§;«-.; ^r' ,v<*i22:^!^o-n '^mm'itMM^J ^ THE INGOLDBBY LEGENDS OB, MIETH AND MAHYELS THOMAS INGOLDSBY, Esq., (the rev. RICHARD HARRIS jBARHAM). GLOBE EDITION, (TWO VOLUMES IN ONE.) WITH CRUIKSHANKS' ILLUSTRATIONS. NEW YORK: W. J. WIDDLETON, PUBLISHER. isvo. Ada to Lib, GIFT TO RICHARD BENTLEY, Esq. 1210 My Dear Sir, You wish me to collect into a single volume certain ramb- ling extracts from our family momoranda. many of which have already appeared in the pages of your Miscellany. At the same time you tell me that doubts are entertained in certain quarters as to the authenticity of their details. Now, with respect to their genuineness, the old oak chest, in which the originals are deposited, is not more familiar to my eyes than it is to your own ; and if its contents have any value at all, it consists in the strict veracity of the facts they record. To convince the most incredulous, I can only add, that should business— pleasure is out of the question — ever call them into the neighbourhood of Folkestone, let them take the high road from Canterbury to Dover till they reach the eastern ex- tremity of Barham Downs. Here a bemtiful green lane diverg- ing abruptly to the right, will carry them, through the Oxenden plantations and the unpretending village of Denton, to the foot of a very respectable hill — as hills go in tliis part of Europe. On reaching its summit let them look straight before them, — and if among the hanging woods wliich crown the opposite side of the valley, ihey cannot distinguish an antiquated Manor-house of Elizabethan architecture, with its gahle ends, stone stanchions, and tortuous chimneys rising above the surrounding treos, why — the sooner they procure a pair of Dolland's patent spectacles the better. 358 If, on the contrary, they can manage to descry it, and, pro- ceeding some five or six furlongs through the avenue, will ring at the Lodge-gate — they cannot mistake the stone lion with the Ingoldsby escutcheon (Ermiiie, a saltire engrailed Gules) in his paws, — they will be received with a hearty old English welcome. The papers in question having been written by different par- ties, and at various periods, I have thought it advisable to re- duce the more ancient of them into a comparatively modern phraseology, and to iQake my collateral ancestor Father John, especially, ' deliver himself like a man of this world ; ' Mr. Ma- guire, indeed, is the only Gentleman who, in his account of the late Coronation, retains his own rich veinacular. As to arrangement, I sliall adopt the sentiment expressed' by the Constable of Bourbon four centuries ago, /e.s c Shaks- pciire, one which seems to become more fashionable every day, "Tliu Dovil take (ill crddr! !— I'll to the throng ! " Believe ms to be. My dear Sir, Yonrs, most indubitably and immeasurably, Thomas Ingoi-dsby. Tnpiiin'KTLEY ABBEY lOr) FRAGMENT Ill NELL COOK 113 NURSERY REMINISCENCES 122 AUNT FANNY 124 MTSAOVENTURES AT MARGATK 134 THE SMUGGLER'S LEAP , 139 BLOUDFE JACKE OF SIIREWSBERRIE 148 THE BABES IN THE WOOD 1G3 THE DEAD DRUMMER 178 A ROW IN AN OMNIBUS (BOX) 184 THE LAY OF ST. CUTIIBERT 100 THE LAY OF ST. ALOYS : 205 THE LAY OF THE OLD WOMAN CL'rrHl'n TN GT.EY 219 RAISING THE DEVIL 23& THE LAY OF ST. MEDARD 241 THIRD SERIES. COJnTTENTS. page THE LORD OP THOULOUSE 250 TEIK WEDDING-DAY; OR, THE BUCCANEER'S CURSE 267 THE BLASPHEMER'S WARNING 284 THE BROTHERS OF BIRCHINGTON 310 THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY 325 THE HOUSE-WARMING 338 THE FORLORN ONE , 355 JERRY JARVIS'S WIG 356 UNSOPHISTICATED WISHES 380 HERMANN; OR, THE BROKEN SPEAR 383 HINTS FOR AN HISTORICAL PLAY 386 MARIE MIGNOT 388 THE TRUANTS 391 THE POPLAR 306 MY LETTERS 397 NEW-MADE HONOUR 401 THE CONFESSION 401 SONG 402 EPIGRAM 40.? EPIGRAM 404 SONG 404 AS I LAYE A-THYNKYNGK 40.-) ILLUSTEATIONS. Lay of St. Nicholas to face title. Spkctrk of Tappington. ... " page 13 Witches' Fkolic. . . . . " " 171 Merchant of Venice (2d vol.). ..." "66 Dead Drummer. " . . . " " 174 Old Woman Clothed in Grey (2d vol.). . " " 224 Wedding Day (2d vol.). . . . , " " 280 House Warming "..,.*' " 851 THE INGOLDSBY LEGEinDS, THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTOK " It is very odd, though ; what can have become of them ?" said Charles Seaforth, as he peeped imder tho valance of an old-fashioned bedstead, in an old-fashioned apartment of a still more old-fashioned manor-house ; " 't is confoundedly odd, and I can't make it out at all. "Why, Barney, where are they ? — and where the d — 1 are you !" No answer was returned to this appeal; and the Lieutenant, who was, in the main, a reasonable person, — at least as reasonable a person as any young gentleman of twenty-two in " the service" can fairly be expected to be, — cooled when he reflected that his servant could scarcely reply extempore to a summons which it was impossible he should hear. An application to the bell was the considerate result ; and the footsteps of as tight a lad as ever put pipe-clay to belt sounded along the gallery. " Come in !" said his master. — An ineffectual attemp*. upon the door reminded Mr. Seaforth th-^t he had locked 14 THE SPECTRE himself in. — " By Heaven ! this is the oddest thing of all," said he, as he turned the key and admitted Mr, Maguire into his dormitory. " Barney, where are ray pantaloons ?" " Is it the breeches ?" asked the valet, casting an inquiring eye round the apartment ; — " is it the breeches, sir?" " Yes ; what liave you done with them ?" " Sure then your honour had them on when you went to bed, and it's hereabout they'll be, I'll be bail ;" and Barney lifted a fashionable tunic from a cane-backed arm-chair, proceeding in his examination. But the search was vain : there was the tunic aforesaid, — there was a smart-looking kerseymere waistcoat; but the most important article of all in a gentleman's wardrobe was still wanting. " Where can they be ?" asked the master, with a strong accent on the auxiliary verb. " Sorrow a know I knows," said the man. " It m/ast have been the Devil, then, after all, who has been here and carried them off!" cried Seaforth, staring full into Barney's face. Mr. Maguire was not devoid of the superstition of his countrymen, still he looked as if he did not quite Bubscribe to the sequitur. His master read incredulity in his countenance. " Why, I tell you, Barney, I put them there, on that arm-chair, when I got into bed ; and, by Heaven ! I distinctly saw the ghost of the old fellow they told me of, come in at midnight, put on my pantaloons, and walk away with them." " May be so " w;is the cautious reply. OF TAFPINOTON. 15 " I thought, of course, it was a dream ; hut then, — where the d — 1 are the breeches ?" The question was more easily asked than answered. Barney renewed his search, while the lieutenant folded his arms, and, haning against the toilet, sunk into a reverie. " After all, it must be some trick of my laughter-loving cousins," said Seaforth. " Ah ! then, the ladies !" chimed in Mr. Maguire, though the observation was not addressed to him ; " and will it be Miss Carohne, or Miss Fanny, that's stole your honour's things ?" " I hardly know what to think of it," pursued the bereaved lieutenant, still speaking in soliloquy, with his eye resting dubiously on the chamber-door. " I locked myself in, that's certain ; and — but there must be some other elitrance to the room — pooh ! I remember — the private staircase ; how could I be such a fool ?" and he crossed the chamber to where a low oaken doorcase was dimly visible in a distant corner. He paused before it. Nothing now interfered to screen it from observation ; but it bore tokens of having been at some earlier period concealed by tapestry, remains of which yet clothed the walls on either side of the portal. " This way they must have come," said Seaforth ; " I wish with all my heart I had caught them !" " Och ! tlie kittens !" sighed Mr. Barney Maguire. But the mystery was yet as far from being solved as before. True, there luas the "other door;" but then that, too, on examination, was even more firmly secured than the one wliich opened on the gallery, — two heavy bolts on the insidr- etTectuallv prevented any couj^ dc 16 THE SPECl'RE main on the lieutenant's bivouac from that quarter. He was more puzzled than ever ; nor did the minutest inspection of the walls and floor throw any light upon the subject: one thing only was clear, — the breeches were gone ! " It is vcr]/ singular," said the lieutenant. ***** Tappington (generaily called Tapton) Everard, isi an antiquated but commodious manor-house in the eastern division of the county of Kent. A former proprietor had been High-sheriflf in the days of Elizabeth, and many a dark and dismal tradition was yet extant of the licentiousness of his life, and the enormity of his offences. The Glen, which the keeper's daughter was seen to enter, but never known to quit, still frowns darkly as of yore ; while an ineradicable bloodstain on the oaken stair yet bids defiance to the united energies of soap and sand. But it is with one particular apartment that a deed of more especial atrocity is said to be connected. A stranger guest — so runs the legend — arrived unexpectedly at the mansion of the "Bad Sir Giles." They met in apparent fnendship; but the ill-concealed scowl on their master's brow told the domestics that the visit was not a welcome one. The banquet, however, was not spared ; the wine-cup circulat- ed freely, — too freely, perhaps, — for sounds of discord at length reached the ears of even the excluded serving- men as they were doing their best to imitate their betters in the lower hall. Alarmed, some of them ventured to approach the parlour; one, an old and favoured retainer of the house, went so fiir as to break in upon his master's privacy. Sir Giles, already high m oath, fiercely enjoined his absence, and he retired ; not, OF TAPPINGTON. l7 however, before he had distinctly heard from the stranger's hps a menace that " There was that within his pocket which could disprove the knight's right to issue that or any other command within the walls of Tapton." The intrusion, though momentary, seemed to have produced a beneficial effect; the voices of the dispu- tants fell, and the conversation was carried on thence- forth in a more subdued tone, till, as evening closed in, the domestics, when summoned to attend with lights, found not only cordiality restored, but that a still deeper carouse was meditated. Fresh stoups, and fioni the choicest bins, were produced ; nor was it till at a late, or rather early hour, that the revellers sought their chambers. The one allotted to the stranger occupied the first floor of the eastern angle of the building, and had once been the favourite apartment of Sir Giles himself. Scandal ascribed this preference to the facility which a private staircase, communicating with the grounds, had aff'orded him, in the old knight's time, of following his wicked courses unchecked by parental observation; a consideration which ceased to be of weight when the death of his father left him uncontrolled master of his estate and actions. From that period Sir Giles had established himself in what were called the " state apartments ;" and the " oaken chamber" was rarely tenanted, save on occasions of extraordinary festivity, or when the yule log drew an unusually large acces- sion of guests around the Christmas hearth. On this eventful night it was prepared for the un- known visiter, who sought his couch heated and in- 18 THE SPECTRE flamed from his midnight orgies, and in the morning was found in his bed a swollen and blackened corpse. No marks of violence appeared upon the body ; but the livid hue of the lips, and certain dark-coloured spots visible on the skin, aroused suspicions which those who entertained them were too timid to express. Apo- plexy, induced by the excesses of the preceding night, Sir Giles's confidential leech pronounced to be the cause of his sudden dissolution : the body was buried in peace; and though some shook their heads as they witnessed the haste with which the funeral rites were hurried on, none ventured to murmur. Other events arose to distract the attention of the retainers ; men's minds became occupied by the stirring politics of the day, while the near approach of that formidable armada, so vainly arrogating to itself a title which the very ele- ments joined with human valour to disprove, soon inter- fered to weaken, if not obliterate, all remembrance of the nameless stranger who had died within the walls of Tapton Everard. Years rolled on : the " Bad Sir Giles" had himself long since gone to his account, the last, as it was be- lieved, of his immediate line ; though a few of the older tenants were sometimes heard to speak of an elder brother, who had disappeared in early life, and never inherited the estate. Rumours, too, of his having left a son in foreign lands were at one time rife ; but they died away, nothing occurring to support them : the property passed unchallenged to a collateral branch of the family, and the secret, if secret there were, was buried in Denton churchyard, in the lonely grave of the mysterious stranger. One circumstance alone occurred, OF TAI'PINGTON. V. after a long-intervening period, to revive the memor;y of these transactions. Some workmen employed in grubbing an old plantation, for the purpose of raising on its site a modern shrubbery, dug up, in the execu- tion of their task, the mildevi^ed remnants of what seemed to have been once a garment. On more minute inspection enough remained of silken slashes and a coarse embroidery to identify the relics as hav- ing once formed part of a pair of trunk hose ; while a few papers which fell from them, altogether illegible from damp and age, were by tlie unlearned rustics conveyed to the then owner of the estate. Whether the squire was more successful in deciphei- ing them was never known ; he certainly never alluded to their contents ; and little would have been thought of the matter but for the inconvenient memory of one old woman, who declared she heard her grandfather say that when the "stranger guest" was poisoned, though all the rest of his clothes were there, his breeches, the supposed repository of the supposed documents, could never be found. The master of Tap- ton Everard smiled when he heard. Dame Jones's hint of deeds which might impeach the validity of his own title in favour of some unknown descendant of some unknown heir ; and the story was rarely alluded to, save by one or two miracle-mongers, who had heard that others had seen the ghost of old Sir Giles, in his night-cap, issue from the postern, enter the adjoining copse, and wring his shadowy hands in agony, as he seemed to search vainly for something hidden among the evergreens. The stranger's death- room had, of course, been occasionally hauntod fi'om 20 THE Sl^KCTKE the time of his decease ; but the periods of visitation had lattei'ly become very rare, — even Mrs. Botherby, the housekeeper, being forced tc admit that, during hei long sojourn at the manor, she had never " met with anything worse than herself ;" though as the old lady afterwards added upon more mature reflection, "I must say I think I saw the devil oncey Such was the legend attached to Tapton Everard, and such the story which the lively Caroline Ingoldsby detailed to her equally mercurial cousin Charles Sea- forth, lieutenant in the Hon. East India Company's second regiment of Bombay Fencibles, as arm-in-arm they promenaded a gallery decked with some dozen grim-looking ancestral portraits, and, among others, with that of the redoubted Sir Giles himself. The gallant commander had that very morning paid his first visit to the house of his maternal uncle, after an absence of several years passed with his regiment on the arid plains of Hindostan, whence he was now returned on a three years' furlough. He had gone out a boy, — he returned a man ; but the impression made upon his youthful fancy by his favourite cousin remained unimpaired, and to Tapton he directed his steps, even before he sought the home of his widowed mother, — comforting himself in this breach of filial decorum by the reflection that, as the manor was so little out of his way, it would be unkind to pass, as it were, the dooT' of his relatives without just looking in for a few hours. But he found his uncle as hospitable and his cousin more charming than ever ; and the looks of one, and iJie requests of the other, soon precluded the possibility of refusing to lengthen the " fe\v hours " into a few CF TAPriNGTON. 21 days, though the house was at the moment full of visiters. The Peterses were there from Ramsgate; and Mr., Mrs., and the two Miss Simpkinsons, from Bath, had come to pass a month with the family; and Tom Ingoldsby had brought down his college friend, the Honourable Augustus Sucklethumbkin, with his groom and pointers, to take a fortnight's shooting. And then there was Mrs. Ogleton, the rich yoimg widow, with her large black eyes, who, people did say, was setting her cap at the young squire, though Mrs. Botherby did not believe it ; and, above all, there was Mademoiselle Pau- line, h.Q:Y femme de chambre, who ^^ Tfion-Dieu'd " every- thing and everybody, and cried ^^ Quel horreur / " at Mrs. Botherby's cap. In short, to use the last-named and much respected lady's own expression, the house was "choke-full" to the very attics, — all, save the " oaken chamber," which, as the lieutenant expressed a most magnificent disregard of ghosts, was forthwith appropriated ' to his particular accommodation. Mr. Maguire, meanwhile, was fain to share the apartment of Oliver Dobbs, the squire's own man : a jocular pro- posal of joint occupancy having been at first indignantly rejected by " Mademoiselle," though preferred with the " laste taste in life " of Mr. Barney's most insinuatino; brogue. * * * * * " Come, Charles, the urn is absolutely getting cold ; your breakfast will be quite spoiled : what can have made you so idle ? " Such was the morning salutation of Mihs Ingoldsby to the militaire as he entered the breakfast- room half an hour after the Litest of the party 22 THE SPECTRE "x\ pretty gontieman, truly, to make an appointment with," chimed in Miss Frances. " What is become of our ramble to the rocks before breakfast ? " " Oh ! the young men never think of keeping a pro- mise now," said Mrs. Peters, a little ferret-faced woman with underdone eyes. " When I was a young man," said Mr. Peters, " I remember I always made a point of " " Pray how long ago was that ? " asked Mr. Simpkin- Bon from Bath. " Why, sir, when I mari-ied Mrs. Peters, I was — let me see — I was " " Do pray hold your tongue, P., and eat your break- fast ! " interrupted his better half, who had a mortal hoiTor of chronological references ; " it's very rude to tease people with your family affairs." The lieutenant had by this time taken his seat in silence, — a good-humoured nod, and a glance, half- smiling, half-inquisitive, being the extent of his saluta- tion. Smitten as he was, and in the immediate presence of her who had made so large a hole in his heart, his manner was evidently distrait, which the fair Caro- Hne in her secret soul attributed to his being solely occupied by her agremens, — how w^ould she have bridled had she known that they only shared his medi- tations with a pair of breeches ! Charles drank his coffee and spiked some half-dozen eggs, darting occasionally a penetrating glance at the ladies, in hope of detecting the supposed waggery by the evidence of some furtive smile or conscious look. But in vain ; not a dimple moved indicative of roguery, nor did the slightest ei^^vation of oyebrov rise con firm t OF TAPPINGTON. 23 tive of Ill's suspicions. Hints and insinuatii-Hs passed unheeded, — more particular inquiries were out of the question : — the subject was unapproachable. In the meantime, " patent cords " were just the thing for a morning's ride ; and, breakfast ended, away can- tered the party over the downs, till, every faculty ab- sorbed by the beauties, animate and inanimate, which surrounded him, Lieutenant Seaforth of the Bombay Fencibles bestowed no more thought upon his breeches than if he had been born on the top of Ben Lomond. % ^ ^ ^ % Another night had passed away ; the sun rose bril- liantly, forming with his level beams a splendid rain- bow in the far-off west, whither the heavy cloud, which for the last two hours had been pouring its waters on the earth, was now flying before him. "Ah ! then, and it's little good it'll be the claning of ye," apostrophised Mr. Barney Maguire, as he deposited in front of his master's toilet, a pair of " bran-new " jockey boots, one of Hoby's primest fits, which the lieutenant had purchased in his way through town. On that very morning had they come for the first time under the valet's depurating hand, so little soiled, indeed, from the tui-fy ride of the preceding day, that a less scrupulous domestic might, perhaps, have considered the application of " Warren's Matchless," or oxalic acid, altogether superfluous. Not so Barney : with the nicest care had he removed the slightest impurity from each polished surface, and there they stood rejoicing in their sable radiance. No wonder a pang shot across Mr. Maguire's breast, as he thought on the work now cut out for them, so different from' the light labours of 24 THK SPECTRE the day before ; no wonder he mui'mured with a sigh, as the scarce-dried window-panes disclosed a road now inch-deep in mud, "Ah ! then, it's Httle good the claning of ye ! " — for well had he learned in the hall below that eight miles of a stiff clay soil lay between the ma- nor and Bolsover Abbey, whose picturesque ruins, " Like ancient Rome, majestic in decay," the party had determined to explore. The master had already commenced dressing, and the man was fitting straps upon a light pair of crane-necked spurs, when his hand was arrested by the old question, — "Barney, where are the breeches ? " They were nowhere to be found ! ***** Mr. Seaforth descended that morning, whip in hand, and equipped in a handsome green riding-frock, but nc " breeches and boots to match " were there : loose jean trowsers, surmounting a pair of diminutive WeUingtons, embraced, somewhat incongruously, his nether man, vice the " patent cords," returned, like yesterday's panta- loons, absent without leave. The " top-boots " had a holiday. " A fine morning after the rain," said Mr. Simpkinson from Bath. " Just the thing for the 'ops," said Mr. Peters. " I remember when I was a boy — " " Do hold your tongue. P.," said Mrs. Peters, — advice whtch that exemplary matron was in the constant habit of administering to " her P." as she called him, when- ever he prepaied ^o vent his reminiscences. Her preciso 01 TAPPINGTON. 25 reason for this it would be difficult to determine, aniess, indeed, the story be true which a httle bird had whis- pered into Mrs. Botherby's ear, — Mr. Peters, though now a wealthy man, had received a liberal education at a charity school, and was apt to recur to the days of his rnuffin-cap and leathers. As usual, he took his wife's hint in good part, and " paused in his reply." " A glorious day for the ruins ! " said young Ingoldsby. " But, Charles, what the deuce are you about ? — you don^t mean to ride through our lanes in such toggery as that?" " Lassy me ! " said Miss Julia Simpkinson, " wont you be very wet ? " " You had better take Tom's cab," quoth the squire. But this proposition was at once overruled ; Mrs, Ogleton had already nailed the cab, a vehicle of all others the best adapted for a snug tiirtittion. "Or drive Miss Julia in the phaeton?" No; that was the post of Mr. Peters, who, inditferent as an eques- trian, had acquired some fame as a whip while travel- lino: throuo'h the midland counties for the firm of Bai^- shaw, Snivelby, and Ghrimes. "Thank you, I shall ride with my cousins," said Charles w^ith as much nonchalance as he could assume, — and \\e. did so ; Mi-. Ingoldsby, Mrs. Peters, Mr. Simp kinson from Bath, and his eldest daughter with hv On the following morning, contrary to his usual custom, Seaforth was the first person in the break- fast parlour. As no one else was present, he did precisely what nine young men out of ten so situated would have done ; lie walked up to the mantel-piece, establislied himself upon the rug, and subducting his 3oat-tails one under each arm, turned towards the five that portion of tlie liuman frame which it is con- sidered equally indecorous to present to a friend or an enemy. A serious, not to say anxious, expression was visible upon his good-humoured countenance', and his mouth was fast buttoning itself up for an incipient whistle, when little Flo, a tiny spaniel of the Blenheim breed, — the pet object of Miss Julia Simpkinson's affec- tions, — bounced out from beneath a sofa, and began to bark at — his pantaloons. They were cleverly " built," of a light gTey mixture, a broad strii>e of the most vivid scarlet traversing each seam in a perpendicular direction from hip to ankle, — in short, the regimental costume of the Royal Bombay Fencibles. The animal, educated in the country, had never seen such a pair of breeches in her life — Omne ignotumiyro magnijico ! The scarlet streak, inflamed as it was by the reflection of the fire, seemed to act on Flora's nerves as the same colour does on those of bulls and turkeys ; she advanced at theT^f/.s^ de charge^ and hef OF TAPPTNGTON. 60 vociferation, like her amazement, was unbounded. A sound kick from the disgusted officer changed its cha- racter, and induced a retreat at the very moment when the mistress of the pugnacious quadruped entered to the rescue. "Lassy me! Flo! what is the matter?" cried the sympathising lady, with a scrutinizing glance levelled at the gentleman. It might as well have lighted on a feather bed. — His air of imperturbable unconsciousness defied ex- amination ; and as he would not, and Flora could not, expound, that injured individual was compelled to pocket up her wrongs. Others of the household soon dropped in, and clustered round the board dedicated to the most sociable rf meals; the urn was paraded "hissing hot," and the cups which "cheer, but not inebriate," steamed redolent of hyson and pekoe ; muffins and marmalade, newspapers and Finnan bad- dies, left little room for observation on the character of Charles's warlike " turn-out." At length a look from Caroline, followed by a smile that nearly ripened to a titter, caused him to turn abruptly and address his neigiibour. It was Miss Simpkinson, who, deeply engaged in sipping her tea and turning over her album, seemed, like a female Chronohotonthologos, " immersed in cogibundity of cogitation." An interrogatory on the subject of her studies drew from her the confession that she was at that moment employed in putting the finish- ing touches to a poem inspiied by the romantic shades of Bolsover. The entreaties of the company were of course urgent. Mr. Peters, "who liked verses," was especial I V i^ersev( rino-, and Sappho at length compHant. 2* 34 THE RPEf'THE After a preparatory liem ! and a glance at the mii'i-or to ascertain that lier look was sufliciently sentimental, the poetess began : — "There is a calm, u holy feeling, Vulj^ar minds can never know, O'er the bosom softly stealing,- - ChastenM grief, delicious woe ! Oil I how sweet at eve regaining Yon lone tower's scijuester'd shade — Sadly mule and uncomplaining "' — Yow ! — yeongli ! — yeongli ! — yow ! — yow ! yelled a hapless sntferer from beneath the table. — It was an unhicky hour for quadrupeds ; and if " every dog will have his day," he could not have selected a more unpro- pitious one than this. Mrs. Ogleton, too, had a pet, — a favourite pug, — whose squab figure, black muzzle, and tortuosity of tail, that curled like a head of celery in a salad-bowl, bespoke his Dutch extraction. Yow ! yow ! yow I continued the brute,- — a chorus in which Flo instantly joined. Sooth to say, pug had more reason to express his dissatisfaction than was given him by the muse of Simpkinson ; the other only barked for company. Scarcely had the poetess got through her first stanza, when Tom Tngoldsby, in the enthusiasm of the moment, became so lost to the material world, that, in his abstraction, he unwarily laid his hand on the cock of the urn. Quivering with emotion, he gave it such an unlucky twist, that tlie full stream of its scalding contents descended on the gingerbread hide of the unhicky Cupid. — The confusion was complete ; — the whole economy of the table disarranged; — the company broke up in most admired disorder ; — and OF TAIM'INGTON 35 " Vulgar minds will never know'* anytli'ng more of Miss >Sinipkinson's ode till tliey peruse it in some forthcoming Annual. Seafortli profited by the confusion to take the delin- quent who had caused this "stramash" by the arm, and to lead him to the lawn, where he had a word or two for his private ear. The conference between the young gentlemen was neither brief in its duration nor unim- portant in its result. Tlie subject was what the lawyers call tripartite, embracing the information that Charles Seaforth was over head and ears in love with Tom Ingoldsby's sister ; secondly, that the lady had referred him to "papa" for his sanction; thirdly, and lastly, his nightly visitations, and consequent bereavement. At the two first items Tom smiled auspiciously ; — at the last he burst out into an absolute " guffaw." " Steal your breeches ! — Miss I^ailey over again, by Jove," shouted Ingoldsby. " But a gentleman, you say, —and Sir Giles too. — I am not sure, Charles, whether I ought not to call you out for aspersing the honour of the-family ! " "Laugh as you will, Tom, — be as incredulous as you please. One fact is incontestable, — the breeches are gone ! Look here — I am reduced to ray regi- mentals ; and if these go, to-morrow I must bori-ow of y )u ! " Rechefoucault says, there is somethinof in the misfor- tunes of our very best friends that does not displease us; — assuredly we can, most of us, laugh at their peiiy inconveniences, till called upon to supply them. Tom composed his features on the instant, and replied with more c^ravity, as well as with an expletive, which, if my 36 THE SPECTRE Lord Mayor had been witliin hearing, niiglit ha\e cost him five shillings. " There is something very queer in this, after all. The clothes, you say, have positively disappeared. Some- body is playing you a trick ; and, ten to one, your ser- vant has a hand in it. By the way, I heard something* yesterday of his kicking up a bobbery in the kitchen, and seeing a ghost, or something of that kind, himself. Depend upon it, Barney is in the plot !" It now struck the Lieutenant at once, that the usually buoyant spirits of his attendant had of late been mate- rially sobered down, his loquacity obviously circum- scribed, and that he, the said Lieutenant, had actually rung liis bell three several times that very morning before he could procure his attendance. Mr. Maguire was forthwith summoned, and underwent a close exami- nation. The "bobbery" was easily explained. Mr. Oliver Dobbs had hinted his disapprobation of a flirta- tion carrying on between the gentleman from Munster and tlie lady from the Rue St. Ilonore. Mademoiselle had boxed Mr. Maguire's ears, and Mr. Maguire had pulled Mademoiselle upon his knee, and the lady had not cried Mon Dicu ! And Mr. Oliver Dobbs said it was very wrong ; and Mrs. Botherby said it was " scan- dalous," and what ought not to be done in any moral kitchen ; — and Mr. Maguire had got liold of the Ho- nourable Augustus Sucklethumbkin's powder-flask, and had put large pinches of the best double Dartford into Mr. Dobbs's tobacco-box ; — and Mr. Dobbs's pipe had exploded, and set fire to Mrs. Botherby's Sunday cap ; — and Mr. Maguire had put it out with the slop- Iv'isin, ''barring the wis;;" — and then they were all sc OF TAPPINGTON. ' 31 •' cantankerous," that Barney had gone to take a wall in the garden ; and tlien — then Mr. Barney had seen ghost ! ! "A what ? you blockhead ! " asked Tom Ingoldsby. " Sure then, and it's meself will tejl your honour the rights of it," said the Ghost-seer. " Meself and Miss Pauline, sir, — or Miss Pauline and meself, for the ?adies come first anyhow, — we got tired of the hobstroppylous skrimmaging among the ould servants, that didn't know a joke when they seen one : and we went out to look at the comet, that's the rory-bory-alehouse, they calls him in this country, — and we walked upon the lawn, — and divil of any alehouse there was there at all ; and Miss Pauline said it was because of the shrubbery may- be, and why w^ouldn't we see it better beyonst the trees ? — and so we went to the trees, but sorrow a comet did meself see there, barring a big Ghost instead of it." "A ghost? And what sort of a ghost, ]>arney ? " " Och, then, divil a lie PU tell your honour. A tall ould gentleman he was, all in white, with a shovel on the shoulder of him, and a big torch in his fist, — though what he wanted with that it's meself can't tell, for his eyes were like gig-lamps, let alone the moon and the comet, which wasn't there at all ; — and 'Barney,' says he to me, — 'cause why he knew me, — ' Barney,' says he, ' what is it you're doing with the colleen there, Barney ? ' — Divil a word did I say. Miss Pauline screeched, and cried murther in French, and ran oft' with herself; and of course meself was in a mighty hurry after the lady, and had no time to stop palavering with him any way: BO I dispersed at once, and the Ghost vanished in p 38 TMF, SPF.CTHE Mr. Maguira's account was received with avowed incredulity by botli gentlemen ; but Barney stuck to his text with unliincliing pertinacity. A reference to Ma- demoiselle was suggested, but abandoned, as neither party had a taste for delicate investigations. " I'll tell you what, Seaforth," said Ingoldsby, after T3arney had received his dismissal, " that there is a trick here, is evident ; and Barney's vision may possibly be a part of it. Whether ho is most knave or fool, you best know. At all events, I will sit up with you t<~'- night, and see if I can convert my ancestor into a visit- ing acquaintance. Meanwhile your finger on your lip!" ***** "'Twas now the very witching time of night, When cimrchyaids yawu, and graves give up their dead." Gladly would I grace my tale with decent horror, and therefore I do beseech the " gentle reader " to believe, that if all the succedatiea to this mysterious narrative are not in strict keeping, he will ascribe it only to the dlsgi-aceful innovations of modern degeneracy upon the sober and dignified habits of our ancestors. I can introduce him, it is true, into an old and high-roofed chamber, its walls covered on three sides with black oak wainscotting, adorned with carvings of fruit and flowers long anterior to those of Grinling Gibbons ; the fourth side is clothed with a curious remnant of dingy tapestry, once elucidatory of some Scriptural history, but of which not even Mrs. Botherby could determine. Mr. Simpkinson, who had examined it carefully, inclined to believe the principal figure to bo either Bathshcba, or Daniel in the lions' don ; while Tom Tno^oldsby decided OF TAf'lMNGTOX. 39 m favour of the King of Bcishan. All, however, was 2onjectiire, tradition being silent on the subject. — A lofty arched portal led into, and a little arched portal led out of, this apartment ; they were opposite each other, and each possessed the security of massy bolts on its interior. The bedstead, too, was not one of yesterday, but manifestly coeval with days ere Seddons waK, and when a good four-post "article" was deemed worthy of being a royal bequest. The bed itself, with all the appurtenances of palliasse, mattresses, &c., was of far later date, and looked most incongruously comfortable ; the casements, too, with their little diamond-shaped panes and iron binding, had gi\'en way to the modern heterodoxy of the sash-window. Nor was this all that conspired to i-uin the costume, and render the room a meet haunt for such " mixed spirits " only as could con- descend to don at the same time an Elizabethan doublet and Bond-street inexpressibles. Witii their green morocco slippers on a modern fender, m front of a disgracefully modern grate, sat two young gentlemen, clad in " shawl-pattern " dressing gowns and black silk stocks, much at variance with the high, cane-backed chairs which supported them. A bunch of abomination called a cigar, reeked in the left- hand corner of the mouth of one, and in the right-hand corner of the mouth of the other ; — an arrangement happily adapted for the escape of the noxious fumes up tlie chimney, without that unmerciful "funking" each other, which a less scientific disposition of the weed would have induced. A small pembroke table filled up the intervening space between them, sustaining, at each extremity, an elbow and a glass of toddv ; — thus ii} 40 TTIE SPECTRE " lonely pensive contemplation " were the two worthies occupied, when the " iron tongue of midnight had tolled twelve." " Ghost-time's come ! " said Ingoldsby, taking from nis waistcoat pocket a watch like a gold half-crown, and consulting it as though he suspected the turret-clock over the stables of mendacity. " Hush ! " said Charles ; " did I not hear a footstep ? " There was a pause : — there was a footstep — it sounded distinctly — it reached the door — it hesitated, stopped, and — passed on. Tom darted across the room, threw open the door, and became aware of Mrs. Botherby toddHng to her chamber at the other end of the gallery, after dosing one of the housemaids with an approved julep from the Countess of Kent's " Choice Manual." " Good night, sir ! " said Mrs. l^otherby. '' Go to the d — 1 ! " said the disappointed ghost- hunter. An hour — two — rolled on, and still no spectral visita- tion ; nor did aught intervene to make night hideous ; and when the turret-clock sounded at length the hour of three, Tngoldsby, whose patience and grog were alike exhausted, sprang from his chair, saying — " This is all infernal nonsense, my good fellow. Deuce of any ghost shall we see to-night ; it's long past the canonical hour. I'm off to bed ; and as to your breeches, I'll insure them for the next twenty-four hours at least, at the price of the buckram." " Certainly. — Oh ! thank'ee ; — to be sure ! " stam- mered Charles, rousing himself from a rev^erie, which had deo-enerated into an absolute snooze. OF TAPI'INGTON. 41 *' Good night, ray boy ! Bolt the door behind me ; and defy the Pope, the Devil, and the Pretender ! — " Seaforth followed his friend's advice, and the next morning came down to breakfast dressed in the habili- ments of the preceding day. The charm was broken, the demon defeated ; the light greys with the red stripe down the seams were yet in rerum naturd, and adorned the person of their lawful proprietor. Tom felicitated himself and his partner of the watch on the result of their vigilance ; but there is a rustic adage, which warns us against self-gratulation before we are quite "out of the wood." — Seaforth was yet within its verge. ^ % -i: * % A rap at Tom Ingoldsby's door the following morn- maised. To-night he would "ensconce himself," — not mdeed " behind the arras," — for the little that remained w^as, as we have seen, nailed to the wall, — but in n small closet which opened from one corner of the loom, and, by leaving the door ajar, would give to its Occupant a view of all that might pass in the apartment. Here did the young Ghost-hunter take up a position, wnth a good stout sapling under his arm, a flTil half-hour before Seaforth retired for the night. IVot even his friend did he let into his con- fidenco, fu?iy determined that if his plan did not succeed, the failure should be attributed to himself alone. At the usual hour of separation for the night, Tom saw, from his concealment, the Lieutenant enter his room, and, after taking a few turns in it, with an expression so joyous as to betoken that his thoughts were mainly occupied by his approaching happiness, _proceed slowly to disrobe himself. The coat, the waistcoat, the black silk stock, were gradually dis- carded ; the green morocco slippers were kicked off, and then — ay, and then — his countenance gi-ew grave ; it seemed to occur to him all at once that this was his last stake,-— nay, that the very breeches h^ 4tj THE SPKCT.JK had on wei'e not his own, — that to-morrow mornmo was his last, and that if he lost tlieui A gl-ince showed that his mind was made up ; he replaced the single button he had just subducted, and threw him- self upon the bed in <'i state of transition, — half chrysalis, half-grub. Wearily did Tom Ingoldsby watch the sleeper by the fliclcering light of the night-lamp, till the clock, striking one, induced him to increase the narrow opening which he had left for the purpose of observation. The motion, slight as it was, seemed to attract Charles's attention ; for he raised himself suddenly to a sitting posture, listened for a moment, and then stood upright upon the floor. Ingoldsby was on the point of discovering him- self, when, the light flashing full upon his friend's countenance, he perceived that, though his eyes were open, " their sense was shut," — that he w^as yet under the influence of sleep. Seaforth advanced slowly to the toilet, lit his candle at the lamp that stood on it, then, going back to the bed's foot, appeared to search eagerly for something which he could not find. For a few mo- ments he seemed restless and uneasy, walking round the apartment and examining the chairs, till, coming fully in front of a large swing-glass that flanked the dressing- table, he paused, as if contemplating his figure in it. He now returned towards the bed ; put on his slippers, and, with cautious and stealthy steps, proceeded towai'ds the little arched doorway that opened on the private staircase. As he drew the l)olt, Tom Ingoldsby emerged from his hiding-place; but the sleep-walker heard him not; he proceeded softly down stairs, followed at a due di? OF TAPPING TON. 4 7 tauce by Lis friend; opened the door which led out upon the gardens ; and stood at once among the thick- est of tlie shrubs, which there clustered round the base of a corner turret, and screened the postern from com- mon observation. At this moment Ingoldsby had nearly spoiled all by making a false «tep : the sound attracted Seaforth's attention, — he paused and turned ; and, as the full moon shed her light directly upon his pale and troubled features, Tom marked, almost with dismay, the fixed and rayless appearance of his eyes : — "There was no speculalion in those orbs That he did glare withal." The perfect stillness preserved by his follower seemed to reassure him; he turned aside; and from the midst of a thickset laurustinus, di'ew forth a gardener's spade, shouldering which he proceeded with greater rapidity into the midst of tlie shrubbery. Arrived at a certain point where tl e earth seemed to have been recently dis- turbed, he set himself heartily to the task of digging, till, having thrown up sevei-al shovelfuls of mould, he stopped, flung down his tool, and very composedly began to disencumber himself of his pantaloons. Up to this moment Tom had watched him with a wary eye ; he now advanced cautiously, and, as his friend was busily engaged in disentangling himself from his garment, made himself master of the spade. Sea- forth, meanwhile, had accomplished his purpose: ha stood for a moment with " His streamers waving in the wind," occupied in carefully rolling up the small-clothes into a:- 48 THE SPECTRE compact a form as possible, and all heedless of the breath of heaven, which might certainly be supposed, at siivh a moment, and in such a plight, to " visit his frame too roughly." — He was in the act of stooping low to deposit the pantaloons in the grave which he had been digging for them, wdien Tom Ingoldsby came close behind him, and with the flat side of the spade The shock was etlectual ; — never again was Lieu- tenant Seaforth known to act the part of a somnam- bulist. One by one, his breeches, — his trousers, — his pantaloons, — his silk-net tights, — his patent cords, — his showy greys with tiie broad red stripe of the Bombay Fencibles, were brought to light, — rescued from the gi'ave in which they had been buried like the strata of a Christmas pie ; and, after having been well aired by Mrs. Botherby, became once again &ft"ective. The family, the ladies especially, i 'ughed ; — the Peterses laughed ; — the Simpkinsons laughed ; — Barney Maguire cried " Botheration ! " and Mahnselle Pauline, ''Mon Dleuf' Charles Seaforth, unable to face the quizzing which awaited him on all sides, started off two hours earlier than he had proposed : — he soon returned, however and having, at his father-in-law's request, given up the occupation of Rajah-hunting and shooting nabobs, led his blushing bride to the altar. Mr. Sirapkinson from Bath did not attend the cere- mony, being engaged at the Grand Junction Meeting of Scavans, then congregating from all parts of the known world in tlie city of Dublin. His essay, deuivmstrating OF TAPPINGTOX. 49 that the globe is a great custard, whipped into coagula- tion b}^ whirlwinds, and cooked by electricity, — a little too much baked in the Isle of Portland, and a thought underdone about the Bog of Allan, — was highly spoken of, and narrowly escaped obtaining a Bridgewater piize. Miss Simpkinson and her sister acted as brides- maids on the occasion ; the former wrote an epithala- mium, and the latter cried " Lassy me ! " at the clei'gy- man's wig. Some years have since rolled on ; the union has been crowned with two or three tidy little off- shoots from the family tree, of whom Master Neddy is " grand-papa's darling," and Mary-Anne mamma's par- ticular " Sock." I shall only add, that Mr. and Mrs. Seaforth are living together quite as happily as two good-hearted, good-tempered bodies, very fond of each other, can possibly do : and that, since the day of his marriage, Charles has shown no disposition to jump out of bed, or ramble out of doors o' nights, — though, from liis entire devotion to every wish and whim of his young wife, Tom insinuates that the fair Caroline does still occasionally take advantage of it so far as to " slip on the Breeches." It was not till some years after the events just recorded, that Miss Mary-Anne, the " Pet Sock " before alluded to, was made acquainted with the following piece of family biography. It was communicated to her in strict confidence by Nurse Botherby, a maiden niece of the old lady's, then recently promoted from the ranks in the FIRST SERIES. 3 50 THE SPECTRE OF TAFPINGTON. still-room to be second in command in the Nursery department. The story is connected with a dingy wizen-faced por trait in an oval frame, generally known by the name of " Uncle Stephen," though from the style of his cut-velvet, it is evident that some generations must have passed away since any living being could have is'z/o.i t>«warda him in that degree of consanguinity. I I THE NURSE'S STORY. THE HAND OF GLORY. "Mnlefica qusedam auguriatrix in Anglia fuit, quani demones horribihtet ostraxeiua*:, et imponentes super equuin lerribilem, per aera rapueruiit , Clamoresque terribiles (ut ferunt) per quatuor ferme miliaria audiebaiitur." Nurenib. Chron On the lone bleak moor, At the midnight hour, Beneath the Gallows Tree, Hand in hand The Murderers stand By one, by two, by three! And the Moon tliat night With a grey, cold light Each baleful object tips; One half of her form Is seen through the storm, The other half's hid in Eclipse. And the cold Wind howls. And the Thunder growls, And the Lightning is broad and bright; . And altogether It 's very bad weather. And an unpleasant sort of a night I " Now mount who list. And close by the wrist Sever me quickly the Dead Man's fist!— 52 THE NURSES STORY. Now climb who dare AVhere he swings in air, And pluck me five locks of the Dead Man's hair I " * * * * * * There's an old woman dwells upon Tappington Moor, She hath years on her back at the least fourscore, And some people fancy a great many more ller nose it is hook'd, Her back it is crook'd, Her eyes blear and red : On the top of her head Is a mutch, and on that A shocking bad hat. Extinguisher-shaped, the brim narrow and flat ! Then, — My Gracious ! — her beard ! — it would sadly perplex A spectator at first to distinguish her sex ; Nor, I '11 venture to say, without scrutiny could he Pronounce her, off-handed, a Punch or a Judy. Did you see her, in short, that mud-hovel within, "With her knees to her nose, and her nose to her chin. Leering up with that queer, indescribable grin, You'd lift up your hands in amazement, and cry, " — Well ! — I never did see such a regular Guy 1 " And now before That old "Woman's door, Where naught that's good may be, . Hand in hand The Murderers stand By one, by two, by three I Oh ! 'tis a horrible sight to view, In that horrible hovel, that horrible crew. By the pale blue glare of that flickering flame, Doing the deed that hath never a name! 'Tis awful to hear Those words of fear I The pray'r mutter'd backwards, and said with a sneer 1 (Matthew Hopkins himself has assured us that when A witch says her privy'rs, she begins with " Amen.**) — THE HAiND OF (rLOi'lY. 63 — ^"Tis awful to see On that Old Woman's knee Tlie dead, shrivell'd Land, as she clasps it with glee ! And now, with care, The five locks of hair From the skull of the Gentleman dangling up there, With the grease and the fat Of a black Tom Cat 6he hastens to mix, And to twist into wicks, And one on the thumb, and each finger to fix. — (For another receipt the same charm to prepare, Consult Mr. Ainsworth and Petit Albert.) " Now open lock To the Dead Man's knock I Fly bolt, and bar, and band 1 — Nor move, nor swerve Joint, muscle, or nerve, At the spell of the Dead Man's hand 1 Sleep all who sleep ! — Wake all who wake ! — And be as the Dead fof the Dead Man's sake ! ! " ****** \11 is silent 1 all is still, Save the ceaseless moan of the bubbling rill As it wells from the bosom of Tappington Hill ; And in Tappington Hall Great and Small, Gentle and Simple, Squire and Groom, Each one hath sought his separate room, And sleep her dark mantle hath o'er them cast, For the midnight hour hath long been past ! All is darksome in earth and sky, Save, from yon casement, narrow and high, A quivering beam On the tiny stream Plays, like some taper's fitful gleam By one that is watching wearily. 54 Within that casement, naiTow and high, In his secret lair, where none may spy, Sits one whose brow is wrinkled with care, And the thin grey locks of his failing hair Have left his little bald pate all bare ; For his full-bottom'd wig Hangs, bushy and big, On the top of his old-fashion'd, high-back'd chair. Unbraced are his clothes, Ungarter'd his hose, His gown is bedizened with tulip and rose, Flowers of remarkable size and hue. Flowers such as Eden never knew ; — And there, by many a sparkling heap Of the good red gold, The tale is told What powerful spell avails to keep That care-worn man from his needful sleep ! Haply, he deems no eye can see As he gloats on his treasure greedily, — Tlie shining store Of glittering ore, Tlie fair Rose-lS'oble, the bright Moidore, And the broad Double Joe from ayont the sea,— But there's one that watches as well as he ; For, wakeful and sly, In a closet hard by, On his tnickle-bed lieth a little Foot-page, A boy who's uncommonly sharp of his age, Like young Master Horner, . Who erst in a corner Sat eating his Christmas pie : And, while that Old Gentleman's counting liis hoardfl^ Little Hugh peeps through a crack in tlie boards! ***** There's a voice in the air. There's a step on the stair, The old man starts in his cane-back'd chaii*; THE HAND OF GLORY. 5/} At the first faint sound He gazes around, And holds up his dip of sixteen to the pound. Then half arose From beside his toes His little pug-dog with his little pug nose, But, ere he can vent one inquisitive sniflf, That little pug-dog stands stark and stiff, For low, yet clear, Now fall on the ear, — Where once pronounced for ever thej dwell,— The unholy words of the Dead Man's spell 1 "Open lock To the Dead Man's knock ! Fly bolt, and bar, and band I Nor move, nor swerve Joint, muscle, or nerve. At the spell of the Dead Man's hand I Sleep all who sleep ! — Wake all who wake ! — But be as the Dead for the Dead Man's sake ! ! " Now lock, nor bolt, nor bar avails, Nor stout oak panel thick-studded with nails. Heavy and harsh the hinges creak. Though they had been oil'd in the course of the week ; The door opens w;ide as wide may be. And there they stand, That murderous band. Let by the light of that Glorious Hand, By one ! — by two I — ^by three ! They have pasp'd through the porch, they have pass' thiv-x^rh the hall. Where the Porter sat snoring against the wall ; The very snore froze In his veiy snub nose. You'd have verily deem'd he had snored his last When the Glorious Hand by the side of him past I 56 THE nurse's storv. E'en the little wee mouse, as it ran o'er the mat At the top of its speed to escape from the cat, Though half dead with affright. Paused in its flight; And the cat, that was chasing that little wee thing, Lay crouch'd as a statue in act to spring ! And now they are there, On the head of the stair, And the long crooked whittle is gleaming and bare 1 — I really don't think any money would bribe Me the horrible scene that ensued to describe, Or the wild, wild glare Of that old man's eye, His dumb despair, And deep agony. The kid from the pen, and the lamb from the fohi, Unmoved may the blade of the butcher behold ; They dream not — ah, happier they ! — that the knife. Though uplifted, can menace their innocent life ; It falls ; — the frail thread of their being is riven, They dread not, suspect not, the blow till 'tis given. — But, oh 1 what a thing 'tis to see and to know That the bare knife is raised in the hand of the foe, Without hope to repel, or to ward off the blow I — — ^Enough ! — ^let's pass over as fast as we can The fate of that grey, that unhappy old man ! But fancy poor Hugh, Aghast at the view. Powerless alike to speak or to do ! In vain doth he try ' To open the eye That is shut, or close that which is clapt to the chink, Though he'd give all the world to be able to wink I— No ! — for all that this world can give or refuse, I would not be now in that little boy's shoes. Or indeed any garment at all that is Hugh's I a THE HAND OF GLORY. 5*? — 'Tis lucky for liim that the ehiok ia the wall He has peep'd through so long, is so narrow and small ! Wailing voices, sounds of woe. Such as follow departing friends, Tliat fatal night round Tappington go. Its long-drawn roofs and its gable ends : Ethereal Spirits, gentle and good. Aye weep and lament o'er a deed of blood I * * * * * Tis early dawn — the morn is grey, And the clouds and the tempest have pass'd away, And all things betoken a very fine day ; But, while the lark her carol is singing. Shrieks and screams are through Tappington ringing 1 Upstarting all. Great and small, Each one who's found within Tappington Hall, Gentle and Simple, Squire or Groom, All seek at once that old Gentleman's room ; And there, on the floor, Dronch'd in its gore, A ghastly corpse lies exposed to the view, Carotid and jugular both cut through I And there, by its side, 'Mid the crimson tide. Kneels a little Foot-page of tenderest years ; Adown his pale cheek the fast-falling tears Are coursing each other round and big. And he's staunching the blood with a fuU-bottom'd wig Alas ! and alack for his staunching ! — 'tis plain. As anatomists tell us, that never again Shall life revisit the foully slain. When once they've been cut through the jugular vein. There's a hue -and a cry through the County of Kent, And in chase of the cut-throats a Constable's sent, But no one can tell the man which way they went 3* 58 THE NURSE S STORY. There's a little Foot-pfige with that Constable goes, And a little pug-dog with a little pug-nose. ***** In Rochester town At the sign of the Crown, Three '^liaLby-genteel men are just sitting down To a fat stubble-goose, with potatoes down brown ; When a little Foot-page Rushes in, in a rage, Upsetting the apple-sauce, onions, and sage. That little Foot-page takes the first by the throat, And a little pug-dog takes the next by the coat, And a Constable seizes the one more remote ; And fair rose-nobles and broad raoidores. The Waiter pulls out of their pockets by scores. And the Boots and the Chambermaids run in and stare; And the Constable says, with a dignified air, "You're vianted, Gen'lemen, one and all. For that 'ere precious lark at Tappington Hall 1" There's a black gibbet frowns upon Tappington Moor, WTiere a former black gibbet has frown'd before ; It is as black as black may be, And murderers there Are dangling in air, By one ! — by two ! — by three ! There's a horrid old hag in a steeple-crown'd hat. Round her neck they have tied to a hempen cravat A Dead Man's hand, and a dead Tom Cat I They have tied up her thumbs, they have tied up her toes. They have tied up her eyes, they have tied up her limbs ! Into Tappington mill-dam souse she goes With a whoop and a halloo ! — " She swims ! — She swims !" They have dragg'd her to land, And every one's hand. Is grasping a faggot, a billet, or brand. THE HAND OF GLORY. 59 When u queer-looking horseman, drest all in black, Snatches up that old harridan just like a sack To the crupper behind him, puts spurs to his hack, Makes a dash through the crowd, and is off in a crack !— No one can tell, Though they guess pretty well, Which way that grim rider and old woman go, For all see he's a sort of infernal Ducrow ; And she scream'd so, and cried, We may fairly decide That the old woman did not much relish her ride ! ItlORAL. Tliis truest of stories confirms beyond doubt That truest of adages — " Murder will out !" In vain may the blood-spiller "double" and fly, In vain even witchcraft and sorcery try : * Although for a time he may 'scape, by-and-by He'll be sure to be caught by a Hugh and a Cry , One marvel follows anotlier as naturally as one " shoulder of mutton " is said " to drive anotlier down." A little Welsh girl, who sometimes makes her way from the kitchen into the nursery, after listening with intense interest to tliis tale, immediately started off at score with the sum and substance of what, in due reverence foi such authority, I shall call — VATTY MORGAN THE MILKMAID'S STORY **LOOK AT THE CLOCKr FYTTB L •* Look at the Clock !" quoth Winifred Pryce, As she opea'd the door to her husband's knock, Then paus'd to give him a piece of advice, "You nasty Warmint, look at the Clock! Is this the way, you "Wretch, every day you Treat her who vow'd to love and obey you ? — Out all night ! Me in a fright ; Staggering home as it's just getting light ! You intoxified brute ! — you insensible block ! — Look at the Clock !— Do !— Look at the Clock I" Winifred Pryce was tidy and clean, Her gown was a flower'd one, her petticoat green. Her buckles were bright as her milking cans, And her hat was a beaver, and made like a man's ; Her little red eyes were deep set in their socket-holes, Her gown-tail was turn'd up, and tucked through the pocket holes ; A face like a ferret Betoken'd her spirit : To conclude, Mrs. Prj^ce was not over young, Had very short legs, and a very long tongue. 62 PATTY MORGAN THE MILKMAID's STOIir. Now David Pryce Had one darling vice; Remarkably partial to anything nice, Nought that' was good to him came amiss, Whether to eat, or to drink, or to kiss I Especially ale— If it was not too staie I really believe he'd have emptied a pail ; Not that in Wales They talk of their Ales ; To pronounce the word they make use ot ii^ght troxible you. Being spelt with a C, two lis, and a W, That particular day, As I've heard people say, Mr. David Pryce had been soaking his clay. And amusing himself with his pipe and cheroots, The whole afternoon at the Goat-in-Boots, With a couple more soakers, Thoroughbred smokers, Both, like himself, prime singers and jokers ; And, long after day had drawn to a close, And the rest of the world was wrapp'd in repose, They were roaring out "Shenkinl" and "Ar hyddynos;" While David himself, to a Sassenach tune, Sang, "We've drunk down the Sun, boysl let's drink down the Moon ! What have we with day to do? Mrs. Winifred Pryce, 'twas made for you 1" — At length, when they couldn't well drink any more, Old "Goat-in-Boots" showed them the door: And then came that knock. And the sensible shock David felt when his wife cried, "Look at the Clock 1" For the hands stood as crooked as crooked might be, The long at the Twelve, and the short at the Three! That self-same clock had long been a bone Of contention between this Darby and Joan ; " LOOK AT THE CLOCK." 63 And often, among their pother and rout, When this otherwise amiable couple fell out, Pryce would drop a cool hint With an ominous squint At its case, of an " Uncle " of his, who 'd a "Spout.** Tliat horrid word "Spout" No sooner came out, Than "Winifred Pryce would turn her about, And with scorn on her lip, And a hand on each hip, " Spout " herself till her nose grew red at the tip, "You thundering Willin, I know you'd be killing Your wife — ay, a dozen of" wives, —^f or a shilling I You may do what you please, You may sell my chemise, (Mrs. P. was too well bred to mention her stock,) But I never will part with my Grandmother's Clock I " Mrs. Pryce's tongue ran long and ran fast ; But patience is apt to wear out at last. And David Pryce in temper w^as quick. So he stretch'd out his hand, and caught hold of a stick Perhaps in its use he might mean to be lenient, But walking just then wasn't very convenient, So he threw it, instead. Direct at her head ; It knock'd off her hat ; Down she fell flat; Her case, perhaps, was not much mended by that: But whatever it was, — whether rage and pain Produced apoplexy, or burst a vein, Or her tumble induced a concussion of brain, I can't say for certain, — but this I can, When, sober'd by fright, to assist her ho ran, Mrs. Winifred Pryce was as dead as Queen Anne 64 PATTY MORGAN TH^ AlILKMAID S STORY. The fearful catastrophe Named in my last strophe As adding to grim Death's exploits such a vast trophy, Made a great noise ; and the shocking fatality Ran over, like wild-fire, the whole Principality. And tlien came Mr. Ap Thomas, the Coroner, With his jury to sit, some dozen or more, on her. Mr. Pryce to commence His " ingenious defence," Made a "powerful appeal " to the jury's " good sense," "The world he must defy Even to justify Any presumption of 'Malice Prepense ;' " — The unlucky lick - From the end of his stick He " deplored," — he was " apt to be rather too quick ;" — But, really, her prating Was so aggravating : Some trifling correction was just what he meant ; — all The rest, he assured them, was " quite accidental 1 " Then he calls Mr. Jones, Who depones to her tones. And her gestures, and hints about " breaking his bones." While Mr. Ap Morgan and Mr. Ap Rhys Declared the Deceased Had styled him " a Beast," And swear they had witness'd, with grief and surprise, The allusions she made to his limbs and his eyes. The jnry, in fine, having sat on the body The whole day, discussing the case, and gin toddy, Return'd about half-past eleven at night The following verdict, " We find, Sarve her right ! " Mr. Pryce, Mrs. Winifred Pryce being dead. Felt lonely, and moped ; and one evening he said He would marry Miss Davis at once in her stead. " LOOK AT THE CLOCK.'' Not far from his dwelling. From the vale proudly swelling, Rose a mountain ; its name you'll excuse me from telling; For the vowels made use of in Welsh are so few That the A and the E, the I, 0, and the U, Have really but little or nothing to do ; And the duty, of course, falls the heavier by far On the L, and the II, and the N, and the R. Its first syllable " Pen," Is pronounceable ; — then Come two L Ls, and two II Hs, two F Fs, and an N" ; About half a score lis, and some Ws follow, Beating all my best efforts at euphony holl')w : But we shan't have to mention it often, so when We do, with your leave, we'll curtail it to " Pkn." Well — the moon shone bright Upon "Fen" that night. When Pryce, being quit of his fuss and his fright. Was scaling its side With that sort of a stride A man puts on when walking in search of a bride, Mounting higher and higher, He began to perspire, Till, finding his legs were beginning to tire. And feeling opprest By a pain in his chest, He paus'd, and turn'd round to take breatli, and to rest ; A walk all up hill is apt, we know. To make one, however robust, puff and blow, So he stopp'd and look'd down on the valley below. O'er fell, and o'er fen. Over mountain and glen. All bright in the moonshine, his eye roved, and then All the Patriot rose in his soul, and he thought Vpon Wales, and her glories, and all he 'd been taught 66 PATTY MORGAN THE MILKMAID'S STORY. Of her Heroes of old, So brave and so bold, — Of her Bards with long beards, and harps mounted in gold Of King Edward the First, Of memory accurst ; And the scandalous manner in which he behaved, Killing Poets by dozens, With their uncles and cousins, Of whom not one in fifty had ever been shaved. — Of the Court Ball, at which by a lucky mishap, Owen Tudor fell into Queen Katherine's lap ; And how Mr. Tudor Successfully woo'd her. Till the Dowager put on a new wedding ring. And so made him Father-in law to the King. He thought upon Arthur, and Merlin of yore, On Gry filth ap Conan, and Owen Glendour ; On Pendragon, and Heaven knows how many more. He thought of all this, as he gazed, in a trice. And on all things, in short, but the late Mrs. Pryee ; When a lumbering noise from behind made him starts And sent the blood back in full tide to his heart Which went pit-a-pat As he cried out " What's that ?" That very queer sound ? Does it come from the ground ? Or the air, — from above, — or below, — or around ? — It is not like Talking, It is not like Walking, It 's not like the clattering of pot or of pan. Or the tramp of a horse, — or the tread of a man, — Or the hum of a crowd, — or the shouting of boys, — It 's really a deuced odd sort of noise ! Not unlike a cart's, — ^but that can't be ; for when Could " all the King's horses and all the King's men," With Old Nick for a waggoner, drive one up " Pen ?" "look at Tiii. CLOCK." 67 F*rjce, usually brimful of Vcalour when drunk, Now experienced what schoolboys denominate "fank," In vain he look'd back On the whole of the track He had traversed ; a thick cloud, uncommonly black, At this moment obscured the broad disc of the moon, And did not seem likely to pass away soon ; While clearer and clearer, Twas plain to the hearer, Be the noise what it might, it drew nearer and nearer, And sounded, as Pryce to this moment declares, Very much "like a Coffin a-walking up stairs." Mr. Pryce had begun To " make up" for a run. As in such a companion he saw no great fun, Wlien a single bright ray Shone out on the way He had passed, and he saw, with no little dismay, Coming after him, bounding o'er crag and o'er rock, The deceased Mrs. Winifred's " Grandmother's Clock ! V* *Twas so ! — it had certainly moved from its place, And come, lumbering on thus, to bold hira in chase ; Twas the very same Head, and the very same Case, And nothing was altered at all — but the Face ! In that he perceived, Avith no little surprise. The two little winder-holes turned into eyes Blazing with ire, Like two coals of fire ; And the " Name of the Maker" was changed to a Lip, And the Hands to a Nose with a very red tip. No ! — he could not mistake it, — ^"twas Sue to the life I rhe identical face of his poor defunct Wife ! One glance was enough. Completely " Quant. Stiff '^ A.8 the doctors write down when they send you their " stuff."— Like a Weather-cock whirled by a vehement puff. 68 PATTY" MORGAN THE MILKMAIDS STORY, David turned hiiaself round ; Ten feet of ground He clear'd, in his start, at the very first bound ! I Ve seen people run at West-End Fair for cheeses — I 've seen Ladies run at Bow Fair for chemises- — At Greenwich Fair twenty men run for a hat, And one from a Bailiff much faster than that — ■ At foot-ball I 've seen lads run after the bladder — I 've seen Irish Bricklayers run up a ladder — I 've seen little boys run away from a cane — And I 've seen (that is, read of) good running in Spain ,* But I never did read Of, or witness, such speed As David exerted that evening — Indeed All I ever have heard of boys, women, or men, Falls far short of Pryce, as he ran over " Pjen 1 " He now reaches its brow, — He has past it, — and now Having once gained the siimmit, and managed to cross it, he Rolls down the side with uncommon velocity ; But, run as he will, Or roll down the hill. That bugbear behind him is after him still ! And close at his heels, not at all to his liking. The terrible clock keeps on ticking and striking, Till, exhausted and sore, He can't run any more. But falls as he reaches Miss Davis's door. And screams when they rush out, alarm'd at his knock, " Oh ! Look at the Clock !— Do !— Look at the Clock ! ! " Miss Davis look'd up, Miss Davis look'd down. She saw nothing there to alarm her ; — a frown * I-run, is a town said to have been so named from somethinpr of tM lort. " LOOK AT THE CLOCK." G9 Came o'er her white forehead, She said, " It was horrid A man should come knocking at that time of night, And give her Mamma and herself such a fright ; — To squall and to bawl About nothing at all !" — She begg'd "he'd not think of repeating his call, His late wife's disaster By no means had past her," She 'd "have him to know she was meat for his Master!'' Then regardless alike of his love and his woes, She turn'd on her heel and she turned up her nose. Poor David in vain Implored to remain. He " dared not," he said, " cross the mountain again." "Why the fair was obdurate None knows, — to be sure, it Was said she was setting hei'cap at the Curate; — Be that as it may, it is certain the sole hole Pryce found to creep into that night was the Coal-hole I In that shady retreat With nothing to eat. And with very bruised limbs, and with very sore feet, All night close he kept ; I can't say he slept ; But he sigh'd, and he sobb'd, and he groan d, ami he wept Lamenting his sins, And his two broken shins. Bewailing his fate with contortions and grins, And her he once thought a complete Rara Avis. Consigning to Satan, — viz. cruel Miss Davis! Mr, David has since had a " serious call," He never drinks ale, wine, or spirits, at all. And they say he is going to Exeter Hall To make a grand speech, And to preach and to teach <0 PATTY MORGAN TIIR MILKMAIDS STORT. People that " they can't brew their malt liquor too small I' That an ancient Welsh Poet, one Pvndar ap Tudoe, Was right in proclaiming "AnisroN me\ Udor!" Which means " The pure Element Is for Main's belly meant !" And that Gin 's but a Snare of Old Nick the deluder I And " still on each evening when pleasure fills up," At the old Goat-in-Boots, with Metheglin, each cup, Mr. Pryce, if he 's there, Will get into "The Chair," And make all his quondam associates stare By calling aloud to the Landlady's daughter, " Patty, bring a cigar, and a glass of Spring Water 1'' The dial he constantly watches ; and when The long hand 's at the "XII," and the short at the " X,** He gets on his legs. Drains his glass to the dregs, Takes his hat and great-coat off their several pegs, With his President's hammer bestows his last knock, And says solemnly — " Gentlemen ! "Look at the Clock ! 1 1" The succeeding Legend has long been an established favourite with all of us, as containing much of the personal history of one of the greatest ornaments of the family tree. To the wedding between the sole heiress of this redoubted hero and a direct ancestor is it owing that the Lioncels of Sliurland hang so lovingly parallel with the Saltire of the Ingoldsbys, and now form as cherished a quartering in their escutcheon as the " dozen white lowses " in the " old coat " of Sliallow. GKEY DOLPHIN. A LEGEND OF SHEPPEY. '' Bi. won't — won't he ? Then bring* me my boots 1" said the Baron. Consternation was at its height in the castle of Shiir- land — a caitiff had dared to disobey the Baron ! and — the Baron had called for his boots ! A thunderbolt in the great hall had been a bagatelle to it. A few days before, a notable miracle bad been wrought in the neighbourhood ; and in those times miracles were not so common as they are now ; — no royal balloons, no steam, no railroads, — while the few Saints who took the trouble to walk with their heads under their arms, or to pull the Devil by the nose, scarcely appeared above once in a century ; so the affair made the greater sensation. The clock had done striking twelve, and the Clerk of Chatham was untrussing his points preparatory to seek- ing his truckle-bed ; a half-emptied tankard of mild ale stood at his elbow, the roasted crab yet floating on its surface. Midnight had surprised the worthy function ary while occupied in discussing it, and with his task yet unaccomplished. He meditated a mighty draft : one 72 OREV DOLPIIIX. hand was fumbling with his tags, while the other was extended in the act of grasping the jorum, when a knock on the portal, solemn and sonorous, arrested his fingers. It was repeated thrice ere Emmanuel Saddleton had presence of mind sufficient to iuqui.T« who sought admit- tance at that untimeous hour. " Open ! open ! good Clerk of St. Bridget's," said a female voice, small, yet distinct aud sweet, — an excel- lent thing in woman. The Clerk arose, crossed to the doorway, and undid the latchet. On the threshold stood a Lady of surpassing beauty : her robes were rich, and large, and full ; and a diadem, sparkling with gems that shed a halo around, crowned her brow : she beckoned the Clerk as he stood in asto- nishment before her. "Emmanuel ! " said the Lady ; and her tones sounded like those of a silver flute. " Emmanuel Saddleton, truss up your points, and follow me ! " The worthy Clerk stared aghast at the vision ; the purple robe, the cymar, the coronet, — above all, the smile ; no, there was no mistaking her ; — ^it was the blessed St. Bridget herself! And what could have brought the sainted lady out of her warm shrine at such a time of night ? and on such a night? for it was as dark as pitch, and, meta- phorically speaking, " rained cats and dogs." Emmanuel could not speak, so he looked the ques- tion. " No matter for that," said the Saint, answering to hia thought. " No matter for that, Emmanuel Saddleton : only follow me, and you'll see ! " A LEGEND OF SIIEPPEY. 73 The Clerk turned a wistful eye at tlie corner-cup- board. " Oh ! never mind the lantern, Emmanuel : you'll not want it : but you may bring a mattock and a shovel." As she spoke, the beautiful apparition held up her deli- cate hand. From the tip of each of her long taper fingers issued a lambent flame of such surpassing bril- liancy as would have plunged a whole gas company into despair — it was a " Hand of Glory," * such a one as tradition tells us yet burns in Rochester Castle every St. Mark's Eve. Many are the daring individuals who have watched in Gundulph's Tower, hoping to find it, and the treasure it guards ;— but none of them ever did. " This way, Emmanuel ! " and a flame of peculiar radiance streamed from her little finger as it pointed to the pathway leading to the churchyard. Saddleton shouldered his tools, and followed in silence. The cemetery of St. Bridget's was some half-mile distant from the Clerk's domicile, and adjoined a chapel dedicated to that illustrious lady, who, after leading but a so-so life, had died in the odour of sanctity. Em- manuel Saddleton was fat and scant of breatli, the mattock was heavy, and the Saint walked too fast for liim : he paused to take a second wind at the end of the first furlong. " Emmanuel," said tlie holy lady, good-humoured ly, for she heard him puffing ; " rest awhile, Emmanuel, and I'll tell you what I want with you." • One of the uses to which this mystic chandelier was put, was the pro- tection of secret treasure. Blow out all the fingers at one puff and you h;i^ «ho money. FIRST SERIES. 4 74 GREY DOLPHIN. Iler auditor wiped his brow with the back of his hand, and looked all attention and obedience. "Emmanuel," continued she, "what did you and Father FothergiH, and the rest of you, mean yesterday by burying that drowned man so close to me? He died in mortal sin, Emmanuel ; no shrift, no unction, no absolution : why, he might as well have been excom- municated. He plagues me with his gi-inning, and I can't have any peace in my shrine. You must howk him up again, Emmanuel." " To be sure, madam, — my lady, — that is, your holi- ness," stammered Saddleton, trembling at the thought of the task assigned him. " To be sure, your ladyship ; only — that is — " " Emmanuel," said the Saint, " you'll do my bidding ; or it would be better you had ! " and her eye changed from a dove's eye to that of a hawk, and a flash came from it as bright as the one from her little finger. The Clerk shook in his shoes ; and, again dashing the cold perspiration from his brow, followed the footsteps of his mysterious guide. * * * ^ % The next morning all Chatham was in an uproar. The Clerk of St Bridget's had found himself at home at daybreak, seated in his own arm-chair, the fire out, and — the tankard of ale out too ! Who had drunk it ? — where had he been ? — how had he got home ? — all was a mystery ! — he remembered " a mass of things, bu* nothing distinctly." All was fog and fantasy. What he could clearly recollect was, that he had dug up the Grinning Sailor, and that the Saint had helped to throw him into the river again. All was thenceforth wonder- A LEGEND OF SIlEPrEY. ment and devotion. Masses were sung, tapers were kin- dled, bells were tolled ; the monks of St. Komaiild had a solemn procession, the abbot at their head, the sacristan at their tail, and the holy breeches of St. Thomas a Becket in the centre ; — Father Fothergill brewed a XXX puncheon of holy-water. The Rood of GiUing- ham was deserted ; the chapel of Rainham forsaken ; every one who had a soul to be saved, flocked with his offering to St. Bridget's shrine, and Emmanuel Saddle- ton gathered more fees from the promiscuous piety of that one week than he had pocketed during the twelve preceding months. Meanwhile the corpse of the ejected reprobate oscil- lated like a pendulum between Sheerness and Gilling- ham Reach. Now borne by the Medway into the Western Swale, — now carried by the refluent tide back to the vicinity of its old quartei's, — it seemed as though the RivBr god and Neptune were amusing themselves with a game of subaqueous battledore, and had chosen , this unfortunate carcass as a marine shuttlecock. For some time the alternation was kept up with great spirit, till Boreas, interfering in the shape of a stiffish " Nor'- wester," drifted the bone (and flesh) of contention ashore on the Shurland domain, where it lay in all the majesty of mud. It was soon discovered by the retain- ers, and dragged from its oozy bed, grinning worse than ever. Tidings of the god-send were of courte carried instantly to the castle ; for the Baron w^as a very great man ; and if a dun cow had flown across his property unannounced by the warder, the Baron would have kicked him, the said warder, from the topmost battle- ment into the bottommost ditch, — .1 descent of peril, 76 GREY DOLPHIN. and one wliich " Luclvvig- tlie leaper," or the illustrious Trenck himself, might well have shrunk from encoun- tering. " An't please your lordship — " said Peter Periwinkle. " No, villain ! it does not please me !" roared the Baron. His lordship was deeply engaged witli a peck of Feversham oysters, — he doated on shellfish, hated inter- ruption at meals, and had not yet despatched more than twenty dozen of the " natives." " There's a body, my lord, washed ashore in the lower creek," said the Seneschal. The Baron was going to throw the shells at his head ; but paused in the act, and said with much dignity, — " Turn out the fellow's pockets !" But the defunct had before been subjected to the double scrutiny of Father Fothergill, and the Clerk of St. Bridget's. It was ill gleaning after such hands ; there was not a single maravedi. We have already said that Sir Robert de Shurland, Lord of the Isle of Sheppey, and of many a fair m.anor on the main-land, was a man of worship. He had rights of freewarren, saccage and sockage, cuisage and jambage, fosse and fork, infang theofe and outfang theofe : and all waifs and strays belonged to him in fee simple. "Turn out his pockets !" said the Knight. "An't please you, my lord, I must say as hoAv they was turned out afore, and the devil a rap's left." " Then bury the blackguard ! " " Please your lordship, he has been buried once." "Then bury him again, and be !" The BaroD bestowed a benediction. A LEGEND OF SHEFTEV. • / The Seneschal bowed low as he left the room, and the Baron went on with his oysters. Scarcely ten dozen more had vanished when Peri- winkle reappeared. "An't please you, my lord, Father Fothergill says as how that it's the Grinning Sailor, and he won't bury him anyhow." " Oh ! he won't — won't he ? " said the Baron. Can it be wondered at that he called for his boots ? Sir Robert Shurland, Lord of Shurland and Minster, Baron of Sheppey in comitatu Kent, was, as has been before hinted, a very great man. He was also a very little man ; that is, he was relatively great, and rela- tively little, — or physically little, and metaphorically great, — like Sir Sidney Smith and the late Mr. Bona- parte. To the frame of a dwarf he united the soul of a giant, and the valour of a gamecock. Then, for so small a man, his strength was prodigious ; his fist would fell an ox, and his kick — oh ! his kick was tremendous, and, when he had his boots on, would, — to use an expression of his own, which he had picked up in the holy wars, — would "send a man from Jericho to June." ITe was bull-necked and bandy-legged; his chest was broad and deep, his head lai-ge and uncommonly thick, his eyes a little blood-shot, and his nose retrousse with a remarkably red tip. Strictly speaking, the Baron could not be called handsome : but his tout ensemble was singularly impressive : and when he called for his boots, everybody trembled and dreaded the woi^t. " Periwinkle," said the Baron, as he encased his better ;eg, "let the grave be twenty feet deep!" " Your lordship's command is law." 70 GREV DOLPHIN. " And, Periwinkle," — Sir Robert stamped liis left heei into its receptacle, — "and, Periwinkle, see that it be wide enouo^h to hold not exceeding two ! " " Ye — ye — yes, my lord." "And, Periwinkle, tell Father Fothergill I would fain speak with his Reverence." " Ye — ye — yes, my lord." The Baron's beard was peaked ; and his mustaches, stiff' and stumpy, projected horizontally like those of a Tom Cat ; he twirled the one, he stroked the other, he drew the buckle of his surcingle a thought tighter, and strode down the great staircase three steps at a stride. The vassals were assembled in the great hall of Shur- land Castle ; every cheek was pale, every tongue was mute : expectation and perplexity v/ere visible on every brow. What would his lordship do ? — Were the recu- sant anybody else, gyves to the heels and hemp to the throat were but too good for him : — but it was Father Fothergill who had said " I won't ; " and though the Baron was a very great man, the Pope was a greater, and the pope was Father Fothergill's great friend — some people said he was his uncle. Father Fothergill w^as busy in the refectory trying conclusions with a venison pasty, when he received the summons of his patron to attend him in the chapel cemetery. Of course he lost no time in obeying it, for obedience was the general rule in Shurland Castle. If any body ever said " I won't," it w^as the exception ; and, like all other exceptions, only proved the rule the stronger. The Father was a friar of the Augustine per- suasion ; a brotherhood which, having been planted in Kent some few centuries earlier, had taken very kindly A LEGEND OF SHEPPEY. 79 to the soil, and overspread the county much as hops did some few centuries later. He was plump and portly, a little thick-winded, especially after dinner, — stood five feet four in his sandals, and weighed hard upon eighteen stone. He was moreover a personage of singular piety ; and the iron girdle which, he said, he wore under his cassock to mortify withal, might have been well mistaken for the tire of a cart-wheel. — When he arrived, Sir Robert was pacing up and down by the side of a newly opened grave. " Benedicite ! fair son," — (the Baron was as brown as a cigar,) — " Benedicite ! " said the Chaplain. The Baron was too angry to stand upon compliment. — " Bury me that grinning caitiff" there ! " quoth he, jx)inting to the defunct. " It may not be, fair son," said the Friar ; " he hath perished without absolution." " Bury the body ! " roared Sir Robert. " Water and earth alike reject him," returned the Chaplain ; " holy St. Bridget herself " " Bridget me no Bridgets ! — do me thine office quickly. Sir Shaveling; or, by the Piper that played before Moses ! " The oath was a fearful one ; and whenever the Baron swore to do mischief, he was never known to perjure himself. He was playing with the hilt of his sword. — " Do me thine office, I say. Give him his passport to Heaven ! " " He is already gone to hell ! " stammered the Friar. " Then do you go after him ! " thundered the Lord of Shurland. His sword half leaped from its scabbard. No ! — the trenchant blade, that had cut Suleiman Ben Malek Ben 80 GREY D01>PHIN. Uuckskiii from helmet to chine, disdained to daub itselr with the cerebelkim of a miserable monk ; — it leaped back again ; — and as the Chaplain, scared at its flash, turned him in terror, the Baron gave him a kick 1 — one kick ! — it was but one ! — but such a one ! Despite its obesity, up flew his holy body in an angle of forty- five degrees ; then, having reached its highest point oi elevation, sunk headlong into the open grave thai yawned to receive it. If the reverend gentleman hari possessed such a thing as a neck, he had infallibly broken it ; as he did not, he only dislocated liis verte- bra?, — but that did quite as well. He was as dead as ditch-water 1 " In with the other rascal ! " said the Baron, — and he was obeyed ; for there he stood in his boots. Mat- tock and shovel made short work of it ; twenty feet of superincumbent mould pressed down alike the saint and the sinner. " Now sing a requiem who list ! " said the Baron, and his lordship went back to his oystei-s. The vassals at Castle Shurland were astounded, or, as the Seneschal Hugh better expressed it, " perfectly con- glomerated," by this event. What ! murder a monk in the odour of sanctity, — and on consecrated ground too ! — They trembled for the health of the Baron's soul. To the unsophisticated many it seemed that matters could not have l>een much worse had he shot a bishop's coach-horse ; — all looked for some signal judgment. The melancholy catastrophe of their neighbours at Can- terbury was yet rife in their memories : not two centuries had elapsed since those miserable sinners had cut oflf the tail of the blessed St. Thomas's mule. The tail of the mule, it was well known, had been forthwith affixed to A LEGEND OF 8HEPPEY. 