THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA RIVERSIDE Ex Libris ISAAC FOOT ] .■-'A: mm. ^-hsm^^ mi' !->> •v^^l ^^^ 5^? •vr^v- mi .*^^ii: s*^;^" R^/ .«•> ^"•■ ^. ,:-x i Jdrru^- G,frJi I ' jlj- CJ)e 3JnsoIti8l)j) itecifniis. n^ fSf}. THE HAND OF GLOKY. ni^th(^m^ ISichaho n. THE Ingoldsby Legends OR #TirtJ) anti ifiarbtis; Popular Edition WITH SIXTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS BY CRUIKSHANK, LEECH, TENNIEL, AND BARHAM LONDON RICHARD BENTLEY& SON, NEW BURLINGTON ST. iDublisljcrs in ©rliinarg tfl Jt^v fflajfstg tijc ©u:m 1SS9 ■n^^ B LONDON : FRISTKD BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIIIITED, STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS. LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. The Hand of Glory . The Spectre of Tappington The Ghost . . . The Cynotaph The Legend of Hamilton Tighe The Witches' Frolic . A Lay oi St. Gengulphus The Black Mousquetaire The Merchant of Venice The Auto-da-F^ . The Ingoldsby Penanck Netley Abbey The Smuggler's Leap . The Dead Drummer . The Wedding-Day The Brothers of Birchington And Woodcuts, Frontispiece. Toface page I »t 60 f> 66 »» 94 >i ICO >f 144 >f 218 >i 236 1) 248 >i 262 »» 268 f» 292 i> 312 » 386 t> 414 £y THE SAME AUTHOR THE JNGOLDSB Y LYRICS In One Vol., Crown Zvo, y. 6J. TO EIOHAED BENTLEY, ESQ. My dear SiK, You wish me to collect into a single volume certaiu rambling extracts from our family memoranda, many of Avhicli have already appeared iu the pages of your Mis- cellany. 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 extremity of Barham Downs. Here a beaiTtiful green lane diverging abruptly to the right, will carry them through the Oxenden plantations and the un- pretending village of Denton, to the foot of a very re- spectable hill, — as hills go in this part of Europe. On reaching its summit let them look straight before them, — and if, among the hanging woods which crown the opposite side of the valley, they cannot distinguish an antiquated Manor-house of Elizabethan architecture, with a 5 IV I'REFACK. its gable ends, stoue stanchions, and tortuous chimneya rising above the suiTounding trees, why — the soonei they procure a pair of Dollond's patent spectacles the better. If, on the contrary, they can manage to descry it, and, proceeding some five or six furlongs through the avenue, will ring at the Lodge-gate, — they cannot mistake the stone lion with the Ingoldsby escutcheon (Ermine, a saltire engrailed Gules,) in his paws, — they A^dll be re- ceived -udth a hearty old English welcome. The papers in question having been WTitten by different parties, and at various periods, I have thought it advisable to reduce the more ancient of them into a comparatively modern phraseology, and to make my collateral ancestor, Father John, especially, ' deliver himself like a man of this world ;' Mr. Maguire, indeed, is the only Gentleman who, in his account of the late Coronation, retains his own rich vernacular. As to arrangement, I shall adopt the sentiment ex- pressed by the Constable of Bourbon four centuries ago, teste Shakspeare, one which seems to become more fashion- uble every day, •Tlie Devil talre all order ! !— Til fo the throng !' Believe me to be, My dear Su', Yours, most indubitably and immeasurably, THOMAS INGOLDSBY. TaPPINOTON EvERAItD, Jan 20///. 1840. PKEFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. TO EICHAED BENTLEY, ESQ. My DEHiR Sn:, I SHOULD liavo replied sconor to your letter, but tliat the last three days in Ja-pxiary are, as yoti are aware, always dedicated, at the Hall, to an especial battue, and the old honse is full of shooting-jackets, shot- belts, and ' double Joes.' Even the women wear per- cussion caps, and your favourite (?) Eover, who, you may remember, examined the calves of your legs with such suspicious curiosity at Christmas, is as pheasant-mad as if he were a biped, instead of being a genuine foui--leggcd scion of the Blenheim breed. I have managed, however, to avail myself of a lucid interval in the general halluci- nation, (how the rain did come down on jMonday !) and as you tell me the excellent friend whom you are in the habit of styling ' a Generous and Enlightened Public ' has emptied your shelves of the first edition, and 'asks for more,' why, I agree -^"ith you, it would be a want of respect to that very respectable personification, when furnishing him with a further supply, not to endeavour, at least, to ■ amend my faults, v.-^hich are few, and your own, which are more numerous. I have, therefore, gouo to work con amove, supplying occasionally on my o^^ti part a deficient note, or ebicidatory stanza, and on j-oura VI PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. knocking out, without remorse, your superfluous i's, and now and then eviscerating your colon. ]My duty to your illustrious friend thus performed, I have a crow to pluck with him. — A\Tiy will he persist — as you tell me he does persist — in calling me by all sorts of names but those to which I am entitled by birth and baptism — my ' Sponsorial and Patronymic appellations,' as Dr. Pangloss has it ?— Mrs. Malaprop complains, and Avith justice, of an ' assault upon her parts of speech,' but to attack one's very existence — to deny that one is a person in esse, and scarcely to admit that one may he a person in posse, is tenfold cruelty ; — ' it is pressing to death, whipping, and hanging !' — let me entreat all such likewise to remember, that as Shakspeare beautifully expresses himself elsewhere — I give his words as quoted by a very Avorthy Baronet in a neighbouring county, when protesting against a defamatory placard at a general election — » ' Who steals my pm-se steals stufl'! — 'Twas mine — 'tLsn't liis — nor nobody else's ! But lie who runs away with my Good Nasie, Eobs me of what does not do him any good, And makes me deuced poor ! !'* In order utterly to squabash and demolish eveiy gain- sayer I had thought, at one time, of asldng my old and esteemed friend, Eichard Lane, to cnish them at once with his magic pencil, and to transmit my features to posterity, where all his works are sure to be ' delivered according to the direction ;' but somehow the noble-looking profiles Avhich he has recently executed of the Kemble family * A reading which seems most unaccountably to have escaped the researches of all modern Shakspearians, including the rival editors of the new and illustrated versions. FKKFACK TO lUK SKCOND HJJITION. Vll put me a little out of conceit of my own, while the undisguised amusement which my ' Mephistopheles Eye- brow,' as he termed it, afforded him, in the 'full face,' induced me to lay aside the design. Besides, my • dear Sir, since, as has well been observed, ' there never was a married man yet who had not somebody remarkably like him walking about to^^^l,' it is a thousand to one but my lineaments might, after all, out of sheer peiverseness, be ascribed to any body rather than to the real o^vner. I have therefore sent you, instead thereof, a fair sketch of Tappington, taken from the Folkestone road (T tore it «°^ last night out of Julia .Simpkinson's album); get Gilksto make a woodcut of it. And now, if any miscreant (T use the word only in its primary and ' Pickwickian ' sense of ' Unbeliever,') ventures to throw any furthor Vlll PREFACE, TO THE SECOND EDITIOX. doubt upon the matter, why, as Jack Cade's friend .says in the play, ' There are the chimneys in my father's house, and the bricks are alive at this day to testify it I' ' Why veiy well then — we hope here be truths !' Heaven be with you, my dear Sir ! — I was getting a little excited ; but you, who are mild as the milk that dews the soft whisker of the new-weaned kitten, will forgive me when, wiping away the nascent moisture from my brow, I ' pull in,' and subscribe myself, Yours quite as much as his own, THOMAS INGOLDSBY. Tappington Everard, Feb. 2nd, 1843. CONTENTS. jpirst ^niES. FAQB THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON .. .. .. .. 1 THE nurse's STOBY — THE HAND OF GLORY .. .. 25 patty morgan the milkmaid's stoey — ' look at the clock' .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 31 grey dolphin .. .. .. .. .. •• 37 the ghost .. .. .. •• •• .. •• 55 the cynotaph .. .. .. .. .. .. 62 MRS. BOTHERBy's STORY — THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE .. 67 LEGEND OF HAMILTON TIGHE .. .. .. .. 92 THE witches' frolic .. .. .. 95 SIXGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF TEE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D, .. .. ., -. .. .. 108 THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS .. .. ., .. 129 A LAY OF ST. DTJNSTAN .. .. .. .. .. 132 A LAY OF ST. GENGULPHUS .. .. .. .. 140 A LAY OF ST. ODILLE .. .. .. .. .. 148 A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS .. .. .. .. 154 THE LADY ROHESIA .. .. .. .. .. .. 161 THE TRAGEDY .. .. .. .. .. •• 168 ilR. BARNEY MAGUIRe's ACCOUNT OF THE CORONATIO^T .. 171 THE 'MONSTRE' BALLOON .. .. .. .. 174 HON. MR. SUCKLETHUMBKIn's STORY THE EXECUTION .. 177 SOME ACCOUNT OF A NEW PLAY .. .. .. 180 MR. PETERS'S STORY — THE BAGMAN'S DOG .. .. ISH APPENDIX.. .. .. .. .. .. .. 201 CONTENTS. ^cconti ^cnc&. THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIRK . . SIR RUPERT THE FEARLESS T!IE MERCHANT OF VENICE.. THE AUTO-DA-FE.. THE INGOI.DSBY PENANCE .. NETLEY ABBEY .. FRAGMENT NELL COOK NURSERY REMINISCENCES AUNT FANNY MISADVENTURES AT MARGATE THH smuggler's LEAP .. KLOUDIE JACKE OF SHREWSRERRIE THE BABES IN THE WOOD THE DEAD DRUMMER A ROW IN AN OMNIBUS CbOX) .. THE lay' OF ST. CUTHBERT.. THE LAY OF ST. ALOYS THE LAY OF THE OLD WOMAN CLOTHED EAISINfl THE DEVIL THE LAY OF ST. MEDAKD .. IN G'.'.EY PAGB 203 220 228 238 255 206 270 271 277 279 285 288 294 304 309 319 323 334 343 35f5 358 OONTENTS. XI ^\)ixti levies. TEE LOKD OF TilOULOUSE .. TUfi wedding-day; or, the bltccaneeu's curse THE blasphemer's WARNING THE BROTHERS OF EIRCHIXGTON THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY THE HOUSE-WARMING THE FORLORN ONE ,. JERRY JARVIS'S WIG UNSOPHISTICATED WISHES .. HERMANN; OR, THE BROKEN Sl'SAB HINTS FOR AN HISTORICAL P1,AY .. MARIE MIGNOT THE TRUANTS THE POPLAR MY LETTERS .. NEW-MADE HONOUR THE CONFESSION SONG EPIGRAM EPIGRAM .. BONG AS I LAYE A-THYNKYNGE WGE 366 377 388 406 415 423 434 435 450 452 454 456 457 460 461 464 464 465 466 466 466 467 _-,.<'^^^*.» ^^/*ti^r-.(^ THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON. Cfje ^ngolDsti? legenD.^. -♦*♦- THE SPECTRE 01' TAPPINGTOX. • TT is very odd, tliougli ; what can have become of them ?' said A Charles Seaforth, as he peeped under the valance of an old- fashioned bedstead, in an old-fashioned apartment of a still more old-fashioned manor-house ; ' 'tis 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 per- son as any young gentleman of twenty-two in 'the service' can fairly be expected to be — cooled when ho reflected that his servant could scarcely reply extempore to a summons wluch it was impos- sible be 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 m!' said his master. An ineffectual attempt upon the door reminded Mr. Seaforth that he had locked 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 my pantaloons ?' 'Is it the breeches?' asked the valet, casting an mquiriug pye round the apartment ; — 'is it the breeches, sir?' ' Yes ; what ha.ve 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 fashion- able tunic from a cane-backed arm-chair, proceeding in his examin- ation. But the search was vain: there was the tunic aforesaid; B 2 THE SPECrRE OV TAPPINGTON. there v/as a smart-looking kerseymere waistcoat; but the most im- portant article of all in a gentleman's wardrolje was still wanting. ' Where ca7i they he ?' asked the master, with a strong accent on the auxiliary verb. * Sorrow a know I knows,' said the man. * It must have been the devil, then, after all, who has been here and carried them oil'!' cried Seaforth, staring full into Barney's face. Mr. Maguire was not devoid of the superstition of his country- men, still he looked as if he did not quite subscribe to the sequitur. His master read incredulity in his countenance. ' Why, I tell you, Barney, I put them there, on that arm-chair, when I got into bed ; and, by Heaven ! I distinctly saw the ghost of the old fellow they told me of, come in at midnight, put on my pantaloons, and walk away with them.' ' May be so,' was the cautious reply. *I thought, of course, it was a dream ; but 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, lean- ing against the toilet, sunk into a reverie. ' After all, it must be some trick of my laughter-loving cousins, said Seaforth. 'Ah! then, the ladies!' chimed in Mr. Maguire, though the observation was not addressed to him ; ' and will it be Miss Caroline or Miss Fanny, that's stole your honour's things ?' 'I hardly know what to think of it,' pursued the bereaved lieu- tenant, still speaking in soliloquy, with his eye resting dubiously on the chamber-door. 'I locked myself in, that's certain; and — but there must be some other entrance to the room — pooh ! I remember ■ — the private staircase ; how could I be such a fool ?' and he crossed the chamber to where a low oaken doorcase was dimly visible in a distant corner. He paused before it. Nothing now interfered lo scieen 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 the portal. ' This way they must have come,' said Seaforth j ' I wish with ail my heart I had caught them !' ' Och ! the kittens !' sighed Mr. Barney Maguire. But the mystery was yet as far from being solved as before. Tme, THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON". 3 there was the 'other door;' bat then that, too, on examination, was even more firmly secured than the one which opened on the gallery, — two heavy holts on the inside effectually prevented any coup de main on the lieutenant's bivouac from that quarter. He was more puzzled than ever; nor did the minutest inspection of the walls and floor throw any light upon the subject : one thing only was clear, — the breeches were gone ! ' It is very singular,' said the lieutenant. Tappington (generally called Tapton) Everard is an antiquated but commodious manor-house in the eastern division of the county of Kent. A former proprietor had been high-sheriff in the days of Elizabeth, and many a dark and dismal tradition was yet extant of the licentiousness of his life, and the enormity of his 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 friendship ; but the ill- concealed scowl on their master's brow told the domestics that the visit was not a welcome one ; the banquet, however, was not spared ; the wine-cup circulated 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 far as to break in upon his master's privacy. Sir Giles, already high in oath, fiercely enjoined his absence, and he retired ; not, however, before he had distinctly heard from the stranger's lips a menace that ' there was that within his pocket which could disprove the knight's right to issue that or any other command within the walls of Tapton.' The intrusion, though momentary, seemed to have produced a beneficial effect ; the voices of the disputants fell, and the conversa- tion was carried on thenceforth in a more subdued tone, till, as even- ing closed in, the domestics, when summoned to attend with lights, found not only cordiality restored, but that a still deeper carouse was meditated. Fresh stoups, and from the choicest bins, were pro- duced ; nor was it till at a late, or rather early hour, that tho revellers sought their chambers. 4 THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON. The one allotted to the stranger occupied the first floor uf the eastern angle of the building, and had once been the favourite apart- ment of Sir Giles himself. Scandal ascribed this preference to the facility which a private staircase, communicating with the grounds, had afforded him, in the old knight's time, of following his wicked courses unchecked by parental observation ; a consideration which ceased to be of weight when the death of his father left him uncon- trolled 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 accession of guests around the Christmas hearth. On this eventful night it was prepared for the unknown visitor, who sought his couch heated and inflamed from his midnight orgies, and in the morning was found in his bed a swollen and blackened corpse. Ko marks of violence appeared upon the body ; but tlie livid hue of the lii")S, and certain dark-coloured spots visible on tlie skin, aroused suspicions which those who entertained them were too timid to express. Apoplexy, induced by the excesses of the pre- ceding 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 elements joined with human valour to disprove, soon interfered to weaken, if not obliterate, all remem- brance 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 believed, of his immediate line ; though a few of the older tenants were sometimes heard to s^x^ak of an elder brother, who had disappeared in early life, and never in- herited the estate. Eumours, 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 Btfajagcr. One circumstance alone occurred, after a long-interveniacr THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON. 5 period, to revive the memory of these transactions. Some workmen employed in grubbing an old jolantation, for the pur^x)se of raising on its site a modern shrubbery, dug up, in the execution of their task, the mildewed remnants of what seemed to have been once a garment. On more minute inspection, enough remained of silken slashes and a coarse embroidery, to identify the relics as having once formed part of a pair of trunk hose ; while a few papers which fell from them, altogether illegible from damp and age, were by the un- learned rustics, conveyed to the then owner of the estate. Whether the squire was more successful in deciphering them was never known ; he certainly never alluded to their contents ; and little would have been thought of the matter but for the incon- venient 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 sui> posed repository of the supposed documents, could never be found. The master of Tapton 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 wiring 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 haunted from the time of his decease ; but the periods of visitation had latterly become very rare — even Mrs. Botherby, the housekeeper, being forced to admit that, during her long sojourn at the manor, she had never ' met with any- thing worse than herself ;' though, as the old lady afterwards added upon more mature reflection, * I must say I think I saw the devil once.'' Such was the legend attached to Tapton Everard, and such the story which the lively Caroline Ingoldsby detailed to her equally mercurial cousin, Charles Seaforth, 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 6 THE SPECTRK OF TAPPINGTOK. cf Hmdostan, v/hence he was now returned on a three years' fur- lough. He had gone out a boy — he returned a man ; but the im-- pression 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 door of his relatives, without just looking in for a few hours. But he found his uncle as hospitable, and his cousin more charm- ing than ever ; and the looks of one, and the requests of the other, soon precluded the possibility of refusing to lengthen the ' few- hours ' into a few days, though tlie house was at the moment full of visitors. The Peterses were there from Eamsgate ; and Mr., Mrs., and the two Miss Simpkinsons, from Bath, had come to pass a month with the family ; and Tom lugoldsby had brought down his college friend the Honourable Augustus Sucklethumbkin, with his groom and pointers, to take a fortnight's shooting. And then there was Mrs. Ogleton, the rich young widow, with her large black eyes, who, people did say, was setting her cap at the young squire, though Mrs. Botherby did not believe it ; and, above all, there was Made- moiselle Pauline, her/em7?ie rte cJiamhre, who 'mon-Dieu''d^ every- thing and everybody, and cried ' Quel horreurV 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 magnanimous 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 proposal of joint occupancy having been fii-st indignantly rejected by ' Mademoiselle,' though preferred with the ' laste taste in life ' of Mr. Barney's most insinuating brogue. Come, Charles, the urn is absolutely getting cold ; your breakfast ■mill be quite spoiled : what can have made you so idleV Such Avas the morning salutation of Miss Ingoldsby to the militaire as he entered the brealifaat-room half-an-hour after the latest cf the party. *A pretty gentleman, truly, to make an aijpointmeut with,' THK SPECTilE OF T.U'PINGTOX. 7 chimed in Miss Frances. ' What is become of our ramble to tha rocks before breakfast '?' ' Oh ! the young men never think of keeping a promise 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. Simpkinson from Bath. 'Why, sir, when I married Mrs. Peters, I was— let me see— I was ' ' Do pray hold your tongue, P., and eat your breakfast 1' mterrupted his better half, who had a mortal horror of chronological references ; ' it's very rude to tease people with your family alfairs.' 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 salutation. 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 Caroline in her secret soul attributed to his being solely occupied by her agremens: how would she have bridled had she known that they only shared his meditations 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 con- scious look. But m vain ; not a dimple moved indicative of roguery, nor did the slightest elevation of eyebrow rise confirmative of his sus- picions. Hints and insinuations passed unheeded — more particular mquiries were out of the question : — the subject was unapproachable. In the mean time, ' patent cords ' were just the thmg for a morn- ing's ride ; and, breaklast ended, away cantered the party over the downs, till, every faculty absorbed by the beauties, animate and inanimate, which surrounded him. Lieutenant Seaforth of the Bom- bay 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 brilliantly, forming with his lavel beams a splendid rainbow 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 bo the claning of ye,' apostro- phised Mr. Barney Maguire, as he deposited, in front of his master's 8 THE SPECTRE OF TAPPLNGTON- 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 turfy 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 diiferent from the light labours of the day before ; uo wonder he murmured with a sigh, as the scarce dried window- panes disclosed a road now inch deep in mud. * Ah ! then, it's little good the claning of ye !' — for well had he learned in the hall below that eight miles of a stiif clay soil lay between the manor and Bolsover Abbey, whose picturesque ruins, ' Like ancient Rome, majestic in decay,' the party had determined to explore. The master had already com- menced 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 no ' breeches and boots to match ' were there : loose jean trousers, surmounting a pair of diminu- tive "Wellingtons, embraced, somewhat incongruously, his nether man, vice the ' patent cords,' returned, like yesterday's pantaloons, 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 which that exemplary matron was in the constant habit of administering to ' her P.' as she called him, whenever he prepared to vent his reminis- cences. Her precise reason for this it would be difficult to deter- mine, unless, indeed, the story be true which a little bird had whispered into Mrs. Botherby's ear — Mr. Peters, though now a wealthy paan, had received a liberal educ£>tiou at a charity school, and waa THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON. 9 apt to recur to the days of his muffin-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, ' won't you he very wet?' ' You had Letter take Tom's cah,' 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 flirtation. ' Or drive Miss Julia in the phaeton ?' No ; that v.-as the post of Mr. Peters, who, indifferent as an equestrian, had acquired some fame as a whip while travelling through the midland counties for the firm of Bagshaw, Snivelby, and Ghrimes. ' Thank you, I shall ride with my cousins,' said Charles, with as much nonchalance as he could assume — and he did so ; Mr. Ingoldsby, Mrs. Peters, Mr. Simi^kinson from Bath, and his eldest daughter with her alhum, following in the family coach. The gentleman-commoner * voted the afi'air d — d slow,' and declined the party altogether in favour of the gamekeeper and a cigar. ' There was " no fun " in looking at old houses !' Mrs. Simpkinson preferred a short sejour in the still-room with Mrs. Botherby, who had promised to initiate her in that grand arcanum, the transmutation of gooseberry jam into Guava jelly. ' Did you ever see an old abbey before, Mr. Peters ?' 'Yes, miss, a French one; we have got one at Eamsgate; he teaches the Miss Joneses to parley-voo, and is turned of sixty.' Miss Simpkinson closed her album with an air of ineffable disdain. Mr. Simpkinson from Bath was a professed antiquary, and one of the first water ; he was master of Gwillim's Heraldry, and Mills's History of the Crusades ; knew every plate in the Monasticon ; had written an essay on the origin and dignity of the office of overseer, and settled the date of a Queen Anne's farthing. An influential member of the Antiquarian Society, to whose ' Beauties of Bagnigge AVclls ' he had been a liberal subscriber, procured him a seat at the board of that learned body, since which happy eiwch Sylvanus Urban had not a more indefatigable correspondent. His inaugural essay on the President's cocked hat was considered a miracle of erudition; and Ilia account of the earliest application of gilding to gingerbread, a 10 THE SPECTRK OF TAPPINGTON. masterpiece of auliciuarian research. His eldest daughter was of a kindred spirit : if her father's mantle had not fallen upon her, it was only because he had not thrown it off himself ; she had caught hold of its tail, however, while it yet hung upon his honoured shoulders. To souls so congenial, what a sight was the magnificent ruin of Bulsover ! its broken arches, its mouldering pinnacles, and the airy tracery of its half-demolished windows. The party were in raptures ; Mr. Simpkinson began to meditate an essay, and his daughter an ode : even Seaforth, as he gazed on these lonely relics of the olden time, was betrayed into a momentary forgetfulness of his love and losses ; the widow's eye-glass turned from her cicisheo's whiskers to the mantling ivy : Mrs. Peters wiped her spectacles; and 'her P. supposed the central tower ' had once been the county jail.' The squire was a philosopher, and had been there often before, so he ordered out the cold tongue and chickens. ' Bolsover Priory,' said Mr. Simpkinson, with the air of a con- noisseur, — ' Bolsover Priory was founded in the reign of Henry the Sixth, about the beginning of the eleventh century. Hugh de Bolsover had accompanied that monarch to the Holy Land, in the expedition undertaken by way of penance for the murder of his young nephews in the Tower. Upon the dissolution of the monas- teries, the veteran was enfeoffed in the lands and manor, to which he gave his own name of Bowlsover, or Bee-owls-over, (by corruption Bolsover,) — a Bee in chief, over three Owls, all proper, being the armorial ensigns borne by this distinguished crusader at the siege of Acre.' ' Ah ! that was Sir Sidney Smith,' said Mr. Peters ; ' I've heard tell of him, and all about Mrs. Partington, and ' * P. be quiet, and don't expose yourself!' sharply interrupted his lady. P. was silenced, and betook himself to the bottled stout. 'These lands,' continued the antiquary, 'were held in grand serjeantry by the presentation of three white owls and a pot of honey ' ' Lassy me ! how nice !' said Miss Julia. Mr. Peters licked his lips. ' Pray give me leave, my dear — owls and honey, whenever the king should come a rat-catching into this part of the coimtry.' * Piat-catching !' ejaculated the squire, pausing abruptly in the mastication of a drumstick. ' To be sure, my dear sir : don't you remember the rats once came under the forest laws — a minor species of venison? "Piats and THE SPECl'RE OF TAPPINGTON". ll mice, and such small deer," eli? — Shtikspeare, you know. Our ancestors ate rats; ("The nasty fellows!" shuddered Miss Julia, in a parenthesis ;) and owls, you know, are capital mousers ' * I've seen a howl,' said Mr. Peters ; ' there's one in the Soholo- gical Gardens, — a little hook-nosed chap in a wig, — only its feathers and ' Poor P. was destined never to finish a speech. 'Doha quiet!' cried the authoritative voice; and the would-be naturalist shrank into his shell, like a snail in the 'Sohologicai Gardens.' 'You should read Blount's "Jocular Tenures'' Mr. Ingoldshy,' pursued Simpkinson. 'A learned man was Blount! Why, sir. His Pioyal Highness the Duke of York once paid t silver horse-slioe to Lord Ferrers ' Tve heard of him,' hroke in the incorrigible Peters; 'he was hanged at the Old Bailey in a silk rope for shooting Dr. Johnson.' The antiquary vouchsafed no notice of the interruption; but, taking a pinch of snuff, continued his harangue. 'A silver horse-shoe, sir, which is due from every scion of royalty who rides across one of his manors; and if you look into the penny county histories, now publishing by an eminent friend of mine, you v/ill fhid that Langhale in Co. Norf. was held by one Baldwin per salium, sufflatum, et petium ; that is, he was to come every Christ- mas into Westminster Hall, there to take a leap, cry hem ! and- ' ' Mr. Simpkinson, a glass of sherry ?' cried Tom Ingoldsby, hastily. ' Not any, thank you, sir. This Baldwin, surnamed Le ' ' Mrs. Ogleton challenges you, sir ; she insists upon it,' said Tom still more rapidly, at the same time filling a glass, and forcing it on the sgavant, who, thus arrested in the very crisis of his narrative, received and swallowed the potation as if it had been physic. ' What on earth has Miss Simpkinson discovered there '?' con- tinued Tom ; ' something of interest. See how fast she is writing.' The diversion was effectual; every one looked towards Miss Simpkinson, who, far too ethereal for ' creature comforts,' was seated apart on the dilapidated remains of an altar-tomb, committing eagerly to paper something that had strongly impressed her ; the air — the eye in a 'fine frenzy rolling,' — all betokened that the divine afflatus was come. Her father rose, and stole silently towartls her. 12 THB SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON. ' What an old boar !' muttered young Ingoldsby ; alluding per- haps, to a slice of brawn which he had just begun to operate upon, but which, from the celerity with wliich it disappeared, did not seem so very difficult of mastication. But what had become of Seaforth and his fair Caroline all this while? Why, it so happened that they had been simultaneously stricken with the picturesque ai)pearance of one of those high and pointed arches, which that eminent antiquary, Mr. Horseley Gurties, has described in his 'Ancient Eecords,' as 'a Oothic window of the Saxon order ;' and then the ivy clustered so thickly and so beauti- fully on the other side, that they went round to look at that ; and then their proximity deprived it of half its effect, and so they walked across to a little knoll, a hundred yards off, and in crossing a small ravine, they came to what in Ireland they call ' a bad step,' and Charles had to carry his cousin over it ; and then when they had to come back, she would not give him the trouble again for the world, BO they followed a better but more circuitous route, and there were hedges and ditches in the way, and stiles to get over and gates to get through, so that an hour or more liad elapsed befoi'e they were able to rejoin the party. ' Lassy me !' said Miss Julia Simpkinson, ' how long you have been gone !' And so they had. The remark was a very just as well as a very natural one. They were gone a long while, and a nice cosy chat they had ; and what do you think it was all about, ray dear miss ? ' 0, lassy me ! love, no doubt, and the moon, and eyes, and night- ingales, and ' Stay, stay, my sweet young lady ; do not let the fervour of your feelings run away with you ! I do not pretend to say, indeed, that one or more of these pretty subjects might not have been introduced ; but the most important and leading topic of the conference was — Lieutenant Scaforth's breeches. ' Caroline,' said Charles, ' I have had some very odd dreams since I have been at Tappington.' ' Dreams, have you ?' smiled the young lady, arching her taj^er neck like a swan in pluming. ' Dreams, have you ?' ' Ay, dreams, — or dream, perhaps, I should say ; for, though re- peated, it was still the same. And what do you imagine was its subject ?' ' Jt ia impossible for me to divine,' said the tongue ; — ' I have U(?t THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTOU. 13 the least difficulty in guessing,' said the eye, as plainly as ever eye spoke. 'I dreamt — of your great-grandfather!' There was a change in the glance — ' My great-grandfather ?' ' Yes, the old Sir Giles, or Sir John, you told me about the other day: he walked into my bedroom in his short cloak of murrey- coloured velvet, his long rapier, and his Ealeigh-looking hat and feather, just as the picture represents him ; but with one exception.' ' And what was that ?' ' Vv'^hy, his lower extremities, which were visible, were those of a skeleton,' '\Vell?' ' Well, after taking a turn or two about the room, and looking round him with a wistful air, he came to the bed's foot, stared at me in a manner impossible to describe, — and then he — he laid hold of my pantaloons ; whipped his long bony legs into them in a twink- ling; and strutting up to the glass, seemed to view himself in it with great complacency. I tried to speak, but in vain. The effort, however, seemed to excite his attention; for, wheeling about, he showed me the grimmest-looking death's head you can well imagine, and with an indescribable grin strutted out of the room.' ' Absurd ! Charles. How can you talk such nonsense ?' 'But, Caroline, — the breeches are really gone.' On tliG following morning, contrary to his usual custom, Seaforth was the first person in the breakfast-parlour. As no one else was present, he did precisely what nine young men out of ten so situ- ated would have done ; he walked up to the mantel-piece, esta- blished himself upon the rug, and subducting his coat-tails one under each arm, turned towards the fire that portion of the human frame which it is considered 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 Juliu Simpkinson's affections, — bounced out from beneath a sofa, and began to bark at — his pantaloons. They were cleverly 'built,' of a light-grey mixture, a broad stripe of the most vivid scarlet traversing each seam in a perpendicular direction from hip to ankle — in short, the regimentai costume of the 14 THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON, Koyal Bombay Fenciblcs. The animal, educated in tbe country, Lad never seen such a pair of breeches in her life — Omne ignotum pro magnifico I The scarlet streak, inflamed as it was by the reflec- tion of the fire, seemed to act on Flora's nerves as the same colour does on those of bulls and turkeys; she advanced at the pas de charge, and her vociferation, like her amazement, was unbounded. A sound kick from the disgusted officer changed its character, 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 scrutinising glance levelled at the gentleman. It might as well have lighted on a feather bed. His air of im- perturbable unconsciousness defied examination ; and as he would not, and Flora could not, expound, that injured individual was com- pelled to pocket up her wrongs. Others of the household soon dropped in, and clustered round the board dedicated to the most sociable of meals ; the urn vy-as paraded ' hissing hot,' and the cups which 'cheer, but not inebriate,* steamed redolent of hyson and pekoe; muffius and marmalade, newspapers and Finnon baddies, 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 neighbour. It was Miss Simpkinson, who, deeply en- gaged in sipping her tea and turning over her album, seemed, like a female Chrononotonthologos, ' 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 finishing touches to a poem inspired by the romantic shades of Bolsover. The entreaties of the company were of course urgent. Mr. Peters, 'who liked verses,' was csijecially persevering, and Sappho at length compliant. After a preparatory hem! and a glance at the mirror to ascertain that her look was sufficiently sen- timental, the poetess began : — ' There is a calm, a holy feeling, Vulgar minds can never know. O'er the bosom softly stealing, — Chasten'd grief, delicious woe ! Oh ! how sweet at eve regaining Yon lone tower's scqucstcr'd shade — Sadly mute and uncomplaining ' THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINOTON. 15 — ^Yow ! — yeough ! — ycougli! — yow! — yow ! yelled a hapless suf- ferer from beneath the table. It was an unlucky hour for quad- rupeds; and if 'every dog will have his day,' he could not have selected a more uupropitious one than this. Mrs. Ogleton, too, had a pet, — a favourite pug, — whose squab figure, black muzzle, and tortuosity of tail, that curled like a head of celery in a salad-bowl, bespoke his Dutch extraction. Yow ! yow ! yow ! continued the brute, — a chorus in which Flo instantly joined. Sooth to say, pug had more reason to express his dissatisfaction than was given him by the muse of Simpkinsou ; the other only barked for company. Scarcely had the poetess got through her first stanza, when Tom Ingoldsby, in the enthusiasm of the moment, became so lost in the material world, that, in his abstraction, he unwarily laid his hand on the cock of the urn. Quivering with emotion, he gave it such an unlucky twist, that the full stream of its scalding contents descended on the gingerbread hide of the unlucky Cupid. The con- fusion was complete ; the whole economy of the table disarranged — the company broke up in most admired disorder — and 'vulgar minds will never know' anything more of Miss Simpkinson's ode till they peinise it in some forthcoming Annual. Seaforth profited by the confusion to take the delinquent 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 car. The conference between the young gentlemen was neither brief in its duration nor imimportant in its result. The subject was what the lawyers call tripartite, embracing the information that Charles Seaforth was over head and ears in love with Tom Ingoldsby's sister ; secondly, that tlie 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 Bailey over again, by Jove,' shoutec 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 my regimentals; and if these go, to-morrow I must borrow of you !' Roclicfoucault says, there is something i:i the misfortunes of our 16 THE SI'ECTRE OF TAPPINGTON. very best friends that does not displease us ; assuredly we can, meet of us, laugh at their petty inconveniences, till called upon to supply them. Tom composed his features on the instant, and replied with more gravity, as well as with an expletive, which, if my Lord Mayor had been within hearing, might have cost him five shillings. " There is something very queer in this, after all. The clothes, you say, have positively disappeared. Somebody is playing you a trick ; and, ten to one, your servant 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 uj^iou 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 materially sobered down, his loquacity obviously circumscribed, and that he, the said lieutenant, had actually rung his bell three several times that very morning be- fore he could procure his attendance. Mr. Maguire was forthwith summoned, and underwent a close examination. The ' bobbery ' was easily explained. Mr. Oliver Dobbs had hinted his disapprobation of a flirtation carrying on between the gentleman from Munster and the lady from the Hue St. llonore. Mademoiselle had boxed Mr. Maguire's ears, and ]\Ir. Maguire had pulled Mademoiselle upon his knee, and the lady had 7}ot cried Mon Dieu I And Mr. Oliver Dobbs said it was very wrong ; and ]\Irs. Botherby said it was ' scandalous,' and what ought not to be done in any moral kitchen; and 'Mv. IMaguire had got hold of the Honourable Augustus Sucklethumb- kin's powder-flask, and had put large pinches of the best Double Dartford into ilr. Dobbs's tobacco-box ; and Mr. Dobbs's pipe had exploded, and set fire to Mrs. Botherby 's Sunday cap ; and Mr. Maguire had put it out with the slop-basin, ' barring the wig ;' and then they were all so ' cantankerous,' that Barney had gone to take a walk in the garden; and then — then Mr. Barney had seen a ghost. ' A what ? you blockhead !' asked Tom Ingoldsby. ' Sure then, and it's meself will tell your honour the rights of it,' said the ghost-seer. ' Meself and Miss Pauline, sir, — or Miss Pauline and meself, for the ladies comes first anyhow, — we got tired of the hobstroppylous scrimmaging 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 rorybory-alehouse, they calls him in this country, — and we walked upon the lawn, — and divil of any alehouse there THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINQTON. 