one of the great card- 
 makers, I forgot which and he cut for partners, but without "getting 
 the lady." His own explanation was, that he "was discarded!' He 
 then paid his addresses to a Scotch girl, a Miss MacNab, but she 
 professed religious scruples about cards, and he revoked, I have heard 
 it said that she expected to match higher ; indeed William used to say 
 she " looked over his hand." 
 
 William is short, and likes shorts. He likes nothing of longs, but 
 the St John of them ; and he only takes to him, because that saint is 
 partial to a rubber. Whist seems to influence his face as well as form ; 
 it is like a knave of clubs. I sometimes fancy whist could not go on 
 without William, and certainly William could not go on without 
 whist. His whole conversation, except on cards, is wool-gathering ; 
 and on that subject is like wool carded. He " speaks by the card," 
 and never gives equivocation a chance. At the Olympic once he had 
 a quarrel with a gentleman about the lead of Madame Vestris or Miss 
 Sydney : he was required to give his card, and gave the " Deuce of 
 Hearts." This was what he termed " calling out." 
 
 Of late years William, only goes out like a bad rushlight, earlyish of 
 a night, jind quits every table that is not covered with green baize 
 with absolute disgust. The fairies love by night to "gambol on the 
 green? and so does William, and he is constantly humming with great 
 gusto, 
 
 " Come unto these yellow sands, 
 And then take hands." 
 
 The only verses, by the way, he ever got by heart. He never cared 
 to play much with the Muses. They stick, he used to say, at Nine. 
 
 William can sit longer drink less say as little pay or receive as 
 much shuffle as well and cut as deeply as any man on earth. You 
 may leave him safely after dinner, and catch him at breakfast-time 
 without alteration of attitude or look. He is a small statue erected in 
 honour of whist, and, like eloquence, "holds his hand well up." He 
 is content to ring the changes on thirteen cards a long midsummer 
 night; for he does not/>/#yat cards he works at them, and, consider- 
 ing the returns, for very low wages. William never was particularly
 
 LINES TO A FRIEND A T COB HAM. 
 
 A Double ai Long's. 
 
 lucky ; but he bears the twos nnd threes with as much equanimity aa 
 any one, and seems, horticulturally speaking, to have grafted patience 
 upon whist. I do not know whether it is the family motto, but he 
 has upon his seal with the Great Mogul for a crest the inscription 
 of " Packs in Bello." 
 
 William is now getting old (nearly fifty-two), with an asthma, which 
 he says makes him rather "weak in trumps." He is preparing himself 
 accordingly to " take down his score," and has made his will, bequeath- 
 ing all he has, or has not, to a whist club. His funeral he directs to 
 be quite private, and his gravestone a plain one, and especially " that 
 there be no cherubims carved thereon, forasmuch," says the 
 characteristic document, " that they never hold honours." 
 
 LIMES TO A FRIEND AT COB HAM* 
 
 'TIS pleasant, when we've absent friends, 
 Sometimes to hob and nob 'em 
 With memory's glass at such a pass, 
 Remember me at Cobham ! 
 
 Ball-Practice. 
 
 Have pigs you will, and sometimes kill, 
 But if you sigh and sob 'tm, 
 
 * Comic Annual, 1832.
 
 TV A BAD RIDER. 651 
 
 And cannot eat your home-grown meat, 
 
 Remember me at Cobham ! 
 
 Of hen and cock, you'll have a stock, 
 
 And death will oft unthrob 'em 
 
 A country chick is good to pick 
 
 Remember me at Cobham ! 
 
 Some orchard trees of course you'll lease^ 
 
 And boys will sometimes rob 'em, 
 
 A friend (you know) before a foe 
 
 Remember me at Cobham ! 
 
 You'll sometimes have wax-lighted room% 
 
 And friends of course to mob 'em ; 
 
 Should you be short of such a sort, 
 
 Remember me at Cobham 1 
 
 Out at Elbows. 
 
 TO A BAD RIDER* 
 i. n. 
 
 WHY, Mr Rider, why With elbows out so far, 
 
 Your nag so ill indorse, man? This thought you can't debar i 
 
 To make observers cry, Though^no dragoon hussar 
 
 You're mounted, but no horseman? You re surely of the army 1 
 
 III. 
 I hope to turn M.P. 
 
 You have not any notion, 
 So awkward you would be 
 At " seconding a" motion I" 
 
 Comic Annual, 1831.
 
 MY SON AND HEIR* 
 
 v. 
 
 MY mother bids me bind my heir, 
 But not the trade where I should 
 
 bind; 
 
 To place a boy the how and where 
 It is the plague of parent-kind 1 
 
 II. 
 
 She does not hint the slightest plan, 
 Nor what indentures to endorse ; 
 Whether to bind him to a man, 
 Or, like Mazeppa, to a horse. 
 
 III. 
 
 What line to choose of likely rise, 
 To something in the Stocks at last, 
 "Fast bind, fast find," the proverb 
 
 cries, 
 I find I cannot bind so fasti 
 
 IV. 
 
 A statesman James can never be ; 
 
 A tailor? there I only learn 
 His chief concern is cloth, and he 
 Is always cutting his concern. 
 
 A seedsman ? I'd not have him so ( 
 A grocer's plum might disappoint ; 
 A butcher? no, not that although 
 I hear " the times are out of joint ! * 
 
 VL 
 
 Too many of all trades there be, 
 Like pedlars, each has such a pack; 
 A merchant selling coals? we see 
 The buyer send to cellar back. 
 
 fit 
 
 A hardware dealer? that might 
 
 please, 
 
 But if his trade's foundation leans 
 On spikes and nails he won't havt 
 
 ea.se 
 When he retires upon his means. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 A soldier? there he has not nerves; 
 A sailor seldom lays up pelf: 
 A baker ? no, a baker serves 
 His customer before himself. 
 
 Comic Annual,
 
 MY SON AND HEIR. 
 
 653 
 
 Dresser of hair? that's not the sort; 
 A joiner jars with his desire 
 A churchman ? James is very short, 
 And cannot to a church aspire. 
 
 A lawyer? that's a hardish term! 
 A publisher might give him ease, 
 If he could into Longman's firm, 
 Just plunge at once " in medias Rees." 
 
 xi. ;"' 
 
 A shop for pot, and pan, and cup, 
 Such brittle stock I can't advise ; 
 A builder running houses up, 
 Their gains are stories maybe lies ! 
 
 A coppersmith I can't endure 
 Nor petty usher A, B, C-ing; 
 A publican no father sure 
 Would be the author of his being I 
 
 XIII. 
 
 A paper-maker? come he must 
 To rags before he sells a sheet 
 A miller ? all his toil is just 
 To make a meal he does not eat 
 
 XIV. 
 
 A currier? that by favour goes 
 A chandler gives me great misgiving 
 An undertaker? one of those 
 That do not hope to get their living I 
 
 lliiiiiiiiiilll 
 
 The Family Library. 
 
 XV. 
 
 . 
 
 Three golden balls ? I like them not; 
 An auctioneer I never did 
 The victim of a slavish lot, 
 Obliged to do as he is bid I 
 
 XVI. 
 
 A broker watching fall and rise 
 Of stock ? I'd rather deal in stone, 
 A printer? there his toils comprise 
 Another's work beside his own.
 
 654 
 
 Ml" SO A' AND HEIR. 
 
 XVIT. 
 
 A cooper? neither I nor Jem 
 Have any taste or turn for that 
 A fish retailer? but with him, 
 One part of trade is always flat. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 A painter ? long he would not live- 
 An artist's a precarious craft 
 In trade apothecaries give, 
 But very seldom take, a draught. 
 
 A glazier ? what if he should smash ! 
 A Crispin he shall not be made 
 
 A grazier may be losing cash, 
 Although he drives ''a roaring trade ' 
 
 Well, something must be done! to look 
 On all my little works around 
 James is too big a boy, like hook, 
 To leave upon the shelf unbound. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 But what to do ? my temples ache 
 From evening's dew till morning*! 
 
 pearl, 
 
 What cour-e to take my boy to make- 
 On could I make my boy a girl I 
 
 Son and Shade.
 
 NATIONAL TALES 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 T T has been decided, by the learned Malthusians of our century, th.it 
 J_ there is too great an influx of new books into this reading world. 
 An apology seems therefore to be required for me for increasing my 
 family in this kind ; and by twin vojumes, inste.'d of the single octavos 
 which have hitherto beeiv my issue. But I concede not to that modern 
 doctrine, which supposes a world on short allowance, or a generation 
 without a ration. There is no mentionable overgrowth likely to happen 
 in life or literature. Wholesome checks are a. p< inted against ov r- 
 fecundity in any species. Thus the whale thins the myriads 01 her- 
 rings, the teeming rabbit m.;kes Thyestean family dinners on her o.vn 
 offspring, and the hyenas devour themselves. Death is never back- 
 ward when the human race wants hoeing ; nor the critic to thin the 
 propagation of the press. The surplus children, that would encumi>er 
 the earth, are thrown back in the grave the superfluous works into the 
 coffins prepared for them by the trunk-maker. Nature provides thus 
 equally against scarcity or repletion. There are a thousand blossoms 
 for the one fruit that ripens, and numberless buds for every prosperous 
 flower. Those for which there is no space or sustenance drop early 
 from the bough ; and even so these leaves of mine will pass away, if 
 there be not patronage extant, and to spare, that my endow them 
 with a longer date. 
 
 1 make, therefore, no excuses for this production, since it is a ven- 
 ture at my own peril. The serious character of the generality- of the 
 stori*s, is a deviation from my former attempts ; and I have received 
 advice enough, on that account, to m ike me present them with some 
 misgiving. But because I have jested elsewhere, it does not follow 
 that I am incompetent for gravity, of which any owl is capable ; or proof 
 against melancholy, which besets even the ass. Those who can be 
 touched by neither of these moods, rank lower indeed than both of 
 these creatures. It is from none of the player's ambition, which h; s 
 led the buffoon by a rash step into the tragic buskin, that I assume 
 tie sadder humour, but because I know from certain passages that 
 such affections are not foreign to my nature. During my short lite- 
 time, I have often been as " sad as r.iglu," and not like the young 
 gentlemen of France, merely from wantonness. It is the contrast of 
 such leaden and golden fits that lends a double relish to our days. A 
 life of mere laughter is like music without its bass ; or a picture (con- 
 ceive it) of vague unmitigated light ; whereas the occasional mel.u>
 
 656 THE SPANISH TRAGEDY. 
 
 choly, like those grand rich glooms of old Rembrandt, produces an 
 incomparable effect and a very grateful relief. 
 
 It will flatter me, to find that these my Tales can give a hint to the 
 dramatist or a few hours' entertainment to any one. I confess I have 
 thought well enough of them to make me compose some others, which 
 I keep at home, like the younger Benjamin, till I know the treatment 
 of their elder brethren, wtiom I have sent forth ( to buy corn for me) 
 into Egypt. 
 
 " To be too confident is as unjust 
 
 In any work, as too much to distrust ; 
 Who, from the rules of study have not swerved, 
 Know begg'd applauses never were deserved. 
 We must admit to censure, so doth he 
 Whose hours beot this issue ; yet, being free, 
 For his part, if he have not pleased you, then, 
 In this kind he'll not trouble you ajjain."' 
 
 THE SPANISH TRAGEDY. 
 
 TNSTEAD of speaking of occurrences which accidentally came 
 _L under my observation, or were related to me by others, I purpose 
 to speak of certain tragical adventures which personally concerned 
 me ; and to judge from the agitation and horror which the remem- 
 brance, at this distance of time, excites in me, the narrative shall not 
 concede in interest to any creation of fiction and romance. My hair 
 has changed from black to grey since those events occurred : strange, 
 and wild, and terrible enough for a dream, I wish I could believe that 
 they had passed only on my pillow ; but when I look around me, too 
 many sad tokens are present to convince me that they were real, for I 
 still behold the ruins of an old calamity ! 
 
 To commence, I must refer back to my youth, when, having no 
 brothers, if was my happy fortune to meet with one who, by his rare 
 qualities and surpassing affection, made amends to me for thai 
 denial of nature. Antonio de Linares was, like myself, an orphan, 
 and that circumstance contributed to endear him to my hearj; ; we 
 were both born, too, on the same day ; and it was one of our childish 
 superstitions to believe, that thereby our fates were so intimately 
 blended that on the same day also we should each descend to the grave 
 He was my schoolmate, my playfellow, my partner in all my little 
 possessions ; and as we grew up, he became my counsellor, my bosom 
 friend, and adopted brother. I gave to his keeping the very keys of 
 my heart, and with a like sweet confidence he entrusted me even with 
 his ardent passion for my beautiful and accomplished cousin, Isabelle 
 de **** ; and many earnest deliberations we held over the certain 
 opposition to be dreaded from her father, who was one of the proudest 
 as wall a.s poorest nobles of Andalusia. Antonio had embraced the 
 profession of arms, and his whole fortune lay at the point of his 
 sword ; yet with that he hoped to clear himself a path to glory, to 
 wealth, and to Isabelle. The ancestors of the Conde* himself had been
 
 THE SPANISH TRAGEDY. 6$J 
 
 originally ennobled and enriched by the gratitude of their sovereign, for 
 their signal services in the field ; and when I considered the splendid 
 and warlike talents which had been evinced by my friend, I did not 
 think that his aspirations were too lofty or too sanguine.. He seemed 
 made for war ; his chief delight was to read of the exploits of our old 
 Spanish chivalry against the Moors ; and he lamented bitterly that 
 an interval of profound peace allowed him no opportunity of signalis- 
 ing his prowess and his valour against the infidels and enemies of 
 Spain. All his exercises were martial ; the chase and the bull-fight 
 were his amusement, and more than once he engaged as a volunteer 
 in expeditions against the mountain banditti, a race of men dangerous 
 and destructive to our enemies in war, but the scourge and terror of 
 their own country in times of peace. Often his bold and adventurous 
 spirit led him into imminent jeopardy ; but the same contempt of 
 danger, united with his generous and humane nature, made him as 
 often the instrument of safety to others. An occasion upon which he 
 rescued me from drowning, confirmed in us both the opinion that our 
 lives were mutually dependent, and at the same time put a stop to the 
 frequent railleries I used to address to him on his wanton and unfair 
 exposures of our joint existences. This service procured him a gra- 
 cious introduction and reception at my uncle's, and gave him oppor- 
 tunities of enjoying the society of his beloved Isabelle ; but the stern 
 disposition of the Conde' was too well known on both sides to allow of 
 any more than the secret avowal of their passion for each other. 
 Many tears were secretly shed by my excellent cousin over this cruel 
 consideration, which deterred her from sharing her confidence with 
 her parent ; but at length, on his preparing for a journey to Madrid, 
 in those days an undertaking of some peril, she resolved, by the 
 assistance of filial duty, to overcome this fear, and to open her bosom 
 to her father, before he departed from her, perhaps for ever. 
 
 I was present at the parting of the Condd with his daughter, which 
 the subsequent event impressed too strongly on my memory to be ever 
 forgotten. It has been much disputed whether persons have those 
 special warnings, by dreams or omens, which some affirm they have 
 experienced before sudden or great calamity ; but it is certain that be- 
 fore the departure of my uncle, he was oppressed with the most gloomy 
 forebodings. These depressions he attributed to the difficulties of the 
 momentous lawsuit which called him to Madrid, and which, in fact, 
 involved his title to the whole possessions of his ancestors ; but 
 Isabelle's mind interpreted this despondence as the whisper of some 
 guardian spirit or angel ; and this belief, united with the difficulty she 
 found in making the confession that lay at her heart, made her 
 earnestly convert these*glooms into an argument against his journey. 
 
 " Surely," she said, " this melancholy which besets you is some 
 warning from above, which it would be impious to despise ; and there- 
 fore, sir, let me entreat you to remain here, lest you sin by tempting 
 your own fate, and make me wretched for ever." 
 
 "Nay, Isabelle," he replied gravely, "1 should rather sin by mi$ 
 trusting the good providence of God, which is with us in all places : 
 with the traveller in the desert, as with the mariner on the wild ocean ; 
 notwithstanding, let me embrace you, my dear child, as, though wg 
 
 a T
 
 658 THE SPANISH TRAGEDY. 
 
 never should meet again ;" and he held her for some minutes close'y 
 pressed against his bosom. 
 
 I saw that Isubelle's heart was vainly swelling with the secret it had 
 to deliver, and would f.iin have spoken for her ; but she had strictly 
 forbidden me or Antonio to utter a word on the subject, from a feeling 
 that such an avowal should only come from her own lips. Twice, as 
 her father prepared to mount his horse, she caught the skirts of his 
 mantle and drew him back to the threshold ; but as often as she 
 attempted to speak, the blood overflooded her pale cheeks and bosom, 
 her throat choked, and at last she turned away with a despairing 
 gesture, which was meant to say, that the avowal was impossible* 
 The Conde" was not unmoved, but he mistook the cause of her agita- 
 tion, and referred it to a vague presentiment of evil, by which he was 
 not uninfluenced himself. Twice, after s >lemnly blessing his daughter, 
 he turned back ; once, indeed, to repeat some trifling direction, but 
 the second time he lingered, abstracted and thoughtful as if internally 
 taking a last farewell of his house and child. I had before earnestly 
 entreated to be allowed to accompany him, and now renewed my 
 request ; but the proposal seemed only to offend him, as an imputa- 
 tion on the courage of an old soldier, and he deigned no other rej ly 
 than by immediately setting spurs to his horse. I then turned to 
 Isabelle ; she was deadly pale, and with clasped hands and stre iming 
 eyes was leaning against the pillars of the porch for support. Neither 
 of us spoke; but we kept our eyes earnestly fixed on the lessening 
 figure, that with a slackened pace was now ascending the opposite hill. 
 The road was winding, and sometimes hid and sometimes yave him 
 back to our gaze, till at last he attained a point near the summit, where 
 we knew a sudden turn of the road would soon cover him entirely from 
 our sight. My cousin, I saw, was overwhelmed with fear and salf-re- 
 proach, and pointing to the figure, now no bigger than a riven, I said 
 I would still overtake him, and if she pleased, induce him to return ; but 
 she would not listen to, the suggestion. Her avow.il. she said, should 
 never come to her father from any lips but her own ; but she still hoped, 
 she added with a faint smile, that he would return safely from Madrid ; 
 and then, if the lawsuit should be won, he would be in such a mood, 
 that she should not be afraid to unlock her heart to him. This answer 
 satisfied me. The Conde" was now passing behind the extreme point 
 of the road, and it was destined to be the last glimpse we should ever 
 have of him. The old man never returned. 
 
 As soon as a considerable tjnje had elapsed more than was neces- 
 sary to inform us of his arrival in the capital, we began to grow very 
 anxious, and a letter was despatched to his advocate with the 
 necessary inquiries. The answer brought affliction and dismay. The 
 Conde" had never made his appearance, and the greatest anxiety pre- 
 vailed amongst the lawyers engaged on his behalf, for the success of 
 their cause. Isabelle was in despair : all her tears and self-reproaches 
 were renewed with increased bitterness, and the tenderest arguments 
 of Antonio and myself were insufficient to subdue her alarm, or con- 
 sole her for what was now aggravated in her eyes to a most heinous 
 breach of filial piety and affection. She was naturally of a relig'ous 
 turn, and the reproofs of her confessor not only tended to increase hei
 
 THE SPANISH TRAGEDY. 6$9 
 
 despondency, but induced her to impose upon herself a voluntary and 
 rash act of penance, that caused us the gr atest affliction. It had 
 been concerted between Antonio and myself, th.it \ve slmuld imimui- 
 ately proceed by different routes in search of my uncle ; and at day- 
 break, after the receipt of the advocate's letter, we were mounted and 
 armed, and ready to set forth upon our anxious expedition. It onh 
 remained for us to take leave of my cousin ; and as we were conscious 
 that some considerable degree of peril w.<s attached to our pur-uit, it 
 was on mine, and must have been to Antonio's feeling, a parting of 
 anxious interest and importance. But the farewell was forbidden 
 the confessor himself informed us of a resolution which he strenuously 
 commended, but which to us, for this once, seemed to rob his words 
 of either reverence or authority. Isabelle, to mark her penitence for 
 her imaginary sin, had abjured the company and even tiie sight of her 
 lover until her father's return, and she should have reposed in his 
 bosom that filial confidence, which, she conceived, had been so sinfully 
 omitted. This rash determination was confirmed by a sacred vow ; 
 and in a momentary fit of disappointment and di.-api>robation, \\hicli 
 with pain I now confess, I refused to avail mysell ot the exception that 
 was allowed in my favour, to receive her farewell. Antonio was loud 
 in his murmurings ; but the case admitted of no alt rnative, and we 
 set forward \\ith sad and heavy hearts, which were not at all lightened 
 as we approached the appointed spot, where we were to diverge from 
 each other. 1 was accompanied by my man-servant Juan ; but Antoni i 
 had resolutely persisted in his intention of travelling alone : the gencr 1 
 rapidity and adventurous course of his proceedings, indeed, would 
 have made a companion an incumbrance ; and he insisted that ihe 
 impenetrability and consequent success of his plans, had been always 
 most insured by his being single in their execution. There w..s some 
 reason in this argument. Antonio's spirits seemed to rally as lie ad- 
 vanced to the threshold of the dangers and difficulties he was going 
 probably to encounter ; and after ardently wringing my hand, and half 
 jestingly reminding me of the co-dependence of our lives, he dashed 
 the spurs into his horse, and speedily galloped out of sight. 
 
 The road assigned to myself was the least arduous, but the oiv I 
 thought it most likely my untie would have taken on account of the 
 neighbourhood of some family connexions, whither his bu iness woul i 
 most probably carry him ; but only at the first of these mansions could 
 I obtain any intelligence of his arrival. He had called there to obtain 
 some necessary signatures, and had proceeded without any expressed 
 intention of the route in which he was next to travel. It \\as conjec- 
 tured, however, that he would proceed to the Chateau of * * * * 
 another branch of the family, and to that point 1 directed my course. 
 But here all clue was lost ; and no alternative was left me, but 10 
 return to the line of the high road to M. diid. I must here pass over 
 a part of my j rogress, which would consist only of tedious repetitions. 
 Traces, imagined to be discovered, but ending in constant disappoint- 
 ment hopes and fears exertion and f..tigue. m. ke ui> all the history 
 of the second day, till finally a mistaken and unknown road brougl t 
 us in time to take refuge from a tempestuous night at a lonely inn on 
 the mountains. 1 have called it an inn, but the portion thus pccupicU
 
 66o THE SPANISH TRAGEDY. 
 
 was only a fractitin of an old deserted mansion, one wing of which had 
 been rudely repaired and made habitable, whilst the greater part was 
 left untenanted to its slow and picturesque decay. The contrast was 
 striking : whilst in the windows of one end, the lights moving to and 
 fro, the passing and repassing of shadows, and various intermitting 
 noises and voices, denoted the occupancy ; in the centre and the other 
 extreme of the pile, silence and darkness held their desolate and 
 absolute reign. I thought I recognised in this building the descrip- 
 tion of an ancient residence of my uncle's ancestry, but long since 
 alienated and surrendered to the wardenship of time. It frowned, 
 methought, with the gloomy pride and defiance which had been 
 recorded as the hereditary characteristics of its founders ; and, but for 
 the timely shelter it afforded, I should perhaps have bitterly denounced 
 the appropriation of the innkeeper, which interfered so injuriously with 
 these hallowed associations. At present, when the sky lowered, and 
 large falling raindrops heralded a tempest, I turned without reluctance 
 from the old quaintly-wrought portal, to the more humble porch, which 
 held out its invitation of comfort and hospitality; 
 
 My knocking brought the host himself to the door, and he speedily 
 introduced me to an inner room, for the smallness of which he 
 apologised, adding, th4t I should find, however, that it was the better 
 for being somewhat distant from the noisy carousal of his other guests. 
 This man was a striking example of the strange marriage of incon- 
 sistencies with which Nature seems sometimes to amuse herself. My 
 arms were instinctively surrendered to the offer of his care, and, till I 
 looked again on his face, I did not think tney had been so imprudently 
 given up. His countenance enveloped, almost hidden, in bl.ick shaggy 
 hair had in it a savage, animal expression, th.it excited at once my 
 fear and disgust. It was wolf-like ; and as I have heard of brutes, 
 that they are unable to endure the steady gaze of man, so his eyes were 
 continually shifting ; ever restless, yet ever watchful, though only by 
 short and sidelong glances. They seemed to penetrate and surprise, 
 by startling and hasty snatches the designs and emotions you might 
 have kept veiled from a more steadfast and determined inquisition. I 
 am certain, I would rather have met the most fixed and unremitting gaze 
 than his. His frame was appropriately large, yet proportioned and 
 muscular ; it seemed adapted at once for strength and activity, to 
 spring, to wind, to crouch, or, at need, to stiffen itself into an attitude 
 of staunch and inflexible resistance. How came such a figure to be 
 the habitation of such a voice ? This was low, mellow, full of soft and 
 musical inflexions, which insinuated his courtesies with a charm it was 
 impossible to repel. If the utterance be tuned by the heart, as some 
 have affirmed, and the characteristics of passion denote themselves in 
 the lines of the countenance, what an irreconcilable contradiction 
 was involved in this man! His face was infernal, demoniac his 
 utterance divine ! 
 
 I know not if he observed the eager scrutiny with which I dwelt on 
 these peculiarities ; he hastily left me just as I had commenced those 
 inquiries concerning my uncle, which my curiosity had in the first 
 instance delayed. Perhaps he could not, or would not, reply to my 
 questions ; but they seemed to precipitate his retreat. Was it pos<
 
 THE SPANISH TRAGEDY. 661 
 
 slblc that he possessed any secret knowledge of the fate of the Conde"? 
 His absence had be.cn succeeded by a momentary silence amongst the 
 revellers without, as if he were relating to them the particulars of my 
 inquiries. A slight glance at that boisterous company during my 
 hasty passage through their bnnquet-room, had given me no very 
 favourable opinion of their habits or character ; and it was possible 
 that the warlike defences and fastenings which I observed everywhere 
 about me, might be as much intended for the home security of a 
 banditti, as for a precaution against their probable vicinity. It was 
 now too late for me to retrace my steps. Flight was impracticable, 
 the same precautions which were used against any hostile entrance, 
 were equally opposed to my egress ; unless, indet d, I had recourse to 
 the way by which I had entered, and which led through the common 
 room immediately occupied by the objects of my suspicion : this 
 would have been to draw upon myself the very consequence I 
 dreaded. My safety for the present seemed to be most assured by a 
 careful suppression of all tokens of distrust, till these suspicions should 
 be more explicitly confirmed ; and I should not readily forgive rmsdf 
 if, after incurring all the dangers of darkness and tempest and an 
 unknown country, it should prove that my apprehensions had been 
 acted upon without any just foundation. 
 
 These thoughts, however, were soon diverted by a new object. The 
 innkeeper's daughter entered with refreshments, bread merely, with 
 a few olives ; and I could not restrain Juan from addressing to her 
 some familiarities, which were so strangely and incoherently answered, 
 as quickly to besi eak my whole attention. It was then impossible to 
 look away from her. From her features she had evidently been very 
 handsome, with n good figure ; but now she stooped in her shoulders, 
 and had that peculiar crouching and humbled demeanour, which 1 have 
 often observed in the insane. Indeed, she had altogether the manner 
 and appearance of one under the influence of melancholy deiange- 
 ment. She looked, moved, spoke, like a being but half recovered from 
 death and the grave ; as if the body, indeed, was released from its 
 cerements, but the mind had not yet escaped from its mortal thraldom. 
 I never saw an eye so dark and 'so dull in woman ! it had not the 
 least lustre or intelligence, but seemed glazed, and moved with a 
 heaviness and languor just short of death ! Her checks were as pale 
 as marble, but of a cold, unhealthy ashen white ; and my heart 
 ached to think that they had been bleached, most probably, by bitter 
 and continual tears. On her neck she wore a small black crucifix, 
 which she sometimes kissed, as if mechanically, and with a very faint 
 semblance of devotion ; and her hnnds were adorned with several most 
 costly and beautiful rings ; far foreign, indeed, to her station ; but 
 borne, it seemed, without any feeling of personal vanity, or even of 
 consciousness. The world seemed to contain for her no stirring 
 interest ; her mind had stagnated like a dark pool, or had rather 
 frozen, till it took no impression from any external object. Where she 
 acted, it was only from the influence of habit ; and when the task was 
 done, she relapsed again into the same cold and calm indifference. 
 Judge, then, of my astonishment, I might say, terror, when this 
 mysterious being, so insensible, so apparently abstracted from all
 
 662 THE SPANISH TRAGEDY. 
 
 earthly contemplations, began to rivet her black eyes upon mine, and 
 to lose her accustomed apathy in an expression of some wild and in- 
 conceivable interest ! What was there in me to arouse her from that 
 mental trance in which she had been absorbed ? I wished, with the 
 most intense anxiety, to gain some information from her looks ; and, 
 yt-t at the same time, I could not confront her gaze even for an 
 instant. Her father, who had entered, surprised at so extraordinary 
 an emotion, hastened abruptly out ; and the immediate entrance of the 
 mother, evidently upon some feigned pretext of business, only tended 
 to increase my inquietude. 
 
 How had I become an object of interest to the^e people, whom till 
 that hour I had never seen ; and with whose affairs, by am possibility, 
 I could not have, the most remote connexion, unless by their irn lica- 
 tion in the fate of my uncle ? This c mjecture rilled me with an alarm 
 and agitation I could ill have concealed, if my remorseless observer 
 had not been too much absorbed in her o\s n undivided emotions, to 
 take any notice of -mine. A sensation of shame flushed over me, at 
 being thus quelled and daunted "by the mere ^aze of a woman ; but 
 then it was such a look and from such a being as 1 can never behold 
 again ! It seemed to realise all that I had read of Circean enchant- 
 ment, or of the snake-like g .ze, neither to be endured nor shunned ; 
 and under this dismal spell I remained till the timely entrance of 
 
 Juan. The charm, whatever it might be, was th< n brok ; ith a 
 ong shuddering sigh she turned awav her eyes from me. and tli n left 
 the room. What a load, at that moment, seemed removed from my 
 "heart ! Her presence had oppressed me, like that of one of the mortal 
 Fates ; but now, at her going, my ebbing breath returned a. ain, ,,nd 
 the blood thrilled joyfully through my veins. 
 
 Juan crossed himself in amaze ! he had noticed me shrinking ; nd 
 shuddering beneath her glance, and doubtless framed the most horrible 
 notions of an influence which could work upon me so potently. He, 
 too. had met with his own terrors, in a whispering dialo ue he had 
 parti. illy overheard during his employment in the stable, and which 
 served to unravel the fearful mystery that hung like a cloud over all 
 the seeming and doings of that bewildered creature. She had loved ; 
 and it was but too plain, from the allusions of the dialogue, that the 
 object of her affection had been a robber ! He had suiiered for his 
 crimes a cruel and lingering death, of which she had been a constrained 
 spectator, and she had nv.ddened over the remembrance of his 
 agonies. 
 
 It required but little conjecture to fill up the blanks of the narrative ; 
 her manners, her apathy, the possession of those costly ornaments, 
 were easily accounted for; and it only remained to find a solution 
 for the wild and intense interest with which she had regarded me. 
 This would have a natural explanation by supposing in rmself some 
 accidental resemblance to the features of her lover; and the after- 
 course of events proved that this conjecture was well founded. There 
 were sufficient grounds in these ; nrticulars for inquietude and alarm. 
 From the nature of her attachment, the avocations and connexions 
 of the family must be of a very dubious character. What if m\ h >st 
 himself should be secretly associated with some neighbouring ho-de
 
 THE SPANISH TRAGEDY. 663 
 
 of banditti, and under his ostensible occupation of innkeeper, abetted 
 their savage and bloodthirsty designs upon the unwary traveller! 
 Might not his very house be their lurking-place or rendezvous? nay, 
 might it not be provided with cellars and traps, and secret vaults, and 
 all those atrocious contrivances which we have heard of as expressly 
 prepari d for the perpetration of outrage and murder? There w s a 
 marked wariness and reserve about the master, a mixture of fox-like 
 caution, with the ferocity of the wolf, that confirmed, rather than 
 allayed such suspicions ; and why had my arms been so officiously 
 conveyed away, under a pretence of care and attention, but in reality 
 to deprive me of even the chances of defence ? All these considera- 
 tions shaped themselves so reasonably, and agreed together so 
 naturally, as to induce conviction ; and looking upon myself as a 
 victim already marked for destruction, it only remained for me to 
 exercise all my sagacity and mental energy, to extricate myself from 
 ihe toils. Flight 1 had resolved was impracticable, and if I should 
 demand my arms, the result of such an application was obviously 
 certain ; I dared not even hint a suspicion : but why do I speak of 
 suspicions ? they were immediately to be ripened into an appalling 
 certainty. 
 
 I had not communicated my thoughts to Juan, knowing too well his 
 impetuous and indiscreet character; but in the meantime his own 
 fears had been busy with him, and his depression was aggravated by 
 the circumstance that he had not been able to procure any wine from 
 the innkeeper, who swore that he had not so much as a flask left in 
 his house. It would have been difficult to believe that one of his 
 profession should be so indifferently provided ; but this assertion, made 
 in the face of all the flasks and flagons of his revellers, convinced 
 me that he felt his own mastery over us, and was resolved to kt us cost 
 him as little as possible. 
 
 Juan was in despair ; his courage was always proportioned to the 
 wine he had taken, and feeling at this moment an urgent necessity for 
 its assistance, he resolved to supply himself by a stolen visit to the 
 cellar. He had shrewdly taken note of its situation during a temporary 
 assistance rendered to the innkeeper, and made sure that by waiching 
 his opportunity he could reach it unperceived. It seemed to require 
 no small degree of courage to venture in the dark upon such a course ; 
 but the excitement was stronger'than fear could overbalance; and 
 plucking off his boots, to prevent any noise, he set forth on his exp-'di- 
 tion. No sooner was he gone, than I be^an to perceive the danger to 
 which such an imprudent step might subject us, but it was too late to 
 be recalled, and I was obliged to wait in no very enviable anxiety for 
 his return. 
 
 The interval was tediously long, or seemed so, before he made his 
 appearance. He bore a small can ; and, from his looks, had met 
 with no serious obstacle ; *but whether the theft had been observed. < r 
 it h : ppened simply by chance, the innkeeper entered close upon his 
 heels There is sometimes an instinctive presence of mind inspired 
 by the aspect of danger ; and guided by this impulse, in an instant I 
 extinguished the light as if by accident. For a time, at least, we wert 
 sheltered from discovery. The innkeeper turned back it was a critical
 
 64 THE SPA NISH TRA GL D Y. 
 
 moment for us but even in that moment the unruly spirit of drink 
 prompted my unlucky servant to take a draught of his stolen beverage, 
 and immediately afterwards I heard him spitting it forth again, in 
 evident disgust with its flavour. In a few moments the innkeeper re- 
 turned with a lamp, and as soon as he was gone the liquor was eagerly 
 inspected, and to our unspeakable h'orror, it had every appearance of 
 blood ! It was impossible to suppress the effect of the natural disgust 
 which affected Juan at this loathsome discovery he groaned aloud, 
 he vomited violently, the innkeeper again came in upon us, and though 
 I attributed the illness of my servant to an internal rupture which 
 occasioned him at times to spit up blood, it was evident that he <;ave 
 no credit to the explanation. He seemed to comprehend the whole 
 scene at a glance. In fact, the vessel with its horrid contents stood 
 there to confront me, and I gave up my vain attempt in silent and 
 absolute despair. 
 
 If we were not before devoted to death, this deadly circumstance had 
 decided our fate. His own safety, indeed, would enforce upon the inn- 
 keeper the necessity of our being sacrificed. The fellow, meanwhile, 
 departed without uttering a syllable : but I saw in his look that his de- 
 termination was sealed, and that my own must be as promptly resolved. 
 I had before thought of one measure as a last desperate resource. This 
 was to avail myself of the favourable interest I had excited in the 
 daughter to appeal to her pity to awaken her, if possible, to a sym- 
 pathy with my danger, and invoke her interference to assist my escape. 
 Yet how could I obtain even an interview for my purpose ? Strange 
 that I should now wish so ardently for that very being whose presence 
 had so lately seemed to me a curse. Now I listened for her voice, her 
 step, with an impatience never equalled, perhaps, but by him for whom 
 she had crazed. My whole hope rested on that resemblance which 
 inight attract her again to gaze on a shadow, as it were, of his image, 
 and I was not deceived. She came again, and quietly seating herself 
 before me, began to watch me with the same earnestness. 
 
 Poor wretch ! now that 1 knew her history, 1 regarded her with 
 nothing but tenderness and pity. Her love might have burned as 
 bright and pure as ever was kindled in a maiden's bosom ; and was 
 she necessarily aware of the unhallowed profession of its object ? He 
 might have been brave, generous in love, at least, honoured and 
 honourable, and compared with the wretches with whom her home 
 associated her, even as an angel of light. Would his fate else have 
 crushed her with that eternal sorrow? Such were my reflections on 
 the melancholy of the woman before me ; and if my pity could obtain 
 its recompense in hers, I was saved ! 
 
 Hope catches at straws. I saw, or fancied in her looks, an 
 affectionate expression of sympathy and anxiety, that I eagerly 
 interpreted in my own behalf; but the result belied this anticipa- 
 tion. It was evident that my most impassioned words produced no 
 corresponding impression on her mind. My voice even seemed to 
 dispel the illusion that was raised by my features, and rising up, she 
 was going to withdraw, but that I detained her by seizing her h2nd. 
 
 " No, no ! " she said, and made a slight effort to free herself; " you 
 re not Andreas."
 
 THE SPANISH TRAGEDY. 66J 
 
 * No, my poor maiden," I said, " I am not Andreas ; but am I not 
 his image ? Do I not remind you of his look, of his features ? " 
 
 "Yes, yes," she replied quickly, " you are like my Andreas you are 
 like him here," and she stroked back the hair from my forehead ; 
 " but his hair was darker than this," and the mournful remembrance 
 for the tirst time tilled her dull eyes with tears. 
 
 This was an auspicious omen. Whilst I saw only her hot glazed 
 eyes, as if the fever within had parched up every tear, I despaired of 
 exciting her sympathy with an external interest ; but now that her grief 
 and her malady even seemed to relent in this effusion, it was a favour- 
 able moment for renewing my appeal. I addressed her in the most 
 touching voice I could assume. 
 
 " You loved Andreas, and you say I resemble him ; for his sake, will 
 you not save me from perishing ? " 
 
 Her only answer was an unconscious and wondering look. 
 
 u I know too well," I continued, "that I am to perish, and you know 
 it likewise. Am I not to be murdered this very night ?" 
 
 She made no reply ; but it seemed as if she had comprehended my 
 words. Could it be that, with that strange cunning not uncommon to 
 insanity, she thus dissembled, in order to cover her own knowledge of 
 the murderous designs of her father? I resolved, at least, to proceed 
 on this supposition, and repeated my words in a tone of certainty. 
 This decision had its effect ; or else, her reason had before been in- 
 competent to my question. 
 
 " Yes ! yes ! yes ! " she said, in a low hurried tone, and with a 
 suspicious glance at the door, "it is so ; he will come to you about 
 midnight. You are the son of the old man we strangled." 
 
 Conceive how I started at these words ! They literally stung my 
 ears. It was not merely that my worst fears were verified as regarded 
 the fate of my uncle ; for, doubtless, he was the victim or, that I was 
 looked upon and devoted to a bloody death as his avenger ; for these 
 announcements 1 was already prepared ; but there was yet another 
 and a deeper cause of horror : "The old -man that we strangled ! " 
 Had that wild maniac then lent her own hands to the horrid deed ? had 
 she, perhaps, helped to bind to pluck down and hold the struggling 
 victim to stifle his feeble cries nay, joined her strength even to 
 tighten the fatal cord ; or was it that she only implicated herself in 
 the act, by the use of an equivocal expression ? It might merely 
 signify, that it was the act of some of those of the house, with whom, 
 by habit, she included herself as a part. At the same time, I could 
 not but remember, that even the female heart has been known to 
 become so hardened by desperation and habitudes of crime, as to he 
 capable of the most ferocious and remorseless cruelties. She had. too, 
 those same black eyes and locks, which I have always been accus- 
 tomed to think of in connection with Jael and Judith, and all th< se 
 stern-hearted women, who dipped their unfaltering hands in blood. 
 Her brain was dizzy, her bosom was chilled, her sympathies were dead 
 and torpid, and she might gaze on murder and all its horrors with lief 
 wonted apathy and indifference. To what a being then was I going 
 to commit my safety ! To one who Irom the cradle had been nursed 
 amidst scenes of bloodshed and violence ; whose associates had ever
 
 666 THE SPANISH IKAGF.nY. 
 
 been the fierce and the lawless ; whose lover even had b^n a lender (> 
 banditti ; and by his influence and example, migut m ike evm murder 
 and cruelty lose some portion of their natural !>!a< knes- and lion- >r. 
 
 It might happen, that in these tlioughts 1 \v ranged th. t unhappy 
 creature; but my dismal situation predis, osed me to regard everything 
 in the most unfavourable light I had cause for apprehension in every 
 sound that was raised m every foot that stirred in whatever face I 
 met th.it belonged to th.it horrible place. Still, my present experi- 
 ment was the 1 ist, short of nii-re force, which I could hope would 
 avail me ; and I resumed the attempt. It seemed prudent, in order to 
 quiet the suspicion I had excited, that 1 should first disclaim all 
 c nnection or interest in the unfortun:tte victim ; and I thought it not 
 criminal, in such an extremity, to have recourse to a falsehood. 
 
 " Wi.at you say,' 1 I replied to her, "of an old mm being murdered, 
 is to me a mystery. If suchan occurrence has happened, it is no 
 doubt lamentable to some one ; but as for my father, I trust, that t< r 
 these many years he has been with the blessed in the presence of God. 
 For myself, 1 am a traveller, and the purposes of my journey are 
 purely mercantile. My birthplace is En-land but, alas ! I shall 
 never see it again ! You tell me 1 am to die to-night that I am to 
 i eri-h by violence and have you the he.irt to re-ign me to such a 
 horrible fate ? You have power or interest to save me ; let me not 
 perish by I know not what cruelties. 1 have a home fir away let it 
 not be m.ide desolate. Let me return to my wife, and to my young 
 children, and they shall daily bless thee at the foot of our altars ! " 
 
 I believe the necessity of the occasion inspired me with a suitable 
 eloquence of voice and manner ; for these words, untrue as th y were, 
 made a visible impression on the wild being to whom they w re 
 addressed. As I spoke of violence and cruelty she shuddered, as if 
 moved by her own terrible associations with those worus ; but when I 
 came to the mention of my wife and children, it evident lv aw kened 
 her compassion ; and all at once, her womanly nature burst through 
 the sullen clouds that had 'held it in eclipse. 
 
 " Oh. no no no !" she repljed, hurriedly ; "you must not die 
 your babes will weep else, and your wife will craz . Andreas w >uld 
 have said thus too, but he met with no pity tor all the eyes that wept 
 for him." 
 
 She clasped her forehead for a moment with her hands, and con- 
 tinued : " But I must find a way to save you. I thought, when fit 
 died, I could never pity any one again ; but he will be glad in heaven 
 that 1 have spared one for his sake." 
 
 A momentary pang shot through me at these touching words, when 
 I remembered how much I had wronged her by my injurious 
 snspii ions : but the consideration of my personal safety quickly 
 tngrossed my thoughts, and I demanded eagerly to know by what 
 means she proposed to effect my escape. She soon satisfied me that 
 it would be a trial of my utmost fortitude. There was a secret door 
 in the panelling of m\ allotud bedchamber, which communicated 
 with her own, and by this, an hour before midnight, she would 'guide 
 me and provide for my egress from the house : but she could neither 
 promise to procure me my horse, nor to provide lor the safety of the
 
 THE SPANISH TRAGEDY. 6f>j 
 
 onlucVy Jnan, who wns destined to be lodged in a loft far distant from 
 mv apartment. It may be imagined that I listened with a very un- 
 willing e.tr to this arrangement ; by wh.ch, alone, unarmed, I was to 
 await the uncertain coming of my preserver. What if by any acciden* 
 it should be preceded by that of the assassin? but it uas idle ti. 
 indulge in these doubts. There was but one chance of esc .pe <>p -n to 
 me ; and it was for me to embrace it upon whatever terms it was 
 offered Accordingly, I promised to conform implicitly to the m nden's 
 instructions, to offer no opposition to any arrangements which should 
 be made, to stifle carefully the slightest indications of mistrust, to seal 
 up my lips for ever in silence on these events, and above all, to avoid 
 a iy expression or movement which might give umbrage to her father; 
 with these cautions, and kissing her crucifix in token of her sincerity, 
 she left me. 
 
 1 w.is alone ; Juan, on some occasion, h \d withdrawn, and I was left 
 to the companionship of reflections which in such a feverish interval 
 could not be anything but disgusting. At one time, I calculated the 
 many chances there were again:-! the continuance of this rational 
 interval in the mind of a maniac : then I doubted her power of saving 
 me, and whether the means she had proposed as existing in realitv 
 might not be her own delusion, as well as mine. I even debated with 
 myself, whether it was not an act of moral turpitude that I should 
 accept of deliverance without stipulating for the safety of m\ poor 
 servant. 
 
 These thoughts utterly unnerved me. The ticking of the clock grew 
 into a sensation of real and exquisite pain, as indicating the continual 
 advances of time towards a certain crisis, with its yet uncertain catas- 
 trophe. The hour-hand was already within a few digits of ten, and 
 kept travelling onward with my thoughts to a point t-at might verge 
 with me on eternity. The lamp was every moment consuming its little 
 remainder of oil, to supply me, it might be, with my last of ligut. My 
 days were perhaps numbered ; and the Wood taking its last course 
 through my veins! 
 