81 tliat of the mayor ; and rumour said it had since been hereditary in the corporation. The least that could be expected was, that Sir Robert should have a friar tacked on to his for the term of his natural life ! Some bolder spirits there were, 'tis true, who viewed the matter in various lights, according to their different temperaments and dispositions ; for perfect unanimity existed not even in the good old times. The verderer, roistering Rob Roebuck, swore roundly " 'Twere as good a pearance, and slill more, the disappearance of the crone, had however made an impression ; every step he took he became more thoughtful. " 'Twould be A LEGEND OF SIIEPPEY. 93 deuced provoking though, if ho should break my neck after all." He turned, and gazed at Dolphin with the scrutinizing eye of a veterinary surgeon. " I'll be shot if he is not groggy ! " said the Baron. With his lordship, like another great Commander, " Once to be in doubt, was once to be resolved : " it would never do to go to the wars on a rickety prad. He dropped the rein, drew forth Tickletoby, and as the enfranchised Dolphin, good easy horse, stretched out his ewe-neck to the herbage, struck off his head at a single blow. " There, you lying old beldame ! " said the Baron ; " now take him away to the knacker's." % % % * * Three years were come and gone. King Edward's French wars were over; both parties, having fought till they came to a stand-still, shook hands ; and the quarrel, as usual, was patched up by a royal marriage. This happy event gave his Majesty leisure to turn his atten- tion to Scotland, where things, through the intervention of William Wallace, were looking rather queerish. As his reconciliation with Philip now allowed of his fight- ing the Scotch in peace and quietness, the monarch lost no time in marching his long legs across the border, and the short ones of the Baron followed him of course. At Falkirk, Tickletoby was in great request; and, in the yeai- following, we find a contemporary poet hint- ing at his master's prowess under the walls (>f Caer- laverock, ©bee ciis fu aefefr.tfnej 2Lt beau lAobrrt He Stjurlanti 3^1 (ant scoi't sur le cfjebal ^e s mb oft !)jnte te somcflle 04 GREY DOLPHIN" A quatrain which Mr. Simpkinson translates, " With them was marching The good Robert de Shiirland, Who, when seated on horseback, Does not resemble a man asleep ! " So thoroughly awake, indeed, does he seem to havy proved himself, that the bard subsequently exclaims, in an extasy of admiration, Sil fe Estofe um pucelette 3e U tionrie cnir ft rors Cant est Tic hi bons If rpcors- " If [ were a young maiden, I would give my lieart and person. So great is his fame !" Fortunately the poet was a tough old monk of Exeter ; since such a present to a nobleman, now in his grand climacteric, would hardly have been worth the carriage. With the reduction of this stronghold of the Maxwells seem to have concluded the Baron's military servic-^s ; as on the very first day of the fourteenth century we find him once more landed on his native shore, and marching, with such of his retainers as the wars had left him, towards the hospitable shelter of Shurland Castle. It was then, upon that very beach, some hun- dred yards distant from high-water mark, that his eye fell upon something like an ugly old woman in a red cloaiv ! She was seated on what seemed to be a large stone, in an interesting attitude, with her elbows resting upon her knees, and her chin upon her thumbs. The Baron started : the remembrance of his interview with a similar personage in the same place, some thre« A LEGEND OF SHEl'PEr. i?5 years since, flashed upon his recollection, ile rushed towards the spot, but the form was gone; — nothing remained but the seat it had appeared to occupy. This, on examination, turned out to be no stone, but the whitened skull of a dead horse ! — A tender remem- brance of the deceased Grey Dolphin shot a momentary pang into the Baron's bosom ; he drew the back of his hand across his face ; the thought of the hag's predic- tion in an instant rose, and banished all softer emotions. In utter contempt of his own weakness, yet with a tremour that deprived his redoubtable kick of half its wonted force, he spurned the relic with his foot. One word alone issued from his lips, elucidatory of what was passing in his mind, — it long remained imprinted on the memory of his faithful followers, — that word was " Gammon ! " The skull bounded across the beach till it reached the very margin of the stream ; — one instant more and it would be engulfed for ever. At that moment a loud " Ha ! ha ! ha ! " was distinctly heard by the whole train to issue from its bleached and toothless jaws : it sank beneath the flood in a horse laugh ! Meanwhile Sir Robert de Shurland felt an odd sort of sensation in his right foot. His boots had suflered in the wars. Great pains had been taken for their preser- vation. They had been " soled" and " heeled" more than once; — had they been " goloshed," their owner might have defied Fate ! Well has it been said that " there is no such thing as a trifle." A nobleman's life depended upon a question of ninepence ! The Baron marched on ; the uneasiness in his foot increased. He plucked off his boot ; — a horse's tooth was sticking in his great toe ! 96 GREY DOLPHIN. The result may be anticipated. Lame as he was, liig; lordship, with characteristic decision, would hobble on to Shurland ; his walk increased the inflammation ; a flagon of aqua vitce did not mend matters. He was in a high fever ; he took to his bed. Next morning the toe presented the appearance of a Bedfordshire carrot ; by dinner-time it had deepened to beet-root ; and when Bargrave, the leech, at last sliced it ofl", the gangrene was too confirmed to admit of remedy. Dame Martin thought it high time to send for Miss Margaret, who, ever since her mother's death, had been living with her maternal aunt, the abbess, in the Ursuline convent at Greenwich. The young lady came, and with her came one Master Ingoldsby, her cousin-german by the mothers side ; but the Baron was too far gone in the dead- thaw to recognise either. He died as he lived, uncon- quered and unconquerable. His last words were — " Tell the old hag she may go to ." Whither remains a secret. He expired without fully articulating the place of her destination. But who and what ivas the crone who prophesied the catastrophe? Ay, "that is the mystery of this w^on- derful history." — Some say it was Dame Fothergill, the late confessor's mamma ; others, St. Bridget hereelf ; others thought it was nobody at all, but only a phantom conjured up by conscience. As we do not know, we decline giving an opinion. And what became of the Clerk of Chatham ? — Mr. Simpkinson avers that he lived to a good old age, and was at last hanged by Jack Cade, with his inkhorn about his neck, for " setting boys copies." In support of this he adduces his name " Emmanuel " and refei's to A LEGEND OF SHEPPEY. 97 the liistoriaii Shakspeare. Mr. Peters, on the contrary, considers this to be what he calls one of Mr. Siinpkin- son's " Anacreonisms," inasmuch as, at the introduction of Mr. Cade's reform measure, the Clerk, if alive, would have been hard upon two hundred years old. The probability is, that the unfortunate alluded to was his great-grand son. Margaret Shurland in due course became Margaret Ingoldsby, her portrait still hangs in the gallery at Tap- pington. The features are handsome, but shrewish, be- traying, as it were, a touch of the old Baron's tempera- ment ; but we never could learn that she actually kicked her husband. She brought him a very pretty fortune in chains, owches, and Saracen ear-rings ; the barony, being a male fief, reverted to the Crown. In the abbey-church at Minster may yet be seen the tomb of a recumbent warrior, clad in the chain-mail of the 13th century.* His hands are clasped in prayer ; his legs, crossed in that position so prized by Templars in ancient, and tailors in modern, days, bespeak him a soldier of the ftiith in Palestine. Close behind his dex- ter calf lies sculptured in bold relief a horse's head ; and a respectable elderly lady, as she shews the monu- ment, fails not to read her auditors a fine moral lesson on the sin of ingratitude, or to claim a sympathising tear to the memory of poor " Grey Dolphin !" * Subsequent to the fii-st appearance of the forecroin;* narrative, the tomb alluded to has been opened during the course of certain repairs which the church has undc^rgone. Mr. Simpkinardoii him expc.t her, For he had promiiied to *' be home to tea ; " But having luckily the key o' the back door, He fondly hoped that, unperceived, he Might creep up stairs again, pretend to doze, And hoax his spouse with music from his nose. Vain, fruitless hope — ^The wearied sentinel At eve may overlook the crouching foe, Till ere his hand can sound the alarum-bell, He sinks beneath the unexpected blow ; Before the whiskers of Grimalkin fell, When slumbering on her post, the mouse may go ; — But woman, wakeful woman, 's never weary, — ^Above all, when she waits to thump her deary., Soon Mrs. Mason heard the well-known tread ; She heard the key slow creaking in the door. Spied through the gloom obscure, towards the bed Nick creeping soft^ as oft he had crept before; "Wlien, bang, she threw a something at his head. And Nick at once lay prostrate on the floor ; While she exclaimed with her indignant face on, — "How dare you use your Avife so, Mr. Mason ? " Spare we to tell how fiercely she debated. Especially the length of her oration, — Spare we to tell how Nick expostulated, Roused by the bump into a good set passion. So great, that more than once he execrated. Ere he crawl'd into bed in his usual fashion , — ^The Muses hate brawls ; suffice it then to say, He duck'd beneath the clothes — and there he lay ! 'Twas now the very witching time of night, When churchyards groan, and graves give up their .]p,ay a " white wencli's bhick eye," or by love-potions im- bibed from a ruby lip ; — but, were you ever really and bond fide bewitched, in the true Matthew Hopkins sense of the word ? Did you ever, for instance, find yourself from head to heel one vast complication of cramps ? — or burst out into sudorific exudation like a cold thaw, with the thermometer at zero ? — Were your eyes ever turned upside down, exhibiting nothing but their whites ? — Did you ever vomit a paper of crooked pins ? or expectorate Whitechapel needles ? — These are genu- ine and undoubted marks of possession ; and if you never experienced any of them, — why, " happy man be his dole !" Yet such things have been : yea, we are assured, and that on no moan authority, still are. The World, according to the best geographers, is divided into Europe, Asia, Africa, America, and Romney Marsh. In this last-named, and fifth, quarter of the globe, a Witch may still be occasionally discovered in favourable, i. e. stormy seasons, weathering Dungeness Point in an egg-shell, or careering on her broomstick 118 MRS. BOTIIERDV'S STORV. over Djmchui'ch wall. A cow may yet be sometimes seen galloping like mad, with tail erect, and an old pair of breeches on her horns, an unerring guide to the door of the crone whose magic arts have drained her udder. T do not, however, remember to have heard that any Conjuror has, of late, been detected in the district. Not many miles removed from the verge of this recondite region, stands a collection of houses, which its maligners call a fishing-town, and its well-wishers a Watering-place. A limb of one of the Cinque Ports, it has, (or lately had,) a corporation of its own, and has been thought considerable enough to give a second title to a noble family. Rome stood on seven hills ; Folkestone seems to have been built upon seventy. Its streets, lanes, and alleys, — fanciful distinctions with- out much real ditierence, — are agreeable enough to per- sons who do not mind running up and down stairs ; and the only inconvenience at all felt by such of its inhabitants as are not asthmatic, is when some heedless* urchin tumbles down a chimney, or an impertinent pedestrian peeps into a garret window. At the eastern extremity of the town, on the sea- beach, and scarcely above high water mark, stood, in the good old times, a row of houses then denominated " Frog-hole." Modern refinement subsequently eupho- nized the name into " East street ;" but " what's in a name ?" — the encroachments of Ocean have long since levelled all in one common ruin. Here, in the early part of the seventeenth century, flourished in somewhat doubtful reputation, but com- parative opulence, a compounder of medicines, one Master Erasmus Buckthorne ; the effluvia of wliose THE LEECH OF lOLKESTONE. 119 drug:* from witliin, mingling agreeably with the " ancient and fish-like smells" from without, wafted a delicious perfume throughout the neighbourhood. At seven of the clock, on the morning when Mrs. Botherby's narrative commences, a stout Suffolk " punch," about thirteen hands and a half in height, was slowly led up and down before the door of the pharmacopolist by a lean and withered lad, whose appearance warranted an opinion, pretty generally expressed, that his master found him as useful in experimentalizing as in house- hold drudgery ; and that, for every pound avoirdupoise of solid meat, he swallowed, at the least, two pounds troy weight of chemicals and galenicals. As the town clock struck the quarter. Master Buckthorne emerged from liis laboratory, and, putting the key carefully into his pocket, mounted the surefooted cob aforesaid, and proceeded up and down the acclivities and declivities of the town with the gravity due to his station and pro- fession. When he reached the open country, his pace was increased to a sedate canter, which, in somewhat more than Jialf an hour, brought " the horse and liis rider " in front of a handsome and substantial mansion, the numerous gable-ends and bayed windows of which bespoke the owner a man of worship, and one well to do in the world. " How now, Hodge Gardener ?" quoth the Leech, scarcely drawing bit ; for Punch seemed to be aware that he had reached his destination, and paused of his own accord ; " How now, man ? How fares thine em- ployer, worthy Master Marsh ? How hath lie done ^ How hath he slept ? — My potion hath done its office Ha!" 120 MKS. BOTHERBY'S STORY. " Alack ! ill at ease, worthy sir — ill at ease," returned the hind ; " his honour is up and stirring ; but he hatb rested none, and complaineth that the same gnawing pain devoureth, as it were, his very vitals ; in sooth he is ill at ease." " Morrow, doctor !" interrupted a voice from a case- ment opening on the lawn. " Good morrow ! I have looked for, longed for, thy coming this hour and more ; enter at once ; the pasty and tankard are impatient for thine attack ! " " Marry, Heaven forbid that I should baulk their fancy!" quoth the Leech sotto voce^ as, abandoning the bridle to honest Hodge, he dismounted, and followed a buxom-looking handmaiden into the breakfast parlour. There, at the head of his well-furnished board, sat Master Thomas Marsh, of Marston-hall, a Yeoman well respected in his degree: one of that sturdy and sterling class which, taking rank immediately below the Esquire, (a title in its origin purely military,) occupied, in the wealthier counties, the position in society now jfilied by the Country Gentleman. He was one of those of whom the proverb ran : " A Knight of Cales, A GeuUeinan of Wales, And a Laird of tlie North Coiintree ; A Yeoman of Kent, With his yearly rent, Will buy them out all three 1" A cold sirloin, big enough to frighten a Frenchman, filled the place of honour, counter-checked by a game- pie of no stinted dimensions ; while a silver flagon of "humming-bub," — viz. ale strong enough to blow a THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 121 man's beaver off, — smiled opposite in treaclierous amenity. The sideboard groaned beneath sundry massive cups and waiters of the purest silver ; while the huge skull of a fallow deer, with its branching horns, frowned majestically above. All spoke of affluence, of comfort, — all save the master, whose restless eye and feverish look hinted but too plainly the severest mental or bodily disorder. By the side of the proprietor of the mansion sat his consort, a lady now past the bloom of youth, yet still retaining many of its charms. The clear olive of her complexion, and " the darkness of her Anda- lusian eye," at once betrayed her foreign origin ; in fact, her " lord and master," as husbands were even then, by a legal fiction, denominated, had taken her to his bosom in a foreign country. The cadet of his family, Master Thomas Marsh, had early in life been engaged in com- merce. In the pursuit of his vocation he had visited Antwerp, Hamburg, and most of the Hanse Towns ; and had already formed a tender connexion with the orphan offspring of one of old Alva's officers, when the unex- pected deaths of one immediate, and two presumptive, heirs placed him next in succession to the family acres. He married, and brought home his bride ; who, by the decease of the venerable possessor, heart-broken at the loss of his elder children, became eventually lady of Marston-Hall. It has been said that she was beautiful, yet was her beauty of a character that operates on the fancy more than the affections; she was one to be admired rather than loved. The proud curl of her lip, the firmness of her tread, her arched brow, and stately carriage, showed the decision, not to say haughtiness, of ner soul; while her glances, whether lightening with FIRST SEFJES. Q 122 MRS. BOTHERBYS STORY. anger, or melting in extreme softness, betrayed the existence of passions as intense in kind as opposite in quality. She rose as Erasmus entered the parlour, and, bestowing on him a look fraught with meaning, quitted the room, leaving him in unrestrained communication with his patient. " 'Fore George, Master Buckthorne !" exclaimed the latter, as the Leech drew near, " I will no more of your pharmacy ; — burn, burn — gnaw, gnaw, — I had as lief the foul fiend w^ere in my gizzard as one of your drugs. Tell me in the devil's name, what is the matter with me !" Thus conjured, the practitioner paused, and even turned somewhat pale. There was a perceptible falter- ing in his voice, as, evading the question, he asked, " What say ycnr other physicians ?" " Doctor Phiz says it is wind, — Doctor Fuz says it is water, — and Doctor Buz says it is something between wind and water." " They are all of them wrong," said Erasmus Buck- thorne. "Truly, I think so," returned the patient. "Thej are manifest asses ; but you, good Leech, you are a hors^ of another colour. The world talks loudly of your learning, your skill, and cunning in arts the most abstruse ; nay, sooth to say, some look coldly on you therefore, and stickle not to aver that you are cater- cousin with Beelzebub himself." " It is ever the fate of science," murmured the profes- sor, " to be maligned by the ignorant and superstitious. But a truce with such folly ; — let me examine your palate." Master Marsh thrust out a tongue long, clear, and red THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 123 as beet-root. " There is nothing wrong there,'' said tlie Leech. " Your wrist : — no ; — the pulse is firm and regular, the skin cool and temperate. Sir, there is nothing the matter with you !" " Nothing the matter with me. Sir 'Potecary ? — Bui I tell you there is the matter with me, — much the matter with me. Why is it that something seems ever gnawing at my heart-strings ? — Whence this pain in the region of the liver ? — Why is it that I sleep not o' nights, — rest not o' days ? Why " " You are fidgety. Master Marsh," said the doctor. Master Marsh's brow grew dark ; he half rose from bis seat, supported himself by both hands on the arms of his elbow-chair, and in accents of mingled anger and astonishment repeated the word " Fidgety !" " Ay, fidgety," returned the doctor calmly. " Tut, man, there is naught ails thee save thine own over-ween- ing fancies. Take less of food, more air, put aside thy flagon, call for thy horse ; be boot and saddle the word ! Why, — hast thou not youth ? — " " I have," said the p-atient. " Wealth and a fair domain ?" " Granted," quoth Marsh cheerily. "And a fair wife?" " Yea," was the response, but in a tone something les? satisfied. " Then arouse thee, man, shake oft* this fantasy, betake thyself to thy lawful occasions, — use thy good lap, — follow thy pleasures, and think no more of these fancied ailments." " But I tell you, master mine, these ailments are not fancied. I lose my rest. I loathe my food, my doublet 124 MRS. BOTHERBYS STORY. site loosely on me, — these racking pains. My wife, top, when I meet her gaze, the cold sweat stands on my forehead, and I could almost think ^" Marsh paused abruptly, mused awhile, then added, looking steadily at his visitor, " These things are not right ; they pass the common, Master Erasmus Buckthorne." A slight shade crossed the brow of the Leech, but its passage was momentary ; his features softened to a smile in which pity seemed slightly blended with contempt. " Have done with such follies. Master Marsh. You are well, an you would but think so. Ride, I say, hunt, shoot, do anything, — disperse these melancholic humours, and become yom-self again." " Well, I will do your bidding," said Marsh, thought- fully. " It may be so ; and yet, — but I will do your bidding. Master Cobbe of Brenzet writes me that he hath a score or two of fat ewes to be sold a penny- worth ; I had thought to have sent Ralph Looker, but I will essay to go myself. Ho, there ! — saddle me the brown mare, and bid Ralph be ready to attend me on the gelding." An expression of pain contracted the features of Master Marsh as he rose and slowly quitted the apartment to prepare for his journey ; while the Leech, having bidden him farewell, vanished through an opposite door, and betook himself to the private boudour of the fair mistress of Marston, muttering as he went a quotation from a then newly-published play, "Not poppy, nor mandragora, Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep, Which thou own'dst yesterday." ***** THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 125 Of what passed at this interv.ew between the Folkestone doctor and the fair Spaniard, Mrs. BotheK'^y declares she could never obtain any satisfactory elucidav tion. Not that tradition is silent on the subject, — quite the contrary ; it is the abundance, not paucity, of the materials she supplies, and the consequent embarrass- ment of selection, that makes the difficulty. Some have averred that the Leech, whose character, as has been before hinted, was more than threadbare, employed his time in teaching her the mode of administering certain noxious compounds, the unconscious partaker whereof would pine and die so slowly and gradually as to defy suspicion. Others there were who affirmed that i^ucifer himself was then and there raised in proprid permnd, with all his personal attributes of horn and hoof. In support of this assertion, they adduce the testi- mony of the "aforesaid buxom housemaid, who protested that the Hall smelt that evening like a manufactory of matches. All, however, seemed to agree that the con- fabulation, whether human or infernal, was conducted with profound secresy, and protracted to a considerable length ; that its object, asftir as could be divined, meant anything but good to the head of the family ; that the lady, moreover, was heartily tired of her husband ; and that, in the event of his removal by disease or casualty, Master Erasmus Buckthorne, albeit a great philosophist, would have no violent objection to " throw physic to the dogs," and exchange his laboratory for the estate of Marston, its hve stock included. Some, too, have inferred that to him did Madam Isabel seriously incline ; while others have thought, induced perhaps by subscr quent events, that she was merely' using him for he? 126 MRS. hotherby's story. purposes ; that one Jose, a tall, bright-eyed, hook- nosed stripling from her native land, was a personage not unlikely to put a spoke in the doctor's wheel ; and that should such a chance arise, the Sage, wise as he was, would after all run no slight risk of being " bamboozled." Master Jose was a youth well-favoured, and ccmely to look upon. His office was that of page to the dame ; an office which, after long remaining in abeyance, has been of late years revived, as may well be seen in the persons of sundry smart hobbledehoys, now constantly to be met with on staircases and in boudoirs, clad, for the most part, in garments fitted tightly to the shape, the (ower moiety adorned with a broad stripe of crimson or silver lace, and the upper with what the first Wit of our times has described as " a favourable eruption of buttons." The precise duties of this employment have never, as far as we have heard, been accurately defined. The perfuming a handkerchief, the combing a lap-dog, and the occasional presentation of a sippet-shaped billet- doux^ are, and always have been, among them ; but these a young gentleman standing five foot ten, and aged nineteen " last grass," might well be supposed to have outgrown. Jose, however, kept his place, perhaps because he was not fit for any other. To the confer- ences between his mistrees and physician he had not been admitted ; his post was to keep watch and ward in the ante-room ; and, when the interview was con- cluded, he attended the lady and her visitor as far as the court-yard, where he held, with all due respect, the stirrup for the latter, as he once more resumed his position on the lack of Punch. Who was it that says "little pitchers have large THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 127 ears T' Some deep metaphysician of the potteries, who might have added that they have also quick eyes, and sometimes silent tongues. There was a little meta- phorical piece of crockery of this class, who, screened by a huge elbow-chair, had sat a quiet and unobserved spiectator of the whole proceedings between her mamma and Master Erasmus Buckthorne. This ^vas Miss Marian Marsh, a rosy-cheeked laughter-loving imp of some six years old ; but one who could be mute as a mouse when the fit was on her. A handsome and highly polished cabinet of the darkest ebony occupied a recess at one end of the apartment ; this had long been a great subject of speculation to little ISIiss. Her curiosity, however, had always been repelled ; nor had all her coaxing ever won her an inspection of the thou- sand and one pretty things which its recesses no doubt contained. On this occasion it was unlocked, and Marian was about to rush forward in eager anticipation of a peep at its interior, when, cliild as she was, the reflection struck her that she would stand a better chance of carrying her point by remaining perdue. Fortune for once favoured her : she crouched closer than before, and saw her mother take something from one of the drawers, which she handed over to the Leech. Strange mutterings followed, and words whose sounds were foreign to her youthful ears. Had she been older, their import, perhaps, might have been equally unknown. After a while there was a pause ; and then the lady, as in answer to a requisition from the gentleman, placed in his hand a something which she took from her toilet. The transaction, whatever its nature, seemed now to be complete, and the article wa? 128 carefully replaced in the drawer fpom which it had beec taken. A long, and apparently interesting, conversa- tion then took place between the parties, carried on in a low tone. At its termination, Mistress Marsh and Master Erasmus Buckthorne quitted the boudoir toge- ther. But the cabinet ! — ay, that was left unfastened * the folding-doors still remained invitingly expanded, the bunch of keys dangling from the lock. In an instant the spoiled child was in a chair; the drawer so recently closed, yielded at once to her hand, and her hurried researches were rewarded by the prettiest little waxen tloll imaginable. It was a firet-rate prize, and Miss lost no time in appropriating it to herself. Long before Madame Marsh had returned to her Sanctum^ Marian was seated under a laurustinus in the garden, nursing her new baby with the most affec- tionate solicitude. ***** " Susan, look here ; see what a nasty scratch I have got upon my hand," said the young lady, when routed out at length from her hiding place to her noontide meal. " Yes, Miss, this is always tlie way with you ! mend, mend, mend, — nothing but mend ! Scrambling about among the bushes, and tearing your clothes to rags. What with you, and with madam's farthingales and kirtles, a poor boAver-maiden has a fine time of it!" " But I have not torn my clothes, Susan, and it was not the bushes ; it was the doll : only see what a great ngly pin I have pulled out of it ! and look, here is another!" As she spoke, Marian drew forth one of those extended pieces of black pointed wire, with which, THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 120 in the days of toupees and pompoons, our foremothera were wont to secure their fly-caps and head-gear from the impertinent assaults of " Zephyrus and the Little Breezes." " And pray, Miss, where did you get this pretty doll, as you call it ?" asked Susan, turning over the puppet, and viewing it with a scrutinizing eye. *' Mamma gave it me," said the cliild. — This was a fib! " Indeed ! " quoth the girl thoughtfully ; and then, in half soliloquy, and a lower key, " Well ! I wish I may die if it doesn't look like master ! — But come to your dinner. Miss ! Hark ! the hell is striking One P'' Meanwhile Master Thomas Marsh, and his man Ralph, were threading the devious paths, then, as now, most pseudonymously dignified with the name of roads, that wound between Marston-Hall and the frontier of Romney Marsh. Their progress was comparatively slow ; for though the brown mare was as good a road- ster as man might back, and the gelding no mean nag of his hands, yet the tracts, rarely traversed save by the rude wains of the day, miry in the " bottoms," and covered with loose and rolling stones on the higher grounds, rendered barely passable the perpetual alter- nation of hill and valley. The master rode on in pain, and the man in listless- ness ; although the intercourse between two individuals so situated was much less restrained in those days than might suit the refinement of a later age, little passed approximating to conversation beyond an occasional and half-stifled groan from the one, or a vacant whistle from the other. An hour's riding had brought them 6* laO MRS. botiierby's story. among- the woods of Acryse ; and they were about tc descend one of those green and leafy Lanes, rendered by matted and overarching branches ahke impervious to shower or sunbeam, when a sudden and violent spasm seized on Master Marsh, and nearly caused him to fall from his horse. With some difficulty he succeeded in dismounting, and seating himself by the road side. Here he remained for a full half hour in great apparent agony ; the cold sweat rolled in large round drops adown his clammy forehead, a universal shivering palsied every limb, his eye-balls appeared to be starting from their sockets, and to his attached, though dull and heavy serving-man, he seemed as one struggling in the pangs of impending dissolution. His groans rose thick and frequent ; and the alarmed Ralph was hesi- tating between his disinclination to leave him, and his desire to procure such assistance as one of the few cot- tages, rarely sprinkled in that wild country, might afford, when, after a long-drawn sigh, his master's features as suddenly relaxed ; he declared himself better, the pang had passed away, and, to use his own expression, he, " felt as if a knife had been drawn from out his very heart." With Ralph's assistance, after a while, he again reached his saddle ; and, though still ill at ease from a deep-seated and gnawing pain, which ceased not, as he averred, to torment him, the violence of the paroxysm was spent, and it returned no more. Master and man pursued their way with increased ipeed, as, emerging from the wooded defiles, they at length neared the coast; then, leaving the romantic castle of Saltwood, with its neiglibouring town of Hithe, a little on their left, they proceeded along the THE LEEOH OF FOLKESTONE. 131 ancient paved causeway, and, crossing the old Roman road, or Watling, plunged again into the woods that stretched between Lympne and Ostenhanger. The sun rode high in the heavens, and its meridian blaze was powerfully felt by man and horse, when, again quitting their leafy covert, the travellers debouched on the open plain of Aldington Frith, a wide tract of unenclosed country stretchmg down to the very borders of " the Marsh " itself. Here it was, in the neighbouring chapelry, the site of which may yet be traced by the curious antiquary, that Elizabeth Barton, the " Holy Maid of Kent," had, something less than a hundred years previous to the period of our narrative, commenced that series of super- natural pranks which eventually procured for her head an unenvied elevation upon London Bridge ; and though the parish had since enjoyed the benefit of the incum- bency of Master Erasmus's illustrious and enlightened Namesake, still, truth to tell, some of the old leaven was even yet supposed to be at work. The place had, in fact, an ill name ; and, though Popish miracles had ceased to electrify its denizens, spells and charms, operating by a no less wondrous agency, were said to have taken their place. Warlocks, and other unholy subjects of Satan, were reported to make its wild recesses their favourite rendezvous, and that to an extent which eventually attracted the notice of no less a per- sonage than the sagacious Matthew Hopkins himself, Witchfinder-General to the British government. A great portion of the Frith, or Fright, as the name was then, and is still pronounced, had formerly been a Chase, with rights of Free-warren, &c., appertaining to 132 MRS. r.OTIIERBYS STORY. the Archbishops of the Province. Since the Reforma- tion, however, it liad been disparted ; and when Master Thomas Marsh, and his man Ralph, entered npon its confines, the open greensward exhibited a hvely scene, sufficiently explanatory of certain sounds that had already reached their ears while yet within the sylvan screen which concealed their origin. It was Fair-day: booths, stalls, and all the rude para- phernalia of an assembly that then met as much for the purposes of traffic as festivity, were scattered irre- gularly over the turf; pedlars, with their packs, horse- croupers, pig-merchants, itinerant venders of crockery and cutlery, wandered promiscuously among the min- gled groups, exposing their several wares and commo- dities, and soliciting custom. On one side was the gaudy riband, making its mute appeal to rustic gal- lantry; on the other the delicious brandy-ball and allui-ing lollipop, compounded after the most approved receipt in the " True Gentlewoman's Garland," and " raising the waters " in the mouth jf many an expec- tant urchin. Nor were rural sports wanting to those whom plea sure, rather than business, had drawn from their humble homes. Here Avas the tall and slippeiy pole, glittering in its grease, and crowned with the ample cheese, that mocked the hopes of the discomfited climber. There the fugitive pippin, swimming in water not of the.purest, and bobbing from the expanded lips of the juvenile Tan- talus. In this quarter the ear was pierced by squeaks from some beleaguered porker, whisking his well-soaped tail from the grasp of one already in fancy his captor In that, the eye rcste(.], with undisguised delight, upov THE LEECFI OF FOLKESTONE. 133 the grimaces of grinning candidates for the honours of the horse-collar. All was fun, frolic, courtship, junket- ing, and jollity. Maid Marian, indeed, with her lieges, Robin Hood, Scarlet, and little John, was wanting ; Friar Tuck was absent; even the Hobby-horse had disappeared; but the agile Morrice-dancers yet were there, and jingled their bells merrily among stalls well stored with ginger- bread, tops, whips, whistles, and all those noisy instru- ments of domestic torture in which scenes like these are even now so fertile. Had I a foe whom I held at dead- liest feud, I would entice his favourite child to a Fair, and buy him a Whistle and a Penny-trumpet. In one corner of the green, a little apart from the thickest of the throng, stood a small square stage, nearly level with the chins of the spectators, whose repeated bursts of laughter seemed to intimate the presence of something more than usually amusing. The platform was divided into two unequal portions ; the smaller of which, surrounded by curtains of a coarse canvass, veiled from the eyes of the profane the penetralia of this moveable temple of Esculapius, for such it was. Within its interior, and secure from vulgar curiosity, the Quack-salver had hitherto kept himself ensconced ; occupied, no doubt, in the preparation and arrangement of that wonderful panacea which was hereafter to shed the blessings of health among the admiring crowd. Meanwhile his attendant Jack-pudding was busily* em- ployed on the proscenium^ doing his best to attract attention by a practical facetiousness which took won- derfully with the spectators, interspersing it with the melodious notes of a huge cow's horn. Tiie fellow's 134 N costume varied but little in character from that in wh^^n the late (alas ! that we should have to write the word — late !) Mr. Joseph Grimaldi was accustomed to pre- sent himself before " a generous and enlightened public ;" the principal difterence consisted in this, that the upper -garment was a long white tunic of a coarse linen, sur- mounted by a caricature of the ruft' then fast falling into disuse, and was secured from the throat downwards by a single row of broad white metal buttons ; and his legs were cased in loose wide trousers of the same material ; while his sleeves, prolongued to a most disproportionate extent, descended far below the fingers, and acted as flappers in the somersets and caracoles, with which ho diversified and enlivened his antics. Consummate im- pudence, not altogether unmixed with a certain sly humour, sparkled in his eye through the chalk and ochre with which his features were plentifully bedaubed ; and especially displayed itself in a succession of jokes, the coarseness of which did not seem to detract from their merit in the eyes of his applauding audience. He was in the midst of a long and animated harangue explanatory of his master's high pretensions ; he had informed his gaping auditors that the latter was the seventh son of a seventh son, and of course, as they very well knew, an IJnborn Doctor ; that to this happy accident of birth he added the advantage of most extensive travel ; that in search after science he had not only perambulated the whole of this world, but had trespassed on the boundaries of the next : that the depths of the Ocean and the bowels of the Earth were alike familiar to him ; that besides salves and cataplasms of sovereign virtue, by combining sundry mosses, ga- THE LEE(;H of FOLKESTONE. 185 tliered many tliousand fathoms below the surface of the sea, with certain unknown drugs found in an undis- covered ishmd, and boiHng the whole in the lava of Vesuvius, he had succeeded in producing his celebrated balsam of Crackapanoka, the never-failing remedy foi all human disorders, and which, with a proper trial allowed, would go near to reanimate the dead. " Draw near ! " continued the worthy, " draw near, my masters ! and you, my good mistresses, draw near, every one of you. Fear not high and haughty carriage ; though greater than King or Kaiser, yet is the mighty Aldro- vando milder than mother's milk ; flint to the proud, to the humble he is as melting as wax ; he asks not your disorders, he sees them himself at a glance — nay, with- out a glance ; he tells your ailments with his eyes shut ! — Draw near ! draw near ! tlie more incurable the better ! List to the illustrious Doctor Aldrovando, first Physician to Prester John, Leech to the Grand Llama, \m\ Hakim in Ordinary to Mustapha Muley Bey ! '' " Hath your master ever a charm for the toothache, an't please you ?" asked an elderly countryman, whose swollen cheek bespoke his interest in the question. " A charm ! — a thousand, and every one of them infallible. Toothache, quotha ' I had hoped you had come with every bone in your body fractured or out of joint. A toothache ! — j)ropound a tester, master o' mine — we ask not more for such trifles : do my bidding, and thy jaws, even with the word, shall cease to trouble thee." The clown, fumbling a while in a deep leathern pui-se, at length produced a sixpence, which he tendered to the jester. " Now to thy master, and bring me the charm forthwith." ]3(5 MRS. BOTHERBY^S STORV " Nay, honest man ; to disturb the mighty xVldro- vando on such shght occasion were pity of my life : areed my counsel aright, and I will warrant thee for the nonce. Hie thee home, friend ; infuse this powder in cold spring-water, fill thy mouth with the mixture, and sit upon thy fire till it boils I" " Out on thee for a pestilent knave !" cried the cozened countryman ; but the roar of merriment around bespoke the by-standers well pleased with the jape put upon him. He retired, venting his spleen in audible murmurs ; and the mountebank, finding the feelings of the mob enlisted on his side, waxed more impudent every instant, filling up the intervals between his fool- eries with sundry capers and contortions, and discordant notes from the cow's horn, " Draw near, draw near, my masters ! Here have ye a remedy for every evil under the sun, moral, pliy- sical, natural, and supernatural ! Hath any man a termagant wife ? — here is that will tame her presently ! Hath any one a smoky chimney ? — here is an incon- tinent cure !" To the first infliction no man ventured to plead guilty, though there were those standing by who thought their neighbours might have profited withal. For the last named recipe started forth at least a dozen candidates. With the greatest gravity imaginable, Pierrot, having pocketed their groats, delivered to each a small packet, curiously folded and closely sealed, con raining, as he averred, directions which, if truly observed, would preclude any chimney from smoking for a whole year. . They whose curiosity led them to dive into the mystery, found that a s}«rig of mountain ash, culled by THE LPJECII OF FOLKESTONE. 1537 moonliglit, was the charm recommended, coupled, how- ever, with the proviso that no fire should be lighted on the hearth during* its exercise. The frequent bursts of merriment proceeding from this quarter, at length attracted the attention of Master Marsh, whose line of road necessarily brought him near this end of the fair ; he drew bit in front' of the stage just as its noisy occupant, having laid aside his formida- li]e horn, was drawing still more largely on the amaze- ment of "the public" by a feat of especial wonder, — he was eating fire ! Curiosity mingled with astonishment was at its height ; and feelings not unallied to alarm were beginning to manifest themselves, among the softer sex especially, as they gazed on the flames that issued from the mouth of the living volcano. All eyes, indeed, were fixed upon the fire-eater, with an intentness that left no room for observing another worthy who had now emerged upon the scene. This was, however, no less a personage than the Deus ex machind, — the illustrious Aldrovando himself Short in stature and spare in form, the sage had somewhat increased the former by a steeple-crowned hat, adorned with a cock's feather ; while the thick shoulder-padding of a quilted doublet, surmounted by a falling band, added a Httle to his personal importance in point of breadth. His habit was composed through- out of black serge, relieved with scarlet slashes in the sleeves and trunks; red was the feather in his hat, i-ed were the roses in his shoes, which rejoiced moreover in a pair of red heels. The lining of a short cloak of fade<3 velvet, that hung transversely over his left shoulder, we also red. Indeed, from all that we could ever sec or hea 1H8 MRS. BOTHERBY S STORY. this agreeable alternation of red and black appears lo be the mixture of colours most approved at the court ol Beelzebub, and the one most generally adopted by hia friends and favourites. His features were sharp and shrewd, and a fire sparkled in his keen grey eye, much at variance with the wrinkles that ran their irregular furrows above his prominent and bushy brows. He had advanced slowly from behind his screen while the attention of the multitude was absorbed by the pyro- technics of Mr. Merry man, and, stationing himself at the extreme corner of the stage, stood quietly leaning on a crutch-handle walking-staff of blackest ebony, his glance steadily fixed on the face of Marsh, from whose countenance the amusement he had insensibly begun to derive had not succeeded in removing all traces of bodily pain. For a while the latter was unobservant of the inqui- sitorial survey with which he was regarded; the eyes of the parties, however, at length met. The brown mare had a fine shoulder ; she stood pretty nearly six- teen hands. Marsh himself, though slightly bowed by ill health and the "coming autumn" of life, was full six feet in height. His elevation giving him an unob- structed view over the heads of the pedestrians, he had naturally fallen into the rear of the assembly,, which brought him close to the diminutive Doctor, with whose face, despite the red heels, his own was about upon a level. " And what makes Master Marsh here ? — what sees he in the mummeries of a miserable buffoon to divert him when his life is in jeopardy ?" said a shrill cracked 7oice that sounded as in his very ear. It was the Doctor who spoke. THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 139 "Knowest thou me, friend?" said Marsh, scanning with awakened interest the figure of his questioner : " I call thee not to mind ; and yet — stay, where have we met ?" " It skills not to declare," was the answer ; " suffice it we have met, — in other climes perchance, — and now meet happily again — happily at least for thee." " Why truly the trick of thy countenance reminds me of somewhat I have seen before ; where or when I know not: but what wouldst thou with me?" " Nay, rather what wouldst thou here, Thomas Marsh ? What wouldst thou on the Frith of Alding- ton ? — is it a score or two of paltry sheep ? or is it something nearer to thy heart V Marsh started as the last words were pronounced with more than common significance : a pang shot through him at the moment, and the vinegar aspect of the charlatan seemed to relax into a smile half compassionate, half sardonic. " Grammercy," quoth Marsh, after a long-draw u breath, " what knowest thou of me, fellow, or of my concerns ? What knowest thou " " This know I, Master Thomas Marsh," said the stranger gravely, " that thy life is even now perilled, evil practices are against thee ; but no matter, thou art quit for the nonce — other hands than mine have saved thee ! Thy pains are over. Hark ! the clock strikes One /" As he spoke, a single toll from the bell-tower of Belsington came, wafted by the western breeze, over the thick-set and lofty oaks which inter- vened between the Frith and what had been once a priory. Doctor Aldrovando turned as the sound 140 MRS. botherby's MORr. came floating on the wind, and was moving, as if half in anger, towards the other, side of the stage, where the mountebank, his fires extinct, was now disgorging to the admiring crowd yard after yard of gaudy- coloured riband. " Stay ! Nay, prithee stay !" cried Marsh eagerly, " I was wrong ; in faith I was. A change, and that a sudden and most marvellous, hath indeed come over me ; I am free ; I breathe again ; I feel as though a load of years had been removed ; and — is it possible ? — hast thou done this ?" " Thomas Marsh !" said the doctor, pausing, and turning for the moment on his heel, " I have not : I repeat, that other and more innocent hands than mine have done this deed. Nevertheless, heed my counsel well ! Thou art parlously encompassed ; I, and I only, have the means of relieving thee. Follow thy courses ; pursue thy journey ; but as thou valuest life and more than hfe, be at the foot of yonder woody knoll what time the rising moon throws her first beam upon the bare and blighted summit that towers above its trees." He crossed abruptly to the opposite quarter of the scaffolding, and was in an instant deeply engaged in listening to those whom the cow's horn had attracted, and in prescribing for their real or fancied ailments. Vain were all Marsh's efforts again to attract his notice ; it was evident that he studiously avoided him ; and when, after an hour or more spent in useless endeavour, he saw the object of his anxiety seclude himself once more within his canvass screen, he rod€ slowly and thoughtfully off the field. THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 141 AVhat. should he do ? Was the man a mere quack ? \n impostor ? — His name thus obtained ? — that might be easily done. But then, his secret griefs : the doctor's knowledge of them ; their cure ; for he felt that his pains were gone, his healthful feelings restored ! True ; Aldrovando, if that were his name, had dis- claimed all co-operation in his recovery : but he knew, or he at least announced it. Nay, more ; he had hinted that he was yet in jeopardy ; that practices — and the chord sounded strangely in unison with one that had before vibrated within him — that practices were in ope- ration against his life ! It was enough ! He would keep tryst with the Conjurer, if conjurer he were; and, at least, ascertain who and what he was, and hov/ he had become acquainted with his own person and secret afflictions. When the late Mr. Pitt was determined to keep out Bonaparte, and prevent his gaining a settlement in the county of Kent, among other ingenious devices adopted for that purpose, he caused to be constructed what was then, and has ever since been, conventionally termed a " Military Canal." This is a not very practicable ditch, some thirty feet wide, and nearly nine feet deep — in the middle, — extending from the town and port of Hithe to within a mile of the town and port of Rye, a distance of about twenty miles ; and forming as it were, the cord of a bow, the arc of which constitutes that remote fifth quarter of the globe spoken of by travellers. Trivial objections to the plan were made at the time by cavillers ; and an old gentleman of the neighbourhood, who proposed as a cheap substitute, to put down his own cocked-hat upon a pole, was deserv 142 eclly pooh-pooh'd down ; in fact, the job, though rather an expensive one, Avas found to answer remark- ably well. The French managed, indeed, to scramble over the Rhine, and the Rhone, and other insignificant currents; but they never did, nor could, pass Mr. Pitt's " Military Canal." At no great distance from the centre of this cord rises abruptly a sort of woody promontory, in shape almost conical; its sides covered with thick underwood, above which is seen a bare and brown summit rising like an Alp in miniature. The ''defence of the nation" not being then in existence, Master Marsh met Avith no obstruction in re?.ching this place of appointment long before the time prescribed. So much, indeed, w^as his mind occupied by his adven- ture and extraordinary cure, that his original design had been abandoned, and Master Cobbe remained unvisited. A rude hostel in the neighbourhood furnished enter- tainment for man and horse ; and here, a full hour before the rising of the moon, he left Ralph and the other beasts, proceeding to his rendezvous on foot and alone. "You are punctual. Master Marsh," squeaked th(. shrill voice of the doctor, issuing from the thicket as the first silvery gleam trembled on the aspens above. " 'Tis> " well : now follow me and in silence." The fii-st part of the command Marsh hesitated not to obey ; the second was more difficult of observance. " Who and what are you ? Whither are you lead- ing me ? " burst not unnaturally from his lips ; but all question was at once cut shoH by the peremptory tone? of his guide. "Hush! I say; your finger on your lip, thero br THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 143 nawks abroad : follow me, and that silently and quickly." The little man turned as he spoke, and led the way through a scarcely perceptible path, or track, which wound among the underwood. The lapse of a few minutes brought them to the door of a low building, so hidden by the surrounding trees that few would have suspected its existence. It was a cottage of rather extraordinary dimensions, but consisting of only one floor. No smoke rose from its solitary chimney ; no cheering ray streamed from its single window, which was, however, secured by a shutter of such thickness as to preclude the possibility of any stray beam issuing from within. The exact size of the building it was, in that uncertain light, difficult to distinguish, a portion of it seeming buried in the wood behind. The door gave way on the application of a key, and Marsh followed his conductor resolutely, but cautiously, along a narrow passage, feebly lighted by a small taper that winked and twinkled at its farther extremity. The Doctor, as he approached, raised it from the ground, and, opening an adjoining door, ushered his guest into the room beyond. It was a large and oddly furnished apartment, insuffi- ciently lighted by an iron lamp that hung from the roof, and scarcely illumined the walls and angles, which seemed to be composed of some dark-coloured wood. On one side, however. Master Marsh could discover an article bearing strong resembance to a coffin ; on the other was a large oval mirror in an ebony frame, and in the midst of the floor was described, in red chalk, a double circle, about six feet in diameter, its inner verge inscribed with sundry hieroglypliics, agreeably relieved at intervals with an alternation of skulls and cross bones. 144 MRS. BOTHERBYS STORY. In the very centre was deposited one skull of such siir passing size and thickness as would have filled the soul of a Spurzheira or De Ville with wonderment. A large book, a naked sword, an hour glass, a chafing dish, and a black cat, completed the list of moveables ; with the exception of a couple of tapers which stood on each side of the mirror, and which the strange gentleman now proceeded to light from the one in his hand. As they flared up with what Marsh thought a most unnatural brilliancy, he perceived, reflected in the glass behind, a dial suspended over the coffin-like article already men- tioned ; the hand was fast verging towards the hour of nine. The eyes of the little Doctor seemed riveted on the horologe. " Now strip thee, Master Marsh, and that quickly : untruss, I say ! discard thy boots, doflf doublet and hose, and place thyself incontinent in yonder bath." The visiter cast his eyes again upon the formidable- looking article, and perceived that it was nearly filled with water. A cold bath, at such an hour and under such auspices, was anything but inviting : he hesitated, and turned his eyes alternately on the Doctor and the Black Cat. " Trifle not the time, man, an you be wise," said the former : " Passion of my heart ! let but yon minute- hand reach the hour, and tho'i not immersed, thy life were not w^orth a pin's fee ! " The Black Cat gave vent to a single Mew, — a most unnatural sound for a mouser, — it seemed as it were mewed through a cow's horn. " Quick, Master Marsh ! uncase, or you perish ! " repeated his strange host, throwing as he spoke a hand- THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 145 ful of some dingy-looking powders into the brasier. " Behold the attack is begun ! " A thick cloud rose from the embers ; a cold shivering shook the astonished Yeoman ; sliarp pricking pains penetrated his ankles and tho palms of his hands, and, as the smoke cleared away, he distinctly saw and recognised in the mirror the boudoir of Marston Hall. The doors of the well-known ebony cabinet were closed; but fixed against them, and standing out in strong relief from the contrast afforded by the sable background, was a waxen image — of himself ! It appeared to be secured, and sustained in an upright posture, by large black pins driven through the feet and palms, the latter of which were extended in a cruciform position. To the right and left stood his wife and Jose ; in the middle, with his back towards him, was a figure which he had no difficulty in recognising as that of the Leech of Folkestone. The latter had just succeeded in fastening the dexter hand of the image, and was now in the act of drawing a broad and keen-edged sabre from its sheath. The Black Cat mewed again. " Haste or you die ! " said the Doctor, — Marsh looked at the dial; it w^anted but four minutes of nine: he felt that the crisis of his fate was come. Off" went his heavy boots ; doublet to the right, galligaskins to the left ; never was man moi*#swiftly disrobed : in two minutes, to use an Indian expression, " he was all face ! " in another he was on his back, and up to his chin, in a bath which smelt strongly as of brimstone and garlic. " Heed well the clock !" cried the Conjuror : " with the first stroke of Nine plunge thy head beneath the FIRST SERIES. ^ 146 MRS. botherby's story. water, sufter not a hair above tlie surface ; plunge deeply or thou art lost !" The little man had seated himself in the centre of the circle upon the large skull, elevating his legs at an angle of forty-five degrees. In this position he spun round with a velocity to be equalled only by that of a tee-totum, the red roses on his insteps seeming to describe a circle of fire. The best buckskins that ever mounted at Melton had soon yielded to such rotatory friction — but he spun on — the Cat mewed, bats and obscene birds fluttered over head ; Erasmus was seen to raise his weapon, the clock struck ! — and Marsh, who had " ducked" at the instant, popped up his head again, spitting and sputtering, half-choked with the infernal solution, which had insinuated itself into his mouth, and ears, and nose. All disgust at his nauseous dip, was, however, at once removed, when, casting his eyes on the glass, he saw the consternation of the party whose persons it exhibited. Erasmus had evidently made his blow and failed ; the figure was unmutilated ; the hilt remained in the hand of the striker, while the shivered blade lay in shining fragments on the floor. The Conjuror ceased his spinning, and brought him- self to an anchor; the Black Cat purred, — its purring seemed strangely mixed with the self-satisfied chuckle of a human being. — Wlro-e had Marsh heard something like it before ? He was rising from his unsavoury couch, when a motion from the little man checked him. " Rest where you are, Thomas Marsh ; so far all goes well, but the danger is not yet over!" He looked again, and per- ceived that the shadowy triumvirate were in deep and THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. .147 eager consultation ; the fragments of the shattered weapon appeared to undergo a close scrutiny. The result was clearly unsatisfactory ; the lips of the parties moved rapidly, and much gesticulation might be observed, but no sound fell upon the ear. The hand of the dial had nearly reached the quarter: at once the parties separated : and Buckthorne stood again before the figure, his hand armed with a long and sharp- pointed misericorde, a dagger little in use of late, but such as, a century before, often performed the part of a modern oyster-knife, in tickling the osteology of a dis- mounted cavalier through the shelly defences of his plate armour. Again he raised his arm. "Duck!" roared the Doctor, spinning away upon his cephalic pivot : — the black Cat cocked his tail, and seemed to mew the word " Duck !" — Down went Master Marsh's head ; — one of his hands had unluckily been resting on the edge of the bath : he drew it hastily in, but not alto- gether scathless ; the stump of a rusty nail, projecting from the margin of the bath, had caught and slightly grazed it. The pain was more acute than is usually produced by such trivial accidents ; and Marsh, on once more raising his head, beheld the dagger of the Leech sticking in the little finger of the wax figure, which it had seemingly nailed to the cabinet door. " By my truly, a scape o' the narrowest !" quoth the Conjuror : " the next course, dive you not the readier, there is no more life in you than in a pickled herring. — What ! courage, Master Marsh : but be heedful ; an they miss again, let them bide the issue !" He drew his hand athwart his brow as he spoke and dashed off" the perspiration, which the violence of hifi 148 MRS. BOTHERBY S STORY. exercise liad drawn from every pore. Black Tom sprang upon the edge of tlie bath, and stared full in the face of the bather : his sea-green eyes were lambent with unholy fire, but their marvellous obliquity of vision was not to be mistaken ; the very countenance, too ! — Could it be ? — the features were feline, but their expres- sion was that of the Jack Pudding ! Was the Mounte- bank a Cat? — or the Cat a Mountebank? — it was all a mystery ; — and Heaven' knows how long Marsh might have continued staring at Grimalkin, had not his atten- tion been again called by Aldrovando to the magic mirror. Great dissatisfaction, not to say dismay, seemed now to pervade the conspirators ; Dame Isabel was closely inspecting the figure's wounded hand, while Jose was aiding the pharmacopolist to charge a huge petronel with powder and bullets. The load was a heavy one ; but Erasmus seemed determined this time to make sure of his object. Somewhat of trepidation might be observed in his manner as he rammed down the balls, and his withered cheek appeared to have acquired an increase of paleness ; but amazement rather than fear was the prevailing symptom, and his countenance betrayed no jot of irresolution. As the clock was about to chime half-past nine, he planted himself with a firm foot in front of the image, waved his unoccupied hand with a cautionary gesture to his companions, and, as they hastily retired on either side, brought the muzzle of his weapon within half a foot of his mark. As the shadowy form was about to draw the trigger. Marsh again plunged his head beneath the surface ; and the sound of an explosion, as of fire-arms, mingled with the TTIK LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 149 rush of water that poured into his ears. His immersion was but momentary, yet did he feel as though half suffocated : he sprang from the bath, and, as his eye fell on the mirror, he saw, — or thought he saw, — the Leech of Folkestone lying dead on the floor of his wife's boudoir, his head shattered to pieces, and his hand still grasping the stock of a bursten petronel. He saw no more ; his head swam, his senses reeled, the whole room was turning round, and, as he feL to the ground, the last impressions to which he was con- scious were the chucklings of a hoarse laughter, and the mewings of a Tom Cat ! Master Marsh was found the next morning by his bewildered serving-man, stretched before the door of the humble hostel at which Tie sojourned. His clothes were somewhat torn and much bemired ! and deeply did honest Ralph marvel that one so staid and grave, as Master Marsh of Marston should thus have played the roisterer, missing, perchance, a profitable bargain for the drunken orgies of midnight wassail, or the endearments of some rustic light-o'-love. Tenfold was his astonish- ment increased when, after retracing in silence their journey of the preceding day, the Hall, on their arrival about noon, was found in a state of uttermost confusion. No wife stood there to greet with the smile of bland affection her returning spouse ; no page to hold his stirrup, or receive his gloves, his hat, and riding-rod. — The doors were open, the rooms in most admired disorder; men and maidens peeping, hurrying hither and thither, and popping in and out, like rabbits in a warren. — The lady of the mansion was nowhere to be found. 160 MHs, botherby's story. Jose, too, had disappeared ; the latter had been last Been riding furiously towards Folkestone early in the preceding afternoon; to a question from Hodge Gar- dener he had hastily answered, that he bore a missive of moment from his mistress. The lean apprentice of Erasmus Buckthorne declared that the page had sum- moned his master, in haste, about six of the clock, and that they had rode forth together, as he verily believed, on their way back to the Hall, where he had supposed Master Buckthorne's services to be suddenly required on some pressing emergency. Since that time he had seen nought of either of them : the grey cob, however, had returned late at night, masterless, with his girths loose, and the saddle turned upside down. Nor was Master Erasmus Buckthorne ever seen again. Strict search was made through the neighbourhood, but without success ; and it was at length presumed that he must, for reasons which nobody could divine, have absconded, together Avith Jose and his faithless mistress. The latter had carried off" with her the strong box, divers articles of valuable plate, and jewels of price. Her boudoir appeared to have been completely ransacked ; the cabinet and drawers stood open and empty; the very carpet, a luxury then newly introduced into Eng- land, was gone. Marsh, however, could trace no vestige of the visionary scene which he affirmed to have been last night presented to his eyes. Much did the neighbours marvel at his story: — some thought hira mad ; others, that he was merely indulging in that privilege to which, as a traveller, he had a right indefeasible. Trusty Ralph sfiid nothing, but shrugged his shoulders ; and, falling into the rear, THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 151 imitated the act on of raising a wine-cup to his lips An opinion, indeed, soon prevailed, that Master Thomas Marsh had gotten, in common parlance, exceedingly drunk on the preceding evening, and had dreamt all that he so circumstantially related. This belief acquired additional credit when they, whom curiosity induced to visit the woody knoll of Aldington Mount, declared that they could find no building such as that described, nor any cottage near ; save one, indeed, a low-roofed hovel, once a house of public entertainment, but now half in ruins. The " Old Cat and Fiddle" — so was the tene- ment called — had been long uninhabited ; yet still ex- hibited the remains of a broken sign, on which the keen observer might decipher something like a rude portrait of the animal from which it derived its name. Tt was also supposed still to aftbrd an occasional asylum to the smugglers of the coast, but no trace of any visit Trom sage or mountebank could be detected ; nor was the wise Aldrovando, whom many remembered to have seen at the fair, ever found again on all that country side. Of the runaways, nothing was ever certainly known. A boat, the property of an old fisherman who plied his trade on the outskirts of the town, had been seen to quit the bay that night ; and there were those who de- clared that she had more hands on board than Garden and his son, her usual complement ; but, as a gale came on, and the frail bark was eventually found keel upwards on the Goodwin Sands, it was presumed that she had struck on that fatal quicksand in the dark, and that all on board had perished. Little Marian, whom her profligate mother had 152 MRS. botherby's story. abandoned, grew up to be a fine girl, ai I a handsome. She became, moreover, heiress to Mai-ston Hall, and brought the estate into the Ingoldsby family by her marriage with one of its scions. Thus far Mrs. Botherby. It is a little singular that, on pulling down the old Hall in my grandfather's time, a human skeleton was discovered among the rubbish : under what particular part of the building, I could never with any accuracy ascertain ; but it was found enveloped in a tattered cloth, that seemed to have been once a carpet, and which fell to pieces almost immediately on being ex- posed to the air. The bones were perfect, but those of one hand were wanting; and the skull, perhaps from the labourer's pick-axe, had received considerable injury ; the worm-eaten stock of an old-fashioned pistol lay near, together with a rusty piece of iron which a work- man, more sagacious than his fellows, pronounced a portion of the lock, but nothing was found which the utmost stretch of human ingenuity could twist into a barrel. The portrait of the fair Marian hangs yet in the Gallery of Tappington ; and near it is another, of a young man in the prime of life, whom Mrs. Botherby affirms to be that of her father. It exhibits a mild and rather melancholy countenance, with a high forehead, and the peaked beard and moustaches of the seventeenth century. The signet-finger of the left hand is gone, and appears, on close inspection, to have been painted out by some later artist ; possibly in compliment to the tradition, which, teste Botherby, records that of Mr. Mai*sh to have gangrened, and to have undergone ?yi- THE LEECH OF P^OLKESTONE. 153 putation at the knuckle-joint. If really the resemblance of the gentleman alluded to, it must have been taken at some period antecedent to his marriage. There is neither date nor painter's name ; but, a little above the head, on the dexter side of the picture, is an escutcheon, bearing " Quarterly, Gules and Argent, in the first quarter a horse's head of the second ;" beneath it are the words " ^tatis suce 26." On the opposite side is a mark, which Mr. Simpkinson declares to be that of a Merchant of the Staple, and pretends to discover, in the monogram comprised in it, all the characters which compose the name of THOMAS MARSH, of MARSTON. Respect for ilie feelings of an honourable family, — nearly connected with the Ingoklsbys, — has induced me to veil the real " sponsorial and patronymic appel- lations " of my next hero under a sobriquet interfering neither with rhyme nor rhythm."^ I shall merely add that every incident in the story bears, on the face of it, the stamp of veracity, and that many " persons of honour" in the county of Berks who well recollected Sir George Rooke's expedition against Gibraltar, would, if they were now alive, gladly bear testimony to the truth of every syllable. • Pack o' nonsense !— Every body as belongs to him is dead and gone— and every body knows that the poor young gentleman's real name wasn't Sobriquet at all, but Hampden Pye, Esq., and that one of his uticles— or cousins— used to make verses about the king and the queen, and had a sack of money for doing it every year ; — and that's his picture in the blue coat and little gold-laced cocked hat, that hangs on the stairs over the door of the passage that leads to the blue room.— Sobriquet ?— but there !— The Squire wrote it after dinner 1 Elizabeth Botherby. 155 LEGEND OF HAMILTON TIGHE. The Captain is walking his quarter-deck, "With a troubled brow and a bended neck ; One eye is down through the hatchway cast, The other turns up to the truck on the mast ; Yet none of the crew may venture to hint " Our Skipper hath gotten a sinister squint 1 " The Captain again the letter hath read Which the bum-boat woman brought out to Spithead- Still, since the good ship sail'd away, He reads that letter thi*ee times a-day ; Yet the writing is broad and fair to see, As a Skipper may read in his degree. And the seal is as black, and as broad, and as flat, As his own cockade in his own cock'd hat : He reads, and he says, as he walks to and fro, " Curse the old woman — she bothers me so ! '* He pauses now, for the topmen hail — " On the larboard quarter a sail ! a sail ! " Tliat grim old Captain he turns him quick, And bawls through his trumpet for Hairy-faced Dick. " The breeze is blowing — ^huzza ! huzza ! The breeze is blowing — away 1 away ! The breeze is blowing — a race ! a race ! The breeze is blowing — we near the chase ! Blood will flow, and bullets will fly, — Oh where will be then young Hamilton Tighe ! ** — " On the foeman's deck, where a man should be, "With his sword in his hand, and his foe at his knee. Cockswain or boatswain, or reefer may try, Rut tlie first man on board will be Hamilton Tighe I' * •» * * 156 LEGEND OF Hairy-faced Dick hath a swarthy hue, Between a ginger-bread-nut and a Jew, And his pigtail is long, and bushy, and thick, Like a ])Uinp-handle stuck on the end of a stick Hairy-faced Dick understands his trade ; He stands by the breech of a long carronade, The linstock glows in his bony hand, Waiting that grim old Skipper's command. " The bullets are flying — ^huzza ! huzza ! The bullets are flying — away ! away ! "— r The brawny boarders mount by the chains, And are over their buckles in blood and in brains : On the foeman's deck, where a man should be. Young Hamilton Tighe Waves his cutlass high. And Capitaine Crapaud bends low at his knee Hairy-faced Dick, linstock in hand, Is waiting that grim-looking Skipper's command: — A wink comes sly From that sinister eye — Hairy-faced Dick at once lets fly. And knocks off the head of yonng Hamilton Tighe 1 There's a lady sits lonely in bower and hall, Her pages and handmaidens come at her call : " Now, haste ye, my handmaidens, haste and see How he sits there and glow'rs with his head on his knee The maidens smile, and, her thoughts to destroy. They bring her a little, pale, mealy-faced boy ; And the mealy-faced boy says, " Mother dear, Now Hamilton's dead, I've a thousand a year J " The lady has donn'd her mantle and hood. She is bound for shrift at St. Mary's Rood ; — " Oh ! the taper shall burn, and the bell shall toll. And the mass shall be said for my step-son's soul, And tiie tablet fair shall be hung on high, Orate pro anima Hamilton l^ghe 1 " IIAMfLTON TTGHE. 157 Her eoacli and four Draws up to the door "With her groom, and her footman, and half a score moro • The Lady steps into her coach alone. And they hear her sigh, and they hear her groan ; They close the door, and they turn the pin. But there^s One rides with her that never stepped in ! All the way there and all the way back. The harness strains, and the coach-springs crack, The horses snort, and plunge, and kick, Till the coachman thinks he is driving Old Nick ; And the grooms and the footmen wonder, and say, " What makes the old coach so heavy to-day ?" But the mealy-faced boy peeps in, and sees A man sitting there with his head on his knees 1 'Tis ever the same, — in hall or in bower. Wherever the place, whatever the hour, That Lady mutters, and talks to the air. And her eye is fixed on an empty chair ; But the mealy-faced boy still whispers with dread, " She talks to a man with never a head ! " ***** There's an old Yellow Admiral living at Bath, As gray as a badger, as thin as a lath ; And his very queer eyes have such very queer leers. They seem to be trying to peep at his ears ; That old Yellow Admiral goes to the Rooms, And he plays long whist, but he frets and he fumes, For all his Knaves stand upside down. And the Jack of Clnbs does nothing but frown ; And the Kings, and the Aces, and all the best trumps Get into the hands of the other old frumps ; While, close to his partner, a man he sees Counting the tricks with his head on his knees. In Ratcliffe Highway there's an old marine store, And a (itreat black doll hangs out at the dcor ; Ther », are rusty locks and dusty bags, An-l uuisty phials, and fusty rags, 158 LEGEND OF ITAMTLTON TTiJHE. And a lusty old woman, call'd Thirsty Nan, And her crusty old husband's a Hahy -faced man ! That Hairy-faced man is sallow and wan, And his great thick pigtail is withered and gone ; And he cries, " Take away that lubberly chap That sits there and grins with his head in his lap ! " And the neighbours say, as they see him look sick, " What a rum old covey is Hairy-faced Dick ! " That Admiral, Lady, and Hairy-faced man May say what they please, and may do what they can But one thing seems remarkably clear, — They may die to-morrow, or live till next year, — But wherever they live, or whenever they die. They'll never get quit of young Hamilton Tighe. The When, — the Where, — and the How, — of the succeeding narrative speak for themselves. It may be proper, however, to observe, that the ruins here alluded to, and improperly termed " the Abbey," are not those of Bolsover, described in a preceding page, but the remains of a Preceptory once belonging to the Knights Templars, situate near Swynfield, Swinkefield, or, as it is now generally spell and pronounced, Swingfield, Minnis, a rough tract of common land now undergoing the process of enclosure, and adjoining the woods and arable lands of Tappington, at the distance of some two miles from the Hall, to the South-eastern windows of which the time-worn walls in question, as seen over the inter- vening coppices, present a picturesque and stnking object. 159 THE WITCHES' FROLIC. Scene, the "Snuggery" at Tappington- — Grandpapa in i high-backed cane-bottomed elbow-chair of carved walnut-tree, dozing ; kis nose at ai angle of forty-five degrees, — his thumbs slowly perform the rotatory motion described by lexicographers as "twiddling." — The " Hope of the family" astride on a walking-stick, with burnt-cork mustachios, and a pheasant's tail pinned in his cap, solaceth himself with martial music. — Roused by a strain of surpassing dissonance, Grandpapa loquitur.] Come hither, come hither, my little boy Ned I Come hither unto my knee — I cannot away with that horrible din, That sixpenny drum, and that trumpet of tin. Oh, better to wander frank and free Through the Fair of good Saint Bartlemy, Than list to such awful minstrelsie. Now lay, little Ned, those nuisances by, And I'll rede ye a lay of Graramarye. "Grandpapa riseth, yawneth like the crater of an extinct volcano, pro ceedeth slowly to the window, and apostrophizeth the Abbey in the distance.] I love thy tower, Grey ruin, I joy thy form to see. Though reft of all. Cell, cloister, and hall, Nothing is left save a tottering wall That awfully grand and darkly dull. Threatened to fall and demolish my skull. As, ages ago, I wander'd along Careless thy grass-grown courts among. In sky-blue jacket, and trowsors laced, The latter uneommonlv short in the waist. ICO THE witches' frolic. Thou art dearer to ine, thou Ruin grey, Than the Squire's verandah over the way ; And fairer, I wefin, The ivy sheen That thy mouldering turret binds, llian the Alderman's house about half a mile off, With the green Venetian blinds. Full many a tale would my Grandam tell, In many a bygone day, Of darksome deeds, which of old befell In thee, thou Ruin grey I And I the readiest ear would lend, And stare like frighten'd pig ! While my Grandfather's hair would have stood up on end. Had he not worn a wig. One tale I remember of mickle dread — Now lithe and listen, my little boy Ned 1 * * * * » Thou mayest have read, my little boy Ned, Though thy mother thine idlesse blames, In Doctor Goldsmith's history book. Of a gentleman called King James, In quilted doublet, and great trunk breeches, Who held in abhorrence Tobacco and Witches. Well, — in King James's golden days, — For the days were golden then, — They could not be less, for good Queen Bess Had died, aged three score and ten. And her days we know. Were all of them so ; While the Court poets sung, and the Court gallants swore That the days were as golden still as before. Some people, 'tis true, a troublesome few, Who historical points would unsettle, Have lately thrown out a sort of a doubt Of the genuine ring of the metal ; THE WITCHES* FROLIC. 161 But who can believe to a monarch so wise People would dare tell a parcel of lies ! — Well, then, in good King James's days, — Golden or not does not matter a jot, — Yon Ruin a sort of a roof had got ; For though, repairs lacking, its walls had been cracking Since Harry the Eighth sent its people a-packing, Though joists, and floors, And windows, and doors Had all disappear'd, yet pillars by scores Remain'd, and still proj>p'd up a ceiling or two, While the belfry was almost as good as new ; You are not to suppose matters look'd just so In the Ruin some two hundred years ago. Just in that farthermost angle, where There are still the remains of a winding-stair, One turret especially high in air Uprear'd its tall gaunt form ; As if defying the power of Fate, or The hand of " Time the Innovator ;" And though to the pitiless storm Its weaker brethren all around Bowing, in ruin had strew'd the ground, Alone it stood, while its fellows lay strewM, Like a foxir-bottle man in a company " screw'd,** Not firm on his legs, but by no means subdued. One night — 'twas in sixteen hundred and six, — I like when I can, Ned, the date to fix, — The month was May, Though I can't well say At this distance of time the particular day — Bnt oh ! that night, that horril)le night ! — ^Folks ever afterwards said with affright That they never had seen such a terrible sight. 162 THE witches' frolic. The Sun had gone down fiery red ; And if that evening he laid his head In Thetis's lap beneath the seas, He must have scalded the goddess's knees. He left behind him a lurid track Of blood-red light upon clouds so black, That Warren and Hunt, with the whole of their crew, Could scarcely have given them a darker hue. There came a shrill and a whistling sound. Above, beneath, beside, and around, Yet leaf ne'er moved on tree ! So that some people thought old Belzebub must Have been lock'd out of doors, and was blowing the dust From the pipe of his street-door key. And then a hollow moaning blast Came, sounding more dismally still than the last ; And the lightning flash'd and the thunder growl'd, And louder and louder the tempest howl'd. And the rain came down in such sheets as would stagger a Bard for a simile short of Niagara, Rob Gilpin "was a citizen;" But though of some "renown," Of no great "credit" in his own. Or any other town. He was a wild and roving lad. For ever in the alehouse boozing; Or romping, — which is quite as bad, — With female friends of his own choosing. And Rob this very day had made, Not dreaming such a storm was brewing, An assignation with Miss Slade, — Tlaeir try sting-place that same grey Ruin. But Gertrude Slade became afraid. And to keep her appointment unwilling, FROLIC. 168 Wlien she spied the rain on her window-pane In drops as big as a shilling ; She put off her hat and her mantle again,— "He'll never expect me in all this rain! " But little he recks of the fears of the sex, Or that maiden false to her tryst could be, He had stood there a good half hour Ere yet had commenced that perilous shower, Alone by the trystingtreel Eobin looks east, Robin looks west, But he sees not her whom he loves the best; Robin looks up, and Robin looks down, But no one comes from, the neighbouring town The storm came at last, — ^loud roar'd the blast, And the shades of evening fell thick and fast ; The tempest grew ; and the straggling yew, His leafy umbrella, was w«t through and through , Rob was half dead with cohl and fright. When he spies in the Ruins a twinkling light — A hep, two skips, and a jump, and straight Rob stands within that postern gate. And there were gossips sitting there, By one, by two, by three : Two were an old ill-favour'd pair , But the third was yoiing, and passing fair. With laughing eyes, and with coal-black hair A dainty quean was she ! Rob would have given his ears to sip But a single salute from her cherry lip. As they sat in that old and haimted room. In each one's liand was a huge birch broom, On each one's head was a steeple-crown'd hat^ On each one's knee was a coal-black cat ; 164 THFJ witches' frolic. Each had a kirtle of Lincoln green — It was, I tz'ow, a fearsome scene. '*JS"ow riddle me, riddle me right, Madge Gray, What foot unhallow'd wends this way ? Goody Price, Goody Price, now areed me aright, Who roams the old Ruins this drearysome night!" Then up and spake that sonsie quean, And she spake both loud and clear ; " Oh, be it for weal, or be it for woe, Enter friend, or enter foe, Rob Gilpin is welcome here I — " JN'ow tread we a measure I a hall ! a hall I Now tread we a measure," quoth she — The heart of Robin Beat thick and throbbing — "Roving Bob, tread a measure with me! " "Ay, lassie !" quoth Rob, as her hand he gripes, "Though Satan himself were blowing the pipes.' 