17 was there at all ; and Miss Pauline said it was bekase of the shrub- bery maybe, and why wouldn't we see it better beyonst the trees ? and so we went to the trees, but sorrow a comet did meself see there, barring a big ghost instead of it.' ' A ghost ? And what sort of a ghost, Barney ?' ' Och, then, divil a lie I'll tell your honour. A tall ould gentle- man 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 teli, 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. Jiliss Pauline screeched, and cried murther in French, and ran off 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 : so I dispersed at once, and the ghost vanished in a flame of fire !' Mr. Maguire's account was received with avowed incredulity by both gentlemen ; but Barney stuck to his text with unflinching pertinacity. A reference to Mademoiselle was suggested, but aban- doned, as neither party had a taste for delicate investigations. ' I'll tell you what, Seaforth,' said Ingoldsby, after Barney had received his dismissal, ' that there is a trick here, is evident ; and Bar- ney's vision may possibly be a part of it. Whether he is most knave or fool, you best know. At all events, I will sit up with you to-night, and see if I can convert my ancestor into a visiting acquaintance. Meanwhile your finger on your lip !' ' 'Twas now the very witching time of night, "When churchyards yawn, and graves give up their dead.' Gladly would I grace my tale with decent horror, and therefore I do beseech the ' gentle reader ' to believe, that if all the succedanea to this mysterious narrative are not in strict keeping, he will ascribe it only to the disgraceful innovations of modem 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 wainscoting, 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 histoiy, but of ivhich not even Mrs. C 18 THE SPECTRi:; OF TAPPINGTON. Botlierby could determine. Mr. Simpkinson, who had examined it carefully, inclined to believe the principal figure to be either Bath- sheba, oi Daniel in the lions' den ; while Tom Ingoldsby decided in favoui of the king of Bashan. All, however, was conjecture, tradition being silent en 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 was, and when a good four-post ' article ' T.'as 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 given way to the modem heterodoxy of the sash-window. Nor was this all that conspired to ruin the costume, and render the room a meet haunt for such ' mixed spirits ' only as could condescend to don at the same time an Elizabethan doublet and Bond-street inexpressibles. With their green morocco slippers on a modern fender, in front of a disgracefully modern grate, sat two young gentlemen, clad in • shawl-pattern ' dressing-gowns and black silk stocks, much at vari- ance 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 month of the other — an arrangement happily adapted for the escape of the noxious fumes up the 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 toddy — thus in ' 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 his waistcoat lX)cket a watch like a gold half-crown, and consulting it as though he suspected the turret-clock over the stables of mendacity. 'Hush !' said Charles ; 'did I not hear a footstep?' There was a pause : — there was a footstep — it sounded distinctly — it reached the door — it hesitated, stopped, and — passed on. Tom darted across the room, threw open the door, and became aware of Mrs. Botherby toddling to her chamber, at the other end of the gallery, after dosing one of the housemaids with an approved julep from the Countess of Kent's ' Choice Manual.' THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON". 19 * Good-night, sir !' said Mrs. Botherby. * Go to the d — 1 !' said the disappointed ghost-hunter. An hour — two — rolled on, and still no spectral visitation ; nor did aught intervene to make night hideous ; and when the turret-clock sounded at length the hour of three, Ingoldsby, whose patience and grog were alike exhausted, sprang from his chair, saying — ' This is all infernal nonsense, my good fellow. Deuce of any ghost shall we see to-night ; it's long past the canonical hour. I'm off to bed ; and as to your breeches, I'll insure them for the next twenty- four hours at least, at the price of the buckram.' 'Certainly. — Oh I thank'ee^-to be sure!' stammered Charles, rousing himself from a reverie, which had degenerated into an absolute snooze. ' Good-night, my boy ! Bolt the door behind me ; and defy the Pope, the Devil, and the Pretender !' Seaforth followed his friend's advice, and the next morning came down to breakfast dressed in the habiliments of the preceding day. The charm was broken, the demon defeated ; the light greys with the red stripe down the seams were yet in rerura natura, 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. A rap at Tom Ingoldsby's door the following morning startled him as he wa« shaving — he cut his chin. * Come in, and be d — d to you !' said the martyr, pressing his thumb on the scarified epidermis. The door opened, and exhibited Mr. Barney Maguire. ' Well, Barney, what is it ?' quoth the sufferer, adopting the ver- nacular of his visitant. ' The master, sir ' ' Well, what does he want ?' ' The loanst of a breeches, plase your honour. ' Why you don't mean to tell me By Heaven, this is too good V shouted Tom, bursting into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. "WTiy, Barney, you don't mean to say the ghost has got them again '?' Mr. Maguire did not respond to the young squire's risibility ; the cast of his countenance was decidedly serious. 20 THE SPKCTllE OF TAPPINGTON. ' FaitD, then, it's gone they are, sure enough ! Hasn't meself been looking over tlie bed, and under the bed, and in the bed, for the matter of that, and divil a ha'p'orth of breeches is there to the fore at all : — I'm bothered entirely 1' 'Hark'ee! Mr. Barney,' said Tom, incautiously removing his thumb, and letting a crimson stream ' incarnadine the multitudinous' lather that plastered his throat — ' this may be all very Well witJi your master, but you don't humbug me, sir: — tell me instantly what have you done with the clothes ?' This abrupt transition from 'lively to severe' certainly took Maguire by surprise, and he seemed for an instant as much discon- certed as it is possible to disconcert an Irish gentleman's gentleman ' ]\Ie ? is it meself, then, that 's the ghost to your honour's think- ing ?' said he after a moment's pause, and with a slight shade of indignation in his tones : ' is it I would stale the master's things — and what would I do with them ?' ' That you best know : — what your purpose is I can't guess, for I don't think you mean to "stale " them, as you call it ; but that you are concerned in their disappearance, I am satisfied. Confound this blood ! —give me a towel, Barney.' Maguire acquitted himself of the commission. ' As I've a sowl, your honour,' said he, solemnly, ' little it is meself knows of the matter : and after what I seen ' ' What you've seen ! Why, what have you seen ? — Barney, I don't want to inquire into your flirtations ; but don't suppose you can palm off your saucer eyes and gig-lamps upon me !' ' Then, as sure as your honour's standing there, I saw him : and why wouldn't I, when Miss PaitZme was to the fore as well as meself, and ' ' Get along with your nonsense — leave the room, sir !' 'But the master?' said Barney, imploringly; 'and without a breeches ? — sure he'll be catching cowld ! ' ' Take that, rascal !' replied Ingoldsby, throwing a pair of panta- loons at, rather than to, him: 'but don't suppose, sir, you shall carry on your tricks here with impunity ; recollect there is such a thing iia a treadmill, and that my father is a county magistrate.' Barney's eye flashed fire — he stood erect, and was aboat to speak ; but, mastering himself, not without an effort, he took up the gar- ment^ and left the room as perpendicular as a Quaker. THE SPECTRE OF TAPPJNGTON. 21 ' Ingoldsby,' said Charles Seafortb, after breakfast, ' this is now past a joke ; to-day is the last of my stay ; for, notwithstanding the ties which detain me, common decency obliges me to visit home after so long an absence. I shall come to an immediate explanation with your father on the subject nearest my heart, and depart while I have a change of dress left. On his answer will my return depend ! In the mean time tell me candidly, — I ask it in all seri- ousness, and as a friend, — am I not a dupe to your well-known propensity to hoaxing ? have you not a hand in ' ' No, by heaven, Seaforth ; I see what you mean : on my honour, I am as much mystified as yourself; and if your servant ' * Not he : — if there be a trick, he at least is not privy to it.' ' If there he a trick ? why, Charles, do you think ' 'I know not wJiat to think, Tom. As surely as you are a living man, so surely did that spectral anatomy visit my room again last night, grin in my face, and walk away with my trousers ; nor was I able to spring from my bed, or break the chain which seemed to bind me to my pillow.' 'Seaforth!' said Ingoldsby, after a short pause, *I will But hush I here are the girls and my father. — I will carry off the females, and leave you a clear field with the governor : cany your point with him, and we will talk about your breeches afterwards.' Tom's diversion was successful ; he carried off the ladies en masse to look at a remarkable specimen of the class Dodecandria Mono- gynia, — which they could not find ; — while Seaforth marched boldly up to the encounter, and carried 'the governor's' outworks by a cowp de main. I shall not stop to describe the progress of the attack ; sufhce it that it was as successful as could have been wished, and that Seaforth was referred back again to the lady. The happy lover was off at a tangent ; the botanical party was soon overtaken ; and the arm of Caroline, whom a vain endeavour to spell out the Linnjean name of a dafty-down-dilly had detained a little in the rear of the others, was soon firmly locked in his own. ' What was the world to them. Its noise, its nonsense, and its " breeches" all ?' Seaforth was in the seventh heaven ; he retired to his room that night as happy as if no such thing as a goblin had ever been heard of, and personal chattels were as well fenced in by law as real pro- perty. Not so Tom Ingoldsby : the mystery, — for mystery there 22 THE SPECTRE OF TAPPENGTOIT. evidently was, — had not only piqued his curiosity, but ruffled his temper. The watch of the previous night had been unsuccessful, probably because it was undisguised. To-night he would ' ensconce himself,' — not indeed 'behind the arras,' — for the little that re- mained was, as we have seen, nailed to the wall, — but in a small closet which opened from one corner of the room, and by leaving tixe aoor ajar, would give to its occupant a view of all that might pass in the apartment. Here did the young ghost-hunter take up a position, with a good stout sapling under his aiTQ, a full half-hour before Seaforth retired for the night. Not even his friend did he let into his confidence, fully determined that if his plan did not suc- ceed, 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, pro- ceed slowly to disrobe hiinself. The coat, the wais^tcoat, the black silk stock, were gradually discarded ; the green morocco slippers were kicked off, and then — ay, and then — his countenance grew grave ; it seemed to occur to him all at once that this was his last stake, — nay, that the very breeches he had on were not his own, — that to-morrow morning was his last, and that if he lost them A glfvnce showed that his mind was made up; he re- placed the single button he had just subducted, and threw himself upon the bed in a state of transition, — half chrysalis, half grub. Wearily did Tom Ingoldsby watch the sleeper by the flickering light of the night-lamp, till the clock striking one, induced him to increase the narrow opening which he had left for the purpose of observation. The motion, slight as it was, seemed to attract Charles's attention ; for he raised himself suddenly to a sitting posture, listened for a moment, and then stood upright upon the floor. Ingoldsby was on the point of discovering himself, when, the light flashing full upon his friend's countenance, he perceived that, though his eyes were open, ' tlieir sense was shut,' — that he was yet imder the influence of sleep. Seaforth advanced slowly to the toilet, lit his candle at the lamp tliat 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 moments he seemed restless and uneasy, walking round the apartment and examining th", chairs, till, coming fully in front of a large swing-glass that flanked the dressing-table. THE SPECTRR OF TAPPINGTOU 23 he paused as if contemplating his figure in it. He now retiu'ned towards the bed ; put on his slippers, ana, with cautious and stealthy steps, proceeded towards the little arcned doorway that opened on the private staircase. . As he drew the bolt, Tom Ingoldsby emerged frora his hiding- place; but the sleep-walker heard him not; he proceeded softly down stairs, followed at a due distance by his friend ; opened the door which led out upon the gardens ; and stood at once among the thickest of the shrubs, which there clustered round the base of a comer turret, and screened the postern from common observation. At this moment Ingoldsby had nearly spoiled all by makmg a false step : the sound attracted Scaforth's attention, — he paused and turned ; and, as the full moon shed her light directly upon his pale and troubled features, Tom marked, almost with dismay the fixed and rayless appearance of his eyes : — 'There was no speculation in those orbs That he did glare withal.' The perfect stillness preserved by his follower seemed to reassu* him ; he turned aside ; and from the midst of a thickset launjstmus drew forth a gardener's spade, shouldering which he proceeded with greater rapidity into the midst of the shrubberj'. Arrived at a certain point where the earth seemed to have been recently dis- turbed, he set himself heartily to the task of digging, till, having thrown up several shovelfuls of mould, he stopped, flung down his tool, and very composedly began to disencumber himself of his pantaloons. Up to this moment Tom had watched him with a wary eye : he now advanced cautiously, and, as his friend was busily engaged in disentangling himself from his garment, made himself master of the spade. Seaforth, meanwhile, had accomplished his purpose : he stood for a moment with ' His streamers waving in the wind,' occupied in carefully rolling up the small-clothes into as compact a form as possible, and all heedless of the breath of heaven, which might certainly be supposed at such a moment, and in such a plight, to ' visit his frame too roughly.' He was in the act of stooping low to deposit the pantaloons in the grave which he had been digging for them, when Tom Ingoldsby came close behind him, and with the flat side of the spade 24 THE SPECTR15 OF TAPPINGTON. The shock was effectual ; — never again was Lieutenant Seaforth known to act the part of a somnambulist. One by one, his breeches, — his trousers, — his pantaloons, — his silk-net tiglits,~his patent cords, — his showy greys with the broad red stripe of tlie Bombay Fencibles were brought to light, — i-cscucd from the grave in which they had been buried, like the strata of a Christmas pie ; and after having been well aired by Mrs. Botherby, became once again effective. The family, the ladies especially, laughed ; — the Peterses laughed ; — the Simpkinsons laughed ; — Barney Maguire cried ' Botheration !' and Ma'mselle Pauline, ' Mon Dieu !' 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. Sim^jkinson from Bath did not attend the ceremony, being engaged at the Grand Junction meeting of Sgavans, then congre- gating from all parts of the known world in the city of Dublin. His essay, demonstrating that the globe is a great custard, whipped into coagulation by whirlwinds, and cooked by electricity, — a little too much baked in the Isle of Portland, and a thought underdone about the Bog of Allen, — was highly spoken of, and narrowly es- caped obtaining a Bridgewater jirize. Miss Simpkinson and her sister acted as bridesmaids on the oc- casion ; the former wrote an ej)ithalamium, and the latter cried ' Lassy me !' at the clergyman's wig. Some years liave 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 'grandpapa's darling,' and Mary Anne mamma's particular ' 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, Cliarlcs has shown no disposition to jump out of bed, ca* ramble out of doors o' nights, — though from his entire devotion to every wish and whim of his young wife, Tom insinuates that the foir 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 Maiy Anne, the ' pet Sock' before alluded to, was made ac- THE HAND OF GLORY, 25 qiiainted with tlie 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 still-room, to be second in command in the nursery department. The story is connected with a dingy wizen-faced portrait, 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 stood towards him in that degree of consanguinity. THE NURSE'S STORY. THE HAND OF GLORY ' Malefica quaJam auguriatrix ia Anglia fuit, quam demones horribiliter extraxerunt, et imponentes super equum teiribilem, per aera rapuerunt ; Clamoresque tenibiles (ut I'erunt) per quatuor ferni^ miliaria audiebantur.'— Nuremb. Chroii. ON the lone bleak moor. At the midnight hour, Beneath the Gallows Tree, Hand in hand The Murderers stand. By one, by two, by three ! And the Moon that night With a grey, cold light Each baleful object tij^s ; 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 ! ' Now mount who list. And close by the wrist Sever me quickly the Dead IMan's fist ! — Now climb who dare Where he swings in air, And pluck me five locks of the Dead Man's hair !' 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 ; Her 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 bat, Extinguisher-shaped, the brim narrow and flat ! 26 THE nurse's STOliV. Then, — My Gracious ! — her heard ! — it would sadly perplex A spectator at first to distinguish hex sex ; Nor, I'll venture to say, vvithout 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 amazemcat, and cry, ' — Well ! — 1 never did see such a regular Guy 1' And now before That old Woman's du(.ri-. Where nought that's good may be, Hand in hand The Murderers stand By one, by two, by three ! 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 ! The prayer mutter'd backwards, and said with a sneer 1 (Matthew Hopkins himself has assured us that when A witch says her prayers, she begins with " Amen.") — — 'Tis awful to see On that Old Woman's knee The dead, shrivell'd hand, as she clasps it with glee ! — And now with cave, 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 She 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.) 'ISTow open lock To the Dead Man's knock! Fly bolt, and bar, and band ! — Kor move, nor swerve Joint, muscle, or nerve, At the spell of the Dead Man's hand ! Sleep all who sleep ! — Wake all who wake ! — But be as the Dead for the Dead Man's sake 1 1 All is silent ! all is still. Save the ceaseless moan of the bubbling rill As it wells from the bosom of Tappington HiU, 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 ! THE HAND OF GLORY. 27 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. Within that casement, narrow and high, In his secret lair, where none may spy. Sits one whose brow is wrinkled \vith cave. And the thin grey locks of his failing hair Have left his little bald pate all bare ; For his fuU-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 ho^c, His gown is bedizen'd 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 \Vhat powerful spell avails to keep That careworn man from his needJ'ul sleep ! Haply, he deems no eye can see As he gloats on his treasure greedily, — The shining store Of glittering ore. The fair rose-noble, the bright moidore. And the broad Double-Joe from ayont the sea, — But there's one that watches as well as he ; For, wakeful and sly. In a closet hard by. On his truckle bed lieth a little Foot-page, A boy who's uncommonly sharp of his age. Like yoimg Master Horner, Who erst in a corner Sat eating a Christmas pie : And, while that Old Gentleman's counting his hoards, Little Hugh peeps through a crack in the boards ! There's a voice in the air. There's a step on the stair, The old man starts in his cane-back'd chair ; 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 ho can vent one inquisitive sniff, That little pug-dog stands stark and stifi'. For low, yet clear, Now fall on the ear, ■ — Where once pronounced for ever they dwell— The unholy words of the Dead Man's spell 1 28 THE nurse's story. ' Open lock To the Dead Man's knock I Fly bolt, and bar, and band ! — Nor move, nor swerve. Joint, muscle, or nerve, At the spell of the Dead Man's hand ! Sleep all who sleep ! — Wake all who v/ake ! — ■ But be as the Dead for the Dead Man's sake 1" 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 vnde as wide may be. And there they stand, That murderous band, Lit by the light of the Gloeious Hand, By one ! — by two ! — by three 1 They have pass'd through the porch, they have pass'd through the hall, Where the Porter sat snoring against the wall ; The very snore froze In his very snub nose, You'd have verily deemed he had snored his last When the Glorious Hand by the side of him pass'd 1 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 couch'd as a statue in act to spring 1 And now they are there, On the head of the stair, And the long crooked whittle is gleaming and bare ! — I really don't think any money would bribe Me the horrible scene that ensued to describe. Or the wild, wild glare Of that old man's eye, His dumb despair, and deep agony. The kid from the pen, and the lamb from the fold, Unmoved may the blade of the butcher behold ; They dream not — ah, happier they ! — that the knife, Though uplifted, can menace their innocent life ; It falls; — the frail thread of their bsing is riven, They dread not, suspect not, the blow till 'tis given. — But, oh ! 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 THE HAND OF GLORY. That is shut, or close that which is clapt to the chink, Thougli he'd give all the world to be able to wink ! — ■ 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 ! — 'T is lucky for him that the chink in the wall He has pcep'd through so long, is so narrow and small I Wailing voices, sounds of woe Such as follow departing friends, That fatal night round Tappington go. Its long-drawn roofs and its gable ends : Ethereal Spirits, gentle and good, Aye weep and lament o'er a deed of blood. 29 '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, Drench'd in its gore, A ghastly cor}:ise lies exposed to the view, Carotid and jugular both cut through! And there, by its side, 'Mid the crimson tide. Kneels a little Foot-page of tenderost 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 tlicy went: There's a little Foot-page with that Constable goes. And a little pug-dog with a little pug nose. In Rochester town. At the sign of the Cro^va, Three shabby-genteel men are just sitting down To a fat stubble-goose, with potatoes done brown; 80 THE nurse's story. When a little Foot-page, Euslies in, in a rage, Upsetting tlic apple-sauce, onions, and sage. That little Foot-page takes the first by the throat, And a little pug-dog takes the next by the coat, And a Constable seizes the one more remote ; And fair rose-nobles and broad moidores. The Waiter pulls out of their pockets by scores, And the Boots and the Chambermaids run in and stare; And the Constable says, ^vith a dignified air, ' You're wanted, Gen'lemen, one and all. For that 'ere precious lark at Tappington Hall !' There's a black gibbet frowns upon Tappington Moor, Where a former black gibbet has frowned 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. Bound her neck they have tied to a hempen cravat A Dead Man's hand, and a dead Tom Cat ! 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 dragged her to land. And every one's hand, Is grasping a faggot, a billet, or brand, When a queer-looking horseman, drest all in black, Snatches up that old harridan just like a sack To the crupper behind him, puts spurs to his hack, Makes a dash through the ci'owd, and is off in a crack ! No one can tell, Though they guess pretty well, ^^^lich way that grim rider and old woman go, For all see he's a sort of infernal Ducrow ; And she screamed so, and cried. We may fairly decide That the old woman did not much relish her ride ! MORAL. This truest of stories confirms beyond doubt That truest of adages — ' Murder will out 1' 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 I One marvel follows another as naturally as one 'shoulder of mutton ' is said ' to drive another down.' A little Welsh girl, who •look at the clock. 31 sometimes makes her way from the kitchen into the nui^ery, after listening with intense interest to this tale, immediately started off at score with the sum and substance of what, in due revereuce for such authority, I shall call — PATTY MORGAN THE MILKMAID'S STORY. ♦LOOK AT THE CLOCK !' FYTTE I. ^ T OOK at the Clock !' quoth Winifred Pryce, ±J As she open'd the door to her husband's knock, Then paus'd to give him a piece of advice, ' You nasty Warmint, look at the Clock ! 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 !' Winifred Pryce was tidy and clean. Her go-\\Ti was a fiower'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 sot in their socket-holes, Her gown-tail was turned up, and tucked through the pockei- holes ; A face like a ferret Betoken'd her spirit : To conclude, Mrs Pryce was not over young, Had very short legs, and a very long tongue. 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 ! Especially ale — If it was not too stale 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 of might trouble yoa, Being spelt with a C, two Rs, and a W. That particular day, As I've heard people say, Mr. David Piycc 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 ; 32 PATTY MORGAN THE MILKMAIDS STORY. And long after day had drawn to a close, And the rest of the world was wrapp'd m repose, They were roaring out * Shenkin !' and ' Ar hydd y nos;' While David himself, to a Sassenach tune. Sang, ' WeVe drunk down the Sun, boys ! let 's drink down the Moon ! What have wc with day to do? Mrs. Winifred Pryce, 'twas made for you ;' 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 !' 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, 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.' That 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 tlie tip. 'You thundering willin, I know you'd be killing Your wife — ay, a dozen of wives— for a shilling ! You may do what you please. You may sell my chenaisc, (Mrs. P. was too well-bred to mention her smock) 13Lit I never will part with my Grandmother's Clock I' Mrs. Pryce's tongue ran long and ran fast ; But patience is apt to wear out at last. And David Pryce in temper was quick. So he stretch'd out his hand, and caught hold of a stick ; Perhaps in its use he might mean to be lenient, J3ut 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 produced a concussion of brain, I can't say for certain, — but this I can, When, sober'd by fright, to assist her he ran, Mrs. Winifred Price was as dead as Queen Anno! 'LOOK AT THE CLOCK. 33 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, Ean. over, like wildfire, the whole Principality. And then came Mr. Ap Thomas, the Coroner, With his jury to sit, some dozen or more, on her. Mr. Pryce, to commence His ' ingenious defence,' Made a * powerful appeal ' to the jury's ' good sense :' ' The world he must defy Ever 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 !' Then he calls Mr. Jones, Who depones to her tones. And her gestures, and hints about ' breaking his bones j' While Mr. Ap Morgan, and I\Ir. Ap Rhys Declare the deceased Had styled him ' a Beast,' And swear they had witness'd, with grief and surprise, The allusion she made to his limbs and his eyes. The jury, in fine, having sat on the body The whole day, discussing the case, and gin toddy, Return'd about half-past eleven at night The following verdict, ' We find, Sar^ve 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. Not far from his dwellmg. 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 H, and the N, and the R. Its first syllable ' Pen,' Is pronounceable ; — then Come two L Ls, and two H Hs, two F Fs, and an N ; About half a score Rs, and some Ws follow. Beating all my best etforts at euphony hollow : But we shan't have to mention it often, so when We do, with your leave, we'll curtail it to ' Pen.' Well— the moon shone bright Upon ' Pen,' that night, When Pryce, being quit of his fuss and his fright, Was scaling its side With that sort of stride A man puts out when walking in search of a bride. r> 84 PATTY MORGAK THE MILKIIAID's STORY. Mounting higher and higher, He began to perspire, Till, finding his legs were beginning to tire, And feeling opprcst By a pain in his chest, He paus'd, and turn'd round to take breath and to r<^t ; A walk all up hill is apt, we know, To make one, however robust, puft' 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 Upon Wales, and her glories, and all he'd been taught 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 mishaii, Owen Tudor fell into Queen Katherine's lap ; And how Mr. Tudor Successfully woo'd her, Till the Dowager put en a new wedding ring, And so made him Father-in-law to the King. He thought upon Arthur and Merlin of yore, On Gryffith ap Conan and Owen Glendour; On Pendragon, and Heaven knows how many more. He thought of all this, as he gazed, in a trice, And on all things, in short, but the late Mrs. Pryce; When a lumbering noise from behind made him start, And 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 giound ? Or the air, — from above, — or b<;low, — -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 real ly a deuced odd sort of a 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 ?' Pryce, usually brimful of valour when drunk, Now experienced what schoolboys denominate 'funk.' In vain he looked back On the whole of the track He had traversed a thick cloud, uncommonly black. • LOOK AT THE CLOCK. ' 35 At this moment obscured the broad disc of the mooE. And did not seem liltely 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. When 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 ! 1' 'Twas so ! — it had certainly moved from its place. And come lumbering on thus, to hold him 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, with 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 She to the life ! The identical face of his poor defunct wife ! One glance v/as enough. Completely ' Quant, suf.' As the doctors write down when they send you their ' stuff. Like a Weather-cock whirled by a vehement puff, David turned himself round ; Ten feet of ground He cleared, 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 have ever heard of boys, women, or men. Falls far short of Piyce, as he ran over Pen !' He reaches its brow, — He has past it, and now Having once gained the summit, and managed to cross it, ho EoUs down the side with uncommon velocity ; l-run, is a town said to have been so named from something of this soi-t. 36 PA.TTy MORGAN THE MILKMAID'S STOR£. But run as he will, Or roll down the hill, The 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 ]\Iiss Davis's door. And screams when they rush out, alarmed at his knock, ' Oh ! Look at the Clock !— Do !— Look at the Clock ! !' Miss Davis look'd up, ]\Iiss Davis look'd down. She saw nothing there to alarm her ; — a frown 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 begged ' he'd not think of repeating his call : His late wife's disaster By no means had past her ; She'd ' have him to know she was meat for his Master 1' Then regardless alike of his love and his woes. She turned on her heel and she turned up her nose. Poor David in vain Implored to remain ; He * dared not,' he said, ' cross the mountain again.' Why the fair was obdurate None knows, — to be sure, it Was said she was setting her cap at the Curate. Be that as it may, it is certain the sole hole Pryce found to creep into that night was the Coal-hole ! In that shady retreat With nothing to eat. And with very bruised limbs, and with very sore feet, All night close he kept ; 1 can't say he slept ; But he sigh'd, and he sobb'd, and he groan'd, and he wept ; Lamenting his sins, And his two broken shins, Bewailing his fate with contortions and grins, And her he once thought a complete liara A vis, 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 People that ' they can't brew their malt liquor too small.' That an ancient Welsh Poet, one Pyndar ap Tudor, Was right in proclaiming ' Aristox men Udok !' Which means 'The pure Element Is for Man's belly meant !' And that Gm's but a Snare of Old Nick the deluder ! And ' still on each evening when pleasure fills up,' At the old Goat-iu-Boots, with Metheglii), each cup, A LEGEND OF SHEPPEY. 37 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, ' Fatty, bring a cigar, aud a glass of Spring Water !' 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 The succeeding Legend has long been an established favourite with all of us, as containing mucli 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 Lionccls of Shurland han» 80 lovingly parallel with the Saltire of the Ingoldsbys, and now form as cherished a quartering in their escutcheon as the ' dozen white lowses' in the ' old coat' of Shallow, GREY DOLPHIN. A LEGEND OF SHEPPEY. • TTJS won't — won't he ? Then bring me my boots !' said the XX Baron. Consternation was at its height in the castle of Shurland — a caitiil" had dared to disobey the Baron ! and — the Baron had called for hia boots ! A thunderbolt in the great hall had been a harjatcUe to it. A few days before, a notable miracle had been wrought in the neighbourhood ; and in those times miracles were not so common a.s they are now; no royal balloons, no steam, no railroads, — while the fe^7 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 seeking his truckle-bed; a half-emptied tankard of mild ale stood at bis elbow, the roasted crab yet floating on its surface. Midnight had surprised the worthy 38 GREY DOLPHIN. functionary while occupied in discussing it, and with his task yet unaccoiaplished. He meditated a mighty draft: one 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 Paddleton had presence of mind sufficient to inquire who sought admittance at that untimeous hour. ' Open ! open ! good Clerk of St. Bridget's,' said a female voice small, yet distinct and sweet, — an excellent thing in woman. The Clerk arose, crossed to the doorway, and undid the latchet. On the threshold stood a Lady of surpassing heauty : 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 astonishment 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 1' 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, metaphorically speaking, 'rained cats and dogs.' Emmanuel could not speak, so he looked the question. ' No matter for that,' said the saint, answering to his thought. •No matter for that, Emmanuel Saddleton; only follow me, and you'll see !' The Clerk turned a wistful eye at the corner cupboard. ' 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 delicate hand. From the tip of each of her long taper fingers issued a lambent flame of such sur- passing brilliancy 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 Bochester Castle every St. Mark's Eve. Many are the daring individuals who have watched in Gundulph's Tower, hoping * One of the uses to which this mystic chandelier was put, Wiis the pro- tection of secreted tieasure. Blow out all thn iiiigers at one puff and you liud llie money. A LEGEND OF SHEPPEY- 39 to find it, and the treasure it guards; — but none of them ever did. ' Tills way, Emmanuel !' and a flame of peculiar radiance streamed from her little finger as it pointed to the pathway leading to the churchyard. Saddletou 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. Emmanuel Saddleton was fat and scant of breath, the mattock was heavy, and the Saint walked too fost for him : ho paused to take second wind at the end of the first furlong. ' Emmanuel,' said the holy lady, good-humouredly, for she heard him puffing ; ' rest awhile, Emmanuel, and I'll tell you what I want with you.' Her auditor \viped his brow \vith the back of his hand, and looked all attcution and obcdieuce. ' Emmanuel,' continued she, ' what did you and Father Fothergill, and the rest of you, mean yesterday by burying that drowned man so close to me? He died in mortal sin, Emmanuel; no shrift, no imction, no absolution : why, he might as well have been excom- municated. He plagues me with his grinning, and I can't have any peace in my shrine. You must howk him up again, p]mraanuel !' 'To be sure, madam, — my lady, — that is, your holiness,' stam- mered 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, but nothing distinctly ;' all was fog and fantasy. What he could clearly recollect was, that ho had dug up the Grinning Sailor, and that the Saint had 40 GREY UOLPHIN. helped to throw him into the river again. All was thenceforth wonderment and devotion. Masses were sung, ta2)ers were kindled, bells were tolled ; the monks of St. Romuald had a solemn proces- sion, the ahhot at their head, the sacristan at their tail, and the holy breeches of St. Thomas a Becket in the centre ; — Father Fothergill browed a XXX puncheon of holy water. The Eood of Gillingham was deserted ; the chapel of Eainham forsaken ; every one who had a soul to be saved, flocked with his offering to St. Bridget's shrine, and Emmanuel Saddleton gathered more fees from the promiscuous piety of that one week than he had pocketed during the twelve pre- ceding months. Meanwhile the corpse of the ejected reprobate oscillated like a pendulum between Sheerness and Gillingham Beach. Kow borne by the Medway into the Western Swale, — now carried by the re- fluent tide back to the vicinity of its old quarters, — it seemed as though the Biver 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 retainers, and dragged from its oozy bed, grinning worse than ever. Tidings of the godsend were of course carried instantly to the castle; for the Baron woa 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 battlement into the bottommost ditch, — a descent of peril, and one which ' Ludwig the Leaper,' or the illus- trious Trenck himself might well have shrunk from encountering. ' An't please your lordship ' said Peter Periwinkle. ' No, villain ! it does not please me !' roared the Baron. His lordship was deeply engaged with a peck of Feversham oysters, — he doted on shellfish, hated interruption 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 A LEGEND OP SHEPPEY. 41 tf Father Fothergill and the Clerk of St. Bridget's. It was ill glean- .lig after such hands ; there was not a single maravcdi. We have already said that Sir Robert de Shurland, Lord of the Isle of Sheppey, and of many a fair manor on the main land, was a man of worship. He had rights of freewarren, saccage and sockage, cuisage and jamhage, fosse and fork, infiing theofe and outlang theofe ; and all waifs and strays belonged to him in fee simple. Turn out his pockets !' said the knight. ' An't please you, my lord, I must say as how they was turned out afore, and the devil a rap's left.' ' Then bury the blackguard !' ' Please your lordship, he has been buried once.' ' Then buiy him again, and be !' The Baron bestowed a benediction. ^ The seneschal bowed low as he left the room, and the Baron went on with his oysters. Scarcely ten dozen more had vanished when Periwinkle 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 de 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 veiy little man ; that is, he was relatively great, and relatively little— or physically little, and metaphorically great — like Sir Sidney Smith and the late Mr. Buonaparte. 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.' He was bull-necked and bandy-legged; his chest was broad and deep, his head large and uncommonly thick, his eyes a little bloodshot, and his nose retrousse with a remarkably red tip. Strictly speaking, the Baron could not be called handsome; but his tout ensevxble was singularly impressive : and when he called for his boots, everybody trembled and dreaded the worst. ' Periwinkle,' said the Baron, as he encased his better leg, ' let the grave be twenty feet deep !' ' Your lordship's command is law.' 42 GREY DOLI'HlJf. * And, Periwinkle' — Sir Eobort stamped his left heel into its recep- tacle — 'and, Periwinkle, see that it be wide enough 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 moustaches, stiff and stumpy, projected horizontally like those of a Tom Cat ; he twirled the one, he stroked the other, lie 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 Shurland Castle ; every cheek was pale, every tongue was mute : expectation and per- plexity were visible on every brow. "What would his lordship do ? Were the recusant 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, aird the Pope was Father Fothergill's great friend — some people said he was his uncle. Father Fothergill was busy in the refectory trying conclusions with a venison pasty, when he received the summons of his patron to attend him in the chapel cemetery. Of course he lost no time in obeying it, for obedience was the general rule in Shurland Castle. If anybody ever said 'I won't,' it was the exception; and like all other exceptions, only proved the rule the stronger. The Father was a friar of the Augustine persuasion ; a brotherhood which, having been planted in Kent some few centuries earlier, had taken very kindly 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 per- sonage of singular piety ; and the iron girdle, which, he said, he wore under his cassock to mortify withal, might have been well mis- taken for the tire of a cart-wheel. When he arrived. Sir Ilobert was pacing up and down by the side of a newly-opened grave. * Benedicite ! fair son ' — (the Baron was as brown as a cigar) — ^ BenediciteV said the Chaplain. The Baron was too angry to stand ujwn compliment. 'Bury me that grinning caitiff there !' quoth he, pointing to the defunct. A LEGEND OF SHEPPEY. 