 One of these subjects of my anxiety I might have spared myself. 
 The innkeeper abruptly entered, and \\ith a look and tone of seeming 
 dissatisfaction, informed me that Juan had decamped, taking with him 
 my arms, and whatever of my portable property he h.;d been able to 
 lay his hands unon. So far, then, if the tale was true, he was safe : but 
 it seemed wonderful by what means he could have tluded a vigilance 
 \\hich, doubtless, included him in its keeping ; and still more, that at 
 such a moment he should have chosen to rob me. A minute ago I 
 would have staked my fortune on his honesty, and my life on his 
 fidelity. The story was too improbable : but on the other hand, it was 
 but too likely that he had either been actually desp itched, or else in 
 some way removed from me, that 1 might not claim his company or 
 assistance in my chamber. 
 
 There was only one person who was likely to solve these doubts, and 
 she was absent ; and I began to consider that in order to give time and 
 scope for her promised assistance, it was necessary th it I should retire. 
 To ask in a tew words to be shown to my room seemed an easy task : 
 but when 1 glanced on the dark scowling features of my chamberlain,
 
 668 THE SPANISH TRACED?. 
 
 h irshly and vividly marked by the strong light and shade, as he bent 
 over the lamp, even those few words were beyond my utterance. To 
 meet such a visage, in the dead of night, thrusting apart one's curtains, 
 would be a sufficient warning for death ! The ruffian seemed to un- 
 derstand and anticipate my unexpressed desire, and taking up the lamp, 
 proposed to conduct me to my chamber. I nodded assent, and he 
 began to lead the way in the same deep silence. A. mutual and con- 
 scious antipathy seemed to keep us from speaking. 
 
 Our way led through several dark, narrow passages, and through 
 one or two small rooms, which I lost no time in reconnoitring. The 
 accumulated cobwebs which hung from all the angles of the ceilings, 
 the old dingy furniture, and the visible neglect of cleanliness, gave 
 them an aspect of dreariness that chilled me to the very soul. As I 
 passed through them, I fancied that on the dusty floors I could trace 
 the stains of blood ; the walls seemed spotted and splashed with the 
 same hue ; the rude hands of my host-guide even seemed tinged with 
 it. As though I had gazed on the sun, a crimson blot hovered befoie 
 me wherever I looked, and imbued all objects with this horrible colour. 
 Every moving shadow, projected by the lamp on the walls, seemed to 
 be the passing spectre of some one who had here been murdered, 
 sometimes confronting me at a door, sometimes looking down upon 
 me from the ceiling, or echoing me, step by step, up the old, crazy 
 stairs ; still following me indeed, whithersoever I went, as if conscious 
 of our approaching fellowship ! 
 
 At last I was informed that I stood in my allotted chamber. I 
 instantly and mechanically cast my eyes towards the window, and a 
 moment's glance sufficed to show me that it was strongly grated. This 
 movement did not escape the vigilant eye of my companion. 
 
 " Well, Senor," he said, " what dost think ? have I not bravely bar- 
 ricaded my chateau ? " 
 
 I could make no answer. There was a look and tone of triumph 
 and malicious irony, accompanying the question, th it would not have 
 suffered me to speak calmly. The ruffian had secured his victim, and 
 looked upon me, no doubt, as a spider does upon its prey, which it 
 hr.s immeshed, and leaves to be destroyed at its leisure. Fortunately, 
 I recollected his daughter's caution, and subdued my emotion in his 
 presence ; but my heart sank within me at his exit, as I heard the 
 door locked behind him, and felt myself his prisoner. All the horrible 
 narratives I had read, or heard related of midnight assassinations, of 
 travellers murdered in such very abodes as this, thronged into my 
 memory with a vivid and hideous fidelity to their wild and horrible 
 details. A fearful curiosity led me towards the bed ; a presentiment 
 that it would afford me some unequivocal confirmation of these fears ; 
 and I turned over the pillow, with a shuddering conviction that on the 
 under side I should be startled with stains of blood. It was, however, 
 fair, snow-white indeed ; and the sheets and coverlet were of the same 
 innocent colour. 
 
 I then recollected the secret panel. It was natural that I should be 
 eager to verify its existence, but with the strictest inspection I could 
 make, I was unable to discover any trace of it. Panels indeed opened 
 upon me from every side ; but it was only to usher forth hideous phan-
 
 THE SPANISH TRAGEDY. 66* 
 
 toms of armed ruffians, with brandished daggers, that vanished 
 again on a moment's scrutiny : and as these pnnels were only crea- 
 tions of my imagination, so that one for which I sought had no 
 existence, I doubted not, but in the bewildered brain of a maniac. 
 
 Thus, then, my last avenue to escape was utterly annihilated, and I 
 had no hope left but in such a despairing resistance as I might make 
 by help of the mere bones and sinews with which God had provided 
 me. The whole furniture of the chamber would not afford me an 
 effective weapon, and a thousand times I cursed myself that I had not 
 sooner adopted this desperate resolution, while such rude arms as a 
 fireplace could supply me with were within my reach. There was 
 now nothing left for me but to die ; and Antonio would have another 
 victim to avenge. Alas ! would he ever know how or where I, had 
 perished ; or that I had even passed the boundaries of death ? I should 
 fall unheard, unseen, unwept, and my unsoothed spirit would walk 
 unavenged, with those shadows I had fancied wandering. The 
 reflection maddened me. My brain whirled dizzily round ; my 
 brow seemed parched by the fever of my thoughts, and hastening 
 to the window, I threw open a little wicket for air : a grateful gush 
 of wind immediately entered ; but the lamp with which I had been 
 making my fruitless search, was still in my hand, and that gust extin- 
 guished it. 
 
 Darkness was now added to all my other evils. There was no 
 moon, nor a single star; the night was intensely obscure, and 
 groping my way back to the bed, I cast myself upon it in an agony of 
 despair. I cannot describe the dreadful storm of passions that shook 
 me : fear, anguish, horror, self-reproach, made up the terrible chaos ; 
 and then cnme rage, and I vowed, if ever I survived, to visit my tor- 
 mentors with a bloody and fierce retribution. I have said th.it the 
 room was utterly dark, but imagination peopled it with terrific images; 
 and kept my eyes straining upon the gloom, with an attention pain- 
 fully intense. Shadows, blacker even than the night, seemed to pass 
 and repass before me ; the curtains were grasped and withdrawn ; 
 visionary arms, furnished with glancing steel, were uplifted and 
 descended again into obscurity. Every sense was assailed ; the silence 
 was interrupted by audible breathings slow, cautious footsteps stirred 
 across the floor imagined hands travelled stealthily over the bed- 
 clothes, as if in feeling for my face. Then I heard distant shrieks, 
 and recognised the voice of Juan in piteous and gradually stifled inter- 
 cession ; sometimes the bed seemed descending under me, as if into 
 some yawning vault or cellar, and at others, faint fumes of sulphur 
 would seem to issue from the floor, as if designed to suffocate me, 
 without affording me even the poor chance of resistance. 
 
 At length a sound came, which my ear readily distinguished, by its 
 distinctness, from the mere suggestions of fear : it was the cautious 
 unlocking and opening of the door. My eyes turning instantly in that 
 direction were eagerly distended, but there was not a glimmer of light 
 even accompanied the entrance of my unknown visitor: but it was a 
 man's foot. A boiling noise rushed through my ears, and my tongue 
 and throat were parched with a sudden and stifling thirst. The powel 
 of utterance and of motion seemed at once to desert me ; my hear.
 
 670 THE SPANISH TRAGEDY. 
 
 panted AS though it were grown too lanje for my body, and the weight 
 of twenty mount. lins lay piled unon mv breast. To lie still, however, 
 was to be lost. Hy a violent exertion of the will. I flung myself out of 
 the bed. furthest from the door; and scarcely had I set foot upon the 
 ground, when I heird something strike agiinst the opposite side. 
 Immt diately afterwards a heavy blow was given -a second a third ; 
 tue stabs thcms hes, as well as the sound, seemed to fall upon my 
 very heart. A cold sweat rushea out upon my forehead. I felt sick, 
 my limbs bowed, and I could barely keep myself from falling. It was 
 certain that my absence would lie promptly discovered : that a search 
 would instantly commence, and my only chance was, -by listening 
 intensely for his footsteps, to discern the course and elude the ap- 
 proaches of my foe. 
 
 I could hear him grasp the pillows, and the rustling of the bed- 
 clothes as he turned them over in his search. For a minute all was 
 then deeply, painfully silent. I could fancy him stealing towards me, 
 and almost supposed the warmth of his breath against my face. 1 
 expected every instant to feel myself seized, I knew not where, in his 
 grasp, and my flesh was ready to shrink all over from his touch. Such 
 an interval had now elapsed as I judged would suffice for him to 
 traverse the bed ; and in fact the next moment his foot struck against 
 the wainscot close beside me, followed by a long hasty sweep of his 
 arm along the wall it seemed to p ss over my head. Th<_n all was 
 still again, as if he paused to listen ; meanwhile I strode away, silently 
 as death, in the direction of the opi osite side of the chamber. Then 
 I paused : but I had suppressed my breath so long, that involuntarily 
 it escaped from me in a long deep sigh, and I was forced again to 
 change my station. There was not a particle of light ; but in shilling 
 cautiously round, I espied a bright spot or crevice in the w..ll : upon 
 this spot I resolved to keep my eyes steadily fixed, judging that by 
 this means I should be warned of the approach of any opaque body, 
 by its intercepting the light. On a sudden, it was obscured ; but I 
 have reason to believe it was by some unconscious movement of my 
 own, for just as I retired backwards from the approach, as 1 conceived, 
 of rny enemy, I was suddenly seized from behind. The crisis was 
 come, and all my fears were consummated : I was in the arms of the 
 assassin ! 
 
 A fierce and desperate struggle instantly commenced, which, from 
 its nature, could be but of short duration. I was defenceless, but my 
 adversary was armed ; and, wherever he might aim his dagger, 1 was 
 disabled, by the utter darkness, from warding off the blow. The 
 salvation of my life depended only on the strength and presence of 
 mind I might bring to the conflict. A momentary relaxation of his 
 hold indicated that my foe was about to make use of his weapon ; and 
 my immediate impulse was to grasp him so closely round the body, as 
 to deprive him of the advantage. My antagonist was fearfully power- 
 ful, and struggled violently to free himself from my arms ; but an 
 acquaintance with wrestling and athletic sports, acquired in myyouth, 
 and still more the strong love of life, enabled me to grapple with him 
 and maintain my hold. I was safe, indeed, only so long as I c mid 
 restrain him from the use of his steel. Our arms were firmly locked
 
 THE SPANISH TRAGEDY. 671 
 
 in each other, our chests closely pressed together, and it seemed that 
 strength at least was fairly matched with strength. 
 
 From a dogged shame, perhaps, or whatever cause, the ruffian did 
 not deign to summon any other to his aid, but endeavoured, singly and 
 silently, to accomplish his bloody task. Not a word, in fact, was 
 uttered on either p.>rt not a breathing space even was allowed by 
 our brief and desperate struggle. Many \iolent efforts were made by 
 the wretch to disengage himself, in the course of which we were often 
 forced against the wall, or hung balanced on straining sinews, ready 
 to fall headlong on the floor. At last, by one of these furious exertions, 
 we were dashed against the wall, and the panelling giving way t<> our 
 weight, we were precipitated with a fearful crash, but still clinging to 
 each other, down a considerable descent. On touching the ground, 
 however, the violence of the slid k separated us. The ruffian, fortu- 
 nately, had fallen undermost, which stunned him, and gave me time 
 to spring upon my feet. 
 
 A m ment's glance round told me that we had fallen through the 
 secret panel, spoken of by the maniac, into her own chamber ; but 
 
 7 eyes were too soon riveted by one otvject, to take any further note 
 the place. It was* her that wild, strange being herself, just risen 
 from her chair at this thundering intrusion, drowsy and bewilder! d, 
 as it from a calm and profound sleep. She that was to watch, to 
 snatch me from the dagger it-elf, had forgotten and slept over the 
 ap' ointment that involved my very existem e ! 
 
 But this was no time for wonder or n pro ch. My late assailant 
 was lying prostrate before me. and his ma^terk ss we pon was leadily 
 to be seized and appropriated to my own defence. I might have killed 
 him, but a moment s reflection showe^d me that his single death, \>hiist 
 it might exasperate his fellows, could tend but little to my safety. This 
 was yet but a present and temporary security ; a respite, not a reprieve, 
 from the fate that impended over me. It was important, therefore, to 
 learn, if possible, from that bewildered creature, the means which 
 should have led to my escape from the house : and if she was still 
 willing and competent to become my guide. The first step had been 
 accidentally accomplished ; but here it seemed that my progress was 
 to find its termination. All the past, except that horrible and distant 
 part of it over which she brooded, had utterly lapsed again from her 
 memory, like words traced upon water. The examination only lasted 
 for a moment, but sufficed to convince me of this unwelcome result. 
 What then, indeed, could have been expected from the uncertain and 
 intermitting intelligences of a maniac ? I wondered how I could 
 have built up a single hope on so slippery a foundation. 
 
 It was now too late to arraign my folly or bewail its consequences ; 
 a few minutes would recall the robber to consciousness, and those 
 were all that would allow me to seek, or avail myself of any passage 
 for retreat. Although no other entrance was immediately apparent, it 
 was obvious that this chamber must have some other one than the 
 panel by which I had so unexpectedly arrived ; and this conclusion 
 proved to be correct. 
 
 There was a trap-door, in one corner, for communication with 
 beneath. To espy it to grasp the ring to raise it up were the
 
 972 THE SPANISH TRAGEDY. 
 
 transactions of an instant ; but no sooner was it thrown open, than 
 iny ears were assailed by a sudden uproar of sounds from below. The 
 noise seemed at first to be the mere Bacchanalian riot of a drunken 
 banditti ; but a continued attention made me interpret differently of 
 the tumult, which now seemed to partake less of the mirth of carousal, 
 than of the violence and voices of some serious affray. The distance 
 of the sounds, which came from the further part of the house, pre- 
 cluded an accurate judgment of their nature. Had the banditti 
 quarrelled amongst themselves, and proceeded to blows ? The dis- 
 order and distraction incident to such a tumult could not but be highly 
 favourable to my purpose ; and I was just on the point of stepping 
 through the aperture, when the ruffian behind me, as if aroused by the 
 uproar, sprang up on his feet, rushed past me with a speed that 
 seemed to be urged by alarm, and bounded through the trap-door. 
 The room beneath was in darkness, so that I was unable to dis- 
 tinguish his course, which his intimate knowledge of the place, never- 
 theless, enabled him to pursue with ease and certainty. 
 
 As soon as his footsteps were unheard, I followed, with less speed 
 and celerity. I might, indeed, have possessed myself of the lamp 
 which stood upon the table, but a light would infallibly have betrayed 
 me, and I continued to grope my way in darkness and ignorance to 
 the lower chamber. An influx of sound, to the left, denoted an open 
 door, and directing my course to that quarter, I found that it led into 
 a narrow passage. As yet I had seen no light ; but now a cool gush 
 of air seemed to promise that a few steps onward I should meet with 
 a window. It proved to be only a loop-hole. The noise as I advanced 
 had meanwhile become more and more violent, and was now even 
 accompanied by irregular discharges of pistols. My vicinity to the 
 scene of contest made me hesitate. I could even distinguish voices, 
 and pirtially understood the blasphemi-s and imprecations that were 
 most loudly uttered. I had before attributed this tumult to a brawling 
 contention amongst the inmates themselves, but now the indications 
 seemed to be those of a more serious strife. The discharges of fire- 
 arms were almost incessant, and the shouts and cries were like the 
 cheers of onset and battle, of fury and anguish. The banditti had 
 doubtless been tracked and assaulted in their den ; and it became 
 necessary to consider what course in such a case it was the most 
 prudent for me to adopt. Should I seek for some place of conceal- 
 ment, and there await the issue of a contest, which would most 
 probably terminate in favour of justice? or ought I not rather to 
 hasten and lend all my energies to the cause ? I still held in my hand 
 the dagger, of which I had possessed myself ; but could it be hoped 
 that thus imperfectly armed, if armed it might be called, my feeble aid 
 could essentially contribute to such a victory ? 
 
 The decision was as suddenly as unexpectedly resolved. A familiar 
 voice, which I could not mistake, though loud and raving far above its 
 natural pitch, amidst a clamour of fifty others struck on my ear ; and 
 no other call was necessary to precipitate my steps towards the scene 
 of action. I had yet to traverse some passages, which the increase 
 of light enabled me to do more readily. The smoke, the din, the 
 flashing reflections along the walls, now told me that I was close upon
 
 THE SPANISH TRAGEDY. 673 
 
 the strife ;'and in a few moments, on turning an abrupt angle, I had 
 it in air its confusion before me. 
 
 The first and nearest object that struck me was the figure of the 
 innkeeper himself, apparently in the act of reloading his piece. His 
 back was towards me, but I could not mist. ike his tall and muscular 
 frame. On hearing a step behind him, he turned hastily round, dis- 
 charged a pistol at my head, and then disappeared in the thickest of 
 the tumult. The ball, however, only whizzed past my ear^jDut not 
 harmless, for immediately afterwards I felt some one reel against me 
 from behind, clasp me for an instant by the shoulders, and then roll 
 downwards to the floor. The noise, and the exciting interest which 
 hurried me hither had hindered me from perceiving that I was followed, 
 and 1 turned eagerly round to ascertain who h id become the victim of 
 the mis-directed shot. It was the ruffian's own daughter, the unhappy 
 maniac herself, whose shattered brain had thus received from his hand 
 the last*pang, it was destined to endure ; a single groan was all that 
 the poor wretch had uttered. I felt an inexpressible shock at this 
 horrid catastrophe. I was stained with her blood, particles of her 
 brain even adhered to my clothes ; and I was glad to escape from the 
 horror excited by the harrowing spectacle, by plunging ino the chaos 
 before me. Further than of a few moments, during which, however, 
 I had exchanged and parried a number of blows and thrusts, I have 
 no recollection. A spent ball on the rebound struck me directly on 
 the forehead^ and laid me insensible, under foot, amidst the dying and 
 the dead. 
 
 When I recovered, I found myself lying on a bed the same^by a 
 strange coincidence, that I had already occupied; but the faces around 
 me, though warlike, were friendly. My first eager inquiries, as sbo*n 
 as I could speak, were for my friend Antonio, for it was indeed his 
 voice that I had recognised amidst the conflict, but I could obtain no 
 direct answer. Sad and silent looks, sighs and tears, only, made up 
 the terrible response. He was then sbin ! Nothing but death indeed 
 would have kept him at such a moment from my pillow. It avafled 
 nothing to me that the victory had been won, that .heir wretched 
 adversaries were all prisoners or destroyed ; at such a price, a thousand 
 of such victories would have been dearly purchased. If I could have 
 felt any consolation in his death, it would have been to learn that hit 
 arm had first amply Avenged in blood the murder of the Condd * 
 that the innkeeper had been cleft by him to the heart that number* 
 of the robbers had perished by his heroic hand : but I only replied 
 to the tidings with tears for my friend, and regrets that I had not died 
 with him. How cruelly, by hjj going before me, had the sweet belief 
 of our youth been falsified ! Was it possible that I had survived - 
 perhaps to see the grass grow over his head ; and to walk alone upon 
 the earth, when he should be nothing but a little dust ? Why had t 
 been spared? others could convey to Isabelle the afflicting intelligence 
 that she had no longer a father or a lover ; and in such an overwhelm- 
 ing dispensation, she could well forego the poor and unavailing 
 consolations of a friend. 
 
 Such were my natural and desponding feelings, on contemplating 
 the loss of my beloved friend ; but new and indispensable duties 
 
 8 U
 
 74 THE SfANISH TRAGEDY. 
 
 recalled the energies of my mind, and diverted me from a grief which 
 would else have consumed me. The last sacred rites remained to be 
 performed for the de.id ; and although the fate of the Conde* might 
 readily be divined, it was necessary to establish its certainty by the 
 discovery of his remains. The prisoners who were questioned on this 
 point maintained an obstinate silence ; and the researches of the 
 military had hitherto be n unavailing, except to one poor wretch, 
 whom they rescued from extreme suffering and probable de..th. 
 
 1 have related the disappearance of my servant Juan, and my 
 suspicions ;;s to the cause of his absence were found to have verged 
 nearly on the truth. He had saved himself, it appeared, from 
 immediate danger, by a feigned compliance with the invitations of the 
 banditti to enrol himself in their numbers ; but as a precaution or a 
 probation, he had been bound hand and foot, and consigned to a 
 garret till I should have been first disposed of. The poor fellow was 
 dreadfully cramped in his limbs by the tightness of the ligatures, and 
 was nearly half dead with cold and affright, when he was thus oppor- 
 tunely discovered ; but no sooner had he revived, and comprehended 
 the object of our search, than his memory supplied us with a clue : 
 the wine barrels ! The house had been narrowly investigated ; but 
 these cellars, by some hasty omission, had been overlooked. 
 
 I resolved to lead this new inquisition myself. Juan's sickening and 
 disgustful recollections, which now pointed his suspicions, would not 
 let him be present at the examination ; but he directed us by such 
 minute particulars, that we had no difficulty in finding our way to the 
 spot^ There were other traces had they been necessary for our 
 guidance : stains of blood were seen on descending the stairs and 
 across the floor, till they terminated at a large barrel or tun, which 
 stood first of a range of several others on the opposite side of the cellar. 
 Here then stood the vessel that contained the object of our search. 
 My firm conviction that it was so, made me see, as through the wood 
 itself, the mutilated appearance which I had conceived of my ill-fated 
 uncle. The horrible picture overcame me ; and whil-t I involun- 
 tarily turned aside, the mangled quarters of a human body, and finally 
 the dissevered head, were drawn forth from the infern 1 receptacle ! 
 As soon as I dared turn my eyes, they fell upon the fearful s.-ectacle ; 
 but I looked in vain for the lineaments I had expected to meet. The 
 remains were those of a middle-aged man; tfte features \\ere quite 
 unknown to me ; but a profusion of long black hair told me at a 
 glance, that this was not the head of the aged 01x16*. Neither could 
 this belong to the old man who had been alluded to by the m.miac as 
 having been strangled. Our search mast, therefore, be extended. 
 
 The neighbouring barrel from its sound was empty, and the next 
 likewise ; but the third and last one, on being stfuck, gave indications 
 of being occupied ; perhaps, by contents as horrible as those of the 
 first. It was, however, only half filled with water. There was still a 
 smaller cellar, communicating with the outer one by a narrow arched 
 passage ; but on examination, it proved to have been applied to its 
 original and legitimate purpose, for it contained a considerable quantity 
 of wine. Every recess, every nook, was carefully inspected, the floor*
 
 THE SPANISH TRAGEDY. 675 
 
 hi particular were minutely examined, but they supplied no appearance 
 of having been recently disturbed. 
 
 This unsuccessful result almost begot a doubt in me, whether, 
 indeed, tins place had been the theatre of the imputed tragedy ; my 
 strongest belief had been founded on the words of the maniac, in 
 allusion to the old man who had been strangled ; but her story pointed 
 to no determined period of time, and might refer to nn occurrence of 
 many years back. Surely the police and the military, Antonio cer- 
 tainly, had been led hither by some more perfect information. I h >d 
 neglected, hitherto, to possess myself of the particulars which led to 
 their attack on the house ; but the answers to my inquiries tended in 
 no way to throw any light upon the fate of the Conde*. Antonio, in 
 his progress through the mountains, had fallen in with a party of the 
 provincial militia, who were scouring the country in pursuit of the 
 predatory bands that infested it : and the capture of a wounded robber 
 had furnished them with particulars which led to their attack upon 
 the inn. The dying wretch had been eagerly interrogated by Antonio, 
 as to his knowledge of the transactions of his fellows ; but though he 
 could obtain no intelligence of the Conde', his impetuous spirit m;ide 
 him readily unite himself with an expedition against a class of men, 
 to whom he confidently attributed the old nobleman's mysterious 
 disappearance. The mournful sequel I have related. His venge- 
 ance was amply but dearly sated on the innkeeper and his blood- 
 thirsty associates ; but the fate of my uncle remained as doubtful as 
 ever. 
 
 The discovery was reserved for chance. One of the troopers, in 
 shifting some litter in the stables, remarked that the earth and stones 
 beneath appeared to have been recently turned up : the f.-ct was 
 immediately communicated to his officer, and I was summoned to be 
 present at this new investigation. The men had already begun to 
 dig when I arrived, and some soiled fragments of clothes which they 
 turned up already assured them of the nature and the nearness of the 
 deposit. A few moments' more labour sufficed to lay it bare ; and 
 then, by the torchlight, I instantly recognised the grey hairs and the 
 features of him of whom we were in search. All tliat remained of my 
 uncle lay before me ! The starting and blood-distended eyes, the 
 gaping mouth, the blackness of the face, and a livid mark round the 
 neck, confirmed the tale of the maniac as to the cruel mode of his 
 death. May I never gaze on such an object again ! 
 
 Hitherto, the excitement, the labour, the uncertainty. of the search 
 had sustained me ; but now a violent re-action took place, a reflux of 
 all the horrors I had witnessed and endured rushed over me like a 
 flood ; and for some time I raved in a state of high delirium. I was 
 again laid in bed, and in the interval of my repose, preparations were 
 made for our departure. The bodies of the slain robbers and militia- 
 men were promptly interred, and after securing all the portable effects 
 of any value, which the soldiers were allowed to appropriate as a spoil, 
 the house was ordered to be fired, as affording too eligible a refuge 
 and rendezvous for such desperate associations. At my earnest re- 
 quest, a separate grave had been provided for the remains of the 
 unfortunate maniac, which were committed to the earth with all the
 
 676 THE SPANISH TRAGEDY. 
 
 decencies that our limited time nnd means could afford. The spot 
 had been chosen at the foot of a tall pine, in the re;ir of the house, 
 and a small cross carved in the bark of the ti ee was the only memorial 
 of this ill-starred girl. 
 
 These cares, speedily executed, occupied till daybreak, and just at 
 sunrise we commenced our march. A horse, left masterless by the 
 death of one of the troopers, was assigned to me ; two others were 
 more mournfully occupied by the bodies of Antonio and the Condd, 
 each covered with a coarse sheet ; and the captive robbers followed, 
 bound, with their faces backward, upon the innkeeper's mules. The 
 innkeeper's wife was amongst the prisoners, and her loud lamentations, 
 breaking out afresh at every few paces, prevailed even over the 
 boisterous merriment of the troopers, and the low-muttered impreca- 
 tions of the banditti. When, from the rear, I looked upon this wild 
 procession, in the cold grey liyht of the morning winding down the 
 mountains, that warlike escort, those two horses, with their funereal 
 burthens, the fierce scowling faces of the prisoners, confronting me ; 
 and then turned back, and distinguished the tall pine-tree, and saw 
 the dense column of smoke soaring upward from those ancient ruins, 
 ;is from some altar dedicated to vengeance, the whole past appeared 
 to me like a dream! My mind, stunned by the magnitude and, 
 number of events which had been crowded into a single night's space, 
 refused to believe that so bounded a period had sufficed for such 
 disproportionate effects ; but recalled again and again every scene 
 and every fact, as if to be convinced by the vividness of the repeti- 
 tions, and the fidelity of the details, of a foregone reality. I could 
 not banish or divert these thoughts : all the former horrors were 
 freshly dramatised before me ; the images of the innkeeper, of the 
 maniac, of Juan, of Antonio, were successively conjured up, and acted 
 their parts anew, till all was finally wound up in the consummation 
 that riveted my eyes on those two melancholy burthens before me. 
 
 But I will not dwell here on those objecis as I did then. An hour 
 or two after sunrise we entered a town, where we delivered up to jus- 
 tice those miserable wretches, who were afterwards to be seen impaled 
 and blackening in the sun throughout the province. And here also 
 my own progress, for three long months, was destined to be impeded. 
 Other lips than mine conveyed to Isibelle the dismal tidings with 
 which I w.;s charged ; other hands tlv.n mine assisted in paying to the 
 dead their last pious dues. Excessive fatigue, grief, horror, and a ne- 
 glected wound, generated a raging fever, from which, with difficulty, 
 and by slow degrees, I recovered, alas ! only to find myself an alien 
 on the earth, without one tie to attach me to the life I had so unwill- 
 ingly regained !..... 
 
 I have only to speak of the fate of one more person connected with 
 this history. In the Convent of St * * at Madrid, there is one 
 who, by the peculiar sweetness of her disposition, and the superior 
 sanctity of her life, has obtained the love and veneration of all her pure 
 sisterhood. She is called Sister Isabelle. The lines of an early and 
 acute sorrow are deeply engraven on her brow, but her life is placid 
 and serene, as it is holy and saint-like ; and her eyes will neither weep, 
 nor her bosom heave a sigh, but when she recurs to the memorials ol
 
 THE MIRACLE OF THE HOLY HERMIT. 677 
 
 this melancholy story. She is now nearly ripe for heaven : nnd may 
 her bliss these be as endless and perfect, as here it was troubled and 
 fearfully hurried to its close t 
 
 THE MIRACLE OF THE HOLY HERMIT. 
 
 IN my younger days, there was much talk of an old hermit of great 
 sanctity, who lived in a rocky cave near Naples. He had a very 
 reverend grey beard, which reached down to his middle, where his 
 body, looking like a pismire's, was almost cut in two by the tightness 
 of a stout leathern girdle, which he wore probably to restrain his 
 hunger, during his long and frequent abstinences, hi is n;iils, besides, 
 had grown long and crooked like the talons of a bird ; his arms and 
 legs were bare, and his brown garments very coarse and ragged. He 
 never tasted flesh, but fed upon herbs and roots, and dr .nk nothing 
 but water ; nor ever lodged anywhere, winter or summer, but in his 
 bleak rocky cavern ; above all, it was his p inful custom to stand for 
 hours together with his arms extended, in imitation of the holy cross, 
 by way of penance and mortification for the sins of his body. 
 
 After many years spent in these austerities, he fell ill, towards the 
 autumn, of a mortal disease, whereupon he was constantly visited by 
 certain Benedictines and Cordeliers, who had convents in the neighbour- 
 hood, not so much as a work of charity and mercy, as that they.were 
 anxious to obtain his body, for they made sure that many notable 
 miracles might be wrought at his tomb. Accordingly, they hovered 
 about his death-bed of leaves, like so many ravens when they scent a 
 prey, but more je.ilous of e .ch other, till the pious hermit's last breath 
 at length took flight towards the skies. 
 
 As soon as he was dead, the two friars who were watching him, ran 
 each to their sever.il convents, to report the event. The Cordelier, 
 being swiftest of foot, was the first to arrive with his tidings, when he 
 found his brethren just sitting down to their noontide meal ; whereas 
 when the Benedictines heard the news, they were at prayers, which 
 gave them the advantage. Cutting the service short, therefore, with an 
 abrupt amen, they ran instantly in a body to the cave ; but before 
 they could well fetch their breath, the Cordeliers also came up, finishing 
 their dinner as they ran, and both parties ranged themselves about the 
 dead hermit. Father Gometa, a Cordelier, and a very portly man, 
 then stepping in front of his fraternity, addressed them as follows : 
 
 "My dear brethren, we are too late, as you see, to receive the pass- 
 ing breath of the holy man ; he is quite dead and cold. Put your 
 victuals out of your hands, therefore, and with all due reverence assist 
 me to carry these saintly relics to our convent, that they may repose 
 amongst his fellow Cordeliers." 
 
 The Benedictines murmuring at this expression ; "Yea," added he, 
 " I may truly call him a Cordelier, and a rigid one ; witness his 
 leathern girdle, which, for want of a rope, he hath belted round his 
 middle, almost to the cutting asunder of his holy body. Take, up 1 say, 
 these precious relics ; " whereuponihis followers, obryingfchis commands,
 
 678 THE MIRACLE OF 
 
 and the Benedictines resisting them, there arose a lively struggle, as if 
 between so many Greeks and Trojans, over the dead body. TIv two 
 fraternities, however, being equally matched in strength, they seemed 
 more likely to dismember the hermit, than to carry him off on either 
 side, wherefore Father Gomet;i, by dint of entreatfts and struggling, 
 procured a truce. " It was a shameful thing,!' he told them, " for 
 servants of the Prince of Peace, as they were, to mingle in such an 
 affray ; and besides that, the country people being likely to witness it, 
 the scandal of such a broil would do more harm to them, jointly, than 
 the possession of the body could be a benefit to either of their orders." 
 The religious men, of both sides, concurring in the prudence of this 
 advice, they left a friar, on either part, to take charge of the dead body, 
 and then adjourned, by common consent, to the house of the Bene- 
 dictines. 
 
 The chapel being very large, nnd convenient for the purpose, they 
 went thither to carry on the debate ; and, surely, such a strange kind 
 of service had never been performed before within its w ills. Father 
 Gometa, standing beside a painted window, which made his face of all 
 manner of hues, began in a pompous discourse to assort the claims of 
 his convent ; but Friar John quickly interrupted him ; and another 
 brother contradicting Friar John, all the monks, Benedictines as well 
 as Cordeliers, were soon talking furiously together at the same 
 moment. Their Babel-arguments, therefore, were balanced against 
 each other. At last, Brother Geronimo, who had a shrill voice like a 
 parrot's, leaped upon a bench, and called out for a hearing ; and, 
 moreover, clapping two large missals together, in the manner of a pair 
 of castanets, he dinned the other noise-mongers into a temporary 
 silence. As soon as they were quiet " This squabble," said he, "may 
 easily be adjusted. As for the hermit's body, let those have it, of 
 whatever order, who have ministered to the good man's soul, and given 
 him the extreme unction." 
 
 At this proposal there was a general silence throughout the chapel ; 
 till Father Gometa, feeling what a scandal it would be if such a man 
 had died without the last sacrament, affirmed th.it he had given to 
 him the wafer ; and Father Philippo, on behalf of the Benedictines, 
 declared he had performed the same office. Thus, that seemed to 
 have ben superfluously repeated, which, in truth, had been altogether 
 omitted. Wherefore Geronimo, at his wit's end, proposed that the 
 superiors should draw lots, and had actually cut a slip or two out of 
 the mnrgin of his psalter for the purpose ; but Father Gometa relied 
 too much on his own subtlety, to refer the issue to mere chance. In 
 this extremity, a certain Capuchin happening to be present, they be- 
 sought him, as a neutral man and impartial, to lead them to some 
 decision ; and after a little thinking, he was so fortunate as to bring 
 them to an acceptable method of arbitration. 
 
 The matter being thus arranged, the Cordeliers returned to their own 
 convent, where, as soon as they arrived, Father Gometa assembled 
 them all in the refectory, and spoke to them in these words : 
 
 " You have heard it settled, my brethren, that the claims of out 
 several convents are to be determined by propinquity to the cave. 
 Vow I know that our crafty rivals will omit no artifice that may show
 
 THE HOL Y HERMIT. 679 
 
 their house to be the nearest ; wherefore, not to be wilfully duped, I 
 am resolved to make a proper substruction trom our own measure- 
 ments. I foresee, notwithstanding, th .t this measuring bout will lead 
 to no accommodation ; for the reckonings on both sides being fnlse, will 
 certainly beget a fresh cavil. Go, therefore, some of you, very warily, 
 and bring hither the blessed body of the hermit, which, by God's grace, 
 will save a great deal of indecent dissension, and then the Benedictines 
 nviy measure as unfairly as they please." 
 
 The bn thien, approving of this design, chose out four of the stoutest, 
 amongst whom was Friar Francis, to proceed on this expedition ; and 
 in the meantime, the event fell out as the superior had predicted. The 
 adverse measurers, encountering on their task, began to wrangle ; and 
 after belabouring each other \vith their rods, returned with complaints 
 to their separate convents ; but Friar Francis, with his comrades, 
 proceeded prosperously to the cave, where they found the dead b< dy 
 of the hermit, but neither of the truant friars who had been appointed 
 to ket-p watch. 
 
 Taking the carcase, therefore, without any obstruction, on their 
 shoulders, they began to wend homewards very merrily, till coming to 
 a by-place in the middle of a wood, they agreed to set down their 
 burden awhile, and refresh themselves after their labour. One of the 
 friars, however of weaker nerves than the rest, objected u> the com- 
 panionship of the dead hermit, who with his long white beard and his 
 ragged garments, which stirred now and then in the wind, was in truth 
 a very awful object. Dragging him aside, therefore, into a dark 
 solitary thicket, tey returned to sit down on the grass ; and pulling 
 out their flasks, which contained some very passable wine, they began 
 to enjoy themselves without stint or hindrance. 
 
 The last level ra\s of the setting sun were beginning to shoot 
 through the horizontal boughs, tinging the trunks, which at noon are 
 all shady and obscure, with a flaming gold ; but the merry friars 
 thought it prudent to wait till nightfall before they ventured with 
 their charge beyond the friendly shelter of the wood. As soon, there- 
 fore, as it was so safely dark that they could barely distinguish each 
 other, they returned to the thicket for the body ; but to their horrible 
 dismay, the dead hermit had vanished, nobody knew whither, leaving 
 them only a handful of his grey beard, as a legacy, with a remnant or 
 two of his tattered garments. At this discovery, the friars were in 
 despair, and s< me of them began to weep, dreading to go back to the 
 convent ; but Friar Francis, being in a jolly mood, put them in better 
 heart. 
 
 " Why, what a whimpering is this," said he, "about a dead body ? 
 The good father, as you know, was no fop, and did not smell over 
 purely ; for which reason, doubtless, some hungry devil of a wolf has 
 relieved us from the labour of bearing him any farther. There is no 
 such heretic as your wolf is, who would not be likely to boggle at his great 
 piety, though I marvel he did not object to his meagreness. I tell you, 
 take courage, then, and trust to me to clear you, who have brought 
 fou out of fitty such scrapes." 
 
 The friars, knowing that he spoke reasonably, soon comforted them*
 
 680 THE WIDOW OF G ALICIA. 
 
 selves ; and running back to the convent, they repaired, all trembling, 
 into the presence of the superior. 
 
 Father Gometa, inquiring eagerly if they had brought the body, Friar 
 Francis answered boldly that they had not. " But here," said he, " is 
 a part of his most reverend beard, and also his mantle, which, like 
 Elisha, he dropped upon us as he ascended into heaven ; for as the 
 pious Elisha was translated into the skies, even so was the holy hermit, 
 excepting these precious relics being torn out of our arms, as it were, 
 by a whirlwind. Anon appealing to his comrades, to confirm his 
 fabrication, they declared that it happened with them even as he related ; 
 and moreover, that a bright and glorious light shining upon them, as 
 it did upon Saul and his company, when they journeyed to Damascus, 
 had so bewildered them, that they had not yet recovered their perfect 
 senses. 
 
 In this plausible manner, the friars got themselves dismissed with- 
 out any penance ; but Father Gometa discredited the story at the 
 bottom of his heart, and went to bed in great trouble of mind, not 
 doubting that they had lost the body by some negligence, and that on 
 the morrow it would be found in the possession of his rivals, the Bene- 
 dictines. The latter, however, proving as disconcerted as he was, he 
 took comfort, and causing the story to be set down at large in the 
 records of the convent, and subscribed with the names of the four 
 Iriars, he had it read publicly on the next Sunday from the pulpit, 
 with an exhibition of the beard and the mantle, which procured a great 
 de.il of wonder and reverence amongst the conuregation. 
 
 The Benedictines at first were vexed at the credit which was thus 
 lost to their own convent ; but being afterwards pacified with a portion 
 of the grey hairs and a shred or two of the brown cloth, they joined in 
 the propagation of the story ; and the country people believe to this 
 day in the miracle of the holy hermit 
 
 THE WIDOW OF G ALICIA. 
 
 HPHERE lived in the Province of Galicia, a lady so'perfectly beau- 
 JL tiful, that she was called by travellers, and by all indeed who 
 beheld her, the Flower of Spain. It too frequently happens that such 
 handsome women are but as beautiful weeds, useless or even noxious ; 
 whereas with her excelling charms, she possessed all those virtues 
 which should properly inhabit in so lovely a person. She had there- 
 fore many wooers, but especially a certain old knight of Castile 
 (bulky in person, and with hideously coarse features), who, as lie was 
 exceedingly wealthy, made the most tempting offers to induce her to 
 become his mistress, and failing in that object by reason of her strict 
 virtue, he proposed to espouse her. But she, despising him as a bad 
 and brutal man, which was his character, let fall the blessing of her 
 atfection on a young gentleman of small estate but _ood reputation in 
 the province, and being speedily married, they lived together for three 
 years very happily. Notwithstanding this, the abominable knight did
 
 THE WIDOW OF GAUCJA. 681 
 
 not cease to persecute her, till being rudely checked by her husband, 
 and threatened with his vengeance, he desisted for a season. 
 
 It happened at the end of the third \ear of their marriage, that her 
 husband being unhappily murdered on his return from Madrid, whither 
 he had been called by a lawsuit, she was left without protection, and 
 from the failure of the cause much straitened, besides, in her means of 
 living. This time, therefore, the knight thought favourable to renew 
 his importunities, and neither respecting the sacred ness of hi r grief, 
 nor her forlorn state, he molested her so continually,' that if it had not 
 been for the love of her fatherless child, she would ha\ e been content 
 to die. For if the knight was odious before, he was now thrice hate- 
 ful from his undisguised brutality, and above all execrable in her eyes, 
 from a suspicion that he h id procured the assassination of her dear 
 husband. She was obliged, however, to confine this belief to her own 
 bosom, for her persecutor was rich and powerful, and wanted not the 
 means, and scarcely the will, to crush her. Many families had thus 
 suffered by his malignity, and therefore she only awaited the arrange- 
 ment of certain private affairs to withdraw secretly, with her scanty 
 maintenance, into some remote village. There she hoped to be free 
 from her inhuman suitor; but she was delivered from this trouble in 
 the meantime by his death, yet in so terrible a manner, as made it 
 more grievous to her than his life had ever been. 
 
 It wanted, at this event, but a few days of the time when the lady 
 proposed to remove to her country-lodging, taking with her a jnaid 
 who was called Maria ; for since the reduction of her fortune, she had 
 retained but this one servant. Now, it happened that this woman 
 going one day to her ladv's closet, which was in her bedchamber, 
 so soon as she, had opened the door, there tumbled forward the dead 
 body of a man ; and the police being summoned by her shrieks, they 
 soon recognised the corpse to be that of the old C.istilian knight, 
 though the countenance was so blackened and disfigured as to seem 
 scarcely human. It was sufficiently evident that he had perished by 
 poison ; whereupon the unhappy lady, being interrogated, was unable 
 to i^ive any account of the matter : and in spite of her fair reputation, 
 and although she appealed to God in behalf of her innocence, she was 
 throw^ into the common gaol along with other reputed murderers. 
 
 The criminal addresses of the deceased knight being generally 
 known, many persons who believed in her guilt still pitied her, and 
 excused the cruelty of the deed on account of the persecution she had 
 suffered from that wicked man : but these were the most charitable 
 of her judges. The violent death of her husband, which before had 
 been only attributed to robbers, was now assigned by scandalous per- 
 sons to her own act ; and the whole province was shocked that a lady 
 of her fair seeming, and of such unblemished character, should have 
 brought so heavy a disgrace upon her sex and upon human nature. 
 
 At her trial, therefore, the court was crowded to excess ; and some 
 few generous persons were not without a ho: e of her acquittal ; but 
 the same facts, as before, being proved upon oath, and the lady still 
 producing no justification, but only asserting her innocence, theff 
 remained no reasonable cause for doubting of hep gjjjfjj. Ttj e 
 advocate. then began tQ plead, a? bs JWJW duty comiriap
 
 68z THE WIDOW OF G ALICIA. 
 
 for her condemnntion ; he urged the facts of her acquaintance and 
 bad terms with the murdered knight ; and, moreover, certain expres- 
 sions of hatred which she h.id been heard to utter ag.iinst him. The 
 very scene and manner of his destruction, he said, spoke to her un 
 doubted prejudice, the first a private closet in her own bedchamber, 
 and the List by poison, which was likely to be employed by a woman, 
 rather than any weapon of violence. Afterwards, he interpreted to the 
 same conclusion the abrupt flight of the waiting-maid, who, like a 
 guilty and fearful accomplice, had disappeared whenever her mistress 
 was arrested ; and, finally, he recalled the still mysterious fate of her 
 late husband ; so that all who heard him began to bend their brows 
 solemnly, and some reproachfully, on the unhappy object of his dis- 
 course. Still she upheld herself, firmly and calmly, only from time to 
 time lifting her eyes towards heaven ; but when she heard the death 
 of her dear husband touched upon, and in a manner that laid his blood 
 to her charge, she stood forward, and placing her right hand on the 
 head of her son, cried : 
 
 " So witness God, if ever I shed his father's blood, so may this, his 
 dear child, shed mine in vengeance." 
 
 Then sinking down from exhaustion, and the child weeping bitterly 
 over her, the beholders were again touched with compassion, almost 
 to the doubting of. her guilt ; but the evidence being so strong against 
 her, she was immediately condemned by the Court. 
 