'Now around they go, and around, and around, With hop-skip-and-jump, and frolicsome bound, Such sailing and glid ins:, »> Such sinking and sliding. Such lofty curvetting. And grand pirouetting; Ned, yoti would swear that Monsieur Gilbert And Miss Taglioni were capering there ! And oh ! such awful music ! — ne'er Fell sounds so uncanny on mortal ear, There were the tones of a dying man's groans Mix'd with the rattling of dead men's bones: Had you heard the shrieks, and the squeals an^ ^hfc ^sq'jpal; You'd not have forgotten the sound for weeks. And around, and around, and around they go, Heel to heel, and toe to toe, THE WITCH »£S' FROLIC. 165 Prance and caper, curvet ar d wheel, Toe to toe, and heel to heel. *"Tis merry, 'tis merry. Cummers, I trow, To dance thus beneath the nightshade bough 1 ** *' Goody Price, Goody Price, now riddle me right, "Where may we sup this frolicsome night ? " " Mine host of the Dragon hath mutton and veal ! The Squire hath partridge, and widgeon, and teal ; But old Sir Thopas hath daintier cheer, A pasty made of the good red deer, A huge grouse pie, and a fine Florentine, A fat roast goose, and a turkey and chine." — " Madge Gray, Madge Gray, Now tell me, I pray, Wliere's the best wassail bowl to our roundelay ? " " — ^There is ale in the cellars of Tappington Hall, But the Squire * is a churl, and his drink is small ; Mine host of the Dragon Hath many a flaggon Of double ale, lamb's wool, and eau de vie, But Sir Thopas the Vicar, Hath costlier liquor, — A butt of the choicest Malvoisie He doth not lack Canary or sack ; And a good pint stoop of Clary wine Smacks merrily off with a Turkey and Chine I** "Now away! and away! without delay, Hey OoclcoloTum ! my Broomstick gay 1 ♦ Stephen Ingoldsby, surnamed " The Niggard," second cousin and sue cesaor to ''The Bad Sir Giles." (Visitation of Kent, 1666.) For an account of his murder by burglars, and their subsequent execution, see Dodsley'8 " Remarkable Trials," &c. London. 1770, vol. ii. p. 2fr4, ox thf present volume, Art. " Hand of Glory." 166 THE witches' frolic. We must be back ere the dawn of the day ; liey up the chimney! away! away!" — Old Goody Price Mounts in a trice, In showing her legs she is not over nice ; Old Goody Jones, All skin and bones. Follows "like winking." — Away go the crones, Knees and nose in a line with the toes, Sitting their brooms like so many Ducrows ; Latest and last The damsel pass'd. One glance of her coal-black eye she cast; She laugh'd with glee loud laughters three, "Dost fear, Rob Gi]i)in, to ride with me?" — Oh, never might man unsc/ith'd espy One single glance from that coal-black eye. — Away she flew ! — Without more ado Rob seizes and mounts on a broomstick too, " Hey ! up the chimney, lass ! Iley after you !** It's a very fine thing, on a fine day in June, To ride through the air in a Nassau Balloon ; But you'll find very soon, if you aim at the Moon In a carriage like tliat, you're a bit of a "Spoon," For the largest can't fly , Above twenty miles high, And you're not half way then on your journey, nor nigh ; While no man alive Could ever contrive, Mr. Green has declared, to get higher than five. And the soundest Philosophers liold that, perhaps, If you reach'd twenty miles your balloon would colla (Se, Or pass by such action Tlie sphere of attraction, Getting into the track of some Comet — Good-lack I Tis a thousand to one tha*. you'd never come back ' THE witches' frolic. 167 And the boldest of mortals a danger like that must fear, Rashly ])rotruding beyond our own atmosphere. No, no ; when I try A trip to the sky, I shan't go in that thing of yours, jMr. Gye, Though Messieurs Monk Mason, and Spencer, and Beazly, All join in saying it travels so easily. No ; there's nothing so good As a pony of wood — Not like that w^hich, of late, they stuck up on the gate At the end of the Park, which caused so much debate, And gave so much trouble to make it stand straight, — But a regular Broomstick — ^you'll find that the favourite- Above all, when, like Robin, you haven't to pay fur it. — Stay — really I dread — I am losing the thread Of my tale ; and it's time you should be in your bed. So lithe now, and listen, my little boy Ned 1 ******* Tlie Vicarage walls are lofty and thick, • And the copings are stone, and the sides are brick, The casements are narrow, and bolted and barr'd, And the stout oak door is heavy and hard ; Moreover, by way of additional guard, A great big dog runs loose in the yard. And a horse-slioe is nail'd on the threshold sill,- - To keep out aught that savours of ill, — But, alack! the chimney-pot's open still I — That great big dog begins to quail. Between his hiud-legs he drops his tail Crouch'd on the ground, the terrified hound Gives vent to a very odd sort of a sound ; It is not a bark, loud, open, and free. As an honest old watch-dog's bark sliould be ; It is not a yelp, it is not a growl. But a something between a whine and a howl And, hark ! — a sound from the window high 108 THE witches' fkolic. Responds to the watch-dog's pitiful cry : It is not a moan, It is not a groan : It comes from a nose, — ^but is not what a ncse Produces in healthy and sound repose. Yet Sir Thopas the Vicar is fast asleep, And his respirations are heavy and deep 1 He snores, 'tis true, but he snores no more . As he's aye been accustom'd to snore before, And as men of his kidney are wont to snore ; — (Sir Tliopas's weight is sixteen stone four ;) He draws his breath like a man distress'd By pain or grief, or like one oppress'd By some ugly old Incubus perch'd on his breast. A something seems To disturb his dreams, And thrice on his ear, distinct and clear, Falls a voice as of somebody whispering near, In still small accents, faint and few, "Hey down the chimney-pot! — Hey after you !" Tliroughout the Vicarage, near and far, There is no lack of bolt or of bar ; There are plenty of locks To closet and box. Yet the pantry wdcket is standing ajar 1 And the little low door, through which you must go, Down some half-dozen steps, to the cellar below. Is also unfastened, though no one may know, By so much as a guess, how it comes to be so ; For wicket and door. The evening before. Were both of them lock'd, and the key safely placed On the bunch that hangs down from the Housekeeper waist. Oh I 'twas a jovial sight to view In that snug little cellar that frolicsome crew! THE WITCHES FROLIC. IHO Old Goody Price Had got something nice, A turkey poult larded with bacon and spice ; — Old Goody Jones Would touch nought that had bones, — She might just as well mumble a parcel of stones. Goody Jones, in sooth, hath got never a tooth, And a New-College pudding of marrow and plums Ts the dish of all others that suiteth her gums. Madge Gray was picking The breast of a chicken. Her coal-black eye, with its glance so sly, "Was fixed on Rob Gilpin himself sitting by With his heart full of love, and his mouth full of pie ; Grouse pie, with hare In the middle, is fare Which, duly concocted with science and care, Doctor Kitchener says, is beyond all compare ; And a tenderer leveret llobin had never ate ; 80, in after times, oft he was wont to asseverate. •'Now pledge we the wine-cup! — a health! a health! Sweet are the pleasures obtain'd by stealth ! Fill up! fill up! — the brim of the cup Is the part that aye holdeth the toothsomest sup ! Here's to thee. Goody Price ! — Goody Jones, to thee I— To thee. Roving Rob ! and again to me ! Many a sip, never a slip Come to us four 'twixt the cup and the lip !** The cups pass quick. The toasts fly thick, Rob tries in vain out their meaning to pick^ But hears the words "Scratch," and "Old Bogey," and "Nick More familiar grown, Now he stands up alone. Volunteering to give them a toast of his own. FIRST SERIES. 8 170 THE witches' frolic. " A bumper of wine ! Fill thine ! Fill mine ! Here's a health to old Noah who planted the Vine I'' Oh then what sneezing, "VVJiat coughing and wheezing, Ensued in a way that was not over pleasing ! Goody Price, Goody Jones, and the pretty Madge Gray, All seem'd as their liquor had gone the wrong way But the best of the joke was, the moment he spoke Those words which the party seem'd almost to choke, As by mentioning Noah some spell had been broke, Every soul in the house at that instant awoke 1 And, hearing the din from barrel and bin, Drew at once the conclusion that thieves had got in. Up jump'd the Cook and caught hold of her spit : Up jump'd the Groom and took bridle and bit ; Up jump'd the Gardener and shoulder'd his spade : Up jump'd the Scullion, — the Footman, — the Maid ; (The two last, by the way, occasioned some scandal, By appearing together with only one candle, Which gave for unpleasant surmises some handle ;) Up jump'd the Swineherd, — and up jump'd the big boy, A nondescript under hini, acting as Pig-boy ; Butler, Housekeeper, Coachman — from bottom to top Everybody jump'd up without parley or stop, With the weapon which first in their way chanced to drop, Whip, warming-pan, wig-block, mug, musket, and mop. Last of all doth appear, With some symptoms of fear. Sir Thopas in person to bring up the rear. In a mix'd kind of costume half Pontificalihis, Half what scholars denominate Pure Naturalibus ; Nay, the truth to express, As you '11 easily guess. They have none of them time to attend much to dress : THE wircnEs' frolic. 171 But He, or She, As the case may be, He or She seizes what He or She pleases, Trunk-hosen or kirtles, and shirts or chemises. And thus one and all, great and small, short and tall, Muster at once in the Vicarage-hall, With upstanding locks, starting eyes, shorten'd breath, Like the folks in the Gallery Scene in Macbeth, When Macduff is announcing their Sovereign's death. And hark ! — what accents clear and strong, To the listening throng came floating along ! 'Tis Robin encoring himself in a song — " Very good song! very well sung! Jolly companions every one I" On, on to the cellar ! away ! away ! On, on, to the cellar without more delay ! The whole posae rush onwards in battle array — Conceive the dismay of the party so gay. Old Goody Jones, Goody Price, and Madge Gray. When the door bursting wide, they descried the allied Troops, prepared for the onslaught, roll in like a tide, And the spits, and the tongs, and the pokers beside ! — '* Boot and saddle's the word ! mount. Cummers, and ride !" Alarm was ne'er caused more strong and indigenous By cats among rats, or a hawk in a pigeon-house : Quick from the view Away they all flew, With a yell, and a screech, and a halliballoo, " Hey up the chimney ! Hey after you !" — Tlie Volscians themselves made an exit less speedy From Corioli, "flutter'd like doves" by Macready. They are gone, — save one Robin alone ! Robin, whose high state of civilization Precludes all idea of aerostation, 1V2 THE witches' frolic. And who now has no notion Of more locomotion Than snflfices to kick, with much zeal and devotion, Right and left at the party, who pounced on tlieir victim, And maul'd hin:, and kick'd him, and lick'd him, and prick'd him. As they bore him away scarce aware what was done, And believing it all but a part of the fun. Hie — hiccoughing out the same strain he'd begun, "Jol — jolly companions every one!" ******* Morning gray Scarce bursts into day Ere at Tappington Hall there's the deuce to pay ; The tables and chairs are all placed in array In the old oak-parlour, and in and out Domestics and neighbours, a motley rout. Are walking, and wliispering, and standing about- And the Squire is there In his large arm-chair. Leaning back with a grave magisterial air ; In the front of a seat a Huge volume, called Fleta, And Bracton, a tome of an old-fashion'd look, And Coke upon Lyttleton, then a new book ; And he moistens his lips With occasional sips From a luscious sack-posset that smiles in a tankard Close by on a side-table — not that he drank hard, But because at that day, I hardly need say. The Hong Merchants had not yet invented How Qua, Nor as yet would you see Souchong or Bohea At the tables of persons of any degree ; How our ancestors managed to do without tea I must fairly confess is a mystery to me ; Yet your Lydgates and Chaucera Had no cups and saucers; THE witches' frolic. 173 Their breakfast, in fact, and the best they could get, Was a sort of a dejeuner a la fourchette ; Instead of our slops They had cutlets and chops, And sack-possets, and ale in stoups, tankards, and pots ; And they wound up the meal with rumpsteaks and 'schalot;* Now the Squire lifts liis hand With an air of command. And gives them a sign, which they all understand, To bring in the culprit; and straightway the carter And huntsman drag in that unfortunate martyr. Still kicking and crying, " Come, — what are you artor ? " Tlie charge is prepared, and the evidence clear, '"•lie was caught in the cellar a-drinking the beer! And came there, there's very great reason to fear, With companions, — to say but the least of them, — queer; Such as Witches, and creatures With horrible features, And liorrible grins, And hook'd noses and chins, Who'd been playing the deuce with his Reverence's binns." Tlie face of his worship grows graver and graver. As the parties detail Robin's shameful behaviour ; Mister Buzzard, the clerk, while the tale is reciting, Sits down to reduce the aflfair into writing, , With all proi)er diction. And due "legal fiction ; " Viz. : " That he, the said prisoner, as clearly was shown, Conspiiing with folks to deponents unknown, With divers, that is to say, two thousand peoj^le. In two thousand hats, each liat peak'd like a stocjile, With force and with arms, And with sorcery and charms. Upon two thousand brooms Entered four thousand rooms ; IV4 THE witches' frolic. To wit, two thousand pantries, and two tiiousand cellara Put in bodily fear twenty thousand in-dwellers, And with sundry, — that is to say, two thousand, — forks, Drew divers, — that is to say, ten thousand — corks, And, with malice prepense, down their two thousand tKi-ot- tles. Emptied various, — that is to say, ten thousand — ^bottles , All in breach of the peace, — moved by Satan's malignity — And in spite of King James, and his Crown, and his Dig nity." At words so profound Rob gazes arounv'.. But no glance sympathetic to cheer him is found. — No glance, did I say? Yes, one! — Madge Gray! — She is there, in the midst of the crowd standing by. And she gives him one glance from her coal-black eye, One touch to his hand, and one word to his ear, — (That's a line which I've stolen from Sir Walter I fear,) While nobody near Seems to see her or hear ; As his worship takes up, and surveys, with a strict eye, The broom now produced as the corpus delicti. Ere his fingers can clasp. It is snatch'd from his grasp. The end pok'd in his chest with a force makes him gasp, And, despite the decorum so due to the Quorum., His wor'ship's upset, and so too is his jorum ; And Madge is astride on the broomstick before 'eni. ^'^ Hocus Pocus ! Quick, Presto ! and Hey Cockolorum I Mount, mount for your life, Rob I — Sir Justice, adieu I — - — Hey up the chimney-pot ! hey after you ! " Through the mystified group. With a halloo and whoop, Madge on the pommel, and Robin en croupe. The pair though the air ride as if in a chair. While the pav>y below stand mouth open and siare! THE witches' frolic. 17o "Clean buni>>aized" and amazed, and fix'd, all tlie room stick, "Ohl what's gone with Robin, — and Madge, — and the broomstick ? " Ay, " what's gone " indeed, Ifed ? — of what befell Madge Gray and the broomstick, I never heard tell : But Robin was found, that morn on the ground. In yon old grey Ruin again, safe and sound, Except that at first he complain'd much of thirst. And a shocking bad headach, of all ills the worsts And close by his knee A flask you might see. But an empty one, smelling of eati de vie. Rob from this hour is an alter'd man ; He runs home to his lodgings as fast as he can. Sticks to his trade, Marries Miss Slade, Becomes a Tee-totaller — that is the same As Tee-totallers now, one in all but the name ; Grows fond of Small-beer, which is always a steady sign. Never drinks spirits except as a medicine , Learns to despise Coal-black eyes. Minds pretty girls no more than so many Guys ; Has a family, lives to be sixty, and dies ! Now, my little boy Ned, Brush off to your bed. Tie your night-cap on safe, or a napkin instead. Or these terrible nights you'll catch cold in your head ; And remember my tale, and the moral it teaches, Which you'll find much the same as what Solomon preachea Don't flirt with young ladies ! don't practise soft speeches ; Avoid waltzes, quadrilles, pumps, silk hose, and knee breeches. — Frequent not grey Ruins, — shun riot and revelry. Hocus Pocus, and Conjuring, and all sorts of devilry;— » JVC) THE witches' frolic. Don't meddle with broomsticks, — they're Beelzebub' switches; Of cellars keep clear, — they're the devil's own ditches ; And beware of balls, banquettings, brandy, and — witches! Above all ! don't run after black eyes ! — ^if you do, — Depend on't you'll find what I say will come true, — Old Nick, some fine morning, will " hey after you { " Strantre as the events detailed in the siicccedincf nar- rative may appear, they are, I have not tlie slightest doubt, true to the letter. Whatever impression tney may make upon the Reader, that produced by them on the narrator I can aver, was neither light noi tran- Rient. 177 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D. D. AS RELATED BY THE REV. JOSEPH INGOLDSBY, M.A., HIS FRIEND AND EXECUTOR. In order that the extraordinary circumstance which I am about to relate, may meet with the credit it de- serves, I tliink it necessary to premise, that my reverend friend, among whose papers I find it recorded, was, in his Hfetime, ever esteemed as a man of good plain understanding, strict veracity, and Imimpeached morals — by no means of a nervous temperament, or one likely to attach undue weight to any occurrence out of the common course of events, merely because his reflections might not, at the moment, afford him a ready solution of its difficulties. On tlie truth of his narrative, as far as lie was per- sonally concerned, no one who knew him would hesitate to place the most implicit reliance. His history is briefly this : — He had married early in life, and was a widower at the age of thirty-nine, with an only daughter, who had then arrived at puberty, and was just married to a near connection of our own family. The sudden death !)f her husband, occasioned by a fall from his horse, only three days after her confinement, was abruptly communicated to Mrs. S by a thoughtless c;irl, who 8* 178 SINGULAR I'ASSAGil IN THE LIFE OF saw lier master brought lifeless into the house, and, with all that inexplicable anxiety to be the first to tell bad new9, so common among the lower ordei'S, ruslied at once into the sick-room with her intellio-ence. The shock was too severe ; and though the young widow survived the fetal event several months, yet she gradu ally sunk under the blow, and expired, leaving a boy, not a twelvemonth old, to the care of his maternal grandfather. My poor friend was sadly shaken by this melancholy catastrophe ; time, however, and a strong religious feel- ing, succeeded at length in moderating the poignancy of his grief — a consummation much advanced by his infant charge, who now succeeded, as it were by inhe- ritance, to the place in his aftections left vacant by his daughter's decease. Frederick S grew up to be a fine lad ; his person and features were decidedly hand- some ; still there was, as I remember, an unpleasant expression in his countenance, and an air of reserve, attributed, by the few persons who called occasionally at the vicarage, to the retired life led by his grandfather, and the little opportunity he had, in consequence, of mixing in the society of his equals in age and intellect. Brought up entirely at home, his progress in the com- mon branches of education was, without any great dis- play of precocity, rather in advance of the generality of boys of his own standing ; partly owing, perhaps, to the turn which even his amusements took from the first. His sole associate was the son of th 3 village apothecary, a boy about two year? older than himself, whose father, being really clever in his profession, and a good opera- tive chemist, had constructed for himself a small labo- THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 1 YO ratory, in which, as he was fond of children, the two boys spent a great portion of their leisure time, wit- nessing many of those little experiments so attractive to youth, and in time aspiring to imitate what they admired. In such society, it is not surprising that Frederick S should imbibe a strong taste for the sciences which formed his principal amusement ; or that, .when, in process of time, it became necessary to choose his walk in life, a profession so intimately connected with his favourite pursuit, as that of medicine, should be eagerly selected. No opposition was offered by my friend, who, knowing that the greater part of his own income would expire with his life, and that the remain- der would prove an insufficient resource to his grand- child, was only anxious that he should follow such a path as would secure him that moderate and respectable competency which is, perhaps, more conducive to real happiness than a more elevated or wealthy station. Frederick was, accordingly, at the proper age, matricu- lated at Oxford, with the view of studying the higher branches of medicine, a few months after his friend, ■John W , had proceeded to Leyden, for the purpose of making himself acquainted with the practice of sur- gery in the hospitals and lecture-rooms attached to that university. The boyish intimacy of their younger days did not, as is frequently the case, yield to separation; on the contrary, a close correspondence w^as kept up between them. Dr. Harris was even prevailed upon to allow Frederick to take a trip to Holland to see his friend; and John returned the visit to Frederick Jit Oxford. 130 SINGULAR. TASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF Satiafactoiy aa, for some time, were the accounts of the general course of Frederick S 's studies, by degrees rumours of a hiss pleasant nature reached the ears of some of his friends; to the vicarage, however, I have reason to believe they never penetrated. The good old Doctor was too well beloved in his parish for any one voluntarily to give him pain ; and, after all, nothing beyond whispei-s and surmises had reached X- , when the worthy vicar was surprised on a sud- den by a request from his grandchild, that he might be permitted to take his name off the books of the univer- sity, and proceed to finish his education in conjunction with his friend W at Leyden. Such a proposal, made, too, at a time when the period for his graduating could not be far distant, both surprised and grieved the Doctor ; he combated the design with more perseverance than he had ever been known to exert in opposition to any declared wish of his darling boy before, but, as usual, gave way, when more strongly pressed, from sheer inability to persist in a refusal which seemed to give so much pain to Frederick, especially when the latter, with more energy than was quite becoming their relative situations, expressed his positive determination of not returning to Oxford, whatever might be the result of his grandfather's decision. My friend, his mind, perhaps, a little weakened by a short but severe nervous attack which he had scarcely recovered from, at length yielded a reluctant consent, and. Frederick quitted England. It was not till some months had elapsed after his departure, that I had reason to suspect, that the eager desire of availing himself of opportunities for study abroad, not aftbrded him at home, Was not the sole. THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 181 or even the principal, reason wliicli had drawn Frede- rick so abruptly from his Alma Mater. A chance visit to the university, and a conversation with a senior fellow belonging to his late college, convinced me of this ; still I found it impossible to extract from the latter the pre- cise nature of his offence. That he had given way to most culpable indulgences, I had before heard hinted ; and, when I recollected how he had been at once launched, from a state of what might be well called seclusion, into a world where so many enticements were lying in wait to allure, — with liberty, example, every thing to tempt him from the straight road, — regret, I frankly own, was more the predominant feel- ing in my mind than either surprise or condemnation. 13ut here was evidently something more than mere ordinary excess — some act of profligacy, perhaps, of a deeper stain, which had induced his superiors, who, at first, had been loud in his praises, to desire him to withdraw himself quietly, but for ever ; and such an intimation, I found, had, in fact, been conveyed to him from an authority which it was impossible to resist. Seeing that my informant was determined not to be explicit, I did not press for a disclosure, which, if made, would, in all probability, only have given me pain, and that the rather, as my old friend the Doctor had recently obtained a valuable living from Lord M , only a few miles distant from the market town in which I resided, where he now was, amusing himself in putting his grounds into order, ornamenting his house, and getting everything ready against his grand- son's expected visit in the following autumn. October came, and with it came Frederick • he rode over morr 182 sixoii.a:! pashagk in the life of tlian once to see me, sonietiines accompaniec by the' Doctor, between whom and myself the recent loss of my poor daughter Louisa had drawn the chords of sympathy still closer. More than two years had flown on in this way, in which Frederick S had as many times made temporary visits to his native country. The time was fast approaching when he was expected to return, and finally take up his residence in England, when the sudden illness of my wife's father obliged us to take a journey into Lancashire, my old friend, who had himself a curate, kindly oft'ering to fix his quarters at my parsonage, and superintend the concerns of my parish till my return. — Alas! when I saw him next he was on the bed of death ! My absence was necessarily prolonged much beyond what I had anticipated. A letter, with a foreign post- mark, had, as I afterwards found, been brought over from his own house to my venerable substitute in the interval, and barely giving himself time to transfer the charge he had undertaken to a neighbouring clergy- man, he had hurried oft' at once to Leyden. His arrival there was, however, too late. Frederick was dead ! — killed in a duel, occasioned, it was said, by no ordinary provocation on his part, although the flight of his antagonist had added to the mystery which enveloped its origin. The long journey, its melancholy termina- tion, and the complete overthrow of all my poor friend's earthly hopes, were too much for him. He appeared too, — as I was informed by the proprietor of the house in which I found him, when his summons at length ha<^] brouglit me to his bed-side, — to 183 have received some sudden ami unaccountable shock, which even the death of his grandson was inadequate to explain. There was, indeed, a wildness in his fast- glazing eye, which mingled strangely with the glance of satisfaction thrown upon me as he pressed my hand ; — he endeavoured to raise himself, and would have opoken, but fell back in the effort, and closed his eyes for ever. — I buried him there, by the side of the object of his more than parental affection, — in a foreign land. It is from the papers that I discovered in his travel- ling-case that I submit the following extracts, without, however, presuming to advance an opinion on the strange circumstances which they detail, or even as to the connection which some may fancy they discover between different parts of them. The first was evidently written at my own house, and bears date August the loth, 18 — , about three weeks after my own departure for Preston. It begins thus : — " Tuesday, August 15. — Poor girl ! — I forget who it is that says, ' the real ills of life are light in comparison with fancied evils ;' and certainly the scene I have just witnessed goes some way towards estabhsliing the truth of the hypothesis. — Among the afflictions which flesh is heir to, a diseased imagination is far from being the lightest, even when considered separately, and without taking into the account tliose bodily pains and suffer- inofs wliichs — so close is the connection between mind and matter, — are but too frequently attendant upon any disorder of the fancy. Seldom has my interest been more powerfully excited than by poor Mary Graham. Her age, her appearance, her pale, melancholy features, the very contoT of her countenance, all conspired to 184 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF j-eniiiicl me, but too forcibly, of one wlio, waking or sleeping, is never long absent from my thoughts, — but enough of this. " A fine morning had succeeded one of the most tempestuous nights I ever remember, and I was just sitting down to a substantial breakfast, which the care of my friend Ingoldsby's housekeeper, kind-hearted Mrs. Wilson, had prepared for me, when I was inter- rupted by a summons to the sick-bed of a young parishioner whom I had frequently seen in my walks, and had remarked for the regularity of her attendance at Divine worship. — Mary Graham is the elder of two daughters, residing with their mother, the widow of an attorney, who, dying suddenly in the prime of life, left his family but slenderly provided for. A strict though not parsimonious economy has, however, enabled them to live with an appearance of respectability and com- fort ; and from the personal attractions which both the girls possess, their mother is evidently not without hopes of seeing one, at least, of them advantageously settled in life. As far as poor Mary is concerned, I fear she is doomed to inevitable disappointment, as I am much mistaken if consumption has not laid its wasting finger upon her; while this last recurrence, of what I cannot but believe to be a most formidable epileptic attack, threatens to shake out, with even added velocity, the little sand that may yet remain within the hour-glass of time. Her very delusion, too, is of such a nature as, by adding to bodily illness the agitation of superstitious terror, can scarcely fail to accelerate the catastrophe, which I think I see fast approaching. " Before I Avas introduced into the sick-room, ho? T.'IK LA'IE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 185 sister, who had been watching my arrival from the window, took me into their httle parlour, and, after the usual civihties, began to prepare me for the visit I was about to pay. Her countenance was marked at once with trouble and alarm, and in a low tone of voice, which some internal emotion, rather than the fear of disturbing the invalid in a distant room, had subdued almost to a whisper, informed me that my presence was become necessary, not more as a clergyman than a magistrate ; — that the disorder with which her sister had, during the night, been so suddenly and unaccounta- bly seized, was one of no common kind, but attended with circumstances which, coupled with the declarations of the sufferer, took it out of all ordinary calculations, ?.nd, to use her own expression, that ' malice was at the bottom of it.' "Naturally supposing that these insinuation* were intended to intimate the partaking of some deleterious substance on the part of the invahd, I inquired what reason she had for imagining, in the first place, that anything of a poisonous nature had been administered at all ; and, secondly, what possible incitement an^^ human being could have for the perpetration of so foul a deed towards so innocent and unoffending an indivi- dual? Her answer considerably relieved the appre- hensions I had begun to entertain lest the poor girl should, from some unknown cause, have herself been attempting to rush uncalled into the presence of her Creator ; at the same time, it surprised me not a little by its apparent want of rationality and common sense. She had no reason to believe, she said, that her sister had taken poison, or that any attempt upon her life 186 SINGUT,AR PASSAGE IN THE L[FE OF had been made, or was, perhaps, contemplated, but that ' still malice was at work, — the malice of villains or fiends, or of both combined ; that no causes purely natural would suffice to account for the state in which her sister had been now twice placed, or for the dread- ful sufferings she had undergone while in tliat state ; and that she was determined the whole aff*air should undergo a thorough investigation.' Seeing that the poor girl was now herself labouring imder a great degree of excitement, I did not think it necessary to enter at that moment into a discussion upon the absur- dity of her opinion, but applied myself to the tranquil- lizing her mind by assurances of a proper inquiry, and then drew her attention to the symptoms of the indisposition, and the way in which it had first made its appearance^ " The violence of the storm last night had, I found, induced the whole family to sit up far beyond their usual hour, till, wearied out at length, and, as their mother observed, ' tired of burning fire and candle to no purpose,' they repaired to their several chambers. " The sisters occupied the same room ; Elizabeth was already at their humble toilet, and had commenced the arrangement of her hair for the night, when her atten- tion was at once drawn from her employment by a half smothered shriek and exclamation from her sister, who, in her delicate state of health, had found walking up two flights of stairs, perhaps a little more quickly than usual, an exertion, to recover from which she had sen ted herself in 'i large arm-chair. " Turning hastily at the sound, she perceived Mary 'leadly pale, grasping, as it were convulsively, each arm of the clmir which supported her, and bending forward THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 187 in the attitude of listening ; her lips were trembling and bloodless, cold drops of perspiration stood upon her forehead, and in an instant after, exclaiming in a pierc ing tone, ' Hark ! they are calling me again ! it is — it is the same voice ; — Oh no ! no ! — Oh my God ! save me, Betsy, — hold me — save me !' she fell forward upon the floor. Elizabeth flew to her assistance, raised her, and by her cries brought both her mother, who had not yet got into bed, and their only servant girl, to her aid. The latter was despatched at once for medical help ; but, from the appearance of the sufterer, it was much to be feared that she would soon be beyond the reach of art. Her agonized parent and sister succeeded in bearing her between them and placing her on a bed ; a ftiint and intermittent pulsation was for a while percepti- ble ; but in a few moments a general shudder shook the whole body ; the pulse ceased, the eyes became fixed and glassy, the jaw dropped, a cold clamminess usurped the place of the genial warmth of life. Before Mr. I arrived, everything announced that dissolution had taken place, and that the freed spirit had quitted its mortal tenement. "The appearance of the surgeon confirmed their worst apprehensions ; a vein was opened, but the blood refused to flow, and Mr. I pi-onounced that the vital spark was indeed extinguished. " The poor mother, whose attachment to lier children was perhaps the more powerful, as they were the sole relatives or connections she had in the world, was over- whelmed with a grief amounting almost to frenzy ; it was with difficulty that she w;is removed to her own room bv the united strength of her daughter, and 188 SINGULAR PASSAGE FN THE LIFE OF medical adviser. Nearly an lioiir elapsed during the endeavo ir at calming her transports ; they had suc- ceeded, however, to a certain extent, and Mr. I had taken his leave, when Elizabeth, re-entering the bed- chamber in which her sister lay, in order to pay the last sad duties to her corpse, was horror-struck at seeing a crimson stream of blood running down the side of the counterpane to the floor. Her exclamation brought the girl again to her side, when it was perceived, to their astonishment, that the sanguine stream proceeded from the arm of the body, which was now manifesting signs of returning life. The half frantic mother flew to the room, and it was with difficulty that they could prevent her, in her agitation, from so acting as to extinguish for ever the hope which had begun to rise in their bosoms. A long-drawn sigh, amounting almost to a groan, fol- lowed by several convulsive gaspings, was the prelude to the restoration of the animal functions in poor Mary : a shi-iek almost preternaturally loud, considering her state of exhaustion, succeeded ; but she did recover, and with the help of restoratives, was well enough towards morning to express a strong desire that I should be sent for, — a desire the more readily complied with, inas- much as the strange expressions and declarations she had made since her restoration to consciousness, had filled her sister with the most horrible suspicions. The nature of these suspicions was such as would at any other time, perhaps, have raised a smile upon my lips ; but the distress, and even agony of the poor girl, as she half hinted and half expressed them, weic such as entirely to preclude every sensation at al) approaching to mirth. Without endeavouring, there THE LATE IIENflY HARRIS, D.D. 189 fore, to combat ideas, evidently too strongly impressed up(~jn lier mind at the moment to admit of present refu- tation, I merely used a few encouraging words, md requested lier to precede me to the sick-chamber. "The invahd was lying on the outside of the bed, partly dressed, and wearing a white dimity wrapping- grown the colour of which corresponded but too well with the deadly paleness of her complexion. Her cheek was wan and sunken, giving an extraordinary promi- nence to her eye, which gleamed with a lustrous briUiancy not unfrequently characteristic of the aberra- tion of intellect. I took her hand ; it was chill and clammy, the pulse feeble and intermittent, and the general debility of her frame was such, that I would fain have persuaded her to defer any conversation which, in her piesent state, she might not be equal to support. Her positive assurance that, until she had disburdened herself of what she called her 'dreadful secret,' she could" know no rest either of mind or body, at length induced me to comply with her wish, opposition to which, in her then fi-ame of mind, might perhaps be attended with even worse effects than its indulgence. I bowed acquiescence, and in a low and faltering voice, with frequent interruptions, occasioned by her weakness, she gave me the following singular account of the sen- sations which, she averred, had been experienced by her during her trance : — " ' This, sir,' she began, ' is not the first time that the cruelty of others has, for what purpose I am unable to conjecture, put me to a degree of torture which I can compare to no Stiffering, either of body or mind, which T have e^'e^* before experienced. On a former occasion ',90 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF I was willing to believe it the mere effect of a hideous dream, or wliat is vulgarly termed the nightmare ; but, this repetition, and the circumstances under which I was last summoned, at a time, too, when x. had not even composed myself to rest, fatally convince me of the reality of what I have seen and suffered. " ' This is no time for concealment of any kind. — It is now more than a twelvemonth since I was in the habit of occasionally encountering in my walks a young man of prepossessing appearance, and gentlemanly deportment : he was always alone, and generally read- ing ; but I could not be long in doubt that these rencounters, which became every week more frequent, were not the eftect of accident, or that his attention, when we did meet, was less directed to his book than to my sister and myself. He even seemed to wish to address us, and I have no doubt would have taken some other opportunity of doing so, had not one been afforded him by a strange dog attacking us one Sunday morning in our way to church, which he beat oflf, and made use of this little service to promote an acquaint- ance. His name, he said, was Francis Somers, and added that he was on a visit to a relation of the same name, resident a few miles from X . He gave us to understand that he was himself studying surgery with the view to a medical appointment in one of the colonies. Vou are not to suppose, sir, that he had entered thus into his conceras at the first interview ; it was not till our acquaintance had ripened, and he had visited our house more than once with my mv>ther's sanction, thai these particulars were elicited. He never disguised, from the first, that an attachment to myself was his THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 191 object originally in introducing himself to our notice ; as his prospects were comparatively flattering, my mother did not raise any impediment to his attentions, and 1 own I received them with pleasure. " ' Days and weeks elapsed ; and although the dis- tance at which his relation resided, prevented the possi- bility of an uninterrupted intercourse, yet neither was it so great as to preclude his frequent visits. The interval of a day, or at most of two, was all that intervened, and these temporary absences certainly did not decrease the pleasure of the meetings with which they terminated. At length a pensive expression began to exhibit itself upon his countenance, and I could not but remark that at every visit he became more abstracted and reserved. The eye of affection is not slow to detect any symptom of uneasiness in a quarter dear to it. I spoke to him, questioned him on the subject : his answer was evasive, and I said no more. My mother too, liowever, had marked the same appearance of melancholy, and pressed him more strongly. He at length admitted that his spirits were depressed, and that their depression was caused by the necessity of an early, though but a temporary, separation. His uncle, and only friend, he said, had long insisted on his spending some months on the Continent, with the view of completing his profes- sional education, ari that the time was now fast approaching when it would be necessary for him to commence his journey. A look made the inquiry which my tongue refused to utter. ' Yes, dearest Mary,' was his reply, 'I have communicated our attachment to him, partially at least : and though I dare not say that the intimation was received as I could have wished, yet 192 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF I have, perhaps, on the whole, no fair reason to be dis- satisfied with his reply. " ' The completion of my studies, and my settlement in the world, must, my uncle told me, be the first con- sideration ; when these material points were achieved, he should not interfere with any arrangement that might be found essential to my happiness ; at the same time he has positively refused to sanction any engage- ment at present, which may, he says, have a tendency to divert my attention from those pursuits, on the due prosecution of which my future situation in life must depend. A compromise between love and duty was eventually wrung from me, though reluctantly ; I have pledged myself to proceed immediately to my destination abroad, with a full understanding that on my return, a twelvemonth hence, no obstacle shall be thrown in the way of what are, I trust, our mutual wishes.' "'I will not attempt to describe the feehngs with which I received this communication, nor will it be ne- cessary to say anything of what passed at the few inter- views which took place before Francis quitted X . The evening immediately previous to that of his depar- ture lie passed in this house, and, before we separated, renewed his protestations of an unchangeable aflfection, requiring a similar assurance from me in return. I did not hesitate to make it. ' Bo satisfied, my dear Francis,* said I, 'that no diminution in the regard I have avowed can ever take place, and though absent in body, my heart and soul will still be with you.' — ' Swear this,' lie cried, with a suddenness and energy which surprised, and rather startled me ; 'promise that you will be with me in spirit^ at least, when I am far away.' I gave him THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 193 Tiiy hand, but that was not sufficient. ' One of these dark shining ringlets, my dear Mary,' said he, ' as a pledge that you will not forget your vow !' I suffered him to take the scissors from my work-box and to sever a lock of my hair, which he placed in his bosom. — The next day he was pursuing his journey, and the waves were already bearing him from England. " 'I had letters from him repeatedly during the first three months of his absence ; they spoke of his health, his prospects, and of his love, but by degrees the inter- vals between each arrival became longer, and I fancied I perceived some falling off from that warmth of ex- pression which had at first characterized his commu- nications. " * One night I had retired to rest rather later than usual, having sat by the bedside, comparing his last brief note with some of his earlier letters, and was endeavouring to convince myself that my apprehensions of his fickleness were unfounded, when an undefinable sensation of restlessness and anxiety seized upon me. I cannot compare it to anything I had ever experienced before ; my pulse fluttered, ray heart beat with a quick- ness and violence which alarmed me, and a strange tremor shook my whole frame. I retired hastily to bed, in hopes of getting rid of so unpleasant a sensation, but in vain ; a vague apprehension of I knew not what occupied my mind, and vainly did I endeavour to shake it off. I can compare ray feelings to nothing but those which we sometimes experience when about to under- take a long and unpleasant journey, leaving those we love behind us. More than once did I raise myself in my bed and listen, fancying that I heard myself called^ FIRST SERIES. r< 194 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF and on each of these occasions the fluttering of my heart increased. Twice I was on the point of caUing- to my sister, who then slept in an adjoining room, but she had gone to bed indisposed, and an unwilHngness to dis- turb either her or my mother checked me ; the large clock in the room below at this moment began to strike the hour of twelve. I distinctly heard its vibrations, but ere its sounds had ceased, a bm*ning heat, as if a hot iron had been applied to my temple, was succeeded by a dizziness, — a swoon, — a total loss of consciousness as to where or in what situation I was. " ' A pain, violent, sharp, and piercing, as though my whole frame were lacerated by some keen-edged weapon, roused me from this stupor, — but where was I ? Every- thing was strange around me — a shadowy dimness ren- dered every object indistinct and uncertain ; methought, however, that I was seated in a large, antique, high- backed chair, several of which were near, their tall black carved-frames and seats interwoven with a lattice-work of cane. The apartment in which I sat was one of moderate dimensions, and from its sloping roof, seemed to be the upper story of the edifice, a i'act confirmed by the moon shining without, in full effulgence, on a huge round tower, which its light rendered plainly visible through the open casement, and the summit of which appeared but little superior in elevation to the room 1 occupied. Rather to the right, and in the distance, the spire of some cathedral or lofty church was visible, while sundry gable-ends, and tops of houses, told me I was in the midst of a populous but unknown city. " ' The apartment itself had something strange in ita appearance ; and, in the character of its furniture and THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 195 appurtenances, bore little or no resemblance to any I had ever seen before. The fire-place was large and wide, with a pair of what are sometimes called andirons, betokening that wood was the principal, if not the only fuel consumed within its recess ; a fierce fire was now blazing in it, the light from which rendered visible the remotest parts of the chamber. Over a lofty old- fashioned mantelpiece, carved heavily in imitation of fruits and flowers, hung the half-length portrait of a gentleman in a dark-coloured foreign habit, with a peaked beard and mustaches, one hand resting upon a table, the other supporting a sort of baton, or short military staft", the summit of which was surmounted by a silver falcon. Several antique chaii-s, similar in appear- ance to those already mentioned, surrounded a massive oaken table, the length of which much exceeded its width. At the lower end of this piece of furniture stood the chair I occupied ; on the upper, was placed a small chafing dish filled with burning coals, and darting forth occasionally long flashes of various-coloured fire, the bril- liance of which made itself visible, even above the strong illumination emitted from the chimney. Two huge, black, japanned cabinets, with clawed feet, reflecting from their polished surfaces the effulgence of the flame, were placed one on each side the casement-window to which I have alluded, and with a few shelves loaded with books, many of which were also strewed in disorder on the floor, completed the list of the furniture in the apartment. Some strange-looking instruments, of unknown form and purpose, lay on the table near the chafing-dish, on the other side of which a miniature por- trait of myself hung, reflected by a small c val mirror iD 196 BI^rGDLAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF a dark-coloured frame, while a large open volume, traced with strange characters of the colour of blood, lay in front : a goblet, containing a few drops of liquid of the same ensanguined hue, was by its side. "*But of the objects which I have endeavoured to describe, none arrested my attention so forcibly as two others. These were the figures of two young men, in the prime of life, only separated from me by the table They were dressed alike, each in a long flowing gown, made of some sad -coloured stuff, and confined at the waist by a crimson girdle ; one of them, the shorter of the two, was occupied in feeding the embers of the chafing-dish with a resinous powder, which produced and maintained a brilliant but flickering blaze, to the action of which his companion was exposing a long lock of dark chestnut hair, that shrank and shrivelled as it approached the flame. But, O God ! — that hair ! — and the form of him who held it! that face ! those features ! — not for one instant could I entertain a doubt — it was He ! Francis ! — the lock he grasped was mine, the very pledge of affection I had given him, and still, as it par- tially encountered the fire, a burning heat seemed to Bcorch the temple from which it had been taken, con- veying a torturing sensation that affected my very brain. " ' How shall I proceed ? — but no, it is impossible, — not even to you, sir, can I — dare I — recount the proceed- ings of that unhallowed night of horror and of shame. Were my life extended to a term commensurate with that of the Patriarchs of old, never could its detestable, its damning pollutions be effaced from my remembrance ; and oh ! above all, never could I forget the diabolical glee which sparkled ir the eyes of my fiendish tormen- THE LATE HENilY HARRIS, D.D. 19T tors, as they witnessed the worse than useless strugi/les of their miserable victim. Oh 1 why was it not permitted me to take refuge in unconsciousness — nay, in death itself from the abominations of which I was compelled to be, not only a witness, but a partaker ? But it is enough, sir ; I will not further shock your nature by dweUing % longer on a scene, the full horrors of which, words, if I even dared employ any, would be inadequate to express ; suffice it to say, that after being subjected to it, how long I knew not, but certainly for more than an hour, a noise from below seemed to alarm my persecutors ; a pause ensued, — the lights were extinguished, — and, as the sound of a footstep ascending a staircase became more distinct, my forehead felt again the excruciating sensation of heat, while the embers, kindling into a momentary flame, betrayed another portion of the ring- let consuming in the blaze. Fresh agonies succeeded, not less severe, and of a similar description to those which had seized upon me at first ; oblivion again fol- lowed, and on being at length restored to consciousness, I found myself as you see me now, faint and exhausted, weakened in every limb, and every fibre quivering with agitation. — My groans soon brought my sister to my aid ; it was long before I could summon resolution to confide, even to her, the dreadful secret, and when I had done so, her strongest efibrts were not wanting to per- suade me that I had been labouring under a severe attack of nightmare. I ceased to argue, but I was not con- vinced : the whole scene was then too present, too awfully real, to permit me to doubt the character of the transaction ; and if, when a few days had elapsed, the hopelessness of imparting to others the conviction T 198 SINGUl-AR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF entertained mj^self, produced in me an apparent acquies- cence with their opinion, I have never been the less satisfied that no cause reducible to the known laws of nature occasioned my sufterings on that hellish evening. Whether that firm belief might have eventually yielded to time, — whether I might at length have been brought to consider all that had passed, and the circumstances " which I could never cease to remember, as a mere phan- tasm, the oflfspring of a heated imagination acting upon an enfeebled body, I know not — last night, however, would in any case have dispelled the flattering illusion — last night — last night was the whole horrible scene acted over again. The place — the actors — the whole infernal apparatus were the same ; — the same insults, the same torments, the same brutalities — all were renewed, Bave that the period of my agony was not so prolonged. I became sensible to an incision in my arm, though the hand that made it was not visible ; at the same moment ray persecutors paused; they were manifestly discon- certed, and the companion of him, whose name shall never more pass my lips, muttered something to his abettor in evident agitation ; the formula of an oath of horrible import was dictated to me in terms fearfully distinct. I refused it unhesitatingly ; again and again was it proposed, with menaces I tremble to think on — but I refused ; the same sound was heard — interruption was evidently apprehended, — the same ceremony was hastily repeated, and I again found myself released, lying on my own bed, with my mother and my sister weep- in «• over me. — O God ! God ! ^vhen and how is this to end ? — When will my spirit be left in peace ?— Where, or with whom shall I find refuge ? ' THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 199 " It is impossible to convey any adequate idea of the emotions with which this unhappy girl's narrative affected me. It must not be supposed that her story was delivered in the same continuous and uninterrupted strain in which I have transcribed its substance. On the contrary, it was not without frequent intervals, of longer or shorter duration, that her account was brouglit to a conclusion : indeed, many passages of her strange dream were not without the greatest difficulty and re- luctance communicated at all. — My task was no easy one; never, in the course of a long life spent in the active duties of my Christian calling, — never had I been summoned to such a conference before ! "To the half-avowed, and palliated, confession of committed guilt, I had often listened, and pointed out the only road to secure its forgiveness. I had succeeded in cheering the spirit of despondency, and sometimes even in calming the ravings of despair ; but here I had a different enemy to combat, an ineradicable prejudice to encounter, evidently backed by no common share of superstition, and confirmed by the mental weakness at- tendant upon severe bodily pain. To argue the sufferer out of an opinion so rooted was a hopeless attempt. I did, however, essay it : I spoke to her of the strong and mysterious connection maintained between our waking images and those which haunt us in our dreams, and more especially during that morbid oppression com- monly called nightmare. I was even enabled to adduce myself as a strong, and living, instance of the excess to which fancy sometimes carries her freaks on tliese occa- sions ; while by an odd coincidence, the impression made upon my own mind, which I adduced as an example, 200 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF bore no slight resemblance to her own. I stated to her, that on my recovery from the fit of epilepsy, which had attacked me about two years since, just before my grandson Frederick left Oxford, it was with the greatest difficulty I could persuade myself that I had not visited him, during the interval, in his rooms at Brazenose, and even conversed both with himself and his friend W , seated in his arm-chair, and gazing through the window full upon the statue of Cain, as it stands in the centre of the quadrangle. I told her of the pain I underwent both at the commencement and termination of my attack, — of the extreme lassitude that succeeded ; but my eflbrts were all in vain : she listened to me, indeed, with an interest almost breathless, especially when I informed her of my having actually experienced the very burning sensation in the brain alluded to, no doubt a strong attendant symptom of this peculiar affection, and a proof of the identity of the complaint ; but I could plainly perceive that I failed entirely in shaking the rooted opinion which possessed her, that her spirit had, by some nefarious and unhallowed means, been ac- tually subtracted for a time from its earthly tenement." ***** The next extract which I shall give from my old friend's memoranda is dated August ?4th, more than a w^eek subsequent to his first visit at Mrs. Graham's. He appears, from his papers, to have viaited the poor young woman more than once during the interval, and to have aff'orded her those spiritual consolations which no one was more capable of communicatinjs^. His patient, for so in a religious sense she may well be termed, had been sinking under the agitation sh^^ ^ad THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 201 ex})erienced ; and the constant dread she was under of similar sufferings, operated so strongly on a frame al- ready enervated, that life at length seemed to hang only by a thread. His papers go on to say, " I have just seen poor Mary Graham, — I fear for the last time. Nature is evidently quite worn out ; she is aware that she is dying, and looks forward to the ter- mination of her existence here, not only with resigna- tion, but with joy. It is clear that her dream, or what she persists in calling her ' subtraction,' has much to do with this. For the last few days her behaviour has been altered ; she has avoided conversing on the sub- ject of her delusion, and seems to wish that I should consider her as a convert to my view of her case. This may, perhaps, be partly owing to the flippancies of her medical attendant upon the subject, for Mr. I has, somehow or other, got an inkling that she has been much agitated by a dream, and thinks to laugh off the impression, — in my opinion injudiciously ; but though a skilful, and a kind-hearted, he is a young man, and of a disposition, perhaps, rather 'oo mercurial for the chamber of a nervous invalid. Her maimer has since been much more reserved to both of us : in my case, probably because she suspects me of betraying her secret." % Hi % ^ % " August 26th. — Mary Graham is yet ahve, but sinking fast ; her cordiality towards me has returned since her sister confessed yesterday that she had, herself, told Mr. I that his patient's mind ' had been affect- ed by a terrible vision.' I am evidently restored to her confidence. — She asked me this morning, with much 202 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF earnestness, ' What I believed to be the state of departed spirits during tlie interval between dissolution and the final day of account ! — And whether I thought they would be safe, in another world, from the influence of wicked persons employing an agency more than human V — Poor child ! — One cannot mistake the pre- vailing bias of her mind. — Poor child !" ¥r ife * * * "August 27th. — It is nearly over; she is sinking rapidly, but quietly and w^ithout pain. I have just administered to her the sacred elements of which her mother partook. Elizabeth declined doing the same ; she cannot, she says, yet bring herself to forgive the villain who has destroyed her sister. It is singular that she, a young woman of good plain sense in ordinary matters, should so easily adopt, and so pertinaciously retain, a superstition so puerile and ridiculous. This must be matter of future convei-sation between us ; at present, with the form of the dying girl before her eyes, it were vain to argue with ler. The mother, I find, has written to young Somers, stating the dangerous situation of his afliianced wife ; indignant, as she justly is, at his long silence ; it is fortunate that she has no knowledge of the suspicions entertained by her daugh- .^er. I have seen her letter, it is addressed to Mr. Francis Somers, in the Hogewoeri, at Leyden, — a fellow-student then of Frederick's. I must remember to enquire if he ifl acquainted with this young man." * * ¥r * * Mary Graham, it appears, died the same nigliL Before her departure, she repeated to my friend the lingular story she had before told him, without any THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D, 203 material variation from the detail she had Ibrmerl)' given. To the las she pei-sisted iii believing that hei unworthy lover had practised upon her by forbidden arts. She once more described the apartment with great minuteness, and even the person of Francis's alleged companion, who was, she said, about the middle height, hard featured, with a rather remarkable scar upon his left cheek, extending in a transverse direction from below the eye to the nose. Several pages of my reverend friend's manuscript are filled with reflections upon this excraordinary confession, which, joined with its melancholy termination, seems to have produced no common eftect upon him. He alludes to more than one subsequent discussion with the surviving sister, and piquea himself on having made some progress in con- vincing her of the folly of her theory respecting the origin and nature of the illness itself. His memoranda on this, and other subjects, arc con- tinued till about the middle of September, when a break ensues, occasioned, no doubt, by the unwelcome news of his grandson's dangerous state, which induced him to set out forthwith for Holland. His arrival at Leyden was, as I have already said, too late. Frederick S had expired, after thirty hours' intense suffering, from a wound received in a duel with a brother student. The cause of the quarrel was variously related ; but, accord- ing to his landlord's version, it had originated in some silly dispute about a dream of his antagonist's, who had been the challenger. Such, at least, was the account given to him, as he said, by Frederick's friena and fel low-lodger, W , who had acted as second on the occasion, thus acquitting himself of an obligation of the 204 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF same kind due to the deceased, whose services he had put in requisition about a year before on a similar occa- sion, when he iaad himself been severely wounded in the face. From the same authority I learned that my poor friend was much affected on finding that his arrival had been deferred too long. Every attention was shown him by the proprietor of the house, a respectable trades- man, and a chamber was prepared for his accommoda- tion ; the books, and few effects of his deceased grand- son were delivered over to him, duly inventoried, and, late as it was in the evening when he reached Leyden, he insisted upon being conducted immediately to the apartments which Frederick had occupied, there to indulge the first ebullitions of his soirow, before he retired to his own. Madame Miiller accoi'dingly led the way to an upper room, which, being situated at the top of the house, had been, from its privacy and distance from the stieet, selected by Frederick as his study. The Doctor entered, and taking the lamp from his conduc- tress motioned to be left alone. His implied wish was of course complied with : and nearly two hours had elapsed before his kind-hearted hostess reascended, in the hope of prevailing upon him to return with her, and partake of that refreshment which he had in the first instance peremptorily declined. Her application for admission was unnoticed: — she repeated it more than once, without success ; then, becoming somewhat alarmed at the continued silence, opened the door and perceived her new inmate stretched on the floor in a fainting fit. Restoratives were instantly administered, and prompt medical aid succeeded at length in restoring THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 205 Ilim to consciousness. 13 ut his mind had icceived a shock from which, during the few weeks he survived, he never entirely recovered. His thoughts wandered perpetually : and though, from the very slight acquaint- ance which his hosts had with the English language, ihe greater part of what fell from him remained un- known, yet enough was understood to induce them to believe that something* more than the mere death of his grandson had contributed thus to paralyze his faculties. When his situation was first discovered, a small miniature was found tightly grasped in his right hand. It had been the property of Frederick, and had more than once been seen by the Miillers in his possession. To this the patient made continued reference, and would not suffer it one moment from his sight : it was in his hand when he expired. At my request it was produced to me. The portrait was that of a young woman, in an English morning dress, whose pleasing and regular fea- tures, with their mild and somewhat pensive expression, were not, I thought, altogether unknown to me. Her age was apparently about twenty. A profusion of dark chestnut hair was arranged in the Madonna style, above a brow of unsullied whiteness, a single ringlet depend- ing on the left side. A glossy lock of the same colour, and evidently belonging to the original, appeared be- neath a small crystal, inlaid in the back of the picture, which was plainly set in gold, and bore in a cipher the letters M. G. with the date 18 — . From the inspection of this portrait, I could at that time collect nothing, nor from that of the Doctor himself, which also I found the next morning in Frederick's desk accompanied by 206 SINGULAR, PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OP iwo separate portions of hair. Ojie of them was a lock, thort, and deeply tinged with g'l'ey, and had been taken, i have httle doubt, from the head of ray old friend him- self; the other corresponded in colour and appearance with that at the back of the miniature. It was not till a few days had elapsed, and I had seen the worthy Doctor's remains quietly consigned to the narrow house, that, while arranging his papers previous to my intended return upon the morrow, I encountered the narrative I liave already transcribed. The name of the unfortu- nate young woman connected with it forcibly arrested my attention. I recollected it immediately as one be- longing to a parishioner of my own, and at once recog- nised the original of the female portrait as its owner. I rose not from the perusal of his very singular state- ment till I had gone through the whole of it. It was late, — and the rays of the single lamp by which I was reading did but very faintly illumine the remoter parts of the room in which I sat. The brilliancy of an unclouded November moon, then some twelve nights old, and shining full into the apartment, did much towards remedying the defect. My thoughts filled with the melancholy details I had read, I rose and walked to the window. The beautiful planet rode high in the fir- mament, and gave to the snowy roofs of the houses, and pendant icicles, all the. sparkling radiance of cluster- ing gems. The stillness of the scene harmonized well with the state of my feelings. I threw open the case- ment and looked abroad. Far below me, the waters of the principal canal shone like a broad mirror in the moonlight. To the left rose the Burght, a huge round tower of remarkable appearance, pierced v/ith embra- THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 207 sures at its summit ; while a little to the right^ and in the distance, the spire and pinnacles of the Cathedral of Leyden rose in all their majesty, presenting a coup (Toeil of surpassing though simple beauty. To a spec- tator of calm, unoccupied mind, the scene would have been delightful. On me it acted with an electric effect. I turned hastily to survey the apartment in which I had been sitting. It was the one designated as the study of the late Frederick S . The sides of the room wer6 covered with dark wainscot ; the spacious fireplace oppo- site to me, with its polished audi ons, was surmounted by a large old-fashioned mantelpiece, heavily carved in the Dutch style with fruits and flowers ; above it frowned a portrait, in a Vandyke dress . with a peaked beard and mustaches ; one hand of the figure rested on a table, while the other bore a marshal's staff, surmounted by a silver falcon ! and — either my imagination, already heated by the scene, deceived me, — or a smile as of malicious triumph curled the lip and glared in the cold leaden eye that seemed fixed upon my own. The heavy, antique, cane-backed chairs, — the large oaken table, — the book-shelves, the scattered volumes — all, all were there ; while, to complete the picture, to my right and left, as half-breathless I leaned my back against the casement, rose, on each side, a tall, dark, ebony cabinet, in whose polished sides the single lamp upon the table shone reflected as in a mirror. Hi % % % % What am I to think? — Can it be that the story 1 have been reading was written by my poor friend here, and under the influence of delirium? — Impossible! Besides thev all assure me, that from the fatal niofht of 208 THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS. his arrival he never left his bed — never put pen to paper. His very directions to have me summoned from Eng- land were verbally given, during one of those few and brief intervals in which reason seemed partially to resume her sway. Can it then be possible that ? W ? where is he, who alone may be able to throw light on this horrible mystery ? — No one knows. lie absconded, it seems, immediately after the duel. No trace of him exists, nor, after repeated and anxious in- quiries, can I find that any student has ever been known in the University of Leyden by the name of Francis Somers. "There are more tilings in heaven and earth Than are dreamt of in your philosophy." Father John Ingoldsby, to whose papers I am largely indebted for the Saintly records which follow, was brought up by his father, a cadet of the family, in the ]lomish faith, and was educated at Douai for the church. Besides the manuscripts now at Tappington, he was the author of two controversial treatises on the connection between the Papal Hierarchy and the Nine of Dia- monds. From his well-known loyalty, evinced by secret ser- vices to l>he Royal cause during the Protectorate, he was excepted by name out of the acts against the Papists, became superintendent of the Queen Dowager's chapel at Somerset House, and enjoyed a small pension until his death, which took place in the third year of Queen Anne (1704), at the mature age of ninety-six. He was an ecclesiastic of great learning and piety, but THE JACKDAW OF KIIEIMS. 209 fiom the stiff and antiquated phraseology which h« adopted, I have thought it necessary to modernize it a httle: this will account for certain anachronisms that have unavoidably crept in ; the substance of his nar- ratives has, however, throughout, been strictly adhered to. His hair-shirt, almost as good as new, is still preserved at Tappington, — but nobody ever wears it. THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS. "Tunc mfscr Corvus adeo conscientise stimulia compunctus fuit, et exe- cratio cum tantopere excarneficavit, ut exinde tabescere iiiciperet, maciera contraheret, oinnem cibum aversaretur, uec aniplius crocitaret ; peniia) praeterea ei defluebant, et alls pendulis oranes facetius intermisit, ct tain macer apparuit ut omnes ejus miserescent." * * * "Tunc abbas sacerdotibus mandavit ut rursus furem absolverent ; quo facto, Corvus, omnibus mirantibus, propediem convaluit, et pristinam sur nitatem recuperavit." De Illust. Ord. CisUrc The Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal's chair ! Bishop and abbot, and prior were there ; Many a monk, and many a friar. Many a knight, and many a squire, AVith a great many more of lesser degree, — In sooth a goodly company ; And they served the Lord Primate on bended knee. Never, I ween, Was a prouder seen, Read of in books, or dreamt of in dreams, Than the Cardinal Lord Archbishop of Rheimsl 210 THE JACKDAW OF KHEIM8. In and out Tlu'ough the motley rout, That little Jackdaw kept hopping about- Here and there, Like a dog in a fair, Over comfits and cates, And dishes and plates, Cowl and cope, and rochet and pall ! Mitre and crosier ! he hopp'd upon all With a saucy air, He perch'd on the chair Where, in state, the great Lord Cardinal sat In the great Lord Cardinal's great red hat ; And he peer'd in the face Of his Lordship's Grace, With a satisfied look, as if he would say, " We Two are the greatest folks here to-day ! " And the priests, with awe. As such freaks they saw, Said, "The Devil must be in that little Jackdaw! Tlie feast was over, the board was clear'd The flawns and the custards had all disappear'd. And six little Singing-boys, — dear little souls In nice clean faces, and nice white stoles, Came, in order due, Two by two, Marching that grand refectory through 1 A nice little boy held a golden ewer, Emboss'd and fill'd with water, as pure As any that flows between Rheims and N"amur, Which a nice little boy stood ready to catch In a fine golden hand-basin made to match. Two nice little boys rather more grown, Carried lavender-water and eau de Cologne ; And a nice little boy had a nice cake of soap, Worthy of washing the hands of the Pope. One little boy more A napkin bore. THE JACKDAW OF RIIEIMS. 211 Of the best white diaper, fringed witli pink, And a Cardinal's Hat mark'd in "permanent ink." The great Lord Cardinal turns at the sight Of these nice little boys dress'd all in white ; From his finger he draws His costly turquoise : And, not thinking at all about little Jackdaws, Deposits it straight By the side of his plate, While the nice little boys on his Eminence wait; Till, when nobody's dreaming of any such thing, That little Jackdaw hops off with the ring 1 * * « * There's a cry and a shout, And a deuce of a rout, And nobody seems to know what they're about, But the monks have their pockets all turn'd inside out; The friars are kneeling, Anl hunting and feeling The carpet, the floor, and the walls, and the ceiling. The Cardinal drew Off each plum-color'd shoe. And left his red stockings exposed to the view ; He peeps, and he feels In the toes and the heels They turn up the dishes, — they turn up the plates,- ■ They take up the poker and poke out the grateg, — They turn up the rugs, They examine the mugs : — But, no ! — no such thing ; — They can't find the ring ! And the Abbot declared that, " when nobody twigg'd it, Some rascal or other had popp'd in, and prigg'd it ! " The Cardinal rose with a dignified look, He called for his candle, his bell, and his book I In holy anger, and pious grief. He solemnly cursed that rascally thief I 212 THE JACKDAW OF RHELMS. He cursed him at board, he cursed hiin in b<>d ; From the sole of his foot to the crown of his head • He cursed him in sleeping, that every night He should dream of the devil, and wake in a fright* He cursed liim in eating, he cursed him in drinking, He cursed liim in coughing, in sneezing, in winking; He cursed him in sitting, in standing, in lying ; He cursed him in walking, in riding, in flying, He cursed him living, he cursed him dying ! — Never was heard such a terrible curse] But what gave rise To no little sui'prise, Nobody seemed one penny the worse I The day was gone, The night came on, l"lie Monks and the Friars they search'd till dawn; When the Sacristan saw, On crumpled claw, Come limping a poor little lame Jackdaw ! No longer gay, As on yesterday ; His feathers all seem'd to be turn'd the wrong way ; — His pinions droop'd — he could hardly stand, — His head was as bald as the palm of youi' hand ; His eye so dim, So wasted each limb, That, heedless of grammar, they all cried, "That iiimI- That's the scamp that has done this scandalous thing That's the thief that has got my Lord Cardinal's Ring I ' The poor little Jackdaw, When the monks he saw. Feebly gave vent to the ghost of a caw ; And turn'd his bald head, as much as to say, " Pray be so good as to walk this way ! " Slower and slower He limp'd on before. Till they came to the back of the belfry-door. THE JACKDAW OF llIlb:iMS. 213 Where the first thing they saw. Midst the sticks and the straw, Was the ring, in the nest of that little Jackdaw I Then the great Lord Cardinal eall'd for his book. And off that terrible curse he took ; The mute expression Served in lieu of confession, And, being thus coupled with full restitution. The Jackdaw got plenary absolution! — When those words were heard, That poor little bird • Was so changed in a moment, 'twas really absurd : He grew sleek, and fat ; In addition to that, A fresh crop of feathers came thick as a mat! His tail waggled more Even than before ; But no longer it wagg'd with an impudent air, No longer he perch'd on the Cardinal's chair. He hopp'd now about With a gait devout ; At Matins, at Vespers, he never was out ; And, so far from any more pilfering deeds. He always seem'd telling the Confessor's beads. If any one lied, — or if any one swore, — Or slumber'd in pray'r-time and happen'd to snore, Tliat good Jackdaw Would give a great " Caw ! " As much as to say, " Don't do so any more I " While many remark'd, as his manners they saw. That they "never had known such a pious Jackda-w I* He long lived the pride Of that country side, And at last in the odor of sanctity died ; When, as words were too faint His merits to paint, Tlie Conclave determined to make him a Saint 214 THE JACKDAW OF RHETMS. And on newly made Saints and Popes as you kno-vv, ItVi tlie custom, at Rome, new names to bestow^, So they canonized him by the name of Jein Cro-w 1 215 A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. "2ri)f» |)oId centre ISunstan toas &o):ne in j)* i)cre of out Hottie ix. !)on:reti &; xxv. tljat tjinip rrfln^iifle fn tjfs lontJC itfuflc ^tljclston, * * * **^j^^nn It so to IS t|)nt ;S:ai)nt ©iinstan teas torrj) of praijcr tl)ait useTi ije to toorttt lii floltrsmftjjrs bjrrfte toiti) fits otone l)antiis (or to esJjctoc gticlncs." Golden Legend. St. Dunstan stood in his ivied tower, Alembic, crucible, all were there ; When in came Nick to play him a trick, In guise of a damsel passing fair. Every one knows How the story goes : He took up the tongs and caught hold of his nose. But I beg that you won't for a moment suppose That I mean to go through, in detail, to you A story at least as trite as it's true ; Nor do I intend An instant to spend On the tale, how he treated his monarch and Iriend, When, bolting away to a chamber remote, Inconceivably bored by his Witen-gemote, Edwy left them all joking. And drinking, and smoking. So tipsily grand, they'd stand nonsense from no King, But sent the Archbishop Their Sovereign to fish up, With a liint that perchance on his crown he might feel tap. Unless he came baek straight and took off his heel-tapa. 216 A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. Yon must not be plagued with the same story twice, And perhaps have seen this one, by "\V. Dyce, At the Royal Academy, very well done, And mark'd in the catalogue Four, seven, one. You might there view the Saint, who in sable array 'd ;», Coercing the Monarch away from the Ladies ; His right hand has hold of his Majesty's jerkin, Ilis left shews the door, and he seems to say, " Sir King, Your most faithful Commons won't hear of your shirkingl Quit your tea, and return to your Barclai and Ferkyn, Or, by Jingo,* ere morning, no longer alive, a Sad victim you'll lie to your love for Elgiva ! " No farther to treat Of this ungallant feat, What I mean to do now is succinctly to paint One particular fact in the life of the Saint, "Which somehow, for want of due care, I presume, Has escaped the researches of Rapin and Hume, In recounting a miracle, both of them men, who a Great deal fall short of Jacques Bishop of Genoa, An Historian who likes deeds like these to record — See his Aurea Legenda, by SUJ^gnhsn Tie 2121/orTjr. St Dunstan stood again in his tower. Alembic, crucible, all complete ; He had been standing a good half hour. And now he utter'd the words of power, And call'd to his broomstick to bring him a seat. The words of power! — and what be they To which e'en Broomsticks bow and obey ? — Why, — ^'twere uncommonly hard to say. As the prelate I named has recorded none of tliem, ■ St. Jingo, or Gengo (Gengulphus), sometimes styled "The Living Jingo," from the gi'eat teiiaciousness of vitality exhibited by his severed mijmbers. See his Legend, as recorded hereafter in the present vohime. A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. 217 What they may be, But I know they are three, And ABRACADABRA, I take it, is one of them: For I'm told that most Cabalists use that identical Word, written thus, in what they call " a Peutacle." However that be, You '11 doubtless agree It signifies little to you or to me. As not being dabblers in Grammarye ; Still, it must be confess'd, for a Saiat to rejieat Such language aloud is scarcely discreet; For, as Solomon hints to folks given to chatter, *• A bird of the air may carry the matter ;" And in sooth. From my youth I remember a truth Insisted on much in my earlier years. To wit, " Little Pitchers have very long ears !" Now, just such a " Pitcher " as those I allude to Was outside the door, which his " ears ** appeared glued to FIRST SEPIES. 10 218 A LAY OF ST. DUNBIAW. Peter, the Lay-brother, meagre and thin, Five feet one in his sandal shoon, While the saint thought him sleeping,. Was listening and peeping, And watching his master the whole afternoon. 'riiis Peter the Saint had pick'd out from his fellows, To look to his fire, and to blow with the bellows, To put on the Wall's-Ends and Lambtons whenever ho Chose to indulge in a little orfevrerie ; — Of course you have read. That St. Dunstan was bred A Goldsmith, and never quite gave up the trade ! Tlie Company — richest in London, 'tis said — Acknowledge him still as their Patron and Head ; Nor is it so long Since a capital song In his praise — now recorded their archives among — Delighted the noble and dignified throng Of their guests, who, the newspapers told the whole town, With cheers "pledged the wine-cup to Dunstan's renown," When Lord Lyndhurst, The Duke, and Sir Robert, were dining At the Hall some time since with the Prime Warden Twin- ing.— — ^I am sadly digressing — a fault which sometimes One can hardly avoid in these gossiping rhymes — A slight deviation's forgiven ! but then this is Too long, I fear, for a decent parenthesis, So I'll rein up my Pegasus sharp, and retreat, or You'll think I've forgotten the Lay -brother Peter, Whom the Saint, as I said. Kept to turn down his bed, Dress his palfreys and cobs, And do other odd jobs, — As reducing to writing Whatever he might, in The course of the day or the night, be inditing. And cleaning the plate of his mitre with whiting ; A LAY Oe ST. DUNSTAN. 219 Performing, in short, all those duties and offices Abbots exact from Lay-brothers and Novices. It occurs to me here You'll perhaps think it queer That St. Dunstan should have such a personage near, "When he'd only to say Those words, — be what they may, — And his Broomstick at once his commands would obey,— That's true but the fact is 'Twas rarely his practice Such aid to resort to, or such means apply. Unless he'd some " dignified knot " to untie, Adopting, though sometimes, as now, he'd reversed it, Old Horace's maxim " iVec Brooynstick intersit." — — ^Peter, the Lay-brother, meagre and thin, Heard all the Saint was saying within ; Peter, the Lay-brother, sallow and spare, Peep'd through the key-hole, and — what saw. he there !— Why, — A Broomstick bringing a rush-bottom'd chair. "What Shakspeare observes in his play of King John, Is undoubtedly right, That " ofttimes the sight Of means to do ill deeds will make ill deeds done." Here's Peter, the Lay-brother, pale-faced and meagre, A good sort of man, only rather too eager To listen to what other people are saying, "When he ought to be minding his business or praying, Gets into a scrape, — and an awkward one too, — As you'll find, if you've patience enough to go through The whole of the story I'm laying before ye, — Entirely from having " the meana " in his view Of doing a thing which he ought not to do' Still rings in his ear, Distinct and clear. 