43 'It may not be, fair son,' said the friar, 'he hath perished without absolution.' ' Bury tlie body !' roared Sir Kobert. * Water and earth alike reject him,' returned the Chaplain ; * holy 3t. Bridget herself ' * Bridget me no Bridgets ! — do me thine office quickly, Sir Shave- ling ! or, by the Piper that played before Moses ' The oath was a fearful one ; and whenever the Baron swore to do mischief, he waa never known to perjure himself. He was playing with the hilt ol 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 trencnant blade, that had cut Suleiman Ben Malek Ben Buckskin from helmet to chine, disdained to daub itself -with the cerebellum of a miserable monk ; — it leaped back again ; — and as the Chaplain, scared at its flash, turned him in terror, the Baron gave him a kick ! — one kick ! — it was but one ! — but such a one ! Despite its obesity, up flew his holy body in an angle of forty-five degrees ; then having reached its highest point of elevation, sunk headlong into the open grave that yawned to receive it. If the reverend gentleman had possessed such a thing as a neck, bo had infallibly broken it! as he did not, he only dislocated his vertebra — but that did quite as well. He was as dead as ditch-water ! 'In with the otlier rascal!' said the Baron — and he was obeyed- for there he stood in his boots. Mattock and shovel niade short work of it ; twenty feet of superincumbent mould pressed down alike the saint and the sinner. ' Now sing a requiem who list !' said the Baron, and his lordship went back to his oysters. The vassals at Castle Shurland were astounded, or, as the Senes- chal Hugh better expressed it, 'perfectly conglomerated,' by this Bvent. What I 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 unsojshisticated many it seemed that matters could not have been much worse had he shot a bishop's coach-horse — all looked for some signal judgment. The melancholy cata- strophe of tiieir neighbours at Canterbury was yet rife in their memories: not two centuries had elapsed since those miserable sinners had cut off the tail of the blessed St. Thomas's mule. The 44 GREY DOLPHIN. tail of the mule, it was well known, had been forthwith affixed to that of the Mayor; and rumour said it had since been hereditary in the corporation. The least that could he expected was, that Sir Robert sliould have a friar taclted on to his for tlie term of hia natural life ! Some bolder spirits there were, 'tis true, who viewed the matter in various lights, according to their different tempera- ments and disjiositions ; for perfect unanimity existed not even in the good old times. The verderer, roistering Hob Roebuck, swore roundly, ' 'Twere as good a deed as eat to kick down the chapel as well as the monk.' Hob had stood there in a white sheet for kissing Giles Miller's daughter. On the other hand, Sim^Dkin Agnew, the bell-ringer, doubted if the devil's cellar, which runs under the bottomless abyss, were quite deep enough for the delinquent, and speculated on the probability of a liole being dug in it for his especial accommodation. The philosophers and economists thought, with Saunders McBuUock, the Baron's bagpiper, that a ' feckless monk more or less was nae great subject for a clamjamphry,' especially as ' the supply considerably exceeded the demand ;' while Malthouse, the tapster, was arguing to Dame Martin that a murder now and then was a seasonable check to population, without which the Isle of Sheppey would in time be devoured, like a mouldy cheese, by in- habitants of its own producing. Meanwhile, the Baron ate his oysters and thought no more of the matter. But this tranquillity of his lordship was not to last. A couple of Saints had been seriously offended ; and we have all of us read at school that celestial minds are by no means insensible to the pro- vocations of anger. There were those who exjoected that St. Bridget would come in person, and have the friar up again, as she did the sailor ; but perhaps her ladyship did not care to trust herself within the walls of Shurland Castle. To say the truth, it was scarcely a decent house for a female Saint to be seen in. The Baron's gallan- tries, since he became a widower, had been but too notorious ; and her own reputation was a little blown upon in the earlier days of her earthly pilgrimage : then things were so apt to be misrejoresented — in short, she would leave the whole affair to St. Austin, who, being a gentleman, could interfere with propriety, avenge her affront as well as his own, and leave no loop-hole for scandal. St. Austin himself seems to have had his scruples, though of their precise nature it would be difficult to determine, for it were idle to suppose him at all afraid of the Baron's boots. Be this as it may, the mode which A LEGEND OF SHEPPKY. 45 he adopted was at once prudent and efficacious. As an ecclesiastic, he could not well call the Baron out — had his boots been out of the question ; so he resolved to have recourse to the law. Instead of Shurland Castle, therefore, he repaired forthwith to his own magnifi- cent monastery, situate just without the walls of Canterbury, and presented himself in a vision to its abbot. No one who has ever visited that ancient city can fail to recollect the splendid gateway which terminates the vista of St. Paul's-street, and stands there yet in all its pristine beauty. The tiny train of miniature artillery which now adorns its battlements is, it is true, an ornament of a later date ; and is said to have been added some centuries after by a learned but jealous proprietor, for the purpose of shooting any wiser man than himself, who might chance to come that way. Tradition is silent as to any discharge having taken place, nor can the oldest inhabitant of modern days recollect any such occurrence.* Here it was, iu a handsome chamber, immediately over the lofty archway^ that the Superior of the monastery lay buried in a brief slumber, snatched from his accustomed vigils. His mitre — for he was a mitred Abbot, and had a seat in parliament — rested on a table beside him ; near it stood a silver flagon of Gascony wine, ready, no doubt, for the pious uses of the morrow. Fasting and watching had made him more than usually somnolent, than which nothing could have been better for the purpose of the Saint, who now appeared to him radiant in all the colours of the rainbow. ' Anselm !' said the beatific vision, — ' Anselm ! are you not a pretty fellow to lie snoring there when your brethren are being knocked at head, and Mother Church herself is menaced ? — It is a sin and a shame, Anselm 1' ' What's the matter ? — Who are you ?' cried the Abbot, rubbing his eyes, which the celestial splendour of his visitor had set a- winking. ' Ave Maria ! St Austin himself! Speak, Beatissimel what would you with the humblest of your votaries ?' ' Anselm !' said the saint, ' a brother of our order, whose soul Heaven assoilzie ! hath been foully murdered. He hath been igno- miuiously kicked to the death, Anselm ; and there he lieth cheek- by -jowl with a wretched carcass, which our sister Bridget has turned out of her cemetery for unseemly grinning. Arouse thee, Anselm !' * Since the appearance of the first edition of this Legend ' the guns ' hav » been dismounted. Rumour hints at some alarm on the pait of the Town Council. 46 GREY DO1.PHIN. * Ay, so please you, Sanctissime /' said the Abbot. * I will order forthwith that thirty masses be said, thirty Paters, and thirty Aves.' ' Thirty fools' heads !' inten'upted his patron, who was a little peppery. ' I will send for bell, "book, and candle ' ' Send for an inkhorn, Anselm. Write me now a letter to his Holiness the Pope in good round terms, and another to the Coroner, and another to the Sheriff, and seize me the never-enough-to-be- anathematised villain who hath done this deed ! Hang him as high as Haman, Anselm ! — up with him ! — down with his dwelling-place, root and branch, hearth-stone and roof-tree, — down with it all, and sow the site with salt and sawdust !' St. Austin, it will be perceived, was a radical reformer. ' Marry will I,' quoth the Abbot, warming Avith the Saint's elo- quence ; 'ay, marry will I, and that in stanter. But there is one thing you have forgotten, m jut Beatified — the name of the culprit.' ' IJobert de Shurland.' ' The Lord of Shcppey ! Bless me !' said the Abbot, crossing himself, ' won't that be rather inconvenient? Sir Robert is a bold baron, and a powerful ; blows will come and go, and crowns will be cracked and ' • What is that to you, since yours will not be of the number?' ' Very true, Beutissime ! — I will don me with speed, and do your bidding.' ' Do so, Anselm ! — fail not to hang the Baron, burn his castle, confiscate his estate, and buy me two large wax candles for my own particular shrine out of your share of tlie property.' With this solemn injunction the vision began to fade. ' One thing more !' cried the Abbot, grasping his rosarj'. ' What is that ?' asked the Saint. ' Beate Augustine, ora pro ndbisV ' Of course I shall,' said St. Austin. ' Pax vobiscum V — and Abbot Anselm was left alone. Within an hour all Canterbury was in commotion. A friar had been murdered, — two friars — ten — twenty ; a whole convent had been assaulted, sacked, burnt, — all the monks had been killed, and all the nuns had been kissed ! Murder ! fire ! sacrilege ! Never was city in such an uproar. From St. George's-gate to St. Dunstan's suburb, from the Donjon to the borough of Staplegate, all was noise and hubbub. ' Where was it ?' — ' When was it ?' — A LEGEND OF SHEPPEY. 47 'How was it?' Tho Mayor caught up his chain, the Aldermen donned their furred gowns, the Town Clerk put on his spectacles. ' Who was he ?'— ' What was he ?'— ' Where was he ?'— He should be hanged, — he should be burned, — he should be broiled, — he should be fried, — he should be scraped to death with red-hot oyster sliells ! ' "Who was he ?' — ' What was his name ?' The Abbot's Apparitor drew forth his roll and read aloud : — ' Sir Eobert de Shurland, Knight banneret, Baron of Shurland and Minster, and Lord of Sheppey.' The Mayor put his chain in his pocket, the Aldermen took off their go^^-ns, the Town Clerk put his pen behind his car. It was a county business altogether : — the Sheriff had better call out the posse comitaius. While saints and sinners were thus leaguing against him, the Baron de Shurland was quietly eating his breakfast. He had passed a tranquil night, undisturbed by dreams of cowl or capuchin ; nor was his appetite more affected than his conscience. On the con- trary, he sat rather longer over his meal than usual : luncheon-time came, and he was ready as ever for his oysters : but scarcely had Dame Martin opened his first half-dozen when the warder's horn M\as heard from the barbican. ' Who the devil's that ?' said Sir Eobert. * I'm not at home, Periwinkle. I hate to be disturbed at meals, and I won't be at home to anybody.' ' An't please your lordship,' answered the Seneschal, ' Paul Prioi hath given notice that there is a body ' ' Another body !' roared the Baron. ' Am I to be everlastingly plagued with bodies ? No time allowed me to swallow a morsel. Throw it into the moat !' * So please you, my lord, it is a body of horse, — and — and Paul says there is a still larger body of foot behind it ; and he thinks, my lord — that is, he does not know, but he thinks — and we all think, my lord, that they are coming to — to besiege the castle !' ' Besiege the castle ! Who ? What ? What for ?' ' Paul says, my lord, that he can see the banner of St. Austin, and the bleeding heart of Hamo de Creveccour, the Abbot's chief vassal ; and there is John de Northwood, the sheriff, with his red cross engrailed ; and Hevcr, and Leybourne, and Heaven knows how many more ; and they are all coming on as fast as over they can.' 48 GREY DOLPHIK. ' Periv/'inkle,' said the Baron, ' up with the drawbridge ; dowii with the por'icullis ; bring me a cup of canary, and my nightcap. I won't be bothered with them. I shall go to bed.' * To bed, my lord ?' cried Periwinkle, with a look that seemed to Bay, ' He's crazy 1' At this moment the shrill tones of a trumpet were heard to sound thrice from the champaign. It was the signal for parley : the Baron changed his mind ; instead of going to bed, he went to the ramparts. 'Well, rapscallions ! and what now?' said the Baron. A herald, two pursuivants, and a trumpeter, occupied the fore- ground of the scene : behind them, some three hundred paces off, upon a rising ground, was drawn up in battle array the main body of the ecclesiastical forces. ' Hear you, Kobert de Shurland, Knight, Baron of Shurland and Minster, and Lord of Sheppey, and know all men, by these presents, that I do hereby attach you, the said Eobert, of murder and sacri- lege, now, or of late, done and committed by you, the said Kobert, contrary to the peace of our Sovereign Lord the King, his crown and dignity: and I do hereby require and charge you, the said Eobert, to forthwith surrender and give up your own proper person, together with the castle of Shurland aforesaid, in order that the same may be duly dealt with according to law. And here standeth John de Northwood, Esquire, good man and true, sheriff of this his I\Iajesty's most loyal county of Kent, to enforce the same, if need be, with his posse comitatus ' ' His what ?' said the Baron. ' His ^josse comitatus, and- ' Go to Bath !' said tlie Baron. A defiance so contemptuous roused the ire of the adverse com- manders. A volley of missiles rattled about the Baron's ears. Nightcaps avail little against contusions. He left the walls, and returned to the great hall. ' Let them pelt away,' quoth the Baron : ' there are no windows to break, and they can't get in.' So he took his afternoon nap, and the siege went on. Towards evening his lordship awoke, and grew tired of the din. Guy Pearson, too, had got a black eye from a brickbat, and the assailants were clambering over the outer wall. So the Baron called for his Sunday hauberk of Milan steel, and his great two-handed A LEGEND OF SHEPPET. 49 sword ■vrith the terrible name : — it was the fashion in feudal times to give names to swords: King Arthur's was christenetl Excalibar; the Baron called his Tickletoby, and whenever he took it in hand it was no joke. ' Up with the portcullis! down with the bridge!' said Sir Eobert; and out he sallied, followed by the elite of his retainers. Then there was a pretty to-do. Heads flew one way — arms and legs another; round went Tickletoby; and, wherever it alighted, down came horse and man: the Baron excelled himself that day. All that he had done in Palestine faded in the comparison; he had fought for fun there, but now it was for life and lands. Away went John de Northwood ; away went William of Hever, and Roger of Leybourne. Hamo de Crevecccur, with the church vassals and the banner of St. Austin, had been gone some time. The siege was raised, and the Lord of Sheppey was left alone in his glory. But, brave as the Baron undoubtedly was, and total as had been the defeat of his enemies, it cannot be supposed that La Stoccata would be allowed to carry it away thus. It has before been hinted that Abbot Anselm had written to the Pope, and Boniface the Eighth piqued himself on his punctuality as a correspondent in all matters connected with church discipline. He sent back an answer by return of post; and by it all Christian people were strictly en- joined to aid in exterminating the offender, on pain of the greater excommunication in this world, and a million of years of purgatory in the next. But then, again, Boniface the Eightli was rather at a discount in England just then. He had affronted Longshanks, as the royal lieges had nicknamed their monarch ; and Longshanks had been rather sharp upon the clergy in consequence. If the Baron de Shurland could but get the King's jjardon for what, in his cooler moments, he admitted to be a peccadillo, he might sniff at the Pope, and bid him ' do his devilmost.' Fortune, who, as the poet says,' delights to favour the bold, stood his friend on this occasion. Edward had been for some time collect- ing a large force on the coast of Kent to carry on his French wars for the recovery of Guienne ; he was expected shortly to review it in person ; but, then, the troops lay principally in cantonments about the mouth of the Thames, and his Slajosty was to come down by water. What was to be done ? — the royal barge was in sight, and John de North wood and Hamo de Crevecccur had broken up all the boats to boil their camp-kettles. A truly great mind is never without resources. E 50 ORKY DOLPHIN. 'Briug me my boots!' said the Baron. They "brought him his boots, and his dapple-grey steed along with them. Such a courser! all hlood and bone, short-backed, broad-chested, and— but that he was a little ewe-necked— faultless in form and figure. The Baron sprang upon his back, and dashed at once into the river. The baro-e which carried Edward Longshanks and his fortunes had by this time nearly reached the Nore ; the stream was l)road and the current strong, but Sir Robert and his steed were almost as broad, and a great deal stronger. After breasting the tide gallantly for a couple of nailes, the knight was near enough to hail the steersman. ' What have we got here ?' said the King. ' It's a mermaid,' said one. * It's a grampus,' said another. ' It's the devil,' said a third. But they were all wrong ; it was only Robert de Shurland. ' Gram- mercy,' said the King, * that fellow was never born to be drowned !' It has been said before that the Baron had fought in the Holy Wars; in fact, he had accompanied Longshanks, when only heir apparent, in his expedition twenty-five years before, although his name is unaccountably omitted by Sir Harris Nicolas in his list of crusaders. He had been present at Acre when Amirand of Joppa stabbed the prince with a poisoned dagger, and had lent Princess Eleanor his own tooth-brush after she had sucked out the venom from the wound. He had slain certain Saracens, contented himself with his own plunder, and never dunned the commissariat for arrears of pay. Of course he ranked high in Edward's good graces, and had received the honour of knighthood at his hands on the field of battle. In one so circumstanced it cannot be supposed that such a trifle as the killing of a frowzy friar would be much resented, even had he not taken so bold a measure to obtain his pardon. His petition was granted, of course, as soon as asked ; and so it would have been had the indictment drawn up by the Canterbury town-clerk, viz., ' Tliat he, the said Robert de Shurland, &c., had then and there, with several, to wit, one thousand, paii-s of boots, given sundry, to wit, two thousand, kicks, and therewith and thereby killed divers, to wit, ten thousand, Austin Friars,' been true to the letter. Thrice did the gallant grey circumnavigate the barge, while Robert do Winchelsey, the chancellor and archbishop to boot, \va3 making out, albeit with gi-eat reluctance, the royal pardon. The A LEGEND OP SHEl^PKY. 61 interval was sufficiently long to enable his Majesty, who, gracious as he was, had always an eye to business, just to hint that tha gratitude he felt towards the Baron was not unmixed with a lively sense of services to come ; and that, if life were now spared him, common decency must oblige him to make himself useful. Before the archbishop, who had scalded his lingers with the wax in affixing the great seal, had time to take them out of his mouth, all was settled, and the Baron de Shurland had pledged himself to be forth- \viih in readiness, cum suis, to accompany his liege lord to Guienne. With the royal pardon secured in his vest, boldly did his lordship turn again to the shore ; and as boldly did his courser oppose his breadth of chest to the stream. It was a work of no common diffi- culty or danger ; a steed of less ' mettle and bone ' had long since S link in the effort : as it was, the Baron's boots were full of water, and Grey Dolphin's chamfrain more than once dipped beneath the wave. The convulsive snorts of the noble animal showed his dis- tress; each instant they became more loud and frequent; when his hoof touched the strand, and ' the horse and his rider ' stood once again in safety on the shore. Kapidly dismounting, the Baron was loosening the girths of his demi-pique, to give the panting animal breath, when he was aware of as ugly an old woman as he had ever clapped eyes upon, peeping at him under the horse's belly. ' Make much of your steed, Kobert Shurland ! Make much ol your steed!' cried the hag, shaking at him her long and bony finger. 'Groom to the hide, and corn to the manger! He has saved your life, Eobert Shurland, for the nonce; but he shall yet be the means of your losing it for all that !' The Baron started: 'What's that you say, you old faggot?' Ho ran round by his horse's tail ; the woman was gone I The Baron paused ; his great soul was not to be shaken by trifles ; he looked around him, and solemnly ejaculated the word ' Ilumbug !' then slinging the bridle across his arm, walked slowly on in the direction of the castle. The appearance, and still more, the disappearance of the crone, had, however, made an impression ; every step he took he became more thoughtful. "Twould be deuced provoking, though, if he should break my neck after all.' He turned and gazed at Dolphin with the scrutinising eye of a veterinary surgeon. Til be shot if he is lioi groggy !' said the Baron. 52 GREY DOLPHIN. With his lordship, like auother great commaader, ' Once to be iu doubt, was once to be resolved:' it would never do to go to the wars on a ricketty prad. He dropped the rein, drew forth Tickle- toby, 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 lymg old beldame 1' 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 attention to Scotland, where things, through the intervention of William Wallace, were looking rather queerish. As his reconcilia- tion with Philip now allowed of his fighting the Scotch in peace and quietness, the monarch lost no time in marching his long legs across the border, and the short ones of the Baron followed him of course. At Falkirk, Tickletoby was in great request; and in the year following, we find a contemporary poet hinting at his master's prowess under the walls of Caerlaverock — ©face fus fu acfjimtnrj ILi beau Kofacrt ic Shurlanli iXi kant scait sur It t^rfaal ili scmMoit fjome kc somcillf. A quatrain which Mr. Simpkinson translates, ' With them was marching The good Robert de Shurland, Who, when seated on horseback. Does not resemble a man asleep !' So thoroughly awake, indeed, does he seem to have proved himself, that the bard subsequently exclaims in an ecstacy of admiration, Si it cstote une pucrlcttc 3c U ionrtc rcut ct cors Cant est ic Iu bons It rccors. ' If I were a young maiden, I would give my heart and person, So great is his fame !' Fortunately the poet was a tough old monk of Exeter ; since ?ach a present to a nobleman, now in his grand climacteric, would A LEGEND OF SHEPPEY. 53 hardly have been wortli the carriage. With the reduction of this stronghold of the Maxwells seem to have concluded the Baron's military services ; as on the very first day of the fourteenth century we find him once more landed on his native shore, and marching, with such of his retainers as the wars had left him, towards the hospitable shelter of Shurland Castle. It was then, upon that v&ry beach, some hundred yards distant from high-water mark, that his eye fell upon something like an ugly old woman in a red cloak. She was seated on what seemed to be a large stone, in an interesting attitude, with her elbows resting upon her Imees, and her chin upon her thumbs. The Baron started: the remembrance of his interview with a similar personage in the same place, some three years since, flashed upon his recollection. He 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 atone, 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 prediction in an instant rose, and banished all softer emotions. In utter contempt of his own weakness, yet with a tremor 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 suffered in the wars. Groat pains had been taken for their preservation. 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! The result may be anticipated, Lame as he was, his lordship 54 GREY DOLPHIN. 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 Bargravc, the leech, at last sliced it off, the gangrene was too confirmed to admit of remedy. Dame Martin thought it high time to send for Miss Margaret, who, ever since her mother's death, had been living with her maternal aunt, the abbess, in the Ursuline convent at Greenwich. The young lady came, and with her came one ^Master Ingokisby, her cousin-german by the mother's side ; but the Baron was too far gone in the dead-thraw to recognise either. He died as he lived, unconquercd 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 was the crone who prophesied the catastrophe ? Ay, ' that is the mystery of this wonderful history.' — Some say it was Dame Fothergill,the late confessor's mamma ; others, St. Bridget herself; others thought it was nobody at all, but only a phantom conjured up by conscience. As we do not know, we 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 be adduces his name ' Emmanuel,' and refers to the historian Shakspeare. Mr. Peters, on the contrary, con- siders this to be what he calls one of Mr. Simpkinson's ' Anacreon- isms,' inasmuch as, at the introduction of Mr. Cade's reform mea- sure, the Clerk, if alive, would have been hard upon two hundred years old. The probability is that the unfortunate alluded to was his great-grandson. Margaret Shurland in due course became Margaret Ingoldsby : her portrait still hangs in the gallery at Tappington. The feature^ are handsome, but shrewish, betraying, as it were, a touch of the old Baron's temperament ; but we never Gould learn that she actu- ally kicked her hu.sband. 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 THE GHOST. 5o recumbent warrior, clad in the chain-mail of the 13th century.* His hands are clasped in prayer; his legs, crossed in that position so prized by Templars in ancient, and tailors in modern days, bespeak him a soldier of the faith in Palestine. Close behind his dexter calf lies sculptured in bold relief a horse's head : and a re- spectable elderly lady, as she shows the monument, 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 !' It is on my own personal reminiscences that I draw for the fol- lowing story : the scene of its leading event was most familiar to me in early life. If the princijxil actor in it be yet living, he must have reached a very advanced age. He was often at the Hall, in my infancy, on professional visits. It is, however, only from those who ' prated of his whercaboiits' that I learned the history of this adventure -nith THE GHOST. THERE stands a City, — neither large nor small, — Its air and situation sweet and pretty ; It matters very little — if at all — "Whether its denizens are dull or witty, "Whether the ladies there are short or tall. Brunettes or blonds, only, there stands a city ! — Perhaps 'tis also requisite to minute That there's a Castle and a Cobbler in it. A fair Cathedral, too, the story goes, And kings and heroes lie entombed within her; There pious Saints in marble pomp repose. Whose shrines are worn by knees of many a sinner ; There, too, full many an Aldermanic nose Roird its loud diapason after dinner; And there stood high the holy sconce of Becket, — Till four assassins came from France to crack it * Subseqtient to tne first appearance of the foregoing narrative, the tomb alhulcd to has been opened during the course of certain repairs which the church has undergone. Mr. Simpkinson, who was present at the exhumation of the body withiu, and has enriched his collection with three of its grinders, says the bones of one of the great toes were wanting. He speaks in terms of threat admiration at the thickness of the skull, and is of opinion that the skeleton is tliat of a great patiiot much addicted to Lundy-fdot. 66 THE GHOST. The Castle was a liuge aud antique mound, Proof against all th' artillery of the quiver, Ere those abominable guns were found, To send cold lead through gallant warrior's liver. It stands upon a gently rising ground. Sloping down gradually to the river, Eesembling (to compare great things with smaller) A well-scooped, mouldy Stilton cheese — but taller. The Keep, I find, 's been sadly alter'd lately, And, 'stead of mail-clad knights, of honour jealous, In martial panoply so grand and stately. Its walls are filled with money-making fellov.'s, And stufTd, unless I'm misinformed greatly, With leaden pipes, and coke, and coals, and bellows ; ' In short, so great a change nas come to pass, 'Tis now a manufactory of Gas. But to my tale. — Before this profenation. And ere its ancient glories were cut short all, A poor hard-working Cobbler took his station In a small house, just opposite the portal ; His birth, his parentage, and education, I know but little of — a strange, odd mortal ; His aspect, air, and gait, were all ridiculous ; His name was Mason — he'd been christened Nicholas. Nick had a wife possessed of many a charm. And .of the Lady Huntingdon persuasion; But, spite of all her piety, her arm She'd sometimes exercise when in a passion ; And, being of a temper somewhat warm, "Would now and then seize, upon small occasion, A stick, or stool, or anything that round did lie, And baste her lord and master most confoundedly. No matter ! — 'tis a tliiug that's not uncommon, 'Tis what we all have heard, and most have read of — I mean, a bruising, pugilistic woman. Such as I own I entertain a dread of, — And so did Nick, whom sometimes there would come Da A sort of fear his Sjxmse might knock his head off, Demolish half his teeth, or drive a rib in, She shone so much in ' facers ' and in ' fibbing.' ' There 's time and place for all things,' said a sage, (King Solomon, I think,) and this I can say. Within a well-roped ring, or on a stage. Boxing may be a very pretty F'Ancy, THE GHOST. 57 When Messrs. Burke or Bendigo engage ; — 'Tis not so well in Susao, Jane, or Nancy : — To get well mill'd by any one's an evil, But by a lady — 'tis the very Dc^-il. And so thought Nicholas, whose only trouble, (At least his worst) was this his rib's propensity ; For sometimes from the alehouse he would hobble, His senses lost in a sublime immensity Of cogitation — then he couldn't cobble — ■ And then his wife would often try the density Of his poor skull, and strike with all her might, As fast as kitchen-wenches strike a light. Mason, meek soul, who ever hated strife, Of this same striking had a morbid dread. He hated it like poison — or his wife — A vast antipathy ! — but so he said — And very often, for a quiet life. On these occasions he'd sneak up to bed, Grope darkling in, and, soon as at the door He heard his lady — he'd pretend to snore. One night, then, ever partial to society, Nick, with a friend (another jovial fellow), "Went to a Club — I should have said Society — At the ' City Arms,' once called the Porto Bello ; A Spouting party, which, though some decry it, I Consider no bad lounge when one is mellow ; There they discuss the tax on salt and leather, And change of ministers and change of weather. In short, it was a kind of British Fonim, Like John Gale Jones's, erst in Piccadilly, Only they managed things with more decorum, And the orations were not quite so silly ; Far different questions, too, would come before 'em, Not always Politics, which, will ye nill ye, Their London prototypes were always willing To give one quantum suff. of — for a shilling. It more resembled one of later date. And tenfold talent, as I'm told, in Bow-street, Where kindlier-natured souls do congregate ; And, though there are who deem that same a low street, Yet, I'm assured, for frolicsome debate And genuine humour it 's surpassed by no street, When the ' Chief Barou ' enters, and assumes To ' rule ' o'er mimic ' Thesigers ' and ' Broughams.' 58 THE GHOST. Here they would oft forget their Rulers' faults, And waste in ancient lore the midnight taper ; Inquire if Orpheus first produced the Waltz, How Gas-lights differ from the Delphic Vapour, Whether Hippocrates gave Glauber's Salts, And what the Romans wrote on ere they'd paper — This night the subject of their disquisitions Was Ghosts, Hobgoblins, Sprites, and Apparitions. One learned gentleman, ' a sage, grave man,' Talk'd of the Ghost in Hamlet";; ' sheath'd in steel '— His well-read friend, who next to speak began, Said, ' That was Poetry, and nothing real ;' A third, of more extensive learning, ran To Sir George Villiers' Ghost, and Mrs. Yeal ; Of sheeted Spectres spoke with shorten'd breath, And thrice he quoted ' Drelincourt on Death.' Kick smoked, and smoked, i.nd trembled as he heard The point discuss'd, and all they said upon it, How, frequently, some murder'd man appeared, To tell his wife and children who had done it ; Or how a Miser's ghost, with grisly beard, And pale lean visage, in an old Scotch bonnet, Wander'd about, to watch his buried money ! When all at once Nick heard the clock strike One, — he Sprang from his seat, not doubting but a lecture Impended from his fond and fi^ithful She; Nor could he well to pardon liim expect her, For he had promised to 'be home to tea;' But having luckily the key o' the back door, He fondly hoped that, unperceived, he Might creep up staii-a 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 soimd the alarum-bell. He sinks beneath the unex]x'ctcd blow ; Before the whiskers of Grimalkin fell. When slumb'ring 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 ; THE GHOST. 59 When, 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 wife so, Mr. Mason ?' Spare we to tell how fiercely she debated, Especially the length of her oration — Spare we to tell how Nick ex^TOStulated, Roused by the bump into a good set passion, So great, that more than once he execrated, Ere he crawlYl into bed in his usual fashion; — The Muses hate brawls ; suffice it then to say. He duck'd below the clothes — and there he lay ! 'Twas now the very witching time of night, Wlien churchyards groan, and graves give up their defid, And many a mischievous, enfranchised Sprite Had long since burst his bonds of stone or lead, And hurried off, with schoolboy-like delight. To play his pranks near some poor wretch's bed, Sleeping, perhaps serenely as a porpoise. Nor dreaming of this fiendish Habeas Corpus. Not so our Nicholas : his meditations Still to the same tremendous theme rccurr'd. The same dread subject of the dark narrations. Which, back'd with such authority, he'd heard: Lost in his own horrific contemplations, He ponder'd o'er each well-remcmber'd word ; ^Vhcn at the bed's foot, close beside the post, He verily believed he saw — a Ghost 1 Plain, and more plain, the unsubstantial Sprite To his astonish'd gaze each moment grew; Ghastly and gaunt, it rear'd its shadowy height, Of more than m.ortal seeming to the view. And round its long, thin, bony fingers drew A tatter'd winding-sheet, of course all white', — The moon that moment peeping through a cloud, Nick very plainly saw it through the shroud! And now those matted locks, which never yet Had yielded to the comb's uukind divorce. Their long-contracted amity forget. And spring asunder with elastic force ; Nay, e'en the very cap, of texture coarse. Whose ruby cincture crown'd that brow of jet, Uprose in agony — the Gorgon's head Was but a type of Nick's u])-squatting in the bed. 60 THE GHOST. From every pore distill'd a clammy dew, Quaked every limb — the candle, too, no doubt, En regie, would have burnt extremely blue, But Nick unluckily had put it out ; And he, though naturally bold and stout. In short, was in a most tremendous stew ; — The room was fiU'd with a sulphureous smell. But where that came from Mason could not tell. All motionless the Spectre stood — and now Its rev'rend form more clearly shone confest, From the pale cheek a beard of purest snow Descended o'er its venerable breast ; The thin grey hairs, that crown'd its furrow'd brow, Told of years long gone by. — An awful guest It stood, and with an action of command, Beckon'd the Cobbler with its wan right hand. ' Whence, and what art thou, Execrable Shape ?' JSTick might have cried, could he have found a tongue, But his distended jaws could only gape. And not a sound upon the welkin rung : His gooseberry orbs seem'd as they would have sprung Forth from their sockets — like a frighten'd Ape He sat upon his haunches, bolt upright. And shook, and grinn'd, and chatter'd with, afifright. And still the shadowy iinger, long and lean, Now beckon'd Nick, now pointed to the door ; And many an ireful glance, and frown, between. The angry visage of the Phantom wore, As if quite vex'd that Nick would do no more Than stare, without e'en asking, ' What d' ye mean ? Because, as we are told — a sad old joke, too — Ghosts, like the ladies, ' never speak till spoke to.' Cowards, 'tis said, in certain situations. Derive a sort of courage from despair, And then perform, from downright desperation, Much more than many a bolder man would dare. Nick saw the Ghost was getting in a passion, And therefore, groping till he found the chair, Seiz'd on his awl, crept softly out of bed. And foUow'd quaking where the Spectre led. And down the winding stair, with noiseless tread, The tenant of the tomb pass'd slowly on. Each mazy turning of the humble shed Seem'd to his step at once familiar grown. THE GHOST. THE GHOST. 61 So safe and sure the labyrinth did he tread As though the domicile had been his own, Though Nick himself, in passing through the shop, Had almost broke his nose against the mop. Despite its wooden bolt, with jai-ring sound, The door upon its hinges open flew ; And forth the Spirit issued — yet around It turn'd, as if its follower's fears it knew. And, once more beckoning, pointed to the mound. The antique Keep, on which the bright moon threw With such effulgence her mild silvery gleam. The visionary form seem'd melting in her beam. Beneath a pond'rous archway's sombre shade, Where once the huge portcullis swung sublime, 'Mid ivied battlements in ruin laid. Sole, sad memorials of the olden time. The Phantom held its way — and though afraid Even of the owls that sung their vesper chime, Pale Nicholas pursued, its steps attending. And wondering what on earth it all would end iu. Within the mouldering fabric's deep recess At length they reached a court obscure and lone — It seem'd a drear and desolate wilderness. The blacken'd walls with ivy all o'ergrown ; The night-bird shriek'd her note of wild distress, Disturb'd upon her solitary throne. As though indignant mortal step should dare. So led, at such an hour, to venture there ! — The Apparition i)aused, and would have spoke. Pointing to what Nick thought an iron ring, But then a neighbouring chanticleer awoke. And loudly 'gan his early matins sing ; And then ' it started like a guilty thing,' As that shrill clarion the silence broke. — We know how much dead gentlefolks eschew The appalling sound of ' Cock-a-doodle-do !' The vision was no more— and Nick alone — ' His streamers waving ' iu the midnight wind. Which through the ruins ceased not to graan ; — His garment, too, was somewhat short behind, — ■ And, worst of all, he knew not where to find The ring, — which made him most his fate bemoan — The iron ring, — no doubt of some traj^door, 'Ncalii which the old dead Miser kept his store. 62 THE CYNOTAPfl. ' What 's to be done ?' he cried ; ' Twere vain to stay Here in the dark -without a single clue — Oh, for a candle now, or moonlight ray ! 'Fore George, I'm vastly puzzled what to do,' (Then clapp'd his hand behind) — ' 'Tis chilly, too — I'll mark the spot, and come again by day. What can I mark it by ? — Oh, here 's the wall — The mortar's yielding — here I'll stick my awl !' Then rose from earth to sky a withering shriek, A loud, a long-protracted note of woe, Such as when tempests roar, and timbers creak, And o'er the side the masts in thunder go ; While on the deck resistless billows break. And drag their victims to the gulfs below ; — Such was the scream when, for the want of candle, Nick Mason drove his awl in up to the handle. Scared by his Lady's heart-appalling cry, Yanish'd at once poor Mason's golden dream — For dream it was ; — and all his visions high. Of wealth and grandeur, fled before that scream — And still he listens with averted eye, When gibing neighbours make ' the Ghost ' their theme ; While ever from that hour they all declare That Mrs. Mason used a cushion in her chair ! Confound not, I beseech thee, reader, the subject of the following tnonody with the hapless hero of the tea-urn, Cupid, of ' Yow-Yow'- ing memory. Tray was an attached favourite of many years' stand- ing. Most people worth loving have had a friend of this kind ; Lord Byron says he * never had but one, and here he (the dog, not the nobleman,) lies !' THE CYNOTAPH. Poor Tray charaiant I Poor Tray de men ami ! Dog-biuy and Vergers. OH ! where shall I bury my poor dog Tray, Now his fleeting breath has passed away ? — Seventeen years, I can venture to say. Have I seen him gambol, and frolic, and play. Evermore happy, and frisky, and gay, As though every one of his months was May, THE CYXOTAPH. 