 It was the custom in those days for a woman who had committed 
 murder to be first strangled by the hangman, and then burnt to ashes 
 in the midst of the market-place ; but before this horrible sentence 
 could be pronounced on the lady, a fresh witness was moved by the 
 grace of God to come forward in her behalf. This was the waiting- 
 woman, Maria, who hitherto had remained disguised in the body of 
 the Court ; but now being touched with remorse at her lady's unmerited 
 distresses, she stood up on one of the benches, and called out earnestly 
 to be allowed to make her confession. She then related, that she her- 
 self had been prevailed upon, by several great sums of money, and still 
 more by the artful and seducing promises of the dead knight, to 
 secrete him in a closet in her lady's chamber ; but that of the cause of 
 his death she knew nothing, except that upon a shelf she hadj placed 
 some sweet cakes, mixed with arsenic, to poison the rats, and that the 
 knight, being rather gluttonous, might have eaten of them in the dark, 
 and so died. 
 
 At this probable explanation, the people all shouted one shout, and 
 the lady's innocence being acknowledg< d, the sentence was ordered to 
 be reversed ; but she reviving a little at the noise, and being told of this 
 providence, only clasped her hands ; and then, in a few words, com- 
 mending her son to the guardianship of good men, and saying that she 
 could never survive the shame of her unworthy reproach, she ended 
 with a deep sigh, and expired upon the spot*
 
 THF. GOLDEN CUP AND THE DISH OF STL VER. 
 
 
 
 EVERY one knows what a dog's life the misrrable Jews lead all 
 over the world, but especially amongst the Turks, who plunder 
 them of their riches, and slay them on the most frivolous pretences. 
 Thus, if they acquire any wealth, they are obliged to hide it in holes 
 and corners, and to snatch their scanty enjoyments by stealth, in re- 
 compense of the buffets and contumely of their turbaned oppressors. 
 
 In this manner lived Yussuf, a Hebrew of great wealth and wisdom, 
 but, outwardly, a poor beggarly druggist, inhabiting, with his wife, 
 Anna, one of the meanest houses in Constantinople. The curse of his 
 ration had often fallen bitterly upon his head ; his great skill in medi- 
 cine procuring him some uncertain favour from the Turks, but on the 
 failure of his remedies, a tenfold proportion of ill-usage and contempt. 
 In such casts, a hundred blows on the soles of his feet were his 
 common payment ; whereas on the happiest cures, he was often dis- 
 missed with empty hands and some epithet of disgrace. 
 
 As he was sitting one day at his humble door, thinking over these 
 miseries, a janizary came up to him, and commanded Yussuf to go 
 with him to his A<;a or captain, whose palace was close at hand. 
 Yussuf s gold immediately weighed heavy at his heart, as the cause of 
 this summons ; however, he arose obediently, and followed the soldier 
 to the Aga, who was sitting cross-legged on a handsome carpet, with 
 his long pipe in his mouth. The Jew, casting himself on his knees, 
 with his face to the floor, began, like his brethren, to plead poverty in 
 excuse for the shabbiness of his appearance ; but the Aga, interrupting 
 him, proceeded to compliment him in a flattering strain on his reputa- 
 tion for wisdom, which he said had made him desirous of liis conversa- 
 tion. He then ordered the banquet to be brought in ; whereupon the 
 slaves put down before them some wine, in a golden cup, and some pork, 
 in a dish of silver ; both of which were forbidden things, and therefore 
 made the Jew wonder very much at such an entertainment. The Aga 
 then pointing to the refreshments addressed him as follows : 
 
 "Yussuf, they say you are a very wise and learned man, and have 
 studied deeper than any one the mysteries of nature. I have sent 
 for you, therefore, to resolve me on certain doubts concerning this flesh, 
 and this liquor before us ; the pork being as abominable to your 
 religion, as the wine is unto ours. But I am especially curious to know 
 the reasons why your prophet should have forbidden a meat, which by 
 report of the Christians is both savoury and whoUsome ; wherefore I 
 will have you to proceed first with that argument ; and, in order that 
 you may not discuss it negligently, I am resolved in case you fail to 
 justify the prohibition, that you shall empty the silver dish before you 
 stir from the place. Nevertheless, to show you that I am equally 
 candid, I promise, if vou shall thereafter prove to me the unreasonable- 
 ness of the injunction against wine, I will drink off this golden goblet 
 as frankly before we part." 
 
 The terrified Jew understood very readily the purpose of this trial ; 
 however, after a secret prayer to Moses, he began in the best way he 
 could to plead agaiftst the abominable dish that was steaming undei
 
 684 THE GOLDEN CUP AND THE DISH OF SILVER. 
 
 his nostrils. He failed, notwithstanding, to convince the sceptical Aga, 
 who, therefore, commanded him to eat up the pork, and then begin 
 his discourse in favour of the wine. * 
 
 The sad Jew, at this order, endeavoured to move the obdurate Turk 
 by his tears; but the Aga was resolute, nnd drawing his crooked 
 cimetar, declared, "that if Yussuf did not instantly fall to, he would 
 smite his head from his shoulders." 
 
 It was time, at this thre.it, for Yussuf to commend his soul unto 
 heaven, for in Turkey the Jews wear their heads very loosely ; how- 
 ever, by dint of fresh tears and supplicntionsThe obtained a respite of 
 fiiree days, to consider if he could not bring forward any further argu- 
 ments. 
 
 As soon as the audience was over, Yussuf returned disconsolately 
 to his house, and informed his wife Anna of what had passed between 
 him and the Aga. The poor woman foresaw clearly how the matter 
 would end ; for It was aimed only at the confiscation of their riches. 
 She advised Yussuf, therefore, instead of racking his wits for fresh 
 arguments, to carry a bag of gold to the Aga, who condescended to 
 Deceive his reasons ; and after another brief discourse, to grant him a 
 respite of three days longer. Iri the same manner, Yussuf procured 
 a further interval, but somewhat dearer; so that in despair at losing 
 his money at this rate, he returned for the fourth time to the palace. 
 
 The Aga and Yussuf being seated as before, with the mess of pork 
 and the wine between them, the Turk asked, if he had brought any 
 fresh arguments. The doctor replied, "Alas ! he had already discussed 
 the subjeet so often, that his reasons were quite exhausted ;" where- 
 upon the flashing ( imetar leaping quickly out of its scabbard, the 
 trembling Hebrew plucked the loathsome dish towards him, and with 
 many struggles began to sat. 
 
 > It cost him a thousand wry faces to swallow the first morsel ; and 
 from the laughter that came from behind a silken screen, they were 
 observed by more mockers besides the Aga, who took such a cruel 
 oleasure in the amusement of his women, that Yussuf was compelled 
 lo proceed even to the licking of the dish. He was then suffered to 
 depart, without wasting any logic upon the cup of wine, which after 
 his loathsome meal he would have been quite happy to discuss. 
 
 I guess not how the Jew consoled himself besides for his involuntary 
 sin, but he bitterly cursed the cruel Aga and all his wives, who could 
 not amuse their indolent lives with their dancing-girls and tale-tellers, 
 but made merry at the expense of his soul. His wife joined heart'ly 
 in his imprecations ; and both putting ashes on their heads, they 
 mourned and cursed together till the sunset. There came no janizary, 
 however, on the morrow, as they expected ; but on the eighth day, 
 Yussuf was summoned again to the Aga. 
 
 The Jew at this message began to weep, making sure, in his mind, 
 at a fresh dish of pork was prepared for him ; however, he repaired 
 obediently to the palace, where he was told, that the favourite lady of 
 
 the harem was indisposed, and the Aga commanded him to prescribe 
 for her. Now, the Turks are very jealous of their mistresses, and 
 disdain, especially, to expose them to the eyes of infidels, of whom the 
 Jews are held the most vile; wherefore, when Yussuf begged to see
 
 THE TRA GED Y OF SE VI L L E. J 
 
 his patient, she was allowed to be brought forth only in a long white 
 veil, that reached down to her feet. The Aga, notwithstanding the 
 folly of such a proceeding, forbade her veil to be lifted ; neither would 
 he permit the Jew to converse with her, but commanded him on pain 
 of death to return home and prepnre his medicines. 
 
 The wretched doctor, groaning all the way, went back to his house, 
 without wasting a thought on what drugs he should administer on so 
 hopeless a case ; but considering, instead, the surgical practice of the 
 Aga, which separated so many necks. However, he told his wife of 
 the new jeoi ardy he was placed in for the Moorish Jezebel. 
 
 "A curse take her !" said Anna ; "give her a dose of poison, and 
 let her perish before his eyes." 
 
 "Nay," answered the Jew, "that will be to pluck the sword down 
 upon our own heads ; nevertheless, I will cheat the infidel's concubine 
 with some wine, which is equally damnable to their souls ; and may 
 God visit upon their conscience the misery they have enforced upon 
 mine ! " 
 
 In this bitter mood, going to a filthy hole in the floor, he drew out 
 a flask of schiraz ; and bestowing as many Hebrew curses on the 
 liquor as the Mussulmans are wont to utter of blessings over their 
 medicines, he filled up some physic bottles, and repaired with them 
 to the palace. 
 
 And now let the generous virtues of good wine be duly lauded for 
 the happy sequel ! 
 
 The illness of the favourite, being merely a languor and melancholy, 
 proceeding from the voluptuous indolence of her life, the draughts of 
 Yussuf soon dissipated her chagrin, in such a miraculous manner, that 
 she sang and danced more gaily than any of her slaves. The Aga, 
 therefore, instead of beheading Yussuf, returned to him all the purses 
 of gold he had taken ; to which the grateful lady, besides, added a 
 valuable ruby ; and, thenceforward, when she was ill, would have none 
 but the Jewish physician. 
 
 Thus, Yussuf saved both his head and his money ; and, besides, 
 convinced the Aga of the virtues of good wine ; so that the golden cup 
 was finally emptied, as well as the dish oi silver. 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF SEVILLE. 
 
 EVERY one, in Seville, has heard of the famous robber Bazardo ; 
 but, as some may be ignorant of one of the most interesting in- 
 cidents of his career, I propose to relate a part of his history as it is 
 attested in the criminal records of that city. 
 
 This wicked man was born in the fair city of Cadiz, and of very 
 obscure parentage ; but the time which I mean to speak of is, when he 
 returned to Seville, after being some years absent in the Western 
 Indies, and with a fortune which, whether justly or unjustly acquired, 
 sufficed to a fiord him the rank and apparel of a gentleman. 
 
 It was then, as he strolled up one of the by-streets, a few days aftei 
 his arrival, that he was attracted by a very poor woman, gazing mosl
 
 686 THE TRAGEDY OF SEVILLE. 
 
 anxiously and eagerly at a shop-window. She was lean and famished, 
 and clad in very rags, and made altogether so miserable an appearance, 
 that even a robber, with the least grace of cilanfy in his heart, would 
 have instantly relieved her with an alms. The robber, however, con- 
 tented hims- If with observing her motions at a distance, till, at last, 
 casting a fearful glance behind her, the poor famished wretch suddenly 
 dashed her withered arm through a pane of the window, and made off 
 with a small coarse loaf. But whether from the feebleness of hunger 
 or affright, she ran so slowly, it cost Bazardo but a moment's pursuit 
 to overtake her', and seizing her by the arm, he began, thief as he was, 
 to upbraid her for making so free with another's property. 
 
 The poor woman made no reply, but uttered a short shrill scream, 
 and threw the loaf, unperceivecl, through a little casement, and then 
 turning a face full of hunger and fear, besought Bazafdo, for charity's 
 sake and the love of God, to let her go free. She was no daily pillerer, 
 she told him, but a distressed woman, who could relate to him a story, 
 which, if it did not break her own heart in the utterance, must needs 
 command his pity. But he was no way moved by her appeal ; and 
 the baker coming up and insisting on the restoration of the loaf, to 
 which she made no answer but by her tears, they began to drag her 
 raway between them, and with as much violence as if she had been no 
 such skeleton as she appeared. 
 
 By this time a crowd had assembled, and beholding this 
 inhumanity, and learning besides the trifling amount of the theft, 
 they bestowed a thousand curses, and some blows too, on Bazardo 
 and the baker. These hard-hearted men, however, maintained 
 their hold ; and the office of police being close by, the poor wretched 
 creature was deli vend to the guard, and as the magistrates were then 
 sitting, the cause was presently examined. 
 
 During the accusation of Bazardo the poor woman stood utterly 
 silent, till coming to speak of her abusive speech, and of the resistance 
 which she had made to her capture, she suddenly interrupted him, and 
 .lifting up her shrivelled hands and arms towards heaven, inquired if 
 those poor bones, which had not strength enough to work for her live- 
 lihood, were likely weapons for the injury of any human creature. 
 
 At this pathetic appeal there was a general murmur of indignation 
 against the accuser, and the charge being ended, she was advised that 
 as only one witness had deposed against her, she could not be con- 
 victed, except upon her own confession. But she, scorning to shame 
 the truth, or to wrong even her accuser, for the people were ready to 
 believe that he had impeached her falsely, freely admitted the theft, 
 adding, that under the like necessity she must needs sin again ; and 
 with that, hiding her face in her hands, she sobbed out, " My children ! 
 Alas ! for my poor children ! " 
 
 At this exclamation the judge even could not contain his tears, but 
 told her with a broken voice that he would hear nothing further to her 
 own prejudice ; expressing, moreover, his regret, that the world pos- 
 sessed so little charity, as not to have prevented the mournful crime 
 which she had committed. Then, desiring to know more particulars 
 of her condition, she gratefully thanked him, and imploring the bless
 
 THE TRA GED Y OF SE VI L LE, 687 
 
 ing of God upon all those who had shown so much sweet charity on 
 her beh.,lf, she began to relate her melancholy history. 
 
 "She was the daughter, she said, of ;i wealthy merchant at Cadiz, 
 and had been instructed in all accomplishments that belong to a lady. 
 That having listened unhappily to the flatteries of an officer in the 
 King's guard, she had married him, and bestowed upon him all her 
 fortune ; but that instead of being grateful for these benefits, he had 
 expended her property in riotous living ; and, finally, deserted her with 
 her two children, to the care of Him that feedeth the ravens." Here 
 her voice becoming more tremulous, and almost inaudible, she excused 
 herself, saying, that for two whole days she had not tasted of any food, 
 and must needs have perished, but that by God's good grace she had 
 then caught a rat, which served her, loathsome as it was, for a meal. 
 
 Hereupon, the judge was exceedingly shocked, and immediately 
 gave orders for some refreshments ; but she declined to touch them, 
 saying, that whilst her children were in want she could not eat ; but 
 with his gracious permission would only rest her head upon her hands. 
 And so she sat down in silence, wfeilst all the people contemplated 
 her with pity, still beautiful in her misery, and reduced from a luxurious 
 condition to so dreadful an extremity. 
 
 In the meantime, the officers were despatched by the judge's direc- 
 tion to bring hither the children : and after resting for a little while, 
 the unfortunate lady resumed her story. " For t'-\ o years, she said, she 
 had maintained herself and her little ones by her skill in embroidery 
 and other works of art ; but afterwards, falling ill from her over-exer- 
 tion and concealed sorrows, her strength had deserted her ; and latterly, 
 having no other resource, she h \d been obliged to sell her raiment. 
 At last, she had nothing left but the poor ra_s she at present wore, be- 
 sides her wedding ring ; and that she would sooner die than part with. 
 For I still live," she added, "in the ho e of my husband's return 
 to me, and then, may God forgive thee, Bazardo, as 1 will forgive 
 thee, for all this cruel misery." 
 
 At the mention of this name, her ac- user turned instantly to the 
 complexion of marble, and he would fain have made his escape from 
 the court; but the crowd pressing upon him, as if willing that he 
 should hear the utmost of a misery for which he had shown so little 
 compassion, he was compelled to remain in his place. He flattered 
 himself, notwithstanding, that by reason of the alteration in his fe.itures, 
 from his living in the Indies, he should still be unrecognised by the 
 object of his cruelty ; whereas, the captain of the vessel which had 
 brought him over was at that moment present ; and wondering th it 
 his ship had come safely with so wicked a wretch on board, he 
 instantly denounced Bazardo by name, and pointed him out to the 
 indignation of the people. 
 
 At this discovery there was a sudden movement amongst the crowd ; 
 and in spite of the presence of the judge, and of the entreaties of the 
 wretched lady herself, the robber would have been torn into as many 
 pieces as there vere persons in the court, except for the tinuly inter- 
 position of the guard. 
 
 In the meantime, the officers who had been sent for the children 
 had entered by the opposite side of the hall, and making way towards
 
 688 THE TRA GED Y OF SE VILLE. 
 
 the judge, and depositing somewhat upon the table, before it could bt 
 perceived what it was, they covered it over with a coarse linen cloth. 
 Afterwards, being interrogated, they declared, that having proceeded 
 whither they had been directed, they heard sounds of moaning, and 
 sobbing, and lamentations, in a child's voice. That entering upon 
 this, and beholding one child bending over another and weeding 
 bitterly, they supposed the latter to have died of hunger ; but on goin.,' 
 nearer, they discovered that it had a Lrge wound on the left side, and 
 that it was then warm and breathing, but was since dead. They 
 pointed, as they said this, to the body on the table, where the blood 
 was now beginning to ooze visibly through the linen cloth. As for 
 the manner of its being wounded, or the author, they could give nc 
 evidence ; not only because the house was otherwise uninhabited, but 
 that the remaining child was so affrighted, or so stricken with grief, 
 that it could give no account of the occurrence. His cries, indeed, at 
 this moment, resounded from the adjoining corridor ; and the mother, 
 staring wildly around her, and b^okling that whidi lay upon the table, 
 suddenly snatched away the cloth, and so exposed the body of the 
 dead child. It was very lean and famished, wiih a gaping wound on 
 its left bosom ; from which the blood trickled even to the clerk's desk, 
 so that the paper, which contained the record of the lady's sorrows, 
 was stained with this new sad evidence of her misfortunes. 
 
 The people at this dreadful sight uttered a general moan of horror, 
 and the mother made the whole court re-echo with her shrieks ; 
 insomuch, that some from mere anguish ran out of the hall, whiUt 
 others stopped iheir ears with their hands, her cries WI.TO so long and 
 piercing. At last, when she could scream no longer, but lay as one 
 dead, the judge rose up, and commanding the other child to be brought 
 in, and the dead body to be removed out of sight, he endeavoured, 
 partly by soothing, and partly by threats, to draw forth the truth of 
 what had been huiierto an incomprehensible mystery. 
 
 For a long time, the poor child, being famished and spiritless, made 
 no answer, but only sobbed and trembled, as if his little joints would 
 fall asunder ; till at last, being re-assured by the judge, and having 
 partaken of some wine, he began to relate what had happened. His 
 mother, early in the morning, had promised them some bread ; but 
 being a long time absent, and he and his little brother growing more 
 and more hungry, they lay down upon the floor and wept. That whilst 
 they cried, a sm..ll loaf very small indeed, was thruwn in at the win- 
 dow ; and both being almost famished, and both struggling together to 
 obtain it, he had unwarily stabbed his little brother with a knife which 
 he held in his hand. And with that, bursting afresh into tears, he be- 
 sought the judge not to hang him. 
 
 All this time, the cruel Bazardo remained unmoved ; and the judge 
 reproaching him in the sternest language, ordered him to be imprison 
 ed. He then lamented afresh, that the dearth of Christian charity ana 
 benevolence was accountable for such horrors as they had witnessed ; 
 and immediately the people, as if by consent, be.^an to offer money, 
 and some their purses, to the unfortunate lady. But she, heedless of 
 Miem all, and exclaiming that she would sell her dead child for no
 
 THE LAD Y IN LOVE WITH ROMANCE. 689 
 
 money, rushed out into the street ; and there repeating the same word?, 
 and at last sitting down, she expired a martyr to hunger and grief, on 
 the steps of her own dwelling. 
 
 THE LADY IN LOVE WITH ROMANCE. 
 
 MANY persons in Castille remember the old Knight Pedro de 
 Peiibla, surnamed The Gross. In his person, he was emin- 
 ently large and vulgar, with a most brutal countenance ; and in his 
 .disposition so coarse and gluttonous, and withal so great a drunkard, 
 that if one could believe in a transmigration of beasts, the spirit of a 
 swine had passed into this man's body, for the discredit of human 
 nature. 
 
 Now, truly, this was a proper suitor for the Lady Blanche, who, be- 
 sides the comeliness of hrr person, was adorned with all those accom- 
 plishments which become a gentlewoman : she was moreover gifted 
 with a most excellent wit ; so that she not only played on the guitar 
 and various musical instruments to admiration, but also she enriched 
 the melody with most beautiful verses of her own composition. Her 
 father, a great man, and very proud besides of the nobility of his blood, 
 yas not insensible of these her rare merits, but declaring that so pre- 
 cious a jewel deserved to be richly set in gold, and that rather than 
 marry her below her estate he would devo< her to a life of perpetual 
 celibacy, he watched her with the vigilance of an Argus. To do them 
 justice, the young gentlemen of the province omitted no stratagem to 
 gain access to hro- presence, but all their attempts were as vain as the 
 grasping at water ; and at length her parent becoming more and more 
 jealous of her admirers, she was confined to the solitude of her own 
 chamber. 
 
 It was in this irksome seclusion that, reading constantly in novels 
 and such works which refer to the ages of chivalry, she became sud- 
 denly smitten with such a new passion for the romantic, talking con- 
 tinually of knights and squires, and stratagems of love and war, that 
 her father, doubting whither such a madness might tend, gave orders 
 that all books should be removed from her chamber. 
 
 It was a grievous thing to think of that young lady, cheerful and 
 beautiful as the day, confined thus like a wild bird to an unnatural 
 cage, and deprived of the common delights of liberty and nature. At 
 length, that old Knight of Castille, coming, not with rop^e-ladders nor 
 disguised in woman's apparel, like some adventurers, but with a costly 
 equipage, and a most golden reputation, he was permitted to lay his 
 .at ge person at her feet, and, contrary to all expectation, was regarded 
 with an eye of favour. 
 
 At the first report of his reception, no one could sufficiently marvel 
 how, in a man of such a countenance, she could behold any similarity 
 with those brave and comely young cavaliers, who, it was thought, must 
 have risen out of their graves in Palestine to behold such a wooer ; but 
 when they called to mind her grievous caotivity, and how hopeless it 
 was that she could be freed by any artifice from the vigilance of hei 
 
 2 X
 
 (90 THE LADY IN LOVE WITH ROMANCE. 
 
 father, they almost forgave her that she was ready to obtain her free> 
 dom by bestowing her hand on a first cousin to the devil. A certain 
 gallant gentleman, however, who was named Castello, v\as so offended 
 by the news, that he would have slain the Knight, without any concent 
 for the consequences to hims'.lf ; but the Lady Blanche, hearing of his 
 design, made shift to send him a message, that by the same blow he 
 would wound her quiet for ever. 
 
 In the meantime her father was overjoyed at the prosnect of so rich 
 a son-in-law as the Knight ; for he was one of those parents, that would 
 bestow their children upon Midas himself, notwithstanding that they 
 should be turned into sordid gold at the first embrace. In a transport 
 of joy, therefore, he made an unusual present of valu ible jewels to his 
 daughter, and told her withal, that in any reasonable request he would 
 instantly indulge her. This liberal promise astonished Blanche not a 
 little ; but after a moment's musing she made answer. 
 
 " You know, sir," she said, " my passion for romance, and how 
 heartily I despise the fashion of these degenerate days, when every 
 thing is performed in a dull formal manner, and the occurrence of to-day 
 is but a pattern for the morrow. There is nothing done now so ro- 
 mantically as in those delightful times, when you could not divine, in 
 one hour, the fate that should befal you in the next, as you may read 
 of in those delicious works of which you have so cruelly deprived m < 
 I beg, therefore, as I have so dutifully consulted your satisfaction in 
 the choice of a husband, that you will so far indulge me, as to leave 
 the manner of our marriage to my own discretion, which is, that it may 
 be on the model of that in the history of Donna F.leanora, in which 
 novel, if you remember, the lady being confined by her f.ither as I am, 
 contrives to conceal a lover in her closet, and makin^their escape to- 
 gether by a rope-ladder, they are happily united in marriage." 
 
 " Now, by the Holy Virgin !" replii-d her father, " this thing shall 
 never be ;" and foreseeing a thousand difficulties, and above all that 
 the Knight would be exceeding adverse to his part in the drama, he 
 repented a thousand times over of the books which had filled her with 
 such preposterous fancies. The lady, notwithstanding, was resolute; 
 and declaring that otherwise she would kill herself rather than be 
 crossed in her will, the old miser reluctantly acceded to her scheme. 
 Accordingly it was concerted that the next evening, at dusk, the 
 Knight should come and play his serenade under her lattice, where- 
 upon, hearing his most ravishing music, she was to let fall a ladder of 
 ropes, and so admit him to her chamber ; her father, moreover, 
 making his nightly rounds, she was to conceal her lover in her closet, 
 and then, both descending by the ladder together, they were to 
 take flight on a pair of fleet horses, which should be ready at the 
 garden gate. 
 
 "And now," said she, " if you fail me in the smallest of these par- 
 ticulars, the Knight shall never have of me so much as a ring may 
 embrace," and with this injunction they severally awaited the com- 
 pletion of their drama. 
 
 The next ni;_:ht, the Lady Blanche watched at her window, and in due 
 season the Knight came with his twangling guitar ; but, as if to maka 
 her sport of him for the last time, she affected to mistake his music.
 
 THE LADY IN LOVE WITH ROMA ATE. 691 
 
 "Ah!" she cried. " here is a goodly sen-nade to sing one awake 
 with ; I prithee go away a mile hence, with thy execrable voice, or 1 
 uill have thee answered with an arquebuss." 
 
 All this time the Knight fretted himself into a violent rage, stamping 
 and blaspheming all the blessed saints ; but when he heard mention 
 of the arquebuss, he made a motion to run away, which constrained 
 the lady to recal him, and to cast him down the ladder without any 
 further ado. It was a perilous and painful journey for him, you may 
 be sure, to climb up to a single story ; but at length with great labour 
 he clambered into the balcony, and in a humour that went nigh to mar 
 the most charming romance that was ever invented. In short, he 
 vowed not to stir a step further in the plot : but Blanche, telling him 
 that for this first and last time he must needs fulfil her will, which 
 would so speedily be resolved into his own ; and seducing him besides 
 with some little tokens of endearment, he allowed himself to be locked 
 up in her closet. 
 
 The lady then laid herself down in bed, nnd her father knocking at 
 the door soon after, she called out that he was at liberty to enter. 
 He came in then, very gravely, with a dark lantern, and asking if his 
 daughter was asleep, she replied that she was just on the skirts of a 
 dose. 
 
 " Ah," quoth he, after bidding her a good night, "am I not a good 
 father to humour thee thus, in all thy fantasies ? In verity, I have for- 
 gotten the speech which I ought here to deliver ; but pray look well 
 to thy footing, Blanche, and keep a firm hold of the ladder, for else thou 
 wilt have a deadly fall, and I would not have thee to damage my 
 carnations." 
 
 Hereupon he departed ; and going back to his own chamber, he 
 could not help praising God that this troublesome folly was so nearly 
 at an end. It only remained for him now to receive the letter, which 
 was to be sent to him, as if to procure his fatherly pardon and bene- 
 diction ; and this, after a space, being brought to him by a domestic, 
 he read as follows : 
 
 " Sir, If you had treated me with loving-kindness ns your daughter, 
 I should most joyfully have reverenced you as my father : but, as you 
 have always carried a purse where instead you 011:4 lit to have worn a 
 human heart, I have made free to bestow myself where that seat of 
 love will not be wanting to my happiness. As for the huge Knight, 
 whom you have thought fit to select for my husband, you will find him 
 locked up in my closet. For the manner of my departure, I would not 
 willingly have made you a party to your own disappointment ; but 
 that, from your excessive vigilance, it was hopeless for me to escape 
 exi ept by a ladder of your own planting. Necessity was the mother 
 of my invention, and its father was love. Excepting this performance, 
 I was never romantic, and am not now ; and, therefore, neither scorn- 
 ing your forgiveness, nor yet de-pairing at its denial, I am going to 
 settle into that sober discretion which I hope is not foreign to my 
 nature. Farewell. Before you read this I am in the arms of my dear 
 Josef Castello, a gentleman of such merit, that you will reg in more 
 honour with such a son, than you can have lost in your undutifuj 
 daughter, . ' BLANCHE."
 
 692 THE EIGHTH SLEEPER OF EPHESUS. 
 
 On reading this letter, the old man fell into the most ungovernable 
 rage, and releasing the Knight from the closet, they reproached each 
 other so bitterly, and qunrrelled so long, as to make it hopeless that 
 they could overtake the fugitives, even had they known the direction 
 of their flight. 
 
 In this pleasant manner, the Lady Blanche of Castille made hei 
 escape from an almost hopeless captivity and an odious suitor ; and 
 the letter which she wrote is preserved unto this day, as an evidence 
 of her wit. But her father never forgave her elopement ; and when 
 he was stretched even at the point of death, being importuned on this 
 subject, he made answer thnt, "he could never forgive her, when he 
 had never forgiven himself for her evasion." And with these words on 
 his lips he expired. 
 
 THE EIGHTH SLEEPER OF EPHESUS. 
 
 IT happened one day, in a certain merry party of Genoese, that 
 their conversation fell at last on the noted miracle of Ephesus. 
 Most of the company treated the story of the Seven Sleepers as a 
 pleasant fable, and many shrewd conceits and witty jests were 
 passed on the occasion. Some of the gentlemen, inventing dreams 
 for those drowsy personages, provoked much mirth by their allusions ; 
 whilst others speculated satirically on the changes in manners, which 
 they must have* remarked after their 'century of slumber all of the 
 listeners being highly diverted, excepting one sober gentleman, who 
 made a thousand wry faces at the discourse. 
 
 At length, taking an opportunity to address them, he lectured them 
 very seriously in defence of the miracle, calling them so many heretics 
 and infidels ; and saying that he saw no reason why the history should 
 not be believed as well as any other legend of the holy fathers. Then, 
 after many other curious arguments, he brought the example of the 
 dormouse, which sleeps throughout a whole winter, affirming, that the 
 Ephesian Christians, being laid in a cold place, like a rocky cavern or 
 a sepulchre, might reasonably have remained torpid for a hundred 
 years. 
 
 His companions, feigning themselves to be converted, flattered him 
 on to proceed in a discourse which was so diverting, some of them 
 replenishing his glass continually with wine of which, through talking 
 till he became thirsty, he partook very freely. At last after uttering a 
 volume of follies and extravagances, he dropped his head upon the 
 table and fell into a profound doze ; during which interval, his merry 
 companions plotted a scheme against him, which they promised 
 themselves would afford some excellent sport. Carrying him softly 
 therefore to an upper chamber, they laid him upon an old bed of state, 
 very quaintly furnished and decorated in the style of the Gothic ages. 
 Thence repairing to' a private theatre in the house, which belonged to 
 their entertainer, they arrayed themselves in some Bohemian habits, 
 v.ry grotesque and fanciful, and disguised their faces with paint ; and 
 then sending one of their number to keep watch in the bed-chamber
 
 THE EIGHTH SLEEPER OF EPHESUS. 693 
 
 they awaited in this masquerade the awaking of the credulous 
 sleeper. 
 
 In an hour or thereabouts, the watcher, perceiving that the other 
 began to y;iwn, ran instantly to his comrades, who burning up to the 
 chamber found their Ephesian sitting upright in bed, and wondering 
 about him at its uncouth mouldering furniture. One of them then 
 speaking for the rest, began to congratulate him on his revival out of 
 so tedious a slumber, persuading him, by help of the others and a 
 legion of lies, that he had slept out a hundred years. He thereupon 
 asking them who they were, they answered they were his dutiful great- 
 grandchildren, who had kept watch over him by turns ever since they 
 were juveniles. In proof of this, they showed him how dilapidated the 
 bed had become since he had slept in it, nobody daring to remove him 
 against the advice of the physicians. 
 
 " I perceive it w^ell," said he, " the golden embroideries are indeed 
 very much tarnished and the hangings in truth, as tattered as any 
 of our old Genoese standards that were carried against the Turks. 
 These faded heraldries too, upon the head-cloth, have been thoroughly 
 fretted by the moths. I notice also, my dear great-grandchildren, by 
 your garments, how much the fashions have altered since my time, 
 though you have kept our ancient language very purely, which is owing 
 of course to the invention of printing. The trees, likewise, and the 
 park, I observe, have much the same appeirance that I remember a 
 century since but the tferene aspect of nature does not alter so con- 
 stantly like our frivolous human customs." 
 
 Then recollecting himself, he began to make inquiries concerning 
 his former acquaintance, and in particular about one Giacoppo Rossi 
 the same wag that in his mummery was then standing before him. 
 They told him he had been dead and buried, fourscore years ago. 
 
 " Now, God be praised !" he answered ; "for that same fellow was 
 a most pestilent coxcomb, who, pretending to be a wit, thought himself 
 licensed to ridicule men of worth and gravity with the most shameful 
 buffooneries. The world must have been much comforted by his 
 death, and especially if he took with him his fellow mountebank, 
 Guidolphi, who was as laborious a jester, but duller." 
 
 In this strain, going through the names of all those that were with 
 him in the room, he praised God heartily that he was rid of such a 
 generation of knaves and fools and profane heretics ; and then 
 recollecting himself afresh. 
 
 " Of course, my great-grandchildren." said he. " I am a widower ?" 
 
 His wife, who was amongst the maskers, at this question began to 
 prick up her ears, and answering for herself, she said, 
 
 " Alas ! the good woman that was ti y partner has been dead these" 
 seventy-three years, and has left thee desolate." 
 
 At this new s the sleeper began to rub his hands together very briskly, 
 saying, " Then there was a cursed shrew gone ; " whereupon his wife 
 striking him in a fury on the chet k, she let fall her mask through this 
 indiscretion : and so awaked him out of his marvellous dream.
 
 694 
 
 MADELINE. 
 
 HP HERE lived in Toledo a young gentleman, so passionately loved 
 J. by a young lady of the same city, that 9\\ his sudden decease 
 she made a vow to think of no other ; and having neither relations nor 
 friends, except her dear brother Juan, who was then abroad, she hired 
 a small house, and lived almost the life of a hermit. Being young and 
 handsome, however, and possessed besides of a pk-ntiful fortune, she 
 was much annoyed by the young gallants of the place, who practised 
 so many stratagems to get speech of her, and molested her so contin- 
 ually, that to free herself from their importunities, both now and for 
 the future, she exchanged her dress for a man's apparel, and privately 
 withdrew to another city. By favour of her compljexion, which was a 
 brunette's, and the solitary manner of her life, she was enabled to 
 preserve this disguise ; and it might have been expected that she would 
 have met with few adventures ; but on the contrary, she had barely 
 sojourned a month in this new dwelling, and in this unwonted garb, 
 when she was visited with still sterner inquietudes than in those she 
 had so lately resigned. 
 
 As the beginning of her troubles, it happened one evening, in going 
 out a little distance, that she was delayed in the street by seeing a 
 young woman, wh, sitting on some Mtone ste^>s, and with scanty rags 
 to cover her, was nursing a beautiful infant at her breast and weeping 
 bitterly. At this painful spectacle, the charitable Madeline immediately 
 cast her purse into the poor mother's lap, and the woman eagerly 
 seizing the gift, and clasping it to her bosom, began to implore the 
 blessing of God upon so charitable and Christian-like a gentleman. 
 But an instant had scarcely been gone, when on looking up, and more 
 completely discerning the countenance of her benefactor, she suddenly 
 desisted. 
 
 "Ah, wretch ! " she cried, "do you come hither to insult me? Go 
 again to your false dice ; and the curse of a wife and of a mother be 
 upon you !" Then casting away the purse, and bending herself down 
 over her child, and crying, "Alas ! my poor babe, shall we eat from 
 the hand that has ruined thy father ; " she resumed her weening. 
 
 The tender Madeline was greatly afflicted at being so painfully mis- 
 taken ; and hastening home, she deliberated with herself whether she 
 should any longer retain an apparel which had subjected her to so 
 painful an occurrence ; but recalling her former persecutions, and 
 trusting that so strange an adventure could scarcely befal her a second 
 time, she continued in her masculine disguise. And now, thinking of 
 the comfort and protection which her dear brother Juan might be to her 
 in such troubles, she became vehemently anxious for his return ; and 
 the more so, because she could obtain no tidings of him whatever. 
 On the morrow, therefore, she went forth to make inquiry ; and 
 forsaking her usual road, and especially the quarter where she had 
 encountered with that unfortunate woman, she trusted reasonably to 
 meet with no other such misery. 
 
 Now it chanced that the road which she had chosen on this day led
 
 MADELINE. 695 
 
 close beside a cemetery ; and just at the moment when she arrived 
 by the gates, there came also a funeral, so that she was obliged to 
 stand aside during the procession. Madeline was much struck by the 
 splendour of the escutcheons ; but still more by the general expression 
 of sorrow amongst the people ; and inquiring of a by-stander the 
 name of the deceased : " What !" said the man, " have ye not heard 
 of the villanous murder of our good lord, the Don Felix de Castro? 
 tlie hot curse of God fall on the w icked Cain that slew him !" and with 
 that, he uttered so many more dreadful imprecations as made her 
 blood run cold to hear him. 
 
 In the meantime, the mourners one by one had almost entered ; and 
 the last one was just stepping by, with her hands clasped and a coun- 
 tenance of the deepest sorrow, when casting her eyes on Madeline, she 
 uttered a piercing shriek, and pointing with her finger, cried, "That is 
 he, that is he who murdered my poor brother ! " 
 
 At this exclamation, the people eagerly pressed towards the quartet 
 whither she pointed ; but Madeline, shrinking back from the piercing 
 glance of the lady, was so hidden by the gite as to be unnoticed ; and 
 the next man being seized on suspicion, and a great tumult arising, she 
 was enabled to m <ke her escape. " Al.is ! " she sighed inwardly, '* what 
 sin have I committed, that this cruel fortune pursues me whithersoever 
 I turn. Alas, what have I done;" and walking sorrowfully in these 
 meditations, she was suddenly accosUd by a strange domestic. 
 
 " Senor," he said, " my lady desires most earnestly to see you ; nay, 
 you must needs come ;" and thereupon It-ading the way into an ancient, 
 noble-looking mansion, the bewildered Madeline, silent and wondering, 
 was introduced to a large apartment. At the further end a lady attired 
 in deep mourning, like a widow, was reclining on a black velvet sofa ; 
 the curtains were black, the pictures wire framed also in blat k, and 
 the whole room was so furnished in that dismal colour, that it looked 
 like a very palace of grief. 
 
 At sight of Madeline, the lady rose hastily and ran a few stens for- 
 ward ; but her limbs failing, she stopped short, and re-ted with both 
 hands on a little table which stood in the centre of the room. Her 
 figure was tall and graceful, but so wasted, that it seemed as if it must 
 needs bend to that attitude ; and her countenance was so thin and pale, 
 and yet withal so beautiful, that Madeline could not behold it without 
 tears of pity. After a pause, the lady cried in a low voice, " Ah, cruel, 
 how could you desert me ! See how I have grieved for you ! " and 
 therewith unb..iding her hair, so that it fell about her face, it was as 
 grey as in a woman of four-score ! 
 
 "Alas!" she said, "it was black once, when I gave *hee a lock 
 for a keeps ike ; but it was fitting it should change when thou hast 
 changed ;" and leaning her face on her hands she sobbed heavily. 
 
 At these words, the tender Mrdeline approached to console her ; 
 but the lady pushing her gently aside, exclaimed mournfully, " It is 
 too late ! it is too late, now !" and then casting herself on the sofa, 
 gave way to such a passion of grief, and trembled so exceedingly, that 
 it seemed as if life and sorrow would part asunder on the spot. 
 Madeline kneeling down, and swearing that she had never injured her, 
 besought her to moderate a transport which broke her heart only to
 
 696 MADELINE. 
 
 gaze upon ; and the lady moving her lips, hut unable to make any 
 reply, then drew from her bosom a small miniature, and sobbing out, 
 " O Juan, Juan !" hid her face again upon the cushion. 
 
 At sight of the picture, the miserable Madeline was in her own turn 
 speechless ; and remembering instantly the beggar and the mourner, 
 whose mistakes were thus illustrated by the unhappy lady she com- 
 prehended at once the full measure of her wretchedness. " Oh, Juan, 
 Juan !" she groaned, "is it thus horribly that I must hear of thee !" 
 and stretching herself upon the carpet, she uttered such piercing crips, 
 that the lady, alarmed by a grief which surpassed even her own, 
 endeavoured to raise her, and happening to tear open the bosom of 
 her dress, the sex of Madeline was discovered. " Alas, poor wretch ! 
 hast thou too been deceived," cried the lady, " and by the same false 
 Juan?" and enfolding Madeline in her arms, the two unfortunates 
 wept together for the space of many minutes. 
 
 In the meantime, a domestic abruptly entered ; and exclaiming that 
 the murderer of Don Felix was condemned, and that he had seen him 
 conducted to prison, he delivered into the hands of his mistress a frag- 
 ment of a letter, which she read as follows : 
 
 " Most dear and injured lady, Before this shocks your eyes, your 
 ears will be stung with the news that it is I who have killed your kins- 
 man ; and knowing that by the same blow I have slain your peace, I 
 am not less stained by your tears than by his blood which is shed. 
 My wretched life will speedily make atonement for this last offence ; 
 but that I should have requited your admirable constancy and affec- 
 tion by so unworthy a return of cruelty and falsehood, is a crime that 
 scorches up my tears before I can shed them ; and makes me so des- 
 pair, that I cannot pray even on the threshold of death. And yet, I 
 am not quite the wretch you may account me, except in misery ; but 
 desiring only to die as the most unhappy man in this unhappy world 
 I have withheld many particulars which might otherwise intercede for 
 me with my judges. But I desire to die, and to pass away from both 
 hatred and pity, if any such befal me ; but above all, to perish from a 
 remembrance whereof I am most unworthy : and when I am but a 
 clod v and a poor remnant of dust, you miy happily forgive, for mortal- 
 ity's sake, the many faults and human sins which did once inhabit it. 
 
 " I am only a few brief hours short of this consumm ition : and the 
 life which was bestowed for your misery and mine will be extinguished 
 for ever. My blood is running its last course through its veins and 
 the light and air of which all others so largely partake, is scmtily 
 measured out to me. Do not curse me do not forget that which you 
 once were to me, though unrelated to my crimes ; but if my name may 
 still live where my lips have been, put your pardon into a prayer for 
 my soul against its last sunrise. Only one more request. I have a 
 sister in Toledo who tenderly loves me, and believes that I am still 
 abroad. If it be a thing possible, confirm her still in that happy de- 
 lusion or tell her that I am dead, but not how. As I have concealed 
 my true name, I hope that this deadly reproach may be spared to her, 
 and now from the very confines of the grave"
 
 MADELINE. 697 
 
 It was a painful thing to hear the afflicted lady reading thus f<ir be- 
 twixt her groans but the remainder was written in so wavering a hand, 
 and withal so stained and blotted, that, like the me.'ining of death itself, 
 it surpassed discovery. At length, ''Let me go," cried Madeline, "let 
 me go and liberate him ! If they mistake me thus for my brother 
 Juan, the gaoler will not be able to distinguish him from me, and in 
 this manner he may escape, and so have more years for repentance, 
 and make his peace with God." Hereupon, wildly clapping her hands, 
 as if for joy at this fortunate thought, she entreated so earnestly for a 
 womanly dress that it was given to her, and throwing it over her man's 
 apparel, she made the best of her way to the prison. But, alas ! the 
 countenance of the miserable Juan was so changed by sickness and 
 sharp anguish of mind, that for want of a more happy token she was 
 constrained to recognise him by his bonds. Her fond stratagem there- 
 fore would have been hopeless, if Juan besides had not been so reso- 
 lute, as he was, in his opposition to her entreaties. She was obliged, 
 therefore, to content herself with mingling tears with him till ni^ht, in 
 his dungeon, and then struggling, and tearing her fine hair, as though 
 it had been guilty of her grief, she was removed from him by main 
 force, and in that manner convev ed back to the lady's residence. 
 
 For some hours she expended her breath only in raving and the 
 most passionate arguments of distress, but afterwards she became 
 as fearfully calm, neither speaking, nor weeping, nor listening to what 
 was addressed to her, merely remarking about midnight, that she heard 
 the din of the workmen upon the scaffold and which, though heard 
 by no other person at so great a distance, was confirmed afterwards to 
 have been a truth. In this state, with her eyes fixed and her lips mov- 
 ing, but without any utterance, she remained till morning in a kind of 
 lethargy and therein so much more happy than her unfortunate 
 companion, who at every sound of the great bell which is always tolled 
 against the death of a convict, started and sobbed ard shook, as if each 
 stroke was made against her own heart. But of Madeline, on the 
 contrary, it was noted that even when the doleful procession was pass- 
 ing immediately under the window at which she was present, she only 
 shivered a little, as if at a cool breath of air, and then turning slowly 
 away, and desiring to be laid in bed, she fell into a slumber, as pro- 
 found nearly as death itself. But it was not her blessed fate to die so 
 quickly, although on the next morning the unhappy partner of her 
 grief was found dead upon her pillow, still and cold, and with so 
 sorrowful an expression about her countenance, as might well rejoice 
 the beholder that she was divorced from a life of so deep a trouble. 
 
 As for Madeline, she took no visible note of this occurrence, nor 
 seemed to have any return of reason till the third day, when growing 
 more and more restless, and at length wandering out into the city, she 
 was observed to tear down one of the proclamations fur the execution, 
 which were still attached to the walls. After this, she was no more 
 seen in the neighbour hood, and it was feartd she had violently made 
 away with her life ; but by later accounts from Toledo, it was ascer- 
 tained that she had wandered back, bare-footed and quite a maniac, 
 to that city. 
 