220 A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. Abracadabra! that word of fear And the two which I never yet happen'd to hear. Still doth he spy, With Fancy's eye, The Broomstick at work, and the Saint standing by ; And he chuckles, and says to himself with glee, " Aha ! that Broomstick shall work for me !" Hark ! — that swell O'er flood and o'er fell. Mountain, and dingle, and moss-covered delll List! — 'tis the soimd of the Compline bell. And St. Dunstan is quitting his ivied cell ; Peter, I wot. Is off like a shot, Or a little dog scalded by something that's hot. For he hears his Master approaching the spot Where he'd listened so long, though he knew he ought not Peter remember'd.his Master's frown — He trembled — he'd not have been caught for a crown ; Howe'er you may laugh. He had rather, by half, Have run up to the top of the tower and jurap'd down. ***** The Compline hour is past and gone, ' Evening service is over and done ; The monks repair To their frugal fare, A snug little supper of something light And digestible, ere they retire for the night. For in Saxon times, in respect to their cheer, St. Austin's Rule was by no means severe. Bat allowed, from the Beverley Roll 'twould appear. Bread and cheese, and spring onions, and sound table-i)eer And even green pea:?, wiien they were not too dear ; Not like the rule of La Trappe, whose chief merit is Said to consist in its greater austerities ; And whose monks, if I rightly remember their laws. A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. 221 Ne'er are suffer'd to speak, Think only in Greek, And subsist, as the Bears do, by sucking their pawa Astonish'd I am The gay Baron Geramb, With his head sav'ring more of the Lion than Lamb, Could e'er be pursuaded to join such a set — i Extend the remark to Signor Ambrogetti.— For a monk of La Trappe is as thin as a rat, While an Austin Friar was jolly and fat ; Though, of course, the fare to which I allude, With as good table-beer as ever was brew'd, Was all " caviare to the multitude," Extending alone to the clergy, together in Hall assembled, — and not to Lay-brethren. St. Dunstan liimself sits there at his post^ On what they say is Called a Dais. O'erlooking the whole of his clerical host, And eating poach'd eggs with spinach and toabt; Five Lay -brothers stand behind his chair. But where is the sixth ?— Where's Peter !— Ay, WHERE f 'TIS an evening in June, And a little half moon, A brighter no fond lover ever set eyes on. Gleaming and beaming. And dancing the stream in, Has made her appearance above the horizon ; Just such a half moon as you see, in a play. On the turban of Mustapha Muley Bey, Or the fair Turk who weds with the " Noble Lord Bateman ; " — Vide plate in George Cruickshank's memoirs of that great man. She shines on a turret remote and lone, A turret with ivy and moss overgrown, And lichens that thrive on the cold dank stone* 222 A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. Such a tower as a poet of no mean ealihre 1 once knew and loved, poor, dear Reginald Heber, Assigns to oblivion* — a den for a She bear ; Within it are found, Strew'd above and around, On the hearth, on the table, the shelves, and the ground. All sorts of instruments, all sorts of tools, To name which, and their uses, would puzzle the Schools And make very wise people look very like fools ; Pincers and hooks. And black-letter books, All sorts of pokers, and all sorts of tongs, And all sorts of hammers, and all that belongs To Goldsmith's work, chemistry, alchymy, — all, In short that a Sage, In that erudite age, Could require, was at hand, or at least within call. In the midst of the room lies a Broomstick I — and there A lay-brother sits in a rush-bottom'd chair I Abracadabra, that fearful word. And the two which, I said, I have never yet heard, Are utter'd: — 'Tis done ! Peter, full of his fun, Cries, " Broomstick 1 you lubberly son of a gun ! Bring ale ! — ^bring a flagon — a hogshead — a tun ! 'Tis the same thing to you ; I have nothing to do ; *nd, 'fore George, I '11 sit here, and I'll drink tiJl alJ s Dine. No doubt you 've remark'd how uncommonly quick A Newfoundland puppy runs after a stick, Brings it .back to his master, and gives it him — AVcll, So potent the spell, The Broomstick perceived it was vain to rebel, • And cold oblivion, midst the ruin laid, Folds her dank wing bei-eath the ivy shade. PalbstiiID. A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. 22S So ran off like that puppy ; — ^some cellar was neai% For in less than ten seconds 'twas back with the beer I Peter seizes the flagon ; but ere he can suck Its contents, or enjoy what he thinks his good luck, The Broomstick comes in with a tub in a truck ; Continues to run At the rate it begun. And, au pied de lettre, next brings in a tun ! A fresh one succeeds, then a third, then another, Discomfiting muchAlie astounded Lay-brother; Who, had he possess'd fifty pitchers or stoups, They all had been too few ; for, arranging in grouj>8 The barrels, the Broomstick next started the hoops ; The ale deluged the floor, But, still, through the door. Said Broomstick kept bolting, and bringing in more. E'en Macbeth to Macduff Would have cried " Hold ! enouglil " If half as well dreneh'd with such "perilous stuft," And, Peter, who did not expect such a rough visit. Cried lustily, "Stop!— That will do, Broomstick I—Sujlcit I ** But ah, well-a-day ! The Devil, they say, 'Tis easier at all times to raise than to lay. Again and again Peter roar'd out in vain Mis Abracadabra, and t' other words twain : — As well might one try A pack in full cry To check, and call off from their headlong career, By bawling out " Yoicks ! " with one's hand at on. i« ear. The longer he roar'd and the louder and quicker, Tha faster the Broomstick was bringing in liquor. The poor Lay-brother knew Not on earth what to do — H* caught ho'd of the Broomstick and snapt it in tw!e Now extremely alarm'd, Peter scream'd without ceasint^ For a flood of brown-stout he was up to his knees in. Which, thanks to the Broomstick, continued increiising •. He fear'd he'd be drowu'd. And }je yell'd till the sound Of his voice, wing'd by terror, at last I'each'd the ear Of St. Dunstan himself, who hadfinish'd /tzsboer, And had put off his mitre, dalmatic, and shoeSy And was just stepping into his bed for a snooze. His Holiness paused when he heard such a clatter ; He could not conceive what on earth was the matter. Slipping on a few things, for the sake of decorum, He issued fortliwith from his Sanctum sanctorum. And calling a ievr of the lay-brothers near him. Who were not yet in bed, and who happen'd to hear him. At once led the way, Witliout farther delay. To the tower where he'd been in the course of the day. Poor Peter ! — alas ? though St. Dunstan was quick. There were two there before him — Grim Death, and Old Nick!- A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. 22i When they open'd the door out the malt-liquor flowed, Just as when the great Vat burst in Tot'n'am Court Road ; The Lay-brothers nearest were up to their necks In an instant, and swimming in strong double X ; While Peter, who, spite of himself now had drank hard. After floating awhile, like a toast in a tankard, To the bottom had sunk, And was spied by a monk, Stone-dead, like poor Clarence, half drown'd and half drunk In vain did St Dunstan exclaim, " Vade retro Strongbeerum ! — discede a Lay-fratre Petro /" Queer Latin, you'll say. That prefix of " Xay," And Strongbeerum! — I own they'd have call'd me a block head if At school I had ventured to use such a Vocative 'Tis a barbarous word, and to me it's a query If you'll find it in Patrick, Morell, or Moreri ; But, the fact is, the S'lint was uncommonly flurried, And apt to be loose in his Latin when hurried ; The Brown-stout, however, obeys to the letter, Quite as well as if talk'd to, in Latin much better, By a grave Cambridge Johnian, Or graver Oxonian, Whose language, we all know, is quite Ciceronian. It retires from the corpse, which is left high and dry ; But, in vain do they snuff and hot towels apply, And other means used by the faculty try. When once a man's dead There's no more to be said ; Peter's " Beer with an e" was his " Bier with an i I T movnU By way of a moral, permit me to pop in The following maxims : — Beware of eaves-dropping ! — Don't make use of language that isn't well scann'd !— Don't meddle with matters you don't understand! — 10* 226 A LAY OF ST. DUNSTA^T. Above all, what I'd wish to impress on both sexes Is, — ^Keep clear of Broomsticks, Old Nick, and three XXXs. In Goldsmith's Hall there's a handsome glass-case, And in it a stone figure, found on the place, When, thinking the old Hall no longer a pleasant one. They pull'd it all down, and erected tlie present one. If you look, you'll perceive that this stone figure twists A thing like a broomstick in one of its fists. It's so injured by time, you can't make out a feature ; But it is not St. Danstan, — so doubtless it's Peter. Gengulphus, or, as he is usually styled in this coun- try, " Jingo," was psrbaps more in the mouths of the " general" than any other Saint, on occasions of adjura- tion (see note, page 216). Mr. Simpkinson from Bath had kindly transmitted me a portion of a primitive ballad, which has escaped the researches of Ritson and Ellis, but is yet replete with beauties of no common order. I am happy to say that, since these Legends first appeared, I have recovered the whole of it. — Vide infra. ' % jFranklsTt'jJ bojjijt Icptii obrr a stjlf, %,\iii i^2S namt baas IitttI B^nao 33 bottf) a i— i tojtf) art N,— N tojt]^ a (5— (5 b32t^ an ©,— ®l)t2 tairiJ f)ini littU Bwnjgo ! %x{ii f)« ^airii it 3aart ^ooJit ^tjitgi %, ®, i, N, (E^, © ! ^t tall'lJ it 3£lart jgoolr^ ^t^it^o ! NobDC 15 ttotle t!)25 a prcttp sonja? $ tf)tnkc it IS i^t 3(3)ttso I 3 boBtfit a i— N, (&", ©— 3c sbatart jt is 1)2 Jjinso !** 227 A LAY OF ST. GENGULPHUS. " Noa multo post, Gengulphus, m domo suA dormiens, occisus est d ([uodam clerico qui cum uxoro sua adulterare solebat. Cujus corpus dura, ir, fereto, in sepulturam portaretur, multi iufirmi de tactu sanati sunt." • «»•••• " Cum hoc illius uxori refcrretur ab ancilla sua, scilicet dominum suura quam martyrem sanctum, miracula facere, irrideus ilia, et subsurraus, aiV ' Ita Gengulphus miracula facitat ut pulvinarium meum canta^,' " .h the Germans call " Wacke,") All I know is, she took not so much as a snack, Till, hungry and worn, feeling wretchedly ill. On a mountain's brow sank down the weary Odille. I said on its "brow," but I should have said " crown," For 'twas quite on the summit, bleak, barren, and brown. And so high that 'twas frightful indeed to look down Upon Friburg, a place of some little renown. That lay at its foot ; but imagine the frown That contracted her brow, when full many a clown She perceived coming up from that horrid post-town. They had follow'd her trail. And now thought without fail. As little boys say, to " lay salt on her tail ;" While the Count, who knew no other law but his will, Swore that Herman that evening should marry Odille. Alas, for Odille 1 poor dear ! what could she do ? Her father's retainers now had her m view, As she found from their raising a joyous halloo ; While the Count, riding on at the head of his crew. In their snufF-colour'd doublets and breeches of blue. Was huzzaing and urging them on to pursue — What, indeed, could she do ? She very well knew If they caught her how much she would have to go through ; But then — she'd so shocking a hole in her shoe ! And to go further on was impossible ; — true She might jump o'er the precipice ; — still there are few, In her place, who could manage their courage to screw Up to bidding the world such a sudden adieu : — Alack ! how she envied the birds as they flew ; No Nassau balloon, with its wicker canoe, Came to bear her from him she loath'd worse than a Jew ; ' «> she fell on her knees in a terrible stew. 4 THE LAY' OF ST. ODILLE. 242 Crying " Holy St. Ermengarde 1 Oh, from tliese vermin guard Her whose last hope rests entirely on you ; — Don't let papa catch me, dear Saint! — rather kiJ At once, si.r le champ, your devoted Odille!" It's delightful to see those who strive to oppress Get baulk'd when they think themselves sure of success. The Saint came to the rescue! — I fairly confess I don't soe, as a Saint, how she well could do less Than to get such a votary out of her mess. Odille had scarce closed her pathetic address When the rock, gaping wide as the Thames at Sheerness, Closed again, and secured her, within its recess, In a natural grotto. Which puzzled Count Otto, Who could not conceive where the deuce she had got to. 'Tvvas her voice ! — but 'twas Vox et prmterea Nil ! Nor could any one guess what was gone with Odille 1 Then burst from the mountain a splendour that quite Eclipsed in its brilliance, the finest Bude light, And there stood St. Ermengarde, drest all in white, A palm-branch in her left hand, her beads iu her right ; While, witn faces fresh gilt, and with wings burnish'd bright, A great many little boys' heads took their flight Above and around to a very great height. And seem'd pretty lively considering their plight, Since every one saw, With amazement and awe, Tliey could never sit down, for they hadn't de quoi — All at the sight. From the knave to the knight. Felt a very unpleasant sensation, call'd fright; While the Saint, looking down. With a terrible frown. Said, "My Lords, you are done most remarkably brown I — f am really asham'd of you both ; — my nerves thrill it vour s(!andalous conduct to poor dear Odille ; 244 THE LAY OF ST. ODILLE. " Come, make yourselves scarce! — it is useless to stay. You will gain nothing here by a longer delay. 'Quick! Presto! Begone!' as the conjurors say ; For Hs to the Lady, I've stow'd her away In this hill, in a stratum of London blue clay ; And I shan't, I assure you, restore her to-day Till you faithfully promise no more to say ' Nay,' But declare, ' If she will be a nun, why she may.' For this you've my word, and I never yet bro^.;e it^ So put'that in your pipe, my Lord Otto, ana smoke it!— One hint to your vassals, — a month at ' the Mill * Shall be nuts to what they'll get who worry Odille I " The Saint disappear'd as she ended, and so Did the little boys' heads, which, above and below, As I told you a very few stanzas ago. Had been flying about her, and jumping Jim Crow ; Tliough, without any body, or leg, foot, or toe. How they managed such antics, I really don't know ; Be that as it may, they all " melted like snow Off a dyke," as the Scotch say in sweet Edinbro'. And there stood the Count With his men, on the mount, Just like " twenty -four jackasses all on a row." What was best to be done ? — 'twas a sad bitter pill — But gulp it he must, or else lose his Odille. The lord of Alsace therefore alter'd his plan, And said to himself, like a sensible man, " I can't do as I would, — I must do as I can ; It will not do to lie under any Saint's ban. For your hide, when you do, they all manage to tan ; So Count Herman must pick up some Betsy or Nan, Instead of my girl, — some Sue, Polly, or Fan ; — If he can't get the corn he must do with the bran. And make shift Avith the pot if he can't have the pan." With such proverbs as these He went down on his knees. And said, "Blessed St. Ermengarde, just as you pleaso — TFIE LAY OF ST. ODTLLE. Oli^i Ttiey shall build a new convent^ — I'll pay the whole bill, (Taking discount,) — its Abbess shall be my Odille I" There are some of my readers, I'll venture to say. Who have never seen Friburg, though some of them may, And others, 'tis likely may go there some day. Now, if ever you happen to travel that way, I do beg and pray, — 'twill your pains well repay, — Tliat you'll take what the Cockney folks call a ' po-shay, (Though in Germany these things are more like a dray,) You may reach this same hill with a single relay, — And do look how the rock. Through the whole of its block. Is split open, as though by some violent shock From an earthquake, or lightning, or horrid hard knock From the club-bearing fist of some jolly old cock Of a Germanized giant, Thor, Woden, or Lok : And see how it rears Its two monstrous great ears. For when once you're between them such each side appears ; And list to the sound of the water one hears Drip, drip, from the fissures, like rain-drops or tears, — Odille's, I believe, — which have flowed all these years; -^I think they account for them so ; — but the rill 1 am sure is connected some way with Odille. Moral. Now then, for a moral, which always arrives At the end, like the honey bees take to their hives, And the more one observes it the better one thrives. — We have all heard it said in the course of our lives " Needs must when a certain old gentleman drives," Tis the same with a lady, — if once she contrives To get hold of the ribands, how vainly one strives To escape from her lash, or to shake off her gyves I Then let's act like Count Otto, and while one survive^ Succumb to our She-Saints — ^videlicet wives I 246 THE LAY OF ST. ODILLE. (Aside.) That is if one has not a " good bunch of fives." — (I can't think how that last line escaped from my quill. For I am sure it has nothing to do with Odille.) Now young ladies, to you ! — Don't put on the shrew 1 And don't be surprised if your father looks blue When you're pert, and won't act as he wants you to do ! Be sure that you never elope ; — there are few, — Believe me, you'll find what I say to be true, — Who run restive, but find as they bake they must brew, And come off at the last with " a hole in their shoe ;" Since not even Claphara, that sanctified ville, Can produce enough saints to save evert/ Odille. " Ns^oIajGi, tsliO^s^ of 2« x^tt* of |3anwa{5, toajsf iornf of ^nts "ii^s falj^r ioas namxij 33pipi^aitu5, anb lis molsn defiant.'' He was born on a cold frosty morning, on the 6th of December, (upon which day his feast is still observed,) but in what anno Domini is not so clear; his baptis- mal register, together with that of his friend and col- league, St. Thomas at Hill, having been " lost in the great fire of London." St. Nicliolas was a great patron of Mariners, and, saving your presence — of Thieves also, which honor- able fraternity have long rejoiced in the appellation of his " Clerks." Cervantes's story of Sancho's detecting a sum of money in a swindler's walking-stick, is merely the Spanish version of a " Lay of St. Nicholas," extant " in choice Italian" a century before honest Miguel was born. * Parish ^ 247 A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. *' Sattim sacerdoti apparuit Qiabolus in specie puella? pulchritudinis mira& et ecce Diviis, fide catholica, et cruce, et aqua benedicta armalus vouit, ei aspersit aquain in nomine Sanctae et Individuae Trinitatis, qnani, qiias') ardentem, diabolus, nequaquaiu sustinere valens, mugitibus fugit." ROOER IJOVKUICN. "Lord Abbot! Lord Abbot 1 I'd fain confess ; I am a-weaiy, and worn with woe ; Manj a grief doth my lieart oppress, And haunt me whithersoever I go ! " On bended knee spake the beautiful Maid ; " Now lithe and listen, Lord Abbot to me I " — "Now naye, Fair Daughter," the Lord Abbot said, "Now.naye, in sooth it may hard'v be; *' Tliere is Mess Michael, and holy Mess John, Sage Penitauncers I ween be they I And hard by doth dwell, in St. Catherine's cell, Ambrose, the anchorite old and grey 1 " *' — Oh, I will have none of Ambrose or John, Tliough sage Penitauncers I trow they be ; Shrive me may none save the Abbot alone, Now listen, Lord Abbot, I speak to thee. " Nor think foul scorn, though mitre adorn Thy brow, to listen to shrift of mine ! I am a Maiden royally born, And I come of old Plantagenet's line. 248 A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. *' Though hither I stray, in lowly array, I am a damsel of high degree ; And the Compte of En, and the Lord of Ponthiec, They serve my father on bended knee f " Counts a many, and Dukes a few, A suitoring came to my father's Hall ; But the Duke of Lorraine, with liis large domain. He pleased my father beyond them alL " Dukes a many, and Counts a few, I would have wedded right cheerfullie ; But the Duke of Lorraine was uncommonly jJarn, And I vow''d that he neVr should my bridegroov» be 8 " So hither I fly, in lowly guise. From their gilded domes and their princely fta.is ; Fain would I dwell in some holy cell. Or within some Convent's peaceful walls I " —Then out and spake that proud Lord Abbot, "Now rest thee, Fair Daughter, withouten fear; Nor Count nor Duke but shall meet the rebuke Of Holy Church an he seek thee here : " Holy Church denieth all search *Midst her sanctified ewes and her saintly rams ; And the wolves doth mock who would scathe her Hoek, Or, especially, worry her little pet lambs. " Then lay, Fair Daughter, thy fears aside. For here this day shalt thou dine with me 1 " — " Now naye, now naye," the fair maiden cried ; " In sooth, Lord Abbot, that scarce may be ! •* Friends would whisper, and foes would frown, Sith thou art a Churchman of high degree. And ill mote it match with thy fair renown That a wandering damsel dine with tliee I A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. 249 There is Simon the Deacon hath pulse in store, With beans and lettuces fair to se^ ; His lenten fare now let me share, I pray thee, Lord Abbot, in charitie I " — ** Though Simon the Deacon hath pulse in store, To our patron Saint foul shame it were Should wayworn guest, with toil oppress'd. Meet in his abbey such churlish fare. • There is Peter the Prior, and Francis the Friar, ■ And Roger the Monk shall our convives be ; Small scandal I ween shall then be seen ; • • They are a goodly companie ! " His rich dalmatic, and maniple fine And the choristers sing, as the lay-brothers bring To the board a magnificent turkey and chine. The turkey and chine, they are done to a nicety ; Liver, and gizzard, and M are there ; N«'er mote Lord Abbot pronounce Benedicite Over more luscious or delicate fare. But no pious stave he, no Pater or Ave Pronounced, as he gazed on that maiden's face : She ask'd him for stuffing, she ask'd him for gravy She ask'd him for gizzard ; — but not for Grace ! Yet gaily the Lord Abbot smiled, and press'd. And the blood-red wine in the wine-cup fiU'd ; And he help'd his guest to a bit of the breast. And he sent the drumsticks down to be grill'd. There was no lack of old Sherris sack. Of Hippocras fine, or of Malmsey bright ; And aye, as he di*ain'd off his cup with a smack, He grew less ^ious and more polite. 11* 250 A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. She pledged him once, and she pledged him twice, And she drank as Lady ought not to drink ; And he press'd her hand 'neath the table thrice, And he wink'd as Abbot ought not to wink. And Peter the Prior, and Francis the Friar, Sat each with a napkin under his chin ; But Roger the Monk got excessively drunk, So they put him to bed and they tuck'd him in ! The lay-brothers gazed on each other, amazed ; And Simon the Deacon, with grief and surprise, As he peep'd through the key-hole, could scarce fancy rcHi The scene he beheld, or believe his own eyes. In his ear was ringing the Lord Abbot singing, — He could not distinguish the words very plain, But 'twas all about " Cole," and "jolly old Soul," And "Fiddlers," and "Punch," and things quite as profane. Even Porter Paul, at the sound of -"uch revelling, With fervour himself began to bless ; For he thought he must somehow have let the Devil in, — And perhaps was not very much out in his guess. The Accusing Buyers* "flew up to Heaven's Chancery," Blushing like scarlet with shame and concern ; The Archangel took down his tale, and in answer lie Wept — (See the works of the late Mr. Sterne). Indeed, it is said, a less taking both were in When, after a lapse of a great many years. They book'd Uncle Toby five shillings for swearing, And blotted the fine out again with their tears! • The Prince of Peripatetic Informera, and terror of Stage Coachmen, when such thin£?3 were. AlacUl alack ! the Railroads have ruined his "■ vested interest." A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. 261 But St Nicholas' agony who may paint ? His senses at first Avcre well-nigh gone ; The beatified Saint was ready to faint When he saw in his Abbey such sad goings on I For never, I ween, had such doings been seen There before, from the time that most excellent P*rince Earl Baldwin of Flanders, and other Commanders, Had built and endowed it some centuries since. — But hark ! — 'tis a sound from the outermost gate I A startling sound from a powerful blow. — Who knocks so late ? — it is half after eight By the clock, — and the clock's five minutes too slow. Never, perhaps, had such loud double raps Been heard in St Nicholas' Abbey before ; All agreed "it was shocking to keep people knocking,** But none seem'd inclined to " answer the door." Now a louder bang through the cloisters rang, And the gate on its hinges wide open flew ; And all were aware of a Palmer there. With his cockle, hat, staff, and his sandal shoe- Many a furrow, and many a frown By toil and time on his brow were traced ; ■ And his long loose gown was of ginger brown, And his rosary dangled below his waist Now seldom, I ween, is such costume seen, Except at a stage-play or masquerade ; But who doth not know it was rather the go With Pilgrims and Saints in the second Crusade f With noiseless stride did that Palmer glide Across that oaken floor ; And he made them all jump, he gave such a thump Against the Refectory door ! 252 A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. Wide open it flew, and plain to the view The Lord Abl>ot thej all mote see ; In his hand was a cup, and he lifted it up, "Here's the Pope's good health with three! " Eang in their ears three deafening cheers, " Huzza I huzza ! huzza ! " And on*- of the party said, "Go it, my hearty! " When outspake the Pilgrim grey — " A boon. Lord Abbot ! a boon ! a boon ! Worn is my foot and empty my scrip ; And nothing to speak of since yesterday noon Of food, Lord Abbot, hath passed my li]>. " And I am come from a far countree. And have visited many a holy shrine ; And long have I trod the sacred sod Where the Saints do rest in Palestine! " " An thou art come from a far countree. And if thou in Paynim lands hast been. Now rede me aright the most wonderful sight, Thou Palmer grey, that thine eyes have seen. • Arede me aright the most wonderful sight, Grey Palmer, that ever thine eyes did see, Ajid a manchette of bread, and a good warm bed, And a cup o' the best slxall thy guerdon be! ** Oh 1 I have been east, and I have been west, And I have seen many a wonderful sight ; But never to me did it happen to see A wonder like that which I see this night ! "To see a Lord Abbot, in rochet and stole, With Prior and Friar, — a strange mar-velle ! — O'er a jolly full bowl, sitting cheek by jowl. And hob-nobbing away with a Devil from Hell I' A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. 25«l He felt iu his gown of ginger brown, And he pull'd out a flask from beneath ; It was rather tough work to get out the cork, But he drew it at last with his teeth. O'er a pint and a quarter of holy water He made the sacred sign ; And he dash'd the whole on the soi-disant daughter Of old Plantagenet's line I Oh 1 then did she reek, and squeak, and shriek, "With a wild unearthly scream ; And fizzl'd, and hiss'd, and produced such a mist. They were all half-choked by the steam. Her dove-like eyes turn'd to coals of firo, Her beautiful nose to a horrible snout, Her hands to paws, with nasty great claws, And her bosom went in, and her tail came out On her chin there appear'd a long Nanny-goat's beard, And her tusks and her teeth no man mote tell ; And her horns and her hoofs gave infallible proofs Twas a frightful Fiend from the nethermost Hell I The Palmer threw down his ginger gown. His hat and his cockle; and, plain to sight. Stood St. Nicholas' self, and his shaven crown Had a glow-worm halo of heavenly light. The Fiend made a grasp, the Abbot to clasp ; But St. Nicholas lifted his holy toe, And, just in the nick, let fly such a kick On his elderly Namesake, he made him Lit go. And out of the wmdow he flew like a sh:>t, For the foot flew up with a terrible thwaok, And caught the foul demon about tlie spot Wliere his tail joins on to the small of his back. 254 A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. And ho bounded away, like a foot-ball at play, Till into the bottomless pit he fell slap, Knocking Mammon the meagre o'er pursy Belphegor, And Lucifer into Beelzebub's lap. Oh I happy the slip from his Suceubine grip, That saved the Lord Abbot, — though, breathless with fright In escaping he tumbled, and fractured his hip. And his left leg was shorter thenceforth than his right 1 On the banks of the Rhine, as he's stopping to dine, From a certain Inn-window the traveller is shown Most ])icturesque ruins, the scene of these doings, Some miles up the river, south-east of Cologne. And, while " sour-kraut'^ she sells you, the Landlady tells you That there, in those walls, now all roofless and bare, One Simon, a Deacon, from a lean grew a sleek one, ' On filling a ci-devant Abbot's state chair. How a ci-devant Abbot, all clothed in drab, but Of texture the coarsest, hair shirt, and no shoes, (Ilis mitre and ring, and all that sort of thing Laid aside,) in yon Cave lived a pious recluse ; How he rose with the sun, limping " dot and go one," To yon rill of the mountain, in all sorts of weather, Where a Prior and a Friar, who lived somewhat higher Up the rock, used to come and eat cresses together ; How a thirsty old codger, the neighbours called Roger, With them drank cold water in lieu of old wine 1 What its quality wanted he made up in quantity, he would empty the Rhine i A LAY OF o\. NICHOLAS. 255 And how, as their bodily strength fail'd, the mental uiau Gain'd tenfold vigour and force in all four ; A.nd how, to the day of their death, the " Old Gentleman" Never attempted to kidnap them more. And how, when at length, in the odour of sanctity, All of them died without grief or complaint ; The Monks of St. Nicholas said 'twas ridiculous Not to suppose every one was a Saint. And how, in the Abbey, no one was so shabby As not to say yearly four masses a head, On the eve of that supper, and kick on the crupper Which Satan received, for the souls of the dead ! How folks long held in reverence their reliques and memories, How the ci-devant Abbot's obtain'd greater still, When some cripples, on touching his fractured osfcmoris^ Threw down their crutches, and danced a quadrille I And how Abbot Simon, (who turn'd-out a prime one,) These words, which gi-ew into a proverb full soon, O'er the late Abbot's grotto, stuck up as a motto, 25oll^hed by Act of Parliamcinl. 260 THE LADY ROHESIA. " Pious soul !" ejaculated Father Francis. " A thousand marks, she said — " " If she did, I'll be shot !" said Sir Guy de Mont- gomeri. " — A thousand marks !" continued the Confessor, fixing his cold grey eye upon the knight, as he went on heedless of the interruption ; — " a thousand marks I and as many Aves and Paters shall be duly said — as soon as the money is paid down." Sir Guy shrank from the monk's gaze ; he turned to the window, and muttered to himself something that sounded like " Don't you wish you may get it f TRT ^ TV TnT TnT tV The bell continued to toll. Father Francis had quitted the room, taking with him the remains of the holy oil he had been using for Extreme Unction. Everard Ingoldsby waited on him down staire. " A thousand thanks !" said the latter. " A thousand marks !" said the friar. " A thousand devils !" growled Sir Guy de Mont- gomeri, from the top of the landing-place. But his accents fell unheeded : his brother-in-law and the friar were gone ; he was left alone with his departing lady and Beatrice Grey. Sir Guy de Montgomeri stood pensively at the foot of the bed : his arms were crossed upon his bosom, his chin was sunk upon his breast ; his eyes were filled with tears ; the dim rays of the fading watch-light gave a darker shade to the furrows on his brow, and a brighter tint to the little bald patch on the top of his head, — for Sir Guy was a middle-aged gentleman, tall and portly withal, with a slight bend in his shoulders, THE LADY ROHESIA. 261 but that not much : his complexion was somewhat florid, — especially about the nose ; but his lady was in extremis, and at this particular moment he was paler than usual. " Bim ! home !" went the bell. The knight groaned audibly ; Beatrice Grey wiped her eye with her little square apron of lace de Malines ; there was a moment's Dause, — a moment of intense affliction ; she let it fall,— alt but one corner, which remained between her finger and thumb. She looked at Sir Guy ; drew the thumb and forefinger of her other hand slowly along its border, till they reached the opposite extremity. She sobbed aloud : " So kind a lady 1" said Beatrice Grey. — " So excellent a wife !" responded Sir Guy. — " So good !" said the damsel. — " So dear !" said the knight. — " So pious !" said she.—" So humble !" said he.—" So good to the poor !" — " So capital a manager !" — " So punctual at matins !" — " Dinner dished to a moment !" — " So devout !" said Beatrice. — " So fond of me !" said Sir Guy.— "And of Father Francis !"— " What the devil do you mean by that ?" said Sir Guy de Montgomeri. The knight and the maiden had rung their antipho- nic changes on the fine qualities of the departing Lady, like the Strophe and Antistrophe of a Greek play. The cardinal virtues once disposed of, her minor excellencies came under review : — She would drown a witch, drink lambs*-wool at Christmas, beg Dominie Dumps's boys a holiday, and dine upon sprats on Good Friday ! A low moan from the subject of these eulogies seemed to intimate that the enumeration of her good deeds w,is 262 THE LADY UOIIESIA. not altogether lost on lier, — that the parting spirit fell and rejoiced in the testimony. " She was too good for earth !" continued Sir Guy. " Ye-ye-yes !" sobbed Beatrice. " I did not deserve her !" said the knight. " No-o-o-o !" cried the damsel. " Not but that I made her an excellent husband, and a kind ; but she is going, and — and — where, or when, or how — shall I get such another ?" " Not in broad England — not in the whole wide world !" responded Beatrice Grey ; " that is, not just such another !" Her voice still faltered, but her accents on the whole were more articulate ; she dropped the corner of her apron, and had recourse to her handker- chief; in fact her eyes were getting red, — and so was tlie tip of her nose. Sir Guy was silent ; he gazed for a few moments stedfastly on the face of his lady. The single word " Another !" fell from his hps like a distant echo ; it is not often that the viewless nymph repeats more than is necessary. " Bim ! home :" went the bell. Bandy-legged Hu- bert had been tolling for half an hour ; he began to grow tired, and St. Peter fidgety. " Beatrice Grey !" said Sir Guy de Montgomeri, " what's to be done ? Y/hat's to become of Montgomeri Hall ? — and the buttery, — and the servants ? And what — what's to become of mc, Beatrice Grey ?" There was pathos in his tones, and a solemn pause succeeded. ■' I'll turn monk myself !" said Sir Guy. '' Monk V said Beatrice. " I'll be a Carthusian !" repeated the knight, but in a THE LADY KOHESIA. 263 tone less assured : lie relapsed into a reverie. Shave his head ! — he did not so much mind that, — he was getting rather bald already ; but, beans for dinner, — and those without butter — and then a horse-hair shirt ! The knight seemed undecided : his eye roamed gloomily around the apartment : it paused upon dif- ferent objects, but as if it saw them not ; its sense was shut, and there was no speculation in its glance : it rested at last upon the fair face of the sympathising damsel at his side, beautiful in her grief. Her tears had ceased ; but her eyes were cast down, and mournfully fixed upon her delicate little foot, which was beating the devil's tattoo. There is no talking to a female when she does not look at you. Sir Guy turned round, — he seated him- self on the edge of the bed; and, placing his hand beneath the chin of the lady, turned up her face in an angle of fifteen degrees. "I don't think I shall take the vows, Beatrice; but what's to become ©f me ? Poor, miserable, old — that is, poor, miserable, middle-aged man than I am ! JSfy one to comfort, no one to care for me !" Beatrice's tears flowed afresh, but she opened not her lips. " 'Pon my life !" continued he, " I don't believe there is a creature now would care a button if I were hanged to-morrow !" " Oh ! don't say so. Sir Guy !" sighed Beatrice ; " you know there's — there's Master Everard, and — and Father Francis — " " Pisb !" cried Sir Guy testily. " And — there's your favourite old bitcli." " I am not thinking of old bitches !" quoth Sir Guy de Montgomeri. 264 THE LADY ROHESIA. Another pause ensued : the knight had released hei chin, and taken her hand ; it was a pretty little hand, with long taper fingers and filbert-formed nails, and the softness of the palm said little for its owner's industry. " Sit down, my dear Beatrice," said the knight, thoughtfully ; " you must be fatigued with your long watching. Take a seat, my child." Sir Guy did not relinquish her hand ; but he sidled along the counter- pane, and made room for his companion between him- self and the bed-post. Now this is a very awkward position for two people to be placed in, especiailly when the right hand of the one holds the right hand of the other ; in such an atti- tude, what the deuce can the gentleman do with his left ? Sir Guy closed his till it became an absolute fist, and his knuckles rested on the bed a little in the rear of his companion. " Another !" repeated Sir Guy, musing ; " if, indeed, I could find such another !" He was talking to his thought, but Beatrice Grey answered him. " There's Madam Fitzfoozle." " A frump !" said Sir Guy. " Or the Lady Bumbarton." " With her hump !" muttered he. " There's the Dowager—" " Stop — stop !" said the knight, " stop one moment !" He paused ; he was all on the tremble ; something seemed rising in his throat, but he gave a great gulp, and swallowed it. " Beatrice," said he, " what think you of — " his voice sank into a most seductive softness, --*' wliat think you of — Beatrice Grey ?" THE LADY- ROttESIA. 266 The murder was out: the knight felt infinitely relieved ; the knuckles of his left hand unclosed spon- taneously ; and the arm he had felt such a difficulty in disposing of, found itself, — nobody knows how, — all at once, encircling the jimp waist of the pretty Beatrice. The young lady's reply was expressed in three syllables. They were,—" Oh, Sir Guy !" The words might be somewhat indefinite, but there was no mistaking the look. Their eyes met ; Sir Guy's left arm contracted itself spasmodically : when the eyes meet, — at least, as theirs met, — the lips are very apt to follow the example. The knight had taken one long, loving kiss — nectar and ambrosia ! He thought on Doctor Butts and his repetatur haustus, — a prescription Father Francis had taken infinite pains to translate for him : he was about to repeat it, but the dose was interrupted in transitu. Doubtless the adage, " There is many a slip 'Twixt the cup and the lip," hath reference to medicine. Sir Guy's lip was agam all but in conjunction with that of his bride elect. It has been hinted already that there was a little round polished patch on the summit of the knight's pericranium, from which his locks had gradually receded ; a sort of oasis, — or rather a Mont Blanc in miniature, rismg above the highest point of vegetation. It was on this little spot, undefended alike by Art and Nature, that at this interesting moment a blow descended, such as we must borrow a term from the Sister Island adequately to describe, — it was a " Whack !" Sir Guy started upon his feet ; Beatrice Grey started FIRST SERIES. 12 266 THE LADY ROHESIA. upon hers : but a single glance to the rear reversed hei position, — she fell upon her knees and screamed. The knig-ht, too, wheeled about, and beheld a sighi which might have turned a bolder man to stone.. 1 was She ! — the all but defunct Rohesia — there she sat bolt upright ! — her eyes no longer glazed with the film (^f impending dissolution, but scintillating like flint and steel ; while in her hand she grasped the bed-staft', — a weapon of mickle might, as her husband's bloody cox- comb could now well testify. Words were yetnvanting, for the quinsy, wliich her rage had broken, still impeded her utterance ; but the strength and rapidity of hei guttural intonations augured well for her future elo- quence. Sir Guy de Montgomeri stood for a while like a man distraught ; this resurrection — for such it seemed — had quite overpowered him. " A husband ofttimes makes the best physician," says the proverb ; he was a living pei'sonification of its truth. Still it was whispered he had been content with Dr. Butts; but his lady was restored to bless him for many years. Heavens, what a life he led ! The Lady Rohesia mended apace; her quinsy was cured ; the bell was stopped ; and little Hubert, the sacristan, kicked out of the chapelry. St. Peter opened his wicket, and looked out; — ^there was nobody there; so he flung-to the gate in a passion, and went back to his lodge, grumbling at being hoaxed by a runaway ling. Years rolled on. Tlie improvement of Lady Rohesia's temper did not keep pace with that of her health ; and one fine morning Sir Guy de Montgomeri was seen to THE LAbi KOHESIA. 267 enter the porte-cochlre of Durham House, at that time the town residence of Sir Walter Raleigh. Nothing more was ever heard of him ; but a boat full of adven- turers was known to have dropped down with the tide that evening to Deptford Hope, where lay the good ship the Darling, commanded by Captain Keymis, who sailed next morning on the Virginia voyage. A brass plate, some eighteen inches long, may yet be seen in Denton chancel, let into a broad slab of Bethersden marble ; it represents a lady kneeling, in her wimple and hood ; her hands are clasped in prayer, and beneath is an inscription in the characters of the age— "'^iKit £or 2^ jE?ob)U of 2® ^LaJbrg ^a-Q^st, Enif for alU Cbristtit 5o5nk5 !" The date is illegible ; but it appears that she survived King Henry the Eighth, and that the dissolution of monasteries had lost St. Mary Rouncival her thousand marks. As for Beatrice Grey, it is well known that she was alive in 1559, and then had virginity enough left to be a maid of Honour to " good Queen Bess." 269 It was during the "Honey (or, as it is sometimes termed, the " Treacle,") Moon," that Mr. and Mrs. Sea- forth passed through London. A " goodnatured friend," who dropped in to dinner, forced them in the evening to the theatre for the purpose of getting rid of him. I give Charles's account of the Tragedy, just as it was written, without altering even the last couplet — for there would be no making " Egerton" rhyme with " Story." 269 THE TRAGEDY. Quaeque ipse miserrima vidi.— Vmoit. Catherine of Cleves was a Lady of rank, She liad lands and fine houses, and cash in the Bank ; She had jewels and rings, And a thousand smart things ; Was lovely and young, With a rather sharp tongue, And she wedded a Noble of high degree With the star of the order of St, Esprit ; But the Duke de Guise Was, by many degrees, Her senior, and not very easy to please ; He'd a sneer on his lip, and a scowl with his eye, And a frown on his brow, — and he look'd like a Guy,- So she took to intriguing With Monsieur St. Megrin, A young man of fashion, and figure, and worth, But with no great pretensions to fortune or birth ; He would sing, fence, and dance With the best man in France, And took his rappee with genteel nonchalance ; He smiled, and he flatter'd, and flirted with ease, And was very superior to Monseignexir de Guise. Now Monsieur St Megrin was curious to know If the Lady approved of his passion or no ; 270 THE TRAGEDY. So without more ado, He put on his surtout, And went to a man with a beard like a Jew, One Signor Ruggieri, A Cunning-inau near, he Could conjure, tell fortunes, and ealculatc tides, Perform tricks on the cards, and Heaven knows what besides^ Bring back a stray'd cow, silver ladle, or spoon. And was thought to be thick with the Man in the Moon. The sage took his stand With his wand in his hand. Drew a circle, then gave the dread word of command. Saying solemnly — " Presto ! — Hey, quick ! — CocTc-a-lorum ! 1^ When the Duchess immediately popp'd up before 'em. Just then a Conjunction of Venus and Mars, Or something peculiar above in the stars. Attracted the notice of Signor Ruggieri, Who "bolted," and left him alone with his deary. — Monsieur St. Megrin went down on his knees. And the Duchess shed tears large as marrow-fat peas, When, — fancy the shock, — A loud double knock. Made the Lady cry " Get up, you fool ! — there's De Guise I "— 'Twas his Grace, sure enough ; So Monsieur, looking bluff. Strutted by, with his hat on, and fingering his ruff. While, unseen by either, away flew the Dame Through the opposite key -hole, the same way she came: But, alack! and alas! A mishap came to pass. In her hurry she, somehow or other, let fall A new silk Bandana she'd worn as a shawl ; She had used it for drying Her bright eyes while crying, And blowing her nose, as her Beau talk'd of dying! " Now the Duke, who had seen it so lately adorn her, A.nd knew the great C with the Crown in the corner THE TRAGEDY. 271 Tlie mstant he spied it, smoked something amiss, And said, with some energy, " D it I what's this ? " He went home in a fume, And bounced into her room, Crying, "So, Ma'am, I find I've some cause to be jealous 1 Look here ! — ^here's a proof you run after the fellows! — Now take up that pen, — if it's bad clioose a better, — And write, as I dictate, this moment a letter To Monsieur — ^you know wl^o ? " The Lady look'd blue ; But replied with much firmness — "Hang me if I do! " De Guise grasped her wrist V>'ith his great bony fist, And pineliM it, and gave it so painful a twisty That his hard, iron gauntlet the flesh went an inch in, — She did not mind death, but she could not stand pinching; So she sat down and wrote This polite little note : — " Dear Mister St. Megrin, The Chiefs of the League in Our house mean to dine This evening at nine ; I shall, soon after ten, Slip away from the men. And you'll find me upstairs in the drawing-room then ; Come up the back way, or those impudent thieves Of Servants will see you ; Yours Catherine of Cleves." She directed and sealed it, all pale as a ghost, And De Guise put it into the Twopenny Post. St. Megrin had almost jumped out of his skin For joy that day when the post came in ; He read the note through, Then began it anew, And thought it almost too good news to be true.— He clapp'd on his hat, And a hood over that^ 272 THE TRAGEDY. With a cloak to disguise him, and make him look fat ; So great his impatience, from half after Four He was waiting till Ten at De Guise's back door. When he heard the great clock of St. Genevieve chime He ran up the back staircase six steps at a time. He had scarce made his bow, He hardly knew how, When alas ! and alack 1 There was no getting back. For the drawing-room door was bang'd to with a whack ; — In vain he applied To the handle and tried. Somebody or other had locked it outside ! And the Duchess in agony mourned her mishap, " We are caught like a couple of rats in a trap." Now the Duchess's Page, About twelve years of age, For so little a boy was remarkably sage ; And, just in the nick, to their joy and amazement, Popp'd the Gas-lighter's ladder close under the casement. But all would not do, — Though St Megrin got through The window, — ^below stood De Guise and his crew. And though never man was more brave than St. Megrin Yet fighting a score is extremely fatiguing ; He thrust carte and tierce Uncommonly fierce, But not Beelzebub's self could their cuirasses pierce ; While his doublet and hose, Being holiday clothes. Were soon cut through and through from his knees to his nose. Still an old crooked sixpence the Conjuror gave him From pistol and sword was sufficient to save him, But when beat on his knees, That confounded De Guise Came behind with the " fogle " that caused all this breeze, THE n./.OEDY. 273 Whipp'd it tight round liis noek, and, when backward he'd jerk'd him, The rest of the rascals jumped on him and Burked him. The poor little Page, too, himself got no quarter, but Was served the same way, And was found the next day With his heels in the air, and his head in the water-butt ; Catherine of Cleves Roar'd "Murder! "and "Thieves!" From the window above While tliey murder'd her love ; Till, finding the rogues had accomplish'd his slaughter, Bhe drank Prussic acid without any water, And died like a Duke-and-a-Duehess's daughter 1 Moral. Take warning, ye Fair, from this tale of the Bard's, And dont go where fortunes are told on the cards. But steer clear of Conjurors, — never put query To " Wise Mrs. Williams," or folks like Ruggieri. When alone in your room shut the door close, and lock it ; Above all, — keep your handkerchief safe in your pocket I Lest you too should stumble, and Lord Leveson Gower, he Be eall'd on, — sad poet 1 — ^to tell your sad story 1 274 It was in the summer of 1838 tliat a party from Tappington readied the metropolis with a view of witnessing the coronation of their youthful Queen, whom God long preserve ! — This purpose they were fortunate enough to accomplish by the purchase of a peer's ticket, from a stationer in the Strand, who was enabled so to dispose of some, greatly to the indigna- tion of the hereditary Earl Marshal. How Mr. Barney managed to insinuate himself into the Abbey remains a mystery : his characteristic modesty and address doubt- less assisted him, for there he unquestionably was. The result of his observations was thus communicated to his associates in the Servants' Hall upon his return, to the infinite delectation of Mademoiselle Pauline ovei a Cruiskeen of his own concocting. 276 MR. BARNEY MAGUIRE'S ACCOUNT OF /UIK CORONATION. Air — " llie Groves of Blarney.** OcH ! the Coronation ! what celebration For emulation can with it compare? When to Westminster the Royal Spinster, And the Duke of Leinster, all in order did repair ! *Twas there you'd see the New Polishemen Making a skrimmage at half after four, And the Lords and Ladies, and Miss O'Gradyi^ AJl standing round before the Abbey door. Their pillows scorning, that self-same morning Themselves adorning, all by the candle-light, With roses and lilies, and daffy-do wn-dillies, And gould, and jewels, and rich di'monds bright And then approaches five hundred coaches, With Giniral Dullbeak. — Och! 'twas mighty fine To see how asy bould Corporal Casey, With his sword drawn, prancing, made them kapc \\\( line. Then the Guns' alarums, and the King of Arums, All in his Garters and his Clarence shoes. Opening the massy doors to the bould Ambassydors. Tlie Pi'ince of Potboys, and great haythen Jews; *Twould have made you crazy to see Esterhazy All joo'ls from his jasey to his di'mond boots. With Alderman Harmer, and that swate charmer Tlie'famalo heiress, Miss Anj l-ly Coutts. 27G And Wellington, walking with his swoord drawn, talking To Ilill and Hardinge, haroes of groat fame ; And Sir De Laej, and the Duke Dalmasey, (They call'd him So wit afore he changed his name,") Themselves presading Lord Melbourne, lading The Queen, the darling, to her royal chair, And that fine ould fellow, the Duke of Pell-Mello, The Queen of Portingal's Chargy-de-fair. Then the Noble Prussians, likewise the Russians, In fine laced jackets with thoii' goulden cuffs. And the Bavarians, and the proud Hungarians, And Everythingarians all in furs and muffs. Then Misthur Spaker, with Misthur Pays the Quakei-, All in the Gallery you might persave ; But Lord Brougham was missing, and gone a-fishing, Ounly crass Lord Essex would not give him lave. Tliere was Baron Alten himself exalting. And Prince Von Swartzenburg, and many moi'e, Oeh ! rd be bother'd and entirely smother'd To tell the half of 'em was to the fore ; With the swate Peeresses, in their crowns and di-esses, And Mdermanesses, and the boord of Works ; But Mehemet Ali said, quite gintaly, " I'd be proud to see the likes among the Turks ! " Then the Queen, Heaven bless her ! och ! they did dress her In her purple garaments and her goulden Crown ; Like Venus or Hebe, or the Queen of Sheby, With eight young Ladies houlding up her gown. Sure 'twas grand to see her, also for to he-ar The big drums bating, and the trumpets blow, And Sir George Smart ! Oh ! he play'd a Consarto, With his tour-and-twenty fiddlers all on a row ! Tlien the Lord Archbishop held a goulden difli up, For to resave her bounty ar 1 groat wealtli, * ACCOUNT OF THE COHONATION. 27' Saying, " Plase your Glory, great Queen Vie-tory ! Ye'll give the Clargy lave to dhrink your healtli! " Then his Riverence, retrating, discoorsed the mating ; " Boys ! Here's your Queen ! deny it if you can 1 And if any bould traitour, or infarior erathur, Sneezes at that, I'd like to see the man ! " Then the Nobles kneeling to the Pow'rs appealing; " Heaven send your Majesty a glorious reign ! " And Sir Claudius Hunter he did confront her, All in his scarlet gown and gowlden chain. The great Lord May'r, too, sat in his chair, too, But mighty sarious, looking fit to cry, For the Earl of Surrey, all in his hurry, Throwing the thirteens, hit him in his eye. Then there was preaching, and good store of speech) pv. With Dukes and Marquises on bended knee ; And they did splash her with raal Maeasshur, And the Queen said, "Ah ! then, thank ye all for me I "— Then the trumpets braying, and the organ playing. And sweet trombones with their silver tones; But Lord Rolle, was rolling ; — 'twas mighty consoling To think that liis Lordship did not break his bones ! Then the crames and custard, and the beef and mustard, All on the tombstones like a poultherer's shop ; With lobsters and white-bait, and other swate-meats, And wine, and nagus, and Imparial Pop! There was cakes and apples in all the Chapels, With fine polonies, and rich mellow pears, — Och I the Count Von Strogonoff, sure he got prog enough. The sly old Divil, undernathe the stairs. Then the cannons thunder'd, and the people wondor'd, Crying, "God save Victoii', our Royal Queen ! " — —Och 1 if myself shoild live to bo a hundred, Sure it's the proudest day thivt I'il have seen !— 278 MR. maguire's account of the coronation. And now I have ended, what I pretended, This narration splendid in swate poe-thry, Ye dear bewitcher, just hand the pitcher. Faith, it's myself that's getting mighty dhry I As a pendant to the foregoing, I shall venture to insert Mr. Simpkinson's lucubrations on a subject to him, as a Savant of the first class, scarcely less inter- esting. The aerial voyage to which it alhules took place about a year and a half previously to the august event already recorded, and the excitement manifested in the learned Antiquary's effusion may give some faint idea of that which prevailed generally among the Sons of c>cience at that memorable epoch. 279 THE "MONSTRE" BALLOON. Oh I the balloon, the great balloon It left Vaiixhall one Monday at noon, And every one said we should hear of it soon "With news from Aleppo or Seanderoon. But very soon after folks changed their tune ; " The netting had burst — the silk — the shalloon ; — It had met with a trade-wind — a deuced monsoon — It was blown out to sea — it was blown to the moon — They ought to have put off their journey till June ; Sure none but a donkey, a goose, or baboon Would go up in November in any balloon ! " Then they talk'd about Green — " Oh ! where's Mister Green And where's Mister Hollond who hired the machine ? And where is Monk Mason, the man that has been Up 80 often before — twelve times or thirteen — And who writes such nice letters describing the scene? And where's the cold fowl, and the ham and poteen ? Tlie press'd beef, with the fat cut off — nothing but lean, And the portable soup in the patent tureen ? Have they got to Grand Cairo, or reach'd Aberdeen ? Or Jerusalem — Hamburg — or Ballyporcen ? No ! they have not been seen ! Oh ! they haven't beor seen ! " Stayl here's Mister Gye — Mr. Frederick Gye-^ "At Paris," says he, "I've been up very high, A couple of liundred of toises, or nigh, ""'""'" ' ^3, to ?OV, 280 THE " MONSTRE " BALLOON. "With Dollond's best telescope stuck at my eye, And my umbrella under my arm like Paul Pry, But I could see nothing at all but the sky ; So I thought with myself 'twas of no use to try Any longer : and, feeling remarkably dry From sitting all day stuck up there, like a Guy, I came down again, and — ^you see — here am 1 1 " But he~e's Mr. Hughes ! — "What says youn;' "..:. Hughes ?- " Why, I'm sorry to say we've not sr'^* ^ny news Since the letter they threw dowi in one of then* shoes, "Which gave the mayor's nose such a deuce of a bruise, As he popp'd up his eye-glass to look at their cruise Over Dover ; and which the folks flock'd to peruse At Squier's bazaar, the same evening, in crews — Politicians, news-mongers, town-council, and bluos, Turks, Heretics, Infidels, Jumpers, and Jews, Scorning Bachelor's papers, and Warren's reviews ; But the wind was then blowing towards Helvoetsluys, And my father and I are in terrible stews, For 80 large a balloon is d sad thing to lose ! " — Here's news come at last ! — Here's news come at last ! — A vessel's come in which has sail'd very fast ; And a gentleman serving before the mast, — Mister Nokes — has declared, that " the party has past Safe across to the Hague, where their grapnel tliey cast As a fat burgomaster was staring aghast To see such a monster come borne on the blast, And it caught in his waistband, and there it .•^tuck fast!**— Oh ! fie 1 Mister Nokes, — for shame, Mr. Nokes ! To be poking your fun at us plain-dealing folks — Sir, this isn't a time to be cracking your jokes, And such jesting your malice but scurvily cloaks ; Such a trumpery tale every one of us smokes, And we know very well your whole story's a hoax I— " Oh 1 what shall we do ? — Oh ! where will it end ?— • Can nobody go ? — Can nobo ly send THE "monstre" balloon. 281 To Calais — or Bergen-op-zoom — or Ostend ? Can't you go there yourself ? — Can't you write to a friend, For news upon which we may safely depend ? " — Huzza ! huzza ! one and eight-pence to pay For a letter from Hamborough, just come to say They descended at Weilburg, about break of day ; Ajid they've lent them the palace there, during their stay, And the town is becoming uncommonly gay And they're feasting the party, and soaking their clay With Johannisberg, Rudesheim, Moselle, and Tokay ! And the Landgraves, and Margraves, and Counts beg and pray That they won't think, as yet, about going away; Notwithstanding, they don't mean to make much delay But pack up the balloon in a wagon, or dray. And pop themselves into a German "po-shay" And get on to Paris by Lisle and Tournay ; Where they boldly declare, any wager they'll lay If the gas people there do not ask them to pay Such a sum as must force tliem at once to say "Nay ** They'll inflate the balloon in the Champs-Elysees, And be back again here the beginning of May, — Dear me ! what a treat for a Juvenile fete 1 What thousands will flock their arrival to greet ! There'll be hardly a soul to be seen in the street, For at Vauxhall the whole population will meet, And you'll scarcely get standing-room, much less a seat. For this all preceding attraction must beat : Since they'll unfold, what we want to be told. How they cough'd, — how they snoez'd, — how they sliiverM with cold, — How they tippled the "cordial " as racy and old As Hodges, or Deady, or Smith ever sold. And how they all then felt remarkably bold : How they thought the boil'd beef worth its own weight in gold ; And how Mr. Green was beginning to scold 282 THE " MONSTRE " BALLOON. Because Mr. Mason would try to lay hold Of the moon, and had very near overboard roll'd ! And there they'll be seen — they'll be all to be seen 1 The great-coats, the coffee-pot, mugs, and tureen ! With the tight-rope, and fire-works, and dancing betv/ecu If the weather should only prove fair and serene, And there, on a beautiful transparent screen. In the middle you'll see a large picture of Green, Mr. Hollond on one side, who hired the machine, Mr. Mason on t'other, describing the scene ; And Fame, on one leg, in the air, like a queen. With three wreatlis and a trumpet, will over them lean ; VVhile Envy, in serpents and black bombazin. Looks on from below with an air of chagrin ! Then they'll play up a tune in the Royal Saloon, And the people will i2ie in fettoi's. Resuming her track, At once she goes back To our hero, the Bagman— Alas! and Alack I THE bagman's Doa.. 305 Poor Autliony Blogg Is as sick as a dog, Spite of sundry unwonted potations of grog, By the time the Dutch packet is fairly at sea. With the sands called the Goodwin's a league on her lee. And now, my good friends, I've a fine opportunity To obfuscate you all by sea terms with impunity, And talking of " caulking," And " quarter-deck walking," "Fore and aft," And "abaft," "Hookers," " bark eys," and "craft," (At which Mr. Poole has so wickedly laiight,) Of binnacles, — bilboes, — the boom call'd the fpankor,— The best bower cable, — the jib, — and sheet anchor ; Of lower-deck guns, — and of broadsides and chases. Of taffrails and topsails, and splicing main-braces, And " Shiver my timbers ! " and other odd phrases Employ'd by old pilots with hard-featured faces ; — Of the expletives seafaring Gentlemen xise. The allusions they make to the eyes of their crews ; How the Sailors, too, swear. How they cherish their hair. And what very long pigtails a great many wear. — But, Reader, I scorn it — the fact is, 1 fear. To be candid, I can't make these matters so clear ^s Marryat, or Cooper, or Captain Chamier, Or Sir E. Lytton Bulwer, who brought up the rear Of the "Nauticals," just at the end of the year Eighteen thirty-nine — (how Time flies ! — Oh, dear 1) — With a well written preface to make it appear That his play, the " Sea-Captain," 's by no means small beer There ! — "brought up the rear" — ^you see there's a mistake Which none of the authors I've mentioned would make, I ought to have said, that he " sail'd in their wake." — So I'll merely observe, as the water grew rougher The more my poor hero continued to suffer, Till the Sailors themselves cried, in pity, "Poor Buffer I*" 306 MR. PETERS'S STOKT. Still rougher it grew, And still liarder it blew, And the thunder kiek'd up such a halliballoo, That even the Skipper began to look blue ; While the crew, who were few, Look'd very queer, too, And seem'd not to know what exactly to do, And they who'd the charge of them wrote in the logs, " Wind N. R — ^blows a hurricane — rains cats and dogs." In short it soon grew to a tempest as rude as That Shakspeare describes near the " still vext Bermudas," *' When the winds, in their sport. Drove aside from its port The King's ship, with the whole Neapolitan Court, And swamp'd it to give "the King's Son, Ferdinand," a Soft moment or two with the Lady Miranda, While her Pa met the rest, and severely rebuked 'em For unhandsomely doing him out of his Dukedom. You don't want me, however, to paint you a Storm, As so many have done, and in colours so warm ; Lord Byron, for instance, in manner facetious, Mr. Ainsworth more gravely, — see also Lucretius, — A writer who gave me no trifling vexation When a youngster at school on Dean Colet's foundation. — • Suffice it to say That the whole of that day. And the next, and the next, they were scudding away Quite out of their course, Propell'd by the force Of those flatulent folks known in Classical story as Aquilo, Libs, Notus, Auster, and Boreas, Driven quite at their mercy 'Twixt Guernsey and Jersey, Till at length they came bump on the rocks and the shallows In West longitude, One, fifty-seven, near St Maloes ; ♦ See Appendix. THE bagman's dog. 307 There you will not be surprised That the vessel capsized. Or that Blogg, who had made, from intestine commotions, His specifical gravity less than the Ocean's, Should go floating away. Midst the surges and spray. Like a cork in a gutter, which, swoln by a shower, Runs down Holborn-hill about nine knots an hour. You've seen, I've no doubt, at Bartholomew fair, Centle Header, — that is, if you've ever been there, — With their hands tied behind them, some two or three pair Of boys round a bucket set up on a chair, Skipping, and dipping Eyes, nose, chin, and lip in, Their faces and hair with the water all dripping. In an anxious attempt to catch hold of a pippin, That bobs up and down in the water whenever They touch it, as mocking the fruitless endeavour ; Exactly as Poets say, — how, though, they can't tell us, — Old Nick's Nonpareils play at bob with poor Tantalus. — Stay ! — I'm not clear. But I'm rather out here ; Twas the water itself that slipp'd from him, I fear ; Faith, I can't recollect — and I haven't Lempriere. — No matter, — poor Blogg went on ducking and bobbing, Sneezing out the salt-water, and gulping and sobbing Just as Clarence, in Shakspeare, describes all the qualms he Experienced while dreaming they'd drown'd him in Malmsey '* Lord," he thought, " what pain it was to drown ! " And saw great fishes with great goggling eyes. Glaring as he was bobbing up and down, And looking as they thought him quite a prize ; When, as he sank, and all was growing dark, A something seized him with its jaws ! — A shark ? — No such thing, Reader : — most opportunely for Blogg, Tv as a very large, web-footed, curly-tail'd Dog ***** 308 MR. PETERS'S STORY. I'm not much of a traveller, and really can't boast That I know a great deal of the Brittany coast, But I've often heard say That e'en to this day. The people of Granville, St. Maloes, and thereabout Are a class that society doesn't much care about ; Men who gain their subsistence by contraband dealing, And a mode of abstraction strict people call " stealing ;** Notwithstanding all which, they are civil of speech, Above all to a stranger who comes within reach ; And they were so to Blogg, When the curly-tail'd Dog At last dragg'd him out, high and dry on the beach. But we all have been tobl. By the proverb of old. By no means to think " all that glitters is gold ;" And, in fact, some advance Tliat most people in France Join the manners and air of a Maitre de Danse, To the morals — (as Johnson of Chesterfield said)— Of an elderly Lady, in Babylon bred, Much addicted to flirting, and dressing in red. — Be this as it might It embarrassed Blogg quite To find those about him so very polite. A suspicious observer perhaps might have traced The petites soins, tender'd with so much good taste. To the sight of an old-fashioned pocket-book, placed In a black leather belt well secured round his waist, And a ring set with diamonds, his finger that graced, So brilliant, no one could have guess'd they were paste The group on the shore Consisted of four ; You will wonder, perhaps, there were not a few more ; But the fact is they've not, in that pai't of the nation. What Malthus would term, a " too dense population." Indeed the sole sisrn there of man's habitation 'J HE bagman's dog. 309 W{i3 merely a single Rude hut, in a dingle That led away inland direct from the shingle, Its sides clothed with underwood, gloomy and dark, Some two hundred yards above high-water mark ; And thither the party, So cordial and hearty, Viz. an old man, his wife, and two lads made a start, he The Bagman proceeding. With equal good breeding, To express, in indifferent French, all he feels, The great curly-tail'd Dog keeping close to his heels, — They soon reach'd the hut, which seem'd partly in ruin, All the way bowing, chattering, shrugging, Moii-Bieu-ing, Grimacing, and what sailors call parley-vooing, ***** Is it Paris, or Kitchener, Reader, exhorts You, whenever your stomach's at all out of sorts, To try, if you tind richer viands won't stop in it, A basin of good mutton broth with a chop in it? (Such a basin and chop as I once heard a witty one Call, at the Garrick, "a c— d Committee one," An expression, I own, I do not- think a pretty one,) However, it's clear That, with sound table beer. Such a mess as I speak off is very good cheer ; Especially too When a pei-son's wet tlr-ough. And is hungry, and tired, and aeh of these names some pronounce a misnomer. And say the first person Was call'd James M'Pherson, While, as to the second, they stoutly declare He was no one knows who, and born no one knows where,) THE bagman's i>oo. 317 Or had I the quill of Pierce Egan, a writer Acknowledged the best theoretical fighter For the last twenty years, By the lively young Peers, Who, doffing their coronets, collars, and ermine, treat Boxers to "Max," at the One Tun in Jerniyn Street; — — I say, could I borrow these Gentlemen's Muses, More skill'd than my meek one in " fibbings " and bruises, rd describe now to you As " i^rime a Set-to," And ** regular turn-up," as ever you knew ; Not inferior in " bottom " to aught you have read of Since Cribb, years ago, half knock'd Molyneux' head off. But my dainty Urania says, "Such things are shocking I" Lnce mittens She loves. Detesting " The Gloves ;" And turning, with air most disdainfully mocking, From Melpomene's buskin, adopts the silk stocking So, as far as I can see, I must leave you to " fancy " The thumps and the bumps, and the ups and the dovms, And the taps, and the slaps, and the raps on the crowns, That pass'd twixt the Husband, Wife, Bagman, and Dog, As Blogg roll'd over them, and they roU'd over Blogg ; While what's called " The Claret " Flew over the garret : Merely stating the fact. As each other they whack'd. The Dog his old master most gallantly back'd ; Making both the garcons, who came running in, sheer ofl^ With "Hippolyte's " thumb, and " Alphonse's" left ear off; Next, making a stoop on The buflfeting group on The floor, rent in tatters the old woman's jupon ; Then the old man turn'd up, and a fresh bite of Sancho's Tore out the whole seat of his striped Calimancoes.— Really, which way This desperate fray 318 MR. TETERS'S STORY. Might have ended at last, I'm not able to say, Tlie dog keeping thus the assassins at bay : But a few fresh arrivals decided the day ; For bounce went the door, In came half a score Of the passengers, sailors, and one or two more Who had aided the party in gaining the shore 1 It's a great many years ago — ^raine then were few — Since I spent a short time in the old Courageux ; — I think that they say She had been, in her day, A First-rate, — but was then what they term a Rasce, — And they took me on board in tlie Downs, where she lay (Captain Wilkinson held the command by the way.) In her I pick'd up, on that single occasion. The little I know that concerns Navigation, And obtained, iM^cr alia, some vague information Of a practice which often, in cases of robbing. Is adopted on shipboard — I think it's call'd "Cobbing." How it's managed exactly I really can't say. But I think that a Boot-jack is brought into play — That is, if I'm right ; — it exceeds my ability To tell how 'tis done ; But the system is one Of which Sancho's exploit would increase the facility. And, from all I can learn, I'd much rather be robb'd Of the little I have in my purse, than be " cobb'd ;" That's mere matter of taste : But the Frenchman was placed — I mean the old scoundrel whose actions Ave've traced — In such a position, that, on this unmasking, His consent was the last thing the men thought of asking. The old woman, too. Was obliged to go through, With her boys, the rough discipline used by the crew, Who, before they let one of the set see the back of them, ** Cobb'd " the wliole oarty, — ay, " every man Jack of thein.*" THE BAOMANS DOG. 319 Moral. And now, Gentle Keader, before that I say Farewell for the present, and wish you good day, Attend to the moral I draw from my lay ! — If ever you travel, like Anthony Blogg, Be wary of strangers ! — don't take too much grog I — And don't fall asleep, if you should, like a hog ! — Above all — carry with you a curly -tail'd Dog I Lastly, don't act like Blogg, who, I say it with blushing. Sold Sancho next month for two guineas at Flushing ; But still on these words of the Bard keep a fix'd eye, Ingratum si dixeris, omnia dixti 1 ! 1 V Envoye^ I felt so disgusted with Blogg, from sheer shame of him, I never once thought to enquire what became of hira IX you want to know, Reader, the way I opine To achieve your design, — — Mind, it's no wish of mine, — la, — (a ppnny will do't,) — by addressing a line To Turnei*, Dry, "Weipersyde, Rogers, and Pjne 320 A P P E N D I A. Since penning this stanza, a learn'd Antiquary Has put my poor Muse in no trifling quandary, By writing an essay to prove that he knows a Spot which, in truth, is Tlie real " Bermoothes," *Q the Mediterranean, — now called Lamped osa ; — For j)roofs, having made, as he further alleges, snr An entry was found in tlie old Parish Register, The which at his instance the excellent Vicar ex- ti'aeted : viz. " Caliban, base son of Sycorax." — He had rather, by half. Have found Prospero's "Staff;" But 'twas useless to dig, for the want of a pick or axe.- Colonel Pasley, however, 'tis everywhere said, Now he's blown up the old Royal George at Spithead, And the great cliff at Dover, of which we've all rea mity, — as lionest old Pepya says when he records having kissed his cok- maid, — " I humbly bog pardon of Heaven, and Mrs. Ingoldsby !" 10 A LEGEND OF FRANCE. Whenever exhaustion of person, or purse, in An invalid cramps him, and sets him a-cursing ; A -labit, I 'm very much grieved at divulging, Fri\n5(»is Xavier Auguste was too prone to indulge in. But what could be done ? It's clear as the sun, That, though nothing 's more easy than say " Cut and run V Yet a Guardsman can't live without some sort of fun — E'en I or you. If we'd nothing to do. Should soon find ourselves looking remarkably blue. And, since no one denies What's so plain to all eyes, It won't, I am sure, create any surprise That reflections like these half reduced to despair Fran9ois Xavier Auguste, the gay Black Mousquetaire. Patience par force ! He considered, of course, But in vain — he could hit on no sort of resource — Love ? — Liquor ? — Law ? — Loo ? They would each of them do, There's excitement enough in all four, but in none he Could hope to get on sans V argent — i. e. money. Love ? — no ; — ^ladies like little cadeaux from a suitor. Liquor ? — no, — that won't do, when reduced to " th* Pewter." — Then Law? — 'tis the same; It's a very fine game. But the fees and delays of " the Courts " are a shame, As Lord Brougham says himself — ^who 's a very great name, Though the Times made it clear he was perfectly lost in his Classic attempt at translating Demosthenes, And don't know his "particles." — Who wrote the articles, Showing his Greek up so, is not known very well ; Many thought Barnes, others Mitcliell — some Merivale; THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIRE. 11 But it's scarce worth debate, Because from the date Of my tale one conclusion we safely may draw, Viz, : 'twas not Fran9ois Xavier Auguste de St. Foix ! Loo ? — no ; — that he had tried ; 'Twas, in fact, his weak side, But required more than any a purse well supplied. < ' Love ? — Liquor ? — Law ? — Loo ? No ! 'tis all the samo story. Stay! I have it — Ma foil (that's 'Odd's Bobs!') there ia Glory ! Away with dull care! Vive le Roi! Vive la Guerre! Pesie 1 I 'd almost forgot I 'm a Black Mousquetairo I When a man is like me, Sans six sous, sans souci, A bankrupt in purse, And in character worse. With a shocking bad hat, and his credit at Zero, What on earth can he hope to become, — but a Hero? What a famous thought this is! I'll go as Ulysses Of old did — ^like him I '11 see manners, and know countries ; ♦ Cut Paris, — and gaming, — and throats in the Low Countries." So said, and so done — he arranged his aifairs, And was off like a shot to his Black Mousquetaires Now it happen'd just then That Field-Marshal Turenne Was a good deal in want of " some active young men," To fill up the gaps Which, through sundry mishaps, * Qui moroa hominum multorum vidil et urbes. Who viewed men's manners, London?, Yorks, and Dorbji". Am A LEGEND OF FRANCE. Had been made in his ranks by a certain " Great Cond^," A general unrivall'd — at least in his own day — Whose valour was such, That he did not care much If he fought with the French, — or the Spaniards, — or Dutch^ A fact which has stamped him a rather " Cool hand," Being nearly related to Louis le Grand. It had been all the same had that King been his brother ; He fought sometimes with one, and sometimes with another; For war, so exciting, He took such delight in, He did not care whom he fought, so he 2vas fighting. And, as I've just said, had amused himself then By tickling the tail of Field-Marshal Turenne ; Since which, the Field-Marshal's most pressing concern Was to tickle some other chief's tail in his turn. What a fine thing a battle is ! — not one of those Which one saw at the late Mr. Andrew Ducrow's, Where a dozen of scene-shifters, drawn up in rows, Would a dozen more scene-shifters boldly oppose. Taking great care their blows Did not injure their foes. And alike, save in colour and cut of their clothes, Which were varied, to give more effect to " Tableaux" While Stickney the Great Flung the gauntlet to Fate, And made us all tremble, so gallantly did he come On to encounter bold General Widdicombe — But a real, good fight, like Pultowa, or LUtzen, (Which Gustavus the Great ended all his disputes in,) Or that which Suwarrow engaged without boots in, Or Dettingen, Fontenoy, Blenheim, or Minden, Or the one Mr. Campbell describes, Hohenlinden, Where " the sun was low," The ground all over snow, THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIRE. It And dark as mid-winter the swift Iser's flow, — Till its colour was alter'd by General Moreau ; While big drum was heard in the dead of the night, Which rattled the Bard out of bed in a fright, And he ran up the steeple to look at the fight. 'Twas in just such another one, (Names only bother one — ) Dutch ones, indeed, are sufficient to smother one — ) In the Netherlands somewhere — I cannot say where — Suffice it that there La Fortune de guerre Gave a cast of her calling to our Mousquetaire. One fine morning, in short, Fran9ois Xavicr Auguste, After making some scores of his foes "bite the dust," Got a mouthful himself of the very same crust ; And though, as the Bard says, "No law is more just Than for Necia artifices,'''' — so they calFd fiery Soldados at Rome, — " arte suQ, perire" Yet fate did not draw This poetical law To its fullest extent in the case of St. Foix, His Good Genius most probably found out some flaw. And diverted the shot From some deadlier spot To a bone which, I think, to the best of my memory, 's Call'd by Professional men the '■'■ os femoris ;" And the ball being one of those named from its shape. And some fancied resemblance it bears to the grape, St. Foix went down. With a groan and a frown. And a hole in his small-clothes the size of a crown. — — Stagger'd a bit By this "palpable hit," He turn'd on his face, and went off in a fit ! Yes ! — a Battle's a very fine thing while you're fightins;, These same Ups-and-Downs are so very exciting. 2 M A LEGEND OF FRANCE. But a sombre sight is a Battle-field To the sad survivor's sorrowing eye, Where those, who scorn'd to fly or yield, In one promiscuous carnage lie ; When the cannon's roar Is heard no more, And the thick dun smoke has roll'd away, And the victor comes for the last survey Of the well-fought field of yesterday ! No triumphs flush that haughty brow, — No proud exulting look is there, — His eagle .glance is humbled now. As, earth-ward bent, in anxious care It seeks the form whose stalwart pride But y ester-morn was by his side ! And there it lies ! — on yonder bank Of corses, which themselves had breath But yester-morn — now cold and dank, With other dews than those of death ! Powerless as it had ne'er been born The hand that clasp'd his — yester-morn! And there are widows wand'ring there. That roam the blood-besprinkled plain, And listen in their dumb despair For sounds they ne'er may hear again I One word, however faint and low, — Ay, e'en a groan, — were music now! And this is Glory! — Fame! — But, pshaw! Miss Muse, you're growing sentimental ; Besides, such things we never saw ; In fact they 're merely Continental. And then your Ladyship forgets Some widows came for epaulettes. THE BLACK MOUSQTTETAIRE. 15 So go back to your canter ; for one, I declare, Is now fumbling about our capsized Mousquetaire, A beetle-brow'd hag, With a knife and a bag, And an old tatter'd bonnet which, thrown back, discloses The ginger complexion, and one of those noses Peculiar to females named Levy and Moses, Such as nervous folks still, when they come in their way ^hur., Old vixen-faced tramps of the Hebrew persuasion. You remember, I trust, Fran9ois Xavier Auguste, Had uncommon fine limbs, and a very fine bust. Now there's something — I cannot tell what it may be— - About good-looking gentlemen tum'd twenty-three, Above all when laid up with a wound in the knee, Which affects female hearts, in no common degree, With emotions in which many feelings combine, Very easy to fancy, though hard to define ; Ugly or pretty, Stupid or witty, Young or old, they experience, in country or city, What's clearly not Love — yet it's warmer than Pity — Aild some such a feeling, no doubt, 'tis that stays The hand you may see that old Jezebel raise, Arm'd with the blade. So oft used in her trade, The horrible calling e'en now she is plying, Despoiling the dead, and despatching the dying! For these "nimble Conveyancers," after such battles. Regarding as treasure trouve all goods and chattels, Think nought, in *< perusing and settling" the titles, 80 safe as six inches of steel in the vitals. Now don't make a joke of That feeling I spoke of; 16 A legi:nt> of france For, as sure as you're born, that same feeling, — whate'ei It may be, — saves the life of the young Mousquetaire ! — The knife that was levell'd, erewhile at his throat, Is employ'd now in ripping the lace from his coat. And from what, I suppose, I must call his culotte ; And his pockets, ho doubt, Being turn'd inside out, That his mouchoir and gloves may be put "up the &pout,** (For of coin, you may well conceive, all she can do Fails to ferret out even a single ^cu ;) As a muscular Giant would handle an elf, The virago at last lifts the soldier himself, And, like a She-Sampson, at length lays him down In a hospital form'd in the neighbouring town ! I am not very sure, But I think 'twas Namur ; And there she now leaves him, expecting a cure. I ABOMINATE physic — I Care not who knows That there's nothing on earth I detest like "a dose"— That yellowish-green-looking fluid, whose hue I consider extremely unpleasant to view, With its sickly appearance, that trenches so near On what Homer defines the complexion of Fear ; XXuipol/ 6eoi, I mean, A nasty pale green, hough for want of some word that may better avail, I presume, our translators have rendered it "pale;" For consider the cheeks Of those "well-booted Greeks," Their Egyptian descent was a question of weeks ; Their complexion, of course, like a half-decay'd leek's.. And you'll see in an instant the thing that I mean in ik A Greek face in a funk had a good deal of green iu it. THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIRE. 17 r repeat, I abominate physic ; but then, If folks will go campaigning about with such men As the Great Prince de Cond^, and Marshal Turenne. They may fairly expect To be now and then check 'd By a bullet, or sabre-cut. Then their best solace is Found, I admit, in green potions, and boluses ; So, of course, I don't blame St. Foix, wounded and lame, [f he swallowed a decent quant, suff. of the same ; Though I'm told, in such cases, it's not the French plan To pour in their drastics as fast as they can, The practice of many an English Savan, But to let off a man With a little plimnne. And gently to chafe the patella (knee-pan). "Oh, woman!" Sir Walter observes, "when the brow 's wrung with pain, what a minist'ring Angel art thou !" Thou'rt a "minist'ring Angel" in no less degree, I can boldly assert, when the pain's in the knee; And medical friction Is, past contradiction. Much better performed by a She than a He. A fact which, indeed, comes within my own knowledge, For I well recollect, when a youngster at College, And, therefore, can quote A surgeon of note, Mr. Grosvenor of Oxford, who not only wrote On the subject a very fine treatise, but, still as his Vatients came in, certain soft-handed Phyllises Were at once set to work on their legs, arms, and bac vs. And rubbed out their complaints in a couple of cracks.