63 And the wliole of liis life one long holiday — Now he's a lifeless lump of clay, Oh ! where shall I bury my faithful Tray ? I am almost tempted to think it hard That it may not be there, in yon sunny churchyard, Where the green willows wave 0"er the peaceful grave. Which holds all that once was honest aud bra^'e, Kind, and courteous, and faithful, and true ; Qualities, Tray, that were found in you. But it may not be — yon sacred ground By holiest feelings fenced around. May ne'er within its hallow'd bound Receive the dust of a soul-less hound. I would not place him in yonder fane, Where the mid-day sun through the storied pane Throws on the pavement a crimson stain ; Where the banners of chivalry heavily swing O'er the pinnacled tomb of the Warrior King, With helmet and shield, and all that sort of thing. Iso ! — come what may, IMy gentle Tray Shan't be an intruder on bluff Harry Tudor, Or panoplied monarchs yet earlier and ruder Whom you see on their backs, In stone or in wax, Though the Sacristans now are ' forbidden to ax ' For what Mr. Hume calls ' a scandalous tax ;' While the Chartists insist they've a right to go snacks — 'So ! — Tray's humble tomb would look but shabby 'Mid the sculptured shrines of that gorgeous Abbey. Besides, in the place They say there 's not space To bury what wet-nurses call ' a Babby.' Even ' Bare Ben Jonson,' that famous wight, I am told, is interr'd there bolt upright, In just such a posture, beneath his bust. As Tray used to sit in to beg for a crust. The epitaph, too. Would scarcely do: For what could it say, but, * Here lies Tray, A very good kind of a dog in his day !' And satirical folks might be apt to imagine it Meant as a quiz on the House of Plantagenet. No ! no ! — The Abbey may do very well For a feudal ' Nob,' or poetical ' Swell,' ' Crusaders,' or ' Poets,' or ' Knights of St. John, Or Knights of St. John's Wood, who once went on To the Castle of ©ootic ILovUc Gtjlintouiu. 64 THB CyNOTAPH. Count Fiddle-fumkin, and Lord Fiddle-faddle, ' Sir Craven; ' Sir Gael,' and ' Sir Campbell of Saddell,' (Who, as poor Hook said, when he heard of the feat, ' Was somehow knock'd out of his family-seat ;') The Esquires of the body To my Lord Tomnoddy; ' Sir Fairlie,' ' Sir Lamb,' And the ' Knight of the Earn,' The ' Knight of the Rose,' and the ' Knight of the Dragon," Who, save at the flagon, And prog in the wagon, The newspapers tell us did little ' to brag on ;' And more, though the Muse knows but little concerning 'em, ' Sir Hopkins,' ' Sir Popkins,' ' Sir Gage,' and * Sir Jerningham. All Preux Chevaliers, in friendly rivalry Who should best bring back the glory of Chi-valry. — — (Pray be so good, for the sake of my song, To pronounce here the ante-penultimate long ; Or some hyper-critic will certainly cry, ' The word " Chivalry " is but a rhyme to the ej'e.' And I own it is clear A fastidious car AVill be, more or less, always annoy'd with you when you Lisert any rhyme that's not perfectly genuine. As to pleasing the ' eye,' 'Tisn't worth while to try, Since Moore and Tom Campbell themselves admit ' Spinach ' Is perfectly antiphonetic to ' Greenwich.') — But stay! — I say! Let me pause while I may — This digression is leading me sadly astray From my object — A grave for my poor dog Tray ! I would not place him beneath thy walls, And proud o'ershadowing dome, St. Paul's ! Though I've always consider'd Sir Christopher Wren, As an architect, one of the greatest of men ; And, talking of Epitaphs, — much I admire his, ' Circmnspice, si Monumentum requiris ;' "Which an erudite Verger translated to me, ' If you ask for his monument, Sii'-comc-spy-see I — ' No ! — I should not know where To place him there ; I would not have him by surly Johnson be ; — Or that queer-looking horse that is rolling on Ponsonby ; — Or those ugly minxes The sister Sphyns.es, Mix'd creatures, half lady, half lioness, ergo, (Denon says,) the emblems of Leo and Virgo ; On one of the backs of which singular jumble. Sir Ralph Abercrombie is going to tumble. THE CYNOTA.'H. Q5 With a thump which alone were enough to dispatch him. If tlie Scotchnaan in front should n't happen fo catch him. No ! I'd not have him there, — nor nearer the door, Where the man and the Angel have got Sir John Moore,* And are quietly letting him down through ths floor, By Gillespie, the one who escaped, at Vellore, Alone from the row ; — Neither he, nor Lord Howe Would like to be plagued with a little Bow-wow. No, Tray, we must yield, And go further a-fiekl ; To lay you by Nelson were downright effront'ry ; — We'll be off from the City, and look at the countiy. It shall not be there, In that sepulchred square, ' Where folks are interr'd for the sake of the air, (Though, pay but the dues, they could hardly refuse To Tray what they grant to Thuggs, and Hindoos, Turks, Infidels, Heretics, Jumpers, and Jews,) Where the tombstones are placed In the very hcsi taste, At the feet and the head Of the elegant Dead, And no one's received who's not ' buried in lead :' For, there lie the bones of Deputy Jones, Whom the widow's tears, and the orphan's groans Affected as much as they do the stones His executors laid on the Deputy's bones ; Little rest, poor knave ! Would Tray liave in his grave ; Since Spirits, 'tis plain, Are sent back again, I'o roam round their bodies, — the bad ones in pain, — Dragging after them sometimes a heavy jack-chain ; AVhenever they met, alarm'd by its groans, his Ghost all night long would be barking at Jones's. Nor shall he be laid By tliat cross Old Maid, Miss Penelope Bird, — of whom it is said All tlic dogs in the parish were ever afraid. He must not be placed By one so strait-laced III her temper, her taste, her morals, and waist. I'or 't is said, when she went up to Heaven, and St. Peter, Who happened to meet her, Came forward to greet her, She pursed up with scorn every vinegar feature, And bade him ' Get out for a horrid Male Creature !' So the Saint, after looking as if he could eat her, Not knowing, perhaps, very well how to treat her, And not being willing, — or able, — to beat her, Sent her back to her grave till her temper grew sweeter^ With an epithet which I decline to repeat here. * See uote at end of ' The Cynotaph.' 66 THE CYNOTAPH. Ko, — if Tiay were interr'd By Peuelope Bird, No dog would be e'er so be-' whelp' 'd and be-' cur' r'd — All the night long her cantaukerous Sprite Would be running about in the pale moon-light, Chasing him round, and attempting to lick The ghost of poor Tray with the ghost of a stick. Stay ! — let me see ! — Ay — here it shall be At the root of this gnarled and time-worn tree, Where Tray and I Would often lie, And watch the bright clouds as they floated by In the broad expanse of the clear blue sky, When the sun was bidding the world good-bye ; And the plaintive Nightingale, warbling nigh. Poured forth her mournful melody ; AVliile the tender Wood-pigeon's cooing cry Has made me say to myself, with a sigh, ' How nice you would eat with a steak in a pie !' Ay, here it shall be ! — far, far from the view Of the noisy world and its maddening crew Simple and few. Tender and true The lines o'er his grave. — They have, some of them, toOj The advantage of being remarkably new. Epitaph. Affliction sore Long time he bore. Physicians were in vain ! — Grown blind, alas ! he'd Some Prussic Acid, And that put him out of his pain ! Note, page 65. In the autumu of 1824, Captain Medwiu having hinted thai certain beautiful lines on the burial of this gallant officer might have been the production of Lord Byron's Muse, the late Mr. Sydney Taylor, somewhat indignantly, claimed them lor their rightful owner, the late llev. Cliarles Wolfe. During the controversy a third claimant started up in the person of a sol-disant ' Doctor Marshall,' who turned out to be a Durham blacksmith and his pre- tensions a hoax. It was then that a certain ' Doctor Pejjpercorn ' put forth Jiis pretensions, to what he averred was the only * true and original' version, \'\z.: — Not a sous liaJ he got, — not a guinea or note, And helook'd confoundedly flurried, Ab he Indted aw:iy without paying his shot_, Aud the Landlady after him hiu°ried. THE CVNOTAPH. THE LKECH OF FOLKESTONE. 67 We saw him again at dead of night, When home from the Club returning ; We twigg'd the Doctor beneath the light Of the gas-lamp brilliantly burning. All bare, and exposed to the midnight dews, Reclined in the gutter we found him : And he look'd like a gentleman taking a snooze, With his Marshall cloak around him. • The Doctor 's as drunk as the d ,' we said, And we managed a shutter to borrow ; We raised him, and sigh'd at the thought that his lieaJ Would ' consumedly ache ' on the morrow We bore him home, and we put liim to bed, And we told his wife and his daughter To give him, next morning, a couple of red Herrings, with soda-water. — Loudly they talk'd of his money that 's gone. And liis Lady began to upbraid him ; But little he reck'd, so they let him snore on 'Keath the counterpane just as we laid him. We tuck'd him in, and had hardly done When, beneath the window calling. We heard the rough voice of a son of a gun Of a watchman ' One o'clock 1' bawling. Slowly and sadly we all walk'd down From his room in the uppermost story ; A rushlight we placed on the cold hearth-stone, And we left him alone in his glory. lios ego versiculos feci, tulit alter honores. — Viegil. I wrote the lines — * * owned them — he told stories ! TiiojiAS Ingoldsbt. MRS. BOTHERBY'S STORY. THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. READER, were you ever bewitched? — I do not moau by a ' white wench's black eye,' or by love-potions imbibed from a ruby lip; — bnt, were you ever really and bond fide bewitched, in the tnie 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 yi atr eyes ever turned upside 0g MRS. BOTHEEBT'S STORY. down, exhibiting notMng but their whites? — Did you ever vomit a paper of crooked pins ? or expectorate Whitechapel needles ? These are genuine and undoubted marlis 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 mean authority, still are. The World, according to the best geographers, is divided into Europe, Asia, Africa, America., and Eomney Marsh. In this last- named, and fifth, quarter of the globe, a Witch may still be occa- sionally discovered in favourable, i. e., stormy, seasons, weathering Dungeness Point in an eggshell, or careering on her broomstick over Dymchurch wall. A cow may yet be sometimes seen galloping like mad, with tail erect, and an old pair of breeches on her horns, au unerring guide to the door of the crone whose magic arts have drained her udder. I 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, Btanis 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. Piome stood on seven hills ; Folkestone seems to have been built upon seventy. Its streets, lanes, and alleys, — fanciful distinctions without much real difference, — are agreeable enough to persons 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 pedes- trian peeps into a garret window. At the eastern extremity of the town, on the sea-beach, and acarcely above high-water mark, stood, in the good old times, a row of houses then denominated ' Frog-hole.' Modern refinement sub- sequently euphonised the name into ' East-street ;' but ' what's in a name ?' the encroachments of Ocean have long since levelled all in one common ruin. Ilcrc, in the early part of the seventeenth century, flourished in somewhat doubtful reputation, but comi)arative opulence, a com- pounder of medicines, one Master Erasmus Buckthorne ; the effluvia of whose drugs from within, mingling agreeably with the 'ancient and Gsh-like smells' from without, wafted a delicious perfume thri-'Ughout the neighbourhood. THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 69 At seven of tlie clock, on the morning when Mrs, Botherby's narrative commences, a stout Suffolk ' liuncli,' about thirteen hands and a half ia 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 experimentalising as in household drudgery ; and that, for every pound avoirdupois of solid meat, he swallowed, at the least, two pounds troy weight of chemicals and galenicals. As the town clock struck the quarter. Master Euckthorne emerged from his laboratory, and, putting the key carefully into his pocket, moimted the sure-footed cob aforesaid, and proceeded up and down the acclivities and declivities of the to^vn with the gravity due to his station and profession. When he reached the open country, his pace was increased to a sedate cantei", which, in somewhat more than half an hour, brought ' the horse and his 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 destina- tion, and paused of his own aocord ; ' How now, man ? How fares thine employer, worthy Master Marsh ? How hath he done ? How hath he slept ? My potion hath done its office ? Ha !' ' Alack ! ill at ease, worthy sir, ill at case,' returned the hind ; * his honour is up and stirring ; but he hath rested none, and com- plaineth 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 casement opening on the lawn. ' Good morrow ! I have looked for, longed for, thy coming this hour and more ; enter at once ; the pastry 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, (g, title in its origin purely military,) occupied, in the wealthier counti':'s, the position in society now filled by the 70 MRS. BOTHERBY S STORY. Country Geutleman. He was one of those of whom the pro- verb ran : ' A Knight of Cales, A Gentleman of Wales, And a Laird of the North Countree : A Yeoman of Kent, With his yearly rent, Will buy them out all three !' A cold sirloin, big enough to frighten a Frenchman, filled the place of honour, counter-checked by a game-pie of no stinted dimen- sions ; while a silver flagon of ' humming-bub,' — viz. ale strong enough to blow a man's beaver off — smiled opposite in treacherous 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 ot the proprietor of the mansion sat his con- sort, 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 Andalusian 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 commerce. 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 unexpected 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 firm- ness of her tread, her arched brow and stately carriage, showed the decision, not to say haughtiness, of her soul ; while her glances, whether lightening with auger, 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 THE LKECH OF FOLKESTONE. 71 on him a look fraught with meaning, quitted the room, leaving him in unrestrained communication with his patient. ' Tore George, Master Buckthorne !' exclaimed the latter, as the Leech drew near, ' I will no more of your pharmacy ; — bum, burn, gnaw, gnaw, — I had as lief the foul fiend were 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 some- what pale. There was a perceptible faltering in his voice, as evading the question, he asked, ' What say your 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 Buckthorne. ' Truly, I think so,' returned the patient. ' They are manifest asses ; but you, good Leech, you are a horse of another colour. The woiid talks loudly of your learning, your skill, and cunning in arts the most abstruse ; nay, sooth to say, some look coldly on you there- fore, and stickle not to aver that you are cater-cousin with Beelzebub himself.' 'It is ever the fate of science,' murmured the professor, 'to be maligned by the ignorant and superstitious. But a truce A\ith such folly ; — let me examine your palate.' Master Marsh thxTist out a tongue long, clear, and red as a beet- root. ' There is nothing wrong there,' said the Leech. ' Your wrist : — no ; — the pulse is firm and regular, the skin cool and tem- perate. Sir, there is nothing the matter with you !' ' Nothing the matter with me. Sir 'Potecary ? — But 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 Marsli,' said the doctor. Master Marsh's brow grew dark : he half rose from his seat, sup- ported 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 nought ails thee save thine own overweening 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 ? — ' 72 MRS. BOTHERBY S STORY. * I have,' said the patient. ' Wealth and a fair domain V ' Granted,' quoth Marsh, cheerily. ' And a fair wife ?' ' Yea,' was the response, but in a tone something less satisfied. ' Then arouse thee, man, shake off tliis fantasy, betake thyself to thy lawful occasions — use thy good hap, — 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 sits loosely on me, — these racking pains. My wife, too, when I meet her gaze, the cold sweat stands on my forehead, and I could almost think .' Marsh paused abrupt]}-, mused a while, 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. Eide, I say, hunt, shoot, do anything, — disperse these melancholic humours, and become yourself again.' 'Well, I will do your bidding,' said Marsh, thoughtfully. 'It may be so ; and yet, —but I will do your bidding. Master Cobb of Brenzet writes me that he hath a score or two of fat ewes to be sold a pennyworth ; I had thought to have sent Ealph Looker, but I will essay to go myself. Ho, there ! — saddle me the brown mare, and bid Ealph 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 boudoir of the fair mistress of IMarston, muttering as he went a quotation from a then newly-published play, ' Not poppy, nor mandragora, Nor all the drowsy syrups of the woiid. Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep "Which thou own'dst yesterday.' • * * * Of what passed at this interview between the Folkestone dyjtor and the fair Spaniard, Mrs. Botherby declares she could never THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 73 obtain any satisfactory elucidation. Not that tradition is silent ou the subject, — quite the contrary ; it is the abundance, not paucity, of the materials she sapplies, and the consequent embarrassment 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 adminis- tering certain noxious compounds, the unconscious partakei whereof would pine and die so slowly and gradually as to defy suspicion. Others there were who affirmed that Lucifer himself was then and there raised in propria, persona, with all his terrible attributes of liorn and hoof. In sup]X)rt 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, how- ever, seemed to agree that the confabulation, whether human or infernal, was conducted w4th profound secrecy, and protracted to a considerable length ; that its object, as fiir 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 Buckthornc, albeit a great philosophist, would have no violent objection to ' throw physic to the dogs,' ami exchange his laboratory for the estate of Marston, its live stock included. Some, too, have infen-cd that to him did Madame Isabel seriously incline ; while others have thought, induced perhaps by subsequent events, that she was merely using him for her purposes ; that one Jos^, 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 Jos^ was a youth well-favoured, and comely to look upon. His office was that of page to the dame ; an office which, after long remaining in abeyance, has been of late years revived, as may well be seen in the persons of sundry smart hobbledehoys, now constantly to be met with on staircases and in boudoirs, clad, for the most part, in garments fitted tightly to the shape, the lower moiety adorned Avith 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 per- fun\ing a handkerchief, the combing a lap-dog, and the occasional 74 MRS. botherby's story. presentation of a sippet-shaped hilkt doux, are, and always have been, among them ; but these a young gentleman standing five foot ten, and aged nineteen 'last gi-ass,' might well be supposed to have cutgi'own. Jose, however, kept his place, perhaps because he was not fit for any other. To the conference between his mistress and the physician he had not been admitted ; his post was to keep watch and ward in the ante-room ; and, when the interview was concluded, 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 back of Punch. Who is it that says, ' little pitchers have large ears ?' Some deep metaphysician of the potteries, who might have added that they have also quick eyes, and sometimes silent tongues. There was a little metaphorical piece of crockery of this class, who, screened by a huge elbow-chair, had sat a quiet and unobserved spectator of the whole proceedings between her mamma and Master Erasmus Buckthorne. This was Miss Marian Marsh, a rosy-cheeked laughter- loving imji of some sis years old ; but one who could be mute as a mouse when the fit was on her. A handsome and highly-polished cabinet of the darkest ebony occupied a recess at one end of the apartment ; this had long been a great subject of speculation to little Miss. Her curiosity, however, had always been repelled ; nor had all her coaxing even won her an inspection of the thousand and one pretty things which its recesses no doubt contained. On this occasion it was unlocked, and Llarian was about to rush forward in eager anticipation of a peep at its interior, when, child as she was, the reflection struck her that she would stand a better chance of canying 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 ^^■ords whose sound was foreign to her youthful ears. Had she been older, their import, per- haps, 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 com- plete, and the article was carefully replaced in the drawer from which it had been taken. A long, and apparently interesting, con- versation then took place between the jmrties, carried on ia a low tone. At its termination, Mi^stress Marsh and Master Erasmua THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 75 Buckthoi-ne quitted the boudoir together. 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 re- warded by the prettiest little waxen doll imaginable. It was a fii'st- 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 laurestinus in the garden, nursing her new baly with the most affectionate solicitude. * >i> * * * Susan, look here ; see what a nasty scratch I have got upon my hand,' said the young lady, when routed out at length from her hiding-place to her noontide meal. * Yes, Miss, this is always the way with you ! mend, mend, mend, — nothing but mend ! Scrambling about among the bushes, and tearing your clothes to rags. What with you, and with madam's failhingales and kirtles, a poor bower-maiden has a fine time of it !' 'But I have not torn my clothes, Susan, and it was not the bushes ; it was the doll : only see what a great ugly pin I have pulled out of it ! and look, here is another !' As she spoke, Marian drew forth one of those extended pieces of black pointed wire, with which, in the days of toupees and pompoons, our fore-mothers 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 scrutinising eye. * Mamma gave it me,' said the child. — This was a fib ! ' Indeed !' quoth the girl thoughtfully ; and then, in half soliloquy, and a lower key, ' Well ! I wish I may die if it doesn't look like master ! — But come to your dinner. Miss ! Hark ! the hell is strik- ing One! Meanwhile Master Thomas ilarsh, and his man Balph, were threading the devious paths, then, as now, most pscudonymously dignified with the name of roads, that wound between Marston Hall and the frontier of Eomncy Marsh. Their progress was compara- tively slow ; for though the brown mare was as good a roadster 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, miiy in ^a 76 MRS. BOTHEllBYS STORY. the ' bottoms,' and covered with, loose and rolling stones on the higher grounds, rendered barely passable the perpetual alternation of hill and valley. The master rode on in pain, and the man in listlessness ; 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 tlic other. An hour's riding had brought them among the woods of Acryse ; and they were about to descend one of these green and leafy lanes, rendered by matted and overarching branches alike imper- vious 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 difSculty he succeeded in dismounting, and seating him- self 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 apjieared 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 Ealph was hesitating between his disinclination to leave him, and his desire to procure such assist- ance as one of the few cottages, 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 case, from a deep-seated and gnawing pain, which ceased not, as he averred, to torment him, the violence of tlie paroxysm was spent, and it returned no more. Master and man pm-sued their way with increased speed, as emerging from the wooded defiles, they at length nearcd the coast ; then, leaving the romantic castle of Saltwood, with its neighbouring town of Hithe, a little on their left, they proceeded along the ancient paved causeway, and, crossing the old Eoman road, or Watling, plunged again into the woods that stretched between Lympue and Ostenhanger. Tlie sun rode high in the heavens, and its meridian blaze was powerfully felt by man and horse, when, again quitting their leafy THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 77 covert, the travellers debouched on the open plain of Aldington Frith, a wide tract of unenclosed countiy stretching do^\'n 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, tho ' Holy Maid of Kent,' had, something less than a hundred years previous to the period of our narrative, commenced that series of supernatural pranks which eventually procured for her head an unenvicd elevation ujion London Bridge; and though the parish had since enjoj'ed the benefit of the incumbency of Master Erasmus's illustrious and enlightened Xamesake, still, truth to tell, some of the old leaven was even yet supposed to be at work. The place had, in fict, an ill name ; and, though Pojiish miracles had ceased to electrify its denizens, spells and charms, operating by a no less wondi-ous agency, were said to have taken their place. Warlocks, and other unlioly 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 person than the sagacious Matthew Hopkins liimself, Witchfiuder-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 the Archbishops of the Province. Since the Reformation, however, it had been disparked ; and when Master Thomas Marsh, and his man Ealph, entered upon its confines, the open greensward exhibited a lively scene, sufticiently explana- tory of certain sounds that had already reached their ears while yet within the sylvan screen that concealed their origin. It was Fair-day: booths, stalls, and all the rude paraj/hernaUa of an assembly that then met as much for the purposes of traffic as festivity, were scattered irregularly over the turf; pedlars with their jKicks, hoi-se-croupers, pig-merchants, itinerant venders of crockery and cutlery, wandered promiscuously among the mingled grouj^s, exix)sing their several wares and commodities, and soliciting custom. On one side was the gaudy riband, makmg its mute appeal to rustic gallantry ; on the other the delicious brand3'-ball and alluring lolli- IX)p, comjx)unded after the most approved receipt in the 'Triij Gentlewoman's Garland,' and ' raising the waters' in tho mouth of mnuy an expectant urchin. Nor were rural sports wanting to those whom pleasure, rather than business, had drawn fron. their humble homes. Here was the 78 MRS. botherby's story. tall and slippery pole, giitteriug in its grease, ami crowned with the ample cheese, that mocked the hopes of the discomiited climber. There the fugitive pippin, swimming in water not of the purest, and bohhing from the expanded lips of the juvenile Tantalus. 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, Ihe eye rested, with undisguised delight, upon the grimaces of grinning candidates for the honours of the horse-collar. All was fun, frolic, courtship, jimketing, and jollity. Maid Marian, indeed, with her lieges, Eobin Hood, Scarlet, and Little John, was wanting ; Friar Tuck was absent ; even the Hobby- horse had disappeared : but the agile Morris-dancers yet were there, and jingled their bells merrily among stalls well stored with ginger- bread, tops, whips, whistles, and all those noisy instruments of domestic torture iu which scenes like these are even now so fertile. — Had I a foe whom I held at deadliest 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 inti- mate 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 canvas, 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 en- sconced ; 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 employed on the proscenium, doing his best to attract attention by a practical fticetiousness wliich took wonderfully with the spectators, interspersing it with the melodious notes of a huge cow's horn. The fellow's costume varied but little in character from that in which the late (alas ! that we should have to write the word — late !) IMr. Joseph Grimaldi was accustomed to present him- self before 'a generous and enlightened public;' the principal dif- ference consisted in this, that the upper garment was a long white tunic of a coarse linen, surmounted by a caricature of the ruff then THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 79 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, prolonged to a most disproportionate extent, descended far below the fingers, and acted as flappers in the somersets and caracoles, with which he diversified and enlivened his antics. Consummate impudence, not altogether unmixed with a certain sly humou]-, sparkled in his eye through the chalk and ochre with which his features were plentifully bedaubed ; and especially displayed itselt 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 Unborn Doctor ; that to this happy acci- dent of birth he added the advantage of most extensive travel ; that in his 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 sove- reign virtiie, by combining sundry mosses, gathered many thousand fathoms below tlie surface of the sea, with certain unknowoi drugs found in an undiscovered island, and boiling the whole in the lava of Vesuvius, he had succeeded in producing his celebrated balsam of Crackapanoko, the never-failing remedy for all human disorders, and which, 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 Aldrovando milder than mother's milk; flint to the proud, to the humble he is as melting wax ; he asks not your disorders, he sees them himself at a glance — nay, without a glance; he tells your ailments with his eyes shut ! — Draw near ! draw near ' the more incurable the better! List to the illustrious Doctor Al drovando, first physician to Prcster John, Leech to the Grand Llama, and Hakim in Ordinary to Mustapha Muley Bey !' * Hath your master ever a cnarm for the tooth-ache, an't please you ?' asked an elderly countrjTnan, whose swollen cheek bespoke his interest in the question. 'A charm! — a thousand, and every one of them infallible. Tooth- 80 MRS. bothkrby's story. ache, quotha! I had hoped you had come wath every hone in your hody fractured or out of joint. A toothache !— propound a tester, master o' mine — we ask not more for such trifles : do my hidding and thy jaws, even with the word, shall cease to trouble thee !' The clown, fumhling a while in a deep leathern purse, at length produced a sixpence, which he tendered to the jester. 'Now to thy master, and bring me the charm forthwith.' ' Nay, honest man ; to disturb the mighty Aldrovaudo on such slight occasion were pity of my life: arecd my counsel aright, and I will warrant thee for the nonce. Hie thee home, friend; infuse this powder in cold spring- water, fiU thy mouth with tlie mixture, and sit u^xtn thy fire till it boils !' ' Out on thee for a pestilent knave !' cried the cozened country- man; but the roar of merriment around bespoke the bystanders 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 eveiy instant, filling up the intervals between his fooleries 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, physical, natural, and super- natural ! 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 guillj-, though there were those standing by who thought their ncighbo;;rs might have profited withal. For the last-named recipe started forth at least half a dozen candidates. With the greatest gravity imaginable, Pierrot, having pocketed their groats, delivered to each a small packet curiously folded and closely sealed, containing, as he averred, directions which, if truly observed, would preclude any chimney from smoking for a wliole year. They whose curiosity led them to dive into the mystery, found that a sprig of mountain ash culled by moonlight v.^as the charm recommended, coupled, however, 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 juat as its noisy occupant, having laid aside his for- midable horn, was drawing still more Largely on the amazement of THE LEECH OF FOLKISTOirE. 81 'the public' by a feat of especial wonder, — lie was eating fire! Curiosity mingled with astonishment was at its height; and feelings not unallied to alann 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 illus- trious Aldrovando himself. Short in stature and spare in form, the sage had somewhat in- creased the former by a steeple-crowned hat adorned with a cock's feather; while the thick shoulder-padding of a quilted doublet, surmounted by a falling band, added a little to his personal im- portance in point of breadth. Ilis habit was composed throughout of black serge, relieved with scarlet slashes in the sleeves and trunks ; red was the feather in his hat, red were the roses in hia shoes, which rejoiced moreover in a pair of red heels. The lining of a short cloak of faded velvet, that hung transversely over his left shoulder, was also red. Indeed, from all that we could ever see or hear, this agree- able alternation of red and black appears to be the mixture of colours most approved at the court of Beelzebub, and the one most gener- ally adopted by his frienels and favourites. His features were sharp and shrewd, and a fire sparkled in his keen grey eye, much at vari- ance with the wrinkles that ran their irregular furrows above his prominent and bushy brows. He had advanced slowly from behintl his screen while the attention of the multitude was absorbed by the pyrotechnics of ^Ir. Merryman, and stationing himself at the extreme corner of the stage, stood quietly leaning on a crutch-handle walkinc;- staff of blackest ebony, his glance steadily fixed on the face of Mar.s!i, 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 inquisitorial 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 sixteen 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 imobstrncted 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. 82 MRS. BOTHEIIBYS STORY. ' Aud what makes Master Marsh here ? what sees he in the mum- meries of a miserable buffoon to divert him when his life is in jeo- pardy ?' said a shrill cracked voice that sounded as in his very ear. It was the Doctor who spoke. 'Knowest thou me, friend?' said Marsh, scanning with awakened interest the figure of his questioner : ' I call thee not to mind j 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 somewnat 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 Aldington ? Is it a score or two of paltry sheep ? or is it something nearer to thy heart f 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-drawn 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 cloclc strikes One !' As he spoke, a single toll from the bell-tower of Bilsington came, wafted by the western breeze, over the thick-set and lofty oaks which Intervened between the Frith and what had been once a priory. Doctor Aldrovando turned as the sound 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 nov/ 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 i hough a load of years had been removed ; and, is it possible ? — hast thou done this ?' * Thomas Marsh !' said the Doctor, pausing, aud turning for the THE LKECH OF FOLKESTONE. 83 moment ou his heel, 'I have not: I repeat, that other and moro 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 ; hut as thou valuest life and more than life, be at the foot of yonder woody knoll what time the rising moon throws her first beam upon the bare and blighted summit that towers above its trees.' He crossed abiiiptly 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, ho saw the object of his anxiety seclude himself once more within his canvas screen, he rode slowly and thoughtfully off the field. What should he do ? Was the man a mere quack ? an 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 disclaimed all co- oi>eration in his recovery ; but he knew, or he at least announced it. Nay, more ; he had tinted that he was yet in jeopardy ; that prac- tices — and the chord sounded strangely in unison with one that had before vibrated within him — that practices were in operation against his life ! It was enough ! He would kept tryst with the Conjuror, if conjuror he were ; and, at least, ascertain who and what he was, and how he had become acquainted with his own person and secret afflictions. When the late Mr. Pitt was determined to keep out BuonajKirte, and prevent his gaining a settlement in the county of Kent, among other ingenious devices adopted for that purpose, he caused to be con- structed what was then, and has ever since been conventionally termed a 'Military Canal.' This is not a very practicable ditch, some thirty feet wide, and nearly nine feet deep, in the middle, ex- tending from the town and port of Hithe to within a mile of the to\\'n and port of Eye, 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 gentle- 84 5IKS. botherby's stout. man of the neighbourhood, who proposed as a cheap suhstltiitc, to put down his own cocked-hat upon a pole, was deseiTcdly pooh- pooh "d down ; in fact, the joh, though rather an expensive one, was found to answer remarkably well. The French managed, indeed, to scramble over the Ehine, and the Ehone, and other insignificant currents; but they never did, or 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 undenvood, above which is seen a bare and brown summit rising like an Alp in miniature. The ' defence of the nation' not being then in existence. Master Marsh met with no obstruction in reaching this place of appointment long before the time prescribed. So much, indeed, was his mind occupied by his adventure and extraordinary cure, that his original design had been abandoned, and Master Cobbe remained un visited. A rude hostel in the neigh- bourhood furnished entertainment for man and horse ; and here, a full hour before the rising of the moon, he left Ealph and the other beasts, proceeding to his rendezvous on foot and alone. ' You are punctual. Master Marsh,' squeaked the 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 first part of the command Marsh hesitated not to obey; the second was more difficult of observance. ' Who and what are you ? Whither are you leading me ?' burst not unnaturally from his lips; but all question was at once cut short by the peremptory tones of his guide. 'Hush ! I say ; your finger on your lip, there be hawks abroad ; follow mo, and that silently and quickly.' The little man turned as he spoke, and led the way through a scarcely perceptible path, oi track, which Avound among the underwood. The lapse of a few minutes brought them to the door of a low buildirg, 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. JNo 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 THE LEECH OF FOLKJiSTOXE. 85 portion of it seemiug buried in tlie wood behind. The door gave way on the application of a key, and Slarsh 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, insufficiently lighted by an iron lamp that hung from the roof, and scarcely illu- mined the walls and angles, which seemed to be composed of some dark-coloured wood. On one side, however. Master Marsh conld discover an article bearing strong resemblance to a coffin ; on the other was a large oval mirror in an ebony .frame, and in the midst of the floor was described, in red chalk, a double circle, about six feet in diameter, its inner verge inscribed with sundry hieroglyphics, agreeably relieved at inteiwals with an alternation of skulls and cross-bones. In the veiy centre was deposited one skull of such surpassing size and thickness as would have filled the soul of a Spurzheim or De Ville with wonderment. A large book, a naked sword, an hour-glass, a chafing-dish, and a black cat, completed the list of movables ; 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 Marsli thought a most unnatural brilliancy, he per- ceived, reflected in the glass behind, a dial suspended over the coffin-like article already mentioned : 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 i discard thy boots, doff doublet and hose, and place thyself inconti- nent in yonder bath.' The visitor cast his eyes again upon the formidable-looking article, and perceived that it was nearly filled with witer. A cold bath^ at such an hour and under such auspices, was anything but in- viting : 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 1 let but yon minute-hand reach the hour, and thou not immersed, thy life were not worth a pin's fee !' The Black Cat gave vent to a single mew, — a most xmnatural sound for a mouser, — it seemed as it were mewed through a cow's horn. 86 MRS. boiherby's story. ' Quick, Master Marsh ! uncase, or you perish !' repeated his strange host, throwing as he spoke a handful of some dingy-looking powders into the brasier. ' Behold the attack is begun !' A thick cloud rose from the embers ; a cold shivering shook the astonished Yeoman ; sharp pricking pains penetrated his ankles and the palms of his hands, and, as the smoke cleared away, he distinctly saw and recognised iu 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 con- trast 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 riglit and left stood his wife and Jose; iu the middle, with his back towards him, was a figure v/hich 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, — Iilarsh looked at the dial ; it wanted but four minutes of nine : he felt that the crisis of his fate was come. Off went his heavy boots ; doublet to the right, galligaskins to the left ; never was man more swiftly disrobed. In two minutes, to use an Indian expression, ' he was all face !' in another he was on his back, and up to his chin, in a bath which smelt strongly as of brimstone and garlic. Heed well the clock !' cried the Conjuror : ' with the first stroke of Nine plunge thy head beneath the water, suffer not a hair above the surface : plunge deeply, or thou art lost !' The little man had seated himself in the centie of the circle upon the largo 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 Meltou had soon yielded to such rotatory friction — but he spun on — the cat mewed, bats and obscene birds fluttered overhead ; Eras- mus was seen to raise his weapon, the clock struck ! — aud 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, ho-^ever, at once removed, when, casting hia THK LLECIl OF FOLKESTONE. 