 She was for some years the wonder and the pity of its inhabitants,
 
 698 MASETTO AXD HIS MAR E. 
 
 and when I have been in Toledo with my Uncle Francis, I have seen 
 this poor crazed Madeline, as they called her, with her long loose hair 
 and her fine face, so pale and thin, and so calm-looking, that it seemed 
 to be only held alive by her large black eyes. She was always mild 
 and gentle, and if you provoked it, would freely converse with you ; 
 but oftentimes in the midst of her discourse, whether cheerful or sad, 
 she would pause and sigh, and say in a different voice, "O Juan, 
 Juan ! " and with these two words, simple though they be, she made 
 every heart ache that heard her. 
 
 MASETTO AND HIS MARE. 
 
 T T is remarkable, and hardly to be believed by those who have not 
 J. studied the history of superstition, what extravagant fables may 
 be imposed on the faith of the vulgar people ; especially when such 
 fables are rehearsed in print, which of itself has passed before now as 
 the work of a black or magical art, and has still influence enough over 
 ignorant minds, to make them believe, like Masetto, that a book of 
 romances is a gospel. 
 
 This Masetto, like most other rustics, was a very credulous man ; 
 but more simple otherwise than country-folks commonly appear, who 
 have a great deal of crafty instinct of their own, which comes to them 
 spontaneously, as to the ravens and magpies. And whereas pastoral 
 people are generally churlish and headstrong, and in spite of the 
 antique poets of coarse and brutal tempers, Masetto, on the contrary, 
 was very gentle and mild, and so compassionate withal, that he would 
 weep over a wounded creature like a very woman. This easy disposi 
 tion made him liable to be tricked by any subtle knave that might 
 think it worth his pains, and amongst such rogues there was none that 
 duped him more notably than one Bruno Corvette, a horse-courser, 
 and as dishonest as the most capital of his trade. This fellow, observ- 
 ing that Masetto had a very good mare, which he kept to convey his 
 wares to Florence, resolved to obtain her at the cheapest rate, which 
 was by stratagem, and knowing well the simple and credulous char- 
 acter of the farmer, he soon devised a plan. Now Masetto was very 
 tender to all dumb animals, and especially to his mare, who was not 
 insensible to his kindly usage, but pricked up her ears at the sound of 
 his voice, and followed him here and there, with the sagacity and 
 affection of a faithful dog, together with many other such tokens of an 
 intelligence that has rarely belonged to her race. The crafty Corvetto, 
 therefore, conceived great hones of his scheme : accordingly, having 
 planted himself in the road by which Masetto used to return home, 
 he managed to fall into discourse with him about the mare, which he 
 regarded very earnestly, and this he repeated for several days. At last 
 Masetto observing that he seemed very much affected when he talk< d 
 of her, became very curious about the cause, and inquired if it bad 
 ever been his good fortune to have such another good mare as his 
 own ; to this Corvetto made no reply, but throwing his arms about 
 the mare's neck, began to hug her so lovingly, and with so many deep-
 
 MASETTO AND HIS MARE. 699 
 
 drawn sighs, thai Masetto began to stare amazingly, and to cross him- 
 self as fast as he could. The hypocritical Corvette then turning away 
 from the animal, "Alas!" said he, " this beloved creature that you 
 see before you is no mare, but an unhappy woman, disguised in this 
 horrible brutal shape by an accursed magician. Heaven only knows 
 in what manner my beloved wife provoked this infernal malice, but 
 doubtless it was by her unconquerable virtue, which was rivalled only 
 by the loveliness of her person. I have been seeking her in this 
 shape, all over the wearisome earth, and now I have discovered her, 
 I have not wherewithal to redeem her of you, my money being all 
 expended in the charges of travelling, otherwise.! would take her 
 instantly to the most famous wizard, Michael Scott, who is presently 
 sojourning at Florence, and by help of his magical books might 
 discover some charm to restore her to her natural shape." Then 
 clasping the docile mare about the neck again, he affected to weep 
 over her very bitterly. 
 
 The simple Masetto was very much disturbed at this story, but knew 
 not whether to believe it, till at last he bethought himself of the village 
 priest, and proposed to consult him upon the case ; and whether the 
 lady, if there was one, might not be exorcised out of the body of his 
 mare. The knavish Corvetto, knowing well that this would ruin his 
 whole plot, was prepared to dissuade him. "You know," said he, 
 " the vile curiosity of our country-people, who would not fail at such 
 a rumour to pester us out of our senses ; and, especially, they would 
 torment my unhappy wife, upon whom they would omit no experiment, 
 however cruel, for their satisfaction. Besides, it would certainly kill 
 her with grief, to have her disgrace so published to the world, wh^ph 
 she cannot but feel very bitterly ; for it must be a shocking thing for 
 a young lady who has been accustomed to listen to the loftiest praises 
 of her womanly beauty, to know herself thus horribly degraded in the 
 foul body of a brute. Alas ! who could think that her beautiful locks, 
 which used to shine like golden wires, are now turned by damnable 
 magic into this coarse slovenly mane ; or her delicate white hands 
 oh ! how pure and lily-like they were into these hard and iron- 
 shod hoofs ! " The tender-hearted Masetto beginning to look very 
 doleful at these exclamations, the knave saw that his performance 
 began to take effect, and so begged no more for the present, than that 
 Masetto would treat his mare very kindly, and rub her teeth daily with 
 a sprig of magical hornbeam, which the simple-witted rustic promised 
 very readily to perform. He had, notwithstanding, some buzzing 
 doubts in his head upon the matter, which Corvetto found means to 
 remove by degrees, taking care, above all, to caress the unconscious 
 mare whenever they met, and sometimes going half-privately to con- 
 verse with her in the stable. 
 
 At last, Masetto being very much distressed by these proceedings, 
 he addressed Corvetto as follows : " I am at my wit's end about this 
 matter. I cannot find in my heart, from respect, to make my lady do 
 any kind of rude work, so that my cart stands idle in the stable, and 
 my wares are thus unsold, which is a state of things that I cannot ver* 
 well afford. But, above all, your anguish whenever you meet with 
 your poor wife is more than I can bear ; it seems such a shocking and
 
 700 MASETTO AND HIS MARE. 
 
 unchristian-like sin in me, for the sake of a little money, to keep yoa 
 both asunder. Take her, therefore, freely of me as a gift ; or if you 
 will not receive her thus, out of consideration for my poverty, it shall 
 be paid me when your lady is restored to her estates, and by your 
 favour, with her own lily-white hand. Nay, pray accept of her with- 
 out a word ; you must be longing. I know, to take her to the great 
 wizard, Mich;iel Scott ; and in the meantime I will pray, myself, to 
 the blessed saints and martyrs, that his charms may have the proper 
 effect." The rogue, at these words, with undissembled joy fell about 
 the mare's neck ; and, taking her by the halter, after a formal parting 
 with Masetto, began to lead her gently away. Her old master, with 
 brimful eyes, continued watching her departure till her tail was quite 
 out of sight; whereupon, Corvette leapt instantly on her back, and 
 without stint or mercy began galloping towards Florence, where he 
 sold her, as certain Saxons are recorded to Lave disposed of their 
 wives, in the market-place. 
 
 Some time afterwards, Masetto repairing to Florence on a holiday, 
 to purchase another horse for his business, he beheld a carrier in one 
 of the streets, who was beating his jade very cruelly. The kind 
 Masetto directly interfered in behalf of the ill-used brute, which 
 indeed, was his own mare, though much altered by hard labour and 
 sorry diet, and now got into a fresh scrape, with redoubled blows, 
 through capering up to her old master. Masetto was much shocked, 
 you may be sure, to discover the enchanted lady in such a wretched 
 plight. But not doub'ting that she had been stolen frpm her afflicted 
 husband, he taxed the carrier very roundly with the theft, who laughed 
 at him in his turn for a madman, and proved by three witnesses th.it 
 he had purchased the mare of Corvette. Masetto's eyes were thus 
 opened, but by a very painful operation. However, he purchased his 
 mare again, without bargaining for either golden hair or lily-white 
 hands, and with a heavy heart rode back again to his village. The 
 inhabitants, when he arrived, were met together on some public 
 business ; after which Masetto, like an imprudent man as he was, 
 complained bitterly amongst his neighbours of his disaster. They 
 made themselves, therefore, very merry at his expense, and the 
 schoolmaster especially, who was reckoned the chiefest wit of the place. 
 Masetto bore all their railleries with great patience, defending himself 
 with many reasonable arguments and at last he told them he would 
 bring them in proof quite as wonderful a case. Accordingly, stepping 
 back to his own house, he returned with an old tattered volume, which 
 Corvetto had bestowed on him, of the "Arabian Nights," and began 
 to read to them the story of Sidi Nonman, whose wile was turned, as 
 well as Corvetto's, into a beautiful mare. His neighbours laughing 
 more lustily than ever at this illustration, and the schoolmaster crow- 
 ing above them all, Masetto interrupted him with great indignation* 
 " How is this, sir," said he, "that you mock me so, whereas, I re- 
 member, that when I was your serving-man and swept out the school- 
 room, I have overheard you teaching the little children concerning 
 people in the old ages, that were hail men and the other half turned 
 into horses ; yea, and showing them the effigies in a print, and what 
 was there more impossible in this matter of my own mare?" Th*
 
 THE STORY OF MICHEL ARGENTI. yoi 
 
 priest Interposing at this passage, in defence- of the schoolmaster, 
 Masetto answered him as he had answered the pedagogue, excepting 
 that instead of the Centaurs, he alleged a minicle out of the Holy 
 Fathers, in proof of the powers of magic. There was some fresh 
 1 ughing at this rub of the bowls against the pastor, who being a 
 Jesuit and a very subtle man, began to consider within himself 
 whether it was not better for their souls, that his flock should believe 
 by wholesale, than have too scrupulous a faith, and accordingly, after 
 a little deliberation, he sided with Masetto. He engaged, moreover, 
 to write for the opinion of his College, who replied, that as sorcery 
 was a devilish and infernal art, its existence was as certain as the 
 devil's. 
 
 Thus a belief in enchantment took root in the vill.ige, which in the 
 end flourished so vigorously, that although the rustics could not be 
 juggled out of any of their mares, they burned, nevertheless, a number 
 of unprofitable old women. 
 
 THE STORY OF MICHEL ARGENTI. 
 
 MICHEL ARGENTI was a learned physician of Padua but lately 
 settled at Florence, a few years only before its memorable 
 visitation, when the Destroying Angel brooded over that unhappy city, 
 shaking out deadly vapours from its wings. 
 
 It must have been a savage heart, indeed, that could not be moved 
 by the shocking scenes that ensued from that horrible calamity, and 
 which were fearful enough to overcome even the dearest pieties and 
 prejudices of humanity ; causing the holy ashes of the dead to be no 
 longer venerated, and the living to be disregarded by their nearest ties : 
 the tenderest mothers forsaking their infants ; wives flying from the 
 sick couches of their husbands ; and children neglecting their dying 
 parents : when love closed the door against love, and particular selfish- 
 ness took place of all mutual sympathies. There were some brave, 
 humane spirits, nevertheless, that with a divine courage ventured into 
 the very chambers of the sick, and contended over their prostrate bodies 
 uith the common enemy ; and amongst these was Argenti, who led the 
 way in such works of mercy, till at last the pestilence stepped over his 
 own threshold, and he was beckoned home by the ghastly finger of 
 Death, to struggle with him for the wife of his own bosom. 
 
 Imagine him then, worn out in spirit and body, ministering hopeless- 
 ly to her that had been dearer to him than health or life ; but now, in- 
 stead of an object of loveliness, a livid and ghastly spectacle, almost 
 too loathsome to look upon ; her pure flesh being covered with blue 
 and mortiferous blotches, her sweet breath changed into a fetid vapour, 
 and her accents expressive only of anguish and despair. These dole- 
 ful sounds were aggravated by the songs and festivities of the giddy 
 populace, which, now the pestilence had abated, ascended into the de- 
 solate chamber of its last martyr, and mingled with her dying groans. 
 
 These ending on the third day with her life, Argenti was left to his 
 solitary grief, the only living person in his desolate house ; his sevvanta
 
 702 THE STORY OF MICHEL ARGENTI. 
 
 having fled during the pestilence, and left him to perform eveiy office 
 with his own hands. Hitherto the dead had gone without their ritts ; 
 but he had the melancholy satisfaction of those sacred and decent 
 services for hi wife's remains, which during the height of the plague 
 had been direfully suspended ; the dead bodies being so awfully 
 numerous, that they defied a careful sepulture, but were thrown, by 
 random and slovenly heaps, into great holes and ditches. 
 
 As soon as was prudent after this catastrophe, his friends repaired 
 to him with his two little children, who had fortunately been absent 
 in the country, and now returned with brave ruddy cheeks and vigor- 
 ous spirits to his arms ; but, alas ! not to cheer their miserable parent, 
 who thenceforward was never known to smile, nor scarcely to speak, 
 excepting of the pestilence. As a person that goes forth from a dark 
 sick-chamber is still haunted by its glooms, in spite of the sunshine ; 
 so, though the plague had ceased, its horrors still clung about the mind 
 of Argenti, and with such a deadly influence in his thoughts, as it 
 bequeaths to the infected garments of the dead. The dreadful objects 
 he had witnessed still walking with their ghostly images in his brain 
 his mind, in short, being but a doleful lazaretto devoted to pestilence 
 and death. The same horrible spectres possessed his dreams ; which 
 he sometimes described as filled up from the same black source, and 
 thronging with the living sick he had visited, or the multitudinous 
 dead corses, with the unmentionable and unsightly rites of their inhu- 
 mation. 
 
 These dreary visions entering into all his thoughts, it happened 
 often, that when he was summoned to the sick, he pronounced that 
 their malady was the plague, discovering its awful symptoms in bodies 
 where it had no existence ; but above all, his terrors were busy with 
 his children, whom he watched with a vigilant and despairing eye ; 
 discerning constantly some deadly taint in their wholesome breath, or 
 declaring that he saw the plague-spot in their tender faces. Thus, 
 watching them sometimes upon their pillows, he would burst into tears 
 and exclaim that they were smitten with death ; in short, he regarded 
 their blue eyes and ruddy cheeks but as the frail roses and violets that 
 are to perish in a day, and their silken hair like the most brittle 
 gossamers. Thus their existence, which should have been a blessing 
 to his hopes, became a very curse to him through his despair. 
 
 His friends, judging rightly from these tokens that his mind was im- 
 paired, persuaded him to remove from a place which had been the 
 theatre of his calamities, and served but too frequently to remind him 
 of his fears. He repaired, therefore, with his children to the house of a 
 kinswoman at Genoa ; but his melancholy was not at all relieved by the 
 xhange, his mind being now like a black Stygian pool that reflects 
 not, except one dismal hue, whatever shifting colours are presented by 
 the skies. In this mood he continued there five or six weeks, when 
 the superb city was thrown into the greatest alarm and confusion. 
 The popular rumour reported that the plague had been brought into 
 the port by a Moorish felucca, whereupon the magistrates ordered that 
 the usual precautions should be observed ; so that although there was 
 no real pestilence, the city presented the usual appearances of such a 
 visitation.
 
 THE STORY OF MICHEL ARGENTT. 703 
 
 These tokens were sufficient to aggravate the malady of Argenti, 
 whose illusions became instantly more frequent and desperate, and his 
 affliction almost a frenzy ; so that going at night to his children, he 
 looked upon them in an agony of despair, as though they were already 
 in their shrouds. And when he gazed on their delicate round cheeks, 
 like ripening fruits, and their fair arms, like scul, tured marbles, en- 
 twining each other, 'tis no marvel that he begrudged to pestilence the 
 horrible and loathsome disfigurements and changes which it would bring 
 upon their beautiful bodies ; neither that he contemplated with horror 
 the painful stages by which they must travel to their premature graves. 
 Some meditations as dismal I doubt not occupied his incoherent 
 thoughts, and whilst they lay before him so lovely and calm-looking, 
 made him wish that instead of a temporal sleep, they were laid in 
 eternal rest. Their odorous breath, as he kissed them, was as sweet 
 as flowers ; and their pure skin without spot or bUrnish : nevertheless, 
 to his gloomy fancy the corrupted touches of Death were on them 
 both, and devoted their short-lived frames to his most hateful inflic- 
 tions. 
 
 Imagine him gazing full of these dismal thoughts on their faces, 
 sometimes smiting himself upon his forehead, that entertained such 
 horrible fancies, and sometimes pacing to and fro in the chamber with 
 an emphatic step, which must needs have wakened his little ones if 
 they had not been lapped in the profound slumber of innocence and 
 childhood. In the meantime the mild light of love in his looks, 
 changes into a fierce and dreary fire ; his sparkling eyes, and his lips 
 as pallid as ashes, betraying the desperate access of frenzy, which like 
 a howling demon passes into his feverish soul, and provokes him to 
 unnatural action : and first of all he plucks away the pillows, those 
 downy ministers to harmless sleep, but now unto death, with which 
 crushing the tender faces of his little ones, he thus dams up their gentle 
 respirations before they can utter a cry ; then casting himself with 
 horrid fervour upon their bodies, with this unfatheilike embrace he 
 enfolds them till they are quite breathless. After which he lifts up the 
 pillows, and, lo ! there lie the two murdered babes, utterly quiet and 
 still, and with the ghastly seal of death imprinted on their waxen 
 cheeks. 
 
 In this dreadful manner Argenti destroyed his innocent children, 
 not in hatred, but ignorantly, and wrought upon by the constant ap- 
 prehension of their death ; even as a terrified wretch upon a precipice, 
 who swerves towards the very side that presents the danger. Let his 
 deed, therefore, be viewed with compassion, as the fault of his unhappy 
 fate, which forced upon him such a cruel crisis, and finally ended his 
 sorrows by as tragical a death. On the morrow his dead body was 
 found at sea by some fishermen, and being recognised as Argenti's, it 
 was interred in one grave with those of his two children.
 
 THE THREE JEWELS. 
 
 T^HERE are many examples in ancient and modern story, of lovers 
 JL who have worn various disguises to obtain their mistresses ; the 
 great Jupiter himself setting the pattern by his notable transformations. 
 Since those heroic days, love has often diverted himself in Italy as a 
 shepherd with his pastoral crook and I propose to tell you how, in 
 more recent times, he has gone amongst us in various other shapes. 
 But in the first place I must introduce to you a handsome youth, 
 named Torrello, of Bergamo, who was enamoured of Fiorenza, the 
 daughter of gentlefolks in the same neighbourhood. His enemies 
 never objected am tiling against Torrello but his want of means to 
 support his gentlemanly pretensions, and some extravagances and 
 follies which belong generally to youth, and are often the mere foils 
 of a generous nature. However, the parents of Fiorenza being some- 
 what austere, perceived graver offences in his flights, and forbade him, 
 under grievous penalties, to keep company with his mistress. 
 
 Love, notwithstanding, is the parent of more inventions than 
 necessity, and Torrello, being a lively-witted fellow, and withal deeply 
 inspired by love, soon found out a way to be as often as he would in 
 the presence of his lady. Seeing that he could not transform himself, 
 like Jupiter, into a shower of gold for her sake, he put on the more 
 humble seeming of a gardener, and so got employed in the pleasure- 
 ground of her parents. I leave you to guess, then, how the flowers 
 jTOspered under his care, since they were to form bouquets for 
 Fiorenza, who was seldom afterwards to be seen without some pretty 
 blossom in her bosom. She took many lessons, besides, of the gardener 
 in his gentle craft, and her fondness growing for the employment, her 
 time was almost all spent naturally amongst her plants, and to the 
 infinite cultivation of her heart's-ease, which had never before pros- 
 pered to such a growth. She learned also of Torrello a pretty 
 language of hieroglyphics, which he had gathered from the girls of 
 the Greek islands, so that they could hold secret colloquies together 
 by exchanges of flowers ; and Fiorenza became more eloquent by this 
 kind of speech than in her own language, which she had never loiind 
 competent to her dearest confessions. 
 
 Conceive how abundantly happy they were in such employments, 
 surrounded by the lovely gifts of Nature, their pleasant occupation of 
 itself being the primeval recnation of humankind before the Fall, and 
 love especially being with them, that can convert a wilderness into a 
 garden of sweets. 
 
 The mother of Fiorenza chiding her sometimes for the neglect of 
 Jier embroideries, she would answer in this manner : 
 
 "O my dear mother! what is there in labours of art at all 
 comparable with these ? Why should 1 task myself with a tedious 
 reedle to stitch out poor tame formal emblems of these beautiful 
 flowers and plants, when thus the living blooms spring up naturally 
 binder my hands? I confess I never could account for the fondness of 
 young women for that unwholesome chamber- work, for the sake of a
 
 THE THREE JEWELS. 70- 
 
 piece of inanimate tapestry, which hath neither freshness nor frag- 
 grance; whereas, this bre< zy air, with the odour of the plants and 
 shrubs, inspirits my very heart. I assure you, 'tis like a woik of 
 magic to see how they are charmed to spring up by the hands of our 
 skilful gardener, who is so civil and kind as to teach me all the secrets 
 of his art." 
 
 By such expressions her mother was quieted : but her father was 
 not so easily pacified ; for it happened, that whilst the roses flourished 
 everywhere, the household herbs, by the neglect of Torrello and his 
 assistants, went entirely to decay, so that at last, though there was a 
 nosegay in every chamber, there was seldom a salad for the table. 
 The master t;iking notice of the neglect, and the foolish Torrello in 
 reply showing a beautiful flowery arbour, which he had busied himself 
 in erecting, he was abruptly discharged on the spot, and driven out, 
 like Adam, from his paradise of fl ers. 
 
 The mother being informed afterwards of this transaction 
 
 "In truth," said she, "it was well done of you, for the. fellow was 
 very forward, and I think Fiorenza did herself some disparagement 
 in making so much of him, as I have observed. For example, a small 
 fee of a crown or two would have paid him handsomely for his lessons 
 to her, without giving him one of her jewels, which I fear the knave 
 will be insolent enough to wear and make a boast of." 
 
 And truly Torrello never parted with the gift, which, as though it 
 had been some magical talisman, transformed him quickly into a 
 master falconer, on the estate of the parent of Fiorenza ; and thus he 
 rode side by side with her whenever she went a-fowling. That health- 
 ful exercise soon restored her cheerfulness, which, towards autumn, on 
 the withering of her flowers, had been touched with melancholy ; and 
 she pursued her new pastime with as much eagerness as before. She 
 rode always beside the falconer, as constant as a tassel-gentle to his 
 lure ; whilst Torrello often forgot to recall his birds from their flights. 
 His giddiness and inadvertence at last procuring his dismissal, the 
 falcon was taken from his finger, which Fiorenza recompensed with a 
 fresh jewel, to console him for his disgrace. 
 
 After this event, there being neither gardening nor fowling to amuse 
 her, the languid girl fell into a worse melancholy than before, that 
 quite disconcerted her parents. After a consultation, therefore, between 
 themselves, they sent for a noted physician from Turin, in spite of the 
 opposition of Fiorenza, who understood her own ailment sufficiently 
 to know that it was desperate to his remedies. In the meantime 
 his visits raised the anxiety of Torrello to such a pitch, that after 
 languishing some days about the mansion, he contrived to waylay 
 the doctor on his return, and learned from him the mysterious 
 nature of the patient's disease. The doctor confessing his despair 
 of her cure 
 
 " Be of good cheer," replied Torrello ; " I know well her complaint, 
 and without any miracle will enable you to restore her, so as to re- 
 dound very greatly to your credit. You tell me that she will neither 
 eat nor drink, and cannot sleep if she would, but pines miserably 
 away, with a despondency which must end in either madness or 
 her dissolution : whereas, I promise you she shall not only feed 
 
 2 Y
 
 ?06 THE THREE JEWELS. 
 
 heartily, and sleep soundly, but dance and sing as merrily as yon 
 can desire." 
 
 He then related confidentially the history of their mutual love, and 
 begged earnestly that the physician would devise some means of get- 
 ting him admitted to the presence of his mistress. The doctor being 
 a good-hearted man, was much moved by the entreaties of Torrello, 
 and consented to use his ability. 
 
 " However," said he, " I can think of no way but one, which would 
 displease you, and that is, that you should personate my pupil, and 
 attend upon her with my medicines." 
 
 The joyful Torrello assured the doctor, "that he was very much 
 mistaken in supposing that any falsely-imagined pride could overmas- 
 ter the vehemence of his love ; " and accordingly putting on an apron, 
 with the requisite habits, he repaired on his errand to the languishing 
 Fiorenza. She recovered very speedily at his presence but was alto- 
 gether well again, to learn that thus a new mode was provided for their 
 interviews. . The physician thereupon was gratified with a handsome 
 present by her parents, who allowed the assistant likewise to continue 
 his visits till he had earned another jewel of Fiorenza. Prudence at 
 last telling them that they must abandon this stratagem, they prepared 
 for a fresh separation, but taking leave of each other upon a time too 
 tenderly, they were observed by the father, and whilst Torrello was 
 indignantly thrust out at the door, Fiorenza was commanded, with a 
 stern rebuke, to her own chamber. 
 
 The old lady thereupon asking her angry husband concerning the 
 cause of the uproar, he told her that he had caught the doctor's man 
 on his knees to Fiorenza. 
 
 " A plague take him ! " said he ; "'tis the trick of all his tribe, with 
 a pretence of feeling women's pulses to steal away their hands. I 
 marvel how meanly the jade will bestow her favour next ; but it will 
 be a baser varlet, I doubt, than a gardener or a falconer." 
 
 "The falconer!" said the mother; "you spoke just now of the 
 doctor's man." 
 
 "Ay," quoth he, "but I saw her exchange looks, too, with the fal- 
 coner ; my heart misgives me, that we shall undergo much disgrace 
 and trouble on account of such a self-willed and forward child." 
 
 "Alas !" quoth the mother, "it is the way of young women, when 
 they are crossed in the man of their liking ; they grow desperate and 
 careless of their behaviour. It is a pity, methinks, we did not let her 
 have Torrello, who, with all his faults, was a youth of gentle birth, and 
 not likely to disgrace us by his manners ; but it would bring me down 
 to my grave, to have the girl debase herself with any of these common 
 and low-bred people." 
 
 Her husband, agreeing in these sentiments, they concerted how to 
 have Torrello recalled, which the lady undertook to man.ige, so as to 
 make the most of their parental indulgence to Fiorenza. Accordingly, 
 after a proper lecture on her indiscretions, she dictated a dutiful letter 
 to her lover, who came very joyfully. in his own character as a gentle- 
 man, and a time was appointed for the wedding. When the day arrived, 
 and the company were all assembled, the mother, who was very lynx- 
 lighted, espied the three trinkets namely, a ring, a clasp, and a buckle
 
 CERONIMO AND GHfSOLA. Joy 
 
 on the person of Torrello, that had belonged to her daughter : how- 
 ever, before she could put any questions, he took Fiorenza by the hand, 
 and spoke as follows :- - 
 
 " I know what a history you are going to tell me of the indiscretions 
 of Fiorenza ; and that the several jewels you regard so suspiciousiy, 
 were bestowed by her on a gardener, a falconer, and a doctor's man. 
 Those three knaves, being all as careless and improvident as myself, 
 the gifts are come, as you perceive, into my own possession ; notwith- 
 standing, lest any should impeach, therefore, the constancy of this 
 excellent lady, let them know that I will maintain her honour in behalf 
 of myself, as well as of those other three, in token of which I have put 
 on their several jewels." 
 
 The parents being enlightened by this discourse, and explaining it 
 to their friends, the young people were married, to the general satis- 
 faction ; and Fiorenza confessed herself thrice happy with the gardener, 
 the falconer, and the doctor's man. 
 
 GERONIMO AND GHISOLA. 
 
 HPHERE are many tragical instances on record, of cruel parents 
 _L who have tried to control the affections of their children ; but 
 as well might they endeavour to force backwards the pure mountain 
 current into base and unnatural channels. Such attempts, whether of 
 sordid parents or ungenerous rivals, redound only to the disgrace of 
 the contrivers ; for Love is a jealous deity, and commonly avenges him- 
 self by some memorable catastrophe. 
 
 Thus it befell to the ambitious Marquis of Ciampolo, when he aimed 
 at matching his only daughter, Ghisola, with the unfortunate Alfieri ; 
 whereas her young heart was already devoted to her faithful Geronimo, 
 a person of gentle birth and much merit, though of slender estate. 
 For this reason, his virtues were slighted by all but Ghisola, who had 
 much cause to grieve at her father's blindness ; for Alfieri was a proud 
 and jealous man, and did not scorn to disparage his rival by the most 
 unworthy reports. He had, indeed, so little generosity, that although 
 she pleaded the prepossession of her heart by another, he did not cease 
 to pursue her ; and finally, the Marquis, discovering the reason of her 
 rejection, the unhappy Geronimo was imperatively banished from her 
 presence. 
 
 In this extremity, the disconsolate lovers made friends with a vener- 
 able oak in the Marquis's park, which presented a convenient cavity 
 for the reception of their scrolls ; and in this way, this aged tree be- 
 came the mute and faithful confidant of their secret correspondence. 
 Its mossy and knotted trunk was inhabited by several squirrels, and 
 its branches by various birds ; and in its gnarled root a family of red 
 ants had made their fortress, which afforded a sufficient excuse for 
 Ghisola to stop often before the tree, as if to observe their curious and 
 instructive labours. In this manner they exchanged their fondest pro- 
 fessions, and conveyed tfce dearest aspirations of their hearts, tp each 
 other.
 
 jo8 GERONIMO AMD GHISOLA. 
 
 But love is a purblind and imprudent passion, which, like the ostrich, 
 conceals itself from its proper sense, and then foolishly imagines that 
 it is shrouded from all other eyes. Thus, whenever Ghisola walked 
 abroad, her steps wandered by attraction to the self-same spot, her 
 very existence seeming linked, like the life of a dryad, to her favour- 
 ite tree. At last, these repeated visits attracting the curiosity of the 
 vigilant Alfieri, his ingenuity soon divined the cause ; and warily tak- 
 ing care to examine all the scrolls that passed between them, it hap- 
 pened that seve-al schemes, which they plotted for a secret interview, 
 were vexatiously disconcerted. The unsuspicious lovers, however, at- 
 tributed these spiteful disappointments to the malice of chance ; and 
 thus their correspondence continued till towards the end of autumn, 
 when the oak-tree began to shed its last withered leaves ; but Ghisola 
 heeded not, so long as it afforded those other ones, which were more 
 golden in her eyes than any upon the boughs. 
 
 One evil day, however, repairing as usual to the cavity, it was empty 
 and treasureless, although her own deposit had been removed as here- 
 tofore ; and the dews beneath, it appeared, had been lately brushed 
 away by the foot of her dear Geronimo. She knew, notwithstanding, 
 that at any risk he would not so have grieved her ; wherefore, returning 
 homewards with a heavy heart, she dreaded, not unreasonably, that she 
 should discover what she pined fur in the hands of her incensed father; 
 but being deceived in this expectation, she spent the rest of the day in 
 tears and despondence ; for, rather than believe any negligence of 
 Geronimo, she resolved that he must have met with some tr.igical ad- 
 venture ; wherefore his bleeding ghost, with many more such horrible 
 phantasies, did not fail to visit her in her thoughts and dreams. 
 
 In the meantime, Geronimo was in equal despair at not having 
 received any writings from Ghisola ; but his doubts took another turn 
 than hers, and justly alighted on the treacherous Alfieri. At the first 
 hints of his suspicion, therefore, he ran to the house of his rival, where 
 the domestics refused positively to admit him, declaring that their 
 master, if not already deceased, was upon the very threshold of death. 
 Geronimo naturally supposing this story to be a mere subterfuge, drew 
 his sword, and with much ado forced his way up to the sick man's 
 chamber, where he found him stretched out upon a couch, and covered 
 from head to heel with a long cloak. The noise of the door disturbing 
 him, Alfieri uncovered his face, and looked out with a countenance so 
 horribly puckered by anguish and distorted, that Geronimo for an 
 instant forgot his purpose, but recovering himself from the shock, he 
 asked fiercely for the letters. 
 
 The dying wretch answered to this demand with a deep groan, and 
 removing the cloak, he showed Geronimo his bare arm, which was 
 swelled as large round nearly as a man's body, and quite black and 
 livid to the shoulder ; but the hand was redder in colour, and merely 
 a lump of unshapely flesh, though without any perceptible wound. 
 
 " This," said he, pointing to the livid member, " is my punishment 
 for a deep offence to you ; and there is your cruel avenger." 
 
 Geronimo, turning by his direction towards the table, at first sight 
 discovered nothing deadly, but on looking within a little silver box, he 
 discovered a small dead scorpion, the bite of which, in our climate, is
 
 GERONIMO AND GIIISOLA. 709 
 
 frequer.tly mortal Alfieri then motioning to Geronimo to come 
 nearer, continued with great difficulty in these words : 
 
 " There is a certain old oak, with a cleft in it, in the Marquis's pnrk, 
 which is but too well known to us both. My. evil fortune led me to 
 discover its use to you ; and my baseness to abuse that knowledge, for 
 which I am suffering these torments. For putting my guilty hand 
 into the hollow for your papers, which, I blush to confess, were my 
 object, I was stung on my finger by this accursed reptile, who was 
 lurking in the bottom of the hole. I have killed it, as you see, though 
 my own anguish commenced with its destruction. Notwithstanding, 
 I took away the papers and ran hither, where, on looking at my hand, 
 it was as scarlet as my shame ; and my arm was already beginning to 
 swell to this monstrous size, and the convulsed muscles were all writh- 
 ing together like as many serpents. And now my pangs, together with 
 the fever of my remorseless mind, have brought me to the extremity 
 you behold." Saying which, he fell into a fresh fit of agony, so that 
 the sweat issued in large drops from his forehead, and his eyes turned 
 in their sockets with nothing but the whites upon Gcronimo, whose 
 flesh crept all over with compassion and dread. 
 
 This paroxysm passing over, he wiped away the foam from his 
 mouth, and began to speak again, but in a much weaker voice and by 
 syllables. 
 
 " You see," said he, " my injuries have returned, like ardent coals, 
 upon my own head. I designed to have supplanted you, whereas I 
 am myself removed from rny place on the earth. Let me then depart 
 with your forgiveness for the peace of my soul ; whilst, on my part, I 
 make you amends as far as I may. And first of all take this box, with 
 its fatal contents, to the Marquis, and bid him know by this token that 
 God was adverse to our will. And because I did love, though vainly, 
 let all my possessions be laid at the same feet where I used to kneel ; 
 and beseech her, for charity's sake, to bestow her prayers on my de- 
 parted soul. Tell her my pangs were bitter, and my fate cruel, except 
 in preserving her from as horrible a calamity." He then fell backwards 
 again upon the couch, and died. 
 
 As soon as he was laid out, Geronimo went and delivered the 
 message to the Marquis, whom he found chiding with Ghisola for her 
 melancholy. As he was much impressed with the dreadful scene he 
 had witnessed, he described it very eloquently, so that both of his 
 hearers were much affected, and especially at sight of the box with the 
 dead scorpion. It cost Ghisola some fresh tears, which her lover did 
 not reprove, to be told of the expressions which related to herself , 
 but the Marquis was still more shocked at the relation, and confessing 
 that it was the judgment of Heaven, he no longer opposed himself to 
 the union of Ghisola with Geronimo. He then caused the remains of 
 Alfieri to be honourably buried ; and it was observed that" Geronimc 
 shed the most tears of any one that wept over his tomb*
 
 THE FALL OF THE LEAF. 
 
 r "T*HERE is no vice that causes more calamities in hui lan life than 
 A the intemperate passion for gaming. How many noble and 
 ingenious persons it hath reduced from wealth unto poverty ; nay, 
 from honesty to dishonour, and by still descending steps into the gulf 
 of perdition ! And yet how prevalent it is in all capital cities, where 
 many of the chiefest merchants, and courtiers especially, are mere 
 pitiful slaves of Fortune, toiling like so many abject turnspits in her 
 ignoble wheel. Such a man is worse off than a poor borrower, for all 
 he has is at the momentary call of imperative Chance ; or rather he is 
 more wretched than a very beggar, being mocked with an appearance 
 of wealth, but as deceitful as if it turned, like the moneys in the old 
 Arabian story, into decaying leaves. 
 
 In our parent city of Rome, to aggravate her modern disgraces, this 
 pestilent vice has lately fixed her abode, and has inflicted many deep 
 wounds on the fame and fortunes of her proudest families. A number 
 of noble youths have been sucked into the ruinous vortex, some of 
 them being degraded at last into humble retainers upon rich men, but 
 the most part perishing by an unnatural catastrophe ; and if the same 
 fate did not befall the young Marquis de Malaspini, it was only by 
 favour of a circumstance which is not likely to happen a second time 
 for any gamester. 
 
 This gentleman came into a hnndsome revenue at the death of his 
 parents, whereupon, to dissipate his regrets, he travelled abroad, and 
 his graceful manners procured him a distinguished reception at several 
 courts. Alter two years spent in this manner he returned to Rome, 
 where he had a magnificent palace on the b nks of the Tiber, and 
 which he further enriched with some valuable paintings and sculptures 
 from abroad. His taste in these works was much admired ; and his 
 friends remarked with still greater satisfaction, that he was untainted 
 by the courtly vices which he must have witnessed in his travels. It 
 only remained to complete their wishes, that he should form a matri- 
 monial alliance that should be worthy of himself, and he seemed likely 
 to fulfil this hope in attaching himself to the beautiful Countess of 
 Maraviglia. She was herself the heiress of an ancient and honourable 
 house ; so that the match was regarded with satisfaction by the rela- 
 tions on both sides, and especially as the \oung pair were most 
 tenderly in love with each other. 
 
 For certain reasons, however, the nuptials were deferred for a time, 
 thus affording leisure tor the cr.ifty machinations of the devil, who 
 delights, above all things, to cross a virtuous and happy marriage. 
 Accordingly, he did not tail to make use of this judicious opportunity, 
 but chose tor his instrument the lady's own brother, a very profligata 
 and a gamester, who soon fastened, like an evil genius, on the unlucky 
 Malaspini. 
 
 It was a dismal shock to the lady, when she learned the nature 
 of this connection, which Malaspini himself discovered to her, by 
 incautiously dropping a die from his pocket in her presence. She
 
 THE FALL OF THE LEAF. J1I 
 
 Immediately endeavoured, with all her influence, to reclaim him from 
 the dreadful passion for play, which had now crept over him like a 
 moral cancer, and already disputed the sovereignty of love ; neither 
 was it without some dreadful struggles of remorse on his own part, 
 and some useless victories, that he at last gave himself up to such 
 desperate habits, but the power of his Mephistopheles prevailed, and 
 the visits of Malaspini to the lady of his affections became still less 
 frequent ; he repairing instead to those nightly resorts where the 
 greater portion of his estates was already forfeited. 
 
 At length, when the lady had not seen him for some days, and in 
 the very last week before that which had been appointed for her 
 marriage, she received a desperate letter from Malaspini, declaring 
 that he was a ruined man in fortune and hope ; and that at the cost 
 of his life even, he must renounce her hand for ever. He added, that 
 if his pride would let him even propose himself, a beggar as he was, 
 for her acceptance, he should yet despair too much of her pardon to 
 make such an offer ; whereas, if he could have read in the heart of the 
 unhappy lady, he would have seen that she still preferred the beggar 
 Malaspini to the richest nobleman in the Popedom. With abundance 
 of tears and sighs perusing his letter, her first impulse was to assure 
 him of that loving truth ; and to offer herself with her estates to him, 
 in compensation of the spites of Fortune : but the wretched Malaspini 
 had withdrawn himself no one knew whither, and she was constrained 
 to content herself with grieving over his misfortunes, and purchasing 
 such parts of his property as were exposed for sale by his plunderers. 
 And now it became apparent what a villanous part his betrayer had 
 taken ; for, having thus stripped the unfortunate gentleman, he now 
 aimed to rob him of his life also, that his treacheries might remain 
 undiscovered. To this end he feigned a most vehement indignation 
 at Malaspini's neglect and bad faith, as he termed it, towards his 
 sister ; protesting that it was an insult to be only washed out with his 
 blood : and with these expressions, he sought to kill him at any 
 advantage. And no doubt he would have become a murderer, as 
 well as a dishonest gamester, if Malaspini's shame and anguish had 
 not drawn him out of the way; for he had hired a mean lodging in 
 the suburbs, from which he never issued but at dusk, and then only 
 to wander in the most unfrequented places. 
 
 It ^ - as now in the wane of autumn, when some of the d.iys are fine, 
 and gorgeously decorated at morn and eve by the rich sun's embroi- 
 deries ; but others are dewy and dull, with cold nipping winds, 
 inspiring comfortless fancies and thoughts of melancholy in every 
 bosom. In such a dreary hour, Malaspini happened to walk abroad, 
 and avoiding his own squandered estates, which it was not easy to 
 do by reason of their extent, he wandered into a by-place in the 
 neighbourhood. The place was very lonely and desolate, and without 
 any near habitation ; its main feature especially being a large tree, 
 now stripped bare of its vernal honours, excepting one dry \ellow leaf, 
 which was shaking rn a topmost bough to the cold evening wind, and 
 threatening at every moment to fall to the damp, dewy e.irth. Before 
 this dreary object Malaspini stopped some time in contemplation, 
 commenting to himself on the desolate tree, and drawing many apl
 
 J I* THE FALL OF THE LEAP. 
 
 comparisons between its nakedness and his own beggarly con 
 dition. 
 
 "Alas ! poor bankrupt," savs he, "thou hast been plucked too like 
 me ; but yet not so basely. Thou hast but shower d thy green le.ives 
 on the grateful earth, which in another season will repay thee with sap 
 and sustenance ; but those whom I have fattened will not so much as 
 lend again to my living. Thou wilt thus regain all thy green summer 
 wealth, which I shall never do ; and besides, thou art still better off 
 than I am, with that one golden leaf to cheer thee, whereas I have 
 been stripped even of my last ducat ! " 
 
 With these and many more similar fancies he continued to aggrieve 
 himself, till at last, being more sad than usual, his thoughts tended 
 unto death, and he resolved, still watching that yellow leaf, to take its 
 flight as the signal for his own departure. 
 
 " Chance," said he, " hath been my temporal ruin, and so let it now 
 determine for me in my List cast between life and death, which is all 
 that its malice hath left me." 
 
 Thus, in his extremity he still risked somewhat upon Fortune ; and 
 very shortly the leaf being torn away by a sudden blast, it made two 
 or three flutterings to and fro, and at last settled on the earth, at 
 about a hundred paces from the tree. Malaspini instantly interpreted 
 this as an omen that he ought to die ; and following the leaf till it 
 alighted, he fell to work on the same spot with his sword, intending 
 to scoop himself a sort of rude hollow for a grave. He found a 
 strange gloomy pleasure in this fanciful design, that made him labour 
 very earnestly, and the soil besides being loose and sandy, he had 
 soon cleared away about a foot below the surface. The earth then 
 became suddenly more obstinate, and trying it here and there with 
 his sword, it struck against some very hard substance ; whereupon, 
 d'gging a little further down, he discovered a considerable treasure. 
 
 There were coins of various nations, but all golden, in this petty 
 mine ; and in such quantity as made Malaspini doubt, for a moment, 
 if it were not the mere mintage of his fancy. Assuring himself, how- 
 ever, that it was no dream, he gave many thanks to God for this timely 
 providence ; notwithstanding, he hesitated for a moment, to deliberate 
 whether it was honest to avail himself of the money ; but believing, as 
 was most probable, that it was the plunder of some banditti, he was 
 reconciled to the appropriation of it to his own necessities. 
 
 Loading himself, therefore, with as much gold as he could con- 
 veniently carry, he hastened with it to his humble quarters ; and by 
 making two or three more trips in the course of the night, he made 
 himself master of the whole treasure. It was sufficient, on being 
 reckoned, to maintain him in comfort for the rest of his life ; but not 
 being able to enjoy it in the scene of his humiliations, he resolved to 
 reside abroad ; and embarking in an English vessel at Naples, he was 
 carried over safely to London. 
 
 It is held a deep disgrace amongst our Italian nobility for a gentle- 
 man to meddle either with trade or commerce ; and yet, as v e behold, 
 they will condescend to retail their own produce, and wine especially 
 yea, marry, and with an empty barrel, like any vintner's sign, hung 
 >ut at their stately palaces. Malaspini perhaps disdained from the
 
 BARANGA. 713 
 
 first these illiber.il prejudices ; or else he was taught to renounce them 
 by the example of the London merchants, whom he saw in that great 
 mart of the world, engrossing the universal seas, and enjoying the 
 power and importance of princes, merely from fruits of their traffic. 
 At any rate, he embarked what money he possessed in various mer- 
 cantile adventures, which ended so profitably, that in three years he 
 had regained almost as large a fortune as he had formerly inherited. 
 He then speedily returned to his native country, and redeeming his 
 paternal estates, he was soon in a worthy condition to present himself 
 to his beloved Countess, who was still single, and cherished him with all 
 a woman's devotedness in her constant affection. They were therefore 
 before long united, to the contentment of all Rome ; her wicked 
 relation having been slain some time before, in a brawl with his 
 associates. 
 
 As for the fortunate windfall which had so befriended him, Malaspini 
 founded with it a noble hospital for orphans : and for this reason, that 
 it belonged formerly to some fatherless children, from whom it had 
 been withheld by their unnatural guardian. This wicked man it was 
 who had buried the money in the sand : but when he found that his 
 treasure was stolen, he went and hanged himself on the very tree that 
 had caused its discovery. 
 
 BARANGA. 
 
 IT has been well said, that if there be .no marriages made up Jn 
 heaven, there are a great many contrived in a worse place ; the 
 devil having a visible hand in some matches, which turn out as mis- 
 chievous and miserable as he could desire. Not that I mean here to 
 rail against wedlock, the generality of such mockers falling into its 
 worst scrapes ; but my mind is just now set unon such contracts as 
 that of the Marquis Manfredi with Baranga, who before the year was 
 out devised his death. 
 