— Now, they say. To this day. When sick people can't pay 18 A LEGEND OF FRANCE. On tlie Continent, many of this kind of nurs. i. Attend, "without any demand on their purses ; And these females, some old, others still in their teens, Some call '* Sisters of Charity," others "Beguines." They don't take the vows ; but, half-Nun and half-Lay, Attend you ; and when you 've got better, they say, *' You 're exceedingly welcome ! There 's nothing to pay. Our task is now done. You are able to run. We never take money ; we cure you for fun !" Then they drop you a court'sy, and wish you good day, And go off to cure somebody else the same way. — A great many of these, at the date of my tale, In Namur walk'd the hospitals, workhouse, and jail. Among them was one, A most sweet Demi-nun. Her cheek pensive and pale ; tresses bright as the sun, — Not carroty — no ; though you 'd fancy you saw burn Such locks as the Greeks lov'd, which moderns call auburn. These were partially seen through the veil which they wore all ; Her teeth were of peax-l, and her lips were of coral : Her eyelashes silken ; her eyes, fine large blue ones. Were sapphires (I don't call these similes new ones ; But, in metaphors, freely confess I 've a leaning To such, new or old, as convey best one's meaning) — Then, for figure ? In faith it was downright barbarity To muffle a form Might sin anchorite warm In the fusty stuff' gown of a Sceur de la Charite ; And no poet could fancy, no painter could draw One mort perfect in all points, more free from a flaw. Than her s who now sits by the couch of St. Foix, Chafing there. With such care, And so dove-like an air, TUE BLACK MOUSQUETAlRE. i9 His leg, till her delicate fingers are charr'd With the Steer's opodeldoc, joint-oil, and goulard — Their Dutch appellations are really too hard To be brought into verse bj a transmarine Bard. — Now you '11 see, And agree, I am certain, with me, When a young man 's laid up with a wound in his knee: And a Lady sits there, On a rush-bottom'd chair, To hand him the mixtures his doctors prepare. And a bit of lump-sugar to make matters square ; Above all, when the Lady 's remarkably fair, And the wounded young man is a gay Mousquetaire, It 's a ticklish affair, you may swear, for the pair. And may lead on to mischief before they 're aware. I really don't think, spite of what friends would call his " Penchant for liasons,^^ and graver men " follies," (For my own part, I think planting thorns on their pillows, And leaving poor maidens to weep and wear willows. Is not to be classed among mere peccadillos), His '^ faults," I should say — I don't think Fran9ois Xavicr Entertaiu'd any thoughts of improper behaviour Tow'rds his nurse, or that once to induce her to sin he meant While superintending his draughts and his liniment. But, as he grew stout, And was getting about, Thoughts came into his head that had better been out ; . While Cupid's an urchin We know deserves birching, He's so prone to delude folks, and leave them the lurch in 'Twas doubtless his doing That absolute ruin Was the end of all poor dear Therese's sliampooiug. — ■ 20 A LEGEND OF FRANCE. 'Tis a subject I don't like to dwell on : but such Things will huppen — ay, e'en 'mongst the phlegmatic Dutch. "When Woman," as Goldsmith declares, "stoops to folly. And finds out too late that false man can betray," She is apt to look dismal, and grow " melan-choly," And, in short, to be anything rather than gay. He goes on to remark that " to punish her lover. Wring his bosom, and di-aw the tear into his eye, There is but one method" which he can discover That's likely to answer — that one is "to die!" He's wrong — the wan and withering cheek; The thin lips, pale, and drawn apart ; The dim yet tearless eyes, that speak The misery of the breaking heart; The wasted form, th' enfeebled tone That whispering mocks the pitying car ; Th' imploring glances heaven-ward thrown, As heedless, helpless, hopeless here; These wring the false one's heart enough, If "made of penetrable stuff." And poor Therese Thus pines and decays, Til-, stung with remorse, St. Foix takes a post-chaise With, for "wheelers," two bays, And, for leaders," two greys. And soon reaches France, by the help of relays, Flying shabbily off from the sight of his victim. And diuving as fast as if Old Nick had kick'd him. She, poor sinnner Grows thinner and thinner. Leaves off eating breakfast, and luncheon, and dinner, Till you 'd really suppose she could have nothing in her. — THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIRE. 21 One evening — 'hvas just as the clock struck eleven — They saw she 'd been sinking fast ever since seven, — She breath'd one deep sigh, threw one look up to Heaven, And all was o'er ! — Poor Therese was no more — She was gone ! — the last breath that she managed to draw Escaped in one half-utter'd word — 'twas "St. Foix!" * * -x- * ^ * Who can fly from himself? Bitter cares, when you feel 'cm, Are not cured by travel — as Horace says, " Coblum Non animum mutant qui currunt trans mare.'" It 's climate, not mind, that by roaming men vary — Remorse for temptation to which you have yielded, is A shadow you can't sell as Peter Schlemil did his ; It haunts you for ever — in bed and at board. — Ay, e'en in your dreams. And you can't find, it seems, Any proof that a guilty man ever yet snored ! It is much if he slumbers at all, which but fcAV, — Fran9ois Xavier Auguste was an instance — can do. Indeed, from the time He committed the crime Which cut off poor sister Therese in her prime, lie was not the same man that he had been — his plan Was quite changed — in wild freaks he no more led the van ; He'd scarce sleep a wink in A week; but sit thinking. From company shrinking — He quite gave up drinking. At the mess-table, too, where now seldom he came. Fish, fricasse, fricandeau, potage, or game, Dindon aux trujfes, or turhot d, la creme, No ! — he still shook his head, — it was always the same, Still he never complain'd that the cook was to blame ! 'Twas his appetite fail'd him — no matter how rare 22 A LEGEND OF FRANCE, And recherche the dish, how delicious the fare, — What he used to like best he no longer could bear ; But he'd there sit and stare With an air of despair: Took no care, but would wear Boots that wanted repair; Such a shirt too ! you 'd think he 'd no linen to spare He omitted to shave ; — he neglected his hair, And look'd more like a Guy than a gay Mousquetaire One thing, above all, most excited remark : In the evening he seldom sat long after dark. Not that then, as of yore, he'd go ont for " a lark With his friends; but when they, After taking caf6 Would have broiled bones and kidneys brought in on >k Cray, — Which I own I consider a very good way. If a man 's not dyspeptic, to wind up the day — No persuasion on earth could induce him to stay ; But he'd take up his candlestick, just nod his head By way of "Good evening!" and walk off to bed. Yet even when there he seem'd no better off. For he'd wheeze, and he'd sneeze, and he'd hem I and he'd cough ; And they'd hear him all night, Sometimes, sobbing outright, While his valet, who often endeavour'd to peep. Declared that " his master was never asleep ! But would sigh, and would groan, slap his forehead, and weep ; That about ten o'clock His door he would lock, And then never would open it, let who would knock ! — He had heard him," he said, ** Sometimes jump out of bed, And talk as if speaking to one who was dead ! THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIRE. 23 He'd groan, and he'd moan, In so piteous a tone, Begging some one or other to let him alone, That it really would soften the heart of a stone To hear him exclaim so, and call upon Heaven Then — The bother began always just at eleven T' Fran9ois Xavier Auguste, as I've told you before I believe, was a popular man in his corps^ And his comrades, not one Of whom knew of the Nun, Now began to consult what was best to be done. Count Cordon Bleu And the Sieur de la Roue Confess'd they did not know at all what to do: But the Chevalier Hippolyte Hector Achille Alphonse Stanislaus Emile de Grandville Made a fervent appeal To the zeal they must feel For their friend, so distinguish'd an officer, 's weal, " The first thing," he said, " was to find out the matter That bored their poor friend so, and caused all this clatter — Mort de ma vie!" — Here he took some rappee — " Be the cause what it may, he shall tell it to me !" — . He was right, sure enough — in a couple of days He worms out the whole story of Sister Therese, Now entomb'd, poor dear soul! in some Dutch Phre la Chaht — " But the worst thing of all," Fran9ois Xavier declares, " Is, whenever I've taken my candle up stairs. There's Therese sitting there — upon one of those chairs! Such a frown, too, she wears, And so frightfully glares. That I'm really prevented from saying my pray'rs, While an odour, — the very reverse of perfume, — More like rhubarb or senna, — pervades the whole room!" 24 A LEGEND CF FRANCE. Hector Achille Stanislaus Emile, When he heard him talk so felt an odd sort of feel ; Not that he cared for Ghosts — he was far too genteel; Still a queerish sensation came on when he saw Him, whom, for fun, They'd, by way of a pun On his person and principles, nick-named Sans Foi, A man whom they had, you see, Mark'd as a Sadducee, — In his horns, all at once, so completely to draw, And to talk of a Ghost with such manifest awe ! — It excited the Chevalier Grandville's surprise ; He shi-ugg'd up his shoulders, he turn'd up his eyes. And he thought with himself that he could not do les* Than lay me whole matter before the whole Mess. Repetition's detestable; — So, as you're best able Paint to yourself the eiFect at the Mess-table — How the bold Brigadiers Prick'd up their ears. And received the account, some with fears, some with sneers; How the Sieur de la Roue Said to Count Cordon Bleu, '■'■Mafoi — c^esl Men drole — Monseigneur, what say you?" — How Count Cordon Bleu Declared he " thought so too ;" — How the Colonel affirm'd that " the case was quite new ;" — How the Captains and Majors Began to lay wagers How far the Ghost part of the story was true ; — How, at last, when ask'd " What was the best tiling to do ?" Everybody was silent, — for nobody knew ! — And how, in the end, they saicJ, " No one could deal With the matter so well, from his prudence and :^al, THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIRE. 2> As the Gentleman who was the fii'st to reveal This strange story — viz. Hippolyte Hector Achille Alpbonse Stanislaus Emile de Grandville!" I need scarcely relate The plans, little and great, Which came into the Chevalier Hippolyte's pate, To rescue his friend from his terrible foes. Those mischievous Imps, whom the world, I suppose From extravagant notions respecting their hue, lias strangely agreed to denominate " Blue," Inasmuch as his schemes were of no more avail Than those he had, early in life, found to fail, When he strove to lay salt on some little bird's tail. In vain did he try With strong waters to ply Ills friend, on the ground that he never could spy Such a thing as a Ghost, with a drop in his eye ; St. Foix never would drink now unless he was dry ; Besides, what the vulgar call "sucking the monkey' Has much less effect on a man when he 's funky. In vain did he strive to detain him at table Till his "dark hour" was over — he never was able, Save once, when at Mess, With that sort of address Which the British call "Humbug," and Frenchmen •- Finesse," (It's "Blarney" in Irish — I don't know the Scotch,) He fell to admiring his friend's English watch.* He examined the face, And the back of the case. And the young Lady's portrait there, done on enamel, he " Saw by the likeness was one of the family ;" Cried ^'■Superhe ! — Magnifique /" (AVith his tongue in his cheek) - Then he opened the case, just to take a peep in it, aud Sftized the occasion to pop back the minute-hand. * "Tompion's, I presume ?" — Farquuvr. 20 A LEGEND OF FRANCE. With a devcii-conffd, and a shrug, and a grin, lie Returns the bijou and — c^est une affaire finie — "I've done him," thinks he, "now, I'll wager a guinea!" It happen'd that day They were all very gay, 'Twas the Grand Monarque\i birthday — that is, 'twas St. Louis'; Which in Catholic countries, of course, they would view as his- So when Hippolyte saw Him about to withdraw, He cried, " Come — that won't do, my fine fellow, St. Foix, — Give us five minutes longer and drink Vive le Roi" Francois Xavier Auguste, Without any mistrust Of the trick that was play'd, drew his watch from his fol). Just glanced at the hour, then agreed to "hob-nob," Fill'd a bumper, and rose With "Messieurs, I propose — " He paused — his blanch'd lips fail'd to utter the toast! 'Twas eleven! — he thought it half-past ten at most — Ev'ry limb, nerve, and muscle grew stiff as a post, — His jaw dropp'd — his eyes Swell'd to twice their own size — And he stood as a pointer would stand — at a Ghost! — Then shriek'd, as he fell on the floor like a stone. ♦' Ah ! Sister Therese ! now — do let me alone !" It 's amazing by sheer perseverance what men do, — As water wears stone by the " Scepe Cadendo," If they stick to Lord Somebody's motto, " Agendo ! Was it not Robert Bruce? — I declai'e T 've forgot. But I think it was Robert — you '11 find it in Scott — Who, when cursing Dame Fortune, was taught by a Spider, *' She *s sure to come round, if you will but abide her.'' THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIRE. 27 Then another gi-eat Rob, Called "White-lieadcd Bob," Whom I once saw receive such a thump on the "not" From a fist which might almost an elephant brain, That I really believed, at the first, he was slain. For he lay like a log on his back on the plain, Till a gentleman present accustom'd to train. Drew out a small lancet, and open'd a vein Just below his left eye, which relieving the pain, He stood up, like a trump, with an air of disdain, While his "backer" was fain, — For he could not refrain — (He was dress'd in pea-green, with a pin and gold chain, And I think I heard somebody call him "Squire Hayne.") To whisper ten words one should always retain, — "Take A SUCK AT the lemon, and at him again!!'" A hint ne'er surpass'd, though thus spoken at random. Since Teucer's apostrophe — Nil desperandum .' — — Grandville acted on it, and order'd his Tandem. He had heard St. Foix say, That no very great way From Namur was a snug little town called Grandpr^, Near which, a few miles from the banks of the Maese, Dwelt a pretty twin-sister of poor dear Ther^se, Of the same age, of course, the same father, the same moth* /, And as like to Therese as one pea to another ; She liv'd with her Mamma, Having lost her Papa, Late of contraband schnaps an unlicensed distiller, And her name was Des Moulins (in English, Miss Miller). Now, though Hippolyte Hector Could hardly expect her To feel much regard for her sister's " protector," When she 'd seen him so shamefully leave and neglect her ; 28 A LEGEND OF FRANCE. Still, he very well knew In this world there are few But are ready much Christian forgiveness to shew, For other folk's wrongs — if well paid so to do — And he 'd seen to what acts <' Hes angustce'^ compel hraux And belles, whose affairs have once got out at elbows. With the magic effect of a handful of crowns Upon people whose pockets boast nothing but " browns :'* A few francs well applied He 'd no doubt would decide Miss Agnes Des Moulins to jump up and ride As far as head-quarters, next day, by his side; For the distance was nothing, to speak by comparison. To the town where the Mousquetaires now lay in garrison ; Then he thought, by the aid Of a veil, and gown made Like those worn by the lady his friend had betray'd, They might dress up Miss Agnes so like to the Shade, Which he fixncied he saw, of that poor injured maid, Come each night, with her pale face, his guilt to upbraid ; That if once introduced to his room, thus array 'd, And then unmask'd as soon as she 'd long enough stay'd, 'T would be no very difficult task to persuade Him the whole was a scurvy trick, cleverly play'd, Out of spite and revenge, by a mischievous jade ! With respect to the scheme — though I do not call that a gem- Still 1 've known soldiers adopt a worse stratagem. And that, too, among the decided approvers Of General Sir David Dundas's "Manoeuvres." There 's a proverb, however, I've always thought clever. Which my Grandmother never was tired of repeating "The proof of the Pudding is found in the eating! '* We shall see, in the sequel, how Hector Achille Had roix'd up the suet and plums for Ms meal. THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIRE. 5 The night had set in ; — 'twas a dark and a gloomy one ;— Off went St. Foix to his chamber ; a roomy one Five stories high, The first floor from the sky, And lofty enough to afford great facility For playing a game, with the youthful nobility Of "crack corps" a deal in Bequest, when they're feeling, In dull country quarters, ennui on them stealing ; A wet wafer 's applied To a sixpence's side. Then it's spun with the thumb up to stick on the ceiling: [ntellectual amusement, which custom allows old troops, — I 've seen it here practised at home by our Household troops. He'd a table, and bed, And three chairs ; and all 's said. — A bachelor's barrack, where'er you discern it, you're Sure not to find overburthen'd with furniture. Frangois Xavier Auguste lock'd and bolted his door With just the same caution he'd practised before; Little he knew That the Count Cordon Bleu, With Hector Achille, and the Sieur de la Roue, Had been up there before him, and drawn ev'ry screw ! And now comes the moment — the watches and clocks All point to eleven! — the bolts and the locks Give way — and the party turn out their bag-fox! — With a step noiseless and light, Though half in a fright, ** A cup in her left hand, a draught in her right," In her robe long and black, and her veil long and white Ma'amselle Agnes des Moulins walks in as a sprite ! — She approaches the bed With the same silent tread Just as though she had been at least half a year dead! iO A LEGEND OF FIIANCE. Then seating herself on the "rusli-bottom'd chair,'* Throws a cold stony glance on the Black Mousquetaire. If you're one of the "play-going public," kind readei, And not a Moravian or rigid Seccder, You've seen Mr. Kean, I mean in that scene Of Macbeth, — by some thought the crack one of the piece Which has been so well painted by Mr. M'Clisc, — "When he wants, after having stood up to say grace,* To sit down to his haggis, and can't find a place ; You remember his stare At the high-back'd arm-chair, Where the Ghost sits that nobody else knows is there, And how, after saying " What man dares I dare !" He proceeds to declare He should not so much care If it came in the shape of a "tiger" or "bear," But he don't like it shaking its long gory hair ! While the obstinate Ghost, as determined to brave him, With a horrible grin, Sits, and cocks up his chin. Just as though he was asking the tyrant to shave him. And Lennox and Rosse Seem quite at a loss If they ought to go on with their sheep's head and sauce ; And Lady Macbeth looks uncommonly cross. And says in a huff It's all "Proper stuff!"— All this you'll have seen, Reader, often enougli; So, perhaps 'twill assist you in forming some notion Of what must have been Frangois Xaviei*'s emotion If you fancy what troubled Macbeth to be doubled, * May good digestion wait on appetite, And health on both. — Macbeth. THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIRE. 31 And, instead of one Banquo to stare in his face Without "speculation," suppose he'd a brace ' I wish I'd poor Fuseli's pencil, Avho ne'er I bel- ieve was exceeded in painting the terrible, Or that of Sir Joshua Reynolds, who was so a- droit in depicting it — vide his piece Descriptive of Cardinal Beaufort's decease, Where that prelate is lying Decidedly dying, With the King and his suile, Standing just at his feet. And his hands, as Dame Quickly says, fumbling the shetst While, close at his ear, with the air of a scorner, *' Busy, meddling," Old Nick's grinning up in the corner. But painting's an art I confess I am raw in. The fact is, I never took lessons in drawing, Had I done so, instead Of the lines you have read, I'd have giv'n you' a sketch should have fiU'd you with dread; Fran9ois Xavier Auguste squatting up in his bed. His hands widely spread. His complexion like lead, Ev'ry hair that he has standing up on his head. As when, Agnes des Moulins first catching his view, Now right, and now left, rapid glances he threw, Then shriek'd with a wild and unearthly halloo, '' Mon Dieu ! v'la deux ! 1 By the Pope there are two ! ! ! " He fell back — one long aspiration he drew, In flew De la Roue, And Count Cordon Bleu, Pommade, Pomme-de-terre, and the rest of their crew. He i?tirr'd not, — ho s^olcc not. — he none of them knew. 32 A LEGEND OF FRANCE, And Achille cried "Odzooks! I fear, by his looks, Our friend, Fran9ois Xavier, lias popp'd off the hooks !" 'Twas too true Malheureux ! ! It was done! — he had ended his earthly career, — He had gone off at once with a flea in his ear ; — The Black Mousquetaire was as dead as Sniall-becr ! I Sa'iEnfaog. A moral more in point I scarce could hope Than this, from Mr. Alexander Pope. If ever chance should bring some Cornet gay, And pious Maid, — as, possibly, it may. — From Knightsbridge Barracks, and the fshados sere no Of Clapham Rise, as far as Kensal Green : O'er some pale marble when they join tlieir heads To kiss the falling tears each other sheds ; Oh! may they pause! — and think, in silent awe, Ke, that he reads the words, " Ci git St. FoixV She, that the tombstone which her eye surveys Bears this sad line, — Ilicjacet Sceur ThereseT^ Then shall they sigh, and weep, and murmuring say, " Oh ! may we never play such tricks as they !" — And if at such a time some Bard there be, Some sober Bard, addicted much to tea And sentimental song — like Ingoldsby — If such there be — who sings and sips so well, Let him this sad, this tender story tell ! Warn'd by the tale, the gentle pair shall boast, "I've 'scaped the Broken Heart!" — "and I the Ghost!!' SIR RUPERT THE FEARLESS. 33 The next in order of these " lays of many lands*' refers to a a period far earlier in point of date, and has for its scene the banks of what our Teutonic friends are wont to call their '' own imperial River !" The incidents which it records afford sufl5cient proof (and these are days of demonstration), that a propensity to flirtation is not confined to age or country, and that its consequences were not less disastrous to the mail-clad R'itter of the dark ages than to the silken courtier of the seventeenth century. The whole narrative bears about it the stamp of truth, and from the papers among which it was discovered I am inclined to think it must have been picked up by Sir Peregrine in the course of one of his valetudinary visits to ''The German Spa.'' SIR RUPERT THE FEARLESS. A LFXiEND OF GERMANY. Sir RurEKT the Fearless, a gallant young knight, Was equally ready to tipple or fight, Crack a crown, or a bottle, Cut sirloin, or throttle; In brief, or as Hume says, "to sum iip the tottle," Unstain'd by dishonour, unsullied by fear, All his neighbours pronounced him njn-eux chevalier. Despite these perfections, corporeal and mental. He had one slight defect, viz. a rather lean rental ; Besides, as 'tis own'd there are spots in the sun, So it must be confesp'd that Sir Rupert had one; 34 A LEGEND OF GERMANY. Being rather unthinking, He 'd scarce sleep a wink in A night, but addict himself sadly to drinking, And what moralists say, Is as naughty — to play, To Rouge et Noir, Hazard, Short Whist, EcartS ; Till these, and a few less defensible fancies Brought the Knight to the end of his slender finances. When at length through his boozing, And tenants refusing Their rents, swearing " times were so bad they were losin;;,*' His steward said, "0, sir, It's some time ago, sir, Since aught through my hands reach'd the baker or grocer. And the tradesmen in general are grown great complainers" Sir Rupert the brave thus addressed his retainers; " My friends, since the stock Of my father's old hock Is out, with the Kiirchwasser, Barsac, Moselle, And we 're fairly reduced to the pump and the well, I presume to suggest. We shall all find it best For each to shake hands with his friends ere he goes, Mount his horse, if he has one, and — follow his nose As to me, I opine. Left sans money or wine, My best way is to throw myself into the Ehine, Where pitying trav'lers may sigh, as they cross over, 'Though he lived a rou6, yet he died a philosopher.' '' The Knight, having bow'd out his friends thus politely, Got into his skiff, the full moon shining brightly. By the light of whose beam, He soon spied on the stream A dame, whose complexion was fair as new cream , SIR EUPERT THE FEARLESS. 35 Pretty pink silken hose Cover'd ankles and toes, In other respects she was scanty of clothes ; For, so says tradition, both written and oral, Her one garment was loop'd up with bunches of coral Full sweetly she sang to a sparkling guitar. With silver chords stretch'd over Derbyshire spar, And she smiled on the Knight, Who, amazed at the sight. Soon foupd his astonishment merged in delight ; But the stream by degrees Now rose up to her knees. Till at length it invaded her very chemise, While the heavenly strain, as the wave seem'd to swallow her. And slowly she sank, sounded fainter and hoUower ; — Jtimping up in his boat And discarding his coat, "Here goes,'' cried Sir Rupert, "by jingo I'll follow her!" Then into the water he plunged with a souse That was heard quite distinctly by those in the house Down, down, forty fathom and more from the brink, Sir Rupert the Fearless continues to sink, And, as downward he goes, Still the cold water flows Through his ears, and his eyes, and his mouth, and his nose, Till the rum and the brandy he'd swallow'd since lunch Wanted nothing but lemon to fill him with punch ; Some minutes elapsed since he enter'd the flood, Ere his heels touch'd the bottom, and stuck in the mud. But oh! what a sight Met the eyes of the Knight, When he stood in the depth of the stream bolt upright!— S6 A LEGEND OF GERMANY. A grand stalactite liall, Like the cave of Fingal, Rose above and about him ; — great fishes and small Came thronging around him, regardless of danger, And seem'd all agog for a peep at the stranger. Their figures and forms to describe, language fails — riiey 'd such very odd heads, and such very odd tails ; Of their genus or species a sample to gain, You would ransack all Hungerford market in vain ; E'en the famed Mr. Myers, Would scarcely find buyers, Though hundreds of passengers doubtless would stop To stare, were such monsters exposed in his shop. But little reck'd Rupert these queer-looking brutes, Or the efts and tlie newts Tliat crawl'd up his boots. For a sight, beyond any of which I 've made mention, In a moment completely absorb'd his attention. A huge crystal bath, which, with water far clearer Than George Robins' filters, or Thorpe's (which are dearer), Have ever distill'd, To the summit was fill'd, Lay stretch'd out before him, — and every nerve thrill'd As scores of yoiing women Were diving and swimming, Till the vision a perfect quandary put him in ; — All slightly acoutrcd in gauzes and lawns, They came floating about him like so many prawns. Sir Rupert, who (barring the few peccadilloes Alluded to,) ere he leapt into the billows Possess'd irreproachable morals, began To feel rather queer, as a modest young man ; When forth stopp'd a dame, whom he recognised sooa As the one he had seen by the light of the moon. SIR RUPERT THE FEARLESS. 37 And lisp'd, while a soft smile attended each sentence, "Sir Rupert, I'm happy to make your acquaintance; My name is Lurline, And the ladies you've seen, All do me the honour to call me their Queen ; I 'ni delighted to see you, sir, down in the Rhine here, And hope you can make it convenient to dine hero." The Knight blush'd, and bow'd. Of subaqueous beauties, then answer'd alotid : "Ma'am, you do me much honour, — I cannot express The delight I shall feel — if you'll pardon my dress — May 1 venture to say, when a gentleman jumps In the river at midnight for Avant of ' the dumps,' He rarely puts on his knee-breeches and pumps ; If I could but have guess'd — what I sensibly feel — Your politeness — I'd not have come en dishabille, But have put on my silk tights in lieu of my steel." Quoth the lady, " Dear sir, no apologies, pray, You will take our ' pot-luck ' in the. family way ; We can give you a dish Of some decentish fish, And our water's thought fairigh ; but here in the Rhino, I can't say we pique ourselves much on our wine." The Knight made a bow more profound than before, "When a Dory-faced page oped the dining-room door. And said, bending his knee, ^^ Madame, on a servi!" Rupert tender'd his arm, led Lurline to her place. And a fat little Mer-man stood up and said grace. What boots it to tell of the viands, or how she Apologised mwch for their plain water-souchy, Want of Harvey's, and Cross's, And Burgess's sauces^ 4 38 A LEGEND OF GERMANT. Or how Rupert, on his side, protested, by Jove, he Preferr'd his fish plain, witliout soy or anchoYy. Suffice it the meal Boasted trout, perch, and eel, Besides some remarkably fine salmon peel. The Knight, sooth to say, thought much less of the fishes Than of what they were served on, the massive gold dishes ; While his eye, as it glanced now and then on the girls, Was caught by their persons much less than their pearls, And a thought came across him and caused him to muse, "If I could but get hold Of some of that gold, I might manage to pay off my rascally Jews !" When dinner was done, at a sign to the lasses. The table was clear'd, and they put on fresh glasses ; Then the lady addrest Her redoubtable guest Much as Dido, of old, did the pious Eneas, "Dear sir, what induced you to come down and see us?" — Rupert gave her a glance most bewitchingly tender, Loll'd back in his chair, put his toes on the fender. And told her outright How that he, a young Knight, Had never been last at a feast or a fight ; But that keeping good cheer Every day in the year, And drinking neat wines all the same as small-beer, Had exhausted his rent, And, his money all spent. How he borrow'd large sums at two hundred per cent. ; How they follow'd — and then, The once civillest of men, Messrs Howard and Gibbs, made him bitterly rue it he 'd ever raised money by way of annuity; SIR RUPERT THE FEARLESS. 89 And, his mortgages being about to foreclose. How he jiimp'd in the river to finish his woes ! Lurline was atfected, and own'd, with a tear. That a story so naournful had ne'er met her ear : Rupert, hearing her sigh, Look'd uncommonly sly, And said, with some emphasis, "Ah! miss, had I A few pounds of those metals You waste here on kettles. Then, Lord once again Of my spacious domain, A free Count of the Empire once more I might reign, With Lurline at my side, My adorable bride, (For the parson should come, and the knot should be tied) ; No couple so happy on earth should be seen As Sir Rupert the brave and his charming Lurline ; Not that money 's my object — No, hang it ! I scorn it — And as for my rank — but that you 'd so adorn it — I'd abandon it all To remain your true thrall, And, instead of 'the Great,' be call'd 'Rupert the Small;* — To gain but your smiles, were I Sardanapalus, 1 'd descend from my throne, and be boots at an alehouse."* Lurline hung her head, Turn'd pale, and then red. Growing faint at this sudden proposal to wed, As though his abruptness, in "popping the question" So soon after dinner, disturb'd her digestion. Then, averting her eye, With a lover-like sigh, "You are welcome," she murmur'd in tones most bewitching, *' To every utensil I have in my kitchen !" '* "Sardanapalus and *= Boots," the Zenith and Nadir of human society A(y A LEGEND OF GERMANY. Upstarted the Knight, Half mad Avith delight, Round her finely-form'd waist He immediately placed One arm, which the lady most closely embraced, Of her lily-white fingers the other made capture. And he press'd his adored to his bosom with rapture. "And oh!" he exclaim'd, "let them go catch my skiff, I '11 be home in a twinkling and back in a jiffy, Nor one moment procrastinate longer my journey Than to put up the banns and kick out the attorney." One kiss to her lip, and one squeeze to her hand, And Sir Rupert ah'eady was half-way to land, For a sour-visaged Triton, With features would frighten Old Nick, caught him up in one hand, though no light one, Sprang up through the waves, popp'd him into his funny, Which some others already had half-fill'd with money ; In fact, 'twas so heavily laden with ore And pearls, 'twas a mercy he got it to shore ; But Sir Rupert was strong, And while pulling along. Still he heard, faintly sounding, the water-nymphs' song. LAY OF THE NAIADS. "Away! away! to the mountain's brow, Where the castle is darkly frowning; And the vassals, all in goodly row, Weep for their lord a-drowning! Away! away! to the steward's room. Where law with its wig and robe is; Throw us out John Doe and Richard Roe, And sweetly we '11 tickle their tobies !" The unearthly voices scarce had ceased their yelling, When Rupert I'each'd his old baronial dwelling. SIR RUPERT THE FEARLESS. 41 What rejoicing was there.! How the vassals did stare ! The eld housekeeper put a clean shirt down to air, For she saw by her lamp That her masters was damp, And she fcar'd he 'd catch cold, and lumbago, and cramp ; But, scorning what she did, The Knight never heeded Wet jacket or trousers, nor thought of repining. Since their pockets had got such a delicate lining. But oh! what dismay! Fill'd the tribe of Ca Sa, When they found he 'd the cash, and intended to pay ! Away went ''cognovits,'' "bills," '-bonds," and "escheats," — Ivupert clear'd off all scores, and took proper receipts. Now no more he sends out For pots of brown stout. Or schnaps, but resolves to do henceforth without, Abjure from this hour all excess and ebriety, Enrol himself one of a Temp'rance Society, All riot eschew, Begin life anew, And new-cushion and hassock the family pew ! Nay, to strengthen him more in his new mode of life, He boldly determines to take him a wife. Now, many would think that the Knight, from a nice senst Of honour, should put Lurline's name in the license. And that, for a man of his breeding and quality, To break fiiith and troth, Confirm'd by an oath. Is not quite consistent with rigid morality ; But whether the nymph was forgot, or he thought her From her essence scarce wife, but at best wife-and-water, 4* 42 A LEGEND OF GERMANY. And declined, as unsuited, A Tbride so diluted — Be this as it may, He, I 'm sorry to say, (For, all things considerd, I own 'twas a rum thing,) Made proposals in form to Miss Una Von — something, (Her name has escaped me,) sole heiress, and niece To a highly respectable Justice of Peace. "Thrice happy 's the wooing That's not long a-doing!" So much time is saved in the billing and cooing — The ring is now bought, the white favours, and gloves, And all the et cetera which crown people's loves; A magnificent bride-cake comes home from the baker, And lastly appears, from the German Long Acre, That shaft which the sharpest in all Cupid's quiver is, A plum-colour'd coach, and rich Pompadour liveries 'Twas a comely sight To behold the Knight, With his beautiful bride, dress'd all in white. And the bridemaids fair with their long lace veils. As tliey all walk'd \ip to the altar rails, While nice little boys, the incense dispensers, March'd in front with white surplices, bands, and gilt censers With a gracious air, and a smiling look, Mess John had open'd his awful book. And had read so far as to ask if to wed he meant? And if "he knew any just cause or impediment?" When from base to turret the castle shook ! ! ! Then came a sound of a mighty rain Dashing against each storied pane, The wind blew loud, And a coal-black cloud O'ershadow'd the church, and the party, and crowd; SIR RUPERT THE FEARLESS. 43 How it could happen they could not divine, The morning had been so remarkably fine ! Still the darkness increased, till it reach'd such a pass That the sextoness hasten'd to turn on the gas ; But harder it pour'd, And the thunder roar'd, As if heaven and earth v^ere coming together : None ever had witness'd such terrible weather. Now louder it crash'd, And the lightning flash'd, Exciting the fears Of the sweet little dears, In the veils, as it danced on the brass chandeliers : The parson ran off, though a stout-hearted Saxon, When he found that a flash had set fire to his caxon. Though all the rest trembled, as might be expected, Sir Rupert was perfectly cool and collected. And endeavour'd to cheer His bride, in her ear Whisp'ring tenderly, "Pray don't be frighten'd, my dear; Should it even set fire to the castle, and burn it, you 're Amply insured, both for buildings and furniture." But now, from without, A trustworthy scout Rush'd hurriedly in. Wet through to the skin, Informing his master " the river was rising. And flooding the grounds in a way quite surprising." He 'd no time to say more. For already the roar Of the waters was lieard as they reach'd the church-door, While, high on the first wave that roll'd in, was seen. Riding proudly, the form of the angry Lurline ; 44 A LEGEND OF GERMANY. And all might observe, by liei' glance fierce and stormy, She was stung by the spreicB injuria formce. What she said to the Knight, niiat she said to the bride, What she said to the ladies who stood by her side, What she said to the nice little boys in white clothes, Oh, nobody mentions, — for nobody knows; For the roof tumbled in, and the walls tumbled out, And the folks tumbled down, all confusion and rout, The rain kept on pouring, The flood kept on roaring, The billows and water-nymphs roU'd more and more in ; Ere the close of the day All was clean wash'd away — Jne only survived who could hand down the news, A little old woman that open'd the pews ; She was borne ofi", but stuck, By the greatest good luck, In an oak-tree, and there she hung, crying and screaming, And saw all the rest swallow'd up the wild stream in ; In vain, all the week, Did the fishermen seek For the bodies, and poke in each cranny and creek ; In vain was their search After aught in the church, They caught nothing but weeds, and perhaps a few perch ; The Humane Society Tried a variety Of methods, and brought down, to drag for the wreck, tackloA But they only fish'd up the clerk's tortoise-shell spectacles. Moral. This tale has a moral. Ye youths, oh, beware Of liquor, and how you run after the fair ! Shun playing at shorts — avoid quarrels and jars — A.nd don't take to smoking those nasty cigars ! SIR RUPERT THE FEARLESS. 45 — Let no run of bad-hick, or despair for some Jewess-eyed Damsel, induce you to contemplate suicide ! Don't sit up much later than ten or eleven ! — Be up in the morning by half after seven ! Keep from flirting — nor risk, warn'd by Rupert's miscarriage, An action for breach of a promise of marriage : — Don't fancy odd fishes ! Don't prig silver dishes! And to sum up the whole, in the shortest phrase I know, Beware of the Rhine, and take care of the Rhino! And now for "Sunny Italy/' — the "Land of tb. unforgotten brave," — the land of blue skies and black- eyed Signoras. — I cannot discover from any recorded memoranda that " Uncle Perry'* was ever in Venice, even in Carnival time — that he ever saw Garrick in Shylock I do not believe, and am satisfied that he knew nothing of Shakspeare, a circumstance that would by no means disqualify him from publishing an edition of that Poet's works. I can only conclude that, in the course of his Continental wanderings. Sir Peregrine had either read, or heard of the following history, especially as he furnishes us with some particulars of the eventual des- tination of his dramatis personcB which the Bard of Avon has omitted. If this solution be not accepted, I can only say, with Mr. Puff, that probably " two men hit upon the same idea, and Shakspeare made use of it first." THE MERCHANT OP VENICE. A LEGEND OP ITALY. * ♦ * Of the Merchant of Venice there are two 4to editions in 1600, one by Ileyes and the other by Koberts. The Luke of Devonshire and Lord Francis Egerton have copies of the edition by Heyes, and tlicy vary impor- tantly. * * * It must be acknowledged that this is a very easy and happy emenda- tion, which does not admit of a moment's doubt or dispute. * * * Readers in general are not at all aware of the nonsense they have in many cases been accustomed to receive as the genuine text of Shak« speare ! Reasons for a new edition of Shakspeare's yforks, by J. Payne Collier, I BELIEVE there are few But have heard of a Jew, Named Shylock, of Venice, as arrant a " Screw " In money transactions, as ever you knew ; An exorbitant miser, who never yet lent A ducat at less than three hundred per cent.. Insomuch that the veriest spendthrift in Venice, Who *d take no more care of his pounds than his pennies, When press'd for a loan, at the very first sight ■^f his terms, would back out, and take refuge in Flight. J, is not my purpose to pause and inquire If he might not, in managing thus to retire, Jump out of the frying-pan into the fire ; Suffice it, that folks would have nothing to do, Whc could possibly help it, with Shylock the Jew. But, however discreetly one cuts and contrives, We 've been most of us taught, in the course of pur lives. That " Needs must when the Elderly Gentleman Olives !'* THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 47 In proof of this rule, A thoughtless young fool. Bassanio, a. Lord of the Tora-noddy school, Who, by showing at Operas, Balls, Plays, and Court, A " swelling" (Payne Collier would read "swilling") "port,* And inviting his friends to dine, breakfast, and sup, Had shrunk his " weak means," and was " stump'd " and " bard up," Took occasion to send To his very good friend Antonio, a merchant whose wealth had no end, And who 'd often before had the kindness to lend Him large sums, on his note, which he 'd managed to spend. "Antonio," said he, " Now listen to me : I've just hit on a scheme which, I think, you'll agree, All matters consider'd, is no bad design, And which, if it succeeds, will suit your book and mine. " In the first place, you know all the money I've got, Time and often, from you has been long gone to pot. And in making those loans you have made a bad shot ; Now do as the boys do when, shooting at sparrows And tom-tits, they chance to lose one of their arrows, — Shoot another the same way — I '11 watch well its tract, And, turtle to tripe, I '11 bring both of them back ! — So list to my plan, And do what you can To attend to and second it, that 's a good man ! *' There 's a Lady, young, handsome beyond all compare, at A place they call Belmont, whom, when I was there, at The suppers and parties my friend Lord Mountfcrrat Was giving last season, we all used to stare at. Then, as to her wealth, her Solicitor told mine, Besides vast estates, a pearl-fishery, and gold mine i8 A LEGEND OF ITALY. Her iron strong box Seems bursting its locks, It's stuff'd so with shares in ' Grand Junctions' and * Docks,* Not to speak of the money she's got in the Stocks, French, Dutch, and Brazilian, Columbian, and Chilian, In English Exchequer-bills full half a million, Not ♦ kites,' manufactured to cheat and inveigle, But the right sort of ' flimsy,' all sign'd by Monteagle. Then I know not how much in Canal-shares and Railways, And more speculations I need not detail, ways Of vesting which, if not so safe as some think 'em, Contribute a deal to improving one's income ; In short, she 's a Mint ! — Now I say, deuce is in't If, with all my experience, I can't take a hint, And her ' eye's speechless messages,' plainer than print At the time that I told you of, know from a squint. In short, my dear Tony, My trusty old crony. Do stump up three thousand once more as a loan — I Am sure of my game — though, of course, there are brutes. Of all sorts and sizes, prefen-ing their suits To her, you may call the Italian Miss Coutts, Yet Portia — she's named from that daughter of Cato's — Is not to be snapp'd up like little potatoes, And I have not a doubt I shall rout every lout Ere you'll whisper Jack Robinson — tut them all out — Surmount every barrier, Carry her, marry her! — Then hey ! my old Tony, when once fairly noosed. For her Three-and-a-half per Cents — New and Reduc'd I** With a wink of his eye His friend made reply THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. In his jocular manner, sly, caustic, and dry, " Still the same boy, Bassanio — never say * die' ! — Well — I hardly know how I shall do 't, but 1 '11 try, — Don't suppose my affairs are at all in a hash, But the fact is, at present I 'm quite out of cash ; The bulk of my property, merged in rich cargoes, is Tossing about, as you know, in my Argosies, Tending, of course, my resources to cripple, — I 've one bound to England, — another to Tripoli — Cyprus — Masulipatam — and Bombay ; — A sixth, by the way, I consigned t'other day, To Sir Gregor M'Gregor, Cacique of Poyais, A country where silver 's as common as clay. Meantime, till they tack, And come, some of them, back. What with Custom-house duties, and bills falling due. My account with Jones, Loyd, and Co., looks rather blue ; While, as for the 'ready,' I'm like a Church-mouse, — I really don't think there 's five pounds in the house. But no matter for that. Let me just get my hat. And my new silk umbrella that stands on the mat, And we'll go forth at once to the market — we two, — And try what my credit in Venice can do ; I stand well on 'Change, and, when all 's said and done, I Don't doubt I shall get it for love or for money." They were going to go, When, lo ! down below, In the street, they heard somebody crying, " Old Clo' !" — " By the Pope, there 's the man for our purpose ! — I knew We should not have to search long. Solanio, run you, — Salarino, — quick ! — haste ! ere he get out of view, And call in that scoundrel, old Shylock the Jew !" 6 49 fiO A LEGEND OF ITALT. With a pack, Like a sack Of old clothes at his back, And three hats on his head, Shylock came in a crack. Saying, "Rest you fair, Signor Antonio! — vat, pray. Might your vorship be pleashed for to vant in ma vay ?** — << Why, Shylock, although, As you very well know, I am what they call 'warm,' — ^pay my way as I go. And, as to myself, neither borrow nor lend, I can break through a rule, to oblige an old friend ; And that 's the case now — Lord Bassanio would raise Some three thousand ducats — well, — knowing your wayisy And that nought 's to be got from you, say what one will. Unless you 've a couple of names to the bill, Why, for once, I '11 put mine to it. Yea, seal and sign to it — Now, then, old Sinner, let 's hear what you '11 say As to * doing' a bill at three months from to-day ? Three thousand gold ducats, mind — all in good bags Of hard money — no sealing-wax, slippers, or rags?" " — ^Vell, ma tear," says the Jew, "I'll see vat I can do! But Mishter Antonio, hark you, tish funny You say to me, * Shylock, ma tear, ve 'd have money !* Ven you very veil knows How you shpit on ma clothes. And use naughty vords — call me Dog — and avouch Dat I put too much int'resht py half in ma pouch, And vhile I, like de resht of ma tribe, shrug and crouch, You find fault mit ma pargains, and say I 'm a Smouch. — Veil! — no matters, ma tear, — Von vord in your ear ! I 'd be friends mit you bote — and to make dat appear, THE MERCHANT OP YENICE. 51 Vy, I '11 f nd you de monies as soon as you vill, Only von littel joke musht be put in de pill; — Ma tear, you muslit say, If on such and such day Such sum or such sums, you shall fail to repay, I shall cut vhere I like, as de pargain is proke, A fair pound of your flesh — chest by vay of a joke.** So novel a clause Caused Bassanio to pause ; But Antonio, like most of those sage "Johnny Raws" Who care not three straws About Lawyers or Laws, And think cheaply of "Old Father Antic," because They have never experienced a gripe from his claws, " Pooh po^'d " the whole thing. — " Let the Smouch have his way — Why, what care I, pray, For his penalty? — Nay, It 's a forfeit he 'd never expect me to pay ; ■ And, come what may I hardly need say My ships will be back a full month ere the day." So, anxious to see his friend off on his journey, And thinking the whole but a paltry concern, he Affix'd with all speed His name to a deed. Duly stamp' d and drawn up by a sharp Jew attorney. Thus again furnish'd forth. Lord Bassanio, instead Of squandering the cash, after giving one spread, With fiddling and masques, at the Saracen's Head, La the morning "made play," And without more delay, Siarted off in the steam-boat for Belmont next day But scarcely had he From the harbour got free. And left the Lagunes for the broad open sea, 52 A LEGEND OF ITALY. Ere the 'Change and Rialto both rung with the news That he 'd carried off more than mere cash from the Jew's. Though Shylock was old, And, if rolHng in gold, Was as ugly a dog as yo i 'd wish to behold, For few in his tribe 'mongst their Levis and Moseses Sported so Jewish an eye, beard, and nose as his, Still, whate'er the opinions of Horace and some be, Your aquilcR generate someiivaQB Columbce,* Like Jephthah, as Hamlet says, he 'd " one fair daughter, And every gallant, who caught sight of her, thought her A jewel — a gem of the very first water ; A great many sought her. Till one at last caught her, And, uj)setting all that the Rabbis had taught her, To feehngs so truly reciprocal brought her, That the very same night Bassanio thought right To give all his old friends that farewell " invite," And while Shylock was gone there to feed out of spite. On "wings made by a tailor" the damsel took flight. By these "wings" I'd express A grey duffle dress. With brass badge and muffin cap, made, as by rule, For an upper class boy in the National School. Jessy ransack'd the house, popp'd her breeks on, and when so Disguised, bolted off with her beau — one Lorenzo, An " Unthrift," who lost not a moment in whisking Her into the boat, And was fairly afloat Ere her Pa had got rid of the smell of the griskin. Next day, while old Shylock was making a racket. And threatening how well he 'd dust every man's jacket Who 'd help'd her in getting abroad of the packet, * Ncc imbelleni leroRes rrogencrant a(inil.'e columbam. — IIor. THE MERCHANT OP VENICE. 53 Bassamo at Belmont was capering and prancing, And bowing, and scraping, and singing, and dancing, Making eyes at Miss Portia, and doing his best To perform the polite and to cut out the rest ; And, if left to herself, tie no doubt had succeeded, For none of them waltz'd so genteelly as he did ; But an obstacle lay. Of some weight, in his way. The defunct Mr. P. who was now turn'd to clay, Had been an odd man, and, though all for the best he meant, Left but a queer sort of " Last will and testament," — Bequeathing her hand, With her houses and land, &c., from motives one don't understand, As she rev'renced his memory, and valued his blessing, To him who should turn out the best hand at guessing! Like a good girl, she did Just what she was bid ; In one of three caskets her picture she hid, And clapp'd a conundrum a-top of each lid. A couple of Princes, a black and a white one, Tried first, but they both fail'd in choosing the right one. Another from Naples, who shoe'd his own horses ; A French Lord, whose graces might vie with Count D'Orsay's ; — i young English Baron ; — a Scotch Peer his neighbour ; — A dull drunken Saxon, all mustache and sabre ; — All follow'd, and all had their pains for their labour. Bassanio came last — happy man be his dole! Put his conjuring cap on, — consider'd the whole, — The gold put aside as Mere "hard food for Midas," The silver bade trudge As a "pale common drudge;" Then choosing the little lead box in the middle. Came plump on the picture, and found out the riddle. 54 A LEGEND OF ITALT Now you 're not such a goose as to think, I dare say, Gentl© Reader, that all this was done in a day. Any more than the dome Of St. Peter's at Rome Was built in the same space of time ; and, in fact;, Whilst Bassanio was doing His billing and cooing, Three months had gone by ere he reach'd the fifth act ; Meanwhile that unfortunate bill became due, Which his Lordship had almost forgot, to the Jew, And Antonio grew In a deuce of a stew. For he could not cash up, spite of all he could do ; (The bitter old Israelite would not renew), What with contrary winds, storms, and wrecks, and embargoes, his Funds were all stopp'd, or gone down in his argosies, None of the set having come into port. And Shylock's attorney was moving the Court For the forfeit supposed to be set down in sport. The serious news Of this step of the Jew's, And his fix'd resolution all terms to refuse. Gave the newly-made Bridegroom a fit of " the Blues," Especially, too, as it came from the pen Of his poor friend himself on the wedding-day, — then. When the Pargon had scarce shut his book up, and when The Clerk was yet uttering the final Amen. "Dear Friend," it continued, "all's up with me — I Have nothing on earth now to do but to die ! And, as death clears all scores, you 're no longer my debtor , I should take it as kind Could you come — never mind — If your love don't persuade you, why, — don't let this letter 1" THE MERCHANT OP VENICE. 55 I hardly need say this was scarcely read o'er Ere a post-chaise and four Was brought rouud to the door, And Bassanio, though, doubtless, he thought it a bore, Gave his lady one kiss, and then started at score. But scarce in his flight Had he got out of sight Ere Portia, addressing a groom, said, " My lad, you a Journey must take on the instant to Padua ; Find out there Bellario, a Doctor of Laws, Who, hke FoUett, is never left out of a cause, And give him this note. Which I've hastily wrote, Take the papers he '11 give you — then push for the ferry Below, where I'll meet you — ^you'll do't in a wherry, If you can 't find a boat on the Brenta with sails to it — — Stay, bring his gown too, and wig with three tails to it." Giovanni (that 's Jack) Brought out his hack, Made a bow to his mistress, then jump 'd on its back, Put his hand to his hat, and was off in a crack. The Signora soon follow'd, herself, taking, as her Own escort Nerissa, her maid, and Balthasar. " The Court is prepared, the Lawyers are met, The Judges all ranged, a terrible show !" As Captain Macheath says, — and when one 's in debt, The sight 's as unpleasant a one as I know, Yet still net so bad after all, I suppose. As if, when one cannot discharge what one owes. They should bid people cut off one's toes or one's nose ; Yet here, a worse fate, Stands Antonio, of late A Merchant, might vie e'en with Princes in state. 56 A LEGEND OF ITALY. With his waistcoat unbutton'd, prepared for the Icuife, Which, in taking a pound of flesh, must take his hfe ; — On the other side Shylock, his bag on the floor, And three shocking bad hats on his head, as before, Imperturbable stands. As he waits their commands, With his scales and liis great snickersnee in his hands ; — Between them, equipt in a wig, gown, and bands, With a very smooth face, a young dandified Lawyer, Whose air, ne'ertheless, speaks him quite a top-sawyer. Though his hopes are but feeble, Does his possible To make the hard Hebrew to mercy incline. And in lieu of his three thousand ducats take nine, Which Bassanio, for reasons we well may divine. Shows in so many bags all drawn up in a line. But vain are all efforts to soften him — still He points to the bond He so often has conn'd, And says in plain terms he'll be shot if he will. So the dandified Lawyer, with talking grown hoarse, Says, "I can say no more — let the law take its course.'* Just fancy the gleam of the eye of the Jew, As he sharpen'd his knife on the sole of his shoe From the toe to the heel, And grasping the steel, With a business-like air was beginning to feel Whereabouts he should cut, as a butcher would veal, When the dandified Judge puts a spoke in his wheel. "Stay, Shylock," says he, ' "Here's one thing — you see This bond of yours gives you here no jot of blood ! — the words are 'A pound of flesh,' — that's clear as mud- Slice away, then, old fellow — but mind! — if you spill One drop of his claret that's not in your bill, I 'U hang you like ITaman ! — by Jingo I will I" THE MERCHANT OF VENICE- 57 When apprized of this flaw, You never yet saw Such an awfully mark'd elongation of jaw As in Siiylock, who cried, " Plesh ma heart, ish dat law?" — — Oif went his three hats, And he look'd as the cats Do, whenever a mouse has escaped from their claw. *' — Ish't the law?" — why the thing won't admit of a query— "No doubt of the fact. Only look at the act ; Ado quinio, cap: terlio, Dogi Falieri — Nay, if, rather than cut you 'd relinquish the debt> The Law, Master Shy, has a hold on you yet. See Foscari's ' Statutes at large' — ' If a stranger A Citizen's life shall, with malice, endanger, The whole of his property, little or great. Shall go, on conviction, one half to the State, And one to the person pursued by his hate ; And. not to create Any farther debate, The Doge, if he pleases, may cut off his pate,' So down on your marrowbones, Jew, and ask mercy, Defendant and Plaintiff are now wisy wersyJ" What need to declare How pleased they all were At so joyful an end to so sad an affair ? Or Bassanio's delight at the turn things had taken. His friend having saved, to the letter, his bacon? — How Shylock got shaved, and turn'd Christian, though 'ate. To save a life-int'rest in half his estate ? — How the dandified Lawyer, who 'd managed the thing Would not take any fee for his pains but a ring Which Airs. Bassanio had giv'n to her spouse. With injunctions to keep it, on leaving the house ? — 58 A LEGEND OF ITALY. How when he, and the spark Who appear'd as his clerk, Had thrown oif their wigs, and their gowns, and their jettj coats, There stood Nerissa and Portia in petticoats ? — How they pouted, and flouted, and acted the cruel, Becrtiuse Lord Bassanio had not kept his jewel? — How they scolded and broke out. Till, having their joke out, The;j kiss'd, and were friends, and all blessing and blessed, Drove home by the hght Of a moonshiny night, Liko clie one in which Troilus, the brave Trojan knight, Sat ittftride on a wall, and sigh'd after his Cressid ?— All this, if 'twere meet, I 'd go on to repeat. But a story spun out so 's by no means a treat. So, I '11 merely relate what, in spite of the pains I have taken to rummage among his remains, No edition of Shakspeare, I 've met with, contains ; But, if the account which I 've heard be the true one, VVe shall have it, no doubt, before long, in a new one. In an MS., then, sold For its full weight in gold. And knock'd down to my friend. Lord Tom-noddy, I'm told It 's recorded that Jessy, coquettish and vain, Gave her husband, Lorenzo, a good deal of pain ; Being mildly rebuked, she levanted again. Ran away with a Scotchman, and, crossing the main, Became known by the name of the " Flower of Dumblane." That Antonio, whose piety caused, as we've seen, Him to spit upon every old Jew's gaberdine, THE MERCHANT OF TENICE. 59 And wliose goodness to paint All colours were faint, Acquired the well-merited prefix of " Saint," Aud the Doge, his admirer, of honour the fount, Having given him a patent, and made him a Count, He went over to England, got nat'ralis'd there, And espous'd a rich heiress in Hanover Square. That Shylock came with him, no longer a Jew, But converted, I think may be possibly true, But that Walpole, as these self-same papers aver, By changing the y in his name into er. Should allow him a fictitious surname to dish up And in Seventeen-twenty-eight make him a Bishop, I cannot believe — l?ut shall still think them two men Till some Sage proves the fact " with his usual acumen.** Moral. From this tale of the Bard It 's uncommonly hard If an editor can't draw a moral. — 'Tis clear, Then, — In ev'ry young wife-seeking Bachelor's ear A maxim, 'bove all other stories, this one drums, *' Pitch Greek to old Harry, and stick to Conundrums ! ! To new-married Ladies this lesson it teaches, ** You 're 'no that far wrong ' in assuming the breeches !'* Monied men upon 'Change, and rich Merchants it schools To look well to assets — nor play with edge tools ! Last of all, this remarkable History shows men. What caution they need when they deal with old-clathes-men ' So bid John and Mary To mind and be wary. And never let one of them come down the are' I 60 A LEGEND OF SPAIN. From St. Mark to St. Lawrence — from the Rialto to the Escurial — from one Peninsula to another ! — it is but a hop, step, and jump — your toe at Genoa, your heel at Marseilles, and a good hearty spring pops you down at once in the very heart of Old Castille. That Sir Pere- grine Ingoldsby, then a young man, was at Madrid soon after the peace of Ryswic-k there is extant a long cor- respondence of his to prove. Various passages in it countenance the supposition that his tour was partly undertaken for political purposes; and this opinion is much strengthened by certain allusions in several of his letters addressed, in after life, to his friend, Sir Horace Mann, then acting in the capacity of Envoy to the Court of Tuscany. Although the Knight spent several months in Spain, and visited many of her principal cities, there is no proof of his having actually ''seen Seville,'' beyond the internal evidence incidentally supplied by the follow- ing legend. The events to which it alludes were, of course, of a much earlier date, though the genealogical records of the " Kings of both the Indies'' have been in vain consulted for the purpose of fixing their precise date, and even Mr. Simpkinson's research has failed to determine which of the royal stock rejoicing in the name of Ferdinand is the hero of the legend. The conglome- ration of Christian names usual in the families of the haute noblesse of Spain adds to the difficulty ; not that this inconvenient accumulation of prefixes is peculiar to the country in question, witness my excellent friend Field-Marshal Count Herman Karl Heinrich Socrates von der Nodgerrie zii Pfefl'erkorn, whose appellations THE AUTO-DA-f£. 61 puzzled the recording clerk of one of our Courts lately, — and that not a little. That a splendid specimen of the genus Homo, species Monh, flourished in the earlier moiety of the 15th cen- tury, under the appellation of Torquemada, is notorious, — and this fact might seem to establish the era of the Btory; but then his name was John — not Dominic — though he was a Dominican, and hence the mistake, if any, may perhaps have originated — but then again the Spanish Queen to whom he was Confessor was called Isabella, and not Blanche — it is a puzzling uifair altogether. From his own silence on the subject it may well be doubted whether the worthy transcriber knew himself, the date of the transactions he has recorded.; the authen- ticity of the details, however, cannot be well callxid in question. — Be this as it may, I shall make na /urther question, but at once introduce my *' pensiv f/J/s. " to THE AUTO-l)A-r^. A LEGEND OF SPAIN. With a moody air, from morn till noon, King Ferdinand paces the royal saloon ; From morn till eve He does nothing but grieve ; Sighings and sobbings his midriff heave, And he wipes his eyes with his emiined sleeve, And he presses his feverish hand to his brow, And he frowns and he looks I can 't tell you how ; And -the Spanish Grandees, In their degrees, And whispering about in twos and in threes, And there is not a man of them seems at his ease. But they gaze on the monarch, as watching what he dotJS, With their very long whiskers, and longer Toledos. Don Gaspar, Don Gusman, Don Juan, Don Diego, Don Gomez, Don Pedro, Don Bias, Don Rodrigo, Don Jerome, Don Giacomo join Don Alphonso In making inquiries Of grave Don Ramirez, The Chamberlain, what it is makes him take on so ; A Monarch so great that the soundest opinions Maintain the sun can 't set throughout his dominions ; But grave Don Ramirez In guessing no higher is Than the other grave Dons who propound these inquines ; When, pausing at length, as beginning to tire, his Majesty beckons, with stately civility, (02) THE AUTO-DA-Ff. 63 To SeSor Don Lewis Cond^ d'Aranjuez, Who in birth, wealth, and consequence second to few is. And Senor Don Manuel, Count de Pacheco, A lineal descendant from King Pharaoh Neco, Both Knights of the Golden Fleece, highborn Hidalgos, With whom e'en the King himself quite as a "pal" goei "Don Lewis," says he, " Just listen to me ; And you, Count Pacheco, — I think that we three On matters of state, for the most part agree, — Now you both of you know That some six years ago. Being then, for a King, no indifferent Beau, At the altar I took, like my forbears of old, The Peninsula's paragon. Fair Blanche of Aragon, For better, for worse, and to have and to hold — And you 're fully aware, When the matter took air. How they shouted, and fired the great guns in the Square, Cried ' Viva /' and rung all the bells in the steeple, And all that sort of thing The mob do when a King Brings a Queen-Consort home for the good of his people. Well ! — six years and a day Have flitted away Since that blessed event, yet I 'm sorry to say — In fact it's the principal cause of my pain — I don't see any signs of an Infant of Spain! — Now I want to ask you. Cavaliers true. And Counsellors sage — what the deuce shall I do?— . 64 A LEGEND OF SPAIN. The State — don't you see? — hey? — an heir to the throne-« Every monarch — you know — should have one of his own — Disputed succession — hey? — terrible Go! — Hum ! — hey? — Old fellows — you see ! — don't you know ?" Now Reader, dear, If you've ever been near Enough to a C'ourt to encounter a Peer "When his principal tenant 's gone off in arrear, And his brewer has sent in a long bill for beer, And his butcher and baker, with faces austere, Ask him to clear Off, for furnish'd good cheer, Bills, they say, "have been standing for more than a yeai," And the tailor and shoemaker also appear With their "little account" Of " trifling amount," For Wellingtons, waistcoats, pea-jackets, and — gear Which to name in society 's thought rather queer, — While Drummond's chief clerk, with his pen in his ear. And a kind of a sneer, says " We 've no eflects here !" — Or if ever you've seen An Alderman, keen After turtle, peep into a silver tureen, In search of the fat csdVdpar excellence "green," When there 's none of the meat left — not even the lean ! — — Or if ever you've witness'd the face of a sailor Return'd from a voyage, and escaped from a gale, or Poetic^ '* Boreas," that " blustering railer," To find that his wife, when he hastens to "hail" her Has just run away with his cash — and a tailor — If one of these cases you 've ever survey'd. You '11, without my aid, To yourself have pourtray'd The beautiful mystification display'd, THE AUTO-DA-F^. 05 And the puzzled expression of manner and air Exhibited now by the dignified pair, "When thus unexpectedly ask'd to declare Their opinions as Counsellors, several and joint, On so delicate, grave, and important a point. Senor Don Lewis Cond^ d'Aranjuez At length forced a smile 'twixt the prim and the grim. And look'd at Pacheco — Pacheco at him — Then, making a rev'rence, and dropping his eyes, Cough'd, hemm'd, and deliver'd himself in this wise : "My Liege! — unaccustom'd as I am to speaking In public — an art I'm remarkably weak in — I feel I should be — quite unworthy the name Of a man and a Spaniard — and highly to blame, Were there not in my breast What — can't be exprest, — And can therefore, — your Majesty, — only be guess'd— — What I mean to say is — since your Majesty deigns To ask my advice on your welfare — and Spain's, — And jn that of your Majesty's Bride — that is. Wife— . It's the — as I may say — proudest day of my life ! But as to the point — on a subject so nice It's a delicate matter to give one's advice. Especially, too, When one don't clearly view The best mode of proceeding, — or know what to do; My decided opinion, however, is this. And I fearlessly say tliat you can't do amiss, If, with all that fine tact Both to think and to act. In which all know your Majesty so much excels — You are graciously pleased to — ask somebody else I" 6* 06 A LEGEND OF SPAIN. Here the noble Grandee Made that sort of congee, Which, as Hill used to say, "I once happen'' d to see" The great Indian conjuror, Ranio Samee, Make, while swallowing what all thought a regular choker. Viz. a small-sword as long and as stiff as a poker. Then the Count de Pacheco, Whose turn 'twas to speak, o- ►mitting all preface, exclaim'd with devotion " Sire, I beg leave to second Don Lewis's motion !" Now a Monarch of Spain Of course could not deign To expostulate, argue, or, much less, complain Of an answer thus giv'n, or to ask them again ; So he merely observ'd, with an air of disdain, "Well, Gentlemen, — since you both shrink from the task Of advising your Sovereign — pray whom shall I ask?" Each felt the rub. And in Spain not a Sub, Much less an Hidalgo, can stomach a snub, So the noses of these Castilian Grandees Rise at once in an angle of several degrees, Till the under-lip 's almost becoming the upper, Each perceptibly grows, too, more stiff in the crupper. Their right hands rest On the left side the breast, While the hilts of their swords, by their left hands deprest, Make the ends of their scabbards to cock up behind Till they 're quite horizontal instead of inclined, And Don Lewis, with scarce an attempt to disguise The disgust he experiences, gravely replies, "Sire, ask the Archbishop — his Grace of Toledo! — he understands these things much better than we do !" — Paiica Verba! — enough, Each turns off iu a huff, THE AUTO-DA-f£. 67 This t^rirling his mustache, that fingering his ruflf, Like a blue-bottle fly on a rather large scale, With a rather large corking-pin stuck through his tail. King Ferdinand paces the royal saloon, With a moody broW, and he looks like a " Spoon," And all the Court Nobles, who form the ring, Have a spoony appearance, of course, like the King, All of them eyeing King Ferdinand As he goes up and down, with his watch in his hand, Which he claps to his ear as he walks to and fro, — " What is it can make the Archbishop so slow ?" Hark ! — at last there's a sound in the courtyard below. Where the Beefeaters all are drawn up in a row, — I would say the "Guards," for in Spain they're in chief eaters Of omelettes and garlic, and can't be call'd Beefeaters ; In fact, of the few Individuals I knew Who ever had happened to travel in Spain, There has scarce been a person who did not complain Of their cookery and dishes as all bad in grain. And no one I 'm sure will deny it who 's tried a Vile compound they have that 's called Olla podrida, (This, by the bye, 's a mere rhyme to the eye. For in Spanish the i is pronounced like an e, And they 've not quite our mode of pronouncing the d. In Castille, for instance, it's given through the teeth. And what we call Madrid they sound more like Mtidreeth,) Of course you will see in a moment they've no men That at all correspond with our Beefeating Yeomen ; So call them "Walloons," or whatever you please. By their rattles and slaps they're not "standing at case/* But, beyond all disputing. Engaged in saluting, 68 A LEGEND OF SPAIN. Some very great person among the Grandees ; — Here a gentleman Usher walks in and declares, " His Grace the Archbishop's a-coming up stairs!" The most Reverend Don Garcilasso Quevedo Was just at this time, as he Now held the Primacy, (Always attached to the See of Toledo,) A man of great worship officii virtute Versed in all that pertains to a Counsellor's duty, Well skill'd to combine Civil law with divine ; As a statesman, inferior to none in that line ; As an orator, too, He was equalled by few ; Uniting, in short, in tongue, head-piece, and pen. The very great powers of three very great men, Talleyrand, — who will never drive down Piccadilly more To the Traveller's Club-House ! — Charles Phillips — and Philli more, Not only at home But even at Rome There was not a Prelate among them could cope With the Primate of Spain in the eyes of the Pope. (The Conclave was full, and they'd not a spare hat, or he 'd long since been Cardinal, Legate h latere, A dignity fairly his due, without flattery, So much he excited among all beholders Their marvel to see At his age — thirty-three Such a very old head on such very young shoulders,) No wonder the King, then, in this his distress, Should send for so sage an adviser express, Who, you '11 readily guess. Could not do less THE AUTO-DA-F^. 60' Than start off at once without stopping to dress, In his haste to get Majesty out of a mess. His grace the Archbishop comes up the back way — Set apart for such Nobles as have the etitree, Viz. Grandees of the first class, both cleric and lay — Walks up to the monarch, and makes him a boW; As a dignified clergyman always knows how, 'Then replaces the mitre at once on his brow ; For in Spain, recollect, As a mark of respect To the Crown, if a Grandee uncovers, it's quite As a matter of option, and not one of right ; A thing not conceded by our Royal Masters, Who always make noblemen take off their "castors," Except the heirs male Of John Lord Kinsale, A stalwart old Baron, who, acting as Henchman To one of our eairly Kings, kill'd a big Frenchman ; A feat which his Majesty deigning to smile on, Allow'd him thenceforward to stand with his " tile" on ; And ail his successors have kept the same privilege Down from those barbarous times to our civil age. Returning his bow with a slight demi-bob, And replacing the watch in his hand in his fob, " My Lord," said the King, " here 's a rather tough job, Which it seems, of a sort is To puzzle our Cortes, And since H has quite flabbergasted that Diet, I Look to your Grace with no little anxiety Concerning a point Which has quite out of joint Put us all with respect to the good of society : — Your Grace is aware That we 've not got an Heir ; Now, it seems, one arid all, they don't stick to declare ' ' ^ 70 A LEGEND OF SPAIN. That of all our advisers tlicre is not in Spain one Can tell, like your Grace, the best way to obtain one; So put y)ur considering cap on — we're curious To learn your receipt for a Prince of Asturias." One without the nice tact Of his Grace would have backt Out at once, as the Noblemen did, — and, in fact, He was, at the first, rather pozed how to act — One moment — no morel Bowing then as before, He said, ' Sire, 'twere superfluous for me to acquaint The * Most Catholic King' in the world, that a Saint Is the usual resource In these cases, — of course Of their influence your Majesty well knows the force; If I may be, therefore, allow'd to suggest The plan which occurs to my mind as the best, Your Majesty may go At once to St. Jago, Whom, as Spain's patron Saint, I pick out from the rest; If your Majesty looks Into Guthrie, or Brooks, In all the approved Geographical books You will find Compostella laid down in the maps Some two hundred and sev'nty miles ofl"; and, perhaps, In a case so important, you may not decline A pedestrian excursion to visit his shrine ; And, Sire, should you choose To put peas in your shoes, The Saint, as a Gentleman, can't well refuse So distinguish'd a Pilgrim, — especially when he Considers the boon will not cost him one penny!" His speech ended, his Grace bow'd, and put on his mitre As tight as before, and perhars a thought tighter. THE AUT0-DA-r:6. 71 «*Pooh! pooh I" says the I^ng, " I shall do no such thing ! It 's nonsense, — Old fellow — you see — no use talking — The peas set apart, I abominate walking — Such a deuced way oflF, too — hey ? — w^lk there — what me ? Pooh! — it's no Go, Old fellow! — you know — do n't you see?*' ** Well, Sire," with much sweetness the Prelate replied, *' If your Majesty don't like to walk — you can ride ! And then, if you please. In heu of the peas, A small portion of horse-hair, cut fine, we '11 insert, As a substitute under your Majesty's shirt; Then a rope round your collar instead of a laced band, — A few nettles tuck'd into your Majesty's waistband, — Asafoetida mix'd with your bouquet and civet, I '11 warrant you '11 find yourself right as a trivet '" " Pooh ! pooh ! I tell you," Quoth the King. " it won't do !" — A cold perspiration began to bedew His Majesty's cheek, and he grew in a stew, "\Vhen Joz^ de Humez, the King's privy-purse-keeper, (Many folks thought it could scarce have a worse keeper) Came to the rescue, and said with a smile, *' Sire, your Majesty can 'i go — 'twould take a long wliile, And you won't post it under two shillings a mile I ! Twenty-seven pounds ten To get there — and then Twenty-seven pounds ten more to get back agen ! ! Sire, the toitle 's enormous — you ought to be King Of Golconda as well as the Indies, to fling Such a vast sum away upon any such thing !" At this second rebuff The Archbishop look'd gruff. And his eye glanced on Humez as if he'd say " Stuff!" 72 A LEGEND OF SPAIN. But seeing the King seem'd himself in a huff, He changed his demeanour, and grew smooth enough ; Then taking his chin 'twixt his finger and thumb, As a help to reflection, gave vent to a " Hum !" 'Twas the pause of an instant — his eye assumed fast That expression which says, "Come, I've got it at last I" " There's one plan," he resumed," which with all due respect vo Your Majesty, no one, I think, can object to — — Since your Majesty don't like the peas in the shoe — or to Travel — what say you to burning a Jew or two ? — Of all cookeries, most The Saints love a roast 1 And a Jew 's, of all others, the best dish to toast ; And then for a Cook We have not far to look — Father Dominic's self. Sire, your own Grand Inquisitoi% Luckily now at your Court is a visitor ; Of his Rev'rence's functions there is not one weightier Than Heretic-burning — in fact, 't is his mitier. Besides Alguazils Who still follow his heels. He has always Familiars enough at his beck at home, To pick you up Hebrews enough for a hecatomb ! And depend on it, Sire, such a glorious specific Would make every Queen throughout Europe prolific !" Says the King, "That '11 do! Pooh ! pooh ! — burn a Jew ? Bum half a score Jews — burn a dozen — bum two — Your Grace, it's a match! Burn all you can catch. Men, women, and children — Pooh ! pooh ! — great and small — Old clothes — slippers — sealing-wax — Pooh ! — burn them all. For once we'll be gay, A Grand Auto-da-f6 Is much better fun than a ball or a play !' THE AUTO-DA-Ffi. 73 So the warrant was made out without more delay, Drawn, seal'd, and delivered, and (Signed) YO EL RE! There is not a nation in Europe but labours To toady itself, and to humbug its neighbours — • ** Earth has no such folks — no folks such a city, So great, or so grand, or so fine, or so pretty," Said Louis Quatorze, "As this Paris of ours !" —Mr. Daniel O'Connell exclaims, "By the Pow'rs, Ould Ii'eland 's on all hands admitted to be The first flow'r of the earth, and first Girn of the sea I"— — Mr. Bull will inform you that Neptune, — a lad he. With more of affection than rev'rence, styles, " Daddy," — Did not scruple to " say To Freedom, one day," That if ever he changed his aquatics for dry land. His home should be Mr. B.'s " Tight little Island." — He adds, too, that he, The said Mr. B., Of all possible Frenchmen can fight any three ; That, with no greater odds, he knows well how to treat them. To meet them, defeat them, and beat them, and eat them. — — In Italy, too, 'tis the same to the letter; There each Lazzarone Will cry to his crony, «' See Naples, then die ! * and the sooner the better!" The Portugiiese say, as a well-understood thing, " Who has not seen Lisbon | has not seen a good thing !"— * " Vedi Napoli e poi mori !" f " Quem nao tern visto Lisboa Na5 tem visto cousa boa." 74 A LEGEND OF SPAIJT. While an old Spanish proverb runs ghbly as under " QUIEN NO HA VISTO SeVILLA No HA VISTO MARAVILLA !" **He who ne'er has view'd Seville has ne'er view'd a Wonder!" And from all I can learn, this is no such great blunder. In fact, from the river. The famed Guadalquivir, Where many a laiignt's had cold steel through his liver,* The prospect is grand. The Iglesia Mayor Has a splendid effect on the opposite shore. With its lofty Giralda, while two or three secure Of magnificent structures around, perhaps more, As our Irish friends have it, are there *' to the fore ;" Then the old Alcazar, More ancient by far, As some say, while some call it one of the palaces Built in twelve hundred and odd by Abdalasis, With its horse-shoe shaped arches of Arabesque tracery. Which the architect seems to have studied to place awry, Saracenic and rich ; And more buildings, "the which," As old Lilly, in whom I 've been looking a bit o' late, Says, " You 'd be bored should I now recapitulate ;" f In brief, then, the view Is so fine and so new. It would make you exclaim, 'twould so forcibly strike ye, [f a Frenchman, '^Superbe!" — if an Englishman, ''Crikey!!** Yes ! thou art " Wonderful !" — but oh, 'Tis sad to think, 'mid scenes so bright * " Rio verde, Ria verde, &c." "Glassy water, glassy water, Down whose current clear and strong, Chiefs, confused in mutual slaughter, Moor and Christian, roll along." — Old SpanisJi J?omance. f Cum multis aliis quae nunc perscribere longum est. Projrria qucE maribus. THE AUTO-DA-Ff. 76 As tliine, fair Seville, sounds of woe, And slirieks of pain and yn\(l affriglit, And soul-wrung groans of deep despair. And blood, and death should mingle there ! Yes! thou art "Wonderful!" — the flames That on thy towers reflected shine, While earth's proud Lords and high-bom Dames, Descendants of a mighty line, With cold unalter'd looks are by To gaze, with an unpitying eye, On wretches in their agony. All speak thee "Wonderful" — the phrase Befits thee well — the fearful blaze Of yon piled faggots' lurid light, Where writhing victims mock the sight, — The scorch'd limb shrivelling in its chains,— The hot blood parch'd in living veins, — The crackling nerve — the fearful knell Wrung out by that remorseless bell, — Those shouts from human fiends that swell, — That withering scream, — that frantic yell, All, Seville,— all too truly tell Thou art a "Marvel" — and a Hell! God ! — that the worm whom thou hast made Should thus his brother worm invade ! Count deeds like these good service done, And deem THINE eye looks smiling on!! Yet there at his ease, with his whole Court around him, King Ferdinand sits "in his Glory" — confound him ! — Leaning back in his chair, With a satisfied air, And enjoying the bother, the smoke and the smother, With one Imee cock'd carelessly over the other : 7(/ A LEGEND OF SPAIN. His pouncet-box goes To and fro at his nose, As somewhat misliking the smell of old clothes. And seeming to hint, by this action emphatic, That Jews, e'en when roasted, are not aromatic ; There, too, fair Ladies From Xeres, and Cadiz, Catalinas, and Julias, and fair iSesillas, In splendid lace-veils and becoming mantiUas ; Eviras, Antonias, and Claras, and Floras, And dark-eyed Jacinthas, and soft Isidoras, Are crowding the "boxes," and looking on coolly as Though 't was but one of their common teriuHas, Partaking, as usual, of wafer and ices, Snow-water, and melons cut out into slices, And chocolate, — furnish'd at coflFee-house prices , "While many a suitor, And gay coadjutor In the eating-and-drinking line, scorns to be neuter One, being perhaps just return'd with liis tutor From travel in England, is tempting his '''future" "With a luxury neat as imported, " The Pewter," And charming the dear Violantes and Ineses With a three-corner'd Sandwich, and soupqon of " Guinness's ;' While another, from Paris but newly come back, Hints " the least taste in Hfe " of the best cogniac. Such ogling and eyeing, In short, and such sighing. And such complimenting (one must not say 1 g), Of smart Cavaliers with each other still vying, Mix'd up with the crying. And groans of the dyings All hissing, and spitting, and broiling and frying, Form a scene, which, although there can be no denying To a bon Catholique it may prove edifying. THE AUTO-DA-FB. 7/ I doubt if a l*rotestant smart Beau, or merry Belle Might not shrink from it as somewhat too teiTible. It 's a question with me if you ever survey'd a More stern-looking mortal than old Torquemada, Renown'd Father Dominic, famous for twisting dom- estic and foreign necks all over Christendom ; Morescoes or Jews, Not a penny to choose, If a dog of a heretic dare to refuse A glass of old port, or a slice from a griskin. The good Padre soon would so set him a frisking. That I would not, for — more than I '11 say — be in his skin. *T was just the same thing with his own race and nation, And Christian Dissenters of every persuasion, Muggletonian, or Quaker, Or Jumper, or Shaker, No matter with whom in opinion partaker, George Whitfield, John Bunyan, or Thomas Gat-acre, They 'd no better chance than a Bronze or a Fakir ; If a woman, it skill'd not — if she did not deem as he Bade her to deem touching Papal supremacy. By the Pope, but he 'd make her ! From error awake her. Or else — pop her into an oven and bake her ! No one, in short, ever came half so near, as he Did, to the full extirpation of heresy ; And if, in times of which now I am treating, There had been such a thing as a " Manchester Meeting, "Pretty pork" he'd have made "Moderator" and "Minister,'' Had he but caught them on his side Cape Finisterre ; — Pye Smith, and the rest of them once in his bonfire, hence forth you'd have heard little more of the "Conference ' And — there on the opposite side of the ring, He, too, sits "in his Gloh f," confronting tlie King, 7* 79 A LEGEND OF SPAIN. "Willi his cast-iron countenance frowninc; austerely, 'J'hat inatclied with his en bon point but qiicerly. For, though grim his visage, his person was pursy, Belying the rumour Of fat folks' good-humour; Above waves his banner of "Justice and Mercy," Below and around stand a terrible band ad- ding much to the scene, — viz. The "Holy Ilermandad,''^ That's Brotherhood," — each looking grave as a Grand-dad. Within the arena Before them is seen a Strange, odd-looking group, each one dress'd in a garment Not "dandified" clearly, as certainly "varment," Being all over vipers and snakes, and stuck thick With multiplied silhouette profiles of Nick; And a cap of the same. All devils and flame, Extinguisher-shaped, much like Salisbury Spire, Except that the latter 's of course somewhat higher ; A long yellow pin-a-fore Hangs down each chin afore. On which, ere the wearer had donn'd it, a man drew The Scotch badge, a Saltire, or Cross of St. Andrew ; Though I fairly confess I am quite at a loss To guess why they should choose that particular cross. Or to make clear to you What the Scotch had to do At all with the business in hand, — though it's true That the vestment aforesaid, perhaps, from its hue, Viz. yelloio, in juxta-position with blue, (A tinge of which latter tint could but accrue On the faces of wretches, of course, in a stew As to what their tormentors were going to do,) Might make people fancy, who no better knew. They were somehow connected with Jeffrey's Review; THE AUTO-DA-Fi. 79 Especially too As it's certain that few Things would make Father Dominic blither or happier Than to catch hold of U, or its Chef, Macvey Napier.