87 eyes on tlie glass, he saw the consternation of the party whose per- sons 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 tiimself to ftt anchor ; the Black Cat purred, — its purring seemed strangely mixed with the self-satisfied chuckle of a human being. Where had Marsh heard something like it before ? He was rising from his unsavoury couch, when a motion from the little man checked him. 'Rest where you arc, Thomas Marsh ; so far all goes well, but the danger is not yet over i' He looked again, and perceived that the shadowy triumvirate were in deep and eager consultation ; the fragments of the shattered weapon appeared to un- dergo 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 dismounted 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 altogether scatheless ; 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 1' 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 his exercise had drawn from every Dore. Black Tom sprang upon the edge of the batli, and 88 MHS. EOTHERBY'S STOIlY. stared full in the face of the bather : his sea-green eyes were lam- bent with unholy fire, but their marvellous obliquity of vision was not to be mistaken ; — the very couutcuancc too ! Could it be ? — the features were feline, but their expression was that of the Jack Pudding ! Was the mountebank 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 attention been again called by Aldrovando to the magic mirror. Great dissatisfaction, not to say dismay, seemed now to pervada the conspirators ; Dame Isabel was closely inspecting the figure's wounded hand, while Jos^ was aiding the pharmacopolist to charge a huge petronel with powder and bullets. The load was a heavy one ; but Erasmus seemed determined this tiine 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, ]\Iarsh again plunged his head beneath the surface; and the sound of an explosion, as of fire-arms, mingled with the rush of water that poured into his cars. His immersion was but momentary, yet did he feel as though half suflbcated: 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 fell to the ground, the last im- [iressions to which he was conscious were the chucklings of a hoarse laughter, and the mowings of a torn cat ! Master Marsh was found the next morning by his bewildered serving-man, stretched before the door of the humble hostel at which he sojourned. His clothes were somewhat torn and much bemired; and deeply did honest Kalph 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 THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 89 orgies-of miduiglit wassail, or the endearments of some rustic lights o'-love. Tenfold was his astoni-shment increased when, after re- tracing in silence their journey of the preceding day, the Hall, ou their aiTival 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. Jose, too, had disappeared ; the latter had been last seen riding furiously towards Folkestone early in the preceding afternoon: to a question from Hodge Gardener he had liastily answered, that he bore a missive of moment from his mistress. The lean ai^pveutice of Erasmus Buckthorue declared that the page had summoned his master, in haste, about six of the clock, and that they had rode forth together, as he verilj' 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 Buckthornc ever seen again. Strict search was made through the neighbourhood, but without success; and it was at length presumed that he must, for reasons which nobody could divine, have absconded, together with Josd 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 England, was gone. Marsh, however, could trace no vestige of the visiunary scene which he affirmed to have been last night presented to his eyes. ^luch did the neighbours marvel at his story : — some thought him mad; others, that lie was merely indulging in that ])rivilege to which, as a traveller, ho had a right indefeasible, 'i'rusty Ralph said nothing, but shrugged his shoulders ; and, falling into the rear, imitated the action 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 90 MRS. BOTHERBY S STORY. 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 ]\Iount, declared that they could find no huilding such as that described, nor any cottage near ; save cne, 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 exhibited the remains of a broken sign, on which the keen observer might deci- pher something like a rude portrait of the animal from which it derived its name. It was also supposed still to aiford an occasional asylum to the smugglers of the coast, but no trace of any visit from sage or mountebank could be detected ; nor was the wise Aldro- vando, whom many remembered to have seen at the fair, ever found again on all that country-side. Of the runaways nothing Avas 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 declared that she had more hands on board than Garden and his son, her iisual complement; but as the 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 abandoned, grew up to be a fine girl, and a handsome. She became, moreover, heiress to Marston Hall, and brought the estate into the Ingoldsby family by her marriage with one of its scions. ThTis far Mrs. Bothcrby. It is a little singular that, on pulling down the old Hall in my grand- father's time, a human skeleton was discovered among the rubbish ; imder 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 exposed 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 workman, 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 Tap- THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 91 pington ; and near it is another, of a young man in tlie prime of life, wliom Mrs. Botlierby affirms to be that of her father. It exhibits a mild and rather melanclioly countenance, with a higli forehead, and the peaked beard and moustaches of the seventeenth century. The signet-finger of the left liand is gone, and appears, on close inspection, to have been painted out by some later artist ; possibly in compli- ment to the tradition, which, teste Botherhy, records that of !Mr. Marsh to have gangrened, and to have undergone amputation at tiie 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 escut- cheon, bearing ' Quarterly, Gules and Argent, in the first quarter a horse's head of the second ;' beneath it are the words 'JEtatis sua 26.' On the opposite side is the following mark, which Mr. Simp- kinson declares (o be that of a Merchant of the Staple, and pretends 92 LEGE^•D OF HAMILTON TJGHE. to discover, in the monogram comprised in it, all the charactera which compose the name of TIiO:\LVS MAIISH, of MARSTOX. Eespect for the feelings of an honourable family, — nearly connected with the Ingoldsbys, — has induced me to veil the reaZ ' sponsorial and patronymic appellations ' of m}' next hero under a sobriquet interfering neither with rhyme nor rhythm.* I shall merely add that every incident in the story hears 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 Uooke's expedition against Gibraltar, would, if they were now alive, ghally bear testimony to the truth of every syllable. LEGExND OF HAMILTON TIGHE. ''pHE Ca])taiu 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!' The Captain again the letter hath read Which the bum-boat woman brought out to S[iithead — Still, since the good ship sail'd away, He reads that letter three times a-day ; Yet the writing is broad and fair to see As a Skipper may read, in his degree, And the seal is as black, and as broad, and as Hat, 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 louses now, for the topmen hail — ' On the larboard quarter a sail ! a sail !' That grim old Captain he turns him quick. And bawls through his trumpet for Hairy-faced Dick. * I'ack o' nonseuie ! — Evei^body as belongs to him is deiJ and gone — and bvcrybudy knows that the poor young gentleman's real name wasn't Sobriquet at all, but Hampden I've, Llsq., and that one of his uncles — or cousins — used to make verses about the king and the queen, and had a sack of money foi- 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! — bat tiiciel — Tlie inquire wrote it at'lcx diuiier! — Llizabltu Uothluux'. LEGEND OF HAMJLION TIGHE. 93 The breeze is blowing — buzza ! huzzci ! The breeze is blomng — away ! 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, But the first man on board will be Hamilton Tii!;he!' Hairy-faced Dick hath a swarthy hue, Between a gingerbread-nut and a Jew, And his pigtail is long, and bushy, and thick, Like a pumjvhandle stuck on the end of a stick. Hairy-fliced Dick understands his trade ; He stands by the breech of a long carronadc, 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 !' — 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 let's fly. And knocks off the head of young Hamilton Tighe ! There's a lady sits lonely in bower and hall, Her pages and handmaidens come at her call : ' Now, haste ye, my handmaidens, haste and see How he sits there and glow'rs with his head on his knee !' The maidens smile, and, her thought 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 !' 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 the tablet fair ^all bo hung on high, Orate pro animd Hamilton Tighe.^ 94 LEGEND OF HAMILTON TIGHE. Her coacli and four Draws up to the door, Witli her groom, and her footman, and half-a-score more ; The lady steps into her coach alone, 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 stept in I All the way there, and all the way back. The harness strains, and the coach-springs crack, The horses snort, and plunge and kick. Till the coachman thinks he is driving Old Nick ; And the grooms and the footmen wonder, and say * What makes the old coach so heavy to day ?' But the mealy-faced boy peeps in and sees A man sitting there with his head on his knees ! 'Tis ever the same, — in hall or in bower, Wherever the place, whatever the hour, That Lady mutters, and talks to the air. And her eye is fix'd on an empty chair ; But the mealy-faced boy still whispers with dread, ' She talks to a man with never a head 1' There's an old Yellow Admiral living at Bath, As grey as a badger, as thin as a lath ; And his very queer eyes have such very queer leers, They seem to be trjung to peep at his ears ; That old Yellow Admiral goes to the Eooms, And he plays long whist, but he frets and he fumes, For all his Knaves stand upside down. And the Jack of Clubs does nothing but frown ; And the Kings, and the Aces, and all the best trumi>s 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 Eatcliffe Highway there's an old marine store, And a great black doll hangs out of tlie door ; There arc rusty locks, and dusty bags, And musty phials, and fusty rags, And a lusty old woman, c-all'd Thirsty Nan, And her crusty old husband's a Hairy-faced man ! That Hairy-faced man is sallow and wan, And his great thick pigtail is wither 'd and gone ; And he cries, ' Take away tiiat 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 !' THE LEGEND OF HAMILTON TIGHE. lUE witches' frolic. 95 That Admii'al, 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 nar- I'ative 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, S^nnkefield, or, as it is now generally spelt 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 intervening coppices, present a picturesque and striking object. THE WITCHES' FROLIC. Scene, the ' Snuggery ' at Tappiugton. — Grandpapa in a high-backed cane^ bottomed elbow-chair of carved walnut-tree, dozing ; his nose at an 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. — Housed by a strain of surpassing dissonance, Grandpapa loquitur.'] COME hither, come hither, my little boy Ned ! Come hither unto my knee — I caimot 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 Grammaryc. Grandpapa risrth, yawneth like the crater of an extinct volcano, proceodetih slowly to the window, and apostrophiseth the Abbey in the distance.] I love thy tower. Grey Euin, I joy thy form to see, 96 THK witches' FUOLIC. Though reft of all, Cell, cloister, and hall, Nothing is left save a tottering wall That, awfully grand and darkly dull, Threaten'd to fall and demolish my skull, As, ages ago, I wandered along Careless thy grass-grown courts among. In sky-blue jacket, and ti ousers laced, The latter uncommonly short in the waist. Thou art dearer to me, thou Ruin grey, Than the Squire's verandah over the way ; And fairer, I ween. The ivy: sheen That thy mouldering turret binds. Than the Alderman's house about half a mile off, With the green Venetian bliuds. 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 ! 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 ! 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 threescore and ten. And her days we know. Were all of them so ; While the Court poets sung, and the Court gallants swure 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 ; But who can believe to a monarch so wise People would dare tell i parcel of lies I THE witches' frolic. 97 — Weii, 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-packiug, Though joists, and floors. And windows, and doorr- Had all disappear'd, yet pillars by scores Remain'd, and still propped 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 the farthermost angle, wliere 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 strew'd. Like a four-bottle man in a company ' screw'd,' Not firm on his legs, but by no means subdued. One night — 'twas in Sixteen hundred and six, — I like when I can, Ned, the date to fix, — The month was May, Though I can't well aay At this distance of time the particular day — But oh ! that night, that horrible night ! — Folks ever afterwards said with affright That they never had seen such a terrible sight. The Sun had gone do^vn 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 creWj 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 Beelzebub must Have been lock'd out of doors, and was blowing the dust From the pipe of his street-door key. 98 THE WITCHES FROLIC. And then a hollow moaning blast Came, sounding more dismally still than the last, A.nd 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 8 Bard for a simile short ot Niagara. Rob Gilpin ' was a citizen ;' But though of some * renown,' Of no great ' credit' in his own, Or any other town. He was a wild and roving lad, For ever in the alehouse boozing ; Or romping, — which is quite as bad, — "With female friends of his own choosing. And Rob this very day had made, Not dreaming such a storm was brewing. An assignation with Miss Slade, — Their trysting-place that same grey Ruin. But Gertrude Slade became afraid, And to keep her appointment unwilling, When 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 trysting-tree ! Robin looks east, Robin looks west. But he sees not her whom he loves the best ; Robin looks up, and Robin looks down. But no one comes from the neighbouring towa. The storm came at last, — loud roar'd the blast. And the shades of evening fell thick and fast ; The tempest grew ; and the straggling yew, His leafy umbrella, was wet tlirough and through; Rob was half dead with cold and witli fright. When he spies in the Ruins a twinkling light — A hop, 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 ; THE witches' frolic. 99 Two were an old ill-favour'd pair : But the third was young, and passing fair, With laughing eyes, and with coal-black hair; A daintie 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 haunted rooni; In each one's hand was a huge birch broom, On each one's head was a steeple-crown'd hat^ On each one's knee was a coal-black oat ; Each had a kirtle of Lincoln green — It was, I trow, a fearsome scene. ' Now riddle me, riddle me Jight, Madge Gray, What foot unhallowed wends this way ? Goody Price, Goody Price, now areed me right. 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 ! — ' Now tread we a measure ! a hall ! a hall ! Now tread we a measure,' quoth she — The heart of Robin Beat thick and throbbing — ' Roving Rob, thread a measure with me !' * Ay, lassie !' quoth Rob, as her hand he gripes, ' Though Satan himself were blowing the jiipes 1' Now around they go, and around, and around, With hop-skip-and-jump, and frolicsome bound, Such sailing and gliding. Such sinking and sliding. Such lofty curvetting. And grand pirouetting ; Ned, you would swear that Monsieur Gilbert And Miss Taglioni were capering there ! And oh ! such awful music ! ne'er Fell sounds so uncanny on mortal ear. There were the tones of a dying man's groans Mix'd with the rattling of dead men's bones : Had you heard the shrieks, and the squeals, and the squeaks You'd not have forgotten the sound for weeks. And around, and around, and around they go, Heel to heel, and toe to toe. Prance and caper, curvet and whoel, Toe to toe, and heel to heel. 100 THE witches' frolic. "Tis merry, 'tis merry, Cummers, I trow, To dance thus beneath the nightshade bough !'— ' 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, 1 pray, Where's the best wassail bowl to our roundelay ?' — ' There is ale in the cellars of Tappington Hall, But the Squire * is a churl, and his drink is small ; Mine host of the Dragon Hath many a flagon Of double ale, lambs' wool, and eau cle 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 stoup of Clary wine Smacks merrily off with a turkey and chine !' ' Now away ! and away ! without delay. Hey Cochalorum I my Broomstick gay ! We must be back ere the dawn of the day : Hey up the cliimney ! away 1 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 Gilpin, to ride with me ?' — Oh, never might man unscath'd espy One single glance from that coal-black eye. * Stephen Ingoldsby, surnamed ' The Niggard,' second cousin and successor to 'The Bad Sir Giles.' (Visitation of I\ent, 1666. j For an account of his murder by burglars, and their subsequent execution, see Dodsley's * Remark- able Trials,' &c. Lend. 1776, vol. ii. p. 264, ex the present volume. Art. ' Hand of Glory.' THE WITCHES' FROLIC. THE WITCUES FROLIC. 101 — Away she flew ! — Without more ado Eob seizes and mounts on a broomsticli too, ' Hey ! up the chimney, lass ! Hey 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 that, you're a bit of a ' Spoon,' For the largest can't fly Above twenty miles high, And you're not half way then on your journey, nor nigh ; While no man alive Could ever contrive, Mr. Green has declared, to get higher than five. And the soundest Philosophers hold that, perhaps. If you reach'd twenty miles your balloon would collapse, Or pass by such action The sphere of attraction. Getting into the track of some comet — Good-lack ! 'Tis a thousand to one that you'd never come back ; And the boldest of mortals a danger like that must fear, Eashly protmding beyond our own atmosphere. No, no ; when I try A trip to the sky, I shan't go in that thing of yours, Mr. Gye, Though Messieurs Monck 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 which, of late, they stuck up on the gate At the end of the Park, which caused so much debate, And gave so much trouble to make it stand straight, — But a regular Broomstick — you'll find that the favourite — Above all, when, like Robin, you haven't to pay for it. — Stay — really I dread — I am losing the thread Of my tale ; and it's time you should be in your bed. So lithe now, and listen, my little boy Ned ! The 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 gi-eat big dog i-uns loose in the yard. And a horse-shoe is nail'd on the threshold sill, — ■ To keep out aught that savours of ill, — But, alack ! the chimney-pot's open still ! — That great big dog begins to quail. Between his hind-Jegs he drops his tail. Crouch'd on the ground, the teiTified hound Gives vent to a very odd sort of a sound ; 102 THE witches' frolic. It is not a bark, loud, open, and free, As an honest old watch-dog's bark should he ; 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 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 node Produces in healthy and sound repose. Yet Sir Thopas the Vicar is fast asleep. And his respirations are heavy and deep ! He snores, 'tis true, but he snores no more As he's aye been accustom'd to snore before. And as men of his kidney are wont to snore ; — (Sir Thopas's weight is sixteen stone four ;) He draws his breath like a man distress'd By pain or grief, or like one oppress'd By some ugly old Incubus perch 'd on his breast. A something seems To disturb his dreams, And thrice on his ear, distinct and clear, Falls a voice as of somebody whispering near In still small accents, faint and few, ' Hey down the chimney-pot ! — Hey after you !' Throughout the Vicarage, near and far. There is no lack of bolt or of bar ; There are plenty of locks To closet and box. Yet the pantry wicket is standing ajar ! 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's waist. Oh ! 'twas a jovial sight to view In that snug little cellar that frolicsome crew ! — Old Goody Price Had got something nice, A turkey-poult larded with bacon and spice ; — Old Goody Jones Would touch nought that had bonee,— She might just as well mumble a parcel of stones. Goody Jones, in sooth, had got never a tooth. And a New-College pudding of marrow and pluma Is the dish of all others that suiteth her gums. THE witches' frolic. 103 Madge Gray was picking The breast of a chicken, Her coal-hlack eye, with its glance so sly, AVas fixed on Eob 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 AVhich, duly concocted with science and care, Doctor Kitchener says, is beyond all compare ; And a tenderer leveret Eobin had never ate ; So, 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! — To thee, Eoving Eob ! and again to me ! Many a sij), never a slip Come to us four 'twixt the cup and the lip !' The cups pass quick. The toasts fly thick, Eob tries in vain out their meaning to pick. But hears the words ' Scratch,' and 'Old Bogey,' and ' iS"ick<' More familiar grown. Now he stands up alone. Volunteering to give them a toast of his own. * A bumper of wine 1 Fill thine ! Fill mine ! Here's a health to old Noah who planted the Vine !' Oh then what sneezing. What coughing and wheezing, Ensued in a way that was not over ])leasing ; Goody Price, Goody Jones, and the pretty Madge Gray, All seem'd as their liquor had gone the wrong way. But the best of the joke was, the moment he spoke Those words which the party seem'd almost to choke. As by mentioning Noah some spell had been broke, Every soul in the house at that instant awoke ! And, hearing the din from barrel and biun. 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, 13y appearing together with only one candle. Which gave for unpleasant surmises some handle ;) Up j'vmp'd the Swineherd, — and up jump'd the big boy, A nondescript under him, acting as Pig-boy ; 104 THK WITCHES I'ROLIC. 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, warmiug-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 Pontifical ibus, Half what scholars denominate Pure Naturalihus ; Kay, the truth to express, As you'll easily guess, They have none of them time to attend much to dress; 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 Vicai'age 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 ! 'T is Robin encoring himself in a song — ' Very good song ! very well sung ! Jolly companions every one 1' On, on to the cellar ! away ! away ! On, on to the cellar without more delay ! The whole posse 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 I " 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 ! ' — The Volscians themselves made an exit less speedy From Corioli, ' flutter'd Like doves' by Macready. They are gone, — save one, llobin alone ! Eobin, whose high state of civilization Precludes all idea of aerostation ; And who now has no nutiou Of more locomotion Than suffices to kick, with much zeal and devotion. THE witches' frolic. 105 Right and left at the party, who pounced on their victim, And maul'd him, and liicli'd him, and licli'd him, and pricli'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 — ^joUy compauione every one !' Morning grey Scarce bursts into day Ere at Tappington Hall there's the deuce to pay; The tables and chairs are all placed in array In the old oak-parlour, and in and out Domestics and neighbours, a motley rout. Are walking, and whispering, and standing 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 Flcta, And Bracton, a tome of an old-fash ion'd look, And Coke upon Lyttelton, 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 Chaucei-s Had no cups and saucers ; Their breakfast, in fact, and the best they could get, Was a sort of a dejeuner a Jafourchette ; 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 'schalots. Now the Squire lifts his hand With an air of command, And gives them a sign, which they all imderstand, To bring in the culprit ; and straightway the carter And huntsman drag in that unfortunate martyr. Still kicking, and crying, ' Come, — what are you arter (' The charge is prepared, and the evidence clear, ' He was caught in the cellar a-driuking the beer ! And came there, there's very great reason to fear, With companions, — to say but the least of them, — queer; 106 THE witches' frolic. Such as Witches, and creatures With horrible features, And horrible grins, And hook'd noses and chins. Who'd been playing the deuce with his Reverence's binna.' The face of his worship grows graver and graver, As the parties detail Eobin's shameful behaviour ; Mister Buzzard, the clerk, while the tale is reciting, Sits down to reduce the atfair into writing, With all proper diction, And due ' legal fiction :' Viz. : ' That he, the said prisoner, as clearly was shown, Conspiring with folks to deponents unknown. With divers, that is to say, two thousand people. In two thousand hats, each hat peak'd like a steeple. With force and with arms. And with sorcery and charms, Upon two thousand brooms ; Enter'd four thousand rooms, To wit, two thousand pantries, and two thousand cellars, 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 thruttloa 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 Dignity.' At words so profound Eob gazes around. 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 corjms delicti. Ere his fingers can clasp, It is snatch'd from his gratip, The end poked in his chest with a force makes him gasp, And, despite the decorum so due to the Quorum, llis worship's upset, and so too is his jorum ; And Madge is astride on the broomstick before 'em. ' Hocus Focus I Quick, Presto ! and Iley Cockalorum ! Mount, mount for your life, Kob! — Sir Justice, adieu! — — Iley up the chimney-pot ! hey after you !' Through tlie mystified group, With a halloo and a whoop, Madge on the pommel, and Robin en croupe. The pair through the air ride ;is if in a cluur, While the party below stand mouth open and staro; THE witches' frolic. 107 * Clean bumtaized ' and amazed, and fix'd, all the room stick, ' Oh ! what's gone with Eobin, — and Madge, — and the broom- stick 7 Ay, ' what's gone ' indeed, ISTed ? — of what befell Madge Gray, anJ 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 headache, of all ills the worst, And close by his knee A flask you might see, But an empty one, smelling of eau-de-vie. Rob fi'om 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 Tce-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 nightcap 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 preaches ; 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 ; — Don't meddle with broomsticks, — they're Beelzebub's switches, Of cellars keep clear, — they're the devil's own ditches ; And beware of balls, banquetings, brandy, and — witches I 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 !' Strange as the events detailed in the succeeding narrative may appear, they are, I have not the slightest doubt, true to the letter. Whatever impression they make upon the reader, that produced by them on the narrator, I can aver, was neither light nor transient. 108 siXQULAU PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, DOCTOR IN DIVINITY. AS BELATED BY THE REV. JASPER DfQOLDSBY, II. A., IHS FRIEND AND EXECUTOR. IN order that the extraordinary circumstance which I am about to relate, may meet with the credit it deserves, I think it necessary to premise, that my reverend friend, among whose papers I find it recorded, was, in his lifetime, ever esteemed as a man of good plain understanding, strict veracity, and unimpeached 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 the truth of his narrative, as far as he was personally con- cerned, no one who Imew 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 of her husband, occasioned by a fall from his horse, only three days after her confinement, was abruptly communicated to Mrs. S by a thoughtless girl, who saw her master brought lifeless into the house, and, with all that inexplicable anxiety to be the first to tell bad news, so common among the lower orders, rushed at once into the sick-room with her intelligence. The shock was too severe; and though the young widow survived the fatal event several months, yet she gradually sank 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 feeling, succeeded at length in moderating the poignancy of his grief — a consummation much advanced by his infont cliarge, who now succeeded, as it were by inheritance, to the place in his affections left vacant by his daugh- ter's decease. Frederick S grew up to be a fine lad ; his person and features were decidedly handsome ; still there was, as I remem- ber, an unpleasant expression in his countenance, and an air of THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 109 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 pro- gress in the common branches of education was, without any great display 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 the village apothecary, a boy about two years older than himself, whose father, being really clever in his jirofession, and a good opera- tive chemist, had constructed for himself a small laboratory, in which, as he was fond of children, the two boys spent a great por- tion of their leisure time, witnessing many of those little experiments so attractive to youth, and in timb 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 oflered by my friend, who, knowing that the greater part of his own income would expire with his life, and that the remainder 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, matriculated at Oxford, with the view of studying the higher branches of medicine, a few months after his friend, John W , had proceeded to Leydcn, for the purpose of making himself ac- quainted with the practice of surgery 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 was 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 at Oxford. Satisfactory as, for some time, were the accounts of the general course of Frederick S 's studies, by degrees rumours of a less })leasant nature reached the ears of some of his friends; to the 110 SINGULAR PASSA'iE IN THE LIFE OF 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 whis- pers and surmises had reached X , when the worthy vicar was surprised on a sudden by a request from his grandchild, that he might be permitted to take his name off the books of the university, 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 per- severance 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, espe- cially 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 grand father's decision. My friend, his mind, perhaps, a little weakened by a short but severe nervous attack from which he had scarcely recovered, 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 afforded him at home, was not the sole, or even the principal, reason which had drawn Frederick so abruptly from his Alma Mater. A chance visit to the imiversity, 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 precise 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 entice- ments 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 feeling in my mind than either surprise or condemnation. But 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, hud, in fact, been conveyed THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. Ill to him from au 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, orna- menting 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 more than once to sec me, sometimes accompanied by the Doctor, between whom and myself the recent loss of my poor daughter Louisa had drawn the cords 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 offering 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 after- wards 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 clergyman, he had hurried off at once to Leyden. His arrival there was, howevei*, too. late. Frederick ivas dead! — killed in a duel, occasioned, it was said, b7 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 termination, 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 had brought me to his bedside — to have received some sudden and unaccountable shock, which even the death of his grandson waa 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 raiae 112 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF Limself, and would have spoken, 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 jxarental affection — in a foreign land. It is from the papers that I discovered in his travelling-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 connexion 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 15th, 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 establishing 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 those bodily pains and sufferings which — so close is the connexion between mind and matter — are but too frequently attendant upon any disorder ot 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 contour of her countenance, all conspire to remind me, but too forcibly, of one who, waking or sleeping, i:;,' 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 riipted 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 worshiy. 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 comfort ; and from the personal attractions which both the girls jwssess, their mother is evidently not without hopes of seeing one, at least, of them advantageously settled in life. As far THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 113 as poor Mary is concerned, I fear she is doomed to inevitable dia- a})pointment, as I am much mistaken if consumption has not laid its wasting finger upon her ; while this last recurrence, of what I cannot hut believe to be a 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 scch 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 was introduced into the sick-room, her sister, who had been watching my arrival from the window, took me into their little parlour, and, after the usual civilities, 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 unaccountably 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 calcula- tions, and, to use her own expression, that "malice was at the bottom of it." 'Naturally supposing that those insinuations were intended to Ultimate the partaking of some deleterious substance on the part of t.he invalid, I inquired what reason she had for imagining, in the first place, that anything of a poisonous nature had been admi- nistered at all ; and, secondly, what possible incitement any human being could have for the perpetration of so foul a deed towards so innocent and unoffending an individual ? Her answer considerably relieved the apprehensions 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 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 dreadful sufferings 114 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF she had undergone while in that state ;" and that she was deter- mined the whole affair should undergo a thorough investigation. Seeing that the poor girl was now herself labouring under a great degree of excitement, I did not think it necessary to enter at that moment into a discussion upon the absurdity of her opinion, but applied myself to the tranquillising o-f her mind by assurances of a proper inquiry, and then drew her attention to the symptoms of tha 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 her humble toilet, and had commenced the arrangement of her hair for the night, when her attention was at once drawn from her em- ployment 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 seated herself in a large arm-chair. ' Turning hastily at the sound, she perceived Mary deadly pale, grasping, as it were convulsively, each arm of the chair which sup- ported her, and bending forward 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 iu a piercing tone, " Hark ! they are calling me again ! it is — it is tlie 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 sufferer, it was much to be feared that she would soon be beyond the reach of art. Her agonised parent and sister succeeded in bearing her between them and placing her on a bed : a faint and inter- mittent pulsation was for a while perceptible ; 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 apprehen- THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 115 sions ; a vein was opened, but the blood refused to flow, and Mr, I pronounced that the vital spark was indeed extinguished. ' The poor mother, whose attachment to her children was perhaps the more powerful, as they were the sole relatives or connexions she had in the world, was overwhelmed with a gi'ief amounting almost to frenzy ; it was with difficulty that she was removed to her own room by the united strength of her daughter and medical adviser. Nearly an hour had elapsed during the endeavour at calming her transports ; they had succeeded, however, to a certain extent, and Mr. I had taken his leave, when Elizabeth, re-entering the bedchamber in which her sister lay, in order to pay the last sad duties to her corpse, was horrorstruck 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 per- ceived, to their astonishment, that the sanguine stream proceeded from the arm of the body, which was now manifesting signs of re- turning life. The half-frantic mother flew to the room, and it was with difBculty 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, followed by several convulsive gaspiugs, was the prelude to the restoration of the animal functions in poor Maiy: a shriek, almost preternaturally loud, considering her state of exhaustion, suc- ceeded ; 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 tlie 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 ay 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, were such as entirely to preclude every sensation at all approaching to mirth. Without endeavouring, therefore, to combat ideas, evidently too strongly impressed upon her mind at the moment to admit of present refutation, I merely used a few encouraging words, and requested her to precede me to the sick chamber. ' The invalid was lying on the outside of the bed, partly dressed, and wearing a white dimity wrapping-gown, the colour of which corresponded but too well with the deadly paleness of her complexion. 116 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF Her cheek was wan and sunken, giving an extraordinary prominence to her eye, which gleamed with a lustrous brilliancy not unfre- quently characteristic of the aberration 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 present state, she might not be equal to support. Her positive assurance that, until she had disburdened herself of what she called her " dread- ful secret," she could know no rest either of mind or body, at length induced mc to comply with her wish, ojiposition to which, in her then frame 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 weak- ness, she gave me the following singular account of the sensations 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 suffering, either of body or mind, which I have ever before experienced. On a former occasion I was willing to believe it the mere effect of a hideous dream, or what is vulgarly termed the nightmare ; but this repetition, and the circumstances under wh-ch I was last summoned, at a time, too, when I had not even composed myself to rest, fatally con- vince me of the reality of what 1 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 en- countering in my walks a young man of prepossessing appearance and gentlemanly deportment. He was always alone, and generally reading ; but I could not be long in doubt that these rencounters, which became every w^eek more frequent, were not the effect 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 Btrangc dog attacking us one Sunday morning in our way to church, wliich he beat off, and made use of this little service to promote an acquaintance. 