 This woman, it has been supposed by those who remember her 
 features, was a Jewess, which, in a Catholic country, the Marquis 
 would be unwilling to acknowledge, however, he affirmed that he had 
 brought her from the kingdom of Spain. She was of the smallest fig- 
 ure that was ever known, and very beautiful, but of as impatient and 
 fiery a temper as the cat-a-mountains of her own country; never hesi- 
 tating, in her anger, at any extremes, neither sparing her own beau- 
 tiful hair nor her richest dresses, which she sometimes tore into shreds 
 with her passionate hands. At such times she confirmed but too 
 plausibly her imputed sisterhood with Jael and Deborah, and those 
 tr.iditional Hebrew women who faltered not even at acts of blood ; and 
 who could not have looked more wildly at their tragedies than she, 
 \\hen she stood in her splendid rags, with her eyes flashing as darkly 
 and as dangerously as theirs. 
 
 As soon as she arrived in Italy, her fatal beauty captivated a number 
 of unhappy youths, who were led by her waywardness into the most 
 painful adventures ; some of them suffering by encounters amon-st
 
 714 BARANGA. 
 
 themselves, and others by the conversion of her fickle favojr into 
 hatred and scorn. Manfred! suspected little of these mischiefs, till at 
 last the season of the Carnival drew nigh, when leering the influence 
 ot'that long revel of pleasure and dissipation upon her mind, he with- 
 drew with her to his country-seat, which was about nine leagues distant 
 from Rome. Thither she was followed by one of her gallants, named 
 Vitelli, a ferocious and dissolute man, and whom it is believed she 
 engaged to pursue her, not so much for personal liking, as in the hope 
 of his assistance to relieve her from this irksome retirement. Her 
 temper, in the meantime, being irritated by such restraint, grew every 
 day more fierce and desperate her cries often resounded through tlie 
 house, which \\as strewed with fresh tokens of her fury. With what- 
 ever grief the Mnrquis beheld these paroxysms, he comforted himself 
 by a fond reliance on her affection, and endeavoured by the most ten- 
 der assiduities to console her for the disappointment he had inflicted. 
 The moment of her arrival in the country, therefore, he pre-ented her, 
 as a peace-offering, with a pair of superb ear-rings ; but he quickly 
 beheld her with her ears dropping blood, and the jewels, which she 
 had violently plucked away, lying trampled on the floor. 
 
 It was common for such scenes to happen whenever they encoun- 
 tered ; and in consequence their meetings, by mutunl care, were more 
 and more avoided, till they almost lived asunder in the same house. 
 In the meantime, Baranga dfd not forget her desire to be present at 
 the Carnival, but contrived several stolen interviews with Vitelli ; after 
 which her manner changed abruptly from its usual violence to a gentler 
 and thoughtful demeanour, her hours being chiefly spent solitarily in 
 her own chamber. Above all, she never mentioned the Carnival, 
 which had been till then her constant subject, but seemed rather to 
 resign herself quietly to the wishes of her husband, who, seeing her 
 so docile, repented in his heart of having ever crossed her pleasure. 
 
 It was in those infamous times that the hell-born fashion of empoi- 
 sonment spread itself throughout Italy like a contagious pestilence, and 
 to the everlasting scandal of our history was patronised and protected 
 by the rich and great. Thus there were various professors of the 
 infernal art, who taught, by their damnable compounds, how to ravish 
 away life either suddenly or by languishing stages ; and many persons 
 of note and quality became their disciples, to the endless perdition of 
 their souls, or at best, to the utter hardening of their hearts, according 
 as they were prompted in their experiments by unlawful curiosity, or 
 by more black and malignant motives. Whilst some practised, there- 
 fore, on the bodies of dogs and c;its, and such mean animals, there 
 were not wanting others who used their diabolical skill upon human 
 relations that were obnoxious, and the names of many such victims 
 are recorded, though the fate of a still greater number was hinted only 
 by popular suspicion. 
 
 To one of these vile agents, then, the base Vitelli addressed himself; 
 and the secret studies of Baranga were guided by his direction. Whilst 
 the Marquis was hoping in the wholesome results of a temporary 
 melancholy and seclusion, which have made some minds so nobly 
 philosophise, her guilty lovely hands were tampering with horrid 
 chemistry ; and her meditations busy with the most black and deadly
 
 BARANGA. }!) 
 
 syrups. There is a traditional picture of her thus occupied in her 
 chamber, with the apparition of Death at her elbow, whilst with her 
 bla^k and piercing e>es she is watching the martyrdom of a little bird, 
 that is peiishing from her Circean compounds. 
 
 And now we may suppose Manfredi to be doomed as the next victim 
 of her pernicious craft who, on his part, was too unsuspicious to re- 
 ject anything which she might tender to him with her infinitely small 
 and delicate white hand. And assuredly the appointment of his death 
 was not far distant, when the jealousy of the disappointed suitors of 
 Baranga prevented her design. They had not omitted to place some 
 spies over her movements : wherefore, on the eve of the Carnival, 
 Manfred! was advised by a letter in an unknown hand, that she had 
 concerted with Vitelli her elopement to Rome, and in a nun's habit, 
 as he might convince himself with little pains, by an inspection ot her 
 wardrobe. 
 
 Manfredi was not a person to shut his eyes wilfully against the 
 light, but recalled with some uneasiness her mysterious seclusion. 
 He chose a time, therefore, when Baranga was absent, to visit her 
 wardrobe, where if he did not discover the nun's habit, he found a com- 
 plete suit of new sables, which had been prepared by her in anticipa- 
 tion of her widowhood. It is easy to conceive with what horror he 
 shrunk aghast at this dreary evidence of her malignity, which' yet was 
 not fully confirmed, till he had broken into her unholy study, nnd lo ! 
 there lay the de.id bird, beside some samples of her diabolical chemistry, 
 upon a table. There were lying about baneful hellebore, and night- 
 shade, and laurel, and such poisonous herbs, and I know not what 
 deadly resins and gums, whether in syrups or as drugs, together with 
 divers venomous styles and imbued needles for the infliction of death ; 
 yea, even subtle and impalpable powders to be inhaled by the sleeping 
 with the vital air, to such a villanous pitch those curst empoisoners 
 had carried their speculative inventions. 
 
 Manfredi knew too well the import of these dreadful symptoms, to 
 doubt any longer of her purpose ; however, he touched nothing, hut 
 with a dreadful stern composure returned down-stairs, and sending 
 for a trusty domestic, commanded him to go instantly for a shroud. 
 The man, obeying this strange order without any comment, in an hour 
 returned with the deathly garment, which the Marquis with his own 
 hands then hung up in the wardrobe, beside the widow's weeds, and in 
 that plight left it for the discovery of Baranga. 
 
 And truly this was but a timely proceeding, for in that very hour 
 she concerted with Vitelli to poison her husband at supper with a dish 
 of sweetmeats ; after which she returned home, and was first startled 
 by the stern silence of Manfredi, who turned from htr without a 
 syllable. Her wretched guilty heart immediately smote her, and run- 
 ning up to her devilish sanctuary, she saw that it had been invaded ; 
 but how much more was she shocked upon sight of a dreary and 
 awful shroud hanging beside those premature weeds, which it warned 
 her she was never to put on ! In a frenzy of despair, therefore, turn- 
 ing her own cruel arms against herself, she swallowed one of the most 
 deadly of her preparations, and casting herself down on the floor, with 
 a horrible ghastly countenance awaited the same dreadful pangs which
 
 J 16 THE EXILE. 
 
 she had so lately witnessed an the poisoned bird. And now, doubt* 
 less, it came bitterly over her, what learful fiutterings she had seen it 
 make, and throbs, and miserable gaspings of its dying beak ; and even 
 as the bird had perished, so did she. 
 
 There was no one bold enough to look upon her last agonies ; but 
 when she was silent and still, the Marquis came in and wept over her 
 ill-starred body, which had been brought by its ungovernable spirit to 
 so frightful a dissolution. 
 
 THE EXILE. 
 
 IN the reign of King Charles the Fifth of Spain, there lived in Mad- 
 rid a gentleman, who being of a fair reputation and an am file 
 fortune, obtained in marriage the daughter of one of the councillors 
 of state. He had not lived long thus happily, when one day his father- 
 in-law returned from the council, with a countenance full of dismay, 
 and informed him that a secret accusation of treason had been pre- 
 ferred against him. 
 
 " Now, I know," said he, " that you are incapable of so great a wicked- 
 ness, not merely from the loyalty of your nature, but because you can- 
 not be so cruel as to have joined in a plot which was directed against 
 my own life as well as others : yet, not knowing how far the malice 
 of your enemies might prevail, for your marriage has made foes of many 
 who were before your rivals. I would advise you to a temporary flight. 
 Time, which discovers all mvsteries, will then, in some happier season, 
 unravel the plot which is laid ag linst your life : but at present, the 
 prejudice against you is hot, and the danger therefore is imminent." 
 
 To this the gentleman replied, that as he should answer to God in 
 judgment, he was innocent, and altogether ignorant of the treason im- 
 puted to him ; and therefore, being conscious of his innocence, and 
 besides, so recently married, he preferred rather to remain in the king- 
 dom and await the issue of his trial. The danger, however, became 
 more pressing with every hour, and, finally, the advice of the councillor 
 prevailed. The unfortunate gentleman, accordingly, took a hasty but 
 most affectionate farewell of his young wife ; and with a heavy heart 
 embarked on board a foreign merchant vessel that was bound for the 
 Gulf of Venice. The councillor was immediately arrested and thrown in 
 prison, as having been an accessary to his son-in-law's escape ; but 
 being afterwards set free, he was still watched so vigilantly by the 
 spies of the accusers, that he could not safely engage in any cor- 
 respondence with his relation. 
 
 In this manner nearly two years passed away; till at length the 
 miserable exile grew so impatient of his condition, that he resolved to 
 return, even at whatever hazard to his life. Passing, therefore, by way 
 of France into Spain, and taking care to disguise himself so effectually 
 that he could not be recognised by his oldest acquaintance, he arrived in 
 safety at a village in the neighbourhood of Madrid. There he learned, 
 for the first time, that his father-in-law had been disgraced and 
 amerced so heavily, that being of a proud spirit and unable to endure
 
 THE EXILE. 717 
 
 his reverses, he had died of a broken heart : and moreover, that his 
 daughter was presently living in the capital in the greatest affliction. 
 At these melancholy tidings, he repented more than ever that he bad 
 quitted Spain, and resolved to repair to his wife withoutany further delay. 
 
 Now it chanced in the village where he was resting, that he had a 
 very dear friend, named Rodrigo, who had been his schoolmate, and 
 was as dear to him as a brother ; and going to his house at sunset, 
 he discovered himself to the other, and besought him to go before to 
 Madrid, and prepare his dear wife for his arrival. "And now, remem- 
 ber," said he, "that my life, and not only mine, but my dear lady's 
 also, depends upon your breath ; and if you frame it into any speech, 
 so imprudently as to betray me, I vow by our Holy Lady of Loretto, 
 that I will eat your heart ;" and with this and still stranger expr^s- 
 sions, he conducted himself so wildly, as to show that his misfortunes, 
 and perhaps some sickness, had impaired the healthiness of his brain. 
 His friend, however, like a prudent man, concealed this observation ; 
 but unlocking his library, and saying that there was store of entertain- 
 ment in his absence, he departed on his mission. 
 
 On Rodrigo's arrival at the lady's house, she was seated on a sofa, 
 and, as if to divert her cares, was busied in some embroidery ; but 
 every now and then she stayed her needle to wipe off a tear that 
 gathered on 1 her long dark eyelashes, and sometimes to gaze for 
 minutes together on a small portrait which lay before her on a table. 
 "Alas!" she said to the picture, "we two that "should have lived 
 together so happily, to be thus asunder ; but absence has made room 
 for sorrow to come between us, and it slays both our hearts : " and as 
 she complained thus, Rodrigo joyfully entered. and began to unfold to 
 her his welcome tidings. 
 
 At first, the sorrowful lady paid scarcely any attention to his words, 
 but so soon as she comprehended that it concerned her dear husband's 
 arrival, she could hardly breathe for joy. 
 
 " What ! shall I behold him here, in this very spot ; nay here," said 
 she, pressing her hands vehemently upon her bosom : " I pray thee do 
 not mock me, for my life is so flown into this hope, that they must die 
 together if you deceive me ; " and only at the entrance of that doubt 
 she burst'into a flood of tears. But being assured that the news was 
 indeed true, and that her husband would presently be with her, she 
 clasped her hands passionately together, and crying out that joy was 
 as hard to bear as grief, besought Heaven that it might not madden 
 her before he came, and then began to weep again as violently as 
 before. Upon this Rodrigo reproving her, she excused herself, saying 
 "that a dream which had troubled her in the night, had overpowered 
 her weak spirits." 
 
 " And in truth," said she, "it was very horrible ; for my dear hus- 
 band appeared to me like a phantom, and laid his cold hand unon 
 mine, like a fall of snow ; and he ask' d me if I w.is afraid of him, that 
 I shuddered so, and I answered him, ' God forbid ! but yet your voice, 
 methinks, is not your own, nor so gentle, but very fierce, and there is 
 strange light instead of love in your eyes.' And he said, 'This voice 
 truly is not my own, nor the shining of my eyes ; but the serpent's 
 within me, who hath devoured my brain ; and when he looks out upon
 
 7i8 THE EXILE. 
 
 thee, he will kill thee, for he does not love thee as I used, neither is 
 there any remorse in his heart.' As he spoke thus, I saw a light shin- 
 ing in his skull, and wild strange eyes looking forth through his eyes : 
 so that I cried out with terror, and awaked. But ever since this dream 
 has haunted me, and even now, as you see, I cannot quite get rid of its 
 depression." 
 
 At the nature of this dream Don Rodrigo could scarcely forbear 
 from shuddering, for he doubted not that the serpent signified the 
 madness which he had observed about his friend, and that the vision 
 itself was but the type of some impending calamity ; nevertheless, he 
 subdued his own fears before the lady, and endeavoured to divert her 
 thoughts till the arrival of her husband. 
 
 After a tedious interval, at length the door was suddenly flung open, 
 and he leaped in ; and rushing to his wife, they embraced in silence 
 for several sweet minutes, till separating a little, that they miyht gaze 
 on each other, the lady remarked that his arm was bound up in a 
 bloody handkerchief. 
 
 " Nay," said he, perceiving her alarm ; " it is no very grievous hurt, 
 though I have been assailed by robbers in my way hither : but, alas ! 
 what greater injury hath grief wrought upon thee ! " for with her 
 maidenly figure, she had all the careful countenance of, a matron in 
 years. 
 
 Indeed, it was easy to conceive how their hearts had suffered and 
 hungered for each other by their present passionate endearments, for 
 they soon crowded into a few short minutes all the ho.irded affection 
 of years. But such joy as theirs is often but the brief wonder of 
 unhappy lives ; and so, in the very summit of delight, they were inter- 
 rupted by Don Rodrigo, who, with looks full of terror, declared that 
 the house was beset by the police, and presently a loud knocking was 
 heard at the outer gates. At this alarm, the two unfortunates started 
 asunder, and listened till tltey heard even the throbbings of their own 
 fearful hearts. But at the second knocking, the gentleman, quitting 
 his wife, and drawing his sword, stared wildly about him with eyes 
 that seemed to flash out sparkles of unnatural fire. 
 
 " Ha!" said he, casting a terrible glance upon Rodrigoj "have I 
 sold my life to such a devil?" and suddenly springing upon him and 
 tearing him down to the ground, he thrust his sword fiercely into his 
 bosom. 
 
 And indeed it seemed but too reasonable that Rodrigo, who alone 
 had known the secret of the exile's arrival, had betrayed him to the 
 Government. Notwithstanding, at the first flush of the blood, as it 
 gushed out as if in reproach of the weapon, the gentleman made an 
 effort to raise his friend again from the floor; but in the meantime 
 the police had enforced their entrance, and now made him their 
 prisoner without any resistance. He begged merely that his arms 
 might be left unbound, but immediately attempting in his frenzy o 
 do some injury to his wife, and reviling her, through madness, with 
 the very venom and aspect of a serpent, the officers hurried him 
 instantly to his prison. All the time that he was being fettered he 
 seemed -quite unconscious, and altogether in some dream foreign to 
 his condition ; but as the door closed and the bolts grated harshly on
 
 THE EXILE. 719 
 
 the outside, he recovered his senses, and made answer with a deep 
 groan. 
 
 At first he believed he had no company in his misery, but presently 
 he heard a rustling of straw, with a clanking of chains in one corner 
 of the dungeon, which was a very dark one, and a man in irons came 
 up slowly towards the grate. The little light sufficed to show that his 
 countenance was a very horrid one, although hidden for the most part 
 in his black, bushy hair ; and he had besides but one eye : by which 
 tokens the gentleman readily recognised him as one of the banditti 
 who had set upon him in the forest. 
 
 " So, senor," said he, " I perceive that one foul night has netted us 
 both ; and therein I have done to thee one more injury than I designed ; 
 but my plunder has all gone before the council, and along with it thy 
 papers : so if there be aught treasonable in them that brings thee to 
 this cage, my ill-luck must be blamed for it, which is likely to bring us 
 both to the same gallows." 
 
 At this discourse the gentleman fell into a fresh frenzy, but less of 
 madness than of bitter grief and remorse : every word avenging upon 
 him the stab which he had inflicted on his dear friend Rodri^o. He 
 cast himself, therefore, on the hard floor, and would have dashed his 
 tortured brains against the stones, but for the struggles of the robber, 
 who, hard-hearted and savage as he had been by profession, was yet 
 touched with strange pity at the sight of so passionate a grief. It 
 settled upon him afterwards to a deep dejection, and in this condition, 
 after some weeks' confinement, the wretched gentleman was finally 
 released without any trial, by an order of the council. This change, 
 however, which should have been a blessing to any other, produced no 
 alleviation of his malady. It was nothing in the world to him that he 
 was free to revisit its sunshine, and partake of all its natural delights, 
 and above all, enjoy the'consolations and the sweets of 'domestic 
 affection. Though there was one ever gazing upon him with an 
 almost breaking heart, he neither felt his own mi-ery nor hers, but 
 looked upon ail things with an eye bright and fiery indeed at times ; 
 but not, like the stars, illuminate with knowledge. 
 
 In this mood he would sit for hours with his arms folded, and gaz- 
 ing upon the vacant air, sighing sometimes, but never conscious of 
 the presence of his once beloved wife, who sat before him, and watched 
 his steadfast countenance, till she wept at his want ot sympathy. 
 Day passed after day, and ni^ht after night, but there was no change 
 in the darkness of his mind, till one morning, as he sat, his reason as 
 it were returned upon him like the dawn of day, when the sky is first 
 streaked with light, and the world gains a weak intelligence of the 
 things that are in it. He had been looking for some minutes on his 
 wife without knowing her, but tears glistened, for the first time, in his 
 eyes, and at last two large drops, and with those his delirium, were 
 shed from his eyelids. He immediately recognised his wife, and cast 
 himself into her arms. 
 
 The joyful lady, in her turn, found it hard to retain her senses. After 
 returning his caresses in the tenderest manner, she hastened immedi- 
 ately to Don Rodrigo, who, though severely hurt, had got better of his 
 wound, and watched the more dreadful malady of his friend, some-
 
 yzo THE OIVL. 
 
 times indeed, in hope, but more comnvmly in de=p ai of his recovery. 
 At the first news, therefore, he ran hastily to the room, and soon cast 
 himself into the arms of his friend : but the latter received him coldly ; 
 and before Rodrigo could finish even a brief salutation, he felt the other's 
 arms loosening from around his neck, and beheld his head suddenly 
 drop, as if it had been displeasing that their eyes should meet again. 
 It seemed, indeed, that his malady had already returned upon him ; 
 but in another moment the body fell forwards on the floor, and in- 
 stantly the blood gushed from a hidden wound in the side, which had 
 hitherto been concealed by the mantle. A pair of scissors, covered 
 with blood and broken, for the wound had been desperately bestowed, 
 dropped from him as he fell : for, to show more sadly the lady's own 
 jovful forgetfulness, she had supplied the weapon for this dreadful 
 catastrophe. 
 
 As for the miserable lady, it was feared, from the violence of her 
 prief, that the same dismal blow would have been her death ; but her 
 heart had been too long inured to such sufferings to be so speedily 
 broken ; and at last, attaining to that peace which belongs only to the 
 comforts of our holy religion, she devoted her widowhood to God, and 
 cheerfully ended an old age of piety in the Convent of St Faith, 
 
 THE OWL. 
 
 u AN indiscreet friend," says the proverb, " is more dangerous than 
 /x the naked sword of an enemy ; " and truly, there is nothing 
 more fatal than the act of a misjudging ally, which, like a mistake in 
 medicine, is apt to kill the unhappy patient whom it was intended to 
 cure. 
 
 This lesson was taught in a remarkable manner to the innocent Zer- 
 lina, a peasant ; to conceive which, you must suppose her to have gone 
 by permission into the garden of the Countess of Marezzo, near the 
 Arno, one beautiful morning of June. It was a sp.icious pleasure- 
 ground, excellently disposed and adorned witli the choicest specimens 
 of shrubs and trees, being bounded on all sides by hedgerows of laurels 
 and myrtles, and such sombre evergreens, and in the midst was a 
 pretty verdant lawn with a sundial. 
 
 The numberless plants that belong to that bountiful season were then 
 in full flower, and the delicate fragrance of the orange blossoms per- 
 fumed the universal air. The thrushes were singing merrily in the 
 copses, and the bees, that cannot stir without music, made a joyous 
 humming with their wings. All things were vigorous and cheerful ex- 
 cept one, a poor owl, that had been hurt by a bolt from a crossbow, 
 and so had been unable by daylight to regain his accustomed hermit- 
 age, but sheltered himself under a row of laurel-trees and hollies, that 
 afforded a delicious shadow in the noontide sun. There, shunning 
 and shunned by all, as is the lot of the unfortunate, he languished over 
 his wound ; till a flight of pert sparrows espying him, he was soon 
 fonx-d to endure a thousand t witlings as well as buffets from that in- 
 solent race.
 
 THE OWL. 784 
 
 The noise of these chatterers attracting the attention of Zerlina, she 
 crossed over to the spot ; and, lo ! there crouched the poor bewildered 
 owl, blinking with his large bedazzled eyes, and nodding as if with 
 giddiness from his buffetings and the blaze of unusual light. 
 
 The tender girl being very gentle and compassionate by nature, was 
 no ways repelled by his ugliness ; but thinking of his sufferings, took 
 up the feathered wretch in her arms and endeavoured to revive him by 
 placing him on her bosom. There, nursing him with an abundance of 
 pity and concern, she carried him to the grass-plat, and being ignorant 
 of his habits, laid out the poor drooping bird, as her own lively spirits 
 prompted her, in the glowing sunshine ; for she felt in her own heart, 
 at that moment, the kind and cheerful influence of the genial sun. 
 Then, withdrawing a little way and leaning against the dial, she awaited 
 the grateful change which she hoped to behold in the creature's looks ; 
 whereas, the tormented owl being grievously dazzled, and annoyed 
 more than ever, hopped off again, with many piteous efforts, to the 
 shady evergreens. Notwithstanding, believing that this shyness was 
 only because of his natural wildness or fear, she brought him over again 
 to the lawn, and then ran into the house for some crumbs to feed him 
 withal. 
 
 The poor owl, in the meantime, crawled partly back, as before, to his 
 friendly shelter of holly. The simple girl found him, therefore, with 
 much wonder, again retiring towards those gloomy bushes. 
 
 " Why, what a wilful creature is this," she thought, " that is so loth 
 to be comforted ! No sooner have I placed it in the warm cheerful 
 sunshine, which enlivens all its fellow-birds to chirp and sing, than it 
 goes back and mopes under the most dismal corners. I have known 
 many human persons to have those peevish fits, and to reject kindness 
 as perversely, but who would look for such unnatural humours in a 
 simple bird ! " 
 
 Therewith, taking the monkish fowl from his dull leafy cloisters, she 
 disposed him once more on the sunny lawn, where he made still fresh 
 attempts to get away from the over-painful radiance, but was now be- 
 come too feeble and ill to remove. Zerlina therefore began to believe 
 that he was reconciled to his situation ; but she had hardly cherished 
 this fancy, when a dismal film came suddenly over his large round 
 eyes ; and then falling over upon his back, after one or two slow gasps 
 of his beak, and a few twitches of his aged claws, the poor martyr of 
 kindness expired before her sight. It cost her a few tears to witness 
 the tragical issue of her endeavours ; but she was still more grieved 
 afterwards, when she was told of the cruelty of her unskilful treatment : 
 and the poor owl, with its melancholy death, was the frequent sub- 
 ject of her meditations. 
 
 In the year after this occurrence, it happened that the Countess of 
 Marezzo-was in want of a young female attendant, and being much 
 struck with the modesty and lively temper of Zerlina, she requested her 
 parents to let her live with her. The poor people having a numerous 
 family to provide for, agreed very cheerfully to the proposal ; and Zer- 
 lina was carried by her benefactress to Rome. Her good conduct 
 confirming the prepossessions of the Countess, the latter showed her 
 many marks of her favour and regard, not only furnishing her hand? 
 
 2 Z
 
 ya THE GERMAN KNIGHT. 
 
 tomely with apparel, but taking her as a companion on her visits to the 
 most rich and noble families, so that Zerlina was thus introduced to 
 much gaiety and splendour. Her he.irt, notwithstanding, ached often- 
 times under her silken Jn. sses, for in spite of the favour of the Countess, 
 she met with many slights from the proud and wealthy, on account of her 
 humble origin, as well as much envy and malice from persons of her 
 own condition. She fell therefore into a deep melancholy, and being 
 interrogated by the Countess, she declared th;<t she pined for her for- 
 mer humble but happy estate, and begged with all humility that she 
 might return to her native village. 
 
 The Countess being much surprised as well as grieved at this con- 
 fession, inquired if she had ever given her cause to repent of her pro- 
 tection, to which Zerlina replied with many grateful tears, but still 
 avowing the ardour of her wishes. 
 
 " Let me return," said she, " to my own homely life ; this oppressive 
 splendour dazzles and bewilders me. 1 feel by a thousand humiliating 
 misgivings and disgraces, that it is foreign to my nature ; my defects 
 of birth and manners making me shrink continually within myself, 
 whilst those who were born for its blize perceive readily that I belong 
 to an obscurer race, and taunt me with jests and indignities for intrud- 
 ing on their sphere. Those, also, who should be my equals are quite 
 as bitter against me for overstepping their station, so that my life is 
 thus a round of perpetual mortincations and uneasiness. Pray, there- 
 fore, absolve me of ingratitude, if I long to return to my native and 
 proper shades, with their appointed habits. I am dying, like the poor 
 owl, for lack of my natural obscurity." 
 
 The curiosity of the Countess being awakened by her last expression, 
 Zerlina related to her the story of that unfortunate bird, and applied it 
 with a very touching commentary to her own condition ; so that the 
 Countess was affected even to the shedding of tears : she immediately 
 comprehended the moral, and carrying back Zerlina to her native vil- 
 lage, she bestowed her future favour so judiciously, that instead of being 
 a misfortune, it secured the complete happiness of the pretty peasant. 
 
 THE GERMAN KNIGHT. 
 
 '"INHERE is an old proverb, that some jokes are cut-throats ; mean- 
 J. ing that certain unlucky jests are apt to bring a tragical ending, 
 a truth which has being confirmed by many instances besides that 
 one which I am about to relate. 
 
 At the memorable siege of Vienna by the French, in the year , 
 
 the inhabitants enrolled themselves in great numbers for the defence 
 of the city, and amongst these was one Lodowic, a man of dull intel- 
 lect and a hasty temper, but withal of a slow courage. He was no* 
 one of the last, however, to volunteer ; for there was a lady in the 
 background who excited him, with an extraordinary eagerness, to take 
 up arms against the common enemy. 
 
 It is notorious that the Germans, though phlegmatic, are a romantic 
 in their notions ; the tales of chivalry, the mysteries of Odin,
 
 THE GERMAN KNIGHT. Jj 
 
 and diabolical legends, being their most favourite studies. In affairs 
 of business they are plodding, indefatigable, and of an extraordinary 
 patience, their naturalists having counted cod's eggs, by millions, 
 beyond any other people ; and in their extravagant flights they equally 
 surpass the rest of mankind, even as it has been observed of the most 
 sedate drudge-horses, that they kick up highest of any when turned out 
 free into the meadow. 
 
 Dorothea, for so the lady was called, partook largely of the national 
 bias ; and in truth, for her own peace and contentment, should have 
 lived some centuries sooner, when the customs recorded by the min- 
 nesingers and troubadours were the common usages. In her own 
 times, it was a novelty to see a young mniden so over-delighted as she 
 was at the dedication of her lover to deeds of arms and bloodshed ; as 
 if, forsooth, he had been going only to tilt with a blunted lance at a 
 holiday tournament, instead of the deadly broil with the French in 
 which he was engaged. With her own hand she embroidered for him 
 a silken scarf, in the manner of the damsels of yore, and bereaved her 
 own headgear to bedeck his helmet with a knightly plume. For it 
 was one of her fancies that Lodowic should go forth to the war in the 
 costume of her ancestors, from whose armoury she selected a suit of 
 omplete steel, which had been worn aforetime in the Holy Land. 
 
 The timid spirit of the German made him willingly entrench himself 
 in a coat of mail, and its security helped him to overlook the undue 
 alacrity with which the lady of his love commended him to the bloody 
 field. Not a tear did she spend at the buckling on of his cuirass, nor 
 a single sigh at the delivery of his shield. 
 
 "Return with this," said the hard-hearted one, "or upon it," a 
 benediction which she had learned of the Spartan heroine. 
 
 It was noon when the redoubtable Lodowic rode forth thus accoutred 
 to join his troop on the parade. His horse, scared by the clattering 
 of the armour, made many desper.ite plunges by the way, to the 
 manifest derangement of his scarf, and still more of his plumes, which 
 began to droop down his nape in a very unseemly fashion. The joints 
 of his armour being stiff with the rust of age, he had no great com- 
 mand of his limbs, nor was he very expert or graceful in the manage- 
 ment of his lance. As for his shield, he had found convenient to cast 
 it amongst certain gossiping housewives in the street ; so that, in 
 extremity, he could fulfil neither of the Spartan conditions. 
 
 The common people, who have hawks' eyes for any grotesque figure, 
 shouted lustily after him as he rode, which attracted the general notice 
 of his troop to that quarter, and as soon as they perceived his uncouth 
 habiliments, set off as they were by his imperturbable German gravity, 
 there was a tumult of laughter and derision along the whole line. 
 
 Now it happened that there belonged to this troop an adjutant, a 
 special friend of Lodowic, but, on this occasion, the most bitter of his 
 mockers. A hundred merry jests he passed upon the unlucky man- 
 at-arms, till at last the incensed paladin beckoned him a pace or two 
 apart, and after a short but angry conference, returned with his fac 
 at a white heat to his mistress, and informed her of the event. 
 
 " Now this adventure," said the cruel one, " falls out better than I 
 hoped. Thou shall cast down thy gauntlet in defiance of this un
 
 7*4 TIfE GERMAN KNIGHT. 
 
 courteous knight ; and though there be no royal lists appointed in 
 these days, ye may have, notwithstanding, a very honourable and 
 chivalrous encounter." 
 
 "As for that, madam," returned Lodowic, "the mntter is settled, 
 and without throwing about any gloves at all. I have dared him to 
 meet me to-morrow at sunrise, by the Linden Wood ; and one way or 
 another I daresay something desperate will be done between us." 
 
 The hard-hearted one, highly in love with this news, embraced 
 Lodowic very tenderly, and, to mark her grace towards him still far- 
 ther, gave him her glove to wear as a favour during the impending 
 combat. She selected for him, moreover, a new suit of armour, and 
 gave him a fresh shield against any disaster, a provision which the 
 knight acknowledged with equal gratitude and gravity. And now she 
 had nothing left but to dream, waking or sleeping, of the wager of 
 battle of the morrow ; whereas, Lodowic closed his eyes no more 
 through the night than if he had been watching his arms in a 
 church. 
 
 As soon as the cocks began to crow, which he heard with as much 
 pleasure as St Peter, he put on his arms, and set forth whilst the morn- 
 ing was yet at a grey light. There is no chill so deathlike and subtle 
 as that which springs up with the vapourish damps before sunrise, 
 and Lodowic soon found himself all over in a cold sweat, answerable 
 to that of the earth. Thoughts of death, besides, began now to be 
 busy within him ; the very crimson rents and fissures of the eastern 
 sky suggesting to him the gaping of the gory wounds which might 
 soon be inflicted on his miserable body, for he knew that even the 
 iron defences of the olden knights had not exempted them from such 
 cruel slashes. In the meantime, he studied a pacific discourse, which* 
 he trusted would heal up the quarrel better than either sword or lance ; 
 and in this Christian temper he arrived at the appointed place. There 
 was no one yet visible within the narrow obscure horizon ; wherefore 
 he paced his horse slowly up and down in front of the Linden Wood, 
 between which and himself there flowed a small murmuring stream. 
 
 After about twenty turns to and fro, Lodowic beheld some one 
 emerging from the trees, whom the mist of the morning would not 
 let him perfectly distinguish. However, the pale light of the sun 
 began presently to glance upon the figure, turning it from a dark 
 object to a bright one, so that it gleamed out like the rivulet, which 
 stood at nearly the same distance. The figure leaped his horse over 
 the brook with a slight noise that sounded like the jingling of arms, 
 and coming gently into the foreground, Lodowic discerned that it was 
 the adjutant, in a suit of complete armour. At this sight, -he was 
 very much puzzled whether to take it as a new affront or as an apology, 
 that the other came thus, in a suit of the kind that had begotten their 
 difference ; but how monstrous was his rage to discover that it was 
 only a burlesque armour the helmet being merely a pewter bason, 
 and the shield the cover of a large iron pot. The mocker, pursuing 
 his original jest in this indiscreet way, had prepared a set speech for 
 the encounter. 
 
 "You see, cousin," said he, "that I meet you at your own arms. 
 Here is my helmet to match with yours, and this my buckler is made
 
 THE GERMAN KNIGHT. 72$ 
 
 after the model of your own ; here is my corslet too " but before h? 
 could achieve the comparison, his horse was staggering from the rush 
 of the choleric Lodowic, whose spear, whether by accident or design, 
 was buried deep in the other's bosom. The wounded man gave but 
 one groan, and fell backward, and the horse of Lodowic taking fright 
 at the clatter of the armour, started off at full gallop, throwing his 
 rider side by side with the bleeding wretch upon the grass. 
 
 As soon as he recovered from the shock, Lodowic got up and 
 gazed with fixed eyes on the wounded man. He was lying on his 
 back, staring dreadfully against the sky ; one of his hands was 
 clenched about the handle of the cruel spear the other he kept 
 striking with mere anguish against the ground, where it soon became 
 dabbled in a pool of blood that had flowed from his wound. Anon, 
 drawing it in a fresh agony across his brow, his face likewise was 
 smeared over with the gore, making altogether so shocking a picture, 
 that Lodowic was ready to" swoon away upon the spot. 
 
 " In the name of God," he cried, "tell me, my dearest friend, that 
 you are not mortally hurt ; " but the wounded man made answer only 
 by a horrible roll of his eyes, and so expired. 
 
 Imagine what a dreadful sharp pang of remorse went through the 
 bosom of Lodowic at this dreary spectacle. His heart felt cold within 
 him, like a ball of snow, but his head was burning with a tumult of 
 remorseful and miserable thoughts, together with some most painful 
 misgivings as to the disposition of his mistress, which now began to 
 show at variance with loveliness and womanhood. But it was time to 
 be gone, the country-people beginning to stir about the fields ; so 
 casting off the accursed armour, which now pained him through and 
 through, like Nessus' poisoned shirt, he ran off, bewildered, he knew 
 not whither. 
 
 Shortly after his departure, the hard-hearted Dorothea, with her 
 woman, arrived at the spot and lo ! there lay the dead body of the 
 adjutant, with the spear still sticking upright in his bosom. I know 
 not how such a fortitude consists with the female nature, but she 
 looked on this dreadful object with all the serenity of a lady in old 
 romance. Her only concern was to behold the armour of Lodowic 
 scattered so shamefully about, for she had resolved that he should 
 repair to her with all the chivalrous formality. Returning home, 
 therefore, with great scorn and anger in her looks, she promised to 
 visit the unfortunate, knight with a rigorous penance ; but she saw 
 no more of Lodowic, except the following letter, which was brought to 
 her the same evening by a peasant : 
 
 " MADAM, I send you by this page your glove, stained with the 
 blood of the traitor, formerly my friend. It grieves me that I cannot 
 lay it with my own hands at your feet, but a vow binds me to achieve 
 deeds more worthy of your beauty and my devotion. To-morrow i 
 set forth for Cyprus, and I shall not think myself entitled to your 
 presence till I have strung the heads of a score of Turks at my saddle- 
 bow. Till then, I remain in all loyalty, your true knight, 
 
 " LODOWIC." 
 
 The hard-hearted one perused this letter with an equal mixture of
 
 ya6 THE FLORENTINE KINSMEN. 
 
 delight and doubt, for the style of the German hitherto had been 
 neither quaint nor heroical. She waited many long years, you may 
 believe, for the heads of the infidels. In the meantime, Lodowic had 
 passed over into England, where he married the widow of a refiner, 
 and soon became an opulent sugar-baker ; for though he still had 
 some German romantic flights on an occasion, he was as steady and 
 plodding as a blind millhorse in his business. 
 
 THE FLORENTINE KINSMEN. 
 
 IT is a true proverb, that we are hawks in discerning the faults ol 
 others, but buzzards in spying out our own : and so is the other, 
 that no man will act wickedly before a mirror ; both of which sayings 
 I hope to illustrate in the following story. 
 
 The hereditary domains of the Malatesti, formerly a very ancient 
 and noble family of Florence, were large and princely, though now 
 they are alienated and parcelled out amongst numerous possessors, 
 and the race which then owned them is extinct. After many genera- 
 tions, the greater portion of the estates descended to a distant relation 
 of the house, and the remainder to his kinsman, who had already some 
 very large possessions of his own. 
 
 This man, notwithstanding he was so rich, and able to live, if he 
 chose, in the greatest luxury and profusion, was still so covetous as to 
 cast an envious and grudging eye on the property of his noble kins- 
 man, and he did nothing but devise secretly how he should get the 
 rest of the estates of the Malatesti into his own hands. His kins- 
 man, however, though generous and hospitable, was no prodigal or 
 gambler, likely to stand in need of usurious loans ; neither a dissolute 
 liver, that might die prematurely, nor a soldier ; but addicted to 
 peaceful literary studies, and very temperate in his habits. 
 
 The miserly man, therefore, saw no hope of obtaining his wishes, 
 except at the price of blood, and he did not scruple at last to admit 
 this horrible alternative into his nightly meditations. He resolved, 
 therefore, to bribe the notorious Pazzo, a famous robber of that time, 
 to his purpose ; but ashamed, perhaps, to avow his inordinate longings, 
 even to a robber, or else grudging the high wages of such a servant of 
 iniquity, he afterwards revoked this design, and took upon his own 
 hands the office of an assassin. 
 
 Accordingly he invited his unsuspecting kinsman, with much specious 
 kindness, to his own house, under a pretence of consulting him on 
 some rare old manuscripts which he had lately purchased, a tempta- 
 tion which the other was not likely to resist. He repaired, therefore, 
 very readily to the miser's country-seat, where they spent a few days 
 together very amicably though not sumptuously ; but the learned 
 gentleman was contented with the entertainment, which he hoped to 
 meet with in the antique papyri. At last, growing more impatient 
 than was strictly polite "to behold the manuscripts, he inquired for 
 them so continually, that his crafty host thought it was full time to 
 show him n improvement which he had designed upon his estate,
 
 THE FLORENTINE KINSMEN. 7> 
 
 and which intended, as may be guessed, the addition of another terri- 
 tory to his own. 
 
 The gentleman, who, along with alchemy and the other sciences, 
 hid studied landscape gardening, made no difficulties ; so mounting 
 their horses, they rode towards the middle of the estate into a deep forest, 
 the gentleman discoursing by the way for the last time in his life 
 possibly on the cultivation of the ced.ir. The miser, with a dagger in 
 his sleeve, rode closely by his side, Commenting from time to time on 
 the growth of his trees, and at length bade his companion look 
 towards the right, through a certain little vista which opened towards 
 the setting sun, now shining very gorgeously in the west. The 
 unwary gentleman, accordingly turned his head on that side, but he 
 had scarcely glanced on that golden light of heaven, when the miser 
 suddenly smote him a savage blow on the left breast, which tumbled 
 him off his horse. 
 
 The stroke, however, though so well directed, alighted luckily on a 
 small volume of a favourite author which the gentleman wore con- 
 stantly in his bosom. So that learning, which has brought so many 
 to poverty and a miserable end, was for this once the salvation of a 
 life. 
 
 At first the victim was stunned awhile by the fall, and especially by 
 the shocking treachery of his relation, who, seeing how matters went, 
 leapt quickly down to despatch him ; but the gentleman, though a 
 scholar, made a vigorous defence, and catching hold of the miser's 
 arm with the dagger, he began to plead in very natural terms (for at 
 other times he was a little pedantical) for his life. 
 
 " Oh, my kinsman," said he, " why will you kill me, who have never 
 wished you any harm in my days, but on the contrary have always 
 loved you faithfully, and concerned myself at every opportunity about 
 your health and welfare ? Consider, besides, I beg of you, how nearly 
 we are allied in- blood : though it is a foul crime for any man to lift 
 an unbrotherly hand against another, yet in our case it is thrice 
 unnatural. Remember the awful curse of Cain, which for this very 
 act will pursue you ; and for your own sake as well as mine, do not 
 incur so terrible a penalty. Think how presumptuous it is to take a 
 life of God's own gracious creation, and to quench a spark which in 
 after remorse you cannot by any means rekindle ; nay, how much 
 more horrible it must be still to slay an immortal soul, as you thus 
 hazard, by sending me to my audit with all my crimes still unrepented 
 upon my head. Look here at this very blood, which you have drawn 
 from my hand in our struggle, how naturally it reproaches and stains 
 you ; for which reason, God doubtless made it of that blushing hue, 
 that it might not be shed thus wantonly. This little wound alone, 
 wrings me with more pain than I have ever caused to any living 
 creature, but you cannot destroy me without still keener anguish and 
 the utmost agonies. And why indeed should you slay me? not for 
 my riches, of which we have both of us more than enough, or if you 
 wanted, Heaven knows how freely I would share my means with you. 
 I cannot believe you so base as to murder me for such unprofitable 
 lucre, but doubtless I have offended you in some innocent way to 
 provoke this malice. If I have, I will beseech your pardon a thousand
 
 p8 THE FLORENTINE KINSMEN. 
 
 times over from the simple love that I bear you ; but do not requite 
 me for an imaginary wrong so barbarously. Pray, my dear kinsman, 
 spare me ! Do not cut me off thus untimely in die happy prime of my 
 days, from the pleasant sunshine, and from the blessed delights of 
 nature, and from my harmless books (for he did not forget those) and 
 all the common joys of existence. It is true, I have no dear wife or 
 children to weep for me, but I have many kindly friends that will 
 grieve for my de^th, t>esides all the poor peasants on my estates, who 
 will fall, I fear, under a harder lordship. Pray, my kinsman, spare 
 me!" 
 
 But the cruel miser, in reply, only struggled to release himself, and 
 at last prevailing, lie smote the other once or twice again with his 
 dagger, but not dangerously. 
 
 Now it happened that the noted robber Pazzo, whom I have already 
 mentioned, was making a round in the forest at the same time with 
 the two kinsmen, and thanking Providence that had thrown into his 
 path so rich a prize (for the rogue was very devout in his own way), 
 he watched them along the road, for a favourable opportunity of 
 assaulting them, and so became a witness of this murderous transac- 
 tion. 
 
 Pazzo himself was a brave man, and not especially cruel ; thus he 
 was not sorry to see that a part of his office was about to be performed 
 by another, and probably, too, he was secretly gratified to observe 
 that a rich and reputable man could behave himself so like a despised 
 robber : howbeit, he no ways interfered, but warily ambushed himself 
 behind a large cork-tree to behold the sequel. 
 
 He was near enough to hear all the speeches that passed between 
 them, so that having still some human kindliness at the bottom of his 
 heart, it was soon awakened by the gentleman's eloquent pleadings 
 for his life : but when the assassin began to attacic him afresh, the 
 cruelty of the act struck on him so forcibly, that he instantly leaped 
 out upon the bloodthirsty miser, and tore him down to the ground. 
 He was then going to dispatch him without further delay, but the 
 gnerous kinsman entreating most earnestly for the wretch's life, and 
 promising any sum for his ransom, Pazzo, with gre.it reluctance, 
 allowed him to remain unhurt. He bound his hands together, not- 
 withstanding, and detained him as his prisoner ; but he would accept 
 of no money nor of any favour from the grateful gentleman, except a 
 promise that he would use his interest with Government in behalf of 
 any of the banditti who should fall into the hands of the police. 
 
 They then parted with mutu il courtesy, the gentleman returning 
 home, and Pazzo repairing with his captive to the mountains, where 
 he bestowed him as a legacy to his comrades, desiring them to liber- 
 ate him only for an enormous ransom. The sum was soon sent to 
 their rendezvous, as agreed upon by his kinsman ; whereupon the 
 miser was suffered to depart : and thenceforwards lie cherished a 
 gentleness of heart which he had been taught to value by some suffer- 
 ings amongst the mountains. 
 