— No matter for that — my description to crown, All the flames and the devils were turn'd upside down On this habit, facetiously term'd San Benito, Much like the dress suit Of some nondescript brute From the show-van of Wombwell, (not George,) or Polito. And thrice happy they,* i)ress'd out in this way To appear with iclat at the Auto-da-Fe, Thrice happy indeed whom the good luck might fall to Of devils tail upward, and '-^ Fuego revolto," For, only see there, In the midst of the Square, Where, perch'd up on poles six feet high in the air Sit, chain'd to the stake, some two, three, or four pair Of wretches, whose eyes, nose, complexion, and hair Their Jewish descent but too plainly declare, Each clothed in a garment more frightful by far, a Smock-frock sort of gaberdine, call'd a Samarra, With three times the number of devils upon it, — A proportion observed on the sugar-loaf'd bonnet, With this farther distinction — of mischief a proof — That every fiend Jack stands upright on his hoof! While the pictured flames, spread Over body and head. Are three times as crook'd, and three times as red ! All, too, pointing upwards, as much as to say, ** Here *s the real bonne bouche of the Auto-da-fd !" Torquemada, meanwhile, With his cold, cruel smile, ♦ fortunati nimium sua si bona norinti 80 A LEGEND OF SPAIN- Sits looking on calmly, and watching the pile, As his hooded "Familiars" (their names, as some tell, come From their being so much more " familiar " than " welcome,") Have, by this time, begun To be " poking their fun," And their firebrands, as if they were so many posies Of lilies and roses, Up to the noses Of Lazarus Levi, and Money Ben Moses ; While- similar treatment is forcing out hollow moans From Aby Ben Lasco, and Ikey Ben Solomons, Whose beards — this a black, that inclining to grizzle — Are smoking, and cm^ling, and all in a fizzle ; The King, at the same time, his Dons and his visitors, Sit, sporting smiles, like the Holy Inquisitors, Enough! — no more! — ■ Thank heaven, 'tis o'er ! The tragedy 's done ! and we now draw a veil O'er a scene which makes outraged humanity quail ; The last fire 's exhausted, and spent hke a rocket, The last wretched Hebrew 's burnt down in his socket I The Barriers are open, and all, saints and sinners. King, Court, Lords, and Commons, gone home to their dinners, With a pleasing emotion Produced by the notion Of having exhibited so much devotion, All chuckling to think how the Saints are delighted At having seen so many ^^Smouches" ignited: — All, save Privy-purse Humez, Who sconced in his room is, And, Cocker in hand, in his leather-back'd chair. Is puzzling to find out how much the " affair" (By deep calculations, the which I can't follow,) cost, — The tottle, in short, of the whole of the Holocaust. Perhaps you may think it a rather odd thing. That, while talking so much of the Court and the King, THE AUTO-DA-f£. • 31 In dcscinbing the scene Through which we 'vc just been, I 've not said one syllable as to the Queen ; Especially, too, as her Majesty's "Whereabouts," All things considered, might well be thought thereabouts ; The fact was, however, although little known, Sa 3Iagestad had hit on a plan of her own. And suspecting, perhaps, that an Auio alone Might fail in securing this ** Heir to the throne," Had made up her mind, Although well incUned Towards galas and shows of no matter what kind, For once to retire And bribe the Saints higher Than merely by sitting and seeing a fire, — A sight, after all, she did not much admire ; So she locked herself up. Without platter or cup. In her Oriel, resolved not to take bite or sup. Not so much as her matin-draught (our " early pari"), Nor put on her jewels, nor e'en let the girl. Who help'd her to dress, take her hair out of curl. But to pass the whole morning in telling her beads. And in reading the lives of the Saints, and their deeds. And in vowii^g to visit, without shoes or sandals, Their shrines, with unlimited orders for candles. Holy water, and Masses of Mozart's, and Handel's.* And many a Pater, and Ave, and Credo Did She, and her Father Confessor, Quevedo, (The clever Archbishop, you know, of Toledo,) * "That is, She would have order'd them — hut none are known, I fear, as his, ■por Handel never wrote a Mass — and so She 'd David Perez's — Bow I wow ! wow ! Fol, lol, Ac, Ac." {Posthumous .Note ly the Ghost of James Smith, Esq.) 82 A LEGEND OF SPAIN. Who came, as before, at a very short warning, Get through, without doubt, in the course of that morning ; Shut up, as tliey were, With nobody there To at all interfere with so pious a pair ; And the Saints must have been stony-hearted indeed. If they had not allow'd all these pains to succeed. Nay, it 's not clear to me but their very ability Might, Spain throughout, Have been brought into doubt. Had the Royal bed still remain'd cursed with sterility; St. Jago, however, who always is jealous In Spanish affairs, as their best authors tell us, And who, if he saw Anything like a flaw In Spain's welfare, would soon sing "Old Rose, burn the bellows!" Set matters to rights like a King of good fellows ; By his interference, Three-fourths of a year hence. There was nothing but capering, dancing, and singing, Cachucas, Boleros, and bells set a ringing, In both the Castiles, Triple-bob-major peals. Rope-dancing, and tunrbling, and somerset-flinging, Seguidillas, Fandangos, While ev'ry gun bang goes ; And all the way through, from Gibraltar to Biscay, Figueras and Sherry make all the Dons frisky, (Save Moore's "Blakes and O'Donnells," who stick to the All the day long [whiskt^y;") The dance and the song Continue the general joy to prolong; And even long after the close of the day You can hear little else but " Hip ! hip ! hip ! hun-ay !" The Escuvial, however, is not quite so gay, THE AUTO-DA-ri. 83 For, whether the Saint liad not perfectly heard The petition the Queen and Archbishop preferr'd, — - Or whether his head, from his, not being used To an Auto-da-fe, was a Uttle confused, — Or whether the King, in the smoke and the smother, Got bother'd, and so made some blunder or other, I am sure I can't say; All I know is, that day There must have been some mistake ! — that, I 'm afraid, Is Only too clear, Inasmuch as the dear Royal Twins, — though fine babies, — ^proved both little Ladies ! I Moral. Reader? — Not knowing what your "persuasion" may be, Mahometan, Jewish, or even Parsee, Take a little advice which may serve for all three ! First — "When you're at Rome, do as Rome does!" and note all her Ways — drink what She drinks! and don't turn Tea-totalerl In Spain, raison de plus, You must do as they do. Inasmuch as they 're all there " at sixes and sevens," Just, as you know, They were, some years ago, In the days of Don Carlos and Brigadier Evans; Don't be nice then — but take what they've got in their shops. Whether griskins, or sausages, ham, or pork-chops ! Next — Avoid Fancy-trousers! — their colours and shapes Sometimes, as you see, may lead folks into scrapes ! For myself, I confess I've but small taste in dress, My opinion is, therefore, worth nothing — or less — A LEGEND OF PALESTINE. But some friends I 've consulted, — much given to watch one's Apparel — do say It 's by far the best way, And the safest, to do as Lord Brougham does — buy Scotch ones 1 I might now volunteer some advice to a King, — Let Whigs say what they will, I shall do no such thing, But copy my betters, and never begin Until, like Sir Robert, "I'm duly called inI" In the windows of the great Hall, as well as in those of the long Gallery, and the Library at Tappington, are, and have been many of them from a very early period, various '' storied panes" of stained glass, which, as Blue Dick's* exploits did not extend beyond the neighbour- ing city, have remained unfractured down to the present time. Among the numerous escutcheons there displayed, charged with armorial bearings of the family and its connexions, is one in which a chevron between three eagles^ cuisscs, sahle, is blazoned quarterly with the rMQrailed salt ire of the Ingoldsbys. Mr. Simpkinson from l>ath, — whose merits as an antiquary are so well * Ivioliard Cnlmcr, parson of Chartham, commonly so called, distinguished himself, while Laud was in the Tower, by breaking the beautiful windows in CanterbDry Cathedral, " standing on the top of the city ladder, near sixty steps high, with a whole pike in his hand, when others would not venture 60 high." This feat of Vandalism the caeruleau worthy called "rattling down proud liecket's glassie bones," THE INGOLDSBY PENANCE- 85 known and appreciated as to make eulogy superfluous, not to say impertinent, — has been for some time bring- ing his heraldic lore to bear on these monumenfa vctusta. lie pronounces the coat in question to be that of a cer- tain Sir Ingoldsby Bray who flourished temp. Ric. 1 and founded the Abbey of Ingoldsby, in the county of Kent and diocese of Rochester, early in the reign of that monarch's successor. The history of the origin of that pious establishment has been rescued from the dirt and mildew in which its chartularies have been slum bering for centuries, and is here given. The link of connexion between the two families is shown by the accompanying extract from our genealogical tree. Peter de Ingoldsby, Lord of Tappingrton temp : Stephen, killed at the battle of Lin- coln ex parte regis Vitalis de = Alice de Geoffrey ~ Joan Richard Ingoldsby, of Tap- En gaine. Lizures, de Brai. only pington aforesaid. A quo I 2d wije^ I dan. Hodiernus Ingolmby. i I I ' Alicia = Ingoldsby de Bray, Chiv'ler, Reginald de Bray, 2d son, dau & afterwards assumed his mo- heir lO his brother, from whom heir, ther's name, founder of In- descended Edmund Lord Bray, sus t goldsby Abbey, A. D. 1202, summoned to parliament 21 per ob. s, p. circiter 1214. to 28 lien. 8. coll : A In this document it will be perceived that the death of Lady Alice Ingoldsby is attributed to strangulation superinduced by suspension, whereas in the veritable legjend annexed no allusion is made to the intervention. 86 A LEGEND OF PALESTINE. of a halter. Unluckily Sir Ingoldsby left no issue, or we might now be ^'calling Cousins" with (ci devant) Mrs. Otway Cave, in whose favour the abeyance of the old Barony of Bray has recently been determined by the Crown. To this same Barony we ourselves were not without our pretensions, and, teste Simpkinson, had " as good a right to it as any body else." The " Collective wisdom of the country'' has, however, decided the point, and placed us among that very numerous class of claim- ants who are '' wrongfully kept out of their property and dignities — by the right owners.'' I seize with pleasure this opportunity of contradicting a malicious report that Mr. Simpkinson has, in a late publica^on, confounded King Henry the Fifth with the Buke of Monmouth, and positively deny that he has ever represented Walter Lord Clifford, (father to Fair Rosa- mond,) as the leader of the 0. P. ro-.7. THE INGOLDSBY PENANCE! A LEGEND OP PALESTINE AND — WEST KENT. I '11 devise thee brave punishments for him I — Shakspeabe. Out and spake Sir Ingoldsby Bray, A stalwart knight, I ween, was he, " Come east, come west. Come lance in rest, Come falchion in hand, I '11 tickle the best Of all the Soldan's Chivah-ie !" Oh ! they came west, and they came east. Twenty-four Emirs and Sheiks at the least, And they hammer'd away At Sir Ingoldsby Bray, Fail back, fall edge, cut, thrust, and point, — Bat he topp'd oflf head, and he lopp'd off joint ; Twenty and three, Of high degree. Lay s^ark and stiff on the crimson'd lea, All — all save one — and he ran up a tree ! " Now count them, my Squire, now count them and see !*' "Twenty and three! Twenty and three ! — All o{ them Nobles of high degree : Thei e they be lying on Ascalon lea !" Ouf i,nd spake Sir Ingoldsby Bray, * A'hat news ? what news ? come, tell to me ! (87) 88 A LEGEND Oi' PALESTINE. What news ? what news, thou httle Foot-page ? — I 've been whacking the foe, till it seems an age Since I was in Ingoldsby Hall so free ! What news ? what news from Ingoldsby Hall ? Come tell me now, thou Page so smalll" " Oh, Hawk and Hound Are safe and sound, Beast in byre and Steed in stall ; And the Watch-dog's bark, As soon as it 's dark. Bays wakeful guard around Ingoldsby Hall I — "I care not a pound For Hawk or for Hound, For Steed in stall, or for Watch-dog's bay : Fain would I hear Of my dainty dear ; How fares Dame Alice, my Lady gay ?" — Sir Ingoldsby Bray, he said in his rage, " AVhat news ? what news ? thou naughty Foot-page 1' That little Foot-page full low crouch'd he. And he doflf'd his cap, and he bended his knee, " Now lithe and listen, Sir Bray, to me : Lady Alice sits lonely in bower and hall, Her sighs they rise, and her tears they fall : She sits alone. And she makes her moan ; Dance and song She considers quite wi'ong ; Feast and revel Mere snares of the devil ; She mendeth her hose, and she crieth 'Alack! When will Sir Ingoldsby Bray come back!' " *< Thou licst ! thou liest, thou naughty Foot-page, THE INGOLDSBT PENANCE. 80 Full loud dost thou lie, false Page, to me ! There, in thy breast, 'Neath thy silken vest, What scroll is that, false Page, I see ?" Sir Ingoldsby Bray in his rage drew near, That Httle Foot-page he blench'd with fear ; " Now where may the Prior of Abingdon lie ? King Richard's Confessor, I ween, is he, And tidings rare To him do I bear, And news of price from his rich Ab-bee !" ' ' Now nay, now nay, thou naughty Page ! No learned clerk, I trow, am I, But well, I ween, May there be seen Dame Alice's hand with half an eye ; Now nay, now nay, thou naughty Page, From Abingdon Abbey comes not thy news ; Although no clerk. Well may I mark The particular turn of her P's and her Q's !" Sir Ingoldsby Bray, in his fury and rage. By the back of the neck takes that little Foot-page ; The scroll he seizes. The Page he squeezes. And buffets, — and pinches his nose till he sneezes ; — Then he cuts with his dagger the silken threads Which they used in those days 'stead of little Queen's-heads When the contents of the scroll met his view. Sir Ingoldsby Bray in a passion grew. Backward he drew His mailed shoe, 8* ^0 A LEGEND OF PALESTINE. And he kicked ihat naughty Foot-page, that he flew Like a cloth-yard shaft from a bended yew, I may not say whither — I never knew *' Now count the slain Upon Ascalon plain, — Go count them, my Squire, go count them again !" ** Twenty and three! There they be, Stiff and stark on that crimson'd lea ! — Twenty and three ? — — Stay — let me see ! Stretched in his gore There lieth one more ! By the Pope's triple crown there are twenty and /owr/ Twenty-four trunks, I ween, are there, But their heads and their limbs are no-body knows where ! Ay, twenty-four corses, I rede, there be, Though one got away, and ran up a tree ! " Look nigher, look nigher. My trusty Squire !" — *' One is the corse of a bare-footed Friar ! ! " Out and spake Sir Ingoldsby Bray, *' A boon, a boon. King Richard," quotli he, Now Heav'n thee save, A boon I crave, A boon. Sir King, on my bended knee ; A year and a day Have I been away, King Richard, from Ingoldsby Hall so free : Dame Alice, she sits there in lonely guise, And she makes her moan, and she sobs and she sighs, And tears like rain-drops fall from her eyes. And she darneth her hose, and she crieth ' Alack ! THE INGOLDSBY PENANCE. 91 Dh ! when will Sir Ingoldsby Bray come back V A. boon, a boon, my Liege," quoth he, " Fair Ingoldsby Hall 1 fain would see !" "Rise up, rise up. Sir Ingoldsby Bray," King Richard said right graciously, "Of all in my host That I love the most, I love none better, Sir Bray, than thee! Rise up, rise up, thou hast thy boon ; But — mind you make haste, and come back again soon!'* Pope Gregory sits in St. Peter's chair, Pontiff proud, I ween, is he, And a belted Knight, In annour dight. Is begging a boon on his bended knee. With signs of grief and sounds of woe, Featly he kisseth his Holiness' toe. <* Now pardon, Holy Father, I crave, Holy Father, pardon and grace! In my fury and rage A little Foot-page I have left, I fear me, in evil case* A scroll of shame From a faithless dame Did that naughty Foot-page to a paramour bear ; 1 gave him a ' lick' With a stick. And a kick. That sent him — I can't tell your Holiness where! Had he as many necks as hairs, Ho had broken them all down those perilous stairp P' 92 A LEGEND OF PALESTINE. "Rise up, rise up, Sir Ingoldsbj Bray, jRise up, rise up, I say to tliee ; A soldier, I trow, Of the Cross art thou; Rise up, rise up from thy bended knee I 111 it beseems that a soldier true Of holy Church should vainly sue : — — Foot-pages, they are by no means rarO; A thriftless crew, I ween, be they, Well mote we spare A Page — or a pair. For the matter of that — Sir Ingoldsby Bray, But stout and true Soldiers, like you. Grow scarcer and scarcer ev.ry day ! Be prayers for the dead Duly read. Let a mass be sung, and a pater be said ; So may your qualms of conscience cease. And the little Foot-page shall rest in peace I" Now pardon, Holy Father, I crave. Holy Father, pardon and grace ! Dame Alice, my wife, The bane of my life, 1 have left, I fear me, in eVil case ! A scroll of shame in my rage I tore, Which that caitiff Page to a paramour bore ; 'Twere bootless to tell how I storm'd ai.i swore? Alack! alack! too surely I knew The turn of each P, and the tail of each Q, And away to Ingoldsby Hall I flew ! Dame Alice I found, — She sank on the ground, — I twisted her neck till I twisted it round ! With jibe and jeer, and mock,, and scoff, I twisted it on — till I twisted it off! — THE INGOLDSBY PENANCE. 93 All the King's Doctors and all the King's Men Can't put fair Alice's head on agen !" <'Well-a-day! well-a-day! Sir ingoldsby Bray, Why really — I hardly know what to say; — Foul sin, I trow, a fair Ladye to slay. Because she 's perhaps been a little too gay. — — Monk must chaunt and Nun must pray ; For each mass they sing, and each pray'r they say For a year, and a day, Sir Ingoldsby Bray A fair rose-noble must duly pay ! So may his qualms of conscience cease, And the soul of Dame Alice may rest in peace !" " Now pardon, Holy Fjfther, I crave, Holy Father, pardon and grace ! No power could save That paramour knave; 1 left him, I wot, in evil case ! There, 'midst the slain Upon Ascalon plain, TJnburied, I trow, doth his body remain, His legs lie here, and his arms lie there, And his head lies — I can't tell your Holiness where." * Now out and alas ! Sir Ingoldsby Bray, 7oul sin it were, thou doughty Knight, To hack and to hew A champion true Of holy Chui'ch in such pitiful pHght ! Foul sin her warriors so to slay. When they're scarcer and scarcer every iay! — — A chauntry fair. And of monks a pair, 94 A LEGEND OF PALESTINE. To pray for his soul for ever and aye, Thou must duly endow, Sir Ingoldgby Bray, And fourteen marks by the year must thou pay For plenty of lights To burn there o' nights — • None of your rascally ' dips ' — but sound. Round, ten-penny moulds of four to the pound ; — Arid a shirt of the roughest and coarsest hair For a year and a day. Sir Ingoldsby, wear ! — So may your qualms of conscience cease. And the soul of the Soldier shall rest in peace !" *ens into tlie 'Green-court,' forming a communication between it and the portion of the ' Precinct' called the ' Oaks.'" — A Walk round Canterbury, &c. Scene — A back parlour in Mr. John Ingoldsby's house in the Precinct. — A blazing fire. — Mine Uncle is seated in a high-backed easy-chair, twirling his thumbs, and wmteuiplatiug his list-shoe. — Little Tom, the " King's Scholar," on a stool opposite. — Mrs Jolin Ingoldsby at the table, busily employed in manufacturing a cabbsige-rose (cauliflower?) in many-coloured worsteds. — Mine Uncle's meditations are interrupted by the French-clock on the mantel- piece. — lie prologizeth with vivacity. Hark ! listen Mrs. Ingoldsby, — the clock is striking nine ! Give Master Tom another cake, and half a glass of wine, And ring the bell for Jenny Smith, and bid her bring his coat, And a warm bandana hankerchief to tie about his throat. "And bid them go the nearest way, for Mr. Birch has said That nine o'clock 's the hour he '11 have his boarders all in bed ; And well we know when little boys their coming home delay, They often seem to walk and sit uneasily next day ! " " — Now, nay, dear Uucle Ingoldsby, now send me not, I pray, Back by that Entry dark, for that you know's the nearest way ; I dread that Entry dark, with Jane alone at such an hour. It fears me quite — it's Friday night! — and th'^n Nell Cook hatli pow'r I" 10* (113) 114 A LEGEND OF THE "DARK ENTRY /' "And, who 's Nell Cook, tliou silly child ? — and what 's Nell Cook to thee ? lliat tliou shouldst dread at night to tread with Jane that dark entree ?" — ** Nay, list and hear, mine Uncle dear! such fearsome thuigs they toll Of Nelly Cook, that few may brook at night to meet with Nell!" "It was in bluff King Harry's days, — and Monks and Friars were then, You know, dear Uncle Ingoldsby, a sort of Clergymen. They'd coarse stuff gowns, and shaven crowns, — no shirts, — and no cravats ; \nd a cord was placed about their waist — they had no shovel hatn I " It was in bluff King HaiTy's days, while yet he went to shrift, And long before he stamp'd and swore, and cut the Pope adrift; There lived a portly Canon then, a sage and learned clerk ; lie had, I trow, a goodly house, fast by that Entry dark ! "The Canon was a portly man — of Latin and of Greek, And learned lore, he had good store, — yet health was on his cheek. The Priory fare was scant and spare, the bread was made of rye, The beer was weak, yet he was sleek — he had a merry eye. " For though within the Priory the fare was scant and thin, The Canon's house it stood without ; — he kept good cheer within ; Unto the best he prest each guest with free and jovial look. And Ellen Bean ruled his cuisine. — He called her 'Nelly Cook.* "For soups, and stews, and choice ragouts, Nell Cook was famous still ; She 'd make them even of old shoes, she had such wond'rous skill: Her manchets fine were quite divine, her cakes were nicely brown'd. Her boil'd and roast, they were the boast of all the 'Precinct' I'ound; NELL COOK. 115 " And Nelly was a comely lass, but calm and staid her air, And earthward bent her modest look — yet was she passing fair^ And though her gown was russet brown, their heads grave people shook; ' — They all agreed no Clerk had need of such a pretty cook. "One day, 'twas on a Whitsun-Eve — there came a coach and four ; — Itpass'd the * Green-Court' gate, and stopp'd before the Canon's door ; The travel-stain on wheel and rein bespoke a "v^eary way, — Each panting steed relax'd its speed — out stept a Ivnd should come, and should catch us here, what would ho say ? 140 A LEGEND OF THANET. Come, lower away, lads — once on the hill, We'll laugh, ho! ho! at Exciseman Gill!" The cargo's lower'd from the dark skiff's side, And the tow-line drags the tubs through the tide. No trick nor flam. But your real Schiedam. "Now mount, my merry men, mount and ridel" Three on the crupper and one before, And the led-horse laden with five tubs more ; But the rich point-lace, In the oil-skin case Of proof to guard its contents from ill. The "prime of the swag," is with Smuggler Bill! Merrily now in a goodly row, Away, and away, those smugglers go, And they laugh at Exciseman Gill, ho ! ho ! When out from the turn Of the road to Heme, Comes Gill, wide awake to the whole concern ! Exciseman Gill, in all his pride, With his Custom-house officers all at his side! — They were call'd Custom-house officers then; There were no such things as " Preventive men " Sauve qui pent ! That lawless crew. Away, and away, and away they flew ! S ime dropping one tub, some dropping two ; — Some gallop this way, and some gallop that. Through Fordwich Level — o'er Sandwich Flat, Some fly that way, and some fly this. Like a covey of birds when the sportsmen miss, These in their huiTy Make for Sturry, THE smuggler's LEAP. 141 With Custom-hou^e officers close in their rear, Down Rushbourne Lane, and so by Westbere, None of them stopping, But shooting and popping, And many a Castom-house bullet goes slap Through many a three-gallon tub like a liip ; And the gin spirts out, And squirts all about, And many a heart grew sad that day That so much good liquor was so thrown awny Saiive qui pent! That lawless crew, Away, and away, and away ihey flew ! Some seek Whitstable — some Grove Ferry, Spurring and whipping like madmen — very — For the life ! for the life ! they ride ! they ride .' And the Custom-house officers all divide. And they gallop on after them far and wide ! All, all, save one — Exciseman Gill, — He sticks to the skirts of Smuggler Bill ! Smiiggler Bill is six feet high, He has curling locks, and a roving eye, He has a tongue, and he has a smile Train'd the female heart to beguile. And there is not a farmer's wife in the Isle, From St. Nicholas ouite To the Foreland Light, But that eye, and that tongue, and that smile will wheedle her To have done with the Grocer, and make him her Tea-dealer; There is not a fai*mer there but he still Buys gin and tobacco from Smuggler Bill. Smuggler Bill rides gallant and gay On his dapple-grey mare, away, and away, And he pats her neck, and he seems to say, «* Follow wlio will, ride after who may, 142 A LEGEND OF TIIANET. In sooth he had need Fodder his steed, In lieu of Lent-corn, with a Quicksilver feed ; — Nor oats, nor beans, nor the best of old hay. Will make him a match for my own dapple-grey I Ho! ho! — ho! ho!" says Smuggler Bill — He draws out a flask, and he sips his fill, And he laughs " Ho ! ho !" at Exciseman Gill. Down Chistlett lane, so free and so fleet Rides Smuggler Bill, and away to Up-street; Sarre Bridge is won — Bill thinks it fun; " Ho ! ho ! the old tub-gauging son of a gun — His wind will be thick, and his breeks be thin, Ere a race like this he may hope to win !" Away, away Goes the fleet dapple-grey, Fresh as the breeze, and free as the wind, And Exciseman Gill lags far behind. ^^ I would give my soul,'' quoth Exciseman Gill, "For a nag that would catch that Smuggler Bill!—- No matter for blood, no matter for bone, No matter for colour, bay, brown, or roan. So I had but one!" A voice cried " Done !" "Ay, dun," said Exciseman Gill, and he spied A Custom-house officer close by his side. On a high-trotting horse with a dun-colour'd hide. — '< Devil take me," again quoth Exciseman Gill, " If I had but that horse, I 'd have Smuggler Bill !" From his using such shocking expressions, it 's plain That Exciseman Gill was rather profane. He was, it is true, As bad as a Jew, THE smuggler's LEAP. i43 A s Conqueror, and received from that monarch a grant of the dignity of Hereditary Grand Functionary of England, together with a "croft or parcel of land," known by the name of the ©Itl JSaHie, co. Middx., to be held by 160 A LEGEND OF SUROPSIIIRE. Mr. Lynch 1 * Will do very well at a pinch !" It is useless to scuffle and cuff, Moutiie Jaclir' It is useless to struggle and bite And to kick and to scratdi You have met with your match, And the Shrewsbury Boys hold you light. Despite Your determined attempts " to show fight." They are pulling you all sorts of ways, Moulife 3Jacfec! They are twisting your right leg Nor-west, And your left leg due South, And your knee 's in your mouth. And your head is poked down on your breast. And it's prest, I protest, almost into your chest ! They have pull'd off your arms and your legs, Monti fc .Unette! As the naughty boys serve the blue flies : him, and the heirs general of his body, in Grand Serjeanty, by the yearly presentation of " ane honipcn cravatte." After remaining for several generations in the same name, the office passed, by marriage of the heiress, into the ancient family of the Kirhys, and thence again to that of Callcraft (1st Eliz. 1558). — Abhorson Callcraft Esq. of Saffron Hill, co. Middx. the present representative of the Ketches, exercised his 'function," on a very recent occasion, and claimed and was allowed the fee of ISJ/^fZ under the ancient grant as ?t}auaman's 21?afleS, AniNis. — 1st and 4th, Quarterly, Argent and Sable; in the first quarter a fiibbet of the second, noosed proper, Callcraft. 2nd. Sable, three Nightcaps Argent, tutted Gules, 2 and 1, Ketche. 3rd. Or, a Nosegay /f??/ra«/, Kirhy. SUPPORTKRS. — Dcsrter: A Sheriff in his pride, robed Gules, chained and collared Or. — S i' raster : An Ordinary displayed proper, wigged and banded Argent, nosed Gules. iMoTTO. — Sic itur ad a.stra ! * The American Justinian, Compiler of the "Yankee Pandects." BLOUDTE JACKE OF SHREWSBERRIE. 161 And tliey 've torn from their sockets, And put in their pockets Your fingers and thumbs for a prize ! And your eyes A Doctor has bottled — from Guy's.* Your trunk, thus dismember'd and torn, iSloutifc Jacfee' They hew, and they hack, and they chop ; And, to finish the whole. They stick up a pole In the place that 's still call'd the " 2i2^])ItJe €"0|)4)e," And they pop Your grim gory head on the top ! They have buried the fingers and toes, asioutife Jncfee! Of the victims so lately your prey. From those fingers and eight toes Sprang' early potatoes, ** HatJfes' jfiriQtXS " they're call'd to this day; — So they say,— And you usually dig them in INIay. What became of the dear little girl ? Moutife Jc-rcfeel What became of the young Mary- Anne ? Why, I 'm sadly afraid That she died an Old Maid, For she fancied that every young man Had a plan To trepan her like " poor Sister Fan !" So they say she is now leading apes, asioiitife Jacfee! * A similar appropriation is said to have been made, by an eminent practf tioiier, of tlio.'e of the late Monsieur CouiToider. 14* 162 A LELtEND OF SHROPSHIRE. And mends Bachelors' small-clothes bolow ; The story is old, And has often been told, But I cannot believe it is so — No! Nol Depend on 't the tale is ** No Go !" Moral. .And now for the moral I 'd fain, aSlou^fe Jnctte! That young Ladies should draw from my pen, — It's — " Don't take these flights Upon moon-shiny nights, With gay, harum-scarum young men, Down a glen! — You really can't trust one in ten!" Let them think of your terrible Tower, aSloiiTife Jactte! And don't let them liberties take, Whether Maidens or Spouses, In Bachelors' houses ; Or, some time or another, they '11 make A Mistake'' And lose — more than a SJtctostjerrie Cafee ! ! THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 163 Her niece, of whom I have before made honourable mention, is not a whit behind Mrs. Bothergj in furnish- ing entertainment for the young folks. If little Charles has the aunt to sol fa him to slumber. Miss Jenny is equally fortunate in the possession of a Sappho of her own. It is to the air of " Drops of Brandy '^ that Patty has adapted her version of a venerable ditty, which we have all listened to with respect and affection under its old title of THE BABES IN THE WOOD; OR, THE NORFOLK TRAGEDY. AN OLD SONG TO A NEW TUNE. When we were all little and good, — ■ A long thne ago I'm afraid, Miss — "We were told of the Babes in the Wood By their false, cruel Uucle betray'd, Miss ; Their Pa was a Squire, or a Knight, In Norfolk I think his estate lay — That is, if I recollect right. For I've not read the history lately.* Rum a, &c. Their Pa and their Ma being seized With a tiresome complaint, which, in some seasons, People are apt to be seized With, who 're not on their guard against plum-season-<, * See Bloomfield's History of the County of Norfolk, in which all the pap ticulars of this lamontahle history are (or ought to be) fully detailed, together -.rith the names of the parties, and an plab'ir<»*<' t>pdigrce of the family. 164 A LEGEND OF NORFOLK. Their medical man shook his head As he oould not get well to the ro-ot of it ; And the Babes stood on each side the bed, While their Uncle, he stood at the foot of it. *'0h, Brother!" their Ma whisper'd, faint And low, for breath seeming to labour, "Who'd Think that this horrid complaint, That's been going about in the neighbourhood, Thus should attack me, — nay, more, My poor husband besides, — and so fall on him! Bringing us so near to Death's door That we can't avoid making a call on him I " Now think, 'tis your Sister invokes Your aid, and the last word she says is, Be kind to those dear little folks When our toes are turn'd up to the daisies ! — By the servants don't let them be snubb'd, — — Let Jane have her fruit and her custard, — And mind Johnny's chilblains are rubb'd Well with Whitehead's best essence of mustard " You know they'll be pretty well off in llespect to what's called 'worldly gear, For John, when his Pa 's in his coffin, Comes in to three hundred a-year ; And Jane 's to have five hundred pound On her marriage paid. down, ev'ry penny. So you '11 own a worse match might be found, Any day in the week, than our Jenny!" Here the Uncle pretended to cry, And, like an old thorough-paced rogue, ho Put his handkerchief up to his eye, And devoted himself to old Bogey THE BABES IN THE WOOD. ""OJi It' hn did not make matters all right, -And said, should he co\et their riches, He " wished the old Gentleman might Fly away with him body and breeches !" No sooner, however, were they Put to bed with a spade by the sexton, Than he carried the darlings away Out of that parish into the next one, Giving out he should take them to town And select the best school in the nation. That John might not grow up t\. clown, But receive a genteel education, *< Greek and Latin old twaddle I call !" Says he, "While his mind's ductile and plastic. I '11 place him at Dotheboys Hall Where he '11 learn all that 's new and gymnastic. While Jane, as, when girls have the dumps, Fortune-hunters, by scores, to entrap 'em rise^ Shall go to those worthy old frumps. The two Misses Tickler of Clapham Rise !" Having thought on the How and the When To get rid of his nephew and niece, He sent for two ill-looking men, And he gave them five guineas a-piece. — Says he, " Each of you take up a child On the crupper, and when you have trotted Some miles through that wood lone and wild, Take your knife out and cut its carotid !" «' Done" and " done" is pronounced on each side. While the poor little dears are delighted To think they a-cock-horse shall ride. And are not in the least degree frighted ; 168 A LEGEND OF NORFOLK. xney say their " Ta ! Ta !" as they start, And they prattle so nice on their journey, That the rogues themselves wish to their heart They could finish the job by attorney. Nay, one was so taken aback By seeing such spirit and life in them, That he fairly exclaim'd "I say, Jack, I'm blowed if I can put a knife in them!" — "Pooh!" says his pal, "you great dunce! You 've pouch'd the good gentleman's money, So out with your whinger at once, And scrag Jane, while 1 spitiicate Johnny!" He refused, and harsh language ensued, Which ended at length in a duel, • • When he that was mildest in mood Gave the truculent rascal his gruel ; The Babes quake with hunger and fear, While the ruffian his dead comrade. Jack, buries ; Then he cries, " Loves, amuse yourselves here With the hips, and the haws, and the blackberries ! " I '11 be back in a couple of shakes ; So don't, dears, be quivering and quaking : I 'm going to get you some cakes. And a nice butter'd roll that's a-baking !" He rode off with a tear in his eye, Which ran down his rough cheek, and wet it. As he said to himself with a sigh, "Pretty souls ! — don't they wish they may get it ! ! From that moment the Babes ne'er caught sight Of the wretcn who thus wrought their undoing, But pass'd all that day and that night In wandering about and "boo-hoo"-ing. THE BABES IX THE WOOD. 107 The night proved coh], civeary, and dark, So that, worn out witn sighmgs and sobbings, Next morn they were tound stiff and stark, And stone-dead, by two little Cock-Robins. These two little birds it sore grieves To see what so cruel a dodge I call, — They cover the bodies with leaves. And interment quite ornithological ; It might more expensive have been. But I doubt, though I 've not been to see 'em, If among those in all Keusal Green You could find a more neat Mausoleum. Now, whatever your rogues may suppose, Conscience always makes restless their pillows. And Justice, though blind, has a nose Ihat sniffs out all conceal'd peccadilloes. The wicked old Uncle, they say. In spite of his riot and revel. Was hippish and qualmish all day. And dreamt all night long of the' d — L He grew gouty, dyspeptic, and sour, And his brow, once so smooth and so placid, Fresh wrinkles acquired every hour. And whatever he swallow'd turn'd acid. The neighbours thought all was not right, Sccarely one with him ventured to parley, Ajid Captain Swing came in the night, And burnt all his beans and his barley. There was hardly a day but some fox Ran away with his geese and his ganders : His wheat had the mildew, his flocks Tooli the rot, and his horses the glanders JCv8 A LEGEND OF NORFOLK. His daiighters drank rum in tbeir tea. His son, who had gone for a sailor. Went down in a steamer at sea, And his wife ran away with a tailor! It was clear he lay under a curse, None would hold with him any communion ; Every day matters grew worse and worse, Till they ended at length in The Union ; While his man being caught in some fact, (The particular crime I 've forgotten,) When he came to be hang'd for the act, Split and told the whole story to Cotton. Understanding the matter was blown. His employer became apprehensive Of what, when 'twas more fully known. Might ensue — he grew thoughtful and pensivo He purchased some sugar-of-lead. Took it home, popp'd it into his porridge. Ate it up, and then took to his bed, And so died in tlie workhouse at Norwich. Moral. Ponder well now, dear Parents, eack word That I 've wrote, and when Sirius rages In the dog-days, don't be so absurd As to blow yourselves out with Green-gages t Of stone-fi-uits in general be shy, And reflect it's a fact beyond question That Grapes, when they 're spelt with an i, Promote anything else but digestion. — THE BABES IN THE WOOh. 169 — When you set about making your will, Which is commonly done when a body 's iU, Mind, and word it with caution and skill, And avoid, if you can, any codicil ! When once you 've appointed an heir To the fortune you 've made, or obtain'd, ere You leave a reversion, beware Whom you place in contingent remainder ! Executors, Guardians, and all Who have children to mind, don't ill treat them, Nor think that, because they are small And weak, you may beat them, and cheat them I Remember that "ill-gotten goods Never thrive;" their possession's but cursory; So never turn out in the woods Little folks you should keep in the nursery. Be sure he who does such base things Will ne'er stifle Conscience's clamour ; His "riches will make themselves wings," And his property come to the hammer I Then He, — and not those he bereaves, Will have most cause for sighings and sobbingfj, When he finds himseJf smother'd with leaves (Of fat catalogues) heap'd up by Bobbins! 15 170 A LEGEND OF SALISBURY FIAIN. The incidents recorded in the succeedinjr Legend A'arn communicated to a dear friend of our family by the late lamented Sir Walter Scott. The names and localities have been scrupulously retained, as she is ready to testify. The proceedings in this case are, T believe, recorded in some of our law reports, though I have never been able to lay my hand upon them. THE DEAD DRUMMER. A LEGEND OP SALISBURY PLAIN. On, Salisbury Plain is bleak and bare, — At least so I've heard many people declare, For I fairly confess I never was there;— Not a shrub nor a tree, Nor a bush, can you see ; No hedges, no ditches, no gates, no stiles. Much less a house, or a cottage for miles ; — — It's a very sad thing to be caught in the rain When night's coming on upon Salisbury Plain. Now, I'd have you to know That a great while ago, — The best part of a century, may be, or so. Across this same plain, so dull and so dreary, A couple of Travellers, way-worn and weary. Were making their way; Their profession, you'd say, At a single glance did not admit of a query ; The pump-handled pig: tail, and whiskers worn then, Witli scarce an exception, by seafaring men, The jacket, — the loose trousers " bows'd up together " — all Guiltless of braces, as those of Charles Weatherall, — THE DEAD DRUMMER. 171 The pigeon-toed step, and the rollicldng motion, Bespoke them two genuine sons of the Ocean, And show'd in a moment their real chare gustibus non disputandum /" So canter back. Muse, to the scene of your story, The Cathedral of Blois — Where the sainted Aloys Is by this time, you'll find, "left alone in his glory," "In the dead of the night," though with labour opprest. THE LAY OF ST. ALOYS. 211 Some "mortals" disdain "the calm blessings of rest," Your cracksman, for instance, thinks night-time the best To break open a door, or the lid of a chest ; And the gipsy who close round your premises prowls, To ransack your hen-roost, and steal all your fowls, Always sneaks out at night with the bats and the owls, — So do Witches and Warlocks, Ghosts, Goblins, and Ghoult To say nothing at all of those troublesome " Swells" Who come from the playhouses, "flash-kens," and "hells," To pull off people's knockers, and ring people's bells. Well — 'tis now the hour 111 things have power! And all who, in Blois, entertain honest views, Have long been in bed, and enjoying a snooze, — Nought is waking Save Mischief, and "Faking,"* And a few who arc sitting up brewing or baking. When an ill-looking Infidel, sallow of hue, Who stands in his slippers some six feet two (A rather remarkable height for a Jew), Creeps cautiously out of the churchwarden's pew. Into which, during service, he'd managed to slide himself - While all were intent on the anthem, and hide himself. From his lurking place, With stealthy pace, Through the "long-drawn aisle" he begins to crawl, As you see a cat walk on the top of a wall, When it's stuck full of glass, and she thinks she shall fall. — He proceeds to feel For his flint and his steel, (An invention on which we've improved a great deal * "Nix my dolly, pals, Falce away!" — words of deep and mysterious inipoif in the anciect lucguage of Upper Egypt, and recently inscribed on the sacred standard of Mehemet Ali, They are supposed to intimate, to the initiated in the art of Abstraction, the absence of all human observation, and to suggest th< propriety of making the best use of their time — and fingers. 212 A LEGEND OF BLOIS. Of late years — the substitute best to rely c.i 's what Jones of the Strand calls his Pyrogeneion,) He strikes with despatch! — his Tinder catches ! — Now where is his candle? — and where are his matches ?- 'Tis done ! — they are found ! — He stands up, and looks round By the light of a "dip" of sixteen to the pound! — What is it now that makes his nerves to quiver ? - - His hand to shake — and his limbs to shiver ? — Fear? — Pooh ! — it is onl;- a touch of the liver — All is silent — all is still — It's "gammon" — it's stuff!" — he may do Avhat he wil. Carefully now he approaches the shrine, In which, as I 've mentioned before, about nine, They had placed in such state the lamented Divine ! But not to worship — No ! — 'No such thing! — His aim is — to " prig " the Pastoral ring ! ! Fancy his fright. When, with all his might Having forced up the lid, which they'd not fasten'd quite Of the marble sarcophagus — " All in white" The dead Bishop started up, bolt upright On his hinder end, — and grasp'd him so tight, That the clutch of a kite, Or a bull-dog's bite When he 's most provoked and in bitterest spite, May well be conceived in comparison slight, And having thus "tackled" him — blew out his light! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! The fright and the fear ! No one to hear ! — nobody near I In the dead of the night !" — at a bad time of year f— A defunct Bishop squatting upright on his bier, And shouting so loud, that the drum of his eai' THE LAY OF ST. ALOYS. 213 He (hought would have split as these awful words met it — "Ah, ha! my good friend! — don't you wish you may get IT?" — Oh, dear! Oh, dear! 'Twos a night of fear! — I should just like to know^ if the boldest man here, In his situation, would not have felt queer ? The wretched man bawls, And he yells, and he squalls. But there's nothing responds to his shrieks save the walls, And the desk, and the pulpit, the pews, and the stalls Held firmly at bay, Kick and plunge as he may. His struggles are fruitless — he can't get away, He really can't tell what to do or to say, And being a Pagan, don't know how to pray ; Till throvigh the east window, a few streaks of grey Ajinounce the approach of the dawn of the day ! Oh, a welcome sight Is the rosy light, Which lovelily heralds a morning bright, Above all to a wretch kept in durance all night By a horrid dead gentleman holding him tight, — Of all sorts of gins that a trespasser can trap^ The most disagreeable kind of a man-trap ! — Oh I welcome that bell's Matin chime, which tells To one caught in this worst of all possible snares, That the hour is arrived to begin Morning Prayers, And the monks and the friars are coming down stairs ! Conceive the surprise Of the Choir — how their eyes Are distended to twice their ox'iginal size, — How some begin bless, — some anathematize, — And all look on the thief as old Nick in disguise. 214 A LEGEND OP BLOIS. While the mystified Abbot cries, "Well ! — I declare ! — — This is really a very mysterious affair ! — Bid the bandy-legg'd Sexton go run for the May'r!'^ The May'r and his suite Are soon on their feel, — (His worship kept house in the very same street, — ) At once he awakes, "His compliments" makes, '* He'll be up at the Church in a couple of shakes!" Meanwhile the whole convent is pulling and hauling, And bawling and squalling, And terribly mauling The thief whose endeavour to follow his calling ffad thus brought him into a grasp so enthralling. — Now high, now low. They drag "to and fro," — Now this way, now that way they twist him — but — No ! — The glazed eye of St. Aloys distinctly says " Poh ! " You may pull as you please, I shall not let him go !" Ilay, more; — when his Worship at length came to say He was perfectly ready to take him away, A.nd fat him to grace the next Auto-da-fe, Still closer he prest The poor wretch to his breast, VVhile a voice — though his jaws still together were jamm'ti — Was heard from his chest, " If you do, I'll " here slatam'd The great door of the Church, — with so awful a sound Vliat the close of the good Bishop's sentence was drowu't i Out spake Frere Jehati, A pitiful man, Oh ! a pitiful man was he ! And he wept and he pined For the sins of mankind, As a Friar in his degree. TUE LAY OF ST. ALOYS. 21ft '* Remcmbci-, good gentlefolks," so lie began. •' Dear Aloys was always a pitiful man ! — That voice from his chest Has clearly exprest He has pardon'd the culprit — and as for the rest, Before you shall burn him — he'll see you all blest!" The Monks, and the Abbot, the Sexton, and Clerk Were exceedingly struck with the Friar's remark, And the Judge, who himself was by no means a shark Of a Lawyer, and who did not do things in the dark, But still lean'd (having once been himself a gay spark,} To the merciful side, — like the late Alan Park,- Agreed that, indeed. The best way to succeed, And by which this poor caitiff alone could be freed, Would be to absolve him, and grant a free pardon. On a certain condition, and that not a hard one, Viz. — " That he, the said Infidel, straightway should ope His mind to conviction, and worship the Pope, And ' ev'ry man Jack ' in an amice or cope ; And that, to do so, He she aid forthwith go To Rome, and salute there his Holiness' toe; — And never again Read Voltaire or Tom Paine, Or Percy Bysshe Shelley or Lord Byron's Cain;- • His pilgrimage o'er, take St. Francis's habit ; — If anything lay about, never to ' nab ' it ; — Or, at worst, if he should light on articles gone astray, To be sure and deposit them safe in the Monast'ry !" The oath he took — — As he kiss'd the book. Nave, transept, and aisle with a thunder-claf shook ! The Bishop sank down with a satisfied look, 216 A LEGEND OF BI.OIS. And the Thief, released By the Saint deceased, Fell into the arms of a neighbouring Priest I It skills not now To tell you how The transmogrified Pagan perform'd his vow ; How he quitted his home, Travell'd to Rome, And went to St. Peter's and look'd at the Dome, And obtain'd from the Pope an assurance of bliss. And kiss'd — whatever he gave him to kiss Toe, relic, embroidery, nought came amiss ; And how Pope Urban Had the man's turban Hung up in the Sistine chapel, by way Of a reUc — and how it hangs there to this day. — Suffice it to tell. Which will do quite as well, That the whole of the Convent the miracle saw .And the Abbot's report was sufficient to draw Ev'ry bon Catholique in la belle France to Blois, Among others, the Monarch himself, Fran9ois, The Archbishop of llheims, and his " Pious Jack-daw,'* * And there was not a man in Church, Chapel, or Meeting-hous? Still less in Cabaret, Hotel, or Eating-house, But made an oration, And said, " In the nation If ever a man deserved canonization, It was the kind, pitiful, pious Aloys." — So the Pope says, — says he, "Then a Saint he shall be!" — So he made him a Saint, — and remitted the fee. Wha* became of the Pagan I really can't say; * Yidt Ingoldnby Legends (First Series), pag« 21/, THE r.AY OF ST. ALOYS. 217 But I think I've been told, When he'd enter'd their fold, And was now a Franciscan some twenty days old, He got up one fine morning before break of day, Put the Pyx in his pocket — and then ran away. Moral. I think we may coax out a moral or two From the facts which have lately come under our view. First — don't meddle with Saints I — for you'll find if you do, They're what Scotch people call, "kittle cattle to shoe I" And when once they have managed to take you in tow, It 's a deuced hard matter to make them let go ! Now to you, wicked Pagans! — who wander about. Up and down Regent Street every night, " on the scout," — Recollect the Police keep a sharpish look-out, iijid, if once you 're suspected, your skirts they will stick to Till they catch you at last in flagrante delicto ! — Don't the inference draw That because he of Blois k^uflFer'd one to bilk " Old father Antic the Law," That our May'rs and our Aldermen — and we've a City full- Show themselves, at our Guildhall, quite so pitiful ! Lastly, as to the Pagan who play'd such a trick. First assuming the tonsure, then cutting his stick, There is but one thing which occurs to me — that Is, — Don't give too much credit to people who " rat!" — Never forget Early habit's a net Which entangles us all, more or less, in its mesh ; And "What's bred in the bone won't come out of the flesh!" 19 218 A LEGEND OF Br/)IS. We must all be aware Nature's prone to rebel, as Old Juvenal tells us, NaLuram expeUas, Tamen usque recurret ! There's no making Her rat! iiO that all that I have on this head to advance Is. — whatever they think of these matters in France, There 's a proverb, the truth of which each one allows here, **Y0U NEV^EB CAN MAKE A SILK PURSE OF A SOW'S EAu!" In the succeeding Legend we come nearer home. — Father Ingoldsby is particular in describing its locality, situate some eight miles from the Hall — less, if you take the bridle-road by the Church-yard, and so along the valley by Mr. Fector's Abbey. — In the enumeration of the various attempts to appropriate the treasure (drawn from a later source), is omitted one, said to have been undertaken by the worthy ecclesiastic himself, who, as Mrs. Botherby insinuates, is reported to have started foi Dover, one fine morning, duly furnished with all tht means and appliances of Exorcism. — I cannot learn, however, that the family was ever enriched by his expe- dition. THE LAY OF THE OLD WOMAN CLOTHED IN GREY. A LEGEND OP DOVER. (yjc c there lived, as I 've heard people say, An " Old Woman clothed in grey," So furrow'd with care, So haggard her air. In her eye such a wild supernatural stare, That all who espied her Immediately shied her And strove to get out of her way. This fearsome Old Woman was taken ill : — She sent for the Doctor — he sent her a pill, And by way of a trial, A two-shilling phial, Of green-looking fluid, like lava diluted, To which I 've profess'd an abhorrence most rooted.* One of those draughts they so commonly send us, Labell'd ^^ Ilaustus calharticus, mane sumendus :^' — She made a wry face. And, without saying Grace, Toss'd it off like a dram — it improved not her case. — The Leech came again; He now open'd a vein, Still the little Old Woman continued in pain. So her <' Medical Man," although loth to distress her, Conceived it high time that her Father Confessor Should be sent for to shrive, and assoilize, and bless her, * Vide page it (21») 220 A LEGEND OF DOVER. That slie might not slip out of these troublesome scenes ** Unanneal'd and Unhousel'd," — whatever that means.* Growing afraid, He calls to his aid A bandy-legg'd neighbour, a " Tailor by trade,'' -^ Tells him his fears, Bids him lay by his shears, Ilis thimble, his goose, and his needle, and hie With all possible speed to the Convent hard by, Requests him to say That he begs they '11 all pray, Viz : The whole pious brotherhood. Cleric and Lay, For the soul of an Old Woman clothed in grey. Who was just at that time in a very bad way, And he really believed couldn't last out the day; And to state his desire That some erudite Friar. Would run over at once, and examine, and try her ; For he thought he would find There was "something behind," A something that weigh'd on the Old Woman's mind,- — *' In fact he was sure, from what fell from her tongue, That this little Old Woman had done something wrong." — Then he wound up the whole with this hint to the man, *< Mind and pick out as holy a friar as you can I" Alack for poor William Linley to settle the point! His elucidation cf Macbeth's " Ilurlyburly" casts a halo around his memory. In him the ■world lost one of its kindliest Spirits, and the Garrick Ciub its acutest commentator. |- All who are familiar with the Police Reports, and other Records of our Courts of justice, will recollect that eyery gentleman of 'his particular profej'sion invariably thus describes himself, in contradir '"ffon to tb» Bricklayer, whom he probably presumes to be indigenous, a^*x U tbo Shoe- maker, horn a Snob. THE OT,T> WOMAN CLOTHED IN GREY. 221 Now I'd have you to know That this story of woe, Which I'ni telling you, happened a long time ago; I can'i say exactly how long, nor, I own, What particular monarch was then on the throne, But 'twas here in Old England ; and all that one knows is. It must have preceded the Wars of the Roses.* Inasmuch as the times Described in these rhymes, Were as fruitful in virtues as ours are in crimes ; And if 'mongst the Laity Unseemly gaiety Sometimes betray'd an occasional taint or two, At once all the Clerics Went into hysterics, Wliile scarcely a convent but boasted its Saint or two ; So it must have been long ere the line of the Tudors, As since then the breed Of Saints rarely indeed With their dignified presence have darken'd our pew-doors. — Hence the late Mr. Froude, and the live Dr. Pusey We moderns consider as each worth a Jew's eye ; Though Wiseman and Dullmanf combine against Newman, With Doctors and Proctors, and say he 's no true man. — But this by the way. — The Convent I speak about Had Saints in scores — they said Mass week and week about ; And the two now on duty were each, for their piety, '* Second to none" in that holy society, * " An antient and most pugnacious family," says our Bath Friend. "On# of their descendants, George Rose, Esq., late M.P. for Christchurch (an elderly pentleman now defunct), was equally celebrated for his vocal abilities and his wanton destruction of furniture when in a state of excitement. — " Sinjf, old Rose, and burn the bellows!" has grown into a proverb. t The worthy Jesuit's polemical publisher.— T am not quite sure as to the orthogr^phv ; it's idem sonans, at all events. 19* 221^ A LEGEND OF DOVER. And well might have borne Those words Avhich are worn By our ^^ JVulli Seciindus" Club — poor dear lost muttons.—' Of Guardsmen — on Club days, inscribed on their buttons. — They would read, write, and speak Latin, Hebrew, and Greek, A. radi!?li-bunch munch for a lunch. — or a leek ; Though scoffers and boobies Ascribe certain rubies Tliat garnifeh'd the nose of the good Father Hilary To the overmuch use of Canary and Sillery, — Some said spirituous compounds of viler distillery — Ah! little reck'd they That with Friars, who say Fifty Paters a night, and a hundred a day, A very slight sustenance goes a great way — Thus the consequence was that his colleague, Basilius, Won golden opinions, by looking more bilious, From all who conceived strict monastical duty By no means conducive to personal beauty : And being more meagre, and thinner, and paler. He was snapt up at once by the bandy-legg'd Tailor. The latter's concern For a speedy return Scarce left the Monk time to put on stouter sandals, Or go round to his shrines, and snuff all his Saint's candles; Still less had he leisure to change the hair-shirt he Had worn the last twenty years — probably thirty, — Which not being wash'd all that time, had giown dirty. — It seems there's a sin in The wearing clean linen. Which Friars must eschew at the very beginning. Though it makes them look frowsy, and droAvsy, and blowsy, And — a rhyme modern etiquette never allows ye. — THE OLD WOMAN CLOTHED IN GREY. 223 rVs for the rest, E'en if time liad not prcst, h didn't nmch matter how Basil was drest, ^for could there be any great need for adorning, The Night V.eing almost at odds with the Morning. F DOVER. Heai't ne'er won fiir Lady,' then how win a Saint? — I've a great mind to try — One can but apply ; If things come to the worst why he can but deny — The sky 's rather high To be sure — but, now I That cumbersome carcass of clay have laid by, I am just in the ' order' which some folks — though why I am sure I can't tell you — would call ' Apple-pie.' Then ' never say die !' It won't do to be shy. So I'll tuck up my shroud, and — here goes for a fly !" — So said and so done — she was off like a shot, And kept on the whole Avay at a pretty smart trot. When she drew so near That the Saint could see her, In a moment he frown'd, and began to look queer, And scarce would allow her to make her case clear, Ere he pm-sed up his mouth 'twixt a sneer and a jeer. With " It 's all very well, — but you do not lodge here !" — Then, calling her everything but " My dear!" He applied his great toe with some force au derribre, And dismiss'd her at once with a flea in her ear. " Alas ! poor Ghost!" It's a doubt which is most To be pitied — one doom'd to -fry, broil, boil, and roast, -- Or one bandied about thus from pillar to post, — To be "all abroad" — to be "stump'd" not to know where To go — so disgraced As not to be "placed," Or, as Crocky would say to Jem Bland, " To be No where. However that be The fiffaire •wQ.s Jinie, And the poor wretch rejected by all, as you see! THE OLD WOMAN CLOTHED IN GREY. 231 Mr. Oliver Goldsmith observes — not the Jew — That the " Hare whom the houndn and the huntsmen pursue," Having no other sort of asylum in view, " Returns back again to the place whence she flew,'' — \ fact which experience has proved to be true. — jNlr. Gray, — in opinion with whom Johnson clashes, — Declares that our " wonted fires live in our ashes." -^ — These motives combined, perhaps, brought back the hag, The first to lier mansion, the last to her bag, When only conceive her dismay and surprise. As a Ghost how she open'd her cold stony eyes. When there, — on the spot where she'd hid lier '< supplies," — Tn an underground cellar of very small size. Working hard with a spade. All at once she survey'd That confounded old bandy-legg'd " Tailor by trade." Fancy the tone Of the half moan, half groan. Which burst from the breast of the Ghost of the crone ! As she stood there, — a figure 'twixt moonshine and stone, Only fancy the glare in her eyeballs that shone ! Although, as Macbeth says, "they'd no speculation," While she utter'd that word, Which American Bird, Or James Fenimore Cooper, would render " Tarnation ! !" At the noise which she made, Down went the spade ! — A.nd up jump'd the bandy-legg'd " Tailor by trade," ;^Who had shrewdly conjectured, from something that fell, her Deposit was somewhere conceal'd in the cellar;) Turning round at a sound So extremely profound, * " E'en in our ashes live their wonted firepl" — Gray. " A position tit which Experience revolts, Credulity hesitates, and evec Fanfy starew !" — Johnson. 232 A LF.GEXn OF DOVER. The moment her shadowy form met his vicAV,. He gave vent to a sort of a lengthen'd "Bo-o— ao-ol" — With a countenance Keeley alone could put on, Made one grasshopper spring to the door — and was gone! Erupit! Evasit! As at Rome they would phrase it — His flight was so swift, the eye scarcely could trace it, Though elderly, bandy-legg'd, meagre and sickly, I doubt if the Ghost could have vanish'd more quickly ; — - He reach'd his own shop, and then fell into fits. And it's said never rightly recover'd his wits, While the chuckling old Hag takes his place, and there sits ! I'll venture to say. She'd sat there to this day, Brooding over what Cobbett calls "vile yellow clay," Like a Vulture, or other obscene bird of prey. O'er the nest-full of eggs she has managed to lay, If, as legends relate, and I think we may trust 'em, her Stars had not brought her another guess customer — 'Twas Basil himself ! — Come to look for her pelf: But not, like the Tailor, to dig, delve, and grovel, And grub in the cellar with pickaxe and shovel ; Full well he knew Such tools would not do, — Far other the weapons he brought into play, Viz, a Wax-taper "hallow'd on Candlemas-day," To light to her ducats, Holy water, two buckets, Made with salt — half a peck to four gallons — which brews a (Strong triple X "strike," — see Jacobus de Chusa,) With these, too, he took His boll and his book — Not a nerve ever trembled, — his hand never shook As he bold - march'd up where she sat in her nook, Glow'iing round with that wild indescribale lo:k, THE OLD WOMAN CLOTHED IN GRET. 233 Which Some may have read of, perchance, in "Nell Cook,"* Ally in "Martha the Gipsy" by Theodore Hook. And now, for the reason I gave you before, Of what passed then and there I can tell you no more, As no Tailor was near with his ear at the door ; But I 've always been told, With respect to the gold, For which she her "jewel eternal" had sold, That the old Harridan, Who, no doubt, knew her man, Made some compromise — hit upon some sort of plan. By which Friar and Ghost were both equally pinn'd — Heaven only knows how the "Agreement" got wind; — But its purport was this, That the things done amiss By the Hag should not hinder her ultimate bliss ; Provided — ^^ Imprimis, The cash from this time is The Church's — impounded for good pious uses — — Father B. shall dispose of it just as he chooses, And act as trustee — In the meantime that She, The said Ghostess, — or Ghost, — as the matter may be, — From 'impediment,' 'hindrance,' and 'let' shall be free. To sleep in her grave, or to wander, as he, The said Friar, with said Ghost may hereafter agree. — Moreover — The whole Of the said cash, or ' cole,' Shall be spent for the good of said Old Woman's sonl ' "It is farther agreed — while said cash is so spending, Said Ghost shall be fully absolved from attending, And shall quiet remain In the grave, her domain, * See page 113. 20* 234 A l.EGENO OF DOVER. To have, and enjoy, and uphold, and maintain. Without molestation, or trouble or pain. Hindrance, let, or impediment, (over again) From Old Nick, or from any one else of his train, Whether Pow'r, — Domination, — or Princedom, — or Throne,^ Or by what name soever the same may be known, Howsoe'er call'd by Poets or styled by Divines, — Himself, — his executors, heirs, and assigns. " Provided that, — nevertheless, — notwithstanding All herein contain'd, — if whoever 's a hand in Dispensing said ca^h, — or said 'cole,* — shall dare venture To misapply money, note, bill, or debenture To uses not named in this present Indenture, Then that such sum, or sums, shall revert, and come home again Back to said Ghost, — who thenceforward shall roam again, Until such time, or times, as the said Ghost produces Some good man and true, who no longer refuses To put sum, ©r sums, aforesaid, to said uses ; Which duly perform' d, the said Ghost shall have rest, The full term of her natural death, of the best. In full consideration of this, her bequest, In manner and form aforesaid, — as exprest : — In witness whereof, we, the parties aforesaid, Hereunto set our hands and our seals — and no more said, Being ail that these presents intend to express. Whereas — notwithstanding — and nevertheless. " Sign'd, seal'd, and deliver'd, this 20th of May, Anno Domini, blank, (though I've mention'd the day,) (Signed Basil. Old Woman (late) clothed in grey." Basil, now I am told. Walking off with the gold, *Tiircnes! Dominations! Princedoms! Virtues! Powers ! — Mixtion. THE OLD \rO.MAX CLOTHED IN GREY. . 235 Went and straight got tliu document duly enroll'd, And left the testatrix to mildew and mould In lier sepulchre, cosey, cool, — not to say cold. But somehow — though how I can hardly divine, — *■ A runlet of fine Rich Malvoisie wine Found its way to the Convent that night before nine, With custards, and "flawns," and a " fayre florentine,*' Peach, apricot, nectarine, melon, and pine ; — And some half a score Nuns of the rule Bridgetine, Abbess and all were invited to dine At a very late hour, — that is after Compline. — — Father Hilary's rubies began soon to shine With fresh lustre, as though newly dug from the mine ; . Through all the next year, Indeed, 'twould appear That the Convent was much better off, as to cheer, Even Basil himself, as I very much fear. No longer addicted himself to small beer ; His complexion grew clear. While in front and in rear Ho enlarged so, his shape seem'd approachii)g a sphere. No wonder at all, then, one cold winter's night, That a servant girl going down stairs Avith a light To the cellar we've spoken of, saw, with affright, An Old Woman, astride on a barrel, invite Her to take, in a manner extremely polite, With her left hand, a bag, she had got in her right ; — For tradition asserts that the Old Woman's purse Had come back to her scarcely one penny the worse ! The girl, as they say. Ran screaming away, Quite scared by the Old Woman clothed in grey ; But there came down a Knight, at no distant u day, Sprightly and gay As the bird on the spray, 230 A LEGEND OF DOVER. One Sir Rufus Mountfardington, Lox'd of Foot's-cray, Whose estate, not unlike those of most of our "SAvell" beaux. Was, what's, by a metaphor, term'd "out at elbows;" And the fact was, said Knight was now merely delay'd From crossing the water to join the Crusade + For converting the Pagans with bill, bow, and blade, By the want of a little pecuniary aid To buy arms and horses, the tools of his trade, And enable his troop to appear on parade ; The unquiet Shade Thought Sir Rufus, 'tis said, Just the man for her money, — she readily paid For the articles named, and with pleasure convey'd To his hands every farthing she ever had made ; But alas ! I'm afraid Most unwisely she laid Out her cash — the Beaux yeux of a Saracen maid (Truth compels me to say a most pestilent jade) Converted the gallant converter — betray'd Him to do everything which a Knight could degrade, — E'en to worship Mahound! — she required — He obey''!.. The consequence was, all the money was wasted On Infidel pleasures he should not have tasted ; So that, after a very short respite, the Hag Was seen down in her cellar again with her bag. Don't fancy, dear Reader, I mean to go on Seriatim through so many ages by-gone, And to bore you with names Of the Squires and the Dames, Who have managed, at times, to get hold of the sack, But spent the cash so that it always came back ; The list is too long To be given in my song, — There are reasons beside, would perhaps make it wrong I shall merely observe, in those orthodox days, When Mary set Smithfield all o'er in a blaze, THE OLD WOMAN CLOTHED IN GREY. 237 And show'd herself very se- vere against heresy, While many a wretch scorn'd to flinch, or to scream, as he Burnt for denying the Papal supremacy. Bishop Bonner the bag got, And all thought the Hag got Released, as he spent all in fuel and faggot. — But somehow — though how I can't tell you, I vow — I suppose by mismanagement — ere the next reign The Spectre had got all her money again. The last time, I'm told, That the Old Woman's gold Was obtain'd, — as before, — for the asking, — 'twas had By a Mr. — Something — from Ballinafad; And the whole of it, so 'tis reported, was sent To John Wright's, in account for the Catholic Rent, And thus — like a great deal more money — it "went!" So 'tis said at Maynooth, But I can't think it's truth; Though I know it was boldly asserted last season. Still I can not believe it; and that for this reason, It's certain the cash has got back to its owner!" — — Now no part of the Rent to do so e'er was known, — or, In any shape, ever come home to the donor. Gentle Reader! — you must know the proverb, I think — **^To a blind horse a nod is as good as a Wink!" Which some learned Chap, In a square College cap. Perhaps, would translate by the words " Verbum Sap!'* — Now, should it so chance That you're going to France [u the course of next Spring, as you probably may, Do pull up, and stay. Pray, If but for a day, 238 A LEGEND OF DOVER. At Dover, through which you must pass on yo tr way. At the York, — or the Ship, — where, as all people say, You'll get good wine yourself, and your horses good haj, Perhaps, my good friend, you may find it wil\j>ai/, And you cannot lose much by so short a delay. First Dine ! — you can do That on joint, or ragoUt — Then say to the waiter, — "I'm just passing through, — Pray, — where can I find out the old Maison Dieu ? — He'll show you the street — (the French call it a Rue^ But you won't have to give here a. petit ecu). Well, — when you've got there, — never mind how you'ro taunted, — Ask boldly, " Pray, which is the house here that's haunted ?" — I'd tell you myself, but I can't recollect The proprietor's name ; but he 's one of that sect Who call themselves " Friends," and whom others call " Qua kers,"— You '11 be sure to find out if you ask at the Baker's, — Then go down with a light, To the cellar at night! And as soon as you see her don't be in a fright ! But ask the old Hag, At once, for the bag ! — If you find that she 's shy, or your senses would dazzle, Say, "Ma'am, I insist! — in the name of St. Basil!" If she gives it you, seize It, and — do as you please — But there is not a person I 've ask'd but agrees, You should spend — part at least — for the Old Woman's ease! — For the rest — if it must go back some day — why — let it ! — Meanwhile, if you 're poor, and in love, or in debt, it May do you some good, aud — I WISH YOU MAY GET IT ! ! ! RAISING THE DEVIL. 239 To whom is the name of Cornelius Agrippa otherwise than familiar, since '' a Magician/' of renown not inferior to his own, has brought him and his terrible " Black Book " again before the world ? — That he was celebrated, among other exploits, for raising the Devil, we are all well aware ; — how he performed this feat, — at least one, and that, perhaps, the most certain method, by which he did it, — is thus described. RAISING THE DEVIL. A LEGEND OF CORNELIUS AGRIPPA. " And hast thou nerve enough ?" he said, That grey Old Man, above whose head Unnumber'd years had roll'd, — ♦' And hast thou nerve to view," he cried, *' The incarnate Fiend that Heaven defied! — — Art thou indeed so bold ? " Say, canst Thou, with unshrinking gaze, Sustain, rash youth, the withering blaze Of that unearthly eye, That blasts where'er it lights, — the breatii That, like the Simoom, scatters death On all that yet can die ! — " Dar'st thou confront that fearful form, That rides the whirlwind, and the storm, In wild unholy revel ! -^ The terrors of that blasted brow, Archangel's once, — though ruin'd now — — Ay, — dar'st thou face The Devil ?"- "240 A LEGEND OF CORNELIUS AGRIPPA. *'I dare I" the desperate Youth replied, And placed him by that Old Man's side, In fierce and frantic glee, Unblenched his cheek, and firm his limb*; — "No paltry juggling Fiend, but Him I — The Devil ! — I fain would see ! — - " In all his Gorgon terrors clad, His worst, his fellest shape!" the Lad Rejoin'd in reckless tone. — — "Have then thy wish!" Agrippa said, And sigh'd and shook his hoary head, "With many a bitter groan. He drew the mystic circle's bound, With skull and cross-bones fenced around ; He ti-aced full many a sigil there ; He mutter'd many a backward pray'r, That sounded like a curse — "He comes!" — he cried with Avild grnnaot " The fellest of Apollyon's race !"— — Then in his startled pupil's face lie dash'd — an Empty Purse! ! THE LAY OF SAINT MEDARD. 241 One more legend, and then, gentle Reader, " A merry Christmas to you and a happy New Year!" — We have travelled over many lands together, and had many a good- humoured laugh by the way ; — if we have, occasionally, been "more merry than wise,'' at least we have not jostled our neighbours on the road, — much less have we kicked any one into a ditch. So wishing you heartily all the compliments of the season, — and thanking you cordially for your company, I, Thomas Ingoldsby, bid you heartily farewell, and leave you in that of SAINT MEDARD. A LEGEND OF AFRIC. "Ileus tu! inquit Diabolus, hei mihi! fessis insuper humeris reponenda est sarcina ; fer opera quasso !" " Le Diable a des vices; — c'est Ik ce qui le perd. — II est gourmand. II eut dans celte minute-li I'idee de joindre I'ame de Medard aux autres ames qu'il allait emporter. — Se rejeter en arriere, saisir de sa main droite son poignard, et en_percer I'outre avec une violence, et une rapidite formidable, — c'est ce que fit Medard. — Le Diable poussa un grand cri. Les ames delivres s'enfuireut par Tissue que le poignard venait de leur onvrir, lais.sant dans I'outre leurs noirceurs, leurs crimes, et leurs mechancetes," Ac. Ac. In good King Dagobert's palmy clays, When Saints were many, and sins were few, Old Nick, 'tis said, Was sore bested One evening, — and could not tell what to do.-- He had been East, and he had been West, And fur had he journey 'd o'er land and sea : For women and men Were warier (hen, And he could not catch one where he 'd now catch three. 242 A LEGEND OF AFRIC. He bad been North, and he had been South, From Zembla's shores unto far Peru, Ere he fill'd the sack Which he bore on his back — Saints were so many, and sins so few ! The way was long, and the day was hot ; His wings were weary ; his hoofs were sore ; And scarce could he trail His nerveless tail, As it furrow'd the sand on the Red Sea shore i The day had been hot, and the way was long ; — Hoof-sore, and weary, and faint, was he; He lower'd his sack, And the heat of his back, As he leaned on a palm-trunk, blasted the tree ! He sat himself down in the palm-tree's shade, And he gazed, and he grinn'd in pure delight, As he peep'd inside TbQ buffalo's hide He had sewn for a sack, and had cramm'd so tight. For, though he 'd "gone over a good deal of ground," And game had been scarce, he might well report That still, he had got A decentish lot. And had had, on the whole, not a bad d&ys sport. He had pick'd up in France a Maitre de Danse, — A Mattresse en litre, — two smart Gristttes, A Courtier at play, — And an English RoxiS — Who had bolted from home without paying his debts. — — He had caught in Great Britain a Scrivener's clerk, A Quaker, —a Baker, — a Doctor of Laws, — THE LAY OF SAINT MEDARD. 243 And a Jockey of York — But Paddy from Cork "Desaved the ould divil," and slipp'd through his claws! In Moscow, a Boyar knouting his wife — A Corsaii-'s crew, in the Isles of Greece — And, under the dome Of St. Peter's, at Rome, He had snapp'd up a nice little Cardinal's Niece. — He had bagg'd an Inquisitor fresh from Spain — A mendicant Friar — of Monks a score ; A grave Don, or two. And a Portuguese Jew, Whorii he nabb'd while clipping a new Moidore. And he said to himself, as he lick'd his lips, " Those nice Uttle Dears ! — what a delicate roast ! — — Then, that fine fat Friar, At a very quick fire, Dress'd like a Woodcock, and served on toast!" — At the sight of tit-bits so toothsome and choice Never did mouth water more than Nick's ; But, — alas! and alack! He had stuflf'd his sack So full that he found himself quite " in a fix :" For, all he could do, or all he could say, When, a little recruited, he rose to go, Alas! and alack! He could not get the sack Up again on his shoulders ** whether or no !" Old Nick look'd East, Old Nick look'd West, With many a stretch, and with many a strain, He bent till his back Was ready to crack, And he pull'd, and he tugg'd, — but he tugg'd in vaia 244 A LEGEND OF A FRIG. Old Nick look'd North, Old Nick look'd Sontli ; — Weary was Nicholas, weak and faint, — And he was aware Of an old man there, In Palmer's weeds, who look'd much lite a Saint. Nick eyed the Saint, — then he eyed the Sack — The greedy old glutton ! — and thought, with a grin, "Dear heart alive! If I could but contrive To pop that elderly gentleman in ! — ■ *' For, were I to choose among all the ragoHts The cuisine can exhibit — flesh, fowl, or fish, — To myself I can paint That a barbecued Saint Would be for my palate the best side-dish !'* Now St. Medard dwelt on the banks of the Nile, — In a Pyramis fast hy the lone Red Sea. (We call it " Semiramis," Why not say Pyramis? — Why should we change the S into a D ?) St. Medard, he was a holy man, A holy man I ween was he, And even by day. When he went to pray, He would light up a candle, that all might see ? He salaam'' d to the East, — He salaani'd to the West ; — Of the gravest cut, and the holiest brown Were his Palmer's weeds, — And he finger'd his beads With the right side up, and the wrong side down. — ***** [Hiatus in MSS. valde dejlendus.) St. Medard dwelt on the banks of the Nile ; — He had been living there years fourscore, — I THE LAY OF ST. MEDARD. 245 And now, ''taking the air, And saying a pray'r," He was walking at eve on the Red Sea shore. Little he deem'd — that Holy man! — Of Old Nick's wiles, and his fraudfnl tricks, — When he was aware Of a Stranger there, Who seem'd to have got himself into a fix. Deeply that Stranger groan'd and sigh'd. That wayfaring Stranger, grisly and grey : — " I can't raise my sack On my poor old back ! — Oh ! lend me a lift, kind Gentleman, pray ! — " For I have been East, and I have been West, Foot-sore, weary, and faint am I, And, unless I get home Ere the Curfew bome, Here in this desert I well may die !" "Now Heav'n thee save!" — Nick winced at the words As ever he winces at words divine — "Now Heav'n thee save! — • What strength I have, — It's little, I wis, — shall be freely thine! " For foul befal that Christian man Who shall fail, in a fix, — woe worth the while! — His hand to lend To foe, or to friend. Or to help a lame dog over a stile !" — — St. Medard hath boon'd himself for the task : To hoist up the sack he doth well begin; But the fardel feels Like a bag full of eels, For the folks are all curling, and kicking within. — 21* 246 A LEGEND OF AFRIC. St. Medard paused — lie began to "smoke" — For a Saint, — if he isn't exactly a cat, — Has a very good nose, As this world goes, And not worse than his neighbour's for " smelling a rat." The Saint look'd up, and the Saint look'd down ; He ^^ smelt the rat," and he "smoked" the trick; — When he came to view His comical shoe, He saw in a moment his friend was Nick ! He whipp'd out his oyster-knife, broad and keen — A Brummagem blade which he always bore, To aid him to eat. By way of a treat, The ''natives" he found on the Red-Sea shore: — He whipp'd out his Brummagem blade so keen, And he made three slits in the BuflFalo's hide, And all its contents, Through the rents, and the vents, Came tunibUng out, — and away they all hied! Away went the Quaker, — away went the Baker, Away went the Friar — that fine fat Ghost, Whose marrow Old Nick Had intended to pick, Dress'd like a Woodcock, and served on toast ! — Away went the nice little Cardinal's Niece, — And the pretty Grisettes, — and the Dons from Spain — And the Corsair's Crew, And the coin-clipping Jew, — And they scamper'd, like lamplighters, over the plain. — — Old Nick is a black -looking fellow at best, Ay, e'en when he's pleased; but never before THE LAY OP ST. MEDARD, 24*3 Had lie look'd so black As on seeing his sack Thus cut into slits on the Red-Sea shore. \ ou may fancy his rage, and his deep despair, When he saw himself thus befool'd by one Whom, in anger wild, He profanely styled "A stupid, old, snufF-colour'd Son of a gun!'* Then his supper — so nice ! — that had cost him such pains — — Such a hard day's work — now "all on the go!" — 'Twas beyond a joke And enough to provoke The mildest and best-temper'd Fiend below ! Nick snatch'd up one of those great, big stones. Found in such numbers on Egypt's plains, And he hurl'd it straight At the Saint's bald pate. To knock out " the gruel he call'd his brains." Straight at his pate he hurl'd the weighty The crushing weight of that great, big stone ; — But Saint Medard Was remarkably hard. And solid, about the parietal bone. And, though the whole weight of that great, big stone, Came straight on his pate, with a great, big thump. It fail'd to graze The skin, — or to raise On the tough epidermis a lump, or bump ! — As the hail bounds off from the pent-house slope, — As the cannon recoils when it sends its shot, — As the finger and thuml Of an old woman come From the kettle she handles, and finds too hot ; — 248 A LEGEND OF AFRIC. — Or, as you may see, in the Fleet, or the Bencf;, — — Many folks do in the course of their lives, — The well-struck ball Rebound from the wall, "When the Gentleman jail-birds are playing at "fives: * All these, — and a thousand fine similes more,— Such as all have heard of, or seen, or read Recorded in print, May give you a hint How the stone bounced off from St. Medard's head ! — And it curl'd and it twirl'd and it whirl'd in air, As this great, big stone at a tangent flew ! — Just missing his crown, It at last came down Plump upon Nick's Orthopedical shoe ! Oh ! what a yell and a screech were there ! — How did he hop, skip, bellow, and roar ! — "Oh dear! oh dear!" — You might hear him here. Though we're such a way off from the Red-Sea shore 1 It smash'd his shin, and it smash'd his hoof, Notwithstanding his stout Orthopedical shoe ; And this is the way That, from that same day. Old Nick became what the French call Boiteux ! Quakers, and Bakers, Grisettes, and Friars And Cardinal's Nieces, — wherever ye be, St. Medard bless; You can scarcely do less If you of your corps possess any esprit. — And, mind and take care, yourselves, — and beware How you get in Nick's Inffalo bag ! — if you do, THE LAY OF ST. MEDARi). 249 I very much doubt If you'll ever get out, Now Bins are so many, and Saints so few ! ! Moral. Gentle Reader, attend To the voice of a finend! And if ever you go to Heme Bay or Southend, Or any gay wat'ring-place outside the Nore, Don't walk out at eve on the lone sea-shore ! — Unless you 're too Saintly to care about Nick, And are sure that your head is suflSciently thick ? Learn not to be greedy ! — and, when you've enough. Don't be anxious your bags any tighter to stuif — Recollect that good fortune too far you may push. And, "A BIKD IN THE HAND IS WORTH TWO IN THE BUSH !" Then turn not each thought to increasing your store, Nor look always like " Oliver asking for more I" Gourmandise is a vice — a sad failing, at least; — So remember " Enough is as good as a feast !" And don't set your heart on "stew'd," "fried," "boil'd, "roast," Nor on delicate "Woodcocks served up upon toast!" Don't give people nick-names ! — don't even in fun, Call any one " snuff-colour'd son of a gun !" Nor fancy, because a man nous seems to lack. That, whenever you please, you can "give him the sack!" Last of all, as you'd thrive, and still sleep in whole bones. If YOUV'e ANY GLASS AVINDOWS NEVER THROW STONES ! I 1 INGOLDSBY LEGENDS. (THIRD SERIES.) THE LORD OF TIIOULOUSE. A LEGEND OF LANGUEDOC. Veluti in speculum. — Tfieaire Royal Gov. Gard. CuiTNT Raymond rules in Languedoc, O'er the champaign fair and wide, With town and stronghold many a one, Wash'd by the wave of the blue Garonne, And from far Auvergne to Rousillon, (\nd away to Narbonne, And the mouths of the Rhone; And hitj Lyonnois silks and his Narbonne honey, Bring in his lordship a great deal of money. A thousand lances, stout and true, Attend Count Raymond's call ; And Knights »r»d Nobles, of high degree, From Guiemie, Provence, and Burgundy, Before Count Raymond bend the knee, And vail to him one and all. And Isabel of Arragon He weds, the Pride of Spain, You might not find so rich a prize, A Dame so ''healthy, wealthy, and wise;" (260) THE LORD OF THOULOUSE. 