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 THE LATK HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 117 studying surgery with the view to a medical appointment ia one of the colonies. You are not to suppose, sir, that he had entered thus into his coiicerns at the first interview ; it was not till our acquaintance had ripened, and he had visited our house more than once with my mother's sanction, tliat these particulars were elicited. He never disguised, from the first, that aa attachment to myself was his object originally in introducing himself to our notice. As his prospects were comparatively flattering, my mother did not raise any impedi- ment to his attentions, and I own I received them with pleasure. ' " Days and weeks elapsed ; and although the distance at which his relation resided prevented the possibility 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 inter- vened, 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, however, had marked the same appear- ance of melancholy, and pressed him more strongly. He at length admitted that his spirits were depressed, and that their depression wag 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 com- pleting his professional education, and that the time was now fast approaching when it would be necessary for him to commence his journey. A look made the inquiry wliich my tongue refusea 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 I have, perhaps, on the whole, no fair reason to be dissatisfied with his reply. ' " The completion of my studies, and my settlement in the world, must, my uncle told me, be the first consideration ; 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 engagement at present, which may, he says, have a tendency to divert my attention from those pursuits, on the due prosecution of which my future 118 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF 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 feelings with which I re- ceived this communication, nor will it be necessary to say anything of what passed at the few interviews which took place before Francis quitted X . The evening immediately previous to that of his departure he passed in this house, and, before we separated, re- newed his protestations of an unchangeable affection, requiring a similar assurance from me in return. I did not hesitate to make it. ' Be satisfied, my dear Francis,' said I, ' that no diminution in the regard I have avowed can ever take place, and though absent in body, my heart and soul will still be with you.' — ' Swear this,' he cried, with a suddenness and energy which surprised, and rather startled me : ' promise that you will be with me in spirit, at least, when I am far away.' I gave him my hand, but that was not suffi- cient. ' One of these dark shining ringlets, my dear Mary,' said he, ' as a pledge that you will not forget your vow i' 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 fu'st three months of his absence ; they spoke of his health, his prospects, and of his love, but by degrees the intervals between each arrival became longer, and I fancied I perceived some falling off from that Vv-armth of expression which had at first characterised his commrmications. ' " 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 undefi- nable sensation of restlessness and anxiety seized upon me. I can- not compare it to anything I had ever experienced before ; my pulse fluttered, my heart beat with a quickness and violence which alanncd me, and a strange tremor shook my whole frame. I retired hastily to bed, in hopes of getting rid of so unpleasant a sen- sation, but in vain ; a vague apprehension of I know not what occu- pied my mind, and vainly did 1 endeavour to shake it off. I ciui THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. Il9 compare my feelings to nothing but those which we sometimes ex- perience when about to undertake 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, and on each of those occasions the fluttering of mv heart increased. Twice I was on the point of calling to my sister, who then slept in an adjoin- ing room, but she had gone to bed indisposed, and an unwillingness to disturb either her or my mother checked me ; the large clock in the room below at this moment began to strike the hour of twelve. I distinctly heard its vibrations, but ere its sounds had ceased, a burning heat, as if a hot iron had been applied to my temple, was succeeded by a dizziness, — a swoon, — a total loss of consciousness as to where or in what situation I was. ' " A pain, violent, sharp, and piercing, as though my whole frame were lacerated by some keen-edged weapon, roused me from this stupor, — but where was I ? Everything was strange around me — a shadowy dimness rendered every object indistinct and uncertain ; methought, however, that I was seated in a large, antique, high- backed chair, several of which were near, their tall black carved frames and seats interwoven with a lattice-work of cane. The apartment in which I sat was one of moderate dimensions, and from its sloping roof, seemed to be the upper story of the edifice, a fact confirmed by the moon shining without, in full 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 I occupied. Rather to the right, and in the distance, the spire of some cathedral or lofty church was visible, while sundry gable-ends, and tops of houses, told me I was in the midst of a populous but unknown city. ' " The apartment itself had something strange in its appearance ; and, in the character of its furniture and appurtenances, bore little or no resemblance to any I had ever seen before. The fireplace was large and wide, with a pair of what are sometimes called andirons, betokening that wood was the principal, if not the only fuel con- sumed 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 oi baton, or 120 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF short military staff, the summit of which was surmounted 6ya silver falcon. Several antique chairs, similar in appearance to those already mentioned, surrounded a massive oaken tahle, the length of which much exceeded its width. At the lower end of this piece of furniture stood the chair I occupied ; on the uj^per, was placed a small chafing-dish filled with burning coals, and darting forth occa- sionally long flashes of various-coloured fire, the brilliance 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 eifulgence of the flame, were placed one on each side the casement-window to which I have alluded, and vdih. a faw 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 instru- ments, of unknown form and purpose, lay on the table near the chafing-dish, on the other side of which a miniature portrait of myself hung, reflected by a small oval mirror in 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, 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 afl"ection I had given him, and still, as it partially en- countered the fire, a burning heat seemed to scorch the temple from which it had been taken, conveying 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 proceedings of that unhallowed night of horror and of shame. Were my life extended to a term com- THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 121 mensurate with that of the Patriarchs of old, never could its detes- table, its damning pollutions be effaced from my remembrance ; and oh i above all, never could I forget the diabolical glee which sparkled in the eyes of my fiendish tormentors, as they witnessed the worse than useless struggles of their miserable victim. Oh ! why was it not permitted me to take refuge in unconsciousness — nay, in death itself, from the abominations of which I was compelled to be, not only a witness, but a partaker ? But it is enough, sir ; I will not further shock your nature by dwelling 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 ringlet 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 followed, 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 efforts were not wanting to persuade me that I had been labouring under a severe attack of nightmare. I ceased to argue, but I was not convinced : the whole scene was then too present, too awfully real, to permit me to doubt the character of the transaction ; and if, when a few days had elapsed, the hopelessness of imparting to others the conviction I entertained myself, produced in me an apparent ac- quiescence with their opinion, I have never been the less satisfied that no cause reducible to the known laws of nature occasioned my sufferings on that hellish evening. "Wlaether 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 phantasm, the offspring of a heated imagination, acting upon an enfeebled body, I know not — last night, however, would in any case have dispelled the flattering illusion— last night— last night was the whole horrible 122 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OP Bccue 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, save 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 my persecutors paused ; they were manifestly dis- concerted, 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 weeping over me. God ! God ! when and how is this to end ? — When will my spirit be left in peace ? — Where, or with whom shall I find refuge ?" '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 brought to a conclusion: indeed, many passages of her strange dream were not without the greatest difficulty and reluctance 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 suromoned 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 en- counter, evidently backed by no common share of superstition, and confirmed by the mental weakness attendant upon severe bodily pain. To argue the sufferer out of an opinion so rooted was a hope- less attempt. I did, however, essay it ; I spoke to her of the strong and mysterious connexion maintained between our waking images and those which haunt us in our dreams, and more especially during that morbid oppression commonly called nightmare. I was even THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 123 enatled to adduce myself as a strong and living instance of tho excess to which fancy sometimes carries her freaks on. those occa- sions ; while, by an odd coincidence, the impression made upon my own mind, which I adduced as an example, bore no slight resem- blance 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 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 efibrts 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 attend- ant 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 actually subtracted for a time from its earthly tenement.' The next extract which I shall give from my old friend's memo- randa is dated August 24th, more than a week subsequent to his first visit at ]\Irs. Graham's. He appears, from his papers, to have visited the poor young woman more than once during the interval, and to have aflbrded her those spiritual consolations which no one was more capable of communicating. His patient, for so in a re- ligious sense she may well be termed, had been sinking under the agitation she had experienced; and the constant dread she was under of similar sufferings, operated so strongly on a frame already enervated, that life at length seemed to hang only by a thread. His papers go on to say — ' I have just seen poor Maiy 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 termination of her existence here, not only with resignation but with joy. It is clear that her dream, or what she persists in calling her " subtraction," has much to do with this. For tho last three days her behaviour has been altered; she has 1^4 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF avoided conversing on the subject 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 at- tendant 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 kindhearted, he is a young man, and of a disposition, perhaps, rather too mercurial for the chamber of a nervous invalid. Her manner has since been much more reserved to both of us : in my case, probably because she suspects me of betraying her secret.' * August 26th. — Mary Graham is yet alive, but sinking fast ; her cordiality towards me has returned since her sister confessed yester- day, that she had herself told Mr. I that his patient's mind " had been affected by a terrible vision." I am evidently restored to her confidence. — She asked me this morning, with much earnest- ness, " What I believed to be the state of departed spirits during the interval between dissolution, and the final day of account? And whether I thought they would be safe, in another world, from the influence of wicked persons employing an agency more than human ?" Poor child ! One cannot mistake the prevailing bias of her mind. Poor child !' ' August 27th, — It is nearly over ; she is sinking rapidly, but quietly and without pain. I have just administered to her the sacred elements, of which her mother partook. Elizabeth declined doing the same : she cannot, she says, yet bring herself to forgive the villain who has destroyed her sister. It is singular that slie, 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 a future conversation be- tween us ; at present, with the form of the dying girl before her eyes, it were vain to argue with her. The mother, I find, has written to young Somers, stating the dangerous situation of his affianced wife ; indignant, as she jnstly is, at his long silence, it is fortunate that she has no knowledge of the suspicions entertained by her daughter. I have seen her letter ; it is addressed to Mr. Francis Somers, in the Hogewoert, at Leyden — a fellow-student, then, of Frederick's. I must remember to inquire if he is acquainted with this young man.' THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 125 Mary Graham, it appears, died the same night. Before her de- parture, she repeated to my friend the singular story she had before told him, without any material variation from the detail she had formerly given. To the last she persisted in believing that her un- worthy 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 extraordinary confession, which, joined with its melancholy termination, seems to have produced no common effect upon him. He alludes to more than one subsequent discussion with the surviving sister, and piques himself on having made some progress in convincing her of the folly of her theory re- specting the origin and nature of the illness itself. His memoranda on this, and other subjects, are continued till about the middle of September, Avhen a break ensues, occasioned, no doubt, by the unwelcome news of his grandson's dangerous state, which induces 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 woimd received ia a duel with a brother student. The cause of quarrel was variously related ; but, according 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 friend and fellow-lodger, W , who had acted as second on the occasion, thus acquitting himself of an obligation of the same kind due to the deceased, whose services he had put in requisition about a year before on a similar occasion, when he had 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 tradesman, and a chamber was prepared for his accom- modation ; the books, and few effects of his deceased grandson, were delivered over to him, duly inventoried, and, late as it was in the evening when he reached Leyden, he insisted on being conducted immediately to the apartments which Frederick had occupied, there to indulge the first ebullitions of his sorrows, before he retired to hia 126 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF own, Madame Miiller accordingly led the way to an upper room, whicli, being situated at the top of the house, had been, from ita privacy and distance from the street, selected by Frederick as his study. The Doctor entered, and taking the lamp from his conductress motioned to be left alone. His implied wish was of course complied with : and nearly two hours had elapsed before his kindhearted hostess reasccnded, 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 itmore 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. Kestoratives were instantly administered, and prompt medical aid succeeded at length in restoring him to con- sciousness. But his mind had received a shock from which, during the few weeks he survived, it never entirely recovered. His thoughts wandered perpetually : and though, from the very slight acquaint- ance which his hosts had with the English language, the greater part of what fell from him remained unknown, yet enough was under- stood to induce them to believe that something more than the mere death of his grandson had contributed thus to paralyse his faculties. When his situation was first discovered, a small miniature was found tightly grasped in his right hand. It had been the proj^erty of Frederick, and had more than once been seen by the Miillers in his possession. To this tlie 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 features, 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 chest- nut hair was arranged in the Madonna style, above a brow of unsul- lied whiteness, a single ringlet depending on the left side. A glossy lock of the same colour, and evidently belonging to the original, appeared beneath 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 por- trait, I could at the time collect nothing, nor from that of the Doctor himself, which, also, I found the next morning in Frederick's desk, accompanied by two separate portions of hair. One of them THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 127 was a lock, short, and deeply tinged with grey, and had been taken, I have little doubt, from the head of my old friend hunself ; tho 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 i^apers previous to my mtended return upon the morrow, I encountered the narrative I have already transcribed. The name of the unfortunate young woman connected with it forcibly arrested my attention. I recollected it immediately as one belonging to a parishioner of my o\vn, and at once recognised the original of the female portrait as its owner. I rose not from the perusal of his very singular statement til] 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 ot the room in which I sat. The brilliancy of an unclouded Nov^ember moon, then some twelve nights old, and shining full into the apartment, did much towards remedying the defect. My thoughts iilled with the melancholj'- details I had read, I rose and walked to the window. The beautiful planet roso high in the firmament, and gave to the snowy roofs ot the houses, and pendant icicles, all the sparkling radiance of clus- terino- gems. The stillness of the scene harmonized well with the state of my feelings. I threw open the casement 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 with embrasures 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 d'oeil of surpassing though simple beauty. To a spectator 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 ia which I had been sitting. It was the one designated as the study of the late Frederick S . The sides of the room were covered with dark wainscot ; the spacious fireplace opposite to me, with its polished andirons, was sur- mounted 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 board and mustaches; one hand of the figure rested on a table, while the other bore a marshal'^ staff, surmounted with a silver falcon ; and — either my imagination 128 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE, ETC. already heated by the scene, deceived me, — or a smile as of mali- cious 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 case- ment, rose, on each side, a tall, dark, ebony cabinet, in whose polished Bides the single lamp upon the table shone reflected as in a mirror. "What am I to think ? — Can it be that the story I have been reading was wi'itten by my poor friend here, and under the influence of delirium ? — Impossible ! Besides they all assure me, that from the fatal night of his arrival he never left his bed — never put pen to paper. His very directions to have me summoned from England •were verbally given, during one of those few and brief intervals in which reason seemed partially to resume her sway. Can it then be possible that ? W ? where is he who alone may be able to throw light on this horrible mystery? No one knows. He absconded, it seems, immediately after the duel. No trace of him exists, nor, after repeated and anxious inquiries, can I find that any student has ever been kno-wn in the University of Leyden by the name of Francis Somers, * There are more things 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 Eomish 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 Diamonds. From his well-known loyalty, evinced by secret services to the Eoyal 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 from the stiff and antiquated phraseology •which ho adopted, I have thought it necessary to modernise it a little : this will account for certain anachronisms that have unavoid- THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS. 129 ably crept in ; the substance of his narratives has, however, through- out been strictly adhered to. His hair-shirt, almost as good as new, is still preserved at Tap- piagton, — ^but nobody ever wears it. THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS. 'Tunc miser Corvus adeo conscientise stimulis compunctus fuit, et execratio eutn tantopere escai'neficavit, ut exinde tabescere inciperet, maciem contraheret, omnem cibum aversaietur, nee amplifis ciocitaret : penna; prjeterea ei deflue- bant, et alis pendulis omnes facetias intermisit, et tarn macer apparuit ut omnes ejus miserescent.' ****** * Tunc abbas sacerdotibus mandavit ut rursus furem absolverent ; quo facto, Corvus, omnibus mirantibus, propediem convaluit, et pristinam sanitatem recupeiavit ' De Illust. Ord. Cisterc, 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, With a great many more of lesser degree, — In sooth a goodly company ; And they served the Lord Primato 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 Eheims ! In and out Through the motley rout, That little Jackdaw kept hopping about ; Here and there Like a dog in a fair. Over comfits and cakes, And dishes and platG8> Cowl and cope, and rochet and pall. Mitre and crosier 1 he hopp'd upon all ! AVith 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 !' The feast was over, the board was clear'd. The flawns and the custards had all disappear'd, And six little Singing-boys, — dear little souls ! In nice clean faces, and nice white stoles. Came, in order due, Two by two, Marching that grand refectory through ! 130 THJi JACKDAW OF EHEIMS. A nice little boy held a golden ewer, Emboss'd and fiU'd with water, as pure As any that flows between Eheims and Namur, 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. Of the best white diaper, fringed with pink. And a Cardinal's Hat mark'd in ' permanent ink.' The great Lord Cardinal turns at the sight Of these nice little boys dress'd all in white : From his finger he draws His costly turquoise ; And, not thinking at all about little Jackdaws, Deposits it straight By the side of his plate, While the nice little boys on his Eminence wait ; Till, when nobody's dreaming of any such thing. That little Jackdaw hops off with the ring ! 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. And hunting, and feeling The carpet, the floor, and the walls, and the ceiling. The Cardinal drew Ofl' each plum-colour'd shoe, And left his red stockings exjDosed to the view ; He peeps, and ho feels In the toes and the heels ; They turn up the dishes, — they turn wp the plates, — They take up the poker and poke out the grates, — They turn up the rugs. They examine the mugs : — But, no ! — no such thing ; — They can't find tue bino ! 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 call'd for his candle, his bell, and his book ! In holy anger, and pious grief, He solemnly cursed that rascally thief ! He cursed him at board, he cursed him in bed ; From the sole of his foot to the crown of his head ; He cursed him in sleeping, that every night He should dream of the devil, and wake in a fright ; He cursed him in eating, he cursed him in drinking, He cursed him in coughing, in sneezing, in winking ; THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS. 131 He cursed him in sitting, in standing, in lying ; He cursed him in walking, 'n riding, in flying. He cursed him in living, he cursed him dying ! — Never was heard such a terrihle curse ! But what gave rise To no little surprise, Nobody seem'd one penny the worse ! The day was gone. The night came on, The Monks and the Friars they search 'd till dawn ; ^Vhen 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 ho turn'd the wrong way ;- His pinions droop'd — he could hardly stand, — His head was as bald as the palm of your hand ; His eye so dim. So wasted each limb, That, heedless of grammar, they all cried, ' That's him ! — That's the scamp that has done this scandalous thing! That's the thief that has got my Lord Cardinal's Eing 1' The poor little Jackdaw, When the monks he saw. Feebly gave vent to the ghost of a caw ; And turn'd his bald head, as much as to say; Pray, be so good as to walk this way !' Slower and slower He limp'd on before. Till they came to the back of the belfry door. Where the first thing they saw. Midst the sticks and the stravs Was the rikg in the nest of that little Jackdaw 1 Then the great Lord Cardinal call'd for his book, And off that terrible curse he took ; The mute expression Served in lieu of confession, And, being thus coupled with full restitution, The Jackdaw got plenary absolution ! — When those words were heard. That poor little bird Was so changed in a moment, 'twas really absurd. He grew sleek, and fat ; In addition to that, A fresh crop of feathers came thick as a mat ! His tail waggled more Even than before ; But no longer it wagged with an impudent air, No longer he pcrch'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 siumber'd in prayer-time and hajipcn'd to snore, That good Jackdaw Would give a great ' Caw !" 132 A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. As much as to say, ' Don't do so any more !' While many remark'd, as his manners they saw, That they ' never had known such a pious Jackdaw !' He long lived the pride Of that country side, And at last in the odour of sanctity died ; When, as words were too faint. His merits to paint, The Conclave determined to make him a Saint ; And on newly-made Saints and Popes, as you know, It's the custom, at Rome, new names to bestow, So they canonized him by the name of Jim Crow ! A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. * Efjis Ijolg cf)iItiE Bunstan bias borne in ge ■ntxt o( our ILotliE ix, !)itntircti & XXV. tfjat tgme rcgngngt in tijts Ionic i&inge atfjclston. * * * ' JlSEfjan it so irias tijat .Sagnt Qunstan bas fajcru of pragcr tfjan useIi \}t to btxht in golUsmgtfjrs tocrfec toitfj Ijts oianc fantics for to rscfjriiit gtltlncs.' 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 su2:>pose 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 friend. 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 hint that perchance on his crown he might feel taps Unless he came back straight and took off his heel-taps. You must not be plagued with the same story twice, And perhaps have seen this one, by W. Dyce, At the Eoyal Academy, very well done. And mark'd in the catalogue Four, seven, one. You might there view the Saint, who in sable array'd is, Coercing the Monarch away froni the Ladies ; His right hand has hold of his Majesty's jerkin, His left shows the door, and he seems to say, ' Sir King, Your most faithful Commons won't hear of your shirking! Quit your tea, and return to your Barclai and Perkyn. A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. Or, by Jingo,* ere morning, no longer alive, a h'ad 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 Eapin 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 iSEgnkjn tit ?[2EorllE. 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 ? A^'^ly, — 'twere uncommonly hard to say, As the prelate I named has recorded none of them, What they may be. But I know they are three, And ABKACADABRA, 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 Pentacle.' 133 • St. Jingo, or Gengo (Gengulphus), sometimes styled 'The Living Jingo,' from the great tenaciousness of vitality exhibited by his severed members. Soa his Legend, as recorded hereafter in the present volume. 134 A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. However that lae, You'll doubtless agree It signifies little to you or to mo, As not being dabblers in Grammarye ; Still, it must be confess'd, for a Saint to repeat Such language aloud is scarcely discreet ; For, as Solomon hints to folks given to chatter, ' A bird of the air may carry the matter ;' And in sooth. From my youth, I remember a truth Insisted on much in my earlier years, . To wit, ' Little Pitchers have very long ears !' Now, just such a ' Pitcher ' as those I allude to Was outside the door, which his ' ears ' appeared glued tc. 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 afteruoou. This Peter the Saint had pick'd out from his fellows, To look to his fire, and to blow with the bellows, Tc put on the Wall's-Ends and Lambtons whenever he Chuse to indulge in a little orfavrerie ; — Of course you have read, That St. Dunstan V7as bred A Goldsmith, and never quite gave up the trade ! The 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 Eobert, were dining At the Hall some time since with the Prime Warden Twining. — — 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, AVhom the Saint, as I said, Kept to turn down hie 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; Performing, in short, all those duties and offices Abbots exact from Lay-brothers and Novices. A LAY OP ST. DUNSTAIT. 135 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 reverse it, Old Horace's maxim '7iec Broomstick intersit.'' — — Peter, the Lay-brother, meagre and thin. Heard all the Saint was saying within ; Peter, the Lay-brother, sallow and spare, Pcep'd through the key-hole, and — what saw he there ?— "Why, — A Broomstick bringing a eush-bottom'd chair. What Shakspcare 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 means ' in his view Of doing a thing which he ought not to do ! ^ Still rings in his ear. Distinct and clear. 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-cover'd dell ! List! — 'tis the sound of the Compline bell ; And St. Dunstau is quittmg 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 listen'd so long, though he knew he ought not: Peter remember'd his Master's h-ovm — He trembled — he'd not have been caught for a crown ; Howe'er you may laugh He'd rather, by half. Have run up to the top of the tower and jump'd down. 136 A LAY OF ST. DUN3TAN. The Compline hour is past and gone, Evening service is over and done ; The monks repair To their frugal fare, A snug little supper of something light And digestible, ere they retire for the night. For, in Saxon times, in respect to their cheer, St. Austin's rule was by no means severe, But allow'd, from the Beverley Roll 'twould appear. Bread and cheese, and spring onions, and sound table-bci-r, And even green peas when 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, Ne'er are suifered to speak. Think only in Greek, And subsist, as the Bears do, by sucking their paws. Astonish'd I am The gay Baron Geramb With his head sav'ring more of the Lion than Lamb Could e'er be persuaded to join such a set — 7 Extend the remark to Signor Ambrogetti.— For a monk of La Trappe is as thin as a rat^ \Vhile an Austin Friar was jolly and fat ; Though, of course, the fare to which I allude. With as good table-beer as ever was brew'd Was all ' caviare to the multitude,' Extending alone to the clergy, together in Hall assembled, and not to Lay-brethren. St. Dunstan himself sits there at his post. On what they say is Called a Dais, O'erlooking the whole of his clerical host, And eating poach'd eggs with spinach and toast ; Five Lay-brothers stand behind his chair. But where is the sixth ?— Where's Peter?— Ay, WHERE? '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 Cruikshank'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 ; Such a tower as a poet of no mean calibre A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. 137 I once kuew 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, AD 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 Iselongs To Goldsmiths' work, chemistry, alchymy, — all, In short that a Sage, In that erudite age. Could require, was at hand, or at least within call. In the midst of the room lies a Broomstick ! — and there A lay-brother sits in a rush-bottom'd chair ! 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 ! 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 ; And, 'fore George, PU sit here, and Pll drink till all's blue ! 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 — WeL';, So potent the spell, The Broomstick perceived it was vain to rebel, So ran off like that puppy ; — some cellar was near. For in less than ten seconds 'twas back with the beer ! Peter seizes the flagon ; but ere he can suck Jits contents, or eujoy 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, an pied de lettre, next brings in a tun ! A fresh one succeeds, then a third, then another. Discomfiting much the astounded Lay-brother ; Who, had he possess'd fifty pitchers or stoops. They all had been too few ; for, arranging in groups The barrels, the Broomstick next started the hoops : The ale deluged the floor. But, still, through the door Said Broomstick kept bolting, and bringing in more. * And cold oblivion, midst the ruin laid, Folds her dank wing beneath the ivy shade. Palestine. 138 A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. E'en Macbeth to Macduff Would have cried ' Hold ! enough !' If half as well drench 'd with such ' perilous stuff,' And, Peter, who did not expect such a rough visit, Cried lustily, ' Stop ! — That will do, Broomstick ! — SufficU 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 His Abracadabra, and t'other words twain : — As well might one try A pack in full cry To check, and call off from their headlong career, By bawling out, ' Yoicks !' with one's hand at one's ear. The longer ho roar'd and the louder and quicker. The faster the Broomstick was bringing in liquor. The poor Lay-brother knew Not on earth what to do — He caught hold of the Broomstick and snapt it in two. — Worse and worse 1 — Like a dart. Each part made a start, And he found he'd been adding more fuel to fire, For hoth now came loaded with Meux's entire ; Combe's, Delafield's, Hanbury's, Truman's — no stopping — Goding's, Charrington's, Whitbread's continued to drop in. With Hodson's pale ale, from the Sun Brewhouse, Wapping. The firms differ'd then, but I can't put a tax on My memory to say what their names were in Saxon. To be sure the best beer Of all did not appear ; For I've said 'twas in June, and so late in the year The ' Trinity Audit Ale ' is not come-at-able, — As I've found to my great grief when dining at that table. Now extremely alarm'd, Peter scream'd without ceasing. For a flood of brown stout he was up to his knees in. Which, thanks to the Broomstick, continued increasing ; He fcar'd he'd be drown'd. And he yell'd till the sound Of his voice, wing'd by terror, at last reach'd the ear Of St. Dunstan himself, who had finished his beer, And had put off his mitre, dalmatic, and shoes, And was just stepping into his bed for a snooze. His Holiness paused when he heard such a clatter ; He could not conceive what on earth was the matter. Slipping on a few things, for the sake of decorum. He issued forthwith from his Sanctum sanctorum, And calling a few of the Lay-brothers near him, AVho were not yet in bed, and who happen'd to hear him, At once led the way. Without further delay. To the tower, where he'd been in the course of the day. A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. 139 Poor Petor ! — alas ! though St. Dunstan was quick, There were two there before him — Grim Death, and old Nick ! — ■ When they open'd the door out the malt-liquor liow'd. Just as when the great Vat burst in Tott'n'am Court Koad ; 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 drimk. In vain did St. Dunstan exclaim, ' Vade retro Strongheeruml — discede a Lay-fratre PetroV — Queer Latin, you'll say. That prasfix of 'iaj/,' And Strongbeerum I — I own they'd have called me a blockhead ii At school I had ventured to use such a Vocative j '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 Saint was uucommony flurried, And apt to be loose in his Latin when hurried ; The brown-stout, however, obeys (o 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 suufl' 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 » .'' MOEAL. 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 ! — Above all, what I'd wish to impress on both sexes Is, — Keep clear of Broomsticks, Old Nick, and three XXX's. L^Envoye. In Goldsmiths' 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 puU'd it all down, and erected the present one. If you look, you'll perceive that this stone figure twists A thing like a broomstick in one of its fists It's so injured by time, you can't make out a feature; But it is not St. Dunstan, — so doubtless it's Peter. 140 A LAY OF ST. GENGULPHUS. Gengulplius, or, as he is usually styled in this country, 'Jingo,' was perhaps more in the mouths of the ' general ' than any other Saint, on occasions of adjuration (see note, page 133). Mr. Simp- kinson from Bath had kindly transmitted me a portion of a primi- tive ballad, wMch has escaped the researches of Eitson and Ellis, hut 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. *3l jTrauMpn's tiogge Icpcli obrr a stolr, Slnti f)BS name toas littrl Jjgngo. 33 fajitij a g— i toitfj an fi, i^ fajiti) a ©— © initl) an ©, CTfjcg rairtJ figni littcl Bgnga ! Z\]vs iFrankbn, Sovs, fje brrbcti gootc aule, Qnli fjc callrti it i^axt gaotc Stungo ! S, C, i, 4^, (5, © ! p?e caU'O it Eare sooBc Stingo ! ^oiBC is nottc tljus a prrttif sang'? £ tljinftr it is, bm 3cnf(a I 3 tontijc a §— Jl, <5, ©— H sbcarc j3t ts, buc 3gnga !' A LAY OF ST. GEXGULPHUS. ' Non multo post, Gengulphus, in domo sua dormiens, occisus est h quodam clerico qui cum uxore sua adulterare solebat. Cujus corpus dum, in fereto, in sepultuiam portaretur, niulti infirmi de tactu sanati sunt.' ' Cum lioc illius uxori referretur ab ancilla, sua, scilicet dominum suum, quam martyrem sanctum, miracula facere, irridens ilia, et subsurrans, ait, " Ita Gen- gulphus miracula tacitat ut pulvinarium meum cantat," ' &c., &c. WOLFII MeMORAB. GENGULPHUS comes from the Holy Land, With his scrip, and his bottle, and sandal shoon ; Full many a day hath he been away, Yet his lady deems him return'd full soon. Full many a day hath he been away, Yet scarce had he crossed ayont the sea, Ere a spruce young spark of a Learned Clerk Had called on his Lady, and stopp'd to tea. This spruce young guest, so trimly drest, Stay'd with that Lady, her revels to crown ; They laugh'd, and they ate and they drank of the best, And they turn'd the old castle quite upside down. A LAY OF ST. GENGULPHUS. 141 They would walk in the park, that spmce young Cleik, With that frolicsome Lady so frank and free, Tiying balls and plays, and all manner of ways, To get rid of what French people called Ennui. Now the festive board with viands is stored, Savoury dishes be there, I ween, Eich puddings and big, a barbecued pig, And ox-tail soup in a China tureen. There's a flagon of ale as large as a pail — When, cockle on hat, and staff in hand, AVhile on nought they are thinking save eating and drinking, Gengulphus walks in from the Holy Land ! * You must be pretty deep to catch weazels asleep,' Says the proverb : that is ' take the Fair unawares ;' A maid o'er the banisters chancing to peep. Whispers, 'Ma'am, here's Gengulphus a-coming up-stairs.' Pig, pudding, and soup, the electriiied group. With the flagon, pop under the sofa in haste, And contrive to deposit the Clerk in the closet, As the dish least of all to Gengulphus's taste. Then oh ! what rapture, what joy was exprest, When ' poor dear Gengulphus ' at last appear'd ! She kiss'd and she press'd ' the dear man ' to her breast. In spite of his great, long, frizzly beard. Such hugging and squeezing ! 