 As for the gentleman, he resumed his harmless and beloved studies, 
 till being over-persuaded to publish a metaphysical work, on which 
 he had been engaged for some years, the critics did for him what his
 
 THE CARRIER'S WIFE. 79 
 
 kinsman had been unable to effect, and he died of chagrin. The 
 miser thus attained in the end to his object of inheriting the whole of 
 the estates ; but he enjoyed them very briefly, and on his death the 
 family of Malatesti became extinct. 
 
 The ransom-money Pazzo distributed amongst his comrades, and 
 then renounced for ever his former course of life ; confessing that what 
 had passed between the two kinsmen had held up to him such an 
 odious pattern of his own wicked practices, that he repented bitterly 
 of the acts of violence and injustice he had committed in his profes- 
 sion. In this manner he justified the sayings with which I set out in 
 my story ; and afterwards, entering into the Venetian navy, he served 
 with great credit against the Turks and infidels, and died at last 
 bravely fighting with those enemies of our religion. 
 
 THE CARRIERS WIFE. 
 
 IN the suburbs of Strasburg there lived a certain poor woman, by 
 trade a sempstress, who was called Margaret. She was of the 
 middle age, but so cheerful and sweet-tempered, and besides so 
 comely, and of such honest repute, that many tradesmen of respect- 
 able condition would have been glad to marry her. She had con- 
 tracted herself, however, to one Kolmarr, a plausible fellow and a 
 carrier, but in reality a smuggler and a very ruffian. Accordingly, whilst 
 their honeymoon was yet in the wane, he began to use her very shame- 
 fully, till at last she was worse treated than his mules, upon which he 
 made her to attend whilst he was smoking and drinking with his dis- 
 solute comrades. t 
 
 Margaret, notwithstanding, being very humble and industrious, 
 would never have repined at this drudgery ; but on any ill luck which 
 happened to him, his contraband wares being sometimes seized upon by 
 spies, he would beat her in a cruel manner. She concealed this treat- 
 ment, however, from everybody, hoping some day to reclaim him by 
 kindness never reproaching him, indeed, but by haggard and careful 
 looks, which she could not help, for she shrank as often under the 
 pinching hand of want as from that of her brutal husband. Her 
 beauty and strength thus decaying together, she became at last so dis- 
 gusting to him' that if he had not been as cautious and crafty as he 
 was cruel, he would have killed her without delay. As it was, he 
 almost starved her, professing extreme poverty ; at which Margaret 
 never murmured, but only grieved for his sake over his pretended 
 losses. 
 
 One day, as she was thus sitting disconsolate at her needlework, 
 and thinking over her hard condition, she heard a gentle knocking at 
 the door, and going to see who it was, she beheld her cousin, a pedlar, 
 \\hotravelledthrough the country with his box of wares. At first 
 siht of him she was very joyful, not having seen him for many yenrs, 
 but her heart soon sank again into despondence when she remem- 
 bered how wretchedly she must entertain him, if at all ; for if Kolmarr
 
 f30 THE CARRIER'S WIFE. 
 
 knew that she bestowed even a crust of bread, he would certainly beat 
 her. She bade her relation, however, to come in and rest himself. 
 
 " Alas ! " she said, " I have nothing to ^ive thee for thy supper, the 
 house is so bare ; and what is worse, I dare not make amends to thee 
 with a night's lodging, for my husband is a very shy, reserved man, 
 who cannot endure the presence of a stranger : if he found any one 
 here, therefore, at his return, although he is kind enough upon other 
 occasions, he would certainly chide me." 
 
 Her kinsman, after musing a little while over these words, answered 
 her thus : 
 
 " Margaret, I perceive how it is. But do not be uneasy : the best 
 houses may be found unprovided by a random comer. I am pre- 
 pared, you see, against such emergencies : here is a flask of good wine, 
 with a dried fish or two, and a handful of raisins, of which I shall 
 be glad to see you partake. Come, fall to ; " and laying out his stores 
 upon the tablt, he began to sup merrily. 
 
 Margaret, iS this sight, was more alarmed than ever ; nevertheless, 
 after many persuasions she began to eat also, but casting her eyes 
 continually towards the door, as if she feared a visit from an Apennine 
 wolf. The time still drawing nearer for Kolmarr to return, she 
 begged her kinsman to dispatch his meal, as he loved her, and then 
 depart. " I will even do as you say," said he, still misunderstanding 
 her ; " so now show me to my chamber." 
 
 To this Margaret in great alarm replied with what she had told 
 him before, beseeching him not to take it ill of her that he could 
 not sleep in her house ; but to believe that she regarded it as one of 
 her many misfortunes. 
 
 " I understand you," said he, u very well ; but pray make me no 
 more such excuses. I have told you I am not a man to quarrel with 
 my accommodation. Though the bed be harder, and the sheets more 
 coarse and ragged than you care to treat me with, I should lie very 
 thankfully on the floor. So no words, woman, for hence I will not to- 
 night for a king's bed of down " 
 
 Margaret, finding him so positive, and observing, besides, that he 
 was flushed with wine, was fain to humour him ; however, as she 
 knew he was a discreet man, and that he would depart before sunrise, 
 she hoped he might be lodged there that one night without the know- 
 ledge of Kolmarr. She took him up, therefore, into the garret, which 
 contained nothing but a low sorry bed and a long stout rope, which 
 Kolmarr had left there, probably, to tempt her to hang herself ; for 
 she had sometimes slept there alone when he ill-treated her. Her 
 cousin, nevertheless, swore that it was a lodging for a prince. 
 
 " Nay," quoth she, "you are kind enough to view it so; but it is 
 grievously troubled with the rats, as I have had cause to know ; * and 
 then hastily bidding him good-night, she went down the stairs again, 
 with her eyes brimful of tears. 
 
 After she had been down a little while, Kolmarr knocked at the 
 door, which made Margaret almost fall from her chair. He came in 
 soberly, but in a grave humour, and observing how red her eyes were, 
 ne pulled her to him, and kissed her with much apparent affection. 
 The poor woman was too full at heart to speak ; but throwing her
 
 THE CARRIER'S WIFE. 731 
 
 lean arms round his neck, she seemed to forget in that moment all 
 her troubles ; and still more when Kolmarr, with a terrible oath, 
 swore that after that night he would never fret her again. 
 
 The grateful Margaret, being very humble and we ik-spirited, was 
 ready to fall down on her knees to him lor this unusual kindness, and 
 her conscience smiting her, she was just going to confess to him the 
 concealment of her cousin, and to beseech his forgiveness for that dis- 
 obedience, as the first she had ever committed as his wife. But 
 luckily she held her peace, for her fears still prevailed over her ; and 
 on these terms they bestowed themselves together for the night. 
 
 Now it was Kolmarr's custom of a night to pay a visit to his stable, 
 he, as a rogue himself, being very fearful of the dishonesty of others ; 
 for which reason he likewise locked behind him the door of his bed- 
 chamber, in which he deposited his commodities. About midnight, 
 therefore, Margaret heard him go down as usual, but his stay was 
 three times as long as ever it had been before. She became very 
 uneasy at this circumstance, and, moreover, at a strong smoke which 
 began to creep into the chamber ; whereupon, going to the window, 
 she heard Kolmarr beneath, moaning like a person in great pain. In 
 answer to her questions, he told her he had been beaten by some 
 robbers, who had taken away his mules, and then set fire to the 
 house. 
 
 " The back of it," said he, " is all wrapt in a flame ; but what most 
 grieves me of all, my dear Margaret, is that I cannot rescue thee, 
 seeing that in my strife with the villains I have lost the key of the 
 outer door. Nevertheless, if thou wilt take courage and cast thyself 
 down, I will catch thee in my arms ; or at worst, I have dragged 
 hither a great heap of straw, so that no harm may befall thy precious 
 limbs." 
 
 The crafty ruffian, however, intended her no kinder reception thin 
 the hard bare earth would afford to her miserable bones. His 
 brutality being well known in the country, he did not care to kill her 
 openly, whereas in this way he hoped to make it apparent that her 
 death was caused by accident ; and besides, as it would be in a 
 manner by her own act, he flattered himself there would be the less 
 guilt upon his head. 
 
 The window being very far from the ground, Margaret, however, 
 hesitated at the fall ; and in the meantime the pedlar awaked, and 
 smelling the smoke, and going forth to the window above, he over- 
 heard the entreaties of Kolmarr. The danger, by his account, was 
 very imminent ; so stepping in again for his pack, which was very 
 heavy, the pedlar pitched it out in the dark upon Kolmarr, who 
 immediately began to groan in the most dismal earnest. The p.-dlar, 
 knowing how heavy the box was, and hearing the crash, with the 
 lamentations that followed, made no doubt that he had done for the 
 man beneath ; so, without staying to make any fruitless inquiries, he 
 groped about for the rope which he had noticed in the chamber, and 
 knotting it here and there, and tying one end of it to the bed, he let 
 himself down, as nimbly as a cat, to his kinswoman's window. Mar- 
 garet, touched by the moans of her husband, had just made up her 
 mind to leap down at a venture, when the pedlar withheld her, and
 
 73 THE TWO LOVERS OF SICILY. 
 
 being very stout and active, he soon mnde shift to lower her down 
 sately to the ground, and then followed himself, like a sailor, by 
 means of the rope. 
 
 As soon as Margaret was on her feet, she sought for Kolmarr, who 
 by this time was as quiet as a stone, and made no answer to her 
 inquiries : the pedlar therefore concluded justly that he was dead, 
 and speedily found out with his fingers th it there was a great hole in 
 the wretch's skull. At first he was very much shocked and troubled 
 by this discovery ; but afterwards, going behind the house, and see- 
 ing the smouldering remains of a heap of straw which Kolmar had 
 lighted, he comprehended the whole matter and was comforted. 
 Then bringing Margaret, who was lamenting very loudly, to the same 
 spot, he showed her the ashes, and told her how foolish it was to 
 mourn so for a wicked man, who had died horribly through his own 
 plotting against her life. 
 
 "The devices of the bloody man," said he, "have fallen upon his 
 own head. Consider this, therefore, as the good deed of Providence, 
 which, pitying your distresses, has ordained you a happier life here- 
 after ; and for your maintenance, if God should fail to provide' you, I 
 will see to it myself. 5 ' 
 
 In this manner, comforting her judiciously, Margaret dried her 
 tears, reflecting, as many women do, but with less reason, that she 
 must needs be happier as a widow than she had ever been as a wife. 
 As for what he had promised, her kinsman faithfully kept his word, 
 sending her from time to time a portion of his gains ; so that, with her 
 old trade of sempstress, and the property of Kolmarr, shp was main- 
 tained in comfort, and never knew want all the rest of her days. 
 
 THE TWO FAITHFUL LOVERS OF SICILY. 
 
 IN the island of Sicily there lived a beautiful girl called Biancafiore, 
 whose father was a farmer of the imposts in that kingdom ; she 
 had several lovers, but the happiest one was Tebaldo Zanche, a young 
 person of gentle birth but of indifferent estate, which caused him to 
 lie more favourably regarded by Bianca than her father desired, who 
 had set his heart upon matching her with a certain wealthy merchant 
 of Palermo. The power of a parent in those days being much more 
 despotic than in our temperate times, the poor wretched girl was 
 finally compelled to bestow her hand on the merchant, whereupon 
 Tebaldo instantly took leave of his country, and with a hopeless 
 passion at heart wandered over Europe. 
 
 As soon as she was married, Bianca was taken by her husband to 
 his country-house, which was situated on the sea-coast, towards 
 Girgenti, his chief delight being to watch the ships, as they fared 
 to and fro on their mercantile embassies, whereas they only recalled 
 to Bianca the small white sail which had disappeared with the un- 
 fortunate Tebaldo. This prospect of itself was sufficient to aggravate 
 her melancholy, but her residence on the sea-shore was yet to expose 
 Ver to still greater miseries.
 
 THE TWO LOVERS OF, SICILY. 733 
 
 It was not uncommon in those days for the Barbary cruisers, those 
 hawks of the Mediterranean, to make a sudden swoop upon our coasts^ 
 and carry off with them, besides other plunder, both men and women, 
 whom they sold into slavery amongst the Moors in default of ransom. 
 In this manner, making a descent by night when Mercanti was absent 
 at Palermo, they burnt and plundered his house, and took away 
 Bianca, whose horror you may well conceive, when, by the blazing 
 light of her own dwelling, she was carried off. by such swarthy bar- 
 barians, whose very language was a sphynx's riddle to her, and might 
 concern her life or death, and then embarked upon a sea of fire ; for 
 there happened that night a phenomenon not unusual in the Mediter- 
 ranean, namely, the phosphorescence of the waters, which, whether 
 caused by glowing marine insects or otherwise, makes the waves roll 
 like so many blue burning flames. Those who have witnessed it 
 know well 'its dismal appearance on a gloomy night, when the billows 
 come and vanish away like fluxes of pallid fire, and withal so vapour- 
 like and unsubstantial, that apparently the vessel, or any gross corporal 
 substance, must needs sink into its ghastly abyss. With such a dreary 
 scene, therefore, and in the midst of those tawny-coloured infidel 
 Moors, with their savage visages and uncouth garments and glittering 
 arms, 'tis no marvel if Bianca thought herself amongst infernals and 
 the demons of torture on the sulphurous lake. 
 
 On the morrow, which scarcely brought any assuagement of her 
 fears, they had lost sight of Sicily, and at last she was disembarked 
 at Oran, which is an African port, over against Spain. Meanwhile 
 Tebaldo was landing at Palermo, where he learnt, with a renewal of 
 all his pangs, the fate of his beloved mistress. Forgetting all his 
 enmity, therefore, he repaired presently to Mercanti, to concert with 
 him how to redeem her out of the hands of the accursed Moors, a 
 proceeding which he would not have paused for, had fortune put it in 
 his power to proceed instantly to her ransom. 
 
 The merchant lamenting his years and infirmities, which forbade 
 him to go in search of his wife, Tebaldo readily offered himself to 
 proceed in his behalf; adding, "that it was only through the poverty 
 of his means that he had not sailed already at his own suggestion, but 
 that if Mercanti would furnish him with the requisite sums, he should 
 hope to restore the unfortunate Bianca to his arms." The merchant 
 wondering very much at this proposal, and asking what securities he 
 could offer for such a trust, 
 
 " Alas ! " quoth Tebaldo, " I have nothing to pletige for my perfor- 
 mance, except an unhappy love for her, that would undergo thrice-told 
 perils for her sake. I am that hopeless Tebaldo Zanche who was 
 made so eminently miserable by her marriage : nevertheless, I will 
 forgive that, as well as all other mischances, if I may but approve my 
 honourable regard for her by this self-devoted service. There are 
 yet some reasonable doubts you may well entertain of my disinter- 
 estedness and fidelity on such a mission, and I know not how to 
 remove them ; but when you think of the dangerous infidels in whose 
 hands she now is, I have a hope that you may bring yourself to think 
 her as safe at least in mine." 
 
 The passionate Tebaldo enforced these arguments with so many
 
 734 THE TWO LOVERS OF SICIL Y. 
 
 sincere tears and solemn oaths, and, besides, depicted so naturally 
 the horrible condition of the lady amongst the Moors, that at last the 
 merchant consented to his request, and furnishing him with the proper 
 authorities, the generous lover, with a loyal heart which designed 
 nothing less than he had professed, set sail on his arduous adventure. 
 
 Let us pass over the hardships and dangers of such an enterprise, 
 and above all, its cruel anxieties, the hopes which were raised at 
 Tunis being wrecked again at Algiers, till at last he discovered 
 Bianca amongst the slaves of the chief pirate at Oran, who, despairing 
 of a ransom, began to contemplate her as his own mistress. Tebaldo's 
 bargain was soon made ; whereupon the lady was set at liberty, and 
 to her unspeakable joy, by the hands of her own beloved Zanche ; yet 
 when they remembered the final consequence of her freedom, the 
 brightness of their delight was quenched with some very bitter tears. 
 The generosity ot their natures, however, triumphed over these regrets, 
 and with sad hearts, but full of virtuous resolution, they re-embarked 
 together in a Genoese carrack for Palermo. 
 
 And now their evil fortune still pursued them, for falling in with a 
 Sallee rover, although they escaped a second capture by the fast- 
 sailing of their ship, they were chased a long way out of their course, 
 into the Straits of Gibraltar, and the wind turning contrary, increased 
 towards night to a violent tempest. In this extremity it required all 
 the tenderness of Tehaldo to encourage Bianca, whose low-spirited 
 condition made her more fearfully alive to the horrors of the raging 
 sea, which indeed roared around them as if the watery desert had 
 hungry lions of its own, as well as the sandy wastes of Africa, but ten 
 times more terrible; the ship's timbers, besides, straining as if they 
 would part asunder, and the storm howling through the cordage like 
 the voices of those evil angels who, it is believed, were cast into the 
 dreadful deep. 
 
 When the daylight appeared there was no glimpse of any land, but 
 the ship was tossing in the centre of a mere wilderness of sea, and 
 under the pitch-black and troubled clouds, which were still driving by 
 a fierce wind towards the south. The sails were torn into shreds, and 
 the mariners, ignorant of where they were, let the ship drift at the 
 mercy of the unmerciful elements, which slacked not their fury be- 
 cause the prey no longer resisted, but assaulted the helpless bark with 
 unmitigated rage. 
 
 It could be no great wrong of Tebaldo and Bianca if, at such a 
 time, they exchanged one embrace together in everlasting farewell. 
 They then composed themselves to die calmly as bi came them, in 
 each other's company, not with any vain shrieks or struggles, but 
 heroically, as they had lived and loved. Thus sitting together in a 
 mart-rr-like mood, and listening to the awful rushes ot the waters 
 across the deck, they heard a sudden noise overhead, which caused 
 Tebaldo to look forth, and, lo ! there were the drunken mariners 
 putting off from the ship's side in the long-boat, being beguiled to 
 their fate by a glimpse of land, which none but their experienced 
 eyes could yet discover. However, they had not struggled far with 
 their oars, when three monstrous curling billows, a great deal loftier 
 than any of the rest, turned the boat over and over, washing out all the
 
 THE TWO LOVERS OF SICILY. 735 
 
 poor gasping souls that were therein, whom the ensuing waves 
 swallowed up one by one, without even letting their dying cries be 
 heard through the bewildering foam. 
 
 After this sacrifice, as though it had appeased the angry deity of 
 the ocean, the storm sensibly subsided ; and in an hour or two. the 
 skies clearing up, Tebaldo perceived that they were off a small solitary 
 island the ship soon after striking upon a coral reef, about two hun- 
 dred fathoms from the shore. The skies still frowning with a rear- 
 ward storm, Tebaldo lost no time in framing a rude raft, with spars 
 and empty barrels ; upon which placing Bianca, with such stores and 
 implements as he could collect, he paddled towards the land, where 
 they landed safely upon a little sandy beach. 
 
 Their first act was to return thanks to God for their miraculous 
 preservation, after which they partook of a repast that, after their 
 fatigues, was very needful, and then ascended a gentle sloping hill 
 which gave them a prospect of the island. It was a small, verdant 
 place, without any human inhabitants, but there were millions of 
 marine birds upon the rocks, as tame as domestic fowls, and a pro- 
 digious number of rabbits ; the interior country, besides, seemed well 
 wooded with various trees, and the ground furnished divers kinds of 
 herbs, and some very gigantic vegetables, together with many Euro- 
 pean flowers, the transportation of which to such desolate and insular 
 places is a mystery to this day. 
 
 The weather again turning boisterous, they took shelter in a rocky 
 cavern, which the kind hand of Nature had scoped out so commo- 
 diously, that it seemed to have been provided with a foresight of their 
 wants. Thus, with their stores frm the ship, they were ensured against 
 any great present hardships but one. Many unlucky lovers, I wot, 
 have sighed for such an island, to take refuge in from the stern-hearted 
 world ; yet here were two such fond persons in such an asylum, 
 betwixt whom fate had set up an eternal bar ! Su< h thoughts as this 
 could not but present themselves very sorrowfully to the minds of 
 Tebaldo and Bianca ; nevertheless, he served her with the most tender 
 and devoted homage, and as love taughthim, contributed, by a thousand 
 apt contrivances, to her comfort and ease. 
 
 In this manner suppose them to spend five or six days the cave 
 being their shelter, and Tebaldo, by fishing, or fowling, or ensnaring 
 the conies, providing a change of food ; so that, excepting the^tR-k'inal 
 hardship of their fortune, the lovers had little cause to complain. 
 Their solitary condition, however, and the melancholy of Bianca, led 
 to many little acts of fondness from Tebaldo, which were almost as 
 p.iinful to exchange as to withhold. It w;>s no wonder, then, if some- 
 times in the anguish of his heart, some expressions of impatience burst 
 from his lips, to which she answered with her tears. 
 
 At last, oae day when they were sitting on a gusty rock, which over- 
 looked the sea, they both turned at once towards eacli other, with 
 adverse faces and so despairing a look, that they cast themselves by 
 common consent into each other's arms. In the next moment, how- 
 ever, forcing themselves asunder, Tebaldo began as follows, whilst 
 Bianca covered her face with her hands : 
 
 " I can bear this cruel life no longer ! better were we far apart, ai
 
 73 THE TWO LOVERS OF SICILY. 
 
 when you were living in Sicily, and I roaming for unattainable peace 
 all over the worH. The restraint of distance was dreadful but involun- 
 tary, and nothing so painful as this ! Your tears flow before mysi^ht, 
 yet I must not kiss them away without trembling, nor soothe your audi- 
 ble grief upon my bosom, nor mingle my sighs with yours, though we 
 breathe the same limited air, and not in a distant clime. We were 
 made for each other, as our mutual love acknowledges ; and yet here, 
 where there be none besides ourselves, we must be several and 
 estranged. My heart is torn asunder by such imperative contradictions. 
 Methinks there be but us two real creatures in the world, and yet the 
 horrible phantom of a third steps in between and frowns us miserably 
 apart ! O Bianca ! I am crazed with doubts I dare hardly to name ; 
 but if fate did not mean to unite us in revocation of its former cruelty, 
 why should we be thus'thrown together, where there are none besides? 
 As eternal a bar as was set up between us is now fixed between you 
 and your husband, Nature herself, by this hopeless separation, divorc- 
 ing you from all other ties. God knows with what scrupulous exactness 
 I have aimed at the fulfilment of my promise but it were hard. to be 
 bound to an impracticable solution. It was true we might not thus 
 think of each other in Sicily, but we meet here as if beyond the grave. If 
 we are, as I believe, in the forlorn centre of the vast ocean, what 
 reasonable hope is there of our redemption ? Since, then, we are to 
 spend the rest of our days together in this place, we can wrong no one, 
 but redress a great wrong to ourselves, by the stricter union of our 
 fates, which are thus far already married together, until the tomb." 
 
 The miserable Bianca wept abundantly at this discourse; however she 
 begged that Tebaldo would not mention the subject for at least seven 
 more days, in which time she hoped God might save them from such a 
 step by sending some ship to their succour. She spent almost all this 
 interval in watching from the coast, but still there came no vessel, not 
 so much even as a speck on the horizon, to give her any hope of return. 
 Tebaldo then resuming his arguments, she answered him thus : 
 
 " Oh, my dearest Tebaldo ! let us rather die as we have lived, 
 victims of implacable fate, than cast any reproach upon our innocent 
 loves. As it is, no one can reprove our affection, which, though 
 violently controlled, we have never disavowed ; but it would kill me 
 to ha\^^o blush for its unworthy close. It is true that in one point 
 we are*disunited, but there is no distance between our souls. We 
 may not indeed gratify our fondness by caresses, but it is still some- 
 thing to bestow our kindest language, and looks, and prayers, and all 
 lawful and honest attentions upon each other ; nay, do not you furnish 
 me with the means of life and everything that I enjoy ? which my 
 heart tells me must be a very grateful office to your love. Be content, 
 then, to be the preserver and protector and the very comforter of my 
 life, which it is happiness enough for me to owe to your loving hands. 
 It is true that another man is my husband, but you are my guardian 
 angel, and show a love for me that as much surpasses his love as the 
 heavenly nature is above the earthly. I would not have you stoop 
 from this pitch, as you needs must, by a defect of virtue and honour; 
 still, if you insist, I will become what you wish, but I beseech you con- 
 sider, ere that decision, the debasement which I must suffer in your
 
 THE TWO LOVERS OF SICILY. 737 
 
 esteem. Nevertheless, before such an evil hour, I hopi God will send 
 some ship to remove us, though, if I might prefer my owi? siniul will 
 before His, I would rather of all be dead." 
 
 The despairing lovers at these words wished mutually in their 
 hearts that they had perished together in the waves that were fretting 
 before them, when Bianca, looking up towards the horizon, perceived 
 the masts and topmast-sails of a ship, whose hull was still hidden by 
 the convexity of the waters. At this sight, though it had come seem- 
 ingly at her own invocation, she turned as pale as marble, and with a 
 faltering voice bade Tebaldo observe the vessel, which with a de.ith- 
 like gaze he had already fixed in the distance : for doubtless they 
 would rather have remained as they were till they died, than return to 
 the separation which awaited them in Sicily. However, the ship still 
 approached with a fair wind, and at last put out a pinnace, which 
 made directly towards the island. 
 
 And now Tebaldo became a bitter convert from his own arguments, 
 confessing that it was better to breathe only the same air constantly 
 with Bianca than to resign her companionship to another; neither 
 did she refuse to partake in his regrets : and more tears were never 
 shed by any exiles on the point of returning to their native land. 
 With heavy hearts, therefore, they descended, hand in hand, like the 
 first pair of lovers when they quitted their paradise, to whom, no doubt, 
 these sad Sicilians inwardly compared themselves, as they walked 
 lingeringly to meet the boat, which belonged to a vessel of Genoa, and 
 had been sent to obtain a supply of wood and water. The mariners 
 wondered very much at their appearance, and especially at Bianca, 
 who wore a fantastical cap, made of rabbit-skins, with a cloak of the 
 same motley fur to defend her from the sharp sea-air ; and as for 
 Tebaldo, his garments were as motley as hers, being partly seaman's 
 apparel and partly his own, whilst his beard and mustaches had grown 
 to a savage length. 
 
 The sailors, however, took them very willingly on board, where they 
 inquired eagerly concerning Mercanti ; but although the captain knew 
 him well, having often carried his freightages, he could give no tidings 
 of his estate. He promised, notwithstanding, to touch at Palermo ; 
 whither the ship made a very brief passage, to the infinite relief of the 
 lovers ; for now, after all their misfortunes, .hey were about to return 
 to the same miserable point where they began. Bianca, therefore, 
 spent the whole time of the voyage in grieving apart in her own cabin, 
 not daring to trust herself in sight of Tebaldo ; who, on his part, at 
 the prospect of their separation after such an intimate communion 
 of danger and distresses, was ready to cast himself into the sea. 
 
 Suppose them, then, arrived at Palermo, where Tebaldo, with a sad- 
 der heart than he had foreseen, proceeded to complete hjs undertaking, 
 by rendering up Branca to her husband. He repaired, therefore, to 
 the house, and inquired for Mercanti ; whereupon, being shown into 
 his presence 
 
 " I am come," said he, "to render up my trust, and would to God 
 that my life were a part of the submission. I have redeemed your 
 \\iie, at the cost of your ten thousand florins and some perils besides ; 
 
 3 A
 
 738 THE VENETIAN COUNTESS. 
 
 for which, if you owe me anything, I leave her my executor, for I hav 
 pothing left me now but to die." 
 
 The merchant, looking somewhat amazed at his discourse, then 
 answered him thus : 
 
 " If the lady you s> eak of is the wife of my brother. Gio. Mercanti, 
 he has been dead these three months ; but I shall rejoice to see her, 
 and, likewise, to make over the properties that belong to her by his 
 bequest. And for the eminent service you have rendered to her, for my 
 late brother's sake. I will gratefully repay you ; his last words having 
 been full of concern for his dear lady, and of confidence in the in- 
 tegrity of the Signer Tebaldo Zanche ; which name, I doubt not, you 
 h.ive made honourable in your own person. I bt-seech of you, there- 
 fore, to lead me instantly to my kinswoman, that 1 may entertain her 
 as she deserves." 
 
 The overjoyed Tebaldo, without waiting to make any answer to 
 these courtesies, ran instantly on board ship to Bianca, who now, 
 without any reserve, cast herself into his loving arms. She did not 
 forget, however, the tears that were due to the generosity of her dead 
 husband, but mourned for him a decent season ; after which, with the 
 very good-will of her parents and all parties, she gave her hand to the 
 faithful Tebaldo. Thus, after many trials, which they endured nobly, 
 they were finally made happy, as their long misfortunes and virtue 
 well deserved ; and their names are preserved unto thib day, as the 
 Two Faithful Lovers of Sicily. 
 
 THE VENETIAN COUNTESS. 
 
 THE fact of the Countess Rovinello, in the portrait which is still 
 in the family palace at Venice, bears many signs of that stern 
 and gloomy disposition which produced such bitter fruits in the end 
 to herself and to others. The nose, more Roman than aquiline, re- 
 sembling the features of the Caesars, denotes forcibly her masculine 
 firmness and determination of purpose ; her dark eyes and lowering 
 brow, the pride of her heart, scarcely less than that of the fallen 
 Angel ; and her puckered curling lip, the scorn and cruelty of her 
 humour. Ambitious, inflexible, and haughty by nature, she was by 
 education subtle, unmercilul, and a bigot ; the confessor Landino, a 
 Jesuit, being constantly at her elbow, and holding the secret direction 
 of all her affairs. 
 
 This man coming one day into her chamber, discovered the Countess 
 in a fit of uncontrollable rage, a thing in her very unusual ; for she 
 disdained, generally, to show any outward signs of her emotions. 
 Mistrustful, therefore, of her own voice, lest it should falter, she held 
 but an open letter, her hand quaking all the time like an aspen leaf, 
 and made a motion for Landino to read it;. who, as soon as he had 
 glanced at the writing, gave back the paner with these words : 
 
 " This affair is old news with me. The blind passion of your son 
 for the young English heretic was well known to me months ao, and 
 nothing has been omitted to break off so scandalous a match. I hav
 
 THE VENETIAN COUNTESS. 73$ 
 
 many skilful nger.ts in England, but for this once they have been frus- 
 trated in their endeavours." 
 
 " Father," returned the offended Countess, "you are prudent and 
 wise in most cases ; but would it not have been as well to have shared 
 your information with myself? The authority of a mother, in such a 
 matter, mi^ht have had some weight in the scale." 
 
 'We have not failed," said Lmdino, "to menace him in the name 
 of the Holy Church, the mother of his soul, whose mandates in autho- 
 rity exceed those of the mother of his body. As for your ignorance, 
 it was a needful precaution, that any acts of severity might seem the 
 inflictions of the spiritual parent rather than your own." 
 
 The Countess nodded her head gravely at this speech, to signify 
 that she understood the hint of Landino, notwithstanding she felt an- 
 ger enough at heart to have made her agree to any measures, however 
 cruel, for the prevention of so hateful a marriage. Her great con- 
 fidence, however, in the skill and subtlety of the confessor assured her 
 that no means had been omitted for that design, and now it only 
 remained to concert together by what means they could separate the. 
 young people from each other. In the meanwhile, the artful Landino 
 had craft enough to discover that the Countess meditated a match for 
 her son, which would not have suited certain political views of his 
 own ; accordingly he changed his game, resolving that the marriage 
 of Rovinello and the young English lady should stand good, trusting 
 that he could afterwards mould it to his purpose. 
 
 " What you say of separating them," he said, " is well enough, as far 
 as the mere punishment of the parties is concerned : but we must look 
 beyond that to other considerations. Nothing would be more easy, 
 as you know, than to annul the marriage, for which the Holy Church 
 hath ample power and a sufficient good will ; but it will be a more 
 difficult thing to disentangle their affections from each other. Granted, 
 then, though you should even tear away your son by force from the 
 arms of the heretic, it will be impossible to drive him against his will 
 into any other alliance. As for the girl, she is of gentle birth and a 
 large fortune, and for loveliness might be one of the angels, seeing 
 which, it is a pity but to think on the peril of her immortal soul. 
 Such a woman, as the wife of your son, brings us endless sorrow and 
 shameful annoy, whereas such a convert would tend to our infinite 
 honour, and at the same time prevent the misery of the young people 
 here, as well as the perdition of a soul hereafter." 
 
 The Countess understood clearly the drift of this discourse ; and 
 after some further arguments it was agreed that she should receive 
 the young people with an apparent kindness, and induce them to 
 reside with her for some time at the palace, during which she was to 
 exert her joint influence with Landino to convert the young lady to the 
 Roman Catholic faith. 
 
 It was with many justifiable misgivings that Rovinello contemplated 
 the introduction of his beautiful bride to his mother, for he knew her 
 implacable nature. Notwithstanding, with the fond imagination of a 
 lover, he hoped that the loveliness and gentle manners of his mistress 
 would finally overcome even the most stubborn of prejudices. Trust- 
 ing to this delusion, he took his wife to the palace of the Countess,
 
 74 THE VENETIAN COUNTESS. 
 
 who was sitting, when they entered, on a couch at the further end e( 
 the apartment ; but Rovinello could perceive a look on her counten- 
 ance that filled him with despair ; for her dark eyes were fixed upon him 
 quite motionless, like those of a statue, and her lips were utterly white 
 through passionate compression. Notwithstanding that the young pair 
 had advanced to the middle of the chamber, she never rose from her 
 seat, till Rovinello, coming up to her very feet, with a faltering voice 
 presented the young lady to her notice. 
 
 The inflexible Countess, in return, merely fixed her eyes on the 
 Englishwoman, who at this strange reception began to shake all over 
 with fear ; and the more, because she felt the hand of Rovinello trem- 
 bling within her own. After a long silence, more dreadful than any 
 words, the timid creature, plucking up her courage a little, began to 
 speak as follows, with great sweetness of tone and manner : 
 
 " Pray, madam, do not scorn to receive me as your child, for I have 
 no parent in this far-off land, unless the mother of my dear Rovinello. 
 I cannot bear to think that I am hateful to any one that regards him 
 with affection : pray, therefore, do not spurn me thus from your 
 heart." 
 
 At the last of these words the Countess rose up, and with a tone at 
 once calm and stern, and a befitting look, desired the young lady to 
 kneel down and receive her blessing. The obedient girl, with bended 
 knees and clasped hands, stooped down as she was commanded, at 
 the feet of the haughty Countess ; and in this position heard, but only 
 half comprehended, in Latin, the following sentences : 
 
 " From my mouth and from my heart, I curse thee, wicked heretic. I 
 commend thee to flames here, and to flames hereafter. Amen ! Amen ! " 
 
 I have said that the Englishwoman did not quite comprehend these 
 words, but she saw by the ghastly countenance of Rovinello that they 
 were very horrible. As for that unhappy gentleman, he let go the 
 hand of his wife, and grasping his forehead between his palms, as 
 though it were about to burst asunder, he staggered a step or two 
 anart, and leaned quite stunned and bewildered against the wall of 
 the chamber. His cruel mother, noticing this movement, cast a 
 fiercer look than ever towards the speechless lady, and then turning 
 towards Rovinello, addressed him thus : 
 
 " Son, thou hast come home to me this day after years of travel ; 
 bat in such a manner, that I would rather behold thee crucified ; " and 
 with that she pointed to a large ebony cross, whereon was the figure 
 of our blessed Saviour curiously carved in ivory, the holy blood-drops 
 being represented by rubies, so as to form a more lively effigy of the 
 divine sacrifice. 
 
 It was made evident by these speeches that the implacable temper 
 of the Countess had overcome all the counsels of Landino, who en- 
 tered just at this moment, to perceive that his arguments had been 
 in vain. He reproved her with some asperity for her unchristian 
 spirit, and her temper being by this time cool enough to be restrained 
 by policy, by dint of much dissembling there was an apparent recon- 
 ciliation between all the parties. Thus it was arranged as had been 
 concerted beforehand, Rovinello consenting, with great satisfaction, tu 
 pass some months with his wife in the palace of his mother.
 
 THE VENETIAN COUNTESS. fri 
 
 The unhappy Englishwoman, however, though now living under the 
 wme roof with the Countess, and caressed by her every day, began 
 toon to find this reconcilement more intolerable than the former 
 estrangement. At length Rovinello, seeing her grow more and more 
 dejected, her beautiful eyes being filled with tears whenever he 
 .eturned to her, after even an hour's absence, began to inquire the 
 cause. 
 
 " Alas ! " she said, " I have cause enough to weep ; for I am treated 
 here with such a cruel kindness, that but for your dear love, I should 
 wish myself a hundred times a day in my peaceable grave ; for I am 
 assured, every hour, that the souls of my dear honoured parents are 
 si this very time suffering unspeakable torments ; a saying which, 
 whether true or false, ought to cost me a great deal of misery or dis- 
 pleasure. To aggravate these feelings, the confessor Landino exhorts 
 me so constantly to secure myself from the like perdition, that satisfied 
 with a heart to love thee withal, I wish, sometimes, that I had no soul 
 at all to care for." 
 
 Having spoken thus with some bitterness of manner, she again fell 
 a weeping ; whereupon Rovinello, touched with her tears, declared 
 that her peace should no longer be assailed by such arguments ; and 
 in truth, having sojourned some years in England, his own sentiments 
 on such matters partook of the liberality and freedom which belong 
 seemingly to the very atmosphere of that fortunate country. Accord- 
 ingly, after making various excuses to his mother, he set off with his 
 lady to a country-seat, which was situated on the sea-coast ; and here 
 they lived together for some months very happily. 
 
 At the end of that time, Rovinello received one day a letter which 
 required his immediate attendance at Rome, and taking a very tender 
 farewell of his lady, he departed. His affairs detained him four or 
 five days at the capital, and then he returned home with all possible 
 speed, indulging in a thousand fanciful pictures by the way of his 
 wife's joyful endearments at his return ; whereas, when he reached the 
 house, he was told that she had been carried off by force, no one knew 
 whither, the servants being taken away likewise, in the middle of the 
 night. A Moorish turban, which had been left in one of tbe rooms, 
 supplied the only clue for discovery of her destiny, for in those days it 
 was a common thing for the Algerine rovers to make a descent on the 
 Italian coasts. The distracted Rovinello, therefore, went instantly on 
 shipboard, and required to be carried over to Africa, intending at all 
 perils to ransom his dear lady, or partake of the same captivity. There 
 happened to be a neutral ship in the port, so that he engaged a vessel 
 without much difficulty ; but he had barely been out at sea a ftw 
 hours, when fresh thoughts flashed on his mind, now at leisure for 
 deliberate reflection, and made him alter his course. It was ascer- 
 tained, from other vessels they fell in with, that no Barbery ships had 
 been seen latterly near the coast, and besides, the very partial plunder 
 of his own mansion, in the midst of many others, made it seem an 
 improbable act to have been committed by the pirates ; he ordered 
 he helm, therefore, to be put down, and returned immediatelv to the 
 Shore. 
 
 And now a dreadful question began to agitate his mind, vhich
 
 74 THE VENETIAN COUNTESS. 
 
 whether with or without reason, was very afflicting to entertain, for H 
 seemed impossible, at the first glance, that any womanly heart could 
 be so obdurately cruel and tigerlike as wilfully to disjoint the married 
 love of himself and his lady by a deed so atrocious ; but when he 
 recalled the stern temper of his mother, and above all, her horrible 
 malediction, his heart quite misgave him, and delivered him up to 
 the most dreadful of ideas. It was rumoured, indeed, that Landino 
 had lately been seen in the neighbourhood, and there were other sus- 
 picious reports afloat amongst the country-people ; but these things 
 were very vague and contradictory, and all wanted confirm, ition. 
 
 The miserable Rovinello, with these suspicions in his bosom, 
 repaired instantly to Venice, but the Countess was either guiltless, or 
 else dissembled so plausibly, thnt his thoughts became more bewilder- 
 ing than ever, and at length, through grief and anxiety, he fell into a 
 racing fever. His mother attended upon him with the most affection- 
 ate assiduity, almost to the removal of his doubts ; and especially as 
 she seemed to consider his bereavement with a very moderate but 
 sincere sorrow ; whereas, to judge by the common rule, if she had 
 disposed herself of the unhappy Englishwoman, she should have been 
 constant and violent in her expressions of condolence. 
 
 In this manner several weeks passed away, Rovinello being very 
 languid from his illness; at List, one day, afur being more agitated 
 than common, he desired to take an airing with his mother in her 
 coach, and was observed to be particular in giving instructions to the 
 driver as to his route. The m.m, attending to his commands with 
 exactness, began to drive very slowly towards a certain spot, and at 
 length stopped immediately in front of those terrible Lions' Heads of 
 the Inquisition, which have heretofore swallowed so many secret 
 denunciations. The Countess asking with some terror why he lin- 
 gered at that spot, '' I am come here, mother," he said, " to await 
 the result of a very curious speculation." 
 
 With these words, he riveted his intense eyes upon those of the 
 Countess, who very suddenly turned aside, and called out to the 
 driver to go on ; but the man remained still, according to the direc- 
 tion of Rovinello. The latter had now raised his lean h;md to the 
 coach-window, and pointed to the gaping jaws that received the 
 accusations. 
 
 " Mother," said he, "pray fix your eyeballs steadfastly upon mine ; 
 and now tell me, have you never fed yonder cruel lions?" 
 
 Hereupon he looked steadfastly upon the eyes of the Countess, 
 which seemed instantly to reel in their sockets, and her cheek turned 
 as pale as ashes. Rovinello, convinced of the guiltiness of his 
 mother by her looks, did not wait for any other confession, but 
 plainly saw his lady, as though through the solid stone walls, in the 
 dreary dungeons of the Inquisition. In the meantime, his hand had 
 dropped from the window to his cloak, where he had concealed a 
 small pistol, loaded with two balls ; and setting the fatal engine 
 against his heart, without another word he discharged it into his 
 bosom, before the very eyes of his unnatural parent. 
 
 The servants getting down at the report, ran instantly to the door 
 of the carriage, which was filled with smoke, so that at first they
 
 THE VENETIAN COUNTESS. 743 
 
 could not perceive the nature of the calamity ; at length they dis- 
 cerned the Countess, leaning quite senseless against the back of the 
 coach, her clothes bedabbled with blood, and the body of Rovinello 
 stooping forward upon her knees. It was plain that he was quite dead, 
 wherefore, placing the body upon a kind of litter, some of the people 
 carried it home to the palace. The miserable Countess was driven 
 back to the same place, where she continued for many hours in frantic 
 transports of horror and remorse ; and when she became calmer, it 
 was only from her strength being so exhausted that she could neither 
 rave nor writhe herself any longer. As for the confessor Landino, he 
 was never suffered to abide an instant in her presence, though he made 
 many such attempts, the mere sight of him throwing the wretched 
 Countess into the most frightful ecstasies. 
 
 Some days after the catastrophe of Rovinello, there was a procession 
 through the streets of Venice, which excited a lively interest amongst 
 all classes, being nothing less than the progress "of certain wicked 
 heretics to the stake, where they were to be burnt, in order that the 
 Christian spirit might revive, like a phcenix, out of the human ashes. 
 There had not been a festival of this sort for some time before, so that 
 the people prepared for it with great eagerness, all putting on their 
 holiday clothes, and crowding into the streets, almost to their mutual 
 suffocation, the day being very warm, but otherwise as fine and 
 serene as could be desired for such a ceremony. 
 
 The number of the wretched criminals was nine, of whom there 
 was one woman. Their heads were all shaved, and their feet bare, 
 with fetters round the ankles and wrists of each* person. They were 
 dressed in long, yellow, penitential robes, painted all over with fiery 
 tongues, or flames, except on the back, where there was a large blood- 
 red cross. Their caps were of the same colours, tall and pointed, in 
 shape somewhat like extinguishers, though not intended for that use, 
 and each of the wretches held in his left hand a lighted taper ; though 
 this part of the show was rather dimmed by the brightness of the 
 noontide sun. Certain bare-headed friars walked by the side of the 
 criminals, holding up the cross at every few paces before their melan- 
 choly eyes, and exhorting them to suffer patiently, and without any 
 impieties, to which the doleful creatures made answer only by their 
 boisterous lamentations. 
 
 There were two of the procession, however, who differed in this 
 particular from the rest, the first of them having become an atheist, 
 itwas said, since his imprisonment by the Holy Office. This obdu- 
 rate man manned along erect and silently,without either sigh or 
 groan, to the sacrifice, having first cast his taper in scorn amongst the 
 populace, who would fain have torn him in pieces for this act of con- 
 tempt, but for the consideration that he was going to make a more 
 adequate expiation. 
 
 As for the other person who did not join in the clamorous outcries 
 of the rest, this was a female, young and beautiful, and, indeed, the 
 wife of the unfortunate Rovinello, though that circumstance was 
 unknown to the generality of the spectators. Her luxuriant hair had 
 all been cut off, and she wore the same cap and robe of humilia- 
 tion, with the others, but in going barefoot, her tender small whita
 
 744 THE VENETIAN COUNTESS. 
 
 feet were tipped with bloody red, like the morning daisies, through 
 trampling on the rugged flinty-hearted stones. Thus she marched 
 beside the atheist, not a whit more desponding than he, but with a 
 better hope, looking often upwards towards the merciful skies, which 
 contained the spirit of her beloved Rovinello. The multitude beheld her 
 meekness and devout submission, for so it seemed to them, with ^reat 
 satisfaction, nor did the friars omit to point her out frequently, for the 
 edification of the bystanders. 
 