251 So pious witlial — with such beautiful eyes — So exactly the Venus de' Medicis' size — In all that wide domain. Then his cellar is stored As well as his board, Wnh the choicest of all La Belle France can afford ; Chnmbertin, Chateaux Margaux, La Rose, and Lsifitte, With Moet's Champagne, "of the Comet year," "neat As imported," — "fine sparkling," — and not over sweet; Willie his Chaplain, good man, when call'd in to say grace, Would groan, and put on an elongated face At such turtle, such turbot, John Dory, and plaice ; Not without blushing, pronouncing a benison, Worthy old soul ! on such very fat venison, Sighing to think Such victuals and drink. Are precisely the traps by which Satan makes men his own, And gi-ieving o'er scores Of huge barbecued Boars, Which he thinks should not darken a Christian man's doors, Though 'twas all very well Pagan Poets should rate 'em As '^^ Animal propter convivia natum.'^ He was right, I must say. For at this time of day, When we 're not so precise, whether cleric or lay. With respect to our food, as in time so passe, We still find our Boars, whether grave ones or gay, After dinner, at least, very much in the way, (We spell the word now with an E, not an A :) And as honest P^re Jacques was inclined to spare diet, he Gave this advice to all grades of society, '' Think less of pudding — and think more of piety.' As to his clothes, Oh ! nobody knows 252 A LEGEND OF LANOITEPOT! What lots the Count had of cloaks, doublets, and hose, Pardoufles, with bows Each as big as a rose, And such shirts with lace ruffles, such waistcoats and the fee Indescribable garments it is not thought right To do more than whisper to oreUles polite. Still in spite of his power, and iu spite of his riches, In spite of his dinners, his dress, and his — which is The strangest of all things — in spite of his Wife, The Count led a rather hum-drum sort of life. He grew tired, in fact, of mere eating and drinking, Grew tired of flirting, and ogling, and winking At nursery maids As they walk'd the Parades, The Crescents, the Squares, and the fine Colonnades, And the other gay places, which young ladies use As their promenade through the good town of Thoulouse. He was tired of hawking, and fishing, and hunting, Of billiards, short-whist, chicken-hazard, and punting ; Of popping at pheasants, Quails, woodcocks, and — peasants: Of smoking, and joking. And soaking, provoking Such headaches next day As his fine St. Peray, Though the best of all Rhone wines can never repay, Till weary of war, women, roast-geese, and glory, With no great desire to be "famous in story," All the day long. This was his song, " Oh, dear ! what will become of us ? Oh, dear ! what shall we do ? We shall die of blue devils if some of us Can't hit on something that's new'" THE LORD OF THOULOUSR. 253 Meanwhile his sweet Countess, so pious and good, Sucn pomps and such vanities stoutly esehew'd, With all fermented liquors and high-season'd food, Devill'd kidneys, and sweet-breads, and ducks and green peas Baked sucking-pig, goose, and all viands like these, [lash'd calf's-head included, no longer could please, A curry was sure to elicit a breeze, 5 : was ale, or a glass of port-wine after cheese, Indeed, any thing strong, As to tipple, was wrong ; She stuck to "fine Hyson," "Bohea," and "Souchong," And similar imports direct from Hong-Kong. In vain does the family Doctor exhort her To take with her chop one poor half-pint of porter; No ! — she alleges She's taken the pledges! Determined to aid In a gen'ral Crusade Against publicans, vintners, and all of that trade, And to bring in sherbet, ginger-pop, lemonade, Pau sucrie, and drinkables mild and home-made ; So she claims her friends' efforts, and vows to devote all hera Solely to found "The Thoulousian Teetotallers." Large sums she employs In dressing small boys In long duffle jackets, and short corduroys, And she boxes their ears when they make too much noise , In short, she turns out a complete Lady Bountiful, Filling Avith drugs and brown Holland the county full. Now just at the time when our story commences. It seems that a case Past the common took place, To entail on her ladyship further expenses. In greeting with honour befitting his station The Prior of Ai-les, with a Temperance Legation, 22 254 A LEGEXP OF LANGUEDOC. Despatch'd by Pope Urban, who seized this occasion To aid in diluting that part of the nation, An excellent man, One who stuck to his can Of cold water ** without" — and he'd take such a lot of it. None of your sips That just moistens the lips ; At one single draught he 'd toss off a whole pot of it, — No such bad thing By the way, if they bring It you iced as at Verrey's, or fresh from the spring, When the Dog Star compels folks in town to take wing, Though I own even then I should see no great sin in it, Were there three drops of Sir Felix's gin in it. Well, leaving the lady to follow her pleasure. And finish the pump with the Prior at leisure. Let 's go back to Raymond, still bored beyond measure, And harping away, On the same dismal lay, " Oh dear ! what will become of us ? Oh dear ! what can we do ? We shall die of blue devils, if some of us Can't find out something that's new!" At length in despair of obtaining his ends By his own mother wit, he takes courage and sends. Like a sensible man as he is, for his friends. Not his Lyndhursts or Eldons, or any such high sirs. But only a few of his "backstairs " advisers; "Come hither," says he, *' My gallants so free. My bold Rigmarole, and my brave Rigmaree, And my grave Baron Proser, now listen to me ! You three can't but see I 'm half dead with ennui. What's to be done? I must have some fun. THE LORD OF THOULOUSE. 256 And I will too, that's flat — ay, as sure as a guu So find me out ' something new under the sun,' Or 1 '11 knock your three jobbernowls all into one !— You three Agree ! Come, what shall it be ? Resolve me — propound in three skips of a ilea!" Rigmarole gave a "Ha!" Rigmaree gave a "Hem!' They look'd at Count Raymond — Count Raymond i ihem, As much as to say, " Have you nihil ad rem ?" At length Baron Proser Responded, "You know, sir, That question's some time been a regular poser* Dear me! — let me see, — In the way of a ' spree' Something new ? — Eh ! — No ! — Yes ! No ! — 'tirf reallv uo go, sir." Says the Count, "Rigmarole, You're as jolly a soul. On the whole, as King Cole, with his pipe and his bowl : Come, I'm sure you'll devise something novel and droll." — In vain — Rigmarole, with a look most profound. With his hand to his heart and his eye to the ground, Shakes his head as if nothing was there to be found. "I can only remark. That as touching a ' lark' I 'la as much as your Highness can be, in the dark ; I can hit on no novelty — none, on my life, Unless, peradventure, you'd 'tea' with your wife!" Quoth Raymond, "Enough! Nonsense ! — humbug ! — fudge ! — stuff! Rigmarole, you're an ass, — you're a regular Muff! Drink tea with her ladyship? — I ? — not a bit of it; Call you that fun? — faith, 1 can't see the wit of it; Mori de ma vie! My dear Rigmaree, 25G A LEGEND OF LANGUEDOC. You're the man, after all, — come, by way of a fee. If you will but be bright, from the simple degree Of a knight I '11 create you at once a Mar-quis ! Put your conjuring cap on — consider and see. If you can't beat that stupid old ' Suraph' with his ' tea!' " " That 's the thing ! that will do ! Ay, marry, that's new!" Cries Rigmaree, rubbing his hands, "that will please — My ' Conjuring cap' — it's the thing: — it's 'the cheese i' It was only this morning I pick'd up the news ; Please your Highness, a Conjuror'' s come to Thoulouse; I'll defy you to name us A man half so famous For devildoms, — Sir, it's the great Nostradamus! Cornelius Agrippa, 'tis said, went to school to him, Gyngell's an ass, and old Faustus a fool to him, Talk of Lilly, Albertus, Jack Dee ! — pooh ! all six He 'd soon put in a pretty particular fix ; Why he 'd beat at digesting a sword, or ' Gun tricks' The great Northern Wizard himself all to sticks ! I should like to see you Try to sauter le coup With this chap at short whist, or unlimited loo, By the Pope you 'd soon find it a regular * Do :' Why he does as he likes with the cards, — when he's go^ >m. There 's always an Ace or a King at the bottom ; Then for casting Nativities ! — only you look At the volume he 's publish'd, — that wonderful book ! In all France not another, to swear I dare venture, is Like, by long chalks, his ' Prophetical Centuries' — Don't you remember how, early last summer, he Warn'd the late King 'gainst the Tournament mummery ? Didn't his Majesty call it all iummery, Scorning The warning. And get the next morning His poke in the eye from that clumsy Montgomery ' THE LORD OF THOULOl/SE. 25T Wliy he'll tell you, before You're well inside his door, All your Highness may wish to be up to, and more !" "Bravo! — capital! — come, let's disguise ourselves — r[uickl — Fortune 's sent him on purpose here, just in the nick ; We '11 see if old Hocus will smell out the trick ; Let's start off at once — Rigmaree, you're a Brick!" The moon in gentle radiance shone O'er lowly roof and lordly bower, O'er holy pile and armed tower, And danced upon the blue Garonne : Through all that silver'd city fair, No sound distui'b'd the calm, cool air, Save the lover's sigh alone ! Or where, perchance, some slumberer's nose Proclaim'd the depth of his repose. Provoking from connubial toes A hint — or elbow-bone ; It might, with such trifling exceptions, be said. That Thoulouse was as still as if Thoulouse were dead, And her " oldest inhabitant" buried in lead. But hark ! a sound invades the ear, Of horses' ho ifs advancing near ! They gain the bridge — they pass — they're here! Side by side Two strangers ride, 7or the streets in Thoulouse are sufficiently wide. That is I'm assured they are — not having tried. — See, now they stop Near an odd-looking shop. And they knock, and they ring, and they won't be denied. At length the command Of some unseen hand 22* /?58 A LEGEND OF LANGUEDO*;. Chains, and bolts, and bars obey, And the thick-ribb'd oaken door, old and grej, In the pale moonlight gives, slowly, way. They leave their steeds to a page's care, Who comes mounted behind on a Flanders mare, And they enter the house, that resolute pair. With a blundering step, but a dare-devil air. And ascend a long, darksome, and rickety stair ; While, arm'd with a lamp that just helps you to see How uncommonly dark a place can be, The grimmest of lads with the grimmest of grins, Says, '< Gentlemen, please to take care of your shins! Who ventures this road need be firm on his pins I Now turn to the left — now turn to the right — Now a step — now stoop — now again upright — Now turn once again, and directly before ye 's the door of the great Doctor's Labora-tory." A word ! a blow ! And in they go ! No time to prepare, or to get up a show, Yet rvery thing there they find quite comme ilfaui :— Such as queer-looking bottles and jars in a row, Retorts, crucibles, such as all conjurors stow In the roora^ they inhabit, huge bellows to blow The fire burning blue with its sulphur and tow ; From the roof a huge crocodile hangs rather low, With a tail, such as that, which, we all of us know, Mr. Waterman managed to tie in a bow ; Pickled snakes, potted lizards, in bottles and basins Like those at Morel's, or at Fortnum and Mason's, All articles found, you're aware without telling, In every respectable conjuror's dwelling. Looking solemn and wise. Without turning his eyes, Or betraying the slightest degree of surprise, THE LORD OF THOULOUSfi. 259 In the midst sits the doctor — his hair is white, And his cheek is wan — but his glance is bright, And his long black roquelaure, not over-tight, Is marked with strange characters much, if not quite Like those on the bottles of green and blue light Which you see in a chymist's shop-window at night His figure is tall and erect — rather spare about Ribs, — and no wonder — such folks never care about Eating or drinking, While reading and thinking, Don't fatten — his age might be sixty or thereabout. Raising his eye so grave and so sage, From some manuscript work of a bygone age. The seer very composedly turns down the page, Then shading his sight, With his hand from the light. Says, " Well, Sirs, what would you at this time of night? What brings you abroad these lone chambers to tread, When all sober folks are at home and abed ?" " Trav'lers we. In our degi'ee, All strange sights we fain would see, And hither we come in company ; We have far to go, and we come from far, Through Spain and Portingale, France and Navarre ; We have heard of your name, And your fame, and our aim. Great Sir, is to witness, ere yet we depart From Thoulouse, — and to-morrow at cock-crow we start— * Your skill — we would fain crave a touch of your art!" **Now naye, now naye — no trav'lers ye! Nobles ye be Of high degree! With half an eye that one may easily see, — Count Raymond, your servant ! — Yours, Lord Rigmaree I 260 A LEGEND OF LANGUEDOC. I must call you so noAV since you're made a Mar-quis; Faith, clever boys both, but you can't humbug me ! No matter for that! I see what you'd be at — Well — pray no delay, For it's late, and ei'e day I myself must be hundreds of miles on my way ; So teU me at once what you want with me — say ! Shall I call up the dead From their mouldering bed? — Shall I send you yourselves down to Hades instead ? — Shall I summon old Harry himself to this spot?" — " Ten thousand thanks, No ! we had much rather not. We really tjan't say That we're curious that way; But, in brief, if yoa'U pardon the trouble we're giving, We 'd much rather take a sly peep at the living? Rigmaree, what say you, in This case, as to viewing Our spouses, and just ascertain what they're doing?" "Just what pleases your Highness — I don't care a sous in The matter — but don't let old Nick and his crew in!" — " Agreed ! — pray preceded then, most sage Nostradamus, And show us our wives — I dare swear they won't shame us!" A change comes o'er the wizard's face, And his solemn look by degrees gives place To a half grave, half comical, kind of grimace. "For good or for ill^ I work your will ! Yours be the risk and mine the skill ; Blame not my art if unpleasant the pill!" He takes from a shelf, and he pops on his head, A S(T[uare sort of cap, black, and turn'd up with rod^ And desires not a syllal le more may be said : THE LORD OP THOULOUSE. 261 He goes on to mutter, And stutter, and sputter . lard TTords, such as no men but wizards dare utter. " Dies mies ! — Hocus pocus — Adsis Demon ! non est jokus ! Hi Cocolorum — don't provoke us! — Adesto ! Presto ! Put forth your best toe !'' And many more words, to repeat which would choke us, — Such a sniff then of brimstone ! — it did not last long. Or they could not have borne it, the smell was so strong. A mirror is near, So large and so elear, If you priced such a one in a drawing-room here. And was ask'd fifty pounds, you 'd not say it was dear ; But a mist gather'd round at the wordj of the seer. Till at length as the gloom Was subsiding, a room On its broad polish'd surface began to appear, And the Count and his comrade saw plainly before 'em. The room Lady Isabel called her ^'■Sanctorum." They start, well they might, With surprise at the sight, Methinks I hear some lady say, " Serve 'em right !" For on one side the fire Is seated the Prior, At the opposite corner a fat little Friar ; By the side of each gentleman, easy and free, Sits a lady, as close as close well may be, She might almost as well have been perch'd On his knee. Dear me ! dear me ! Why one 's Isabel — she On the opposite side's La Marquise Rigmaree! — To judge from the spread On the board, you'd have said 262 A LEGEND OF LANGUEDOC. That the partie quarree had like aldermen fed, And now from long flasks with necks cover'd with le.'id, They were helping themselves to champagne, white uni red Hobbing and nobbing, And nodding and bobbing, With many a sip Both from cup and from lip, And with many a toast folio w*d up by a **Hip ! — Hip ! — hip ! — huzzay !" — The Count, by the way, Though he sees all they 're doing, can't hear what they say Notwithstanding both he And 3far-quis Riymaree Are po yex'd and excited at what they can see, That each utters a sad word beginning with D. That word once spoke, The silence broke, In an instant the vision is cover'd with smoke ! But enough has been seen. " Horse! horse! and away!" They have, neither, the least inclination to stay, E'en to thank Nostradamus, or ask what 's to pay. — They rush down the stair, How, they know not, nor care. The next moment the Count is astride on his bay. And my Lord Rigmaree on his mettlesome grey ; They dash through the town. Now up, and now down ; And the stones rattle under their hoofs as they ride, As if poor Thoulouse were as mad as Cheapside ;* Through lane, alley, and street. Over all that they meet ; The Count 1 )ads the way on his courser so fleet, ' The stones did rattle underneath, As if Cheapside were mad." Gilpin's Tour in Middlesex and Herti THE LCilD OF THOU LOUSE. 2G3 My Lord Rigmaree close pursuing his beat, With the page in the rear to protect the retreat. Where the bridge spans the river, so wide and so deep, Their headlong career o"cr the causeway they keep, Upsetting the watchman, two dogs, and a sweep, All the town population that was not asleep. They at length reach the castle, just outside the town, Where — in peace it was usual with Knights of renown — The portcullis was up, and the drawbridge was down. They dash by the sentinels — ^'■France et Tholovxe !"' Ev'ry soldier ( — they then wore cock'd hats and loig: qneueiy Appendages banish'd from modern reviews), His arquebus lower'd, and bow'd to his shoes ; While Count Raymond push'd on to his lady's boudoir — he Had made up his mind to make one at her soirie. He rush'd to that door. Where ever before. He had rapp'd with his knuckles, and "tirl'd at the pin," Till he heard the soft sound of his Lady's Come in!" But now, with a kick from his iron-heel'd boot, Which, applied to a brick wall, at once had gone through 't, He dash'd open the lock; It gave way at the shock ! ( — Dear ladies, don't think in recording the fact, That your bard 's for one moment defending the act. No — it is not a gentleman's — none but a low body No — could perform it) — and there he saw — NOBODY! ! Nobody? — No!! Oh, ho! — Oh, ho! There was not a table — there was not a chair Of all that Count Raymond had ever seen there (They'd maroon-leather bottoms well stuff 'd with horse- hair j, That was out of its place ! — There was not a trace Of a party — there was not a dish or a plate — No sign of a table-cloth — nothing to prate 264 A LEGEND OF LANGUEDOC. Of a supper, symposium, or sitting up late ; There was not a spark of fire left in the grate, It had all been poked out, and remain'd in that state. If there was not a fire, Still less was there friar, Marquise, or long glasses, or Countess, or Prior, And the Count, who rush'd in open-mouth'd, was struck dumb, And could only ejaculate, " Well! — this is rum!" He rang for the maids — had them into the room With the butler, the footman, the coachman, the groom, He examined them all very strictly — but no I Notwithstanding he cross- and re-question'd them so, 'Twas in vain — it was clearly a case of " No Go !" "Their Lady," they said, " Had gone early to bed. Having rather complain'd of a cold in her head — The stout little Friar, as round as an apple, Had pass'd the whole night in a vigil in chapel. While the Prior himself, as he 'd usually done. Had rung in the morning, at half-after one. For his jug of cold water and twopenny bun, And been visible, since they were brought him, to none. But," the servants averr'd, "From the sounds that were heard To proceed now and then from the father's sacellum They thought he was purging His sins with a scourging, And making good use of his 'kxioiied. fiagellum." For Madame Rigmaree, They all testified, she Had gone up to her bed-chamber soon after tea. And they really supposed that there still she must be, Which her spouse, the Mar-quis, Found at once to agree With the rest of their tale, when he ran up to see. THE LORD OF THOULOUSE. 26' Alack for Count Raymond ! lie could not conceive How the case really stood, or know what to believe ; Ncr could Rigmaree settle to laugh or to grieve There was clearly a hoax, But which of the folks Had managed to make them the butt of their jokes, Wife or wizard, they both knew no more than Jack Nokef« That glass of the wizard's Stuck much in their gizzards, His cap, and his queer cloak all X's and Izzards ; Then they found, when they came to examine again, Some slight falling oft' in the stock of champagne, Small, but more than the butler could fairly explain. However, since nothing could make the truth known, Why, — they thought it was best to let mattei'S alone. The Count in the garden Begg'd Isabel's pardon Next morning for waking her up in a fright, By the racket he'd kick'd up at that time of night; And gave her his word he had ne'er misbehaved so, Had he not come home as tipsy as David's sow. Still, to give no occasion for family snarls, The friar was pack'd back to his convent at Aries, While as for the prior. At Raymond's desire, The Pope raised his rev'rence a step or two higher. And made him a bishop in partihus — Vhere His see was I cannot exactly declare, Or describe his cathedral, not having been there. But I dare say you'll all be prepared for the news, When I say 'twas a good many miles from Thoulouse, Where the prelate, in order to set a good precedent. Was enjoin'd, as a sine qu(i non, to be resident. You will fancy with me, That Count Raymond was free, For the rest of his life, from his former e.nnui: 23 266 A LEGEND OF LANOUEDOO. Still it somehow occurr'd that as often as he Chanced to look in the face of my Lord Rigmaree, There was something or other — a trifling degree Of constraint — or embarrassment — easy to see, And which seera'd to be shared by the noble Mar-quis, While the ladies — the queerest of all things by half in My tale, never met from that hour without laughing. Moral. Good gentlemen all, who are subjects of Hymen, Don't make new acquaintances rashly, but try men, Avoid above all things your cunning (that 's sly) men ! Don't go out o' nights To see conjuring sleights. But shun all such people, delusion whose trade is ; Be wise! — stay at home and take tea with the ladies. If you chance to be out. At a "regular bout," And get too much of "Abbot's Pale Ale" or "Brown Stout," Don't be cross when you come home at night to your spouse, Nor be noisy, nor kick up a dust in the house ! Be careful yourself, and adnionish your sons, To beware of all folks who love twopenny buns! And don't introduce! to your wife or your daughter, A sleek, meek, weak gent — who subsists on cold water 1 TOE WEDDING-DAY. 267 The main incident recorded in the following excerpta from our family papers has but too solid a foundation. The portrait of Roger Ingoldsby is not among those in the gallery, but I have some recollection of having seen, when a boy, a picture answering the description here given of him, much injured, and lying without a frame in one of the attics. THE WEDDING-DAY; OR, THE BUCCANEER'S CURSE. A FAMILY LEGEND. It has a jocund sound, That gleeful marriage chime, As from the old and ivied tower, It peals, at the early matin hour, Its merry, merry round ; And the Spring is in its prime, And the song-bird, on the spray, Trills fi*om his throat, in varied note, An emulative lay — It has a joyous sound ! ! And the Vicar is there with his wig and his book. And the Clerk, with his grave, gMasj-sanctified look, And there stand the village maids, all with their posies. Their lilies, and daffy-down-dillies, and roses, Dight in white, A comely sight. Fringing the path to the left and the right ; — From our nursery days we all of us know Ne'er doth " Our Ladye's garden grow" So fair for a ** Grand Horticultural Show" (Vs whwD border'd with "pretty maids all on a row." 268 A FAMILY LEGEND. And the urcliins are there, escaped from the ru} Of that *' Limbo of Infants," the Nati/jual Soho< Whooping, and bawhng. And squalling, and calling, And crawling, and creeping, And jumping, and leaping, Bo-peeping 'midst "many a mould'ring heap" in Whose bosom their own "rude forefathers" are sleeping; — Young rascals I — instead of lamenting and weeping, Laughing and gay, A gorge deploy ec — Only now and then pausing — and checking their play, To " wonder what 'tis makes the gentlefolks stay," Ah, well a-day! Little deem they, Poor ignorant dears ! the bells, ringing away, Are anything else Than mere parish bells, Or that each of them, should we go into its history, Is but a " Symbol" of some deeper mystery — That the clappere and ropes Are mere practical tropes Of "trumpets" and "tongues," and of "preachers," and popes, Unless Clement the Fourth's worthy Chaplain, Durand, err, See the ^^Jialionale," of that goosey-gander. Gently! gently. Miss Muse! Mind your P's and your Q's! Pon't be malapert — laugh, Miss, but never abuse! Calling names, whether done to attack or to back a schism, Is, Miss, beUeve m^, a great piece of jack-ass-ism. And as, on the whole, You're a good-natured soul. You must never enact such a pitiful r6le. No, no. Miss, pull up, and go back to your boys In the churchyard, who 're making this hubbub and noise- THE WEDDING-DAT. 2C9 But husli! there's an end to their romping and mumining, For voices are heard — here's the company coming! And see, — the avenue gates unfold, And forth they pace, that bridal train, The grave, the gay, the young, the old, They cross the green and grassy lane, Bridesman, Bridesmaid, Bridegroom, Bride, Two by two, and side by side, Uncles, and aunts, friends tried and proved, And cousins, a great many times removed. A fairer or a gentler she, A lovelier maid, in her degree, Man's eye might never hope to see, Than darling, bonnie Maud Ingoldsby, The flow'r of that goodly company ; While whisp'ring low, with bated voice, Close by her side, her heart's dear choice, Walks Fredville's hope, young Valentine Boys — But where, oh where, — Is Ingoldsby's heir? LiiAe Jack Ingoldsby? — where, oh where? Why he's here, — and he's there, And he 's every where — He's there, and he's here; In the front — in the rear, — Now this side, now that side, — now far, and now near — The Puck of the party, the darling "pet" boy. Full of mischief, and fun, and good-humour and joy; With his laughing blue eye, and his cheek like a rose, And his long curly locks, and his little snub nose ; In his tunic, and trousers, and cap — thei*e he goes! Now pinching the bridesmen, — now teazing his sister. And telling the bridesmaids how " Valentino kiss'd her;" The torment, the plague, the delight of them all. See, he's into the churchyard! — he's over the wall — 23* 270 A FAMILY LEGEND. OamboUing, frolicking, capering away, He's the first in the chui-ch, be the second who may I * -K- * * * 'Tis o'er; — the holy rite is done, The rite that "incorporates two in one," — And now for the feasting, and fiolic, and fun ! Spai-e we to tell of the smiling and sighing, Tlie shaking of hands, the embracing, and crying, The "toot — toot — toot" Of the tabour and flute. Of the white-wigg'd Vicar's prolong'd salute. Or of how the blithe "College Youths," — rather old stagers Accustomed, for years, to pull bell-ropes for wagers — Hang, faster than ever, their " triple-bob-MAJORS ;" (So loud as to charm ye, At once and alarm ye ; — " St/mbolic,'" of course, of that rank in the army.) Spare we to tell of the fees and the dues To the "little old woman that open'd the pews," Of the largesse bestow'd on the Sexton and Clerk, Of the four-year-old sheep roasted whole in the park , Of the laughing and joking. The quaffing, and smoking, And chaffing, and broaching — that is to say, poking A hole in a mighty magnificent tub Of what men, in our hemisphere, term "Humming Bub." But which gods, — who, it seems, use a different lingo From mortals, — are wont to denominate " Stingo." Spare we to tell of the horse-collar grinning: The cheese ! the reward of the ugly one winning ; Of the young ladies racing for Dutch body-linen, — — The soapy-tail'd sow, — a rich prize when you've cauglit her, — Of little boys bobbing for pippins in water; THE WEDDING-DAY. 271 The smacks and the whacks, And the jumpers in sacks, these aown on their noses and those on their backs ; — Nor skills it to speak of those darling old ditties, Sung rarely in hamlets now — never in cities. The ''King and the Miller" the '■'■Bold Robin Ilood,'^ " Chevy Chase" " Gilderoy,'" and the ''Babes in the Wood!'* — You'll say that my taste Is sadly misplaced. But I can't help confessing these simple old tunes, The " Auld Robin Grays" and the " Aileen Aroons,^* The '• Gramachme Mollys" and " Sioeet Bonny Doons" Are dearer to me, In a tenfold degree, Than a ^wq fantasia from over the sea; And, for sweetness, compared with a Beethoven fugue, are As "best-refined loaf," to the coarsest "brown sugar;"* — Alack, for the Bard's want of science I to which he owes All this misliking of foreign capricios ? — Not that he'd say One word, by the way, To disparage our new Idol, Monsieur Duprez — But he grudges, he owns, his departed half-guinea, Each Saturday night when, devour'd by chagrin, he Sits listening to singers whose names end in ini. But enough of the rustics — let's leave them pursuing Their out-of-door gambols, and just take a view in The inside the hall, and see what they are doing ; And first there's the Squire, The hale, hearty sire Of the bride, — with his coat-tails subducted and higher, A thought, than they're commonly wont to aspire: His back and his buckskins exposed to the fire ; — * Ad Amicum, Ssrvientem ad legem — This rhyme, if, when scann'd by your critical "jar it Is not quite legitimate, comes pretty near it. — T.I 272 A FAMILY LEGEND. — Bright, bright are his buttons, — and bright is the hue Of his squarely-cut coat of fine Saxony blue ; And bright the shalloon of his little quill'd queue ; — White, white as "Young England's," the dimity vest Which descends like an avalanche o'er his broad breast. Till its further progression is put in arrest By the portly projection that springs from his chest, Overhanging the garment — that can't be exprest; — White, white are his locks, — which, had Nature fair play. Had appear'd a clear brown, slightly sprinkled with grey ; But they 're white as the peaks of Plinlimmon to-day. Or Ben Nevis, his pate is &i bien poudrS ! Bi-ight, bright are the boots that envelope his heels, — Bright, bright is the gold chain suspending his seals, And still brighter yet may the gazer descry The tear-drop that spangles the fond father's eye As it lights on the bride — His beloved one — the pride And delight of his heart, — sever'd now fi'om his side ; — But brighter than all, Arresting its fall. Is the smile, that rebukes it for spangling at all, — A clear case, in short, of what old poets tell, as Blind Homer for instance, tv Smpvai yiXof. Then, there are the Bride and the Bridegroom, withdrawn To the deep Gothic window that looks on the lawn. Ensconced on a squab of maroon-colour'd leather. And talking — and thinking, no doubt — of the weather. But here comes the party — Room! room for the guests! In their Pompadour coats, and laced ruffles, and vests, — First, Sir Charles Grandison Baronet, and his son, Charles, — the mamma does not venture to ''show" — — Miss Byron, you know, She was call'd long ago — THE WEDDIXO-DAY. 273 For that lady, 'twas said, had been playing the d — 1, Last season, in town, with her old bean, Squire Grcville, Which very much shock'd, and chagrin'd, as may well be Supposed, "Doctor Bartlett," and "Good Uncle Selby." — Sir Charles, of course, could not give Greville his gruel, iu Order to prove his abhorrence of duelling, Nor try for, deterr'd by the serious expense, a Complete separation a thoro el mensa, So he "kept a calm sough," and, when ask'd to a party, A dance, or a dinner, or tea and ecard, He went with his son, and said, looking demurely. He'd "left her at home, as she found herself poorly." Two foreigners near, "Of distinction," appear; A pair more illustrious you ne'er heard of, or saw, Count Ferdinand Fathom, — Count Thaddeus of Warsaw, All cover'd with glitt'ring bijouterie and hair — Poles, Whom Lord Dudley Stuart calls " Patriot," — Hook " Bare Poles ;" Such rings, and such brooches, such studs, and such pins ! 'Twere hard to say which Were more gorgeous and rich. Or more truly Mosaic, their chains or their chins I Next Sir Roger de Coverley, — Mr. Will Ramble, With Dame Lismahago, {nee Tabitha Bramble), — Mr. Random and Spouse, — Mrs. Pamela Booby, (Whose nose was acquiring a tinge of the ruby. And "people did sa^/" — but no matter for that,... Folks were not then enlighten'd by good Father Mat.) — — Three friends from "the Colonies" near them were seen, The Great Massachusetts man. General Muff Green,— Mr. .Jonathan W. Doubikins, — men "Influential some," — and their "smart" Uncle Ben; — Rev. Abraham Adams (preferr'd to a stall), — — Mr. Jones and his lady, from Allwortliy Hall ; — Our fi'iend Tom, by the way. Had turn'd out ratlicr gay For a married man — certainly "people did say.^- 274 A FAMILY LEGEND, He was shrewdly suspected of using his wife ill, And being as sly as his half-brother Blifil. — (Miss Seagrim, 'tis well known, was now in high feather. And "people did say,'" they'd been seen out together, — A fact, the "Boy Jones," who, in our days, with malice Aforethought, so often got into the Palace, Would seem to confirm, as 'tis whisper'd he owns, he's The son of a natural son of Tom Jones's.) Lady Bellaston {mem. she had not been invited!) Sir Peregrine Pickle, now recently knighted, — All joyous, all happy, all looking delighted! — It would bore you to death should I pause to describe, Or enumerate half of the elegant tribe Who fiU'd the back-ground, And among whom were found The elite of the old country families round, Such as Honeywood, Oxenden, Knatchbull, and Norton, Matthew Robinson,* too, with his beard fr ;m Monk's Horton. The Faggs. and Finch-Hattons, Tokes, Derings, and Deedses, And Fairfax, (who then called the castle of Leeds his ;) Esquires, Knights, and Lords, In bag- wigs and swords ; And the troops, and the groups Of fine Ladies in hoops : The pompoons, the toupites, and the diamonds and feathers The flower'd-silk sacgues Which they wore on their backs, — — How ? — sacques and pompoons, with the Squire's boots and leathers ? — Stay ! stay ! — I suspect, Here 's a trifling neglect * A worthy and eccentric country gentleman, afterwards the second Lord Kokeby, being cousin (" a great many times removed ") and successor in the barony to Kichard, Archbishop of Armagli, who first bore that title. — Ilif* board was truly patriarchal. — Mr. Muiitz's — pooh I — THE WEDDING-DAY. 275 On you. J irt, Madame Muse — though you 're commonly accuifite, As to costume, as brown Quaker, or black Curate, For once, I confess, Here you're out as to dress; You 've been fairly caught napping, which gives me distress, For I can't but acknowledge it is not the thing, Sir Roger de Coverley's laced suit to bring Into contact with square-cut coats, — such as George Byng And poor dear Sir Francis appear'd in, last spring. — So, having for once been compell'd to acknowledge, I 've made a small hole in our mutual chronology, Canter on. Miss, without farther apology, — Only don't make Such another mistake. Or you '11 get in a scrape, of which I shall partake ; — Enough! — you are sorry for what you have done. So dry your eyes. Miss, blow your nose, and go on ! Well — the party are met, all radiant and gay. And how ev'ry person is dress'd — we won't say ; Suffice it, they all come glad homage to pay To our dear "bonnie Maud," on her own wedding-day. To dance at her bridal, and help " throw the stocking," — A practice that's now discontinued as shocking. There 's a breakfast, they know — There always is so On occasions like these, wheresoever you go. Of course there are "lots" of beef, potted and hung, Prawns, lobsters, cold fowl, and cold ham, and cold tongm Hot tea, and hot coffee, hot rolls, and hot toast. Cold pigeon-pie (rook?), and cold boil'd and cold roast. Scotch marmalade, jellies, cold cream, colder ices — Blancmange, which young ladies say, so very nice is, — Kock-melons in thick, pines in much thinner slices, — 27G A FAMILY LEGEND. Char, potted with clarified butter and spices, Renewing an appetite long past its crisis — Refined barley-sugar, in various deAaces. Such as bridges, and baskets, and temples, and grottoes — ' And nasty French lucifer snappers with mottoes. — In short, all those gimcracks together were met Which people of fashion tell Gunter to get When they give a grand dije^ner d. la fourchette — (A phrase which, though French, in our language still lingers, Intending a breakfast with forks and not fingers.) And see ! what a mountainous bride-cake I — a thing By itself — with small pieces to pass through the ring! Now as to the wines! — "Ay, the wine?" cries the Squire, Letting fall both his coat-tails — which nearly take fire, — Rubbing his hands. He calls out, as he stands, To the serving-men waiting "his Honour's" commands, " The wine ! — to be sure — here you, Harry — Bob — Dick — "The wine, don't yoa hear? — bring us lights — come, be quick ! — And a crow-bar to knock down the mortar and brick — Say what they may 'Fore George we '11 make way Into old Roger Ingoldsby's cellar to-day ; And let loose his captives, imprison'd so long. His flasks, and his casks, that he brick'd up so strong!" — — "Oh dear! oh dear! Squire Ingoldsby, bethink you what you do!" Exclaims old Mrs. Botherby,* — she is in such a steAvl — "Oh dear! oh dear! what do I hear? — full oft you've heard me tell Of the curse 'Wild Roger' left upon whoe'er should break his cell : * Grcat-grnrdtrinmnin, by the ffitln^f's side, to the excellent lady of the same name who yet " keeps the keys " at Tappingtou. THE WEDDING-DAY. 277 " Full five-and-twenty years are gone since Roger went away, As I bethink me, too, it was upon this very day ! And I was then a comely dame, and you, a springald gay, Were up and down to London town, at opera, ball, and play ; Your locks were nut-brown then. Squire — you grow a little grey !— ***Wild Roger,' so we call'd him then, your grandsire's youngest son, He was, in truth, A wayward youth, We fear'd him, every one In ev'ry thing he had his will, he would be stay'd by none. And when he did a naughty thing, he laugh'd and call'd it fun ! — Oae day his father chid him sore — I know not what he 'd done, But he scorn'd reproof ; And from this roof Away that night he run ! " Seven years were gone and over — ' Wild Roger ' came again, He spok-e of forays and of frays upon the Spanish Main ; And he had store of gold galore, and silks, and satins fine, And flasks, and casks of Malvoisie, and precious Gascon wine! Rich booties he had brought, he said, across the western wave, And came, in penitence and shame, now of his sire to crave Forgiveness and a welcome home — his sire was in his grave! *' Your Father was a kindly man — he play'd a brothers part, He press'd his brother to his breast — he had a kindly heai-t. Fain would he have him tarry here, their common hearth to share, But Roger was the same man still, — he scorn'd b's brother's praj'^'r ! He call'd his crew, — away he flew, and on those foreign shores 24 278 A FAMILY LEGEND. Oot kill'd in some outlandish place — they call it the Eyesores,* But ere he went, And quitted Kent, — I well recall the day, — • His flasks and casks of Gascon wine he safely * stow'd away ;* Within the cellar's deepest nook, he safely stow'd them all, And Mason Jones brought bricks and stones, and they built up the wall. "Oh! then it was a fearful thing to hear 'Wild Roger's' ban! Good gracious me ! I never heard the like from mortal man, ' Here's that,' quoth he, 'shall serve me well, when I return at last, A batter'd hulk, to quaff' and laugh at toils and dangers past; Accurst be he, whoe'er he be, lays hand on gear of mine, Till I come back again from sea, to broach my Gascon wine !' And more he said, which fill'd with dread all those who listen'd there ; In sooth my very blood ran cold, it lifted up my hair With vei'y fear, to stand and hear 'Wild Roger' curse and swear ! ! He saw my fright, as well he might, but still he made his game, He call'd me 'Mother Bounce-about,' my Gracious, what a name! Nay, more 'an old' — some 'boat-woman,' — I may not say foi shame ! — Then, gentle Master, pause awhile, give heed to what I tell. Nor break, on such a day as this, ' Wild Roger's' secret cell!" "Pooh! pooh!" quoth the Squire, As he moved from the fire. And bade the old Housekeeper quickly retire, " Pooh ! — never tell me ! Nonsense — fiddle-de-dee ! What? — wait Uncle Rogers return back from sea? — * Azores? — ^rrs. Botherby's orthography, like that of her distinguished contemporary Baron Duberly, was "a little loose." THE WEDDING-DAY. 279 Why he may, as you say, Have been somewhat too gay, And, no doubt, was a broth of a boy in his way ; But what's that to us, now, at this time of day? What, if some quarrel With Dering or Darrell — — ] hardly know which, but I think it was Dering, — Sent him back in a huflF to his old privateering. Or what his unfriends chose to call Buccaneering, It's twenty years since, as we very well know. He was knock'd on the head in a skirmish, and so Why rake up * auld warld' tales of deeds long ago ? — — Foul befall him who would touch the deposit Of living man, whether in cellar or closet ! But since, as I 've said, Knock'd on the head. Uncle Roger has now been some twenty years dead As for his wine, I'm his heir, and it's mine! And I'd long ago work'd it well, but that I tarried For this very day — And I 'm sure you '11 all say I was right — when my own darling Maud should get married I So lights and a crow-bar ! — the only thing lies On my conscience, at all, with respect to this prize, Is some little compunction anent the Excise — Come — you, Master Jack, Be the first, and bring back Whate'er comes to hand — Claret, Burgundy, Sack — Head the party, and mind that you're back in a crack!" Away go the clan, With cup and with can. Little J.'sck Ingoldsby leading the van ; Little reck tlioj'^ of the Buccaneer's ban. 280 A FAMILY LEGEND. Hope whispers, '< Perchance we'll fall in with strong beer too here !" Blest thought! which sets them all grinning from ear to eari Through cellar one, through cellars two, Through cellars three they pass'd ! And their way they took To the farthest nook Of cellar four — the last! — Blithe and gay, they batter away, On this wedding-day of Maud's, With all their might, to bring to light, "Wild Roger's" "Custom-house frauds!" And though stone and brick Be never so thick. When stoutly assail'd, they are no bar To the powerful charm Of a Yeoman's arm When wielding a decentish crow-bar I Down comes brick, and down comes stone, One by one — The job 's half done ! — "Where is he? — now come — where 's Master John?" — — There's a breach in the wall three feet by two, And little Jack Ingoldsby soon pops through ! Hark ! — what sound 's that ? — a sob ? — a sigh ? — The choking gasp of a stifled cry ? — «'— What can it be?— Let 's see ! — let 's see ! It can'l be little Jack Ingoldsby The candle — quick !" Through stone and through brick, They poke in the light on a long split stick; But ere he who holds it can wave it about. He gasps, and he sneezes — the light goes out! THE WEDDING-DAV. 281 Yet were there those, in after days, Who said that pale light's flick'ring blaze. For a moment, gleam'd on a dark Form tbero, Seem'd as bodied of foul black air! — — In Mariner's dress, — with cutlass braced By buckle and broad black belt, to its waist, — — On a cock'd-hat, laced With gold, and placed With a degagi, devil-may-care, kind of taste. O'er a balafre brow by a scar defaced ! — That Form, they said, so foul and so black, Grinn'd as it pointed at poor little Jack. — — ^.I know not, I, how the truth may be, But the pent-up vapour, at length set free, Set them all sneezing, And coughing, and wheezing. As, working its way To the regions of day, It, at last, let a purer and healthier breeze in Of their senses bereft, To the right and the left, Those varlets so lately courageous and stout. There they !ay kicking and sprawling about. Like Billingsgate fresh fish, unconscious of ice. Or those which, the newspapers give us advice, Mr. Taylor, of Lombard-street, sells at half-price , — Nearer the door, some half-dozen, or more ! Scramble away To the rez de chaiissee, (As our Frenchified friend always calls his ground-floor,) And they call, and they bawl, and they bellow and roar For lights, vinegar, brandy, and fifty things more. At length, after no little clamour and din. The foul air let out and the fresh air let in, They drag one and all Up into the hall, 24* 282 A FAMILY LEGEND. Where a medical Quaker, the great Di\ Lettsom, Who's one of the party, " bleeds, phy sicks, and sweats 'em." All ? — all — save One — — " But He !— my Son ?— Merciful Heaven ! — where — where is John ?" * * * ^ * Within that cell, so dark and deep Lies One, as in a tranquil sleep, A sight to make the sternest weep ! — — That little heart is pulseless now, And cold that fair and open brow, And closed that eye that beam'd with joy And hope — "Oh, God! my Boy I — my Boy!" Enough ! — I may not, — dare not, — show The wretched Father's frantic woe, The Mother's tearless, speechless — No! I may not such a theme essay — Too bitter thoughts crowd in, and stay My pen — sad memory will have way ! Enough ! — at once I close the lay, Of fair Maud's fatal Wedding-day ! It has a mournful sound, That single, solemn Bell ! As to the hills and woods around, It flings its deep-toned knell ! That measured toll ! — alone — apart, It strikes upon the human heart ! — It has a mournful sound ! Moral. Come, come, Mrs. Muse, we can't part in this way, Or you '11 leave me as dull as ditch-water all day. Try and squeeze out a Moral or two from your lay 'And let us part cheerful at least if not gay ! THE WEDDING-DAY. 281? First and foremost then, Gentlefolks, learn from my song, Not to lock up your wine, or malt-liquor, too long ! Though Port should have age, Yet I don't think it sage To entomb it, as some of your connoisseurs do, Till it's losing in flavour, and body, and hue ; — I question if keeping it does it much good After ten years in bottle and three in the wood. If any young man, though a snubb'd younger brother, When told of his faults by his father and mother, Runs restive, and goes off to sea in a huff, Depend on 't, my friends, that young man is a Muff! Next — ill-gotten gains Are not worth the pains ! — They prosper with no one ! — so whether cheroots, Or Havannah cigars, — or French gloves, or French boots.- Whatever you want, pay the duty ! nor when you Buy any such articles, cheat the revenue ! And "now to conclude," — For it's high time I should, — When you do rejoice, mind, — whatsoever you do, That the hearts of the lowly rejoice with you too !— Don't grudge them their jigs. And their frolics and "rigs," And don't interfere with their soapy-tail'd pigs : Nor " because thou art virtuous," rail, and exhale An anathema, breathing of vengeance and wail, Upon every complexion less pale than sea-kale ! Nor dismiss the poor man to his pump and his pail, With "Drink there' — we'll have henceforth no more cakes and ale ! ! ' THE BLASPHEMER'S WARNING. A LAY OF ST. ROMWOLD. Mox Regina filium peperit a multis optatum et a Deo sanctificntum. Cumque Tiifans natus fuisset, statim clara voce, omnibus audientibus, claniavit " Chi-istianus sum ! Christianus sum! Christianus sum V Ad hanc voceni Presbyteri duo, VVlderinus ct Edwoldus, dicentes Deo Oraciis, et omne3 qui aderant mirantes, cnepcrunt cantai-e Tc Deum laudamus. Quo facto rop;abat Infans cathecumenum a Widerino sacerdote fieri, et ab Edwoldo teneri ad praesignaculum fidei et Romwoldum vocari. — Nov Legend. Angl. IN Vita SCTI ROMUALDI. In Kent, we are told, Thei-e was seated of old, A handsome voving gentleman, courteous and bold, He 'd an oaken strong-box, well replenish'd with gold, With broad lands, pasture, arable, woodland, and wold, Not an acre of which had been mortgaged or sold ; He'd a Plesaunce and Hall passing fair to behold, He had beeves in the byre, he had flocks in the fold. And was somewhere about five-and- twenty years old. His figure and face. For beauty and grace. To the best in the county had scorn'd to give place. Small marvel then. If, of women and men Whom he chanced to foregather with, nine out of ten Exprcss'd themselves charm'd with Sir Alured Denne. From my earliest youth, I've been taught, as a truth, A maxim which most will consider as sooth, Though a few, peradventure, may think it uncouth ; (284 J THE blasphemer's warninq. 285 There are three social duties, the whole of the swarm In this great human hive of ours, ovight to perform, And that too as soon as conveniently may be ; The first of the three — Is, the planting a Tree !' The next, the producing a Book — then, a Baby! (For my part, dear Reader, without any jesting, 1 So far at least, have accomplish'd my destiny.) From the foremost, i.e. The "planting the Tree," The Knight may, perchance, have conceived himself free, Inasmuch as that, which way soever he looks Over park, mead, or upland, by streamlets and brooks, His fine beeches and elms shelter thousands of rooks ; In twelve eighty-two, There would also accrue Much latitude as to the article, Books But, if those we 've disposed of, and need not recall, Might, as duties, appear in comparison small. One remain'd, there was no getting over at all, — The jDroviding a male Heir for Bonnington Hall ; Which, doubtless, induced the good Knight to decide, As a matter of conscience, on taking a Bride. It's a very fine thing, and delightful to see Inclination and duty unite and agree, Because it's a case That so rarely takes place ; In the instance before us then Alured Denne Might well be esteem'd the most lucky of men, Inasmuch as hard by. Indeed so very nigh. That her chimnevs, from his, you might almost descry, Dwelt a Lady at whom he'd long cast a sheep's eye, One whose character scandal itself could defy. Mb TUB LAY OF ST. ROM WOLD. While her charms and accoinplishnients rank'd very high, And who would not deny A propitious reply, But reflect back his blushes, and give sigh for sigh. (A line that's not mine, but Tom Moore's, by the by.) There was many a gay and trim bachelor near, Who felt sick at heart when the news met his ear, That fair Edith Ingoldsby, she whom they all The "Rosebud of Tappington" ceased not to call, Was going to say, "Honour, love, and obey" To Sir Alured Denne, Knight, of Bennington Hall, That all other suitors were left in the lurch, And the parties had even been "out-asked" in church, For every one says In those primitive days. And I must own I think it redounds to their praise, None dream'd of transferring a daughter or niece As a bride, by an "unstamp'd agreement," or lease, 'Fore a Register's Clerk, or a Justice of Peace, While young ladies had fain Single women remain, And unwedded maids to the last "crack of doom" stick. Ere marry, by taking a jump o'er a broomstick. So our bride and bridegroom agreed to appear At holy St. Romwold's, a Priory near, Which a long while before, I can't say in what year, Their forebears had join'd with the neighbours to rear, And endow'd, some with bucks, some with beef, some with beer, TCo comfort the friars, and make them good cheer. Adorning the building, With carving and gilding, And stone altars, fix'd to the chantries and fiU'i in; THE blasphemer's WARNING. 287 (Papistic in substance and form, on this and count With Judge Herbert Jenner Fust justly at discoxint. See Cambridge Societas Gamdeniensis V. Faulkner, iert. prim. Januarii 3Iensis, With "Judgment reversed, costs of suit, and expenses;") All raised to St. Romwold, with some reason, styled By Duke Humphrey's confessor,* a Wonderful Child," For ne'er yet was Saint, except him, upon earth Who made "his profession of faith" at his birth, And when scarce a foot high, or six inches in girth. Converted his " Ma," and contrived to amend a Sad hole in the creed of his grandsire. King Penda. Of course to the shrine Of so young a divine Flow'd much holy water, and some little wine, And when any young folks did to marriage incline. The good friars were much in request, and not one Was more " sought unto " than the Sub-prior, Mess John ; To him, there and then. Sir Alured Denne Wrote a three-corner'd note with a small crow-quill pen, To say what he wanted, and fix " the time when," And, as it 's well known that your people of quality Pique themselves justly on strict punctuality. Just as the clock struck the hour he 'd named in it, The whole bridal party rode up to the minute. Now whether it was that some rapturous dream. Comprehending "fat pullets and clouted cream," Had borne the good man, in his vision of bliss. Far off to some happier region than this — * Honest John Capgrave, the veracious biographer of "English Saints,'' author, or rather compiler of the " Nova Lugenda Angliae," was chaplain to Iiumphrey, '• the Good Duke " of Gloucester. A beautiful edition of hi? work wstf printed by Wynkyn de Worde. 288 A LAY OF ST. ROM WOLD. Or, whether his beads, 'gainst the fingers rebelling, Took longer than usual that morning in telling ; Or whether, his conscience with knotted cord purging, Mess John was indulging himself with a scourging, In penance for killing some score of the fleas. Which, infesting his hair-shirt, deprived him of case,. Or whether a barrel of Faversham oysters, Brought in, on the evening before, to the cloisters, Produced indigestion, Continues a question — The particular cause is not worth a debate ; For my purpose it's clearly sufficient to state That whatever the reason, his rev'rence was late, And Sir Alured Denne, Not the meekest of men, Began banning away at a deuce of a rat«. Now here, though I do it with infinite pain. Gentle reader, I find I must pause to explain That there was — what, I own, I grieve to make known — On the worthy Knight's character one single stain, But for which, all his friends had borne witness I'm sure, He had been sans reproche, as he still was sans peur. The fact is, that many distinguish'd commanders *• Swore terribly {teste T. Shandy) in Flanders." Now into these parts our Knight chancing to go, countries Named from this sad, vulgar custom, " The Low Countries,' Though on common occasions as courteous as daring, Had pick'd up this shocking bad habit of swearing. And if anything vex'd him, or matters went wrong. Was given to what low folks call "coming it strong." Good, bad, or indiff"erent then, young or old, He'd consign them, when once in a humour to scold. To a place where they certainly would not take cold. — Now if there are those, and I 've some in my eye, THE blasphemer's WARNING. 289 Who'd esteem this a crime of no very deep dye, Let them read on — they '11 find their mistake by and by. Near or far Few people there are IJut have heard, read, or sung about Young Lochinvar, How in Netherby Chapel, "• at morning tide," The Priest and the Bridegroom stood waiting the Bride j How they waited, "but ne'er A Bride was there." Still 1 don't find, on reading the ballad with care, The bereaved Mr. Graham proceeded to swear, And yet to experience so serious a blight in One's dearest affections, is somewhat exciting. 'Tis manifest then That Sir Alured Denne Had far less excuse for such bad language, when It was only the Priest not the Bride who was missing- He had fiU'd up the interval better with kissing. And 'twas really surprising. And not very wise in A Knight to go on so anathematising. When the head and the front of the Clergyman's crime W^as but being a little behind as to time : Be that as it may, He swore so that day At the reverend gentleman's ill-judged delay. That not a bystander who heard what he said, But listen'd to all his expressions with dread, And felt all his hair stand on end on his head ; Nay many folks there Did not stick to declare The ])henomenon was not confined to the hair. For the little stone Saint who sat perch'd o'er the door, St. Romwold himself, as I told you before, 26 290 A LAY OF ST. ROMWOLD. What will scarce be believed, Was plainly perceived To ehnig up his shoulders, as very much grieved, And look down with a frown So remarkably brown, That all saw he 'd now quite a diflFerent face on From that he received at the hands of the mason ; Nay, many averr'd he half rose in his niche, When Sir Alured, always in metaphor rich, Call'd his priest an " old son of " some animal — which, Is not worth the inquiry — a hint's quite enough on The subject — for more I refer you to BuflFon. It's supposed that the Knight Himself saw the sight, And it 's likely he did, as he easily might, For 'tis certain he paused in his wordy attack And, in nautical language, seem'd " taken aback." In so much that when now The "prime cause of the row," Father John, in the chapel at last made his bow, The Bridegroom elect was so mild and subdued, None could ever suppose he'd been noisy and rude. Or made use of the language to which I allude ; Fair Edith herself, while the knot was a tying. Her bridemaids around her, some sobbing, some sighing. Some smiling, some blushing, half-laughing, hrJf-crying, Scarce made her responses in tones more complying Than he who 'd been raging and storming so recently, All softness now, and behaving quite decently. Many folks thought too the cold stony frown Of the Saint up aloft from his niche looking down, Brought the sexton and clerk each an extra half-crown, When, the rite being over, the fees were all paid. And the party remounting, the whole cavalcade Prepared to ride home with no little parade A LAY OF ST. ROMWOLD. 291 In a climate so very unsettled as ours It's as well to be cautious^ and guard against showers, For though, about One You 've a fine brilliant sun. When your walk or your ride is but barely begun. Yet long ere the hour-hand approaches the Two, There is not in the whole sky one atom of blue, But it "rains cats and dogs," and you're fairly wet through Ere you know where to turn, what to say, or to do ; For which reason I 've bought, to project myself well, a Good stout Taglioni and gingham umbrella. But in Edward the First's days I very much fear Had a gay cavalier Thought fit to appear In any such "toggery" — then 'twas term'd " gear" — He 'd have met with a highly significant sneer, Or a broad grin extending from ear unto ear On the features of every soul he came near ; There was no taking refuge too then, as with us. On a slip-sloppy day, in a cab or a ^bus; As they rode through the woods In their wimples and hoods, Their only resource against sleet, hail, or rain. Was, as Spenser describes it, to "pryck o'er the plaine,' That is to clap spurs on, and ride helter-skelter In search of some building or other for shelter. Now it seems that the sky W'hich had been of a dye As bright and as blue as your lady-love's eye, The season in fact being genial and dry, Began to assume An appearance of gloom From the moment the Knight began fidget and fume, Which deepen'd and deepen'd till all the horizon Grew blacker than aught they had ever set eyes on, 292 THE jjlasphemer's warning. And soon, from the far west the elements rumbling Increased, and kept pace with Sir Alured's grumbling. Bright flashes between, Blue, red, and green. All livid and lurid began to be seen ; At length down it came — a whole deluge of rain, \ perfect Niagara, drenching the plain, And up came the reek, And down came the shriek Of the winds like a steam-whistle starting a train ; And the tempest began so to roar and to pour, That the Dennes and the Ingoldsbys, starting at score, As they did from the porch of St. Romwold's church door, Had scarce gain'd a mile, or a mere trifle more, Ere the whole of the crew, Were completely wet through. They dash'd o'er the downs, and they dash'd through the vales They dash'd up the hills, and they dash'd down the dales. As if elderly Nick was himself at their tails ; The Bridegroom in vain Attempts to restrain , The Bride's frighten'd palfrey by seizing the rein, When a flash and a crash Which produced such a splash That a Yankey had call'd it "an Almighty Smash," Came down so complete At his own courser's feet That the rider, though famous for keeping his seat, FroUi its kickings and plungings, now under now upper, Slipp'd out of his demi-pique over the crupper. And fell from the back of his terrified cob On what bards less refined than myself term his " Nob.** ^To obtain a genteel rhyme's sometimes a tough job). — Just so — for the nonce to enliven my song With a classical simile cannot be wrong — A LAY OF ST. ROMWOLD. 293 Just SO — in such roads and in similar weather, Tydides and Nestor were riJing together, When, so says old Homer, the King of the Sky, The great "Cloud-compellor," his lightnings let fly, And their horses both made such a desperate shy At this freak of old Zeus, That at once they broke loose. Reins, traces, bits, breechings were all of no use ; If the Pylian Sage, without any delay. Had not whipp'd them sharp round and away from the fray, They 'd have certainly upset his cabriolet, And there 'd been the — a name I won't mention — to pay. Well, the Knight in a moment recover'd his seat — > Mr. Widdicombe's mode of pei-forming that feat At Astley's could not be more neat or complete, — It 's recorded, indeed by an eminent pen Of our own days, that this our great Widdicombe then In the heyday of life, had afforded some ten Or twelve lessons in riding to Alured Denne, — It is certain the Knight Was so agile and light That an instant sufficed him to set matters right. Yet the Bride was by this time almost out of sight ; For her palfrey, a rare bit of blood, who could trace Her descent from the " pure old Caucasian race," Sleek, slim, and bony, as Mr. Sidonia's Fine "Arab Steed" Of the very same breed, Whioh that elegant gentleman rode so genteelly — See "Coningsby" written by "B. Disraeli" — That palfrey, I say. From this trifling delay Had made what at sea 's call'd " a great deal of waj 26* 294 THE blasphemer's warning. *• More fleet than the roc-buck" and free as the "vvind, She had left the good company rather behind; They whipp'd and they spurr'd and they after her press'd ; Still Sir Alured's steed was "by long chalks" the best Of the party, and very soon distanced the rest ; But long ere e'en he had the fugitive near'd, She dash'd into the wood and at once disappear'd ! It's a "fashions" affair when you're out on a ride, — Ev'n supposing you 're not in pursuit of a bride, If you are, it's more fashious, which can't be denied, — And you come to a place where three cross-roads divide, Without any way-post, stuck up by the side Of the road to direct you and act as a guide. With a road leading here, and a road leading there. And a road leading no one exactly knows where. When Sir Alured came In pursuit of the dame To a fork of this kind, — a three-prong'd one — small blamo To his scholarship if in selecting his way His respect for the Classics now lead him astray ; But the rule, in a work I won't stop to describe, is In medio semper tulissimus ibis, So the Knight being forced of the three paths to enter one, Dash'd, with these words on his lips, down the centre one. Up and down hill. Up and down hill, Through brake and o'er briar he gallops on still. Aye, banning, blaspheming, and cursing his fill At his courser because he had given him a "spill;" Yet he did not gain ground On the palfrey, the sound, « On the contrary, made by the hoofs of the beast Grew fainter and fainter, — and fainter, — and — ceased '. Sir Alured burst through the dingle at last. To a sort of a clearing, and there — he stuck fast- A LAY OF ST. ROMWOLD. 295 For his steed, though a freer one ne'er had a shoe on, Stood fix'd as the Governor's nag in " Don Juan," Or much like the statue that stands, cast in copper, a Few yards south-east of the door of the Opera, Save that Alured's horse had not got such a big-tail, While Alured wanted the cock'd hat and pig-tail. Before him is seen A diminutive Green Scoop'd out from the covert — a thick leafy screen Of wild foliage, trunks with broad branches between Encircle it wholly, all radiant and sheen, For the weather at once appeai-'d clear aua serene, And the sky up above was a bright mazarine. Just as though no such thing as a tempest had been, In short it was one of those sweet little places In Egypt and Araby known as " oases." There, under the shade That was made by the glade. The astonish'd Sir Alured sat and survey'd A little low building of Bethersden stone, With ivy and parasite creepers o'ergrown, A Sacellum, or cell. In which Chronicles tell Saints and anchorites erst were accustom'd to dwell ^ A little round arch, on which, deeply indented. The zig-zaggy pattern by Saxons invented Was cleverly chisell'd, and well represented, Surmounted a door Some five feet by four. It might have been less or it might have i«.v- more. In the primitive ages they made these things lOwcr Than we do in buildings that had but one floor, And these Chronicles say When an anchorite gray 296 THE blasphemer's warning. Wish'cl to shut himself up and keep out of the way, He was commonly wont in such low cells to stay, And pray night and day on the rcz de chaussee. There, under the arch I 've endeavour'd to paint, With no little surprise, And scarce trusting his eyes, The Knight now saw standing that little Boy Saint I The one whom before He'd seen over the door Of the Priory shaking his head as he swore — With mitre, and crozier, and rochet, and stole on. The very self-same — or at least his Eidolon ! With a voice all unlike to the infantine squeak, You'd expect, that small Saint now address'd him to speak. In a bold, manly tone, he Began, while his stony Cold lips breathed an odor quite Eau-de-Cologne-y ; In fact, from his christening, according to rumour, he Beat Mr. Brummell to sticks, in perfumery. * " Sir Alured Denne !" Said the Saint, "be atten- — tive ! Your ancestors, all most respectable men, Have for some generations being vot'ries of mine. They have bought me mould candles, and bow'd at my shnne, They have made my monks presents of ven'son and wine. With a right of free pasturage, too, for their swine. And, though you in this Have been rather remiss, Still I owe you a turn for the sake of ' Lang Syne,' And I now come to tell you, your cursing and swearing Have reach'd to a pitch that is really past bearing. * In eodem autem prato in quo baptizatus Sanctus Romualdus nunquam gratissimus odor deficit; neque ibi herbfe pallescunt. sed semper in viriditate iwrmanentes magna nectaris suavitate redolent. — Nov. Legend. AngU A LAT OF ST. ROMWOLD. 297 'Twere a positive scandal In even a Vandal, It ne'er should be done, save with bell, book and candle ; And though I 've now learn'd, as I 've always suspected. Your own education 's been somewhat neglected ; Still, you 're not such an uninform'd pagan, I hope, As not to know cursing belongs to the Pope ! And his Holiness feels, very properly, jealous Of all such encroachments by paltry lay fellows. Now, take my advice, Saints never speak twice, So take it at once, as I once for all give it ; Go home ! you '11 find there all as right as a trivet But mind, and remembex", if once you give way To that shocking bad habit, I 'm sorry to say, I have heard you so sadly indulge in to-day, As sure as you're born, on the very first trip That you make — the first oath that proceeds from your lip, I'll soon make you rue it! — I 've said it — I '11 do it ! 'Forewarn'd is forearm'd,' you shan't say but you knew it; Whate'er you hold dearest or nearest your heart, I'll take it away, if I come in a cart! I will, on my honour! you know it's absurd, To suppo that a Saint ever forfeits his word For a pitiful Knight, or to please any such man — I 'vo said it! I'll do't— if I don't, I'm a Dutchman!" He ceased — he was gone as he closed his harangue, And some one inside shut the door with a bang! Sparkling with dew, Each green herb anew Its profusion of sweets round Sir Alured threw, As pensive and thoughtful he sloAvly withdrew, (For the hoofs of his horse had got rid of their glue,) And the cud of reflection continued to chew 298 THE blasphemer's warning. Till the gables of Bonnington Hall rose in view Little reck'd he what he smelt, what he saw, Brilliance of scenery, Fragrance of greenery, Fail'd in impressing his mental machinery ; Many an hour had elapsed, well I ween, ere he Fairly was able distinction to draw *Twixt the odour of garlic and bouquet du Rot. Merrily, merrily sounds the horn. And cheerily ring the bells ; For the race is run, The goal is won, The little lost mutton is happily found, The Lady of Bonnington 's safe and sound In the Hall where her new Lord dwells I Hard had they ridden, that company gay, After fair Edith, away and away : This had slipp'd back o'er his courser's rump, That had gone over his ears with a plump. But the lady herself had stuck on like a trump. Till her panting steed Relax'd his speed, And feeling, no doubt, as a gentleman feels When he's once shown a bailiff a fair pair of heeld, Stopp'd of herself, as it 's very well known Horses will do, when they 're thoroughly blown, And thus the whole group had foregathcr'd again. Just as the sunshine succeeded the rain. Oh, now the joy, and the frolicking, rollicking Doings indulged in by one and by all! Gaiety seized on the most melancholic in All the broad lands around Bonnington Hall- All sorts of revelry, All sorts of devilry, AW. play at " High Jinks " and keep up the balL THE LAY OP ST. ROMWOLD. 299 Day:?', weeks, and montlis, it is really astonishing, When one's so happy, how Time flies away; Meanwhile the Bridegroom requires no admonishing As to what pass'd on his own wedding-day ; Never since then, Had Sir Alured Denne Let a word fall from his lip or his pen That began with a D, or left off with an N ! Once, and once only, when put in a rage. By a careless young rascal he 'd hired as a Page, All buttons and brass. Who in handling a glass Of spiced hippocras, throws It all over his clothes, And spoils his best pourpoint, and smartest trunk hose, While stretching his hand out to take it and quaff it (he 'd given a rose noble a yard for the taffety). Then, and then only, came into his head, A very sad word that began with a Z, But he check'd his complaint. He remember'd the Saint, In the nick — Lady Denne was beginning to faint — That sight on his mouth acted quite as a bung, Like Mahomet's coffin, the shocking word hung Half-way 'twixt the root and the tip of his tongue. Many a year Of mirth and good cheer Flew over their heads, to each other more dear Every day, they were quoted by peasant and peer As the rarest examples of love ever known, Since the days of Le Chivaler D'Arbie and Joanne^ Who in Bonnington chancel lie sculptured in stone. Well — it happen'd at last. After certain years past. SOO THE blasphemer's WARNING. That an embassy came to our court from afar — From the Gi*and-duke of Muscovy — now call'd tlu.- V.'lar^ And Jhe Spindleshank'd Monarch, determined to do All the grace that he could to a Nobleman, who Had sail'd all that way from a country which few In our England had heard of, and nobody kncAV, With a hat like a muff, and a beard like a Jew, Our arsenals, buildings, and dock-yards to view, And to say how desirous. His Prince Wladimirus, Had long been with mutual regard to inspire us, And how he regretted he was not much nigher us, With other fine things. Such as Kings say to Kings When each tries to humbug his dear Royal Brother, in Hopes by such "gammon " to take one another in — King Longshanks, I say, Being now on his way Bound for France, where the rebels had kept him at bay, Was living in clover At this time at Dover I' the castle there, waiting a tide to go ovei. He had summon'd, I can't tell you how many men, Knights, nobles, and squires to the wars of Guienne, And among these of course was Sir Alurcd Denne, Who, acting like most Of the knights in the host, Whose residence was not too far from the coast, Had brought his wife with him, delaying their parting, Fond souls, till the very last moment of starting. Of course, with such lots of lords, ladies, and knights, In their Saracenetfes,* and their bright chain-mail tights, * This silk, of great repute among our ancestors, had been broughV bomo^ a few years before, by Edward, from the Holy Land. A LAY OF ST. ROMW OLD. All accustom'd to galas, grand doings, and sights, A matter like this Avas at once put to rights ; 'Twould have been a strange thing, If so polish'd a king. With his board of Green Cloth, and Lorc|^teward's department, Couldn't teach an Ambassador what the word "smart" meant, A banquet was order'd at once for a score, Or more, of the corps that had just come on shore. And the King, though he thought it "a bit of a bore," Ask'd all the dliie Of his levee to meet The illustrious Strangers and share in the treat ; For the Boyar himself, the Queen graciously made him her Beau for the day, from respect to Duke Wladimir, (Queer as this name may appear in the spelling. You won't find it trouble you, Sound but the W, Like the First L in Llan, Lloyd, and Llewellyn !) Fancy the fuss and the fidgety looks Of Robert de Burghersh, the constables, cooks ; For of course the cuisine Of the King and the Queen "Was behind them at London, or Windsor, or Sheene, Or wherever the Court ere it started had been, And it 's really no jest, When a troublesome guest Looks in at a time when you 're busy and prest. Just going to fight, or to ride, or to rest, And expects a good lunch when you 've none ready drest. The servants, no doubt. Were much put to the rout. By tliis very extempore sort of set-out, But they wisely fell back upon Poor Richard's plan, *• When you can't what you would, you must do what you canP 26 302 THE blasphemer's warning. So they ransack'd the country, folds, pig-styes, and pens, For the sheep and the porkers, the cocks and the hens ; 'Twas said a Tom-cat of Sir Alured Denne's, • A fine tabby-grey Disappear' d^n that day, And whatever became of him no one could say ; They brought all the food That ever they cou'd, Fish, flesh, and fowl, with sea-coal and dry wood, To his Majesty's Dapifer, Eudo (or Ude), They lighted the town up, sat ringing the bells, And borrow'd the waiters from all the hotels. A bright thought, moreover, came into the head Of Dapifer Eudo, who 'd some little dread, As he said, for the thorough success of his spread. So he said to himself, " What a thing it would be Could I have here with me Some one, two, or three Of their outlandish scullions from over the sea ! It's a hundred to one if the Suite or their Chief Understand our plum-puddings, and barons of beef ; But with five minutes' chat with their cooks or their valets We'd soon dish up something to tickle their palates!" With this happy conceit for improving the mess. Pooh-poohing expense, he dispatch'd an express In a waggon and four on the instant to Deal, Who dash'd down the hill without locking the wheel, And, by means which I guess but decline to reveal. Seduced from the Downs, where at anchor their vessel rodr Lumpoff Icywitz, serf to a former Count Nesselrode, A cook of some fame. Who invented the same Cold pudding that still bears the family name. This accomplish'd, the Chefs peace of mind was restored, And in due time a banquet was placed on the board A LAY OF ST. ROMWOLD. 302 «*In the very best style," -which implies in a word, "All the dainties the season" (and king) "could aiFord." There were snipes, *here were rails, There were woodcocks and quails. There were peacocks served up in their pride (that is tails), Fricandeau, fricassees, Ducks and green peas, Cotelettes A V Indienne, and chops d, la Soubisey (Which Ipst you may call "onion sauce" if you please), There were barbecued pigs Stuff 'd with raisins and figs, Omelettes and haricots, stews and ragouts, And pork griskins, which Jews still refuse and abuse. Then the wines, — round the circle how swiftly they went I Canary, Sack, Malaga, Malvoisie, Tent; Old Hock from the Rhine, wine remarkably fine, Of the Charlemagne vintage of seven ninety-nine, — Five cent'ries in bottle had made it divine ! The rich juice of Rousillon, Gascoygne, Bourdeaux, Marasquin, Cura9oa, Kirschen Wasser, Noyeau, And gin which the company voted "No Go ;'* The guests all hob-nobbing, And bowing and bobbing ; Some prefer white wine, while others more value red, Few, a choice few, Of more orthodox goiit, Stick to " old crusted port," among whom was Sir Alured ; Never indeed at a banquet before Had that gallant commander enjoy'd himself more. Then came "sweets" — served in silver were tartlets and pipp- in glass, Jellies composed of punch, calves' feet, and isinglass, Creams, and whipt-syllabubs, some hot, some cool. Blancmange, and quince-custards, and gooseberry fool. 304 THE blasphemer's warning. /bid now from the good taste wliich reigns it 's confest In a gentleman's, that is an EngUshman's, breast, And makes him polite to a stranger and guest, They soon play'd the deuce With a large Charlotte Russe; More than one of the party dispatch'd his plate t-wice With ''I'm really ashamed, but — another small slice! Your dishes from Russia are really so nice !" Then the prime dish of all! <' There was nothing so good in The whole of the Feed" One and all were agreed, •'As the great LumpoflF Icywitz' Nesselrode pudding!" Sir Alured Denne, who'd all day, to say sooth, Like lago, been "plagued with a sad raging tooth," Which had nevertheless interfered very little With his — what for my rhyme I'm obliged to spell — vittle. Requested a friend, Who sat near him to send Him a spoonful of what he heard all so commend, And begg'd to take wine with him afterwards, grateful Because for a spoonful he 'd sent him a plateful. Having emptied his glass — he ne'er balk'd it or spill'd it~ The gallant Knight open'd his mouth — and then fiU'd it! You must really excuse me — there 's nothing could bribe Me at all to go on and attempt to describe The fearsome look then Of Sir Alured Denne ! —Astonishment, horror, distraction of mind. Rage, misery, fear, and iced pudding — combined ! Lip, forehead, and cheek — how these mingle and meet All colours, all hues, now advance, now retreat, Now pale as a turnip, now crimson as beet! How he grasps his arm-chair in attempting to rise. See his veins how tliey swell! mark the roll of his eyes! A LAY OF ST. ROMWOLD. 305 No"W east and now west, now north and now south, Till at once lie contrives to eject from his mouth That vile " spoonful" — what He has got he knows not, He isn't quite sure if it's cold or it's hot, At last he exclaims, as he starts from his seat, "A SNOWBALL by !" what I decline to repeat, — 'Twas the name of a bad place, for mention unmeet. Then oh what a volley I — a great many heard What flow'd from his lips, and 'twere really absurd To suppose that each man was not shock'd by each word , A great many heard too, with mix'd fear and wonder Tiie terrible crash of the terrible thunder, That broke as if bursting the building asunder; But very few heard, although every one might, The short, half-stifled shriek from the chair on the right, Where the lady of Bonnington sat by her Knight; And very few saw — some — the number was small, In the large ogive window that lighted the hall, A small stony Saint in a small stony pall. With a small stony mitre, and small stony crosier. And small stony toes that owed nought to the hosier. Beckon stonily downwards to some one below. As Merryman says, " for to come for to go !" While everyone smelt a delicious perfume That seem'd to pervade every part of the room ! Fair Edith Denne, The honne et belle then, Never again was beheld among men ! But there was the fauteuil on which she was placed. And there was the girdle that graced her small waist, And there was her stomacher brilliant with gems. And the mantle she wore, edged with lace at the hems, 26* 306 THE blasphemer's warning. Her rich brocade gown sat upright in its place, And her whimple was there — but where — where was HElt FACE? 'Twas gone with her body — and nobody knows, Nor could any one present so much as suppose How that Lady contrived to slip out of her clothes ! But 'twas done — she was quite gone — the how and the where, No mortal was ever yet found to declare ; Though inquiries were made, and some writers record That Sir Alured oflfcr'd a handsome reward. ■X- * * King Edward went o'er to his wars in Guienne, Taking with him his barons, his knights, and his men. You may look through the whole Of that King's muster-roll, And you won't find the name of Sir Alured Denne; But Chronicles tell that there formerly stood A little old chapel in Bilsington wood The remains to this day, Archaeologists say, May be seen, and I '-s, To avoid paying sesses and taxes and rates, And settled on one of his other estates, Where he built a new mansion, and call'd it iJ^ru Uill, And there his descendants reside, I think, still. Poor Bonnington, empty, or left, at the most, To the joint occupation of rooks and a Ghost, Soon went to decay. And moulder'd away. But whether it dropp'd down at last I can't say, Or whether the jackdaws produced, by degrees, Spontaneous combustion like that one at Pisa Some cent'ries ago, I'm sure I don't know. But you can't find a vestige now ever so tiny, ^'' Perierunt" as some one says, *■' eiiam ruincg.*' Moral. The first maxim a couple of lines may be said in, If you are in a passion, don't swear at a wedding ! Whenever you chance to be ask'd out to dine, . Be exceedingly cautious — don't take too much winef A LAY OF ST. ROMWOLD. 309 In your eating remember one principal point, Whatever you do, iiave your eye on the joint! Keep clear of side dishes, don't meddle with those Which the servants in livery, or those in plain clothes, Poke over your shoulders and under your nose, Or, if you must live on the fat of the land, And feed on fine dishes you don't understand, Buy a good book of cookery ! I 've a compact one, First-rate of the kind, just brought out by Miss Acton, This will teach you their names, the ingredients they're made of. And which to indulge in, and which be afraid of. Or else, ten to one, between ice and cayenne, You '11 commit yourself some day, like Alured Denne. "To persons about to be married" I'd say. Don't exhibit ill-humour, at least on The Day ! And should there perchance be a trifling delay On the part of officials, extend them your pardon, And don't snub the parson, the clerk, or churchwarden . To married men this — for the rest of your lives. Think how your misconduct may act on your wives Don't swear then before them, lest haply they faint, Or what sometimes occurs — run away with a saint ! 310 THE BROTHERS OF BIRCHINGTON. A SERIOUS error, similar to that which forms the subject of the following legend, is said to have occurred in the case of one, or rather two gentlemen named Curina, who dwelt near Hippo in the days of St. Augus- tiae. The matter was set right, and a friendly hint at bhe same time conveyed to the ill-used individual, that it would be advisable for him to apply to the above men- tioned Father, and be baptised with as little delay as possible. The story is quoted in "The Doctor,'' together with another of the same kind, which is given on no less authority thau that of Gregory the Great THE BROTHERS OF BIRCHINGTON. A LAY OF ST. THOMAS A'bECKET. You are all aware that On our throne there once sat A very great king who'd an Angevin hat, With a great sprig of hroom, which he wore as a badge in it, Named from this circumstance, Henry Plantagenet. Pray don't suppose That I'm going to prose O'er Queen Eleanor's wrongs, or Miss Rosamond's woes. With the dagger and bowl, and all that sort of thing. Not much to the credit of Miss, Queen, or King. The tale may be true. But between me and you, With the King's escapade I '11 have nothing to do ; But shall merely select, as a theme for iry rhymes, A fact which occurr'd to some folks in his times. A LAY OF ST. THOMAS a'bECKET. 31 \ If for health, or a "lark," You should ever embark In that best of improvements on boats since the Ark, The steam-vessel call'd the "Red Rover," the barge Of an excellent officer, named Captain Large, You may see, some half way 'Twixt the pier at Heme Bay And Margate the place where you 're going to stay, A village called Birchington, famed for its " Rolls," A.S the fishing-bank, just in its front, is for Soles. Well, — there stood a fane In this Harry Broom's reign, On the Cvige of the cliff, overhanging the main, Renown d for its sanctity all throiigh the nation And orthodox friars of the Austin persuasion. Among them there was one. Whom if once I begun To discribe as I ought, I should never have done, Father Richard of Birchington, so was the Friar, Yclept, whom the rest had elected their Prior. He was tall and upright. About six feet in height. His cemplexion was what you'd denominate light, And the tonsure had left, ' mid his ringlets of brown. , A little bald patch on the top of his crown. His bright spaj-kling eye Was of hazle, and nigh Rose a finely ai'ch'd eyebrow of similar dye. He'd a small, well-form'd mouth with the Cupidon lip, And an aquiline nose, somewhat red at the tip. 312 THE BROTUERS OF BIRCHINGTON. In-doors and out He was very devout, With his Aves and Paters — and oh, such a knout! ! For his self-flagellations ! the Monks used to say He would wear out two penn'orth of whip-cord a day I Then how his piety Shows in his diet, he Dines upon pulse, or, by way of variety. Sand-eels or dabs ; or his appetite mocks With those small periwinkles that crawl on the rooks. In brief, I don't stick To declare Father Dick — So they call'd him, "for short," — was a "Regular Brick," A metaphor taken — I have not the page aright — Out of an ethical work by the Stagyrite. Now Nature, 'tis said, Is a comical jade, And among the fantastical tricks she has play'd. Was the making our good Father Richard a Brother As like him in form as one pea 's like another ; He was tall and upright. About six feet in height, His complexion was what you'd denominate light. And, though he had not shorn his ringlets of brown, He 'd a little bald patch on the top of his crown. He'd a bright sparkling eye Of the hazel, hard by Rose a finely-arch'd sourcil of similar dye ; He 'd a small, well-shaped mouth, with a Cupidon lip, And a good Roman nose, rather red at the tip. A LAY OF ST. THOMAS a'bECKET. 