'twas almost unpleasing, A smile on her lip, and a tear in her eye ;* She was so very glad, that she seem'd half mad And did not know whether to laugh or to cry. Then she calls up the maid and the table-cloth's laid, And she sends for a pint of the best Bro-s\Ti Stout ; On the fire, too, she pops some nice mutton-chops, And she mixes a stiff glass of ' Cold Without.' Then again she began at the ' poor dear' man ; She press'd him to drink, and she press'd him to eat, And she brought a foot-pan, with hot water and brae. To comfort his ' poor dear ' travel-worn feet. ' Nor night nor day since he'd been away, Had she had any rest ' she ' vow'd and declar'd,' She ' never could eat one morsel of meat. For thinking how " poor dear " Gengulphus fared.' * En SaKpvffi y(\a(ra(Ta. — Hosi. 142 A LAY OF ST. GENGULPHUS. She ' really did think she had not slept a wink Since he left her, although he'd been absent so long,' He here shook his head, — right little he said, But he thought she was ' coming it rather too strong.' Kow his palate she tickles with the chops and the pickles, Till, so great the effect of that stuff gin grog, His weaken'd body, subdued by the toddy, Falls out of the chair, and he lies like a log. Then out comes the Clerk from his secret lair ; He lifts up the legs, and she lifts up the head, And, between them, this most reprehensible pair Undress poor Gengulphus and put him to bed. Then the bolster they place athwart his face, And his night^cap into his mouth they cram ; And she pinches his nose underneath the clothes, Till the ' poor dear soul' goes off like a lamb. And now they tried the deed to hide ; For a little bird whisper'd, ' Perchance you may swing Here's a corpse in the case with a sad swelTd face. And a Medical Crowner's a queer sort of thing !' So the Clerk and wife, they each took a knife. And the nippers that nipp'd the loaf-sugar for tea ; "With the edges and points they severed the joints At the clayicle, elbow, hip, ankle, and knee. Thus, limb from limb they dismember'd him So entirely, that e'en when they came to his wrists, With those great sugar-nippers they nipped off his 'flip]iers,' As the Clerk, very flippantly, termed his fists. When they'd cut oif his head, entertaining a dread Lest folks should remember Gengulphus's fiice, They determined to throw it where no one could know it, Down the well, — and the limbs in some different place. But first the long beard from the chin they shear'd, And. managed to stuff that sanctified hair, With a good deal of pushing, all into the cushion That filled up the seat of a large arm-chair. They contriv'd to pack up the trunk in a sack. Which they hid in an osier-bed outside the town, The Clerk bearing arms, legs and all on his back, As that vile Mr. Greenacre served Mrs. Brown. A LAY OF ST. GENGULPHUS, 143 But to see now bow strangely ihingg sometimes turn out, And that in a manner the least expected ! Who could surmise a man ever could rise Who'd been thus carbonado'd, cut up, and dissected ? ISTo doubt 't would surprise the pupils at Guy's ; I am no unbeliever— no man can say that o' me — But St. Thomas himself would scarce trust his own eyes If he saw such a thing in his School of Anatomy. You may deal as you please with Hindoos and Chinese, Or a Mussulman making his heathen salaam, or A Jew or a Turk, but it's other guess work When a man has to do with a Pilgrim or Palmer. By chance the Prince Bishop, a Eoyal Divine, Sends his cards round the neighbourhood next day, and urges his Wish to receive a snug party to dine Of the resident clergy, the gentry, and burgesses. At a quarter past five they are all alive, At the palace, for coaches are fast rollmg in ; And to every guest his card had express'd 'Half past' as the hour for *a greasy chin.' Some thirty are seated, and handsomely treated With the choicest Rhine wines in his Highness's stock ; \Vhen a Count of the Empire, who felt himself heated, Eequested some water to mix with his Hock. The Butler, who saw it, sent a maid out to draw it, But scarce had she given the windlass a twirl. Ere Gengulphus's head, from the well's bottom, said In mild accents, ' Do help us out, that's a good girl !' Only fancy her dread when she saw a great head In her bucket ;— with fright she was ready to drop :— Conceive, if you can, how she roared and she ran. With the head rolling after her, bawling out ' Stop !' She ran and she roar'd till she came to the board Where the Prince Bishop sat with his party around. When Gengulphus's poll, which continued to roll At her heels, on the table bounced up with a bound. Never touching the cates, or the dishes or plates. The decanters or glasses, the sweetmeats or fruits. The head smiles, and begs them to bring him his legs, As a well-spoken gentlemen asks for his boots. 144 A LAY OF ST. GENGULPHUS. Kicking open tlie casement, to each one's amazement, Straight a right leg steps in, all impediment scorns, And near the head stopping, a left follows hopping Behind, — for the left leg was troubled with corns. Next, before the beholders, two great brawny shoulders, And arms on their bent elbows dance through the throng. While two hands assist, though nipp'd off at the wrist, The said shoulders in bearing a body along. They march up to the head, not one syllable said, For the thirty guests all stare in wonder and doubt. As the limbs in their sight arrange and imite. Till Gengulphus, though dead, looks as sound as a trout. I will venture to say, from that hour to this day, Ne'er did such an assembly behold such a scene ; Or a table divide fifteen guests of a side With a dead body placed in the centre between. Yes, they stared — well they might at so novel a sight : No one utter'd a whisper, a sneeze, or a hem. But sat all bolt upright, and pale with affright ; And they gazed at the dead man, the dead man at them. The Prince Bishop's Jester, on punning intent. As he view'd the whole thirty, in jocular terms Said, ' They put him in mind of a Council of Trente Engaged in reviewing the Diet of Worms.' -'o" But what should they do ? — Oh ! nobody knew What was best to be done, either stranger or resident-. The Chancellor's self read his Puffendorf through In vain, for his books could not furnish a precedent. The Prince Bishop mutter'd a curse, and a prayer, Which his double capacity hit to a nicety ; His Princely, or Lay, half induced him to swear. His Episcopal moiety said ' Benedicitc V The Coroner sat on the body that night, And the jury agreed, — not a doubt could they harbour, — ' That the chin of the corpse — the sole thing brought to light — Had been recently shaved by a very bad barber.' They sent out Von Taiinsend, Von Biirnie, Von Eoe, Von Maine, and Von Eowantz — through chalets and chateaux, Towns, villages, hamlets, they told them to go, And they stuck up placards on the walls of the Stadthaus. A LAY OF ST. GENGULPHUS. A LAY OP grr. aENGULPHUS. 145 'MUEDER!! Whereas, a dead gentleman, surname unknown, Has been recently found at his Higbness's banquet, Rather shabbily drest in an Amice, or gown In appearance resembling a second-hand blanket 'And Whereas, there's great reason indeed to suspect That some ill-disposed person, or persons, with malice Aforethought, have kill'd, and begun to dissect The said Gentleman, not veiy far from the palace • ' This is to give Notice ! — ^ATioever shall seize, And such person, or persons, to justice surrender. Shall receive — such Reward — as his Higliness shall please, On conviction of him, the aforesaid offender. ' And, in order the matter more clearly to trace To the bottom, his Highness, the Prince Bishop, further, Of his clemency, offers free Paedon and Grace To all such as have not been concern'd in the murther. * Done this day, at our palace, — July twenty-five, — By command, (Signed) Johann Yon Riissell, Deceased rather in years — had a squint when alive ; And smells slightly of gin — linen mark'd with a G.' The Newspapers, too, made no little ado, Though a different version each managed to dish up ; Some said ' The Prince Bishop had nm a man through,' Others said ' an assassin had kill'd the Prince Bishop.' The ' Ghent Herald ' fell foul of the ' Bruxelles Gazette,' The ' Bruxelles Gazette,' with much sneering ironical, Scorn'd to remain in the ' Ghent Herald's' debt. And the 'Amsterdam Times 'quizz'd the ' Nuremberg Chronicle, In one thing, indeed, all the journals agreed. Spite of ' politics,' ' bias,' or ' party collision ;' Viz. : to ' give,' when they'd ' further accounts ' of the deed, ' Full particulars ' soon, in ' a later Edition.' But now, while on all sides they rode and they ran, Trying all sorts of means to discover the caitiffs, Losing patience, the holy Gengulphus began To think it high time to ' astonish the natives.' First, a Rittmeister's Frau, who was weak in both eyes, And supposed the most short-sighted woman in Holland, Found greater relief, to her joy and surprise. From one glimpse of his ' squint ' than from glasses by Dollond. 146 A LAY OF ST. GENGULPHUS. By the slightest approach to the tip of his Nose, Megrims, headache, and vapours were put to the rout ; And one single touch of his precious Great Toes Was a certain specific for chilblains and gout. Eheumatics, — sciatica, — tic-doloureux ! Apply to his shin-hones — not one of them lingers ; — All bilious complaints in an instant withdrew If the patient was tickled with one of his fingers. Much virtue was found to reside in his thumbs ; When applied to the chest they cured scantness of breathing. Bea-sickness, and colic ; or, rubb'd on the gums. Were 'A blessing to Mothers,' for infants in teething. Whoever saluted the nape of his neck. Where the mark remained visible still of the knife, Kotwithstanding east winds perspiration might check, Was safe from sore-throat for the rest of his life. Thus, while each acute and each chronic complaint Giving way, proved an influence clearly divine. They perceived the dead gentleman must be a Saint, Sc they lock'd him up, body and bones, in a shrine. Through country and town his new Saintship's renown As a first-rate physician kept daily increasing. Till, as Alderman Curtis told Alderman Brown, It seemed as if ' Wonders had never done ceasing.'' The Three Kings of Cologne began, it was known, A sad falling off in their ofi'rings to find. His feats were so many — still the greatest of any, — In every sense of the word, was — behind ; For the German Police were beginning to cease From exertions which each day more fruitless appear'd. When Gengulphus himself, his fame still to increase, Unravell'd the whole by the helj^ of — his beard ! If you look back you'll see the aforesaid larbe gris, When divorced from the chin of its murder'd proprietor, Had been stuiTd in the seat of a kind of settee. Or double-arm'd chair, to keep the thing quieter. It may seem rather strange, that it did not arrange Itself in its place when the limbs join'd together ; P'rhaps it could not get out, for the cushion was stout, And constructed of good, strong, maroon-colour'd leather. A LAY OF ST. GENGULPHUS. 147 Or, what is more likely, Gengulphus might choose, For Saints, e'en when dead, still retain their volition, It should rest there, to aid some particular views. Produced by his very peculiar position. Be that as it may, on the very first day That the widow Gengulphus sat down on that settee, What occurr'd almost fnghten'd her senses away, Beside scaring her handmaidens, Gertrude and Betty. They were telling their mistress the wonderful deeds Of the new Saint, to whom all the Town said their orisons : And especially how, as regards invalids, His miraculous cures far outrivall'd Von Morison's. * The cripples,' said they, ' fling their crutches away, And people born blind now can easily see us !' — But she, (we presume, a disciple of Hume,) Shook her head, and said angrily, ' Credat Judcetis .'' ' Those rascally liars, the ]\Ionks and the Friars, To bring grist to their mill, these devices have hit on. — He works niiracles ! — pooh ! — I'd believe it of you Just as soon, you great Geese, — or the Chair that I sit on 1 The Chair, — at that word, — it seems really absurd, But the truth must be told, — what contortions and grins Distorted her face ! — she sprang up from her place Just as though she'd been sitting on needles and pins ! For, as if the Saint's beard the rash challenge had heard Which she utter'd, of what was beneath her forgetful. Each particular hair stood on end in the chair. Like a porcupine's quills when the animal's fretful. That stout maroon leather, they pierced altogether, Like tenter-hooks holding when clench'd from within, A.nd the maids cried ' Good gracious ! how very tenacious !' — They as well might endeavour to pull off her skin ! — She shriek'd Avith the pain, but all efforts were vain ; In vain did they strain every sinew and muscle, — The cushion stuck fast! — From that hour to her last She could never get rid of that comfortless ' Bustle !' And e'en as Macbeth, when devising the death Of his King, heard ' the veiy stones prate of his whereabouts : Bo this shocking bad wife heard a voice all her life Crying ' Murder !' resound from the cushion, — or thereabouts. 148 THE LAY OF ST. ODILLE. With regard to the Clerk, we are left in the dark As to what his fate was ; but I canriot imagine he Got off scotr-free, though unnotic'd it be Both by Ribadaneira and Jacques de Voragine : For cut-throats, we 're sure, can be never secure, And ' History's Muse ' still to prove it her pen holds. As you'll see, if you look in a rather scarce book, ' Qod's Revenge against Murder,^ by one Mr. Eeynolds. MOEAL. Now, you grave married Pilgrims, who wander away, Like Ulysses of old,* (vide Homer and Xaso,) Don't lengthen your stay to three years and a day, And when you are coming home, just write and say so ! And you, learned Clerks, who're not given to roam. Stick close to your books, nor lose sight of decorum ; Don't visit a house when the master's from home ! Shun drinking, — and study the ^Vitce Sanctorum P Above all, you gay ladies, who fancy neglect In your spouses, allow not your patience to fail ; But remember Geugulphus's v/ife ! — and reflect On the moral enforced by her terrible tale ! Mr. Barney Maguire has laid claim to the next Saint as a country- woman ; and ' Why wouldn't he ?' when all the world knows the O'Dells were a fine ould, ancient fomily, sated in Tipperary Ere the Lord Mayor stole his collar of gowld, And sowld it away to a trader ?' t He is manifestly wrong ! but, as he very rationally observes, ' No matter for that, — she's a Saint any way !' 0^ THE LAY OF ST. ODILLE. kDILLE was a maid of a dignified race : Her father, Count Otto, was lord of Alsace ; Such an air, such a grace. Such a form, such a face, All agreed, 'twere a fruitless endeavour to trace In the Court, or wi'thin fifty miles of the place. * Qui morevS hominum multorum vidit ct urbes. f The ' Inglorious Memory ' of this ould ancient transaction is still, wo understand, kept up in Dublin by an annual proclamation at one of the city gates. The jewel, which has replaced the abstracted ornament, is said to have been presented by King William, and worn by Daniel O'Connell , Esq. THE LAY OP ST, ODILLK. 149 Many ladies in Strasburg were beautiful, still They were beat all to sticks by the lovely Odille. But Odille was devout, and, before she was nine, Had * experienced a call ' she consider'd divine. To put on the veil at St. Ermengarde's shrine. — Lords, Dukes, and Electors, and Counts Palatine Came to seek her in marriage from both sides the Ehine ; But vain their design. They are all left to pine. Their oglings and smiles are all useless; in fine Not one of these gentlefolks, tiy as they will. Can draw, ' Ask my papa ' from the cruel Odille. At length one of her suitors, a certain Count Herman, A highly respectable man as a German, Who smoked like a chimney, and drank like a ISIerman, Paid his court to her father, conceiving his firman Would soon make her bend. And induce her to lend An ear to a love-tale in lieu of a sermon. He gain'd the old Count, who said, ' Come, Mynheer, fill ! — Here's luck to yourself and my daughter Odille !' The Lady Odille was quite nervous with fear When a little bird whisper'd that toast in her ear ; She murmur'd ' Oh, dear ! My Papa has got queer, I am sadly afraid, with that nasty strong beer ! He's so very austere, and severe, that it's clear If he gets in his " tantrums," I can't remain here ; But St. Ermengarde's convent is luckily near ; It were folly to stay Pour jrrendre conge, I shall put on my bonnet, and e'en run away !' — She uulock'd the back door and descended the hill. On whose crest stood the towers of the sire of Odille. — When he found she'd levanted, the Count of Alsace At first turn'd remarkably red iu the fiice ; He anathematised, with much unction and grace. Every soul who came near, and consign 'd the whole race Of runaway girls to a very warm place ; With a frightful grimace He gave orders for chase ; His vassals set off at a deuce of a pace, And of all whom they met, high or low. Jack or Jill, Ask'd, ' Pray have you seen anything of Lady Odille ?' — Now I think I've been told, — for I'm no sporting man, — That the ' knowing-ones ' aill this by far the best plan, ' Take the lead and then keep it !' — that is, if you can. Odille thought so too, so she set otT and ran, 150 THE LAY OF ST. ODILLE. Put her best leg before, Starting at score, As I said some lines since, from that little back door. And not being miss'd until half after four. Had what hunters call ' law ' for a good hour and more ; Doing her best. Without stopping to rest. Like ' young Lochiuvar who came out of the West.' * 'Tis done ! — I am gone ! — over briar, brook, and rill They'll be sharp lads who catch me 1' said young Miss Odille. But you've all read in ^sop, or Phtedrus, or Gay, How a tortoise and hare ran together one day ; How the hare, making play, ' Progress'd right slick away, As ' them tarnation chaps ' the Americans say ; While the tortoise, whose figure is rather outre For racing, crawl'd straight on, without let or stay Having no post-horse duty or turnpikes to pay, Till, ere noon's ruddy ray Changed to eve's sober grey, Though her form and obesity caused some delay. Perseverance and j^atience brought up her lee-way, And she chased her fleet-footed ' praycursor ' until She o'ertook her at last ; — so it fared with Odille ! For although, as I said, she ran gaily at first, And show'd no inclination to pause, if she durst ; She at length felt opprest with the heat, and with thirst Its usual attendant ; nor ■was that the worst, Her shoes went down at heel ; at last one of them burst. Now a gentleman smiles At a trot of ten miles ; But not so the Fair ; then consider the stiles. And as then ladies seldom wore things with a frill Round the ankle, these stiles sadly bother'd Odille. Still, despite all the obstacles placed in her track, She kept steadily on, though the terrible crack In her shoe made of course her progression more slack. Till she reach 'd the Swartz Forest (in English the Black) ; I cannot divine How the boundary line Was pass'd which is somewhere there form'd by the Rhine — Perhaps she'd the knack To float o'er on her back — Or, perhaps, cross'd the old bridge of boats at Brisach, (AVhich Vauban, some years after, secured from attack By a bastion of stone which 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, THE LAY OF ST. ODILLE. 151 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 JShe perceived coming up from that horrid post-town. They had foUow'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 evenmg should marry Odille. Alas, for Odille! poor dear! what could she do? Her father's retainers now had her in 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 sliould 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 ; So she fell on her knees in a terrible stew, Crying ' Holy St. Ermengardc ! Oh, from these vermin guard Her whose last hojje rests entirely on you ; — Don't let papa catch me, dear Saint!— rather kill At once, sur-le-champ, your devoted Odille 1' It's delightful to see those who strive to oppress Get balk'd when they think themselves sure of success The Saint came to the rescue !— I fairly confess I don't see, 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 Sheemesa 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. Twas her voice !— but 'twas Vox ct praterea I^il ! Nor could any one guess what was gone with Odille I 162 THE LA."X OP ST, OblliLE. 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 in her right ; While, with faces fresh gilt, and with wings burnish'd bright, A great many little boys' heads took their flight Above and aroimd to a very great height, And seem'd pretty lively considering their plight, Since every one saw. With amazement and awe, They could never sit down, for they hadn't de quoi. — All at the sight. From tlie 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 am really ashamed of you both ; — my nerves thrill At your scandalous conduct to poor, dear Odille 1 ' Come, make yourselves scarce ! — it is useless to stay, You will gain nothing here by a longer delay. " Quick ! Presto ! Begone 1" as the conjurors say ; "For as 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 broke it, So put that in your pipe, my Lord Otto, and smoke it ! — One hint to your vassals, — a month at " the Mill " Shall be nuts to what they'll get who worry Odille !' The Saint disappear'd as she ended, and so Did the little boj's' heads, which, above and below, As I told you a very few stanzas ago, Had been flying about her, and jumping Jim Crow; Though, without any body, or leg, foot, or toe, How they managed such antics, 1 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 inount, 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, THE LAY OF ST. ODILLE. 153 For your hide, when you do, they all manage to tan ; So Count Herman must pick up some Betsey 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 with the pot if he can't have the pan. With such proverbs as these He went down on his knet3£ And said, ' Blessed St. Ermengarde just as you please — They shall build a new convent, — I'll pay the whole bill, (Taking discount,) — its Abbess shall be my Odille 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. Kow, if ever you happen to travel that way, I do beg and pray, 'twill your pains well repay, — That you'll take what the Cockney folks calls 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 bloct. 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 Germanised giant, Thor, Woden, or Lok ; And see how it rears Its two monstrous great ears, Fer when once you're between them such each side appeara ] And list to the sound of the water one hears Drip, drip, from the fissures, like rain-drops or tears, — Odillc's, I believe, — which have flowed all these years ; — I think they account for them so ; — but the rill I 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 ! Then let's act like Count Otto, and while one survives, Succumb to 0U1' She-Saints — videlicet wives I (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 I — 154 A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. 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 brcY/, And come off at last with ' a hole in their shoe ;' Since not even Clapham, that sanctified ville, Can produce enough saints to save every Odille. I^gcolas, cstc^git of gc cgtc* of ^ancracs, ioas borne of rgdjc anl( tolge fegnnr, ^ntr f>is faticr bas namrt (JHpipfjanus, anti Ijts inoict Koljanc* He was born on a cold frosty morning, on the 6 th of December, (upon which day his feast is still observed,) but in what anno Domini is not so clear ; his baptismal register, together with that of his friend and colleague, St. Thomas at Hill, having been ' lost in the great fire of London.' St. Nicholas was a great patron of Mariners, and, saving your presence — of Thieves also, which honourable fraternity have long rejoiced in the appellation of his 'Clerks.' Cervantes' 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. A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. ' Statim saeerdoti apparuit diabolus in specie puellse pulchritudinis mirae, et ecceDivus, fide catholica, et cruce, et aqua benedicta aimatiis venit, et aspersit aquam in nomine Sanctae et Individua; Trinitatis, quam, quasi ardentem, dia- bolus, nequaquam sustinere valens, mugitibus fugit.' Roger Hoveden. ' T ORD ABBOT! Lord Abbot! I'd fain confess; J^ I am a-weary, and worn with woe ; Many a grief doth my heart oppress. And haunt me whithersoever I go 1' On bended knee spake the beautiful Maid ; ' Now lithe and listen, Lord Abbot, to me !' — * Now naye. Fair Daughter,' the Lord Abbot said, ' Now naye, in sooth it may hardly bo * Paritjlu A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. 155 •There is Mess Michael, and holy Mess John, Sage Penitauncers I ween be they ! 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, Though 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. ' Though hither I stray, in lowly array, I am a damsel of high degree ; And the Compte of Eu, and the Lord of Pouthieu, They serve my father on bended knee ! ' Counts a many, and Dukes a few, A suitoring came to my father's Hall ; But the Duke of Lorraine, with his large domain, He pleased my father beyond them all. ' Dukes a many, and Counts a few, I would have wedded right cheerfuUie ; But the Duke of Lorraine was uncommonly plain. And I vow'd that he ne'er should my bridegroom be) ' So hither I fly, in lowly guise. From their gilded domes and their princely halls; Fain would I dwell in some holy cell, Or within some Convent's i)caceful walls !' — Then out and sjiake 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 h'ere : ' Holy Church denieth all search 'Midst her sanctified ewes and her saintly rams ; And the wolves doth mock who would scathe her flock. Or, especially, worry her little pet lambs. * Then lay. Fair Daughter, thy fears aside. For here this day shalt thou dine with me ! '— • Now naye, now naye,' the fair maiden cried ; ' In sooth, Lord Abbot, that scarce may be I 156 A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. ' 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 thee ! ' There is Simon the Deacon hath pulse in store, With beans and lettuces fair to see ; His lenten fare now let me share, I pray thee, Lord Abbot, in charitie !' — ' 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 Eoger the Monk shall our convives be ; Small scandal I ween shall then be seen ; They are a goodly companie !' The Abbot hath donn'd his mitre and ring, His rich dalmatic, and maniple fine ; And the choristers sing, as the lay-brothers bring To the boai-d a magnificent turkey and chine. The turkey and chine, they are done to a nicety ; Liver, and gizzard, and all are there ; Ne'er mote Lord Abbot pronounce Benedicite Over more luscious or delicate fare. But no pious stave, no Pater or Ave Pronounced, as he gazed on that maiden's face : She ask'd him for stufiing, she ask'd him for gravy, She ask'd him for gizzard ; — but not for Grace ! f et 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 do^vn to be grill'd. There was no lack of old Sherris sack, Of Hippocras fine, or of Malmsey bright ; And aye, as he drain'd oif his cup with a smack, He grew less pious and more polite. 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. A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. 157 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 real The scene he beheld, or believe his own eyes. In his ear was ringing the Lord Abbot singing, — He could not distinguish the words very plain, But 'twas all about 'Cole,' and 'jolly old Soul,' And ' Fiddlers,' and ' Punch,' and things quite as profane. Even Porter Paul at the sound of such revelling, With fervour himself began to bless ; For he thought he must somehow have let the Devil in, — And pej-haps was not very much out in his guess. The Accusing Byers * ' flew up to Heaven's Chancery,' Blushing like scarlet with shame and concern ; The Archangel took down his tale, and in answer he Wept — (See the works of the late Mr. Sterne). Indeed, it is said, a less taking both were in When, after a lapse of a great many years They book'd Uncle Toby five shillings for swearing. And blotted the fine out again with their tears 1 But St. Nicholas' agony who may paint ? His senses at first were well-nigh gone ; The beatified saint was ready to faint When he saw in his Abbey such sad goings on ! For never, I ween, had such doings been seen There before, from the time that most excellent Prince Earl Bakhvin of Flanders, and other Commanders, Had built and endowed it some centuries since. — But hark ! — 'tis a soimd from the outermost gate ! A startling sound from a powerful blow. — "Wlio linocks 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.' * The Prince of Peripatetic Informers, and teiTor of Stage Coachmen, when Buch things were. Alack 1 alack! the Kailroads have ruined his 'vested interest.' 158 A LAY OF ST. NICHOL^ifl. 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 hrow were traced ; And his long loose gown was of ginger brown, And his rosary dangled below his waist. Now seldom, I ween, in 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 ? 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 ! Wide open it flew, and plain to the view The Lord Abbot they 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 cheer?, 'Huzza! huzza! huzza!' And one of the party said, ' Go it, my hearty ! ' — When outspake that Pilgrim grey — ' A boon. Lord Abbot ! a boon ! a boon ! Worn is my foot, and ompty my scrip ; And nothing to speak of since yesterday noon Of food, Lord Abbot, hath pass'd my lip. * 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 Paliner, that ever thine eyes did see. And a manchette of bread, and a good warm botl. And a cup o' the best shall thy guerdon be I* A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. 159 * 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' He felt in his gown of ginger brown, And he puU'd out a flask from beneath ; Jt 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 a sacred sign ; And he dash'd. the whole on the soi-disant daughter Of old Plantagenet's line ! Oh ! then did she reek, and squeak, and shriek, With a wild imearthly 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 fire. 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 1 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 let go. And out of the window he flew like a shot, For the foot flew up with a terrible thwack. And caught the foul demon about the spot Where his tail joins en to the small of his back, 160 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 ! happy the slip from his Succubine 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 ! On the banks of the Ehine, as he's stopping to dine, From a certain Inn-window the traveller is shown Most picturesque 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, (His mitre and ring, and all that sort of thing Laid aside,) in yon Cave lived a pious recluse ; How he rose vTith the sun, limping ' dot and go one,' To yon rill of the mountain, in all sorts of weather, t^here a Prior and a Friar, who lived somewhat higher Up the rock used to come and eat cresses together ; Uow a thirsty old codger, the neighbours called Eoger With them drank cold water in lieu of old wine ! What its quality wanted he made up in quantity, Swigging as though he would empty the Ehine ! And how, as their bodily strength fail'd, the mental man Gain'd tenfold vigour and force in all four ; And 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 fonr masses a head. On the eve of thatvsupper, and kick on the crupper Which Satan received for the souls of the dead ! THK LADY ROHESIA. 161 Hot? 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 osfemons, Threw down their crutches and danced a quadrille ! And how Abbot Simon, (who turn'd out a prime one,) These words, which grew into a proverb full soon, O'er the late Abbot's grotto, stucli up as a motto, ' ffl2Sijo sapprs fcitfj tijc S^ijillc sfjoltic IjaSjc a long spoonc !' Eohesia, daughter of Ambrose, and sister to Sir Everard Ingoldsby, was born about the beginning of the 16th century, and was married in 1526, at St. Giles's, Cripplegate, in the City of London. The following narrative contains all else that is known of THE LADY EOHESIA. THE Lady Eohesia lay on her death-bed ! So said the doctor, and doctors are generally allowed to bo judges in these matters; besides Doctor Butts was the Court Physician : he carried a crutch-handled staff, with its cross of the blackest ebony, — raison de plus. ' Is there no hope, Doctor ?' said Beatrice Grey. ' Is there no hope ?' said Everard Ingoldsby. 'Is there no hope?' said Sir Guy de Montgomcri. He was the Ladj'' Eohesia's husband ; — he spoke the last. The doctor shook his head. He looked at the disconsolate widower in posse, then at the hour-glass ; its waning sand seemed sadly to shadow forth the sinlcing pulse of his patient. Dr. Butts was a veiy learned man. 'Ars longa, vita hrevis V said Doctor Butts. 'I am very sorry to hear it,' quoth Sir Guy de Montgomcri. Sir Guy was a brave knight, and a tall ; but he was no scholar. * Alas ! my poor sister !' sighed Ingoldsby. ' Alas ! my poor mistress !' sobbed Beatrice. Sir Guy mither sighed nor sobbed ; his grief was too deep-seated for outward manifestation. 'And how long, Doctor — ?' The afflicted husband could not finish the sentence. Dr. Butts withdrew his hand from the wrist of the dying lady. He pointed to the horologe ; scarcely a quarter of its sand remained in the upper moiety. Again he shook his head; the eye of the patient waxed dimmer, the rattling in the throat increased. leflr THE LADY ROHESIA. ' What's become of Father Francis?' whimpered Beatrice. * The last consolations of the church — ' suggested Everard. A darker shade came over the hrow of Sir Guy. ' "Where is the Confessor ?' continued his grieving brother-in-law. ' In the pantry,' cried Marion Hacket pertly, as she tripped down stairs in search of that venerable ecclesiastic ; — ' in the pantry, I warrant me.' The bower-woman was not wont to be in the wrong • in the pantry was the holy man discovered, — at his devotions. ' Pax vohiscum /' said Father Francis, as he entered the chamber of death. ' Vita hrevis /' retorted Doctor Butts. He was not a man to be browbeat out of his Latin, — and by a paltry Friar Minim, too. Had it been a Bishop, indeed, or even a mitred Abbot, — but a miserable Franciscan ! ' Benedicite /' said the Friar. ' Ars longa V returned the Leech. Doctor Butts adjusted the tassels of his falling band ; drew his short sad-coloured cloak closer around him ; and, grasping his cross- handled walking-staff, stalked majestically out of the apartment. Father Francis had the field to himself. The worthy chaplain hastened to administer the last rites of the church. To all appearance he had little time to lose ; as he con- cluded, the dismal toll of the passing-bell sounded from the belfry tower, — little Hubert, the bandy-legged sacristan, was pulling with all his might. It was a capital contrivance that same passing-bell,— which of the Urbans or Innocents invented it is a query ; but, who- ever he was, he deserved well of his country and of Christendom. Ah ! our ancestors were not such fools, after all, as we, their dege- nerate children, conceit them to have been. The passing-bell ! a most solemn warning to imps of every description, is not to be re- garded with impunity ; the most impudent Siiccuhus of them all dare as well dip his claws in holy water as come within the verge of its sound. Old Nick himself, if he sots any value at all upon his tail, had best convey himself clean out of hearing, and leave the way open to Paradise. Little Hubert continued pulling with all his might, — and St. Peter began to look out for a customer. The knell seemed to have some effect even upon the Lady Kohesia; she raised her head slightly; inarticulate sounds issued from her lips,— inarticulate, that is, to the profane ears of the laity. Those of Father Francis, indeed, were snarpcr; nothing, as he THE LADY ROHESIA. 163 averred, could be more distinct than the words, 'A thousand marks to the priory of St. Mary Eouncival.' Now the Lady Eohesia Ingoldsby had brought her husband broad lands and large possessions ; much of her ample dowry, too, was at her own disposal ; and nuncupative wills had not yet been abolished by Act of Parliament. 'Pious soul!' ejaculated Father Francis. 'A thousand marks, she said ' ' If she did, I'll be shot !' said Sir Guy de Montgomeri. * — A thousand marks !' continued the Confessor, fixbig his cold grey eye upon the knight, as he went on heedless of the interrup- tion ; — ' a thousand marks ! 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?' 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 stairs. ' A thousand thanks !' said the latter. ' A thousand marks !' said the friar. ' A thousand devils !' growled Sir Guy de Montgomeri, from the top of the landing-place. But his accents fell unheeded ; bis 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 anns were crossed upon his bosom, his chin was sunk upon his breast ; his eyes were filled with tears ; the dim rays of the fading watchlight 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, 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 ! borne !' 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 pause, — a moment of intense aflJic- tion ; she let it fall, — all but one corner, which remained between 164 THE LADY ROHESIA. » her finger and thumb. She looked at Sir Guy ; drew the thumh and forefinger of her other hand slowly along its border, till they reached the opposite extremity. She sobbed aloud. 'So kind a lady !' said Beatrice Grey. — ' So excellent a \nfe !' 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 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 antiphonic 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 excellences 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 enu- meration of her good deeds was not altogether lost on her, — that the parting spirit felt and rejoiced in the testimony. ' She was too good for earth !' continued Sir Guy. ' Ye-yc-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 the 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 lips like a distant echo; — it is not often that the viewless nymph repeats more than is necessary. * Birn ! home !' went the bell.— Bandy-legged Hubert had been toll- ing 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 ? What's to become of Montgomeri Hall?— and the buttery,— and the THE LADY ROHESIA. 105 servants? And what— what's to become of me, Beatrice Grey?' — • There was pathos in his tones, and a solemn pause succeeded. ' I'll turn monk myself!' said Sir Guy. ' Monk ?' said Beatrice. 'I'll he a Carthusian!' repeated the knight, but in a tone loss assured : he 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 different 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 lamsel at his side, beautiful in her grief. Her tears had ceased ; but her eyes were cast down, 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 himself on the edge of the bed ; and, placing his hand beneath the chin of the lady, turned up lier face in an angle of fifteen degrees. ' I don't think I shall take the vows, Beatrice ; but what's to become of me ? Poor, miserable, old — that is poor, miserable, middle-aged man that I am ! — Xo 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 creati;re 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 — ' ' Pish !' cried Sir Guy, testily. ' And — there's your favourite old bitch.' 'I am not thinking of old bitches!' quoth Sir Guy de Mont- gomery Another pause ensued : the knight had released her 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 166 THE LADY EOHESIA, counterpane, and made room for his companion between himself and the bed-post. Now this is a very awkward position for two people to be placed in, especially when the right hand of the one holds the right hand of the other : — in such an attitude, what the deuce can the gentle- man 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, — ' what think you of — Beatrice Grey ?' The murder was out : — the knight felt infinitely relieved ; the knuckles of his left hand unclosed spontaneously ; and the arm he had felt such a difficulty in disjxtsing 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 prescrip- tion 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's many a slip 'Twixt the cup and the lip,' hath reference to medicine. Sir Guy's lip was again all but in conjunction with that of his bride elect. tHE LADY ROHESIA. 167 It has been hinted already tbat there was a little round jwlished 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, rising 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«^Vhack!' Sir Gruy started upon his feet ; Beatrice Grey started upon hers : but a single glance to the rear reversed her position, — she fell upon her knees and screamed. The knight, too, wheeled about, and beheld a sight which might have turned a bolder man to stone. — It was She ! — the all-but-de- funct Eohesia — there she sat, bolt upright! — her eyes no longer glazed with the film of impending dissolution, but scintillating like flint and steel; while in her hand she grasped the bed-staff, — a weapon of mickle might, as her husband's bloody coxcomb could now well testify. Words were yet wanting, for the quinsy, which her rage had broken, still impeded her utterance ; but the strength and rapidity of her guttural intonations augured well for her future eloquence. 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 personification 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 ring. Years rolled on. — The improvement of Lady Eohesia's temper did not keep pace with that of her health ; and one fine morning Sir Guy de Montgomeri was seen to enter the porte-cochere of Durham House, at that time the towm residence of Sir Walter Ealeigh. Nothing more was ever heard of him ; but a boat full of adventurers was known to have dropped down with the tide that evening to Deptford Hope, where lay the good ship the Darling, commanded by Captain Keyrais, who sailed next morning on the Virginia voyage. N 168 THE TRAUPDT. A brass plale, some eighteen inctes long, may yet be seen in Denton chancel, let into a broad slab of Betharsden marble; it represents a lady kneeling, in her wimple and hood ; her hands arc clasped in prayer, and beneath is an inscription in the characters of the age — '^Pratc for gc so&Ic nf gc ILaSg 3^ogsc, Slnti for nlle (Cijrtstm sotoUs !' The date is illegible ; but it appears that she survived King Henry the Eighth, and that the dissolution of monasteries had lost St. Mary Eouncival 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.' It was during the 'Honey (or, as it is sometimes termed, the 'Treacle,') Moon' that Mr. and Mrs. Seaforth passed through London. A ' good-natured 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.' THE TEAGEDY. Quaeque ipse miserrima vidi. — YiEGrL. CATHERINE of Cleves was a Lady of rank : She had lands and fine houses, and cash in the Bank ; She had jewels and rings. And a thousand smart things : AVas lovely and young, With a rather sharp tongue, And she wedded a noble of high degree With the star of the order of St. Esjtrit; 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 fro\vn on his brow, — and he look'd like a Guy, — So she took to intriguing AVith 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 Monseigneur de Guise. TSE TRAetDY. 169 Now Monsieiir St. Megrin was curious to know If the Lady approved of his passion or no ; 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-man near, he Could conjure, tell fortunes, and calculate 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 ^Vith his wand in his hand, Drew a circle, then gave the dread word of command. Saying solemnly — 'Presto! — Hey, quick ! — Cock-a-lorum ! P "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 dowTi 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 !' 