 And now, being come to the appointed spot, which was a convenient 
 open space, the usual preparations were made for the burning. In 
 the middle of the area stood four goodly stakes, which, as well as 
 the faggots, had been smeared over with pitch and tar, that they 
 might blaze the fiercer. The Chief Inquisitor, with the brethren of 
 the Holy Office, were comfortably seated in front, to overlook the 
 spectacle, and on either side the court and the nobility, according to 
 their degree ; meanwhile the common rabble got such places as they 
 could, some of them even hoisted upon the shoulders of their fellows. 
 And truly it was a goodly sight to look round on such a noble 
 assemblage, in their robes of state, the very common people having 
 their holiday suits on, and piety and contentment shining together on 
 every countenance. 
 
 Alter sundry tedious formalities, the abominable atheist, being the 
 chiefest heretic, was placed foremost, immediately under the eyes of the 
 Grand Inquisitor, who desired nothing so much as the glory of his 
 conversion. The priests of the Holy Office therefore used a thousand 
 arguments to persuade him of his errors ; but the desperate man 
 refused to listen to their discourse, replying, when opportunity offered, 
 only by the most scornful expressions. Thus, although there were 
 three friars constantly exhorting him at one time, namely, two Car- 
 melites and a Benedictine, they might as soon have persuaded the 
 north wind to blow southward, as the current of his impiety to take 
 another course. 
 
 In order to save him from the guilt of further blasphemies, the 
 Grand Inquisitor made a sign for the faggots (the priests having first 
 duly blessed them) to be heaped around his feet, hoping by this prepara- 
 tion to terrify him into recantation, whereas the unshrinking heretic 
 looked on with the greatest composure. Observing that he smiled, 
 the Grand Inquisitor demanded the cause of his mirth for they were 
 near enough to hold a conference together. 
 
 " I am thinking," said he, " how yonder bald-pated monks, who are 
 flinching from the heat? of the sun, will be able to bear the fiery circles 
 of glory which they promise themselves about their crowns." 
 
 At this scoffing answer, his case seeming truly desper.ite, and his 
 heresy incurable, the fire was ordered to be applied without further 
 delay to the faggots, which kindling up briskly, the scornful counte- 
 nance of the infidel was soon covered over by a thick cloud of smoke. 
 As soon as the flames reached his flesh, a sharp cry of anguish was 
 heard through the upper vapour, and a priest stepping close in to the 
 stake, inquired if the criminal yet repented of his damnable errors. 
 
 " I called out," said he, " only for a little of your holy water."
 
 THE VENETIAN COUNTESS. 745 
 
 The friar, overjoyed at this triumph, stepped back with all haste to 
 get some of the sanctified element, and began to sprinkle him. 
 
 " Nay," quoth the relapsing heretic ; " I meant it only to be bestowed 
 on these scorching faggots." 
 
 At this fresh contempt the wood was stirred briskly up again, and 
 sent forth redoubled volumes of fire and smoke, so that it was evident 
 he would soon be consumed. The flames lapping him quickly all 
 round, and driving the smoke into the upper region, the burning figure 
 could plainly be distinguished in the midst, now thoroughly dead, the 
 wretched man having been stifled in the beginning of the fire. Not- 
 withstanding, on a sudden there was a loud shout from the people, " He 
 is praying ! He is praying ! " and, lo ! the scorched black carcase 
 was seen plainly to lift its clasped hands towards the skies. Now the 
 case was this, that the cords which confined his arms being burnt 
 asunder by chance, before those which bound his wrists, his arms by 
 the contraction of the sinews were drawn upwards, in the manner I 
 have described however, the multitude fancied quite otherwise, and 
 the atheist is affirmed to have become a convert to this very day. 
 
 A couple of wicked perverse Jews having been disposed of in the 
 like way (the rest of the criminals, save the female, being recusants 
 who had been brought to the stake only for the sake of example) 
 there remained but the young Englishwoman to be dealt with. Dur- 
 ing the burning of the others, she had remained tied to the stake with 
 the faggots about her feet, and the confessor Landino by her side, who 
 promised himself much glory from her conversion, whereas she never 
 condescended to listen to his harangues, but wirii eyes turned upward, 
 and her mind absent, and in a better place, continued her secret pray- 
 ers with much fortitude and devotion. The dreadful firebrand, which 
 was made of three torches twisted into one, to typify the holy mystery t 
 being brought in readiness to kindle the fire, Landino besought her to 
 consider whether her tender body could endure such torments. 
 
 " By the help of God," she replied, " I will. The smoke of your last 
 offering is already in the skies, and my spirit is fain to follow." 
 
 The Grand Inquisitor hearing this answer, delivered with such a 
 resolute tone and look, made a sign to Landino to let him speak. 
 
 "Miserable child!" he cried, "do you believe that the souls of 
 heretics enjoy, at the very first, that blessed ascension? Wretched, 
 wretched creature, you will learn otherwise in purgatory ! " and he 
 made a sign for the torch to be thrust into the pile. 
 
 "At least," interrupted Landino, "at least confess the tender mercy 
 of the holy church thou contemnest, who* thus, by this charitable pur- 
 gation of thy body, redeems thy soul from everlasting perdition ; by 
 these flames temporary, absolves thee from flames eternal." 
 
 " My parents," replied the lady very meekly, " were both Protestants ; 
 and it seems most becoming, at this last hour of my life, to continue 
 in that faith whereunto they bred me. As for your flaming charity, I 
 pray God that it may not be repaid to you in kind, at the great day oi 
 judgment ; " with which answer she closed her eyes, and set herself 
 steadfastly as if she would hear no more speeches. 
 
 The confessor Landino, who heretofore had been unable to make 1 
 any impression on her firmness, hereupon gave up all hope of prevailing
 
 7 4 6 A TALE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 over her quiet but constant spirit ; but as for the Grand Inquisitor, hi 
 was quite beyond his patience. " Let her be burned ! " he cried ; which 
 command was performed without delay. 
 
 At the first sharp pang of the cruel flames, a sudden flush, a- though 
 of red-hot blood, mounted up into the marble cheeks of the unfortunate 
 lady, and she drew her breath inwards with a very long shuddering 
 sigh. The reflection of the increasing fire soon cast the same ruddy 
 hue on the countenances of all the spectators, for the flames climbed 
 with merciful rapidity up her loose 'feminine garments. Those who 
 were nearest saw her head drop suddenly, as she choked upon her 
 bosom ; and then the cords burning through and through, the whole 
 lifeless body tumbled forward into the embers, causing a considerable 
 flutter of dust and smoke ; and when it cleared away, there was no- 
 thing to be seen but a confused heap of ashes and dying embers. 
 
 Thus perished that lovely, unhappy English gentlewoman, in her 
 prime of youth, far away from all that regarded her with love, and with 
 few that looked on her with any degree of pity. And now the people 
 were about to depart with mutual congratulations, when suddenly there 
 arose a great bustle towards the quarter of the Grand Inquisitor, and 
 in a few moments the Countess Rovinello, in deep mourning, was seen 
 kneeling at his feet. Her face was quite haggard and dreadful to look 
 upon, and her dress so disordered as to make her seem like a maniac, 
 but her gestures were still more frantic-like. Whatever her suit might 
 be, the inquisitor seemed much ruffled, and got up to depart ; but she 
 seized hold of his gown and detained him, whilst she continued to 
 plead with great earnestness. 
 
 " You are too late ! " he said, and withal he pointed his wand of office 
 to the heap of black ashes that stood before him. 
 
 The countess, letting go her hold, went and gazed for a minute on 
 the cinders ; then stooping down and gathering up a handful of the 
 dust, she returned, and before he was aware, strewed some on the head 
 of the inquisitor, and the remainder upon her own. 
 
 " Let these ashes," she said, " be in token of our everlasting re- 
 pentance." 
 
 After this awful ceremony, neither of them without signs of remorse 
 in their countenances, they separated to console themselves as they 
 might for their parts in this melancholy tragedy. 
 
 A TALE- OF THE HAREM. 
 
 IN the mnritime warfare between the Genoese and the Turks, 
 though the Mussulmans were worsted in nine battles out often, it 
 happened sometimes that one or two galleys of our own were taken by 
 the infidels ; and through one of these mishaps an Italian gentleman 
 named Benetto, who was a singing-master, and on his passage to 
 England, became a captive to the enemy. Being a very resolute man, 
 he fought till there were more slashes ir. his clothes than had been 
 fashioned by the tailor but the crew being mastered by a superior 
 force, the musician was put in chains on board of the Turkish ship.
 
 A TALE OF THE HAREM. 747 
 
 The latter having been well mauled in the engagement, with many 
 iron pellets sticking in her sides, and her tackling in a state of great 
 disorder, made all the sail she could into port, where the captives 
 were disposed of as slaves to the highest bidder. 
 
 Now it chanced luckily for Benetto, that he was purchased by an 
 agent of the Sultan of Constantinople, and sent to work as an assistant 
 in the gardens of the Seraglio ; whereas others, being bought by 
 avaricious people, underwent a variety of changes, passing from one 
 master to another, but without any difference for the better in their 
 condition. The fortunate Benetto, on the contrary, led an easy life 
 enough, having only to tend upon the flowers and shrubs for the 
 gratification of the ladies of the Harem ; and what proved a great 
 comfort to him was, that he had no mistress to mourn for in a distant 
 country ; so that though he sighed sometimes for liberty, he never gave 
 himself up to despondency like the rest of the captives. 
 
 Thus he continued to dig, and water the plants very contentedly, 
 as though he had been born for that task, being a man of that happy, 
 cheerful disposition which can accommodate itself to any circumstances ; 
 and besides, the superintendent of the pleasure-grounds was of as 
 pleasant a humour as himself, which tended very materially to his 
 ease. And truly it was well that Benetto kept up a better heart than 
 the captive Jews in Babylon ; for he had by nature a melodious voice, 
 improved by art to great perfection, the science of music having been 
 his peculiar study ; and oftentimes he beguiled himself after his day's 
 work by singing over his most favourite airs. 
 
 The apartment of the ladies of the Harem stood, luckily, at such a 
 convenient distance, that Benetto's voice found its way through the 
 windows, which were sure to be left open every night, for the sake of 
 the warbling of the nightingales that harboured amongst the trees. 
 The discourse of the ladies turning one evening on the ravishing notes 
 of that bird, and its amours with the rose, there came a deep sigh 
 from the bosom of one of the sultanas, a Circassian, and she affirmed 
 that there was a voice more enchanting thah that which had been so 
 much commended. 
 
 " As for the bird it belongs to," she said, " to judge from his tune, 
 he must be of a most delicate figure and plumage ; for though I cannot 
 make out a single word, there seems a most passionate meaning in 
 whatever he sings." 
 
 At this speech, one of the ladies burst into tears, and leaned down 
 her beautiful face between her hands ; for she was an Italian by birth, 
 and remembered well the sweet languishing and love-breathing ditties 
 of her native land ; the rest of the women crowding about her at these 
 symptoms of emotions, and inquiring the reason, 
 
 " Alas ! " she sobbed, " the songs that you hear come from no bird, 
 but from a human voice, which belongs to some unfortunate captive 
 from my own dear country beyond the sea. I wonder not that you 
 found it so touching, for that kind of melody belongs naturally to our 
 clime. The songs there are so full of love and tenderness, that the 
 amorous rose, instead of merely opening her bosom as she does to the 
 song of the bulbul, would put forth wings in place of leaves, to fly afte* 
 the musician."
 
 74 A TALE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 Nor did the fond lady speak beyond her feeling in this matter, so 
 dearly does memory exaggerate the merits of things beloved. Anon 
 the clear voice of Benetto sounded again upon the distant wind ; and 
 when it was silent, the mournful lady responded with a canzonet so 
 exquisitely pathetic, that the listeners, though they did not comprehend 
 even one syllable of the words, were melted instantly into tears. The 
 singer herself, coming at last to a certain passage, which seemed to 
 cause the very breaking of her heartstrings, was so overcome, that she 
 could proceed no farther ; but, with a throat swelling with grief instead 
 of harmony, cast herself upon a sofa, and gave way to an ecstasy of 
 tears. 
 
 In the meantime Benetto, hearing the voice in the garden, had drawn 
 rear to the window, and recognised the song to be one of the com- 
 positions of Italy, which set his heart aching more seriously than ever 
 since he had been a captive. However, he soon plucked up his 
 spirits ; and congratulating himself that there was one person at least 
 in Constantinople to take part with him in a duet, he concerned him- 
 self only to contrive how to get admitted to the concert. 
 
 Accordingly, choosing the best of his pieces, he sang them in the 
 garden every night with the tenderest expression, the ladies being al- 
 ways confined after dusk within the palace. At last, the Sultan 
 happening to hear his music, had a mind to enjoy it nearer ; so, sending 
 a slave to fetch the gardener into an ante-chamber, which was separ- 
 ated from that of the ladies only by a silken curtain, Benetto was 
 commanded to sing some of his best songs. As he executed them in 
 very excellent style, the Sultan, who had a good ear enough for an 
 infidel, was exceedingly pleased with the performance. Commending 
 the musician, therefore, in very gracious terms to Angelina, for that 
 was the name of the Italian lady, she made bold to answer him as 
 follows : 
 
 "Sire, I agree with your Majesty, that the slave has a sweet voice, 
 and an agreeable style of singing ; notwithstanding, there are several 
 of the airs, and especially one piece, which, as far as I remember of 
 the music, are capable of much tenderer expression. By your Majesty's 
 leave, if I might hear that song once or twice over, I think I could 
 remember the variations, which I think would afford your Majesty an 
 increase of pleasure." 
 
 The Sultan, who was passionately fond of her voice, immediately 
 commanded Benetto to sing over again the last song, and which was 
 an air capable of very melancholy cadences. Now Angelina was an 
 improvisatrice, and could compose verses at pleasure, so when it came 
 to her turn to sing, she set extempore words in Italian to the music, 
 which spoke to the following effect : 
 
 " Ah, Florence ! fair Florence ! city of my heart, shall I never behold 
 thee again ? 
 
 " There are marble walls between us, and gates of brass but my 
 thoughts go wandering up and down thy familiar streets ! 
 
 " Methinks I see my beloved home, with the very flowers that I left 
 growing upon the terrace !
 
 A TALE OF THE HAREM. 749 
 
 "Methinks I see thee, gentle Arno, shining merrily in the sun ! 
 
 "Alas ! my tears wash out this dream, like the colours on a cloud 
 full of rain. 
 
 " I look again ; and behold, there is nothing left but my prison 
 wall 1 " 
 
 When she hnd done singing. Benetto, taking the hint, replied in the 
 same manner, but with less eloquence ; telling her, in plain language, 
 to keep up her heart, and that by God's help she should one day see 
 Florence again. The concert being then ended, he was dismissed, 
 with a piece of gold as a mark of the approbation of the Sultan. 
 
 The next day, when the superintendent of the pleasure grounds was 
 walking about the royal gardens, Benetto came up to him and asked 
 for a saw, in order to cut down a certain noxious tree. The super- 
 intendent desiring to know which it was, Benetto pointed out a par- 
 ticular tree, with a number of horizontal branches growing very closely 
 together, but the Turk would by no means suffer it to be cut down. 
 It was of so rare a kind, he said, that he did not know even its name ; 
 but Benetto, who had his wits about him, and knew that there was no 
 other tree in the garden so likely for his purpose, did not give up the 
 matter without another trial. 
 
 Accordingly, taking care never to bestow any water upon the plants 
 within a certain distance of the tree, there being at the same time a 
 long drought, they soon sickened and withered up ; whereupon leading 
 the superintendent to the spot, he pointed out this effect. 
 
 " This baneful tree," said he, " of the name of which you are so 
 ignorant, is without question the deadly Upas of the island of Java, 
 which is of so poisonous a quality that it will not suffer any vegetable 
 to grow under the shadow of its branches. Look how the herbs round 
 it have all perished, as if they had been scorched up with fire ; and, as 
 I have read, the human life is quite as liable to be affected by its per- 
 nicious atmosphere. Thus, if any of the ladies of the Harem should 
 by chance fall asleep under it, I doubt it would be as fatal as the Tree 
 of Knowledge to their grandmother. We might as well chew the 
 deadly leaves, as that anything of this kind should happen ; for our 
 death would be as certain in one case as in the other. For my own 
 part, though the least splinter of this cursed wood is mortal if it should, 
 enter into the flesh, I will cheerfully undertake the hazard of cutting 
 down this dangerous trunk, rather than have such a dreadful responsi- 
 bility hanging continually over my head." 
 
 The good-natured superintendent agreeing with the prudence of this 
 recommendation, Benetto got permission to cut down the tree as fast as 
 he would, which he did not fail to perform ; and after lopping away 
 all the branches on two sides of the stem, in the manner of an espalier; 
 he set down the tree carelessly in a by-corner of the garden. 
 
 The same evening Benetto was sent for as before, to sing in th* 
 ante-chamber ; and beginning with the same melancholy air, thera 
 came a voice suddenly through the silken screen, commanding him ta 
 desist. 
 
 " I have been thinking," said the Sultan, as he turned to Angelina,
 
 J50 A TALE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 who was sitting beside him on a sofa in the inner room ; " I have been 
 thinking that I should like now to hear some lively tune : the songs I 
 have heard hitherto, though very beautiful, were all of a melancholy 
 cast ; and I am curious to know whether the genius of your music 
 will admit also of comical expression." 
 
 " I can assure your Highness," said the lady, " there is no country 
 that can boast of such pretty little laughing canzonets as my own, for 
 though we have borrowed many strains from the nightingale, we have 
 others that warble as merrily as the carol of the morning lark." 
 
 " You make me impatient to hear one," replied the Sultan ; where- 
 upon an attendant was sent to convey this command to Benetto, who 
 immediately struck up a very lively tune ; and, as he had good news 
 to communicate, he sang with unbounded gaiety and spirit. The 
 words ran thus : 
 
 " Ladders there are none in this place, neither of ropes nor of 
 wood! 
 
 " But I have a pretty tree, with many branches, that will stand up- 
 right against a wall ! 
 
 " What if I should place it against a lady's prison, in the middle of 
 the night ? 
 
 " Shall I see a vision, like Jacob, of a figure stepping down my 
 ladder, who looks like an angel of light ?" 
 
 The lady, being overjoyed at these welcome tidings, sang with an 
 equal glee, and made answer by the same tune in a similar way. 
 
 " O joy of joys ! To hear this grateful news, there seems now but a 
 mile, paved with wishes, between Florence and me. 
 
 " I feel myself already, like a bird "with wings, amongst those pleasant 
 boughs ! 
 
 " Step by step, as I descend, I pluck the sweet apples of liberty 
 which relish even as the fruits of my own dear land ! " 
 
 It happened that the piece they had been singing had a pretty little 
 burthen at the end for two voices ; so that when the lady came to that 
 part, Benetto joined in with the proper chorus of the song, to the great 
 admiration of the Sultan, who ordered him a piece of gold on his dis- 
 missal, which seemed to make the captive defer his plot for another 
 night. 
 
 On the following day, about noon, when the superintendent as usual 
 came into the gardens, he was amazed to see Benetto working at a 
 parterre with an extraordinary kind of hoe, the handle of which, rudely 
 fashioned and rough, could not be less than a dozen feet long. The 
 jolly Turk, tucking his hands in his sash, fell to laughing immoder- 
 ately at this whimsical si^ht, for Benetto wielded his implement with 
 considerable awkwardness ; at last, fetching his breath again, he in- 
 quired the reason of such an extraordinary appearance. 
 
 Benetto, without turning his head aside, answered very sedately, tha* 
 it was the universal custom of his country to use hoes with handles of 
 that length. 
 
 " Now God forgive me ! " answered the Mussulman ; " but you have
 
 A TALE OF THE HAREM. 751 
 
 made me long to travel, since there are such wonderful scenes to be 
 enjoved abroad : " and with that he fell into a fresh convulsion of 
 laughter. 
 
 In the meantime Benetto continued his work with inflexible gravity, 
 though the exertion he used to handle the hoe with dexterity made 
 the sweat-drops start out like great beads upon his forehead. At last, 
 being fain to obtain a pause, he explained to the Turk, who had done 
 laughing, that it was common in Italy to emuloy those long-handled 
 hoes, in order to reach the weeds in the middle of a parterre without 
 trampling amongst the plants. 
 
 " There is some reason in what you say," returned the superinten- 
 dent ; and taking the tool out of the hand of Benetto, he made aim at 
 certain weeds in the middle of the bed ; but at the very first stroke he 
 mowed down a whole cluster of flowers. 
 
 Thereupon bursting into a fresh fit of mirth at his own clumsiness, 
 the merry Turk thrust the wonderful hoe back again into the hand 
 of the ardener, who resumed his labour with gnat earnestness ; the 
 Mussulman in the meanwhile walking away, but often turning his 
 head over his shoulder to look back at Benetto, who, as soon as the 
 old fellow had gone out of sight, l;iid down the ponderous^ hoe with 
 very great good-will, and began to chuckle in his turn. 
 
 When the hour for music was come, he was summoned again to the 
 ante-chamber, where he had the boldness, whilst he waited, to steal a 
 peep through a crevice of the silken curtain, and discovered that his 
 countrywoman was quite as beautiful a person as his fancy had sug- 
 gested. He had taken care to compose some fresh words for the 
 occasion, as well as to set them to another air, which he had not sung 
 on any of the preceding nights : it had also a part for two voices, 
 which the lady happened to know, and the Sultan was so delighted 
 with the liveliness of the music, that he made them sing it to him 
 several times over. At last, just as they were commencing the chorus 
 for the fourth time, his face very suddenly Altered, from the greatest 
 pleasure to a look of gloom ; and he turned his brows with such a 
 frown upon the lady, that she stopped short in the middle of a 
 note. 
 
 " How is this ?" said he : "I understand nothing of the language, 
 but I can perceive that you sing different words to the music every 
 time that it is repeated." 
 
 Angelina blushed and hung down her head at this abrupt question, 
 for she could invent verses with far more facility than excuses. At 
 last she told him, that it was usual in Italy to leave the words-of such 
 airy little songs to the fancy of the singers, and that, except when 
 those happened to be persons of wit and genius, the verses were 
 always composed of the most common-place expressions. 
 
 The Sultan listened to this explanation with a very grave look, and 
 after meditating a while, spoke thus : " Madam, you must not take it 
 ill of me, but hereafter I shall desire the Dragoman (or Interpreter) to 
 partake with me in the delight of hearing you. He is as fond of 
 music as I am, and will be able to satisfy me whether the poetry of 
 what you sing is answerable, in sentiment, to the music" 
 
 The lady and Benetto both suspected, from these expressions, that
 
 75* A TALE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 the Sultan entertained some mistrust of them ; and therefore, whet 
 they sang again, it was with some quaverings which did not belong 
 to the composition. The Sultan at k-ngth signifying that he had 
 heard enough, the singers desisted, and Benetto was dismissed, foi 
 this once, without any piece of gold, the Sultan intending secretly tc 
 reward him on the morrow with two hundred stripes of the bastinado. 
 
 As soon as Benetto found his opportunity, he repaired therefore to 
 the garden, convinced that it was time to put his design into execu- 
 tion. The skies fortunately were full of clouds, making the night very 
 obscure, except at some intervals, when the moon broke through the 
 vapours ; so that he set about his work in the gloom with the greater 
 confidence. Having learned at least the art of transplanting during 
 his service in the gardens, his first step was to convey the tree, which 
 has been already mentioned, towards the apartment of Angelina. 
 
 Now, her chamber opened upon a long gallery or balcony on the 
 outside of the harem, against which Benetto rested the tree as secrrrely 
 as he could : nor was this an easy performance, for it was as heavy as 
 he could well carry, so that his joints even cracked beneath the weight. 
 After resting awhile to regain his breath, he began to mount up his 
 extempore ladder ; and as the branches were very close together, the 
 ascent was" quite an easy affair. Thus, he was able to look in at the 
 lady's window in a very few seconds ; but> alas ! though he had not 
 wasted a minute that could be saved, he was already too late, as will 
 presently appear. 
 
 It is a barbarous custom with the Turks, when they conceive any 
 jealousy or disgust of their mistresses, to tie them up in sacks and 
 cast them into the water ; the sea, which is the object of marriage 
 with the Venetian Doges, being to the Ottoman Sultans the instrument 
 of divorce. As soon, then, as Benetto looked in at the window, his 
 eyes were shocked by the sight of three black, savage-looking slaves, 
 who were preparing for this cruel ceremony, the victim being no other 
 than his own unfortunate countrywoman. Her mouth having been 
 gagged beforehand, she could not utter any cries ; but with her 
 hands she made the most piteous supplications to the cruel Moors, 
 two of whom held the mouth of the gaping sack wide open, whilst the 
 other with his rude, profane hands endeavoured by force to bind her 
 delicate limbs. 
 
 The terrified Benetto, who comprehended this scene at the first 
 peep, felt such a shock as a sleeper who oversteps a precipice in his 
 dream. A sudden swimming in his head made him ready to tumble 
 off the^ree ; but luckily his body was leaning against the rail-work of 
 the gallery, so that he could not fall : in the meantime he was quite 
 exposed to view from the window, but the blacks were so thoroughly em- 
 ployed, that they had not time to cast a look that way. After a minute 
 or two, resuming his presence of mind, he bent down his body so as 
 to be concealed behind the gallery, and in this uneasy posture deliber- 
 ated within himself how he ought to proceed. His first impulse was 
 to rush in upon the ruffianly slaves ; but recollecting that he had no 
 weapon, and that such an assault could but delay the fate of the lady 
 for a few moments, he resolved on a more prudent course. 
 
 Taking down his ladder, therefore, which now seemed twice a
 
 A TALE OF THE HARRM. 7$J 
 
 burtnensome as before, and his heart a great deal heavier, he set up 
 the tree against the wall of the garden, on the side next the water, 
 whose murmurings through the stillness of the night he could suffi- 
 ciently distinguish. 
 
 It took him but a few moments to clamber fc> the top of the wall, by 
 the help of the friendly tree ; which, however, was too cumbersome to 
 be dragged up after him in order to effect a descent on the other side. 
 In nine cases out ofen, this would have been the natural oversight 
 of a man intent upon the first step of his escape ; whereas the ingeni- 
 ous Benetto had foreseen and provided against this difficulty. In a 
 few minutes, therefore, he was safely landed on the other side ; and, 
 without doubt, the superintendent, who ridiculed the gardener's long 
 hoe, would have changed his tone to see it hanging on the outer part 
 of the wall, for the accommodation of Benetto ; for by this means he 
 let himself down with ease, the handle reaching within a few yards of 
 the ground. 
 
 And now the moon, breaking a way through a sullen cloud, behind 
 the chinks of which she had sometimes just glimmered like a bright 
 fish entangled in a net, began to touch every object as with a silver 
 wand : Benetto found it necessary, therefore, to shelter himself, like 
 a man who shunned his own shadow, by going into the obscurest 
 places, cre-eping on in this manner from tree to tree and from wall to 
 wall, till he reached the water-side : but in what direction he should 
 next proceed, in order to intercept the lady, was a question that got 
 no better answer than those which are addressed to the echo. 
 
 Whilst he was thus wandering, the three black slaves, having tied 
 up the unfortunate lady in the sack, proceeded with their burthen, as 
 they were directed, towards a lonely place on the banks of the Bos- 
 phorus, in order to bestow her in her last bath with the greater privacy. 
 Now it happened, through the goodness of God, that there was an 
 English ship of war then lying off at anchor, having brought over an 
 ambassador to the Sublime Porte ; and some of the sailors and junior 
 officers, desiring a frolic, had put off secretly in the ship's boat, and 
 landed about the same spot. 
 
 These jovial men wandering about the shore, it fell out that they 
 encountered with the blacks ; and being minded to joke with them, 
 some of the sailors inquired by signs what they carried in that poke. 
 The slaves, not caring to disclose the truth, made answer that it was 
 some rotten wheat which they were going to cast into the sea ; and 
 with that, they endeavoured to get away, not caring to have to do with 
 drunkards, for the mariners rolled about a good deal, as they are apt 
 to do on the dry land. Now the lady, who, though gagged, had yet 
 the use of her ears, had overheard the question of the sailors ; and 
 whilst the slaves were answering, she began to wriggle herself about 
 in the sack as violently as she could. The sailor who stood nearest, 
 observing this motion, did not fail to notice it to his comrades, and 
 they became speedily as curious as himself to ascertain what it was 
 that struggled so in the sack. The blacks, however, who relished them 
 very little, still endeavoured to break away, whereas the strangers 
 were equally bent upon their own satisfaction, so that the parties came 
 in a little while to blows. The sturdy seamen prevailing, and getting 
 
 SB
 
 754 A TALE OF 7 HE HAREM. 
 
 possession of the sack, they soon discovered, with great indignation, 
 the nature of its contents ; whereupon the cowardly blarls, not waiting 
 for the buffets which they were certain to receive, took instantly x> 
 their heels, and were out of sight in a minute. 
 
 The English sailors, who can melt upon a proper occasion as readily 
 as their own pitch and tar, were infinitely concerned at the condition 
 of the poor lady ; wherefore, after releasing her limbs, as well as her 
 tongue, which was not backward in thanks to her deliverers, they 
 rowed back with all diligence to the ship, where Angelina was treated 
 with every kind of tenderness and attention. 
 
 The discomfited blacks in the interim had got under the shadow of 
 a high wall, where they sat down to tak'e breath ; and after weeping 
 together for a while, they all opened their mouths at once with the 
 same question, to ask what was to be done. 
 
 " For my part," said one, " I am not weeping thus merely because 
 the lady has escaped, for we could easily devise a lie together and 
 declare that the job was done. But, alas ! I know that the chief of 
 the eunuchs, old Abdalla, is so careful, that he will be waiting for us 
 at the ducking place, to see with his own eyes that she is thrown 
 in." 
 
 The slaves, knowing this to be the most likely case, began to shed 
 tears again, and howled in a low tone very dismally, for they felt that 
 their heads were only fastened by a packthread to their shoulders. 
 At last, Mezrou, who was the eldest, spoke as follows : 
 
 "Our case," said he, "is indeed critical, so that my neck smarts 
 already to think of the result. On the one hand, if we tell any lie, 
 there is that accursed old chief of the eunuchs to detect us ; and on 
 the other, if we confess the simple truth, our heads will still fly off, 
 because we did not fight with those sea-devils to the last extremity. 
 I see therefore but one way to escape out of this scrape, which is, by 
 putting some trick upon Abdalla. And now I think of it, there is a 
 certain Frank lives hereabouts, who keeps a great sow pig in his back- 
 yard ; and at the next house there is a baker, where we may obtain a 
 sack. Now, if the swine were tied up fitly, and her head well muffled 
 in my sash, so as to keep her from either grunting or squealing, I 
 think the deception might pass ; but it must be dispatched very 
 quickly." 
 
 The other slaves thinking favourably of this scheme, they ran off 
 together to the house of the baker, who was in bed ; but they obliged 
 him to get up and give them an empty flour sack ; after which, going 
 to the pigsty of the Frank, they secured his sow in the sack, with a 
 little difficulty. Then taking up the burthen between them, which 
 was full as lively as the other had been, they trotted gaily down to the 
 water-side, where they soon perceived some person pacing to and fro, 
 whom they took at the first glance for Abdalla. Going straight up to 
 him therefore, without any mistrust, they all called out together, that 
 they had brought the lady to be drowned, which was agreeable news 
 enough to the man, for in truth it was no other than Benetto, who 
 had been wandering up and down the shore, in the greatest uncertainty 
 and despair. 
 
 The words, then, had no sooner got clear of the thick foolish lips of
 
 A TALE OF THE HAREM. 755 
 
 the blacks, than the musician began to deal about him so roundly, 
 that the foremost was laid sprawling in a twinkling upon the earth. 
 The other two, at this sight, foreseeing that they should have use for 
 all the hands they had, immediately pitched down the sack with very 
 little ceremony ; and any one may conceive how this action increased 
 the fury of Benetto. 
 
 The battered swine resenting the outrage as much, and feeling her- 
 self more at liberty, began at the same moment to struggle vehemently 
 within the sack, so that she partly released her nostrils from the sash, 
 and began to call out with all her brutal breath for liberty. 
 
 Thus the rage of Benetto, whenever he began to faint, was roused 
 up again by these half-stifled cries ; which, struggling partly through 
 the canvas and the linen, were equivocal enough to be mistaken for 
 the voice of Angelina, even by the ear of a musician. These excite- 
 ments lending him treble courage and vigour, he was quite a match 
 for the three slaves together, notwithstanding they fought lustily ; and 
 doubtless something tragical would have ensued but for the thriftiness 
 of the baker. 
 
 This careful man, grudging to lend a new sack to strangers, had 
 picked out an old one, the canvas of which was very rotten and full 
 of patches ; so that as Benetto glanced his eyes every now and then 
 towards the sack, to give himself fresh encouragement, on a sudden 
 the cloth ripped up with a smart report, and the huge sow, jumping 
 briskly out, went cantering off homewards, with the sash round her 
 head, and grunting all the way to denote her satisfaction. 
 
 The blacks, through this accident, having nothing to contend for, 
 gave over the contest ; and after a little grinning scampered away after 
 the pig, to make up what story they could to the chief of the eunuchs. 
 
 As for Benetto, he stood as if rooted to the spot, and stared on the 
 remains of the sack like one who had just witnessed some great stroke 
 of enchantment. No sight, in truth, could have caused him such an 
 astonishment, unless, indeed, the spectacle of a sow turning before his 
 eyes into a lady, for he had made certain of Angelina being within the 
 sack, even to the seeing of her, in fancy, through her veil of canvas. 
 At last, coming to his senses, and catching sight of the English vessel, 
 his thoughts began to turn upon his own safety ; and stripping off his 
 jacket and turban, he began to swim towards the ship, though with 
 great difficulty, on account of his bruises. 
 
 It would not be easy to describe his transports, when he came on 
 board and discovered Angelina : wherefore, let that topic be left un- 
 touched, as well as the mirth which prevailed at the relation of his 
 adventures. The ship setting sail immediately for England, after a 
 prosperous passage the two happy Italians disembarked at London, 
 where Benetto, by his skill in music and excellent singing, acquired 
 an immense fortune in a very few years. In the meantime he espoused 
 Angelina, and finally returned with her to Florence, where they lived 
 for many years in great happiness and very merrily ; for neither of 
 them could ever smell pork, or pass by a hogsty, without an inclination 
 to laughter. 
 
 As for the three blacK slaves, they wore their heads some yearj 
 longer than they expected, the He they made up being credjtfjd by
 
 75 THE CHESTNUT TREE. 
 
 Abdalla, the chief of the eunuchs, who had never stirred out from the 
 palace. The superintendent of the pleasure-grounds was, however, 
 more unlucky, for he suffered some hundred stripes of the bastinado 
 on the soles of his feet, for allowing the innovations of Benetto. In 
 consequence, there are no more upas-trees to be found in the royal 
 gardens ; and the slaves labour, even unto this very day, with hoes 
 that are but a yard long in the handle. 
 
 THE CHESTNUT TREE. 
 
 IT is a deplorable custom with spendthrifts, when their purses arc 
 empty, to replenish them at the cost of the dryads, often cutting 
 down the very trees that have sheltered the most venerable of their 
 ancestors, as well as the timber which wants many years of its proper 
 growth, according to the pressure of their wants. Many foolish 
 persons, again, under false pretences of taste, will root up the sheltering 
 woods and copses, that made comfortable fences against the inclement 
 wind, thus letting in the unmitigated tempest to rage against their 
 bleak, naked mansions ; both parties being equally mischievous in 
 their way. There are other persons, however, who cut down their 
 oaks and chestnuts for much better reasons, as you shall presently 
 hear. 
 
 A certain hidalgo was walking in a lonely plain, in the neighbour- 
 hood of Granada, when he was suddenly attacked by a small wild 
 Spanish bull. The spiteful creature, with red sparkling eyes, and a 
 body as black as any coal, made a run at the gentleman so nimbly, 
 that he had barely time to save himself by climbing up a large 
 chestnut-tree ; whereupon the wicked beast began to toss about the 
 loose earth with great fury, instead of the human clay he had intended 
 to trifle with. 
 
 There is no such creature in the world as your bull for a revengeful 
 memory, for he will cherish affronts or dislikes for a considerable 
 while ; and besides, he takes great pleasure in any premeditated 
 mischief, which he will pursue with a vast deal of patience. Thus, 
 whenever the hidalgo set his foot upon the ground, the wily animal, 
 who had kept at a convenient distance, immediately ran at him again. 
 so that he was forced to betake himself to the tree with the utmost 
 alacrity. Thin the bull would stray farther off, still keeping a wary 
 eye towards the tree, but feeding in the meantime so quietly, that 
 every thought of malice seemed to have quite gone out of his round, 
 roguish head ; whereas he was ready at a twinkling for a fresh career, 
 his perseverance excelling that of grimalkin, when she sits watching 
 at a mouse's street-door. 
 
 The impatient hidalgo, weary at heart of this game, where all his 
 moves tended to no purpose, at last gave up the point, and removed 
 higher up in the tree, in order to amuse himself with the surrounding 
 prospect, which was now enlivened by the oblique rays of the declining 
 sun. " I will wait," said he, " till night makes a diversion in my favour, 
 and, Jjke the matadore, hangs her cloak on this wild devil's horns ; " s
 
 THE CHESTNUT TREE. 757 
 
 turning himself about from side to side, he began to contemplate the 
 various objects in the distance. 
 
 Whilst he was thus occupied, with his eyes turned towards the east, 
 there came two men on foot from the opposite quarter, who, passing 
 beyond the tree, approached the browzing bull without any kind of 
 mistrust. The dissembling creature allowed them to come pretty 
 near, without any suspicion ; and then suddenly charging at the two 
 men, they were obliged to run to the tree as the only shelter, and with 
 great difficulty clambered out of reach of his mischievous horns. The 
 animal, being thus foiled for the second time, revenged himself on the 
 hat of one of the travellers, which had been dropped in the race, and 
 then began to feed again at the usual distance. 
 
 The two pedlars for so they seemed made several attempts, like 
 the hidalgo, to get away, but the bull still intercepted them in the same 
 manner ; so that at last they were fain to dispose themselves as com- 
 fortably as they could on a lower branch, and await the pleasure of the 
 animal, to proceed on their way. The hidalgo, being a shy, reserved 
 man by nature, as well as very haughty on account of his nation and 
 his birth, did not choose to make any advances towards his fellow- 
 lodgers in the tree, who by their dress were people of the common 
 sort. The two men, on their part, knew nothing of a third person 
 being perched above their heads ; wherefore, to pass away the time, 
 they began to talk over their affairs together, with as much confidence 
 as if they had been sitting in the middle of the great Arabian 
 Desert. 
 
 At first the hidalgo, being much occupied by his own reflections, 
 did not listen very attentively to their discourse ; besides, he had a 
 great contempt for the conversation of such vulgar persons, which 
 would have prevailed over any common curiosity ; however, as some 
 sentences reached him against his will, he happened to overhear a 
 name passing between them that made him prick up his ears. 
 
 " I am afraid, Gines Spinello," said one of the voices, " that this 
 cursed creature will spoil our sport for to-night." 
 
 Now it was no wonder that the gentleman became so much interested 
 in their conversation, for the fellow just mentioned was a notorious 
 robber, and the terror of the whole province. The hidalgo, therefore, 
 felt a natural curiosity to behold so remarkable a character ; and 
 peeping down very cautiously between the leaves, he saw the two 
 men sitting astride, with their faces towards each other, on the lower- 
 most bough. They were so much below him, that he could not judge 
 of their physiognomies ; but of course the very hair of their heads 
 seemed, to his fancy, to partake of a very ruffianly expression. 
 
 "As for that matter," returned Spinello, "our job to-night is a 
 trifling one that may be dispatched in two hours. What frets me 
 more is to be obliged to sit thus, cock-horse, upon a cursed branch ; 
 for I have always a misgiving at getting up into a tree, since nothing 
 has proved so fatal to several of our gang." 
 
 The other, laughing heartily at these expressions, which he sup- 
 posed to allude to the gallows, Gines interrupted him in a very grave 
 tone. 
 
 " I mean no such matter," said he, "as you conclude. The gibbet
 
 758 THE CHESTNUT TREE. 
 
 indeed has made an end of some of us ; but the trees I mean were 
 as much growing and flourishing as this. It was a chestnut too, that 
 cost so dear to poor Lazarillo ; wherefore, I would rather that this tree 
 had been a cypress, or a yew even, or of some other kind." 
 
 " For my part, chestnut or not," said the other, " I feel myself much 
 beholden to this good plant : notwithstanding, I should like to hear 
 what happened to Lazarillo, and the others of the gang." 
 
 The hidalgo by this time was quite as much interested in the mis- 
 hap of Lizarillo : so laying himself along the bough, and grasping it 
 with both his arms, he stooped his he id sideways as low as he could, 
 to listen to the story that Gines was going to relate. 
 
 " You are aware," said Spinello, " that when we have no affair of 
 moment upon our hands, which requires us to go in company, it is 
 usual for some of the cleverest amongst us to go abroad singly, on 
 little adventures of their own. Thus it befel Lazarillo to take it in 
 his head to pay a visit to a certain hidalgo, who resides not a long 
 way from this spot. There was a clump of chestnut trees in front of 
 the house, all of them of wonderful bulk, having stood there a great 
 many years, and it was the season when they were in full leaf. 
 Lazarillo, coming a little too soon, and seeing a gn at many lights in 
 the windows, clambered up into the greatest of these trees, which 
 stood nearest to the house, in order to hide himself till dark, as well 
 as to observe what was going on within the house. The boughs bring 
 very broad and smooth, he found his nest comfortable enough ; and, 
 besides, he was very well diverted to watch the motions of the servants, 
 for some of the branches grew against the chamber windows, so that 
 he could even see how the people bestowed the plate and valuables 
 against the night. Whilst he was amusing himself in tins way, the 
 hidalgo, who had been out sporting, came homewards with his fowl- 
 ing-piece in his hand ; when just at this nick there flew up some large 
 kind of bird, and made off directly for the tree." 
 
 " Well, wherefore do you stop ?" asked the other rogue very eagerly, 
 for at these words Gines had made a tolerably long pause. 
 
 " I was thinking," said Gines, " that I heard a rustling overhead ; 
 but it was only some breeze amongst the leaves. I suppose the 
 hidalgo was willing to discharge his gun before he enUred the house, 
 for it was loaded with very large shot, which are never used to kill 
 birds with ; however, he tired after the fowl into the very middle of 
 the leaves, and the devil guiding the lead, some of it went into the 
 body of poor Lazarillo, who tumbled in a trice to the ground. If the 
 shot had not killed him, the fall would have broken his neck, so that 
 he was stone-dead upon the spot: however, to made sure of that 
 matter, our governors made a point of hanging him afterwards upon 
 another tree." 
 
 Herewith Gines vented a thousand horrible imprecations against 
 the unfortunate sportsman, who had the evil luck to be sitting at that 
 very moment above his head. The unhappy hidalgo, though he 
 was miserably terrified, dared not even to quake the least motion 
 causing a rustling among the leaves, or a creaking of the bough ; and 
 getting cramped, as any one must, to ride so long on a wooden chest- 
 nut horse, without a saddle, yet he could not venture to stretch a limb
 
 THE CHESTNUT TREE. 759 
 
 lo relieve himself. In the meantime, fear caused such a boiling noise 
 in his ears, as if of the devil's cauldron at a gallop, that he could not 
 make out the history of the other robbers who had perished by means 
 of the trees. The two rogues, on the contrary, finding themselves 
 very much at their ease, continued to gossip together with great cool, 
 ness, though the bull had now removed to a considerable distance. 
 The hidalgo, at last, resuming the use of his faculties, overheard as 
 follows : 
 
 "As for the chestnut trees," said Gines, "you will see the stumps 
 of them to-night, for the hidalgo did not choose to leave a perch for 
 any more such birds so near his house. But there are other ways 
 to know what goes on within, as well as by looking through the 
 windows ; and we shall soon see whether the people of this random 
 shooter are more properly his servants or my own. ' 
 
 At this insinuation, the wretched person who sat aloft could not 
 help uttering a half-stifled groan, which would have infallibly betrayed 
 him, if it had not passed for the grumbling of the bull. Notwith- 
 standing, he had to endure still worse tidings ; to conceive which, 
 suppose Gines to describe the abominable plot he had laid for the 
 murder of the hidalgo two of his servants being in the pay of the 
 banditti, and engaged to admit them in the middle of the night. The 
 rogues did not omit, moreover, to dispose of the two daughters of 
 the unfortunate gentleman overhead ; and as their inclinations 
 pointed differently, the one choosing the youngest, and the other the 
 elder lady for a mistress, they soon came to an amicable understand- 
 ing on this part of the design. Thus the hidalgo, who had always 
 intended to match his children as he would, witiiout question even of 
 the girls themselves, was obliged to hear them disposed of before- 
 hand, and without having any voice whatever in the affair. 
 
 The encroaching dusk closing round, in the meantime, till the 
 horizon was confined within a very narrow circle, the two villains at 
 last dismounted from the bough, and proceeded on their way without 
 any interruption from the bull, who was now scarcely visible, amid the 
 distant shadows. As soon as the rogues were out of sight, the hidalgo 
 scrambled down the trunk, to the infinite relief of his limbs, which 
 from long confinement to the same posture had grown as rigid and 
 almost as crooked as the boughs they had embraced : however, the 
 thought of what was to take place at home soon enforced a supple- 
 ness in his joints, and he departed with a brisk shuffling pace, from 
 what had been to him such a very bitter tree of knowledge. 
 