313 But here, it's pretended, The parallel ended ; fn fact, there's no doubt his life might have been mended, And people who spoke of the Prior with delight. Shook theii heads if you mention'd his brother, the Knight li you'd credit report. There was nothing but sport. And High Jinks going on night and day at << the court," Where Sir Robert, instead of devotion and charity. Spent all his time in unseemly hilarity. He drinks and he eats Of choice liquors and meats, And he goes out on We'n'sdays and Fridays to treats. Gets tipsy whenever he dines or he sups. And is wont to come quarrelsome home in his cups. No Paters, no Aves ; An absolute slave he's To tarts, pickled salmon, and sauces, and gravies ; While as to his beads — what a shame in a Knight! — He really don't know the wrong end from the right ! So, though 'twas own'd then. By nine people in ten. That '* Robert and Richard were two pretty men," yet there the praise ceased, or, at least the good Priest >Vas consider'd the "Beauty," Sir Robert the "Beast." Indeed, I'm afraid More might have been laid To the charge of the Knight than was openly said, For then we'd no "Phiz's," no " H.B.'s," nor " Leeches/' To call Roberts "Bobs," and illustrate their speeches. 'Twas whisper'd he 'd rob, Nay murder ! a job Which would stamp him no "brick," but a "regular snob," 27 .•>l4 THE BROTHERS OF BIRCHINGTON. (An obsolete term, which, at this time of day, We should probably render by mauvais sujet). Now if here such affairs Get wind unawares, They are bruited about, doubtless, much more "down stairs, Where Old Nick has a register-office, they say, With commissioners quite of such matters au fait. Of course, when he heard What his people averr'd Of Sir Robert's proceedings in deed and in word, He ask'd for the ledger, and hasten'd to look At the leaves on the creditor side of this book. 'Twas with more than surprise That he now ran his eyes O'er the numberless items, oaths, curses, and lies, Et ccetera, set down in Sir Robert's account. He Avas quite "flabbergasted" to see the amount. " Dear me ! this is wrong ! It's a great deal too strong, I'd no notion this bill had been standing so long — Send Levybub here !" and he fill'd up a writ Of '■'■Ca.sa" duly prefaced with "Limbo to wit." "Here, Levybub, quick!" To his bailiff, said Nick, "I'm 'ryled,' and 'my dander's up,' 'Go a-head slick' Tip to Kent — not Kentuck — and at once fetch away A snob there — I guess that's a Mauvais Siijet. "One De Birchington, knight — 'Tis not clear quite What his t'other name is — they've not enter'd it right, Ralph, Robert, or Richard? they've not gone so far, Our critturs have put it down merely as 'R.' A LAY OF ST. THOMAS a'bECKET. 315 " But he 's tall and upright, About six feet in height, His complexion, I reckon, you'd calculate light, And he's farther 'set down' having ringlets of brown, With a little bald patch on the top of his crown. " Then his eye and his lip, Hook-nose, red at tip, A.re marks your attention can't easily slip ; Take Slomanoch Avith you, he 's got a good knack Of soon grabbing his man, and be back in a crack !" That same afternoon Father Dick, who, as soon Would "knock in" or "cut chapel" as jump o'er the moon. Was missing at vespers — at compline — all night! And his monks were, of course, in a deuce of a fright. Morning dawn'd — 'twas broad day. Still no Prior ! the tray With his muffins and eggs went untasted away ; — He came not to luncheon — all said, "it was rum of him!** — None could conceive what on earth had become of him. They examined his cell, They peep'd down the well ; They went up the tow'r and look'd into the bell. They dragg'd the great fish-pond, the little one tried. But found nothing at all, save some carp — which they fried " Dear me ! Dear me 1 Why where can he be? He 's fallen over the cliff ? — tumbled into the sea ? " " Stay — he talk'd," exclaim'd one, " if I recollect right. Of making a call on his brother the Knight?" 516 THE BROTHERS OF BIRCHINGTON. He turns as lie speaks, The "Court Lodge" he seeks Which was known then, as now, by the queer name of Quekes, But scarce half a mile on his way had he sped, When he spied the good Prior in the paddock — stone dead I Alas ! 'twas too true ! And I need not tell you In the convent his news made a pretty to do ; Through all its wide precincts so roomy and spacious, Nothing was heard but "Bless me!'^ and "Good Gracious! !" They sent for the May'r And the Doctor, a pair Of grave men, who began to discuss the affair. When in bounced the Coroner, foaming with fury, "Because," as he said, "'twas pooh! pooh! ing his jury." Then commenced a dispute And so hot they went to 't, That things seem'd to threaten a serious emeute, When, just in the midst of the uproar and racket, Who should walk in but St. Thomas a Becket. Quoth his saintship, "How now Here 's a fine coil, I trow ! I should like to know, gentlemen, what 's all this row ? Mr. WicklifFe — or Wackliffe — whatever your name is — And you, Mr. May'r, don't you know, sirs, what shame is ' "Pray Avhat's all this clatter About ? — what 's the matter ? " Here a monk, whose teeth funk and concern made to chatter, Sobs out, as he points to the corpse on the floor, "'Tis all dickey with poor Father Dick — he's no more:" A LAF OF ST. THOMAS a'bECKET. .il7 »< How ! — what ? " says the saint, "Yes he is — no he ain't* He can't be deceased — pooh! it's merely a feint, Or some foolish mistake which may serve for our laughter, *He should have died,' like the old Scotch Queen, 'hereafter.' " His time is not out; Some blunder, no doubt, It shall go hard but what I'll know what it's about — I shan't be surprised if that scurvy old Nick 's Had a hand in't; it savours of one of his tricks." When a crafty old hound Claps his nose to the ground, Then throws it up boldly, and bays out, "I've found ! " And the pack catch the note, I'd as soon think to check it, As dream of bamboozling St. Thomas a Becket. Once on the scent To business he went, "You Scoundrel, come here, sir" ('twas Nick that he meant) "Bring your books here this instant — bestir yourself — do, I've no time to waste on such fellows as you." Every corner and nook In all Erebus shook. As he struck on the pavement his pastoral crook. All its tenements trembled from basement to roofs, And their nigger inhabitants shook in their hoofs. Hanging his ears. Yet dissembling his fears. Ledger in hand, straight " Auld Hornie" appears. With that sort of half-sneaking, half-impudent look, Bankrupts sport when cross-question'd by Cresswell or Cooke, * Cantise for " is not;" St. Thomas, it seems, hnd lived long enough In tho country to pick up a few of its provincialisms. 318 THE BROTHERS OF BIRCIIINGTON. ' So Sii'-r-r! you are here," Said the Saint with a sneer, " My summons, I trust, did not much interfere With your morning engagements — I mei'ely desire, At your leisure to know what you've done with my Prior? "Now, none of your lies, jNIr. Nick! I'd advise You to tell me the truth without any disguise, Or-r-r ! ! " The Saint, while his rosy gills seem'd to grow rosier, Here gave another great thump with his crosier. Like a small boy at Eton, Who 's not quite a Crichton, And don't know his task but expects to be beaten, Nick stammer'd, scarce knowing what answer to make, *' Sir, I'm sadly afraid here has been a mistake. " These things will occur, We are all apt to err. The most cautious sometimes, as you know, holy sir ; For my own part — I'm sure I do all that I can — But — the fact is — I fear — we have got the wrong man." "Wrong man!" roar'd the Saint — But the scene I can't paint. The best colours I have are a vast deal too faint — Nick afterwards own'd that he ne'er knew what fright meant, Before he saw Saint under so much excitement "Wrong man ! don't tell me — Pooh ! — fiddle-de-dee ! What's your right. Scamp, to amj man ! — come, let me see ; I'll teach you, you thorough-paced rascal, to meddle With church matters; come. Sirrah, out with your schedule I' In support of his claim The fiend turns to the name Of " Do Birchington" written in letters of flame, A LAY OF ST. THOMAS a'bECKET. 310 Below which long items stand, column on column, Enough to have eked out a decent-sized volume ! Sins of all sorts and shapes, From small practical japes. Up to dicings, and drinkings, and murders and rapes, And then of such standing ! — a merciless tick From an Oxford tobacconist, — let alone Nick. The saint in surprise Scarce believed his own eyes, Still he knew he 'd to deal with the father of lies, And "So this! — j'ou call this The exclaim'd in a searching tone, *' This ! ! ! the account of my friend Dick de Birchington !" '' Why," said Nick, with an air Of great candour, "it's there Lies the awkwardest part of this awkward affair — I thought all was right — see the height tallies quite. The complexion 's what all must consider as light ; There's the nose, and the lip, and the ringlets of Irown, And the little bald patch on the top of the crown. "And then the surname. So exactly the same — don't know — I can't tell how the accident came, But some how — I own it's a very sad job. But — my bailiff grabb'd Dick when he should have nabb'd Bob, " I am vex'd beyond bounds You should have such good grounds For complaint ; I would rather have given five pounds. And any apology, sir, you may choose, I '11 make with much pleasure, and put in the news." "An apology! — pooh! Much good that will do ! An * apology ' quoth a I — and that too from you ! •— 320 THE BROTHERS OF BIRCHIMGTOX. Before any proposal is made of the sort, Bring back your stol'n goods, thief! — produce them in Court!" In a moment, so small It seem'd no time at all, Father Richard sat up on his what-do-ye-call — Sou son siant — and. what was as wondrous as pleasing, At once began coughing, and snifting, and sneezing. While strange to relate. The Knight whom the fate Of his brother had reach'd, and who knock'd at the gate, To make further inquiries, had scarce made his bow To the Saint, ere he vanish'd, and no one knew how ! Erupit — evasit, As Tully would phrase it. And none could have known where to find his Hicjacel — That sentence which man his mortality teaches — Sir Robert had disappear'd, body and bi*eeches " Heyday ! Sir, heyday ! What 's the matter now — eh ?" Quoth A'Becket, observing the gen'ral dismay, " How, again ! — 'pon my word this is really too bad! It would drive any saint in the calendar mad. " What, still at your tricking? You will have a kicking? I see you won't rest till you 've got a good licking — Your claim, friend ? — what claim ? — why you show'd me before, That your old claim was cancell'd — you've cross'd out thp score ! *' Is it that way you 'd Jew one ? You 've settled the true one ? Do you mean to tell me he has run up a new one? A LAY OF ST. THOMAS a'bECKKT. u21 Of the thousands you've cheated And scurvily treated, Name one you've dared charge with a bill once receipted! [n the Bankruptcy Court should you dare to presume To attempt it, they 'd soon kick you out of the room, — Ask Commissioner Fonblanque, or ask my Lord Brougham. *'And then to make under So barefaced a blunder, Your caption! — why what's the world come to, I wonder? My patience ! it's just like his impudence, rat him! — Stand out of the way there, and let me get at him !" The Saint raised his arm, But Old Nick, in alarm, Dash'd up through the skylight, not doing much harm, While, quitte pour la peur, the Knight, sound on the whole Down the chimney came tumbling as black as a ccal! Spare we to tell Of what after befell! How the Saint lectured Robert de Birchington well, Bade him alter his life, and held out as a warning The narrow escape he 'd made on 't that morning. Nor need we declare How, then and there. The jury and Coroner blew up the May'r For his breach of decorum as one of the quorinn, [n not having Levybub brought up before 'em. Nor will you require Me to state how the Prior Could never thenceforth bear the sight of a iiie. Nor ever was heard to express a desire In cold weather to see the thermometer higher. 322 THE BROTUERS OF BIRCHINGTON. Now shall I relate The subsequent fate Of St Thomas a Becket, whose reverend pate Fitzurse and De Morville, and Brito and Tracy Shaved off, as his crown had been merely a jasey.* Suffice it to say, From that notable day The "Twin Birchington Brothers" together grew grey* In the same holy convent continued to dwell, Same food and same fastings, same habit, same cell. No more the Knight rattles In broils and in battles. But sells, by De Robins, his goods and his chattels, And counting all wealth a mere Will-o'the-wisp, Disposes of Quekes to Sir Nicholas Crispe. One spot alone Of all he had known Of his spacious domain he retain'd as his own. In a neighbouring parish, whose name I may say Scarce any two people pronounce the same way. Re-cwZ-ver some style it, While others revile it As bad, and say R^-cnhar — 'tisn't worth while, it Would seem, to dispute, when we know the result immat erial — I accent, myself, the penultimate. Sages, with brains Full of " Saxon remains," May call me a booby, perhaps, for my pains, Still I hold, at the hazard of being thought dull by em, Fast by the quantity mark'd for Regulbium. * Nee satis fuit eis sanguine sacerdotis et ncce ecclesiam prophanare, nisi, coronS capitis amputata, funestis gladiis jam defunct! ejicerent cerebrum.— Matt. Paris. A LAY OF ST. THOMAS a'bECKET. 323 Cairt as you Avill, The traveller still, In the voyage that we talk'd about, marks on the hill Overhanging the sea, the "twin-towers" raised then By "Robert and Richard, those two pretty men." Both tall and upright. And just equal in height; The Trinity House talk'd of painting them white, And the thing was much spoken of some time ago, When the Duke, I believe — but I really don't know. Well — there the "Twins" stand On the verge of the land, To warn mariners off fi'om the Columbine sand, And many a poor man have Robert and Dick By their vow caused to 'scape, like themselves, frcm Old Nick. So, whether you 're sailors Or Tooley-street Tailors, Broke loose from your masters, those sternest of jailers, And, bent upon pleasure, are taking your trip In a craft which you fondly conceive is a ship. When you 've pass'd by the Noi-e, And you hear the winds roar In a manner you scarce could have fancied before. When the cordage and tackling Are flapping and crackling. And the boy with the bell Thinks it useless to tell You that "dinner's on table," because you're unwell; When above you all's " scud," And below you the flood Looks a horrible mixture of soap-suds and mud, When the timbers are straining, And folks are complaining. The dead-lights arc letting the spray and the rain in, 324 THE BROTHERS OF BIRCHINGTON. When the helms-man looks blue, And Captain Large too, And you really don't know what on earth you shall d( In this hubbub and row Think where you'd be now. Except for the Birchington boys and their vow ! And while o'er the wide wave you feel the craft pitch hard, Jpraie for je sotoks of liobertte nn"G IS^gcljnrTi ! Moral. It's a suoject of serious complaint in some houses. With young married men who have elderly spouses, That persons are seen in their figures and faces, With very queer people in very queer places, So like them that one for the other's oft taken, And conjugal confidence thereby much shaken: Explanations too often are thought mere pretences, And Richard gets scolded for Robert's offences. In a matter so nice, If I 'm ask'd my advice, I say copy King Henry to obviate that. And stick something remarkable up in your hat ! Next, observe, in this world where we've so many cheats, How useful it is to preserve your receipts ! If you deal with a person whose truth you don't doubt, Bo particular, still, that your bill is cross'd out ; But, with any inducement to think him a scamp. Have a formal receipt on a regular stamp ! Let every gaj' gallant my story who notes Take warning, and not go on "sowing wild oats!" Nor depend that some friend Will always attend, And by "making all right" bring him off in the end*, THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY. 325 He may be mistaken, so let him beware, St, Thomas k Beckets are now rather rare. Last of all, may'rs and magistrates, never be rude To juries ! they are people who won't be pooh-pooh'd ! Especially Sandwich ones — no one can say But himself may come under their clutches one day ; They then may pay off In kind any scofF, And, turning their late verdict quite ^^wisey werscy^^^ '■'■Acquit yon," and not "recommend you to mercy."* THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY. A DOMESTIC LEGEND OF THE REIGN OF QUEEN ANNE. Hail, wedded lore ! mysterious tie !" Thomson — or Somebody. The Lady Jane was tall and slim, The Lady Jane was fair, And Sir Thomas, her Lord, was stout of limb, And his cough was short, and his eyes were dim. And he wore green "specs," with a tortoise-shell rim, And his hat was remarkably broad in the brim, And she was uncommonly fond of him, — And they were a loving pair ! — And the name and the fame Of the Knight and his Dame, * At a Quarter Sessions held at Sandwich, (some six miles from Birching ton,) on Tuesday the 8th of April last, before W. F. Boteler. Esq., the recorder, Thomas Jones, mariner, aged seventeen, was tritnl for stealing a jacket, value ten shillings. The jury, after a patient hearing, found him -'noi guilty," and *' recommended him to mercy.'— Sec the whole ^ase reported iu the " Kentish Observer," April 10. 1815. 28 326 A LEGEND OF THE REIGN OF QUEEN ANNE. Were ev'rywhere hail'd Avitli the loudest acclaim ; And wherever they went, or wherever they came, Far and wide, The people cried. Huzza! for the Lord of this noble domain, — Huzza ! Huzza ! Huzza ! — once again ! — Encore ! — Encore ! — One cheer morel — — All sorts of pleasure, and no sort of pain To Sir Thomas the Good, and the Fair Lady Jane! ! Now Sir Thomas the Good, Be it well understood. Was a man of very contemplative mood, — He would pore by the hour. O'er a weed or a flower. Or the slugs that come crawling out after a shower; Black-beetles, and Bumble-bees, — Blue-bottle flies. And Moths were of no small account in his eyes ; An "Industrious Flea" he'd by no means despise, While an " Old Daddy-long-legs," whose " long legs " and thighs Pass'd the common in shape, or in colour, or size, He was wont to consider an absolute prize. Nay, a hornet or wasp he could scarce *'keep his paws off" — he Gave up, in short. Both business and sport. And abandon'd himself, tout ende?; to Philosophy. Now, as Lady Jane was tall and slim, And Lady Jane was fair, And a good many years the junior of him, — And as he, All agree, Look'd less like her Mart, THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY. 327 As he walk'd h} her side, than her Plre,'^ There are some miglit be found entertaining a notion That such an entire and exclusive devotion To that part of science, folks style Entomology, Was a positive shame, And, to such a fair Dame, Really demanded some sort of apology ; — No doubt, it would vex One half of the sex To see their own husband, in horrid green " specs," Instead of enjoying a sociable chat, Still poking his nose into this and to that, At a gnat, or a bat, or a Cat, or a rat. Or great ugly things. All legs and wings. With nasty long tails arm'd with nasty long stings: And they'd join such a log of a spouse to condemn, — One eternally thinking, And blinking, and winking At grubs, — when he ought to be winking at them.— But no ! — oh no ! 'Twas by no means so With the Lady Jane Ingoldsby — she, far discrecter And, having a temper more even and sweeter. Would never object to Her spouse, in respect to His poking and peeping After " things creeping ;" Much less be still keeping lamenting, and weeping, Or scolding at what she perceived him so deep in. Totit au con tr aire, No lady so fair * My friend, Mr. Hood, In his comical mood> Would have probably styhnl the good Knight and his Lady — Ilim — " Stwu-old and Hopkins.' and lu-r '• Tete and Braidy " 32S A LEGEND OF THE REIGX OF QUEEN ANNE. Was e'er known to wear more contented an air ; A.nd, — let who would call, — every day she was there. Propounding receipts for some delicate fare, Some toothsome conserve, of quince, apple, or pear. Or distilling strong waters, — or potting a hare, — Or counting her spoons and her crockery-ware ; Or else, her tambour-frame before her, with care Embroidering a stool or a back for a chair, With needle-work roses, most cunning and rare. Enough to make less-gifted visitors stare, And declare, where'er They had been, that " they ne'er In their lives had seen aught that at all could compare With dear Lady Jane's housewifery — that they would swear " Nay more ; don't suppose With such doings as those This account of her merits must come to a close ; No : — examine her conduct more closely, you '11 find She by no means neglected improving her mind; For there, all the while, Avith air quite bewitching, She sat herring-boning, tambouring, or stitching, Or having an eye to affairs of the kitchen. Close by her side. Sat her kinsman, MacBride, Her cousin, fourteen-times removed, — as you '11 see [f you look at the Ingoldsby family tree, [n "Burke's Commoners," vol. xx. page 53. All the papers I've read agree, Too, with the pedigree. Where, among the collateral branches, appears "Captain Dugald MacBride, Royal Scots Fusileers;" And I doubt if you'd find in the whole of his clan A more highly-intelligent, worthy young man ; — And there he 'd be sitting, While she was a-knittin"-. THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY. 329 Or hemming, or stitching, or darning and fitting, Or putting a "gore," or a "gusset," or "bit" in, Reading aloud, with a very grave look, Some very " wise saw" from some very good book, — Some such pious divine as St. Thomas Aquinas ; Or, equally charming. The works of Bellarmine ; Or else he unravels The "voyages and travels" Of Hackluytz — (how sadly these Dutch names do sully verse I) — Purchas's, Hawksworth's, or Lemuel Gulliver's, — Not to name others, 'mongst whom there are few so Admired as John Bunyan, and Robinson Crusoe. — No matter who came, It was always the same, The Captain was reading aloud to the Dame, Till, from having gone through half the books on the shelf, They were almost as wise as Sir Thomas himself. Well, it happen'd one day, — I really can't say The particular month; — but I think 'twas in May, — 'Twas, I know, in the Spring-time, — when "Nature looks gay," As the Poet obsei'ves, — and on tree-top and spray The dear little dickey-birds carol away; When the grass is so green, and the sun is so bright, And all things are teeming with life and with light, — That the whole of the house was thrown into affright. For no soul could conceive what was gone with the Knight I It seems he had taken A light breakfast — bacon. An egg — with a little broil'd haddock — at most A round and a half of some hot butter'd toast. With a slice of cold sirloin from yesterday's roast. 28*^ 330 A LEGEND OF THE RfciGN OF QUEEN ANNE. And then — let me see ! — He had tAvo — perhaps three Cups (-with sugar and cream) of strong gunpowder tea, With a spoonful in each of some choice eau de vie, — Which with nine out of ten would perhaps disagree,-^ — In fact, I and my son Mix "black" with our "Hyson," Neither having the nerves of a bull, or a bison, And both hating brandy like what some call " pison." No matter for that — He had call'd for his hat, With the brim that 1 've said was so broad and so flat, And his "specs" with the tortoise-shell rim, and his cants With the crutch-handled top, wliich he used to sustain His steps in his walks, and to poke in the shrubs And the grass, Avhen unearthing his worms and his ginib? Thus arm'd, he set out on a ramble — alack ! He set out, poor dear Soul ! — but he never came back ! " First dinner-bell" rang Out its euphonous clang At five — folks kept early hours then — and the "Last" Ding-dong'd, as it ever was wont, at half-past, While Betsey and Sally, And Thompson the Valet, And every one else was beginning to bless himself, Wondering the Knight had not come in to dress himself, ■ — Quoth Betsey, " Dear me ! why the fish will be cold !" Quoth Sally, "Good gracious! how 'Missis' wjVZ scold!" Thompson, the Valet, Look'd gravely at Sally, As who should say " Truth must not always be told!" Then, expressing a fear lest the Knight might take cold. Thus exposed to the dews, Lambs'-wool stockings and shoes, THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY. 331 Of each a fresh pair, He put down to air, A iivl hung a clean shirt to the fire on a cha.t. — Still the Master was absent — the Cook came and said, "he Much fear'd, as the dinner had been so long ready, The roast and the boil'd "Would be all of it spoil'd, And the puddings, her Ladyship thought such a treat, He was morally sure, would be scarce fit to eat!" This closed the debate — '■ 'Twould be folly to wait," Said the Lady, " Dish up ! - — Let the meal be served straight ; And let two or three slices be put on a plate, And kept hot for Sir Thomas. — He 's lost, sure as fate ! And, a hundred to one, won't be home till it's late !" — Captain Dugald MacBride then proceeded to face The Lady at table, — stood up, and said grace, — Then set himself down in Sir Thomas's place. Wearily, wearily, all that night. That live-long night did the hours go by ; And the Lady Jane, In grief and in pain. She sat herself down to cry ! — And Captain MacBride, Who sat by her side. Though I really can't say that he actually cried, At least had a tear in his eye ! — Ai much as can well be expected, perhaps, Fr>m "very young fellows" for very " old chaps;" And if he had said What he 'd got in his head, 'Twould have been "Poor old Buifer! he's certainly dead . The morning dawn'd, — and the next, — and the next, And all in tlic mansion were still perplex'd ; 332 A LEGEND OP THE REIGN Oi' QUEEN ANNE. No watch-dog ''bay'd a welcome home," as A. watch-dog should to the " Good Sir Thomas:" No knocker fell His approach to tell, Not so much as a runaway ring at the bell — The Hall was silent as Hermit's cell. Yet the sun shone bright upon tower and tree, And the meads smiled green as green may be, And the dear little dickey-birds caroll'd with glee, And the lambs in the park skipp'd merry and free — — Without, all was joy and harmony! "And thus 'twill be, — nor long the day, — Ere we, like him, shall pass away ! Yon Sun, that now our bosoms warms, Shall shine, — but shine on other forms ; — Yon Grove, whose choir so sweetly cheers Us now, shall sound on other ears, — The joyous Lamb, as now, shall play, But other eyes its sports survey, — The stream we loved shall roll as fair. The flowery sweets, the trim Parterre Shall scent, as now, the ambient air, — The Tree, whose bending branches bear The One loved name — shall yet be there ; — But where the hand that carved it ? — Where ?" These were hinted to me as The very ideas Which pass'd through the mind of the fair Lady Jauo, Her thoughts having taken a sombre-ish train, As she walk'd on the esplanade, to and again, With Captain MacBride, Of course, at her side. Who could not look quite so forlorn, — though he tried. THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY. 333 — An "idea," in fact, had got into his head, That if "poor dear Sir Thomas" should really be dead. It might be no bad " spec." to be there in his stead, And, by simply contriving, in due time, to wed A Lady who was young and fair, A lady slim, and tall, To set himself down in comfort there The Lord of Tapton ^ Hall. — Thinks he, " We have sent Half over Kent, And nobody knows how much money 's been spent, Yet no one 's been found to say which way he went ! — The groom, who 's been over To Folkstone and Dover, Can't get any tidings at all of the rover ! — Here 's a fortnight and more has gone by, and we 'vc tried Every plan we could hit on — the whole country-side. Upon all its dead walls, with placards we 've supplied, And we 've sent out the Crier, and had him well cried * Missing ! ! Stolen, or stray'd. Lost, or mislaid, A Gentleman ; — middle-aged, sober, and staid ; — Stoops slightly ; — and when he left home was array'd In a sad-colour'd suit, somewhat dingy and fray'd ; Had spectacles on with a tortoise-shell rim. And a hat rather low-crown'd, and broad in the brim Whoe'er Shall bear, Or shall send him with care, (Right side uppermost) home ; or shall give notice where The said middle-aged Gentlemaii is ; or shall state * The familinr abbreviation for Tapp^ngton Everard still in use amonir l!i«^ tenantry. — Vide Prefatory Introduction to the Ingoldshy Legends. 334 A LEGEND OF THE REIGN OF QUEEN ANNE Anj fact, that may tend to throw light on his f:itc, To the man at the turnpike, called Tappington Gate, Shall receive a Rewaed of Five Pounds for his trouble,— r.B. — If defunct the Reward will be double! !. " Had he been above ground He must have been found. No ; doubtless he's shot, — or he 's hang'd, — or he 's drown'dl Then his Widow — ay ! ay ! — But, what will folks say ! — To address her at once — at so early a day ! Well — what then? — who cares ! — let 'em say what they may — A fig for their nonsense and chatter! — suffice it, her Charms will excuse one for casting sheep's eyes at her ' " When a Man has decided As Captain MacBride did, And once fully made up his mind on the matter, he Can't be too prompt in unmasking his battery. Ho began on the instant, and vow'd that "her eyes Far exceeded in brilliance the stars in the skies, — That her lips were like roses — her cheeks were like lilies — Her breath had the odour of daflfy-down-dillies ! " — With a thousand more compliments equally true. And express'd in similitudes equally new ! — Then his left arm he placed Round her jimp, taper waist — — Ere she fix'd to repulse, or return, his embrace, Up came running a man, at a deuce of a pace, With that very peculiar expression of face Which always betokens dismay or disaster. Crying out — 'twas the Gardener, — "Oh, Ma'am! we've found Master ! " — '' Where! where?" scream'd the lady; and Echo scream'd — "Where?" The man couldn't say " There ! " He had p*^ ^ f^'- in «T^"^f. THE KNIGHT aND THK LADY. 335 Bat, gasping for air, ho could only respond, By pointing — he pointed, alas! — to the Pond. — 'Twas e'en so — poor dear Knight! — with his "specs" and his hat He'd gone poking his nose into this and to that; When, close to the side Of the bank, he espied An "uncommon fine" Tadpole, remarkably fat! He stoop'd; — and he thought her His own ; — he had caught her! Got hold of her tail, — and to land almost brought uer, When — he plump'd head and heels into fifteen feet water' The Laut out in the court-yard — and just in that part Where the pump stands — lay bleeding a large Human Heabt! And sundry large stains Of blood and of brains, Which had not been wash'd oif notwithstanding the rains, Appear'd on the wood, and the handle and chains, As if somebody's head with a very hard thump, Had been recently knock'd on the top of the pump. That pump is no more ! — that of which you 've just read, — But they 've put a new iron one up in its stead, And still, it is said. At that '-small hour" so dread, When all sober people are cozy in bed, There may sometimes be seen on a moonshiny night, Standing close by the new pump, a Lady in White, Who keeps pumping away with, 'twould seem, all her might, Though never a drop comes her pains to requite ! And hence many passengers now are debarr'd From proceeding at nightfall through Bleeding-Heart Yard ! Moral. Fair Ladies attend ! And if you've a "friend At Court," don't attempt to bamboozle or trick her! — Don't meddle with negus, or any mix'd iquor! — Don't dabble in '* Magic ! " my story has shown, How wrong 'tis to use any charms but your own ' r.o* 354 A LEGExVD OF BLEEDING HEART YARD. Young Gentlemen, too. may, I think, take a hint, Of the same kind, from what I 've here ventured to print. All Conjuring 's bad ! they may get in a scrape, Before they 're aware, and whatever its shape, They may find it no easy affair to escape. It 's not everybody that comes off so well From leger-de-main tricks as Mr. Brunei. Don't dance with a Stranger who looks like a Guy, And when dancing don't cut your capers too high ! Depend on 't the fault 's in Your method of waltzing, If ever you kick out the candles — don't try ! At a ball or a play, Or any soirie. When a, petit souper constitutes the ^^Apris," If strawb'ries and cream with Champagne form a part, Take care of your Head — and take care of your Heart If you want a new house For yourself and your spouse, Buy, or build one, — and honestly pay, every brick, for it Don't be so green as to go to old Nick for it — — Go to George Robins — he'll find you "a perch," (Duke Domum 's his word,) without robbing the Church ! The last piece of advice which I 'd have you regard Is, ♦' don't go of a night into Bleeding-Heart Yard," It's a dark, little, dirty, black, ill-looking square. With queer people about, and unless you take care. You may find when your pocket 's clean'd out and left bare, That the iron one is not the only "Pump" there! THE FORLORN ONE. Ah why those piteous sounds of woo, Lone wanderer of the di-eai-y night ; rhy gushing tears in torrents flow, Thy bosom pants in wild affright I And thou, within whose iron breast Those frowns austere too truly tell, Mild pity, heaven-descended guest, Hath never, never deign' d to dwell. ' That rude, uncivil touch forego," Stern despot of a fleeting hour ! Nor " make the angels weep " to know The fond "fantastic tricks" of powe: I inow'st thou not "mercy is not strain'd, But droppeth as the gentle dew," And while it blesseth him who gain'd, It blesseth him who gave it, too ! Say, what art thou ? and wliat is he. Pale victim of despair and pain, Whose streaming eyes and bended knee Sue to thee thus — and sue in vain? Cold, callous man ! — he scorns to yield, Or aught relax his felon gripe. But answers, " I 'm Inspector Field ! And this here warment 's prigg'd yom- wipe. 35fc JERRY JARVIS'S WIG. A LEGEND OF THE WEALD OF KENr. " The wig's the thing! the wig! the wig!" — Old Song. '' Joe," said old Jarvis, looking out of his window — it was his ground-floor back, — "Joe, you seem to be very hot, Joe, — and you have got no wig !" "Yes, sir,'' quoth Joseph, pausing and resting upon his spade, "it's as hot a day as ever I see; but the celery must be got in, or there'll be no autumn crop, and — " "Well, but Joe, the sun's so hot, and it shines so on your bald head, it makes one wink to look at it. You'll have a coujy-de'soleilj Joe." " A ivhaf, sir V "No matter J it's very hot working; and if you'll step in doors, I'll give you — " " Thank ye, your honour, a drop of beer will be very acceptable." Joe's countenance brightened amazingly. "Joe, I'll give you — my old wig!" The countenance of Joseph fell, his grey eye had glistened, as a blest vision of double X flitted athwart his fancy; its glance faded again into the old, filmy, gooseberry-coloured hue, as he growled, in a minor key, "A wig, sir!" " Yes, Joe, a wig ! The man who does not study the comfort of his dependants is an unfeeling scoundrel. You shall have ray old, worn-out wig." 356 JERRY JARVIS'S WIG. 357 *' I hope, sir, you '11 give me a drop o' beer to drink your honour's health in, — it is very hot, and — " ^' Come in, Joe, and Mrs. Witherspoon shall give it you.'' " Heaven bless your honour !" said honest Joe, striking his spade perpendicularly into the earth, and w^vlking with more than usual alacrity towards the close-cut, quickset hedge which separated Mr. Jarvis's garden from the high road. From the quickset hedge aforesaid he now raised, with all due delicacy, a well-worn and somewhat dilapidated jacket, of a stuff by drapers most pseudonymously termed " everlasting." Alack ! alack ! what is there to which t€mj)us edax reruni will accord that epithet? — In its high and palmy days it had been all of a piece j but as its master's eye now fell upon it, the expression of his countenance seemed to say with Octavian, " Those days are gone, Floranthe !" It was now, from frequent patching, a coat not unlike that of the patriarch, one of many colours. Joseph Washford inserted his wrists into ^Xe cor- responding orifices of the tattered garment, and with a steadiness of circumgyration, to be acquired only by long and sufficient practice, swung it horizontally over his ears, and settled himself into it. ' "Confound your old jacket!" cried a voice from the other side the hedge, "keep it down, you rascal! don't you see ray horse is frightened at it?" "Sensible beast!" apostrophised Joseph, "I've been frightened at i* myself every day for the last two years !" 358 A LEGEND OF THE WEALD OF KENT. The gardener cast a rueful glance at its sleeve, and pursued his way to the door of the back kitchen. ''Joe," said Mrs^ Witherspoon, a fat, comely datne, of about fivc-and-forty, "Joe, your master is but too good to you ; he is always kind and considerate. Joe, he has desired me to give you his old wig.'' " And the beer, Ma'am Witherspoon ? '' said Wash- tord, taking the proffered caxon, and looking at it with an expression somewhat short of rapture; — "and the beer, ma'am ?" "'The beer, you guzzling wretch! — what beer? Master said nothing about no beer. You ungrateful fellow, has not he given you a wig?" "Why, yes. Madam Witherspoon; but then, you see, his honour said it was very hot, and I'm very dry, and—" "Go to the pump, sot!" said Mrs. Witherspoon, as she slammed the back-door in the face of the petitioner. Mrs. Witherspoon was "of the Lady Huntingdon per- suasion," and Honorary Assistant Secretary to the Apple- dore branch of the " Ladies' Grand Junction Water- working Temperance Society." Joe remained for a few moments lost in mental ab- straction ; he looked at the door, he looked at the wig; ijis first thought was to throw it into the pig-stye, — his corruption rose, but he resisted the impulse ; he got the better of Satan ; the half-formed imprecation died before it reached his lips. He looked disdainfully at the wig; it had once been a comely jasey, enough, of the colour of over-baked ginger-bread, one of the description com- monly known during the latter half of the last century JKRRY JAIIVIS'S WIG. 359 by the name of a ^' brown George." The species, it is to be feared, is now extinct, but u few, a very few of the same dei^cription might, till very lately, be occasionally seen, — rari nantes in gurgite vasto, — the glorious relics of a by-gone day, crowning the cerehellum of some vene- rated and venerable provost, or judge of assize ; but Mr, Jarvis's wig had one peculiarity; unlike most of its fel» lows, it had a tail I — ''cribbed and confined," indeed^ by a shabby piece of faded shalloon. Washford looked at it again; he shook his bald head; the wig had certainly seen its best days; still it had about it somewhat of an air of faded gentility, — it was "like ancient Rome, majestic in decay," — and as the small ale was not to be forthcoming, why — after all, an old wig was better than nothing ! Mr. Jeremiah Jarvis, of Appledore, in the \yeald ot Kent, was a gentleman by act of parliament; one of that class of gentlemen, who, disdaining the hourgeoh, sounding name of " attorney-at-law,'' are, by a legal fic- tion, denominated solicitors. I say by a legal fiction, for surely the general tenor of the intimation received by such as enjoy the advantage of their correspondence, has little in common with the idea usually attached to the term "solicitation." "If you don't pay my bill and costs, I'll send you to jail," is a very energetic entreaty. There are, it is true, etymologists who derive their style and title from the Latin infinitive ^^ soUcitaire," to "make anxious," — in all probability they are right. If this be the true etymology of his title, as it was the main end of his calling, then was Jeremiah Jarvis a worthy exemplar of the genus to wliich he belonged iQO A LEGEND OF THE WEALD OF KENT. Few persons in his time had created greater solicitude among his Majesty's lieges within the " Weald/' He was rich, (;f course. The best house in the country- town is always the lawyer's, and it generally boasts a green door, stone steps, and a brass knocker. In neither of these appendages to opulence was Jeremiah deficient • but then he was so veri/ rich ; his reputed wealth, indeed passed all the common modes of accounting for its in- crease. True, he was so universal a favourite that every man whose will he made was sure to leave him a legacy; that he was a sort of general assignee to all the bank- ruptcies within twenty miles of Appledore ; was clerk to half the "trusts;" and treasurer to most of the "rates," "funds," and "subscriptions," in that part of the coun- try; that he was land-agent to Lord Mountrhino, and steward to the rich Miss Tabbytale of Smerrididdle Hall ! that he had been guardian (?) to three young profligates who all ran through their property, which, somehow or another, came at last into his hands, "at an equitable valuation." Still his possessions were so considerable, as not to be altogether accounted for, in vulgar esteem, even by these and other honourable modes of accumula- tion ; nor were there wanting those who conscientiously entertained a belief that a certain dark-coloured gentle- man, of indifferent character, known principally by his predilection for appearing in perpetual mourning, had been through life his great friend and counsellor, and had mainly assisted in the acquirement of his revenues. That " (jld Jerry Jarvis had sold himself to the devil" was, indeed, a dogma which it were heresy to doubt in JERRY JARVIS'S WIG. 3ol Appl'^dore; — on this head, at least, there were few schismatics in the parish. When the worthy '' Solicitor ^' next looked out of his ground-floor back, he smiled with much complacency at beholding Joe Washford again hard at work — in his wig — the little tail aforesaid oscillating like a pendulum in the breeze. If it be asked what could induce a gen- tleman, whose leading principle seems to have been self- appropriation, to make so magnificent a present, the an- swer is, that Mr. Jarvis might, perhaps, have thought an occasional act of benevolence necessary or politic ; he is not the only person, who, having stolen a quantity of leather, has given away a pair of shoes, pour V amour de Dieu, — perhaps he had other motives. Joe, meanwhile, worked away at the celery-bed ; but truth obliges us to say, neither with the same degree of vigour or perseverance as had marked the earlier efforts of the morning. His pauses were more frequent; he rested longer on the handle of his spade; while ever and anon his eye would wander from the trench beneath him to an object not unworthy the contemplation of a natural philosopher. This was an apple-tree. Fairer fruit never tempted Eve, or any of her daugh- ters; the bending branches groaned beneath their luxu- riant freight, and dropping to earth, seemed to ask the protecting aid of man, either to support or to relieve them. The fine, rich glow of their sunstreaked clusters derived additional loveliness from the level beams of the descending day-star. An anchorite's mouth had watered at the pippins. On the precise graft of the espalier of Eden, ^'San- 31 562 A LEGEND OF THE WEALD OF KENT. choniathoD, Manetlio, and Berosus" are undecided; the best-informed Talmudists, however, have, if we are to believe Dr. Pinner's German Version, pronounced it a Ribstone pippin, and a Ribstone pippin-tree it was that now attracted the optics, and discomposed the inner man of the thirsty, patient, but perspiring gardener. The heat was still oppressive; no beer had moistened his lip, though its very name, uttered as it was in the ungracious tones of a Witherspoou, had left behind a longing as in- tense as fruitless. His thirst seemed supernatural, when at this moment his left ear experienced ^' a slight and tickling sensation," such as we are assured is occasionally produced by an infinitesimal dose in homoeopathy; a still, small voice — it was as though a daddy-long-legs were whispering in his tympanum — a small yoice seemed to say, " Joe ! — take an apple, Joe ! V^ Honest Joseph started at the suggestion ; the rich crimson of his jolly nose deepened to a purple tint in the beams of the setting sun ; his very forehead was in- carnadine. He raised his hand to scratch his ear, — the little tortuous tail had worked its way into it,— he pulled it out by the bit of shalloon, and allayed the itching, then cast his eye wistfully towards the mansion where his master was sitting by the open window. Joe pursed up his parched lips into an arid whistle, and with a desperate energy struck his spade once more into the celery-bed. Alack ! alack ! what a piece of work is m;m I — how ^w\i his triumphs! — how frail his resolutions ! From this fine and very original moral reflection we turn reluctantly to record the sequel. The celery-bed, alluded to as the main scene of Mr. Washford's opera- JERRY JARVIS'S WIG. 363 rations, was drawn in a rectilinear direction, nearly across the whole breadth of the parallelogram that comprised the " Kitchen garden." Its northern extremity abutted to the hedge before mentioned, its southern one — woe is me that it should have been so ! — was in fearful vicinity to the Jlibstone pippin-tree. One branch, low bowed to earth, seemed ready to discharge its precious burden into the very trench. As Joseph stooped to insert the last, plant with his dibble, an apple of more than ordinary beauty bobbed against his knuckles. — "He's taking snuff, Joe," whispered the same small voice; — the tail had twisted itself into its old position. '^ He is sneezing ! — now, Joe ! — now V And, ere the agitated horticul- turist could recover from his surprise and alarm, the fruit was severed, and — in his hand ! " He ! he ! he !" shrilly laughed, or seemed to laugh that accursed little pigtail. — Washford started at once to the perpendicular; — with an enfrenzied grasp he tore the jasey from his head, and, with that in one hand, and his ill-acquired spoil in the other, he rushed distractedly from the garden ! * ^ ^ * * ^ All that night was the humble couch of the once happy gardener haunted with the most fearful visions. He was stealing apples, — he was i^Qbbing hen-roosts, — he was altering the chalks upon the milk-score, — he had purloined three chemises from a hedge, and he awoke in the very act of cutting the throat of one of Squire Hodge's sheep ! A clammy dew stood upon his temples, — the cold perspiration burst from every pore, — he sprang in terror from the bed. 364 A LEGEND OF THE WEALD OF KENT. "Why, Joe, what ails thee, man?" cried the usually incurious Mrs.Washford; "what be the matter with thee? Thee hast done nothing but grunt and growl all t' night long, and now thee dost stare as if thee saw summut. What bees it, Joe?" A long-drawn sigh was her husband's only answer : his eye fell upon the bed. " How the devil came that here?" quoth Joseph, with a sudden recoil : "who put that thing on my pillow ?" " Why, I did, Joseph. Th' ould nightcap is in the wash, and thee didst toss and tumble so, and kick tte clothes off, I thought thee mightest catch cowld, so 1 clapt t' wig atop o' thee head." And there it lay, — the little sinister-looking tail impudently perked up, like an infernal gnomon on a Satanic dial-plate — Larceny and Ovicide shone in every hair of it ! " The dawn was overcast, the morning lower'd And heavily in clouds brought on the day," when Joseph Washford once more repaired to the scene of his daily labours ; a sort of unpleasant consciousness flushed his countenance, and gave him an uneasy feeling as he opened the garden-gate : for Joe, generally speak- ing, was honest as the skin between his brows ; his hand faltered as it pressed the latch. " Pooh, pooh ! 'twas but an apple, after all !" said Joseph. He pushed open the wicket, and found himself beneath the tempting tree. But vain now were all its fascinations; like fairy gold seen by the morning light, its charms had faded into very nothingness. Worlds, to say nothing of apples, which, JERRY JARVIS'S WIG. 365 in shape, resemble them, would not have bought him to stretch forth an unhallowed hand again. He went steadily to his work. The day continued cloudy ; huge drops of rain fell at intervals, stamping his bald pate with spots as big as halfpence ; but Joseph worked on. As the day advanced, showers foil thick and frequent ; the fresh-turned earth was itsolf fragrant as.a bouquet. — Joseph worked on ; and when at last Jupiter Pluvius descended in all his majesty, soaking the ground into the consistency of a dingy pud- ding, he put on his party-coloured jacket, and strode to- wards his humble home, rejoicing in his renewed inte- grity. " 'Twas but an apple, after all ! Had it been an apple-pie, indeed ! " — " An apple-pie ! '' the thought was a dangerous one — too dangerous to dwell on. But Joseph's better Genius was at this time lord of the ascendant; — he dismissed it, and passed on. On arriving at his cottage, an air of bustle and confu- sion prevailed within, much at variance with the peaceful serenity usually observable in its economy. Mrs. Wash- ford was in high dudgeon ; her heels clattered on the red-tiled floor, and she whisked about the house like a parched pea upon a drum-head ; her voice, generally small and low, — ''an excellent thing in woman, ^' — was pitched at least an octave above its ordinary level ; she was talking fast and furious. Something had evidently gone wrong. The mystery was soon explained. The ■ ^^ cussed ould ticoad o{ a cat" had got into the dairy, and licked oif the cream from the only pan their single cow had filled that morning! And there she now lay, 31* ii66 A LEGEND OF THE WEALD OF KENT. purring as in scorn. Tib, hcM-etofore the meekest of mousers, tlic honet^tesf, the least " scaddle" of the feline race, — a cat that one would have sworn might have been trusted with untold fish, — yes, — there was no denying it, — proofs were too strong against her, — yet there she hiy, hardened in her iniquity, coolly licking her whiskers, and reposing quietly upon — what? — Jerry Jarvis's old wig ! ! The patience of a Stoic must have yielded; — it had been too much for the temperament of the Man of Uz. Joseph Washford lifted his hand — that hand which had ' never yet been raised on Tibby, save to fondle and carcv^s — it now descended on her devoted head in one tremen- dous 'Mowse." Never was cat so astonished, — so en- raged — all the tiger portion of her nature rose in her soul. Instead of galloping off, hissing and sputtering, with arched back, and tail erected, as any ordinary Gri- malkin would unquestionably have done under similar circumstances, she paused a moment, — drew back on her haunches, — all her energies seemed concentrated for one prodigious spring; a demoniac fire gleamed in her green and yellow eyeballs, as, bounding upwards, she fixed her talons firmly in each of her assailant's cheeks! — many and many a day after were sadly visible the marks of those envenomed claws — then, dashing over his shoulder with an unearthly mew, she leaped through the open casement, and — was seen no more. '"' The Devil 's in the cat ! " was the apostrophe of Mrs. Margaret Washford. Her husband said nothing, but thrust the old wig into his pocket, and went to bathe his pcratehes at the pump. Day after day, night after night, 'twas all the same — JERRY JARVIS'S WIG. 367 Joe Washford's life became a burden to him ; his natural upright and honest mind struggled hard against the frailty of human nature. He was ever restless and uneasy j his frank, open, manly look, that blenched not from the gaze of the spectator, was no more : a sly and sinister expression had usurped the place of it. Mr. Jeremiah Jarvis had little of what the world calls *' Taste," still less of Science. Ackerman would have called him a "Snob," and Buckland a "Nincompoop." Of the Horticultural Society, its /efes, its fruits, and its fiddlings, he knew nothing. Little recked he of flowers — save cauliflowers — in these, indeed, he was a connois- seur : to their cultivation and cookery the respective talents of Joe and Madame Witherspoon had long been dedicated; but as for a bouquet 1 — Hardham's 87 was " the only one fit for a gentleman's nose." And yet, after all, Jerry Jarvis had a good-looking tulip-bed. A female friend of his had married a Dutch merchant; Jerry drew the settlements ; the lady paid him by a checque on " Child's," the gentleman by a present of a " box of roots." Jerry put the latter in his garden — he had rather they had been schalots. Not so his neighbour, Jenkinson ; he wan a man of 'Taste" and of "Science;" he was an F.R.C.E.B.S., which, as he told the Vicar, implied, " Fellow of the Royal Cathartico-Emetico-Botanical Society," and his autograph in Sir John Frostyface's album stood next to that of the Emperor of all the Rupsias. Neighbour Jenkinson fell in love with the pips and petals of "neigh- bour Jarvis's" tulips. There were one or two among thorn of sucii brilliant, such surpnssing beauty, — the 368 A LEGEND OF THE WEALD OF KENT. ''cups'' so well formed, — the colours so defined. To be sure, Mr. Jeukinson had enough in his own garden ; but then " Enough," says the philosopher, " always means a little more than a man has got." — Alas ! alas ! Jerry Jarvis was never known to bestow, — his neighbour dared not offer to purchase from so wealthy a man ; and, worse than all, Joe, the gardener, was incorruptible — ay, but the Wig ? Joseph Washford was working away again in the blaze of the mid-day sun : his head looked like a copper sauce- pan fresh from the brazier's. '' Why, where 's your wig, Joseph ?" said the voice of his master from the well-known window; "what have you done with your wig ? " The question was embar- rassing, — its tail had tickled his ear till it had made it sore ; Joseph had put the wig in his pocket. Mr. Jeremiah Jarvis was indignant; he liked not that his benefits should be ill appreciated by the recipient. — " Hark ye, Joseph Washford," said ho, " either wear my wig, or let me have it again !" There was no mistnking the meaning of his tones; they were resonant of indignation and disgust, of mingled grief and anger, the amalgamation of sentiment naturally produced by " Friendship unreturn'd, And unrequited love." Washford's heart smote him : he felt all that was im- plied in his master's appeal. " It's here, your Honour," said he ; "I had only taken it oflF because we have had a smartish shower; but the sky is brightening now.' JERRY JARVIS'S WIG. 369 The wig was replaced, and the little tortuous pigtail wrig gled itself into its accustomed position. At this moment neighbour Jeukinson peeped over the hedge. "Joe Washford V said neighbour Jenkinson. "Sir, to you/^ was the reply. " How beautiful your tulips look after the rain ! '' " Ah ! sir, master sets no great store by them flowers;'' returned the gardener. " Indeed ! Then perhaps he would have no objection to part with a few?'' " Why, no ! — I don't think master would like to ffive them, — or anything else, — away, sir; " — and Washford scratched his ear. '• Joe !!"— said Mr. Jenkinson — ''Joe ! !" The Sublime, observes Longinus, is often embodied in a monosyllable — "Joe!!!" — Mr. Jenkinson said no more ; but a half-crown shone from between his upraised fingers, and its "poor, poor dumb mouth" spoke for him. How Joseph Washford's left ear did itch I — He looked to the ground-floor back — Mr. Jarvis had left the window. Mr. Jenkinson's ground-plot boasted, at daybreak next morning, a splendid Semper Augustus, " which was not so before," and Joseph Washford was led home, much about the same time, in a most extraordinary state of "civilation," from "The Three Jolly. Potboys." From that hour he was the Fiend's ! ! -K * * "^ ^'Facilis JesccnsvH Avcrni!" says Virgil. *' Tt is only the first step that is attended with any difiiculty," snys — 370 A LEGEND OF THE WEALD OF KENT. somebody else, — when speaking of the decollafced mar- tyr, St. Dennis's walk with his head under his arm. "The First Step!" — Joseph Washford had taken that step! — he had taken two — three — four steps; — and now, from a hesitating, creeping, cat-like mode of pro- gression, he had got into a firmer tread — an amble — a positive "tTot! — He took the family linen "to the wash :" — one of Madame Withcrspoon's best Holland chemises was never seen after. Lost? — impossible! How cm^/rZ it be Inst? — where could it be gone to? — who could have got it? It was her best — her uery best! — she should know it among a hundred — among a thousand! — it was marked with a great W in the corner! — Lost? — impossible — She would s«e/" — Alas! she never rZ^VZ see — the chemise — ahlity enipit, evasit! — it was '' Like the lost Pleiad, seen on earth no more !" — but Joseph Washford's Sunday shirt was seen, finer, and fairer than ever, the pride and dulce decus of the 3Ieeting. The Meeting? — ay, the Meeting. Joe Washford never missed the Appledore Independent Meeting House, whether the service were in the morning or afternoon, — whether the Rev. Mr. Slyandry exhorted or made way for the Rev. Mr. Tearbrain. Let who would officiate, there was Joe. As I have said before, he never missed j — but other people missed — one missed an umbrella, — one a pair of clogs. Farmer Johnson missed his tobacco- box, — Farmer Jacks.n his greatcoat; — Miss Jackson missed her hymn-book, — a diamond edition, bound in JERRY JARVIS'S WIG. 371 uiaroon-coloured velvet, with gilt corners and clasps, Everything, in short, was missed — but Joe Washford; there he sat, grave, sedate, and motionless — all save that restless, troublesome, fidgety little Pigtail attached to his wig, which nothing could keep quiet, or prevent from tickling and interfering with Miss Thompson's curls, as she sat, back to back with Joe, in the adjoining pew After the third Sunday, Nancy Thompson eloped with the tall recruiting sergeant of the Connaught Rangers. The summer passed away, — autumn came and went, — and Christmas, jolly Christmas, that period of which we are accustomed to utter the mournful truism, it *' comes but once a-year," was at hand. It was a fine bracing morning; the sun was just beginning to throw a brighter tint upon the Quaker-coloured ravine of Orle- stone-hill, when a medical gentleman, returning to the quiet little village of Ham Street, that lies at its foot, from a farmhouse at Kingsnorth, rode briskly down the declivity. After several hours of patient attention, Mr. Money- penny had succeeded in introducing to the notice of seven little expectant brothers and sisters a "remarkably fine child," and was now hurrying home in the sweet hope of a comfortable "snooze" for a couple of hours before the announcement of tea and muffins should arouse him to fresh exertion. The road at this particular spot had, even then, been cut deep below the surface of the soil, for the purpose of diminishing the abruptness of the descent, and, as either side of the superincumbent banks' was clothed with a thick mantle nf \:\i)'!'^ -] copsewood, the passage, even by day, was sufficiently obscure, the 372 A LEGEND OF THE WEALD OF KENT. level beams of the rising or setting sun, as they happened to enfilade the gorge, alone illuminating its recesses. A long stream of rosy light was just beginning to make its way through the vista, and Mr. Moneypenny's nose had scarcely caught and reflected its kindred ray, when the sturdiest and most active cob that ever rejoiced in the appellation of a " Suffolk Punch," brought herself up in mid career upon her haunches, and that with a sudden- ness which had almost induced her rider to describe that beautiful mathematical figure, the ][)arahola., between her ears. Peggy — her nanie was Peggy — stood stock-still, snorting like a stranded grampus, and alike insensible to the gentle hints afforded her by hand and heel. ^'Tch! — tch ! — get along, Peggy!'' half exclaimed, half whistled the equestrian. If ever steed said in its heart, '-'■ I '11 be shot if I do !" it was Peggy at that mo- ment. She planted her forelegs deep in the sandy soil, raised her stump of a tail to an elevation approaching the horizontal, protruded her nose like a pointer at a covey, and with expanded nostril continued to snuffle most egregiously. Mr. Geoffrey Gambado, the illustrious '' Master of the Horse to the Doge of Venice," tells us, in his far-f;imed treatise on the Art Equestrian, that the most embarras- sing position in which a rider can be placed is, when he wishes to go one way, and his horse is determined to go another. There is, to be sure, a tcrtlnm quid, which, though it '^ splits the difference," scarcely obviates the inconvenience; this is when the parties compromise the matter by not going any way at all — to this compromise Peggy, and her (j^oi-dhcmf) master were now reduced; JERRY JARYIS'S WIQ. 378 they had fairly joined issue. '' Budge V quoth the doctor — "Budge not!'' quoth the fiend, — for nothing jihort of a fiend could, of a surety, inspire Peggy at such a time with such unwonted obstinacy. — Mone)?penny whipped and spurred — Peggy plunged, and reared, and kicked, and for several minutes to a superficial observer the termination of the contest might have appeared un- certain ; but your profound thinker sees at a glance that, however the scales may appear to vibrate, when the ques- tion between the sexes is one of perseverance, it is quite a lost case for the masculine gender. Peggy beat the doctor "all to sticks/' and when he was fairly tired of goading and thumping, maintained her position as firmly as ever. It is of no great use, and not particularly agreeable, to sit still, on a cold frosty morning in January, upon the outside of a brute that will neither go forwards nor backwards — so Mr. Moneypenny got oif, and muttering curses both "loud" and "deep " between his chattering teeth, " progressed," as near as the utmost extremity of the extended bridle would allow him, to peep among the weeds and brushwood that flanked the road, in order to discover, if possible, what it was that so exclusively at tracted the instinctive attention of his Bucephalus. His curiosity was not long a-t fault; the sunbeam glanced partially upon some object ruddier even than itself — it was a scarlet waistcoat, the wearer of which, overcome perchance by Christmas conipotation, seemed to have selected for his " thrice driven bed of down," the thickest clump of the tallest and most imposing nettles, 32 374 A LEGE^D OF THE WEALD OF KENT. thereon to doze away the narcotic effects of superabundant juniper. This, at least, was Mr.- Moneypenny's belief, or he would scarcely have uttered, at the highest pitch of his contralto, " What are you doing there, you drunken rascal ? frightening my horse !" — We have already hinted, if not absolutely asserted, that Peggy was a mare ; but this was no time for verbal criticism. — " Get up, I say, — get up, and go home, you scoundrel !" — But the "scoun- drel " and "drunken rascal" answered not; he moved not, nor could the prolonged shouting of the appellant, aided by significant explosions from a double-thonged whip, succeed in eliciting a reply. No motion indicated that the recumbent figure, whose outline alone was visi- ble, was a living and a breathing man ! The clear, shrill tones of a ploughboy's whistle sounded at this moment from the bottom of the hill, where the broad and green expanse of Romney Marsh stretches away from its foot for many a mile, and now gleamed through the mists of morning, dotted and enamelled with its thousand flocks. In a few minutes his tiny figure was seen " slouching" up the ascent, casting a most dis- proportionate and ogre-like shadow before him, "Come here. Jack," quoth the doctor, — "come here, boy, lay hold of this bridle, and mind that my horse does not run away." Peggy threw up her head, and snorted disdain of the insinuation, — she had not the slightest intention of doing any such thing. Mr. Moneypenny meanwhile, disencumbered of his restive nag, proceeded by manual application to arouse JERRY JARYIS'S WIG. 375 the sleeper. Alas ! the Seven of Ephesus might sooner have been awakened from their century of somnolency. His was that "dreamless sleep that knows no waking;" his cares in this world were over. Vainly did Money- penny practise his own constant precept, " To be well shaken V — there lay before him the lifeless body of a Murdered Man ! The corpse lay stretched upon its back, partially con- cealed, as we have before said, by the nettles which had sprung up among the stumps of the half-grubbed under- wood ; the throat was fearfully lacerated, and the dark, deep, arterial dye of the coagulated blood showed that the carotid had been severed. There was little to denote the existence of any struggle ; but as the day brightened, the sandy soil of the road exhibited an impression as of a body that had fallen on its plastic surface, and had been dragged to its present position, while fresh horse-shoe prints seemed to intimate that either the assassin or his victim had been mounted. The pockets of the deceased were turned out, and empty ; a hat and heavy-loaded whip lay at no great distance from the body, "But what have we here?" quoth Dr. Moneypenny * "what is it that the poor fellow holds so tightly in his hand?" That hand had manifestly clutched some article with all the spasmodic energy of a dying grasp — Tt war an OLD WIG ! ! " Those who aie fortunate enough to have seen a Cinque Port court-house may possibly divine what that 376 A LEGEND OF THE WEALD OF KENT. useful and most necessary edifice was some eighty years ago. Many of them seem to have undergone h'tle alter- ation, and are, in general, of a composite order of archi- tecture, a fanciful arrangement of brick and timber, with what Johnson would have styled '' interstices, reticulated, and decussated between intersections" of lath and plaster. Its less euphonious designation in the "Weald'' is a " noggin.'' One half the basement story is usually of the more solid material, the other, open to the street, — from which it is separated only by a row of dingy columns, supporting a portion of the superstructure, — is paved with tiles, and sometimes does duty as a market- place, while, in its centre, flanking the board staircase that leads to the sessions-house above, stands an ominous- looking machine, of heavy perforated wood, clasped within whose stern embrace " the rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep" off occasionally the drowsiness produced by con- vivial excess, in a most undignified position, an inconve- nience much increased at times by some mischievous urchin, who, after abstracting the shoes of the helpless detenu, amuses himself by tickling the soles of his feet. It was in such a place, or rather in the Court-room above, that in the year 1761, a hale, robust man, some- what past the middle age, with a very bald pate, save where a continued tuft of coarse, wiry hair, stretching from above each ear, swelled out into a greyish-looking bush upon the occiput, held up his hand before a grave and enlightened assemblage of Dymchurch jurymen. He stood arraigned for that offence mi)st heinous in the sight of God and man, the deliberate and cold-blooded butchery of an unoffending, unprepared fellow-creature, JERRY JARVIS'S WIG. 377 —homicidium quod nidlo videntc, nidlo auscultantej clam The victim was one llujnpliry Bourne, a reputable grazier of Ivycburch, worthy and well to do, though, perchance, a thought too apt to indulge on a market- day, when "a score of ewes" had brought in a reason- able profit. Some such cause had detained him longer than usual at an Ashford cattle-show ; he had left the town late, and alone; early in the following morning his horse was found standing at its own stable-door, the saddle turned round beneath its belly, and much about the time that the corpse of its unfortunate master was discovered some four miles off, by our friend the phar- macopolist. That poor Bourne had been robbed and murdered, there could be no question. Who, then, was the perpetrator of the atrocious deed? — The unwilling hand almost refuses to trace the name of — Joseph Washford. Yet so it was. Mr. Jeremiah Jarvis was himself the coroner for that division of the county of Kent known by the ^pame of "The Lath of Scraye.'' He had not sat two minutes on the body before he recognised his quondam property, and started at beholding in the grasp of the victim, as torn in the death-struggle from the murderer's head, his own old Wip, — his own perk} little pigtail, tied up with a piece of shabby shalloon, now wriggling and quivering, as in salutation of its an- cient master. The silver buckles of the murdered man were found in Joe Washford's shoes, — broad pieces were found in Joe Washford's pockets, — Joe Washford had 82 * 378 A LEGEND OF THE WEALD OF KENT. himself been found, wlien the hue-and-cry was up, hid in a corn-rig at no great distance from the scene of slaugh- ter, his pruning-knife red with the evidence of his crime — '' the gray hairs yet stuck to the heft !" For their humane administration of the laws, the lieges of this portion of the realm have long been cele- brated. Here it was that merciful verdict was recorded in tlie case of the old lady accused of larceny, " We find her Not Guilty, and hope she will never do so any more V Here it was that the more experienced culprit, when called upon to plead with the customary, though some- what superfluous, inquiry, as to " how he would be tried?" substituted fur the usual reply " By God and my coun- try," thai of " By your worship and a Dymehurch Jury." Here it was — but enough! — not even a Dymehurch jury could resist such evidence, even though the gallows (i. e. the expense of erecting one) stared them, as well as the criminal, in the face. The very pig-tail alone ! — ever at his ear! — a clearer case of madenie Dtaholo never was made out. Had there been a doubt, its very conduct in the Court-house would have settled the ques- tion. The Ilev. Joel Ingoldsby, umquhile chaplain to the llomney Bench, has left upon record that when ex- hibited in evidence, together with the blood-stained knife, its twistings, its caperings, its gleeful evolutions, quite "flabbergasted" the jury, and threw all beholders into a consternation. It was remarked, too, by many in the Court, that the Forensic Wig of the Recorder himself was, on that trying occasion, palpably agitated, and that its three depending, learned-looking tails lost curl at once, und slunk beneath the obscurity of the powdered collar JERRY JARVIS'S WIG. 379 just as the boldest dog recoils from a rabid animal of its own species, however small and insignificant. Why prolong the painful scene? — Joe Washford was tried — Joe Washford was convicted — Joe Washford was hanged ! ! The fearful black gibbet, on which his body clanked in its chains to the midnight winds, frowns no more upon Orlestone Hill ; it has sunk beneath the encroaching hand of civilization; but there it might be seen late in the last century, an awful warning to all bald-pated gen- tlemen how they wear, or accept, the old wig of a Special Attorney, Timeo Danao's et dona ferentes I Such gifts, as we have seen, may lead to a ^' Morbid Delu- sion, the climax of which is Murder I" The fate of the Wig itself is somewhat doubtful ; no- body seems to have recollected, with any degree of pre- cision, what became of it. Mr. Ingoldsby *'had heard" that, when thrown into the fire by the Court-keeper, after whizzing, and fizzling, and performing all sorts of super- natural antics and contortions, it at length whirled up the chimney with a bang that was taken for the explosion of one of the Feversham powder-mills, twenty miles off"; while others insinuate that in the "Great Storm" which took place on the night when Mr. Jeremiah Jarvis went to his " long home," — wherever that may happen to be, — and the whole of "The Marsh" appeared as one broad sheet of flame, something that looked very like a Fiery Wig — perhaps a miniature Comet — it had unquestion- ably a tail — was seen careering in the blaze, — and seem ing to '' ride on the whirlwind and direct the storm " UNSOPHISTICATED WISHFS. BY MISS JEMIMA INGOLDSBY. AGED FIFTEEN. (Communicated by her Cousin Tom,.) Oh ! how I should like in a Coach to ride, Like the Sheriffs I saw upon Lord Mayor's day, With a Coachman and Httle Postilion astride On the back of the leader, a prancing bay! And tlien behind it, oh ! I should glory To see the tall serving-men standing upright, Like the two who attend Mister Montefiore, (Sir Moses I should say) for now he 's a Knight. And then the liveries, I know it is rude to Find fault — but I'll hint as he can't see me blush, That I 'd not have the things I can only allude to Either orange in hue or constructed of plush ; But their coats and their waistcoats and hats are delightful, Their charming silk stockings — I vow and declare Our John's ginger gaiters so wrinkled and frightful, I never again shall be able to bear. Oh ! how I should like to have diamonds and rubies, And large plume of feathers and flowers in my hair! My gracious ! to think how our Tom and those boobies. Jack Smith and his friend Mister Thompson, would stare. Then how I should hke to drive to Guildhall, And to see the nobility flocking in shoals, With their two-guinea tickets to dance at the ball Which the Lord Mayor gives for the relief of the Pole^ (380) UNSOPHISTICATED WISHES. 381 And to look at the gas so uncommonly pretty, And the stars and the armour all just as they were, The day that the Queen came in state to the city To dine with the whole Corporation and Mayor. 9h ! how I should like to see Jane and Letitia, Miss Jones and the two Misses Frump sitting still. While dear Ensign Brown, of the West Kent Militia, Solicits my hand for the " Supper" Quadrille. With his fine white teeth and his cheek like a rose, And his black cravat and his diamond pin, And the nice little mustache under his nose, And the dear little tuft on the tip of his chin. And how I should hke some fine morning to ride In my coach, and my white satin shoes and gown, To St. James's Church, with a Beau by my side, And I shouldn't much care if his name was Bro?.Ti. The foregoing pages complete the Seiies of Poems, &e., published under the name of Thomas Ingoldsby; of these, "TVie Legend of Languedoc,'' ^^The Bucca- neer^ s Curse,^' ^^The House-warming,'' "The Lay of St. Romwoldy" and "The Brothers of Birchington," ap- peared in the New Monthly Magazine, the remainder in Bentley's Miscellany. , The following articles, which are added for reasons stated elsewhere, though prior in point of date, are by the same author, and with few exceptions, of a similar character with his better known effusions. The first three are versions of dramas produced : "Hermann,' at the English Opera House ; " William Rufus," we believe, at Drury Lane ; and "Marie Mignoty" at the Haymarket Theatre. The concluding lines are those alluded to in the Memoir, as having been the last that fell from Mr. Barham's pen, and which were written during one of those weary nights cf watchfulness occasioned by his disease. (882) MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. HERMANN; OR, THE BROKEN SPEAR An Emperor famous in council and camp, Has a son who turns out a remarkable scamp; Takes to dicing and drinking, And d — mning and sinking, And carries off maids, wives, and widows, like winking! Since the days of Arminius, his namesake, than Hermann There never was seen a more profligate German. He escapes from the City ; And joins some banditti, Insensible quite to remorse, fear, and pity ; Joins in all their carousals, and revels, and robberies, And in kicking up all sorts of shindies and bobberies. Well, hearing one day. His associates say That a bridal procession was coming their way, Inflamed with desire, he Breaks into a priory. And kicking out every man Jack of a friar, he Upsets in a twinkling the mass-books and hassocks, And dresses his rogues in the clergyman's cassocks. The new-married folks Taken in by this hoax. Mister Hermann grows frisky and full of his jokes: To the serious chagrin of her late happy suitor, Catching hold of the Bride, he attempts to sahite her ;j8a 384 HERMANN; OR, Now Heaven knows what Had become of the lot, It's Turtle to Tripe they'd have all gone to pot — If a dumb Lady, one Of her friends, had not run To her aid, and, quite scandalised, stopp'd all his fun ! Just conceive what a caper He cut, when her taper Long fingers scrawl'd this upon whitey-brown paper, (At the instant he seized, and before he had kiss'd her) — ' ' Ha' done. Mister Hermann ! for shame ! it 's your sister .' ' His hair stands on end, — he desists from his tricks, And remains in " a pretty particular fix." As he knows Sir John NichoU Still keeps rods in pickle. Offences of this kind severely to tickle. At so near an escape from his court and its sentence, His eyes fill witli tears, and his breast with repentance ; So, picking and stealing, And unrighteous dealing, 0*" all sorts, he cuts, from this laudable feeling: Of wickedness weary, With many a tear, he Now takes a French leave of the vile Condottieri : And the next thing we hear of this penitent villain. He is begging in rags in the suburbs of Milan. Half-starved, meagre, and pale, His energies fail. When his sister comes in with a pot of mild ale ; But, though tatter'd his jerkins, His heart is whole, — workings Of conscience debar him from "Barclay and Perkins." "I'll drink," exclaims he, " Nothing stronger than tea. And that but the worst and the weakest Bohea, THE BROKEN SPEAR. 385 Till I've done — from my past scenes of folly a far actor — Some feat shall redeem both my wardrobe and chai'acter." At signs of remorse so decided and visible, Nought can equal the joy of his fair sister Isabel, And the Dumb Lady too, Who runs off to a Jew, And buys him a coat of mail spick and span new, In the hope that his prowess rtnd deeds as a Knight Will keep his late larcenies quite out of sight. By the greatest good luck, his old friends the banditti Choose this moment to make an attack on the city! Now you all know the way Heroes hack, hew, and slay. When once they get fairly mix'd up in a fray : Hermann joins in the melee, Pounds this to a jelly. Runs that through the back, and a third through the belly, Till many a broken bone, bruised rib, and flat head. Make his ci-devant friends curse the hour that he ratted. Amid so many blows. Of course, you'll suppose He must get a black eye, or, at least, bloody nose ; " Take that! " cried a bandit, and struck, while he spoke it. His spear in his breast, and, in pulling it out, broke it. Hermann fainted away. When, as breathless he lay, A rascal claim'd all the renown of the day ; A recreant, cowardly, white-liver'd knight. Who had skulk'd in a furze-bush tlie whole of the fight. But the Dumb Lady soon Put some gin in a spoon. And half strangles poor Hermann, who wakes from his swoon, And exhibits liis wound, when the head of the spear Fits its handle, and makes his identity clear. The murder thus out, Hermann 's /^/ec? and thanked, Whila his rascally rival gets toss'd in a blanket : 83 .586 HINTS FOR AN HISTORICAL PLAY. And to finish the phiy — As reform'd rakes, they say, Make the best of all husbands — the very same day Hermann sends for a priest, as he must wed with some — lady, Buys a ring and a licence, and marries the Dumb Lady. Moral. Take warning, young people of every degree, From Hermann's example, and don't live too free ! If you get in bad company, fly from it soon ! If you chance to get thrash'd, take some gin in a spoon ; And remember, since wedlock's not all sugar-candy. If you wish to 'scape "wigging," a dumb wife's the dandy! HINTS FOR AN HISTORICAL PLAY; TO BE CALLED WILLIAM RUFUS: OR, THE RED ROVER. Act 1. Walter Tyrrel, the son of a Norman Papa, Has, somehow or other, a Saxon Mamma: Th ough humble, yet far above mere vulgar loons, He's a sort of a sub in the Rufus dragoons; Has travell'd, but comes home abruptly, the rather That some unknown rascal has murder'd his father; And scarce has he pick'd out, and stuck in his quiver. The arrow that pierced the old gentleman's liver, When he finds, as misfortunes come rarely alone. That his sweetheart has bolted, — with whom is not known But, as murder will out, he at last finds the lady At court with her character grown rather shady; HINTS FOR AN HISTORICAL PLAY. 387 This gives him the " blues," and impairs the delight He 'd have otherwise felt when they dub him a Knight, For giving a runaway stallion a check, And preventing his breaking King Rufus's neck. Act 2. Sir Walter has dress'd himself up like a Ghost, And frightens a soldier away from his post ; Then, discarding his helmet, he pulls his cloak higher, Draws it over his ears and pretends he 's a Friar. This gains him access to his sweetheart, Miss Faucit ; But, the King coming in, he hides up in her closet ; Where oddly enough, among some of her things. He discovers some arrows he 's sure are the King's, Of the very same pattern with that which he found Sticking into his father when dead on the ground I Forgetting his funk, he bursts open the door. Bounces into the Drawing-room, stamps on the floor, W^ith an oath on his tongue, and revenge in his eye, And blows up King William the Second, sky-high ; Swears, storms, shakes his fist, and exhibits such airs, That his Majesty bids his men kick him down stairs. Act 3. King Rufus is cross when he comes to reflect, That as King, he's been treated with gross disrespect; So he pens a short note to a holy physician, A nd gives him a rather unholy commission. Viz., to mix up some arsenic and ale in a cup, Wliich the chances are Tyrrel may find and drink up. Sure enough, on the very next morning. Sir Walter Perceives in his -walks, this same cup on the altar. As he feels rather thirsty, he 's just about drinking. When ^liss Faucit, in tears, comes in running like winking; He pauses of course, and as she's thirsty, too, Says, very politely, "Miss, I after you 1" 388 MARIE MIGNOT The young lady curtsies, and being so dry, Raises somehow her fair httle finger so high, That there's not a drop left him to ** wet t'other eye;" While the dose is so strong, to his grief and surprise, She merely says, " Thankee, Sir Walter," and dies. At that moment the King, who is riding to cover, Pops in en passant on the desperate lover. Who has vow'd not five minutes before, to transfix him — So he does, — he just pulls out his arrow and sticks him. From the strength of his arm, and the force of his blows, The Ked-bearded Rover falls flat on his nose ; And Sir Walter, thus having concluded his quarrel, Walks down to the foot-lights, and draws this fine moral : " Ladies and Gentlemen, Lead sober lives : — Don't meddle with other folks' Sweethearts or Wives I — When you go out a sporting, take care of your gun. And — never shoot elderly people in fun ! " MARIE MIGNOT. Miss Marie Mignot was a nice little Maid, Her Uncle a Cook, and a Laundress her trade, And she loved as dearly as any one can Mister Lagardie, a nice little man. But oh ! But oh ! Story of woe! A sad interloper, one Monsieur Modean, Ugly and old, With plenty of gold. Made his approach In an elegant coach. Her fancy was charm'd with the splendour and show And he bore off the false-hearted Molly Mignot. MARIE MIGXO'J. Monsieur Modeau was crazy and old, And Monsieur Modeau caught a terrible cold, His nose was stuff 'd and his throat was sore, lie had physic by the quart and Doctors by the scoro They sent quills And pills, And very long bills. And all they could do did not make him get well, He sounded his M's and N's like an L. A shocking bad cough At last took him off, And Mister Lagardie, her former young beau, Came a-com-ting again to the Widow Modeau. Mister Lagardie, to gain him eclat, Had cut the Cook's shop and follow'd the law ; And when Monsieur IModeau set out on his journey, Was an Articled Clerk to a Special Attorney. He gave her a call, On the day of a ball, To which she 'd invited the court, camp and all ; But " poor dear Lagardie," Again was too tardy, For a Marshal of France Had just ask'd her to dance ; In a twinkling, the ci-devant Madame Modeau Was wife of the Marshal Lord Marquis Dinot. Mister Lagardie was shock'd at the news, And went and enlisted at once in the Blues. The Marquis Dinot Felt a little so so — Took physic, grew worse, and had notice to go — He died, and was shelved, and his Lady so gay Smiled again on Lagardie noAv placed on full pay, A Swedish Field-Marshal with a guinea a day; When an old Ex-King Just show'd her the ring; 33* S89 390 MARIE MIGNOT. To be Queen, she conceived was a very fine thing ; But the King turn'd a Monk, And Lagardie got drunk. And said to the Lady with a deal of ill-breeding, "You may go to the d — 1 and I'll go to Sweden." Thus between the two stools, Like some other fools. Her Ladyship found Herself plump on the ground ; So she cried, and she stamp'd, and she sent for a hack, And she drove to a convent and never came back. Moral. Wives, Maidens, and Widows, attend to my lay - If a fine moral lesson you'd draw from a play, To the Haymarket go And see Marie Mignol, Miss Kelly plays Marie, and Williams Modeau ; Mrs. Glover and Vining Are really quite shining, And though Thompson for a Marquis Has almost too much carcass, Yet it 's not fair to pass him or John Cooper's Cassimir, And the piece would be barren Without Mr. Farren ; N