 The dreadful fear which had lately possessed his bosom turning, 
 now that he was in safety, to the most revengeful feelings, he vowed, 
 as he went along, that Gines and his gang should suffer in retaliation 
 by the most exquisite torments. In this furious mood, with clenched 
 hands and teeth, and terrible emphatic steps, he entered his own house, 
 and repaired straight into the apartment of his daughters ; who, seeing 
 the flaming beacons of wrath in his countenance, were ready to swoon 
 with dismay. It alarmed them the more, that they had not expected 
 him to return for the night, and being ignorant of the true occasion, 
 they were led, by certain misgivings of their own hearts, to impute liis 
 anger to a very different cause, wherefore coming together with clasped
 
 760 THE CHESTNUT TREE. 
 
 hands, to Icneel down at his feet, they besought him with mnny tenrt 
 to be more calm and temperate. 
 
 At another time this strange conduct would have astounded the 
 hidalgo, whereas, having other concerns in his mind, he did not stop 
 to sift out the mystery, but, in as few words as he could, explained the 
 danger that was hanging over their heads. The t\\o terrified maidens, 
 at this horrible report, instantly forgot all other fears, for the mere 
 words conjured up the figures of the banditti upon the vacant air ; but 
 when the hidalgo came to spenk of the design of the robber and his 
 comrade, how they were to make mistresses of the two ladies, they 
 sent up together, as if from one throat, a shrill involuntary scream. 
 Anon, running hastily to different closets, for the greater danger 
 always swallow up the less in this manner, they dragged forward a 
 brace of young comely gallants, who, on their part, seemed ready 
 enough to protect them from Gines and his associates. 
 
 The two champions, as well as the hidalgo, were somewhat discon- 
 certed by this abrupt introduction to each other, and the pnle lily of 
 fear that had blown on the checks of the damsels was burned up by a 
 deep crimson blush. At last one of the cavaliers, addressing himself 
 to the hidalgo, began to speak for both after this manner : 
 
 " Sir, I know that you cannot behold us with any welcome ; and 
 yet, for my own part, I am heartily thankful that we are here. Not- 
 withstanding the ungracious method of our introduction, we beg so 
 much favour of you, as to be considered gentlemen for the present, 
 and respecters of good manners, who desire nothing better than to 
 make amends, by our timely services, for an untimely intrusion. By 
 your good leave, therefore, we will help to defend these ladies against 
 the robbers, and as we are men of honour, it shall be left to your own 
 discretion, whether you will bestow them upon us hereafter." 
 
 As the young gentleman spoke this with an air of great modesty and 
 sincerity, the hidalgo thought fit to accept of the assistance that was 
 offered ; whereupon they began to consult together on the steps which 
 should be adopted in such an extremity. Accordingly, it was con- 
 certed to send for the two traitorous servants, one by one, into the 
 chamber, where, as soon as they entered, they were seized, and bound 
 hand and foot before they could think of any resistance. The wretched 
 men, finding themselves in this dreary plight, and that their lives were 
 at command, began readily to confess all they knew of the plot ; add- 
 ing several particulars which had not been touched upon by Spinello. 
 Amongst other news, it came out that the banditti had deposited their 
 arms in readiness in a certain hollow oak, which stood in the rear of 
 the house; whereupon the hidalgo made a vow, inwardly, to cut 
 down that dangerous tree, as he had done before by the chestnuts. 
 
 It was towards midnight, when Spinello, with his comrades, 
 approached for the execution of their design. The night was very 
 boisterous, with frequent gusts of wind, that drove the low black 
 clouds with great rapidity across the sky. Thus everynow and then 
 there was a short bright glance of the moon, followed, at a few minutes' 
 interval, by the most profound shadows ; and, by the help of those 
 snatches of light, the desperate Gines led on his fellows, who wera 
 about half-a-dozen in all, towards the hollow tree.
 
 THE CHESTNUT TREE. 761 
 
 Now it happened, just as he came up, that a fresh cloud came over 
 the face of the moon, so that the mark he aimed at was quite swallowed 
 op in the gloom. Groping his way, therefore, with his hands, he 
 began to feel about the ragged stem for the entry to the magazine ; 
 but he had no sooner thrust his arms into the opening, than they were 
 seized by some person who was concealed within the hollow trunk. 
 
 I know not whether Gines recalled, at this moment, his superstition 
 about a tree, but he set up a loud yell of dismay. The hidalgo, who 
 lay close by in ambush, with his party, instantly discharged a well- 
 aimed volley at the rest of the banditti, who finding themselves 
 betrayed, and without arms, took at once to their heels, leaving two 
 that were miserably wounded upon the grass. By this time, Spinello, 
 recovering his courage, made a desperate struggle to get away ; but, 
 before he could disengage his arms, the hidalgo came up with his 
 assistants, and the robber was quicklv overcome and secured. Of the 
 other two men, one was already dead, the bullet having lodged in his 
 breast : as for the second, his leg-bone was broken by a ball just above 
 the ankle-joint, and" it happened that this was the very same rogue 
 who had gossipptd with Gines upon the chestnut-bough. 
 
 It was a dreadful sight to behold the countenance of the latter, when 
 he was dragged into the chamber, and how he foamed and gnashed 
 his teeth at the two desponding varlets, who had been double traitors, 
 he supposed, to both masters. Although he was so securely bound, 
 those wretched men could not look upon him without an extreme 
 trembling ; however, when he was informed of the true cause of the 
 discovery, he raved no more, remarking only to the other robber that 
 his misgiving about the chestnut tree had been justified by the event. 
 
 The hidalgo repairing afterwards, with the two young gentlemen, 
 into the presence of his two daughters, there ensued many compliments 
 between them, and joyful congratulations on the conclusion of the 
 danger. At last, the hidalgo growing more and more pleased with 
 the graceful manners and conversation of his quests, his heart warmed 
 towards them, and he began to wish that they were all but his sons. 
 
 " Gentkmen," he said, "a late welcome is better than none at all, 
 and especially when it conies maturely from the heart. Pray accept 
 of this apology for my tardiness, and for your great services I will try 
 to make amends to you on the spot. Your gallantry and agreeable 
 bearing persuade me that you are truly the honourable young persons 
 that you have named to me ; and I rejoice, therefore, for my own sake 
 as well as yours, that my daughters remain at my disposal. If you are 
 willing then to accept of each other, I foresee no difficulties that is 
 to say, provided you can both agree in your election, as readily as my 
 other two robbers." 
 
 It would be hard to declare whether the two ladies were most happy 
 or confused by this unexpected proposal ; they therefore made off, with 
 fewer words than blushes, to their own bedchamber ; but the three 
 gentlemen sat up together, for security, during the remainder of the 
 night. 
 
 On the morrow the criminals were delivered to the proper authorities, 
 and the process with such atrocious offenders being very summary, 
 they were executed, before sunset, in divers places about the province
 
 f6 THE FAIR MAID OF LUDGATE. 
 
 For the most part, they were suspended on lofty wooden gibbets; 
 but the body of Spinello, in order to make the greater impression, wag 
 hung up on the very same chestnut tree that had led to his defeat. 
 
 THE FAIR MAID OF LUDGATE. 
 
 TP HE reign of King Charles the Second of England was marked by 
 
 1 two great public calamities : the first of them, that memorable 
 
 Plague which devastated London ; and then followed that deplorable 
 
 Fire which destroyed such a large portion of the same devoted 
 
 metropolis. 
 
 It happened shortly before the pestilence, that the King had a design 
 to serve in the city ; wherefore he rode that way on horseback, attended 
 only by the Lord Rochester, and one or two gentlemen of the court. 
 As they were riding gently, in this manner, up the hill of Ludgate, 
 towards St Paul's, the Earl observed that the King stopped short, and 
 fixed his eyes on a certain casement on the right hand side of the way. 
 The gen'lemen, turning their heads in the same direction, immediately 
 beheld a young and beautiful woman, in a very rich and fanciful dress, 
 and worthy indeed of the admiration of the monarch ; who, with sheer 
 delight, stood as if rooted to the spot. The lady, for a while, did not 
 observe this stoppage, so that the company of courtiers had full time 
 to observe her countenance and dress. She wore upon her head a 
 small cap of black velvet, which fitted very close, and came down with 
 a point upon her forehead, where, at the pe.ik of the velvet, there hung 
 a very large pe >rl. Her hair, which was of an auburn colour and very 
 abundant, fell down on either side of her face in large ringlets accord- 
 ing to the fashion of the time, and clustered daintily about her fair 
 neck and bosom, several of the locks, moreover, being bound together 
 here and there by clusters of fine pearls. As for her boddice it was of 
 white silk, with a goodly brooch of emeralds in the shape of strawberry 
 leaves, which were held together by stalks of gold. Her sleeves, whicli 
 were very wide, and hung loose from the elbow, were of the same silk ; 
 but there was a short under-sleeve of peach-blossom satin, that 
 fastened with clasps of emerald about the mid-arm. Her bracelets 
 were ornamented with the same ^em ; but the bands were of gold, as 
 well as the girdle that encircled her waist. Thus much the company 
 could perceive, as she leaned upon the edge of the window with one 
 delicate hand : at last for in the meanwhile she had been steadfastly 
 looking abroad, as in a reverie she recollected herself, and, observing 
 thai she was gazed at, immediately withdrew. 
 
 The King watched a minute or two at the window, after she was 
 gone, like a man in a dream ; and then, turning round to Rochester, 
 inquired if he knew anything of the lady he had seen. The Earl 
 replied instantly that he knew nothing of her, except she was the 
 loveliest creature that had ever feasted his eyes ; whereupon the King 
 commanded him to remain behind, and learn as many particulars as 
 he could. The King, with the gentlemen, then rode on very thought- 
 fully into the city, where he transacted what he had to do, and then
 
 THE FAIR MAID OF LUDGATE. 763 
 
 returned with the same company by Cheapside, where they encountered 
 the Earl. 
 
 As soon as the King saw Rochester, he asked eagerly, " What r ews ?" 
 Whereupon the latter acquainted him with all he knew. " As for her 
 name," he said, " she is called Alice, but her surname is swallowed up 
 in that of The Fair Maid of Ludgate for that is her only title in these 
 parts. She is an only child, and her father is a rich jeweller ; and so 
 in faith was her mother likewise, to judge by this splendid sample of 
 their workmanship." 
 
 "Verily I think so too," returned the monarch ; "she must come 
 to Court," and with that they began to concert together how to pro- 
 secute that design. 
 
 And doubtless the Fair Maid of Ludgnte would have been ensnared 
 by the devices of that profligate courtier, but Tor an event that turned 
 all thoughts of intrigue and human pleasure into utter des ondency 
 and affright. For now broke out that dreadful pestilence which soon 
 raged so awfully throughout the ^reat city, the mortality increasing 
 from hundreds to thousands of deaths in a single week. At the first 
 ravages of the infection, a vast number of families deserted their 
 houses, and fled into the country ; the remainder enclosing themselves 
 as rigidly within their own dwellings, as if they had been separately 
 besieged by some invisible foe. In the meantime, the pestilence 
 increased in fury, spreading from house to house, and from street to 
 street, till whole parishes were subjected to its rage. At this point, the 
 father of Alice fell suddenly ill, though not of the pest ; however, the 
 terrified domestics could not be persuaded otherwise than that he was 
 smitten by the plague, and accordingly they all ran off together, leaving 
 him to the sole care of his afflicted child. 
 
 On the morning after this desertion, as she sat weeping at the bed- 
 side of her father, the Fair Maid heard a great -noise of voices in the 
 street ; wherefore, looking forth at the front casement, she saw a 
 number of youths, with horses ready saddled and bridled, standing 
 about the door. As soon as she showed herself at the window they all 
 began to call out together, beseeching her to come down, and fly with 
 them from the city of death ; which touched the heart of Alice very 
 much : after thanking them, therefore, with her eyes full of tears, she 
 pointed inwards, and told them that her father was unable to rise from 
 his bed. 
 
 "Then there is no help for him," cried Hugh Percy. "God receive 
 his soul ! The plague is striding hither very fast. I have seen the 
 red crosses in Cheapside. Pray come down, therefore, unto us, dearest 
 Alice, for we will wait on you to the ends of the earth." 
 
 The sorrowful Alice wept abundantly at this speech, and it was some 
 minutes before she C9uld make any answer. 
 
 " Hugh Percy," she said at last, " if it be as you say, the will of God 
 be done ; but I will never depart from the help of my dear father ;*" 
 and with that, waving her hand to them as a last farewell, she closed 
 the casement, and returned to the sick chamber. 
 
 On the morrow the gentle youths came again to the house on the 
 same errand, but they were fewer than before. They moved Alice by 
 their outcries to come at last to the window, who replied in the sam
 
 764 THE FAIR MAID OF LUDGATR. 
 
 way to their entreaties, notwithstanding the fond youths continued to 
 use their arguments, with m:my prayers to her to come down, but she 
 remained constant in her denial ; at length, missing some of the num- 
 ber, she inquired for Hugh Percy, and they answered dejectedly, that 
 he had sickened of the plague that very rnorn. 
 
 " Alas ! gentle kind friends," she cried, " let this be your warning, 
 and depart hence in good time. It will make me miserable for ever 
 to be answerable for your mischances : as for myself, I am resigned 
 entirely to the dispensation of God." And with these words she closed 
 the window, and the melancholy youths went away slowly, except one, 
 who had neither brought any horse with him, nor joined in the suppli- 
 cations of the rest. The disconsolate Alice, coming afterwards to the 
 window for air, beheld him thus standing with his arms folded against 
 the door. 
 
 " How is this, Ralph Seaton, that you still linger about this melan- 
 choly place?" 
 
 " Gentle Alice," returned Seaton, " I have not come hither like the 
 others, to bid you flyaway from hence; neither must you bid me 
 depart against my will." 
 
 " Ralph Seaton, my heart is brimful of thanks to you for this ten- 
 derness towards me ; but you have a mother and sister for your care.* 
 
 " They are safe, Alice, and far from this horrible place." 
 
 "Would to God you were with them ! dear Ralph Seaton, begone ; 
 and the love you bear towards me set only at a distance in your pray- 
 ers. I wish you a thousand farewells, in one word but pray begone." 
 And with that, turning away, with one hand over her eyes, she closed 
 the casement with the other, as if for ever and ever. 
 
 The next morning the young men came for the third time to the 
 house, and there was a red cross but a few doors off. The youths were 
 now but three or four in number, several having betaken themselves 
 to the country in despair, and others had been breathed upon by the 
 life-wasting pestilence. It was a long while before Alice came to the 
 window, so that their hearts began to sink with dread, for they made 
 sure that she was taken ill. However, she came forth to them at last, 
 in extreme distress, to see them so wilful for her sake. 
 
 " For the dear love of God ! " she cried, " do not come thus any more, 
 unless you would break my heart ! Io ! the dreadful signal of death 
 is at hand, and to-morrow it may be set upon this very door. Do not 
 cause the curses of your friends and parents to be heaped hereafter on 
 my miserable head. If you have any pity for me in your hearts, pray 
 let this be the uttermost farewell between us." 
 
 At these words, the sad youths began to shed tears ; and some of 
 them, with a broken voice, begged of her to bestow on them some 
 tokens for a remembrance Thereupon she went for her bracelets, 
 and after kissing them, gave them between two ofihe young men. To 
 a third she cast her glove, but to Seaton she dropped a ring, which 
 she had pressed sundry times to her lips. 
 
 The day after the final departure of the young men, the ominous red 
 cross was marked on the jeweller's door ; for, as he was known to be 
 ill, it was supposed, of course, that his malady was the plague. In 
 consequence the door was rigorously nailed up, so that no one could
 
 THE FAIR MAID OF LVDGATE. #$ 
 
 pass in or out, and moreover there were watchmen appointed for the 
 same purpose of blockade. It was the duty of these attendants to see 
 that the people within the suspected houses were duly supplied with 
 provision ; whereas, by the negligence of these hard-hearted men, it 
 happened frequently that the persons confined within perished of ab- 
 solute want. Thus it befel, after some days, that Alice saw her father 
 relapsing again, for the lack of mere necessaries to support him in his 
 weakness, his disorder having considerably abated. In this extremity, 
 seeing a solitary man in the street, she stretched out her arms towards 
 him, and besought him for the love of God to bring a little food ; but 
 the bewildered man, instead of understanding, bade her " flee from 
 the wrath to come," and with sundry leaps and frantic gestures, went 
 capering on his way. 
 
 Her heart at this disappointment was ready to burst with despair ; 
 but, turning her eyes towards the opposite side, she perceived another 
 man coming down the street, with a pitcher and a small loaf. As soon 
 as he came under the window, she made the same prayer to him as to 
 the former, begging him for charity, and the sake of her dear father, 
 to allow him but a sup of the water and a small morsel of the bread. 
 
 " It is for that purpose," said the other, " that I am come." And as he 
 looked upward she discovered that it was Seaton, who had brought 
 this very timely supply. "You may eat and drink of these," he con- 
 tinued, " without any suspicion, for they come from a place many miles 
 hence, where the infection is yet unknown." 
 
 The heart of Alice was too full to let her reply, but she ran forth- 
 with, and fetched a cord, to draw up the loaf and the pitcher withal, 
 the last being filled with good wine. When her father had finished 
 his repast, which revived him very much, she returned with the pitcher, 
 and let it down by the cord to Seaton, who perceived something glit- 
 tering within the vessel. 
 
 " Ralph Seaton," she said, " wear that jewel for my sake. The 
 blessing of God be ever with you in return for this precious deed ! but 
 I conjure you, by the Holy Trinity, do not come hither again." 
 
 The generous Seaton with great joy placed the brooch within his 
 bosom, and with a signal of farewell to Alice, departed without another 
 word. And now her heart began to sink again to think of the morrow, 
 when assuredly her beloved parent would be reduced to the like 
 extremity ; for during all this time the negligent watchmen had never 
 come within sight of the house. All the night hours she spent, there- 
 fore, in anguish and dread, which were still more aggravated by the 
 dismal rumbling of the carts, that at midnight were used to come 
 about for the corpses of the dead. 
 
 In the middle of the night one of these coarse slovenly hearses, with 
 a cargo of dead bodies, passed through the street, attended by a bell- 
 man and some porters, with flaming torches, unto whom the miserable 
 Alice called out with a lamentable voice. The men, at her summons, 
 came under the window with the cart, expecting some dead body to 
 be cast out to them, the mortality admitting of no more decent rites ; 
 but when they heard what she wanted, they replied sullenly, that they 
 had business enough of their own to convey away all the carrion, and 
 so passed on with their horrible chimes.
 
 7<56 THE FAIR MAW OF LUDGATE. 
 
 The morning was spent in the same alternations of fruitless hope 
 and despair, till towards noon, when Seaton en me again with the 
 pitcher and a small basket, which cont. lined some cold baked meat, 
 and other eatables, that he had procured with infinite p;iins from a 
 country place, at a considerable distance. The fair maiden drew up 
 these supplies with great eagerness, her father beginning now to have 
 that appetite which is one of the first symptoms of recovery from any 
 sickness ; accordingly he fed upon the victuals with great relish. The 
 gentle Alice, in the meanwhile, lowered down the empty basket and 
 the pitcher to Seaton, and then again besought him not to expose 
 himself to such risks by coming into the city ; to which he made no 
 answer but by pressing his hands against his bosom, as if to express 
 that such errands gratified his heart ; whereupon she made fresh signs 
 to say farewell, and he departed. 
 
 In this manner several weeks passed away, the gallant youth never 
 failing to come day after day with fresh provision, till at last the old 
 jeweller was able to sit up. The gracious Providence preserved them 
 all, in the meantime, from any attack of the pestilence, though many 
 persons died every day, on both sides of the street, the distemper being 
 at its worst pitch. Thus the houses became desolate, and the streets 
 silent, and beginning to look green even, by the springing up of grass 
 between the untrodden stones. 
 
 The prison-house of the Fair Maid of Ludgate and her father soon 
 became, therefore, very irksome, and especially when the latter got 
 well enough to stir about, and to behold through the window these 
 symi toms of the public calamity, which filled him with more anxiety 
 than he had ever felt, on account of his dear child, whose life was not 
 secure, any more than his own, for a single hour. His alarm and 
 disquiet on this account threatening to bring on a relapse of his 
 malady, the tender girl found but little happiness in his recovery, 
 which seemed thus to have been altogether in vain. And truly, it 
 was a sufficient grief for any one to be in the centre, though unhurt, 
 of such a horrible devastation ; whereof none could guess at the 
 continuance, whether it would cease of its own accord, or rage on till 
 there were no more victims to be destroyed. 
 
 The plague, however, abated towards the close of the year, when 
 the King, who had removed with his Court to Windsor in the midst 
 of the alarm, felt disposed one day to pay a visit to the metropolis. 
 Accordingly, mounted on horseback, he rode into town, accompanied 
 by the Lord Rochester, and the same gentlemen who had been his 
 attendants on the former occasion. 
 
 The monarch was naturally much shocked at the desolate aspect of 
 the place, which, from a great and populous city, had become almost 
 a desert ; the sound of the horses' hoofs echoing dismally throughout 
 the solitary streets, but bringing very few persons to look out at the 
 windows, and of those, the chief part were more like lean ghastly 
 ghosts than human living creatures. In consequence he rode along 
 in a very melancholy mood of mind, which the pleasant Earl en- 
 deavoured to enliven by various witty jests, but without any effect, 
 for they sounded hollow and untimely, even in his own eat 
 
 At last, arriving at the Hill of Ludgate, and the image of the Fair
 
 THE FAIR MAID OF LUDGATE. 767 
 
 Maic coming to his remembrance, the King looked towards the house, 
 and lo ! there frowned the horrible red cross, which was still distinct 
 uuon the door. Immediately he pointed out this deadly signal to 
 Rochester, who had already noticed it, and then both shook their 
 heads, rru-aning to say that she was dead ; however, to make certain, 
 the E;.rl alighied, and knocked with all his might at the door. But 
 there was no answer, nor any appearance of a face at any window. 
 Thereupon, with very heavy hearts, they rode onwards for a few doors 
 farther, where there was a young man, like a spectre, sitting at an 
 open casement, with a large book like a Bible in his hands. The 
 King, who spied him first, asked of him very eagerly whether the 
 Fair M.ud of L"dgate was alive or dead, but the ghostly man could 
 tell nothing of the matter, except that the jeweller had been the very 
 first person to be seized by the plague in their quarter. Thereupon 
 the King made up his mind that the fair Alice had perished amongst 
 the many thousand victims of the pest, and with a very sorrowful 
 visage he rode on through the city, where he spent some hours in 
 noticing the deplorable consequences of that visitation. 
 
 Afterwards, he returned with his company by the same way, and 
 when they came towards the jeweller's house in Ludgate, there were 
 several young men standing about the door. They had been knock- 
 ing to obtain tidings of the Fair Maid, but without any better success 
 than before ; so that, getting very impatient, they began, as the King 
 came up, to cast stones through the windows. The Earl of Rochester 
 seeing them at this vain work, called out as he passed, 
 
 " Gentlemen, you are wasting your labour. The divinity of your 
 city is dead ; as you may know, by asking of the living skeleton at 
 yonder casement." 
 
 At these words, the young men supposing that the Earl had autho- 
 rity for what he said, desisted from their attempts, and the two 
 companies went each their several ways ; the King with his attend- 
 ants to Windsor, and the sad youths to their homes, with grief on 
 all their faces, and very aching hearts, through sorrow for the Fair 
 Maid of Ludgate. 
 
 As for the gallant Ralph Seaton, he had ceased to come beneath 
 the window for some time before, since there was no longer any one 
 living within the house to drink from his pitcher, or to eat out of his 
 basket. Notwithstanding, he continued now and then to bring a few 
 pieces of game, and sometimes a flask also, to the father of Alice, who 
 lived under the same roof; for the elder Seaton was a good yeoman 
 of Kent, and thither Ralph had conveyed the old citizen as soon as 
 he was well enough to be removed. The old jeweller outlived the 
 plague by a score of years ; but the Fair Maid of Ludgate, who had 
 survived the pestilence, was carried off shortly afterwards by marriage, 
 the title which had belonged to her in the city being resolved iiitv 
 that of the Daoie Alice Seaton.
 
 768 
 
 THE THREE BROTHERS. 
 
 A BENDALI of Bagdad had three sons ; the two eldest, very tafl 
 /X and proper youths for their years ; but the youngest, on account 
 of the dwarfishness of his stature, was called little Agib. He had, 
 notwithstanding, a wit and shrewdness very unusual to any, especially 
 of his childish age ; whereas his brothers were dull and slow of intel- 
 lect, to an extraordinary degree. 
 
 Now Abendali, though he had money, was not rich enough to leave 
 behind him a competence for each of his sons ; wherefore he thought 
 it best to teach them in the first instance to scrape together as much 
 as they could ; accordingly, calling them all to him, on some occasion, 
 he presented to each a small canvas purse, with a sequin in it, by way 
 of handsel, and then spoke to them to this effect : 
 
 " Behold ! here is a money-bag a-piece, with a single sequin, for you 
 must furnish the rest by your own industry. I shall require every now 
 and then to look into your purses, in order to see what you have 
 added ; but to that end you shall not have any recourse to theft, or 
 violent robbery, for money is often purchased by those methods at too 
 dear a rate ; whereas the more you can obtain by any subtle strata- 
 gems, or smart strokes of policy, the greater will be my opinion of your 
 hopefulness and abilities." 
 
 The three brethren accepted of the purses with great goodwill, and 
 immediately began to think over various plans of getting money ; so 
 quickly does the desire of riches take root in the human bosom. The 
 two elder ones, however, beat about their wits to no purpose, for they 
 could not start a single invention, except of be.yging alms, which they 
 would not descend to ; whereas the little Agib added another piece of 
 money to his sequin before the setting of the sun. 
 
 It happened that there lived at some distance from Abendali an old 
 lady, who was bedridden, but very rich, and a relation of the former, 
 though at some degrees removed. A* she was thus lying in her cham- 
 ber, she heard the door open, and Agib came in, but he was so little 
 thnt he could not look upon the bed. The lady asking who it was, he 
 answered and said *' My name is little Agib, and 1 am sent here by 
 my father, your kinsman, who is called Abendali ; for he desires to 
 know how you are, and to wish you a thousand years." 
 
 The old lady wondered very much that Abendali was so much con- 
 cerned for her, since they had not held any correspondence together 
 for a long while ; however, she was very well satisfied with his atten- 
 tion, and gave a small piece of money to Agib, desiring the slaves 
 moreover to bring him as many sweetmeats as he liked. The brethren 
 showing their purses at night to their father, the two eldest had only 
 their sequin a-piece, whereas little Agib had thus added already to his 
 store. 
 
 On the following day, little Agib paid another visit to the sick lady, 
 and was as well treated as before. He repeated the same compliments 
 very many times afterwards, adding continually fresh moneys to his 
 purse ; at last, Abendali, passing by chance in the same quarter of the
 
 THE THREE BROTHERS. 769 
 
 city, took it into his head to inquire for his kinswoman ; and when 
 he entered her chamber, lo ! there sat little Agib behind the door. As 
 soon as he had delivered his compliments, which the lady received 
 very graciously, she pointed to little Agib, and said she had taken it very 
 kindly that the child had been sent so often to ask after her health. 
 
 " Madam," said Abendali, who laughed all the while, " the little liar 
 has not told you one word of truth. I know well enough why he came 
 here, which was on none of my errands." 
 
 The little Agib prudently held his peace till his father was gone, 
 whereupon the old lady asked him how he could be so wicked as to 
 deceive her with such multiplied lies. 
 
 " Alas ! " said Agib, pretending to whimper very much, " I hope 
 God- will not punish me with a sore tongue for such sinning. It is 
 true, as my father says, that he never commanded me to come ; but 
 I was so scandalised at his shocking neglect, that I could not help 
 calling upon you of my own accord, and making up those messages 
 in his name." 
 
 The old lady hereupon was so much touched with the seeming piety 
 and tenderness of little Agib, that she bade him climb upon the bed 
 and kiss her, which he performed ; and because he had come so disinter- 
 estedly, and not. she believed, for the trifling pieces of money, she gave 
 him a coin of more value, to make amends, as she said, for Abendali's 
 injurious suspicion. 
 
 The same night, when he looked in Agib's purse, the old man saw 
 that he had three pieces more ; at which he nodded, as if to say I 
 know where these came from : whereupon Agib, being concerned for 
 the honour of his ingenuity, spoke up to his father. " It is not," said 
 he, "as you suppose ; these two pieces I obtained elsewhere than at 
 the place you are thinking of;" and with that he appealed to his 
 brethren. 
 
 " It is truth," said the eldest, * what he speaks. Observing that he 
 had every night, a fresh piece of money, whereas we that are his 
 elders could get nothing at all, myself and my brother besought of 
 little Agib to acquaint us with his secret for making gold and 
 silver; but he would not part with it, unless we gave him our two 
 pieces, and thus we have no money whatever." 
 
 With that the elder brothers turned both at once on little Agib, 
 calling him a liar and a cheat ; for that, when they called on the old 
 lady, instead of giving them a piece of money or two, as he had 
 reported, she said that she knew what they came for, and withal bade 
 them to be thrust forth from the chamber. 
 
 During this relation, Abendali could not help laughing secretly at 
 the cunning of little Agib, who had thus added his brothers' money 
 to his own ; however, he quieted the two elder ones, by declaring that 
 Agib had told them the truth. ' 
 
 About a month after this time, the Angel of Death called upon 
 Abendali, and touching him on the right side, bade him prepare to 
 die. Accordingly the old man sent for his sons to his bedside, and 
 after embracing them tenderly one by one, spoke as follows : 
 
 " My dear children, you will find all the money that I have in the 
 world in a great earthen pot, which stands in a hole of the wall, 
 
 3C
 
 770 THE THREE BROTHERS. 
 
 behind the head of my couch. As for its disposal my will is this, that 
 it shall be equally divided between you two, who are the eldest. As 
 for little Agib, he has wit enough to provide for himself, and must 
 shift as he can." 
 
 With these words he died, and the sons turned his face towards the 
 east, the two eldest setting themselves immediately to divide the 
 money between them, in order to divert their grief; whereas little 
 Agib, having nothing to do, shed a great many tears. However, it 
 happened so, that the soul of the infirm kinswoman of Abendali took 
 flight to God the same evening, and she left by her will a sum of 
 money, that made Agib equal in means with his brethren ; whereupon, 
 having something likewise to occupy his thoughts, his eyes were soon 
 as dry as the others. 
 
 After a decent season, the three brothers, desiring a change of 
 scene, and to see a little of the world, determined to travel : accord- 
 ingly, bestowing their money about their persons, they set forth in 
 company, intending to go towards Damascus ; but, before they had 
 gone very far, they were set upon by a band of thieves, who took 
 away all they had. The two elder ones, at this mischance, were very 
 much cast down ; but Kttle Agib, who was no worse off than he had 
 been left by his father, kept up his heart. At last they came to a 
 town, where Agib, who never had any mistrust of his wit, took care to 
 hire a small house without any delay ; but his brethren were very 
 much dismayed at so rash an act, for they knew that there was not a 
 coin amongst them all. Notwithstanding, Agib, by several dexterous 
 turns, made shift to provide something every day to eat and drink, 
 which he shared generously with the others, exacting from them only 
 a promise that they would help him, whenever they could. 
 
 At last even the inventions of little Agib began to fail, and he was 
 walking through the streets in a very melancholy manner, when he 
 espied an old woman making over towards an artificer's with a brazen 
 pan in her arms. A thought immediately came into his head : there- 
 fore, stopping the woman before she could step into the shop, and 
 drawing her a little way apart, he spoke thus : " I doubt not, my 
 good mother, that you were going to the brazier, to have that vessel 
 repaired, and I should be loth to stop the bread from coming to any 
 honest man's mouth. Notwithstanding, I have not eaten for three 
 days ;" here the little hypocrite began to shed tears ; " and as I know 
 something of the craft, if you will allow me to do such a small job for 
 you, it will be a great charity." 
 
 The old woman, in reply, told him that she was indeed going to 
 the brazier's on such an errand, but nevertheless, the vessel having a 
 flaw at the bottom, she was very well disposed to let him repair her 
 pan, as it would be an act of charity, and especially as he would no 
 doubt mend it for half-price. The little Agib agreed to her terms ; 
 whereupon leading her to the door of his house, he took the pan from 
 her, and desired her to call again in a certain time. 
 
 The brethren wondered very much to see Agib with such a vessel, 
 when they had not provision to make it of any use ; but he gave them 
 no hint of his design, requiring only of them that they would go 
 rbroad, and raise money upon such parts of their raiment as they could
 
 THE THREE BROTHERS. 771 
 
 pare. The two elder ones, having a great confidence in his clever- 
 ness, did as they were desired, but the greater part of their clothes 
 having been pledged in the same way, they could borrow but two 
 pieces for their turbans, which were left as security. 
 
 As soon as he got the money, Agib ran off to the brazier, who has 
 been mentioned before, and ordered him to repair the brass pan in his 
 best manner, and without any delay, which the man punctually ful- 
 filled. Thereupon Agib made him a present of the two pieces, which 
 amounted to much more than the usual charge for such a job, and 
 made haste home with the "pan, where he arrived but a breathing space 
 before the old woman knocked at the door. She was very much 
 pleased with the work, for the pan had a brave new bottom, perfectly 
 watertight and neatly set in ; but the moderate charge that was 
 demanded by Agib delighted her still more, wherefore she began to 
 hobble off, with great satisfaction in her countenance, when he 
 beckoned to her to come back. 
 
 " There is but one thing," said he, " that I request of you, which is 
 this ; that you will not mention this matter to any one, for otherwise, 
 as I am not a native of the place, I shall have all the braziers of the 
 town about my ears." 
 
 The old woman promised readily to observe his caution ; notwith- 
 standing, as he had foreseen, she told the story to every one of her 
 neighbours, and the neighbours gossiped of it to others, so that the 
 fame of the cheap brazier travelled through the whole of her quarter. 
 Thereupon, every person who had a vessel of brass or copper, or a 
 metal pan of any kind that was unsound, resolved to have it mended 
 at so reasonable a rate ; and each one intending to be beforehand with 
 the others, it fell out that a great mob came all at once to the door. 
 
 As soon as Agib heard the knocking, and the voices, and the 
 jangling of the vessels, for the good people made a pretty concert 
 without, in order to let him know what they wanted, he turned about 
 to his brothers, and said that the time for their usefulness was 
 arrived. Thereupon he opened the door, and saw a great concourse of 
 people, who were all talking together, and holding up towartls him the 
 bottoms of kettles and pans. Whenever he could make himself heard 
 through the clamour, he desired every one to make a private mark 
 of their own upon the metal, which being done, he took in the articles 
 one by one, and appointed with the owners to return for them on the 
 morrow at the same hour. 
 
 The things which had been brought made a goodly heap in the 
 chamber, being piled up in one corner to the very top of the room, a 
 sight that amused Agib and his brothers very much, for the latter 
 made sure th^t they were to sell the whole of the metal, and then 
 make off with the money, which was quite contrary to the policy of 
 Agib, who remembered the injunctions of Abendali as to the danger 
 of such acts. However, there was no time to be wasted, having ^uch 
 a quantity of work before their eyes ; accordingly, bidding his brothers 
 perform after his example, Agib sat down on the floor with one of th$ 
 brazen vessels between his legs, and by help of an old knife arid some 
 coarse sand, scraped and scoured the bottom till it Ipoked very bright 
 find clean. The two eldest laboured after the same manner with
 
 J7 THE THREE BROTHERS. 
 
 great patience, and persevered so steadfastly, that by daylight the 
 bottoms of the vessels were all shining as brilliantly as the sun. 
 Now," said Agib, " we may lie down and rest awhile, for we have 
 done the work of a score of hands." 
 
 At the time appointed, which was about noon, the people came in 
 a crowd, as before, to fetch away their pans, every one striving to be 
 first at the door. In the meantime, Agib had the vessels heaped up 
 behind him, so as to be conveniently within reach ; whereupon, open- 
 ing the door, and holding up one of the articles in his right hand, one 
 of the crowd called out, "That is my pan!" Immediately Agib 
 reached forth the vessel to the owner, and without a word stretched 
 out his left hand for the money, which in every case was a piece of 
 the same amount that had been paid by the old woman ; and his two 
 brothers, who stood behind with blacked faces, to look like furnace- 
 men, put all the coins into a bag. In this way, Agib, as fast. as he 
 could, delivered all the things to the people ; who, as soon as they 
 saw the bright bottoms of their pots and kettles, were well satisfied, 
 and withal very much amazed to think that so much work had been 
 performed in such a little space. 
 
 " It is wonderful ! it is wonderful ! " they said to each other ; " he 
 must have a hundred workueople in his house ! " and with that and 
 similar sayings they departed to their homes. 
 
 When the last of the potbearers was gone out of sight, Agib told his 
 brothers that it was time for them to leave the place ; whereupon the 
 dullwitted pair began to think of redeeming their turbans, and in 
 spite of the entreaties of Agib, being very obstinate, as such thick- 
 skulls usually are. they went forth on that errand. In the interval, 
 Agib, who had many misgivings at heart, was obliged to remain in 
 the house, so that the event fell out as unhappily as might have been 
 foretold. In a little while, some of the people, who had paid for the 
 mending of their pans, found out the trick, and these telling the 
 others that were in the same plight, they repaired suddenly to the 
 house, before Agib had time to escape, and carried him into the pre- 
 sence of the Cadi. 
 
 The furious people told their story all at once, as they could, to the 
 judge ; and withal they held up so many shining p.m-bottoms of brass 
 as well as copper, that he was quite dazzled, and almost as blind as 
 Justice ought to be, according to the painters. Many of them, 
 besides, to eke out their speech, laid sundry violent thumps upon the 
 twanging vessels, so that such an uproar had never been heard before 
 in the court. As for Agib, though he felt his case to be somewhat 
 critical, he could not help laughing at the oddness of the scene ; and 
 there were others in the hall, who laughed more violently than he. 
 
 It was a common thing with the Caliph of Bagdad to go in disguise 
 through his dominions, as well to overlook the administration of justice 
 in different places, as for his own private diversion. Thus it happened 
 at this moment, that the Caliph was standing, unrecognised, amongst 
 the spectators of the scene. He laughed very heartily at the eagerness 
 of the complainants and their whimsical concert. At last, sending his 
 royal signet to the Cadi, with a message that it was his pleasure to try 
 the cause himself, he went up into the judge's seat.
 
 THE THREE BROTHERS. 773 
 
 As soon as the accusers perceived the Giliph, they set up a newr 
 cl.unour, and a fresh cl.uter of their pans, so that he had much ado to 
 preserve his gravity and his eyesight. However, when he had heard 
 enough to comprehend the matter, he commanded them to hold their 
 peace, and then called upon Agih to say what he could in his defence. 
 
 " Commander of the Faithful ! " said Agib, " I beseech but your 
 gracious patience, and I will answer all this rabble, and their kettles 
 to boot. Your majesty must know then, that yesterday morning these 
 people all made even such a tumult about my door as you have just 
 heard. As soon as ever I came forth, they held up the bottoms of 
 their vessels one and all towards me, as they have just done to youi 
 majesty ; and if the Commander of the Faithful understands by that 
 action that he is to mend all the bottoms of their pans, I confess that 
 I am worthy of the bastinado." 
 
 The Caliph laughed more heartily than ever at this idea of Agib's, in 
 which he was joined by all the unconcerned parties in the court, 
 whereas the panbearers looked very much disconcerted. At last, one 
 of them, speaking in behalf of the rest, besought of the Caliph that the 
 old woman might be sent for, whose pot had been mended by Agib, 
 and accordingly an officer was despatched to bring her to the court 
 As soon as she came, the Cadi interrogated her, by the command of 
 the Caliph, as to her transaction with Agib ; whereupon she related the 
 whole affair, and proved that he had undertaken, by express words, 
 to put a new bottom to her pan. 
 
 The Caliph was very much vexed at this turn of the case against 
 Agib, whereas the complainants were altogether in exultation, and asked 
 eagerly and at once of the old woman, whether her pan was not merely 
 scrubbed white at the bottom, and unserviceable, like theirs. The 
 old woman, however, declared that it was no such matter, but that her 
 pan was quite watertight, and repaired with a new bottom in a work- 
 manlike manner ; whereupon the vessel being examined, it was dis- 
 covered that she had told the truth. 
 
 The Caliph, who was overjoyed at this favourable result, now laughed 
 again till he was ready to fall out of his seat. Whereas, the pan- 
 bearers fell into a fresh fit of rage, shaking their clanking utensils first 
 at the old woman, and then at Agib, and at last at each other, every 
 one shifting the blame of the failure from himself to his neighbour, 
 who had prevented the cause from being properly heard. In the 
 meantime, all the braziers and metalworkers of the place, who had 
 heard of the subject of the examination, thronged into the court, and 
 began to treat with the enraged people who had been juggled for the 
 repairs of their pans : and these men falling into dispute with each 
 other, there arose a fresh uproar. The Cadi, therefore, would fain 
 have had them all thrust out of the place, but the Caliph desired that 
 the rioters might have their way for a little longer, not doubting that 
 some fresh mirth would arise out of the squabble. Accordingly, before 
 long, the complainants came forward with a fresh accusation against 
 the artificers, that under pretence of examining the vessels, they had 
 thrust fresh holes in them, and withal they flourished the damaged 
 panbottoms once more in the eyes of the Commander of the 
 Faithful
 
 774 THE THREE BROTHERS. 
 
 Little Agib, in the meantime, enjoyed this uproar in his sleeve, and 
 cnsting a sly glance or two towards the seat of justice, he soon per- 
 ceived that it was not more displeasing to the Caliph. The latter, 
 after laughing a while longer, put on a grave look by force, and com- 
 manded Agib to relate what passed with the people, at the delivery of 
 their wares. 
 
 " Sire," replied Agib, " as soon as I had got all the pans together, 
 which were thus forced as it were upon me, I examined them as nar- 
 rowly as I could ; but not being a brazier, nor knowing anything what* 
 ever "of that trade, I could perceive only that they wanted a little 
 scouring, which I performed by the help of my tsvo brothers. This 
 morning the people came again for their pots and pans, and seeing 
 that they had only held up the bottoms towards me, in like manner I 
 only held up the bottoms towards them ; wherewith they were so well 
 contented, that each gave me a small piece of money, without any de- 
 mand on my part, and they w ent on their way." 
 
 As soon as Agib had concluded these words, he was silent ; where- 
 upon one of the braziers pushed his way through the crowd, and 
 making his reverence before the Caliph, spoke as follows : 
 
 " Commander of the Faithful, what this young man has said is every 
 word of it true. As for any sort of copper or brass work, he is quite 
 ignorant of the craft, for the very morning before this, he brought to 
 me a pan of his own to be repaired. By his desire, therefore, I put in 
 a bran new bottom, for which he paid me very honestly, as well as 
 handsomely, so that I wish I had many more such liberal customers. 
 As for these foolish people that make such a clatter, they are not 
 worthy to be believed for an instant ; for I leave it to your Majesty to 
 consider whether so many bottoms as they speak of could be put into 
 their vessels by all the braziers in the place, in the course of a single 
 night. The thing is impossible ; and besides, if it could be c^one, 
 there is no man alive that could do such a job conscientiously, under 
 ten times the price which they confess to have paid to him. 1 uin a 
 judge, and ought to know." 
 
 The Caliph was very much diverted with this speech of the "orAsier, 
 which made all the disconcerted panbearers hang down their \icads. 
 He then turned round to the Cadi and asked what he thought of the 
 case ; the latter having given his answer, the crier was commanded to 
 procure silence in the court, and the Caliph stood up to give judg- 
 ment. 
 
 "Your observation," said he, turning towards the Cadi, "is both 
 learned and just. I am of opinion, likewise, that the holding up of 
 the bottoms of brazen pans is not amongst any of the known forms of 
 agreement. Thus there was no legal bargain on either side," and at 
 these words the disappointed people, raising up their hands iowards 
 the Prophet in appeal against the injustice of the Caliph, the^e arose 
 a new flashing of brass and copper bottoms, and a fresh clatter of ail 
 the pans". 
 
 " Notwithstanding," continued the Caliph, "as there seemt to have 
 been some evasion of a secret understanding between the two parties, 
 \ny decree therefore is this, that the criminal shall receive two hundred 
 strokes upon tlie soles of his feet ; " and herewith, the hands falling
 
 THE THREE BROTHERS. 775 
 
 down again with satisfaction, there ensued a fresh clanking chorus 
 throughout the hall. 
 
 " However," the Caliph went on thus, as soon as there was silence 
 " it is necessary that justice on both sides should be equal and com- 
 plete ; wherefore, as the complainants did but hold up their pans, and 
 then reckon that the order for the new bottoms was distinct, so it shall 
 be sufficient for the executioner to lift up his arms two hundred times, 
 and the criminal shall be deemed to have suffered as many stripes of 
 the bastinado." 
 
 At this pleasant decision, there was a great shout of applause in the 
 court; biit the discomfited panbearers departed in great dudgeon, 
 with more clangour than ever, and almost in a temper to hang up 
 their pans, like the kettles of the Turkish janizaries, as the signals fur 
 a revolt. 
 
 As for Agib, he suffered the penalty, according to his sentence ; 
 but the Caliph was so much delighted with his wit and address, that 
 before long he raised him to be one of his Ministers of State. The 
 two elder ones, on the contrary, being very dull and slow, howbeit 
 very proper men, rose no higher than to be soldiers of the Body 
 Guard. Thus the expectation of Abendali was fulfilled ; the little Agib, 
 though last in birth and least in stature, becoming the foremost ia 
 fortune and the highest in dignity of the Three Brothers. 
 
 THE END.
 
 University of California Library 
 Los Angeles 
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 APR 1 1 2005 
 JAN 2 
 

 
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