'Twas his Grace, sure enoiTgh ; So Monsieur, looking bluff, Stmtted 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 1 and alas 1 A mishap came to pass, In her huiTy 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 1 Now the Duke, who had seen it so lately adorn her. And knew the great C with the Cro^vn in the corner. The instant he spied it, smoked something amiss. And said, with some energy, ' D it ! 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 ! Look here ! — here's a proof you run after the fellows ! — Now take up that pen, — if it's bad choose a better, — And write, as I dictate, this moment a letter To Monsieur — you know who 1' The Lady looked blue ; But replied with much firmness — ' Hang me if I do !' De Guise grasped her wrist With his great bony fist, And pinch'd 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 : — l70 THE TRAGEDY. ' 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 Cathesixe of C'LEVca 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, 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 ! 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 mourn'd her mishap, ' We are caught like a couple of rats in a trap.' Kow 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, Whipp'd it tight round his neck, and when backward he'd jerk'd him, The rest of the rascals jump'd on him aud Burk'd him. BARNEY MAGUIRE'S ACCOUNT OF THE CORONATION. 171 The poor little Page, too, himself got no quarter, but Was served the same way, And was found the next day AVith his heels in the air, and his head in the water-butt ; Catherine of Cleves Eoar'd ' Murder 1' and ' Thieves !' From the window above While they murder'd her love ; Till, finding the rogues had accomplished his slaughter, She drank Prussia acid without any water. And died like a Duke-and-a-Duchess's daughter ! MORAL. Take warning, ye fair, from this tale of the Bard's, And don't go where fortunes are told on the cards, But steer clear of Conjurors, — never put query To ' Wise Mrs. Williams,' or folks like Euggieri. "WTien alone in your room shut the door close, and lock it ! Above all, — keep tour handkerchief safe in your pocket ! Lest you too should stumble, and Lord Leveson Grower, he Be call'd on, — sad poet ! — to tell your sad stoiy ! It was in the summer of 1838 that a party from Tappington reached the metropolis with a view of witnessing the coronation of their youtliful Queen, whom God long preserve! — This purpose they were fortunate enough to accomplish by the purchase of a peer's tickets, from a stationer in the Strand, who was enabled so to dis- pose of some, greatly to the indignation of the hereditaiy Earl Mar- shal. How Mr. Barney managed to insinuate himself into the Abbey remains a mystery : his characteristic modesty and address doubtless 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 Made- moiselle Pauline over a Cruiskeen of his own concocting. MR. BARNEY MAGUIRE'S ACCOUNT OF THE CORONATION. Abr. — ' The 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 Jlaking a skrimmage at half after four. And the Lords and Ladies, anu the Miss O'Gradys. All standing round before the Abbey door. 172 BARNEY MAGUIRE'B ACCOUNT OF THE CORONATION. Their pillows scorning, that self-same morning Themselves adorning, all by the candle-light, With roses and lilies, and daffy-down-dillies, And gould and jewels, and rich di'monds bright. And then approaches five hundred coaches, With General DuUbeak. — Och ! 'twas mighty fine To see how asy bould Corj^oral Casey, With his sword drawn, prancing made them kape the liua 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, The Prince of Potboys, and great haythen Jews ; 'Twould have made you crazy to see Esterhazy All jool's from his jasey to his di'mond boots, With Alderman Harmer, and that swate charmer, The famale heiress. Miss Anja-ly Coutts. And Wellington, walking with his swoord drawn, talking To Hill and Hardinge, haroes of great fame : And Sir De Lacy, and the Duke Dalmasey, (They call'd him Sowlt afore he changed his name.) Themselves jn'esading 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 their goulden cuffs, And the Bavarians, and the proud Hungarians, And Everythiugarians all in furs and muffs. Then Misthur Spaker, with Misthur Pays the Quaker, 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. There was Baron Alten himself exalting. And Prince Von Schwartzenberg, and many more, Och ! I'd be bother'i and entirely smother'd To tell the half of 'em was to the fore ; With the swate Peeresses, in their crowns and dresses, And Aldermanesses, 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, BAENEY MAGDIKE'S ACCOUNT OF THE OOKONATION. 173 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 four-and-twenty fiddlers all on a row ! Then the Lord Archbishop held a goulden dish up, For to resave her bounty and great wealth, Saying, ' Plase your Glory, great Queen Vic-tory ! Ye'll give the Clargy lave to dhrink your health !' Then his Riverence, rutrating, discoorsed the mating ; ' Boys ! Here's your Queen ! deny it if you can ! And if any bould traitour, or infarior craythur, Sneezes at that, I'd like to see the man !' Then the Xobles 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 goulden chain. The great Lord May'r, too, sat in his chair, too, But mighty sarious, looking fit to cry, For the Earl of Surrej', all in his hurry. Throwing the thirteens, hit him in his eye. Then there was preaching, and good store of speeching, AVitli Dukes and Marquises on bended knee : And they did splash her with raal Macasshur, And the Queen said, ' Ah ! then thank ye all for me !' — Then the trumpets braying, and the organ playing. And sweet trombones, mth their silver tones ; But Lord PioUe was rolling ; — 'twas mighty consoling To think his Lordship did not break his bones ! Then the crames and custard, and the beef and mustard. All on the tombstones like a poultherers shop; With lobsters and white-bait, and other swate-meats, And wine and nagus, and Imperial Pop ! There was cakes and apples in all the Chapels, With fine polonies, and rich mellow pears, — Och ! the Count Von Strogonoff, sure he got prog enough, The sly ould Divil, undernathe the stairs. Then the cannons thunder'd, and the people wonder'd, Crying, ' God save Victoria, our Royal Queen 1' — — Och ! if myself should live to be a hundred. Sure it's the proudest day that I'll have seen! And now, I've ended, what I pretended, This narration splendid in swate poe-thry, Yo dear bewitcher, just hand the pitcher. Faith, it's myself that's getting mighty dhry.' 174 THE ' MONSTKK ' BALLOON. As a. pendant w the foregoing, I shall venture to insert Mr. Simp- kinson's lucubrations on a subject to him, as a Savant of the first class, scarcely less interesting. The aerial voyage to which it alludes 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 pre- vailed generally among the Sons of Science at that memonible epoch. THE ' MONSTRE ' BALLOON. OH ! the balloon, the great balloon It left Vauxhall one Monday at noon, And every one said we should hear of it soon With news from Aleppo or Scanderoon. 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 Mr. Holland who hired the machine ? And where is Monck Mason, the man that has been Up so 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 ? The 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 reached Aberdeen ? Or Jerusalem — Hamburg — or Balljqwreen ? No ! they have not been seen ! Oh ! they haven't been seen ! Stay ! here's Mister Gye — Mr. Erederick Gye — ' At Paris,' says he ' I've been up very high, A couple of hundred of toises, or nigh, A cockstride the Tuileries' pantiles, to spy 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' THE 'monstre' balloon, 175 But here's Mr. Hughes ! — What says young Mr. Hughes ? — Why, I'm sorry to say we've not got any news Since the letter they threw down in one of their 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 flocked to perase At Squiers's bazaar, the same evening, in crews — Politicians, news-mongers, town-coimcil, and blues, Turks, Heretics, Iniidels, 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 so large a balloon is a 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 they 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 stuck fast !' — fie ! 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 ! — ' Oh ! what shall we do ? — Oh ! where will it end ? — Can nobody go ? — Can nobody send 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 ; And 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 waggon, or dray, And pop themselves into a German '^^o-s/w?/,' And get on to Paris by Lisle and Tournay ; 176 THE 'MONSTBE' BALLOOK. Where they holdly declare, any wager they'll lay If the gas people there do not ask them to pay Such a sum as must force them at once to say ' Nay,' They'll iuflate the balloon in the Champs-El ys^es, And be back again hero the beginning of May. — Dear me ! what a treat for a juvenile //iJe .' 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 sneez'd, — how they shiver'd 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 tliought the boil'd beef worth its own weight in "■old* And how Mr. Green was begiimiug to scold Because Mr. Mason would try to lay hold Of the moon, and had very near overboard roU'd ! And there they'll be seen — they'll be all to be seen ! The great-coats, the coffee-pot, mugs, and tureen ! With the tight-rope, and fire-works, and dancing between. If the weather should only prove lair and serene, And there, on a beautiful transparent screen, In the middle you'll see a large picture of Green, Mr. Holland on one side, who hired the machine, Mr. IMason on t'other, describing the scene ; And Fame, on one leg, in the air, like a queen, With three wreaths and a trumpet, will over them lean ; While Envy, in serpents and black bombaziu. Looks on from below with an air of chagrin ! Then they'll play up a tune in the Eoyal Saloon, And the people will dance by the light of the moon, And keep up the ball till the next day at noon ; And the peer and the peasant, the lord and the loon. The haughty grandee, and the low picaroon, The six-foot life-guardsman, and little gossoon. Will all join in three cheers for the ' Monstre ' Balloon. It is much to be regretted that I have not as yet been able to discover more than a single specimen of my friend ' Sucklethumb kin's ' Muse. The event it alludes to, probably the euthanasia of THE EXECUTION. 177 the late Mj. Greenacre, will scarcely have yet faded from the recol- lection of an admiring public. Although, with the usual diffidence of a man of fashion, Augustus has 'sunk' the fact of his own presence on that interesting occasion, I have every reason to believe, that, in describing the party at the auberge hereafter mentioned, he might have said, with a brother Exquisite, ' Qu&rum pars mag'ia fm.' I IC^ HON. ME. SUCKLETHUMBKIN'S STORY. THE EXECUTION. A SPOUTING ANECDOTE. ij'Y Lord Tomnoddy got up one day; It was half after two, He had nothing to do, So his Lordship rang for his cabriolet. Tiger Tim Was clean of limb, His boots were polish 'd, his jacket was trim ; With a very smart tie in his smart cravat, And a smart cockade on the toj) of his hat ; Tallest of boys, or shortest of men. He stood in his stockings just four foot ten ; And he ask'd, as he held the door on the swing, ' Pray, did your Lordship please to ring ?' My Lord Tomnoddy he raised his head, And thus to Tiger Tim he said, ' Malibrau's dead, Duvernay's fled, Taglioni has not yet arrived in her stead ; T^ger Tim, come tell me true. What may a Kobleman find to do 7 — Tim look'd up, and Tim look'd down, He paused, and he put on a thoughtful frown, And he held up his hat, aud he peep'd in the cro'.vn ; He bit his lip, and he scratch'd his head, He let go the handle, aud thus he said, As the door, released, behind him bang'd : ' An't please yoa, my Lord, there's a man to be hang'd-' My Lord Tomnoddy jump'd up at the news, ' Hun to M'Fuze, And Lieutenant Tregooze, And run to Sir Carnaby Jenks, of the Blues. Eope-dancers a score I've seen before — LLidame Sacchi, Antonio, and Master Black-mijiu ; 178 HON. MR. SUCKLETHUMBKIN'S STORY. But to see a man swing At tlie end of a string, With his neck in a noose, will be quite a new thiag i' My Lord Tomnoddy stept into his cab — Dark rifle green, with a lining of drab ; Through street and through square, His high-trotting mare, Like one of Ducrow's, goes pawing the air. Ado-mi Piccadilly and Waterloo Place Went the high-trotting mare at a very quick pace ; She produced some alarm, But did no great harm, Save frightening a nurse mth a child on her arm. Spattering with clay Two urchins at play, Knocking down — very much to the sweeper's dismay — An old woman who wouldn't get out of the way, And upsetting a stall Near Exeter Hall, Which made all the pious Church-Mission folks squall. But eastward afar Through Temple Bar, My Lord Tomnoddy directs his car ; Never heeding their squalls, Or their calls, or their bawls, He passes by Waithman's Emporium for shawls, And, merely just catching a glimpse of St. Paul's, Turns down the Old Bailey, Where in front of the gaol, he Pulls up at the door of the gin-shop, and gaily Cries, * What must I fork out to-night, my trump, Eor the whole first-floor of the Magpie and Stump ?' The clock strikes Twelve — it is dark midnight — Yet the Magpie and Stump is one blaze of light. The parties are met ; The tables are set ; There is ' punch,' ' cold without^ ' hot with,^ heavy wet. Ale-glasses and jugs, And rummers and mugs, And sand on the floor, ^vithout carpets or rugs, Cold fowl and cigars, Pickled onions in jars, AVelsh rabbits and kidneys — rare work for the jaws : — And very large lobsters, with very large claws ; And there is M'Fuze, And Lieutenant Tregooze; And there is Sir Carnaby Jenks, of the Blues, All come to see a man * die in his shoes 1' The clock strikes One ! Supper is done, And Sir Carnaby Jenks is full of his fun, Singing ' Jolly companions every one !' My Lord Tomnoddy Is drinking gin-toddy. And laughing at cv'iy thing, and ev'ry body. — THE EXECUTION. 170 The clock strikes Two ! and the clock strikes Three ! — ' Who so merry, so merry as we ?' Save Captain M'Fuze, Who is taking a snooze, While Sir Carnaby Jenks is busy at work, Blacking his nose with a piece of burnt cork. The clock strikes Four !— Round the debtors' door Are gather'd a couple of thousand or more ; As many await At the press-yard gate, Till slowly its folding doors open, and straight The mob divides, and between their ranks A waggon comes loaded with posts and with planks. The clock strikes Five ! The Sheriffs arrive, And the crowd is so great that the street seems alive ; But Sir Carnaby Jenks Blinks, and winks, A candle burns down in the socket, and stiuks. Lieutenant Tregooze Is dreaming of Jews, And acceptances all the bill-brokers refuse ; My Lord Tomnoddy Has drunk all his toddy, And just as the dawn is beginning to peep, The whole of the party are fast asleep. Sweetly, oh ! sweetly, the morning breaks, With roseate streaks, Like the first faint blush on a maiden's cheeks ; Seem'd as that mild and clear blue sky Smiled upon all things far and high, On all — save the wretch condemn'd to die ! Alack ! that ever so fair a Sun, As that which its course has now begun, Should rise on such a scene of misery ! — Should gild with rays so light and free That dismal, dark-frowning Gallows-tree ! And hark ! — a soimd comes, big with fate ; The clock from St. Sepulchre's tower strikes — Eight! — List to that low funereal bell : It is tolling, alas ! a living man's knell ! — And see ! — from forth that opening door They come — He steps that threshold o'er Who never shall tread upon threshold more ! — God ! 'tis a fearsome thing to see That pale wan man's mute agouy,^ The glare of that wild, despairing eye, Now bent on the crowd, now turn'd to the sky As though 'twere scanning, in doubt and in fear, The path of the Spirits unknown career; 180 SOME ACCOUNT OF A NEW PLAY. Those pinion'd arms, those hands that ne'er Shall be lifted again, — not even in prayer ; That heaving chest ! — Enough — 'tis done ! The holt has fallen ! — the spirit i^ gone — For weal or for woe is known but to One ! — — Oh ! 'twas a fearsome sight ! — Ah me A deed to shudder at, — not to see. Again that clock ! 'tis time, 'tis time I The hour is past : with its earliest chime The cord is severed, the lifeless clay By ' dungeon villains' is borne away : Nine ! — 'twas the last concluding stroke ! And then — my Lord Tomnoddy awoke ! And Tregooze and Sir Carnaby Jenks arose, And Captain M'Fuze, with the black on his nose : And they stared at each other, as much as to say ' Hollo ! Hollo ! Here's a rum Go ! Why, Captain ! — my Lord ! — Here's the devil to pay ! The fellow's been cut down and taken away ! What's to be done ? We've miss'd all the fun ! — Why, they'll laugh at and quiz us all over the town We are all of us done so imcommonly browTi !' What was to be done ? — 'twas perfectly plain That they could not well hang the man over again : What ivas to be done ? — The man was dead i Nought could be done — nought could be said ; So — my Lord Tomnoddy went home to bed ! The following communication will speak for itself : — ' On their own actions modest men are dumb !' SOME ACCOUNT OF A NEW PLAY, l^S FAMILIAR EPISTLE TO MY BROTHER-IN-LAW, LIECT. SEAFORTH, ll.P., LATE OF THE HON. E.I.C.'S 2nD REGT. OF BOMBAY FENCIBLES. ' The play's the thing V— Hamlet. Dear Cuables, Tavistock Hotel, Nov. 1839. — In reply to your letter, and Fanny's, Lord Brougham, it appears, isn't dead, — though Queen Anne is ; 'Twas a ' plot ' and a ' farce ' — you hate farces, you say — Take another * plot,' then, viz. the plot of the Play. SOME ACCOUNT OF A XEW PLAT. 18i The Countess of Arundel, high in degree, As a lady possess'd of an earldom in fee, Was imprudent enough, at fifteen years of age, — A period of life when we're not over sage, — To form a liaison — in fact, to engage Her hand to a hop-o'-my-thumb of a Page. This put her Papa — She had no Mamma — As may well be supposed, in a deuce of a rage. Mr. Benjamin Franklin was wont to repeat. In his budget of proverbs, ' Stol'n kisses are sweet !' But they have their alloy — Fate assumed, to annoy Sliss Arundel's peace, and embitter her joy, The equivocal shape of a fine little Boy. When, through ' the young stranger,' her secret took wind The old Lord was neither ' to baud nor to bind.' He bounced up and down. And so fearful a frown Contracted his brow, you'd have thought he'd been blind. The young lady, they say, Having fainted away. Was confined to her room for the whole of that day ; While her beau — no rare thing in the old feudal system— Disappear'd the next morning, and nobody miss'd him. The fact is, his Lordship, who hadn't, it seems, Form'd the slightest idea, not ev'u in his dreams. Thai the pair had been wedded according to law, Conceived that his daughter had made a, faux pas ; So he bribed at a high rate A sort of a Pirate To knock out the poor dear young Gentleman's brains, And gave him a handsome douceur for his pains. The Page thus disposed of, his Lordship now turns His attention at once to the Lady's concerns ; And, alarm'd for the future. Looks out for a suitor, One not fond of raking, nor giv'n to ' the pewter,' But adapted to act both the husband and tutor — Finds a highly respectable, middle-aged widower. Marries her oif, and thanks Heaven that he's rid of her. Eelievcd from his cares. The old Peer now prepares To arrange in good earnest his worldly aflairs ; Has his will made anew by a Special Attorney, Sickens, — takes to his bed, — and sets out on his journey. Which way he travell'd. Has not been unravell'd ; To speculate much on the point were too curious. If the climate he reach 'd were serene or sulphureous. To be sure in his balance-sheet all must declare One item — the Page — was an awkward affair ; 182 SOME A0C0U2ppose, In some Pickwick Museum, with part of his nose ; From his belt and his sword And his misericordu The enamels been chipp'd out, and never restored ; His ci-git in old French is inscribed all around. And his head's in his helm, and his heel's on his hound, The palms of his hands, as if going to pray. Are joined and upraised o'er his bosom — But stay ! I forgot that his tomb's not described in the Play ! ***** Lady Arundel, now in her own right a Peeress, Perplexes her noddle with no such nice queries. But produces in time, to her husband's great joy. Another remarkably ' fine little boy.' As novel connections Oft change the affections, And turn all one's love into different directions. Now to young ' Johnny Xewcome ' she seems to confine hers, Neglecting the poor little dear out at dry-nurse ; Nay, far worse than that. She considers ' the brat ' As a bore — fears her husband may smell out a rat. For her legal adviser She takes an old Miser, A sort of ' poor cousin.' She might have been wiser ; For this arrant deceiver. By name Maurice Beevor, A shocking old scamp, should her own issue fail, By the law of the land stands the next in entail ; So, as soon as she ask'd him to hit on some plan To provide for her eldest, away the rogue ran To that self-same unprincipled sea-faring man ; In his ear whisper'd low * * * — 'Bully Gausssn' said ' Done !— I Burked the papa, now I'll Bishop the son !' 'Twas agreed ; and, with speed To accomplish the deed. He adopted a scheme he was sure would succeed. By long cock-and-bull stories. Of Candish and Noreys, Of Drake, and bold Raleigh, (then fresh in his glories. Acquired 'mongst the Indians, and Eapparee Tories,) He so work'd on the lad, That he left, which was bud, The only true friend in the world that he had. SOME ACCOUNT OF A MEW PLAT. 183 Father Onslow, a priest, though to quit him most loth, Who in childhood had fuvnish'd his pap and his broth, At no small risk of scandal, indeed, to his cloth. The kidnapping crimp, Took the foolish young imp, On board of his cutter so trim and so jimp, Then, seizing him just as you'd handle a shrimp, Twirl'd him thrice in the air with a whirligig motion, And soused him at once neck and heels in the ocean ; This was off Plymouth Sound, And he must have been di"own'd, For 'twas nonsense to think he could swim to dry ground, If ' A very great Warman, Call'd Billy the Norman,' Had not just at that moment sail'd by, outward bound. A shark of great size. With his great glassy eyes, Sheer'd off as he came, and relinquish'd the prize : So he pick'd up the lad,* swabb'd, and dry-rutjb'd, and mopp'd hin. And, having no children, resolv'd to adopt him. Full many a year, Did he hand, reef, and steer. And by no means considered himself as small beer. When old Norman at length died and left him his frigate With lots of pistoles in his coffer to rig it. A sailor ne'er moans ; So, consigning the bones Of his friend to the locker of one Mr. Jones, For England he steers. — On the voyage it appears That he rescued a maid from the Dey of Algiers ; And at length reach'd the Sussex coast, where, in a bay, Not a great way from Brighton, most cosey-ly lay His vessel at anchor, the very same day That the Poet begins — thus commencing his play : Act I, Giles Gaussen accosts old Sir Maurice de Beevov, And puts the poor Knight in a deuce of a fever, By saying the boy, whom he took out to please him, Is come back a Captain on purpose to tease him. — Sir Maurice, who gladly would see Mr. Gaussen Breaking stones on the highway, or sweeping a crossing, * An incident very like one in Jack Sheppard — A work some have lauded, and others have pepper'd — AVhere a Dutch pirate kidnaps, and tosses Thames Barrel Just so in the sea, and he's saved by a ban-el, — On the coast, if 1 recollect rightly, it's flung whole, And the hero, half drown'd, scrambles out of the bung-hole, lit ain't no sich thing! — the hero ain't bung'd in no ban-el at all. — ^He's picked up by a captain, just as Norman was arterwards. — Print. Dev.] O 184 SOME ACCOUNT OF A NEW PLAT. Dissembles — observes, It's of no use to fret, — And hints he may find some more work for him yet; Then calls at the castle, and tells Lady A. That the boy they had ten years ago sent away Is retum'd a grown man, and, to come to the point. Will put her son Percy's nose clean out of joint ; But adds, that herself she no longer need vex. If she'll buy him (Sir Maurice) a farm near the Ex. * Oh ! take it,' she cries ; ' but secure every document.' — * A bargain,' says Maurice, — ' including the stock you meant ?'— The Captain, meanwhile, "With a lover-like smile, And a fine cambric handkerchief, wipes off the tears From Miss Violet's eyelash, and hushes her fears. (That's the Lady he sav'd from the Dey of Algiers.) Now arises a delicate point, and this is it — The young Lady herself is but down on a visit. She's perplex'd ; and, in fact. Does not laiow how to act. It's her very first visit — and then to begin By asking a stranger — a gentleman, in — One with moustaches too — and a tuft on his chin — She ' really don't know — He had much better go,' — Here the Countess steps in from behind, and says ' iSTo ! — Fair sir, you are welcome. Do, pray, stop and dine — You'll take our pot-luck — and we've decentish wine.' He bows, looks at Miss, — and he does not decline. Act II. After dinner the Captain recoimts, with much glee. All he's heard, seen, and done since he first went to sea. All his perils and scrapes. And his hair-breadth escapes. Talks of boa-constrictors, and lions, and apes. And fierce ' Bengal Tigers,' like that which, you know, If you've ever seen any respectable ' Show,' ' Carried off the unfortunate Mr. Munro.' Then, diverging awhile, he adverts to the mystery Which hangs, like a cloud, o'er his own private history — How he ran off to sea — how they set him afloat, (Not a word, though, of barrel or bung-hole — See Note') How he happen'd to meet With the Algerine fleet, And forc'd them, by sheer dint of arms to retreat. Thus saving his Violet — (One of his feet Here just touch'd her toe, and she moved on her seat,) — How his vessel was battered — In short he so chatter'd, Now lively, now serious, so ogled and flatter'd, SOME ACCOUNT OF A n£w PLAY, 185 That the ladies mucli marvell'd a person should be able To ' make himself,' both said, ' so very agreeable.' Captain Norman's adventures were scarcely half done When Percy Lord Ashdale, her ladyship's son. In a terrible fume, Bounces into the room. And talks to his guest as you'd talk to your groom. Claps his hand on his rapier. And swears he'll be through him— The Captain does nothing at all but ' pooh ! pooh !' him — Unable to smother His hate of his brothei-, He rails at his cousin, and blows up his mother. — ' Fie ! fie 1' says the first. — Says the latter, ' In sooth, This is shai-per by far than a keen serjoent's tooth !' (A remark, by the way, which King Lear had made years ago, When he ask'd for his Knights, and his Daughters said, ' Here's a go!')— This made Ashdale ashamed ; But he must not be blamed Too much for his wannth, for like many young fellows he Was apt to lose temper when tortur'd by jealousy. Still speaking quite gniff. He goes olf in a huff; Lady A., who is now what some call ' up to snufl",' Straight determines to patch Up a clandestine match Between the Sea-Captain she dreads like Old Scratch, And Miss, — whom she does not think any great catch For Ashdale ; — besides, he won't kick up such shindies Were she once fairly married and off to the Indies. Act IIL Miss Violet takes from the Countess her tone : She agrees to meet Norman ' by moonlight alone,' And slip off to his bark, ' The night being dark,' Though 'the moon,' the Sea-Captain says, rises in Heaven ' One hour before midnight,' i.e. at eleven. From which speech I infer, — Though perhaps I may err — / That, though weatherwise, doubtless, midst surges and surf, he ^ When ' capering on shore ' was by no means a Murphy. He starts off, however, at sunset, to reach An old chapel in ruins, that stands on the beach. Where the Priest is to bring, as he's promised by letter, u Paper to prove his name, ' birthright,' &c. Being rather too late, Gaussen, lying in wait, Gives poor Father Onslow a knock on the pate. But bolts, seeing Norman, before he has wrested From the hand of the Priest, as Sir Llaurice requested, The marriage certificate duly attested. — • 186 SOME ACCOUNT OF A. iTfiW PLAIT. Norman kneels by the clergyman fainting and gory, And begs he won't die till he's told him his story ; The Father complies, Ee-opens his eyes. And tells him all how and about it — and dies ! Act IV. Korman, now call'd Le Mesnil, instructed of all. Goes back, though it's getting quite late for a call. Hangs his hat and his cloak on a peg in the hall, And tells the proud Countess it's useless to smother The fact any longer — he knows she's his Mother ! His Pa's wedded Spouse. — She questions his t'ovs. And threatens to have him turn'd out of the house. — He still perseveres. Till, in spite of her fears. She admits he's the son she had cast ofi" for years, And he gives her the papers 'all blister'd with tears,' When Ashdale, who chances his nose in to poke, Takes his hat and his cloak. Just as if in a joke, Determined to put in his wheel a new spoke, And slips off thus disguised, when he sees by the dial it 's time for the rendezvous fixed with Miss Violet. — — Captain Norman, who, after all, feels rather sore At his mother's reserve, vows to see her no more, Eings the bell for the servant to open the door, And leaves his Mamma in a fit on the floor. Act V. Kow comes the catastrophe ! — Ashdale, who's wrapt ia The cloak, with the hat and the plume of the Captain, Leads Violet down through the grounds to the chapel Where Gaussen's conceal'd — he springs forward to grapple The man he's erroneously led to suppose Captain Norman himself by the cut of his clothes. In the midst of their strife. And just as the knife Of the Pirate is raised to deprive him of life, The Captain comes forward, drawn there by the squeals Of the Lady, and, knocking Giles head over heels, Fractures his ' nob,' Saves the hangman a job, And executes justice most strictly, the rather, 'Twas the spot where that rascal had murder'd his father. Then in comes the mother, Who, finding one brother Had the instant before saved the life of the other. Explains the whole case. Ashdale puts a good face On the matter ; and, since he's obliged to give place, Yieldd his coronet up with a pretty good grace ; SOME ACCOUNT OK A NEW PLAY. 18/ Korman vows lie won't have it — tlie kinsmen embrace, — And the Captain, the first in this generous race, • To remove every handle For gossip and scandal. Sets the whole of the papers alight with the candle ; An arrangement takes place — on the very same night, all Is settled and done, and the points the most vital Are, N. takes the personals ; — A., in requital. Keeps the whole real property. Mansion, and Title. — V. falls to the share of the Captain, and tries a Sea-voyage, as a Bride, in the ' Royal Eliza. — ' Both are pleased with the part they acquire as joint heirs, And old Maurice Beevor is bimdled down stairs ! MORAL. The public, perhaps, with the drama might quarrel If deprived of all epilogue, prologue, and moral ; This may serve for all three then : — ' Young Ladies of property, Let Lady A.'s history serve as a stopper t'ye ; Don't wed with low people beneath your degree, And if you've a baby, don't send it to sea ! ' Young Noblemen ! shun everything like a brawl ; And be sure when you dine out, or go to a ball, Don't take the best hat that you find in the hall. And leave one in its stead that's worth nothing at all ! ' Old Knights, don't give bribes ! — above all, never urge a man To steal people's things, or to stick an old Clergyman ! • And you, ye Sea-Captains ! who've nothing to do But to run round the world, fight, and drink till all's blue. And tell us tough yarns, and then swear they are tnie, Reflect, notwithstanding your sea-faring life. That you can't get on well long, without you've a wife ; So get one at once, treat her kindly and gently. Write a nautical novel, — and send it to Bentley 1' It has been already hinted that Mr. Peters had been a ' traveller ' in his day. The only story which his lady would ever allow ' her P.' to finish — he began as many as would furnish an additional volume to the 'Thousand and One Kights' — is the last I shall offer. The subject, I fear me, is not over new, but will remind my friends *0f somethiflg better they have seen before.' 188 MR. PETERS'S STORY. ME. PETEES'S STOEY. THE BAGMAN'S DOG Stant littore Puppies ! — YlUGlL, IT was a litter, a litter of five, Eour are drown'd, and one left alive. He was thought worthy alone to survive And the Bagman resolved upon bringing him up, To eat of his bread and drink of his cup, He was such a dear little cock-tail'd pup ! The Bagman taught him many a trick ; He would carry, and fetch, and run after a stick, Could well understand The word of command, And appear to doze With a crust on his nose Till the Bagman permissively waved his hand : Then to throw up and catch it he never would fail, As he sat up on end, on his little cock-tail. Never was puppy so hien instntit. Or possess'd of such natural talent as he ; And as he grew older, Every beholder Agreed he grew handsomer, sleeker, and bolder. — Time, however his wheels we may clog, Wends steadily still with onward jog, And the cock-tail'd puppy's a curly-tail'd dog ! When, just at the time He was reaching his prime, And all thought he'd be turnmg out something sublime, One unlucky day, How, no one could say. Whether soft liaison induced him to stray, Or some kidnapping vagabond coax'd him away, He was lost to the view, Like the morning dew ;— He had been, and was not — that's all that they knew. And the Bagman storm'd, and the Bagman swore As never a Bagman had sworn before ; But storming or swearing but little avails To recover lost dogs with great curly tails. — In a large paved court, close by Billiter Square, Stands a mansion, old, but in thorough repair. The only thing sti'ange, from the general air Of its size and appearance, is how it got there ; In front is a short semicircular stair Of stone steps, — some half score, — Then you reach the ground floor. With a shell-pattern'd architrave over the door, THE baCtMAn's dog. 189 It is spacious, and seems to be built on tlie plan Of a Gentleman's house in the reign of Queen Anne ; Which is odd, for, although, As we very well know, Under Tudors and Stuarts the City could show Many Noblemen's seats above Bridge and below, Yet that fashion soon after induced them to go From St. Michael Cornhill, and St. Mary-le-Bow, To St. James, and St. George, and St. Anne in Soho. — Be this as it may, — at the date I assign To my tale, — that's about Seventeen Sixty Nine, — This mansion, now rather upon the decline. Had less dignified owners, — belonging, in fine. To Turner, Dry, Weipersyde, Eogers, and Pyne — A respectable House in the Manchester line. There were a score Of Bagmen, and more. Who had travell'd full oft for the firm before ; But just at this period they wanted to send Some person on whom they could safely depend — A trustworthy body, half agent, half friend, — On some mercantile matter as far as Ostend ; And the person they pitch'd on was Anthony Blogg, A grave, steady man, not addicted to grog, — The Bagman, in short, who had lost this great dog. ' The Sea ! the Sea ! the open Sea ! — That is the place where we all wish to be, Rolling about on it merrily !' — So all sing and say By night and by day, In the houdoir, the street, at the concert, and i)lay. In a sort of coxcombical roundelay ; — You may roam through the City, transversely or straight, From Whitechapel turnpike to Cumberland gate, And every young Lady who thrums a guitar, Ev'ry mustachio'd Shopman who smokes a cigar. With afiected devotion, Promulgates his notion, Of being a ' Eover ' and ' child of the Ocean ' — AVhate'er their age, sex, or conditiun may be. They all of them long for the ' Wide, Wide Sea!' But, however they dote. Only set them afloat In any craft bigger at all than a boat. Take them down to the Nore, And you'll see that, befo The ' Wessel ' they ' Woyage ' in has made half her way Between Shell-Ness Point and the pier at Heme Bay, Let the Avind meet the tide in the slightest degree, They'll be all of them heartily sick of ' the Sea !' 190 MR. PETERS'S STOKY. I've stood in Miirgate, on a bridge of size Inferior far to that described by Byron, Where ' palaces and pris'ns on each hand rise, — ' — That too's a stone one, this is made of iron — And little donkey-boys your steps environ. Each proffering for your choice his tiny hack, Vaunting its excellence ; and, should you hire one, Por sixpence, will he urge, with frequent thwack, The much-enduring beast to Buenos Ayres — and back And there, on many a raw and gusty day, I've stood, and turu'd my gaze upon the pier. And seen the crews, that did embark so gay That self-same morn, now disembark so queer ; Then to myself I've sigh'd and said, ' Oh dear ! Who would believe yon sickly-looking man 's a London Jack Tar, — a Cheapside Buccaneer ! — But hold, my Muse ! — for this ten-ific stanza Is all too stiffly grand for our Extravaganza. ' So now we'll go up, up, up, And now we'll go down, down, do'wn, And now we'll go backwards and forwards. And now we'll go roun', roun', roun'.' — — I hope you've sufficient discerament to see, Gentle Reader, that here the discarding the d Is a fault which you must not attribute to me , Thus my Nurse cut it off when, ' with counterfeit glee,' She sung, as she danced me about on her knee, In the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and three: — All 1 mean to say is, that the Muse is now free From the self-imposed trammels put on by her betters, And no longer like Filch, midst the felons and debtors At Drury Lane, dances her hornpipe in fetters. Resuming her track. At once she goes back To our hero, the Bagman. — Alas ! and Alack ! Poor Anthony Blogg Is as sick as a dog, Spite of sundry unwonted potations of grog^ By the time the D-^lch packet is fairly at sea. With the sands Killed 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,' ' barkeys,' and ' craft,' (At which Mr. Poole has so wickedly laugh t,) THE bagman's dog. 191 Of binnacles, — bilboes, — the boom call'd the spanker, The best bower cable, — the jib, — and sheet anchor ; Of lower-deck guns, — and of broadsides and chases, Of tafifrails 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 sea-faring Gentlemen use, The allusions they make to the eyes of their crews ; — How the Sailors, too, swear. How they cherish their hair, And what very long pigtails a great many wear. — But, Reader, I scorn it — the fact is, I fear, To be candid, I can't make these matters so clear As Marryat, or Cooper, or Captain Chamier, Or Sir E. 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 !) — 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 sufler. Till the Sailors themselves cried, in pity, ' Poor Buffer !' StiU rougher it grew. And still harder it blew, And the thunder kick'd up such a halliballoo, That even the Skipper began to look blue ; While the crew, who were few, Look'd veiy 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.E. — blows a hurricane — rains cats and dogs." In short it soon grew to a tempest as rude as That Shakspeare describes near the ' still vext Bermudas.'* When the winds, in their sport. Drove aside from its lX)rt 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, * See Appendu, v. 201 192 ME. PETEKS'S STOPlY. ^~-A writer wlio gave me no trifiing vexation "When a youngster at school on Dean Colot'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 ; 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, Euns down Holborn-hill about nine knots an hour. You've seen, I've no doubt, at Bartholomew fair. Gentle Reader, — 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 U3, — Old Nick's Nonftareils 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 1' 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, 'Twas a very large, web-footed, curly-tail'd Dog ! I'm not much of a trav'Uer, and really can't boast That I know a great deal of the Brittany coast. THE BAGMAij'a 1>0G. 193 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 gaiu a 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 told. By the jjroverb of old, By no means to think ' all that glitters is gold ;' And, in fact, some advance That most people in France Join the maimers and ah of a Maztre 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 embarrass'd Blogg quite To find those about him so vciy polite. A suspicious observer perhaps might have traced The petites soins, tendered 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 part of the nation, What Malthus would term, a ' too dense population,' Indeed the sole sign there of man's habitation Was merely a single Eude hut in a dingle That led away inland direct from the shingle, Its sides clothed with underwood, gloomy and dark, Some two himdred 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, Mon Dieuing, Grimacing, and what sailors call parleTj-vooing. Is it Paris, or Kitchener, Reader, exhorts You, wlienever your stomach's at all out of 194 ME. PETEES'S STORY. To try, if you find 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 of is very good cheer ; Especially too When a person's wet through. And is hungry, and tired, and don't know what to do. Now just such a mess of delicious hot pottage AVas smoking away when they enter'd the cottage, .And casting a truly delicious perfume Through the whole of an ugly, old, ill-furnish'd room ; • Hot, smoking hot,' On the lire was a pot Well replenish 'd, but really I can't say with what ; Foi', famed as the French always are for ragouts, No creature can tell what they put in their stews. Whether bull-frogs, old gloves, or old wigs, or old shoes ; Notwithstanding, when ofifer'd I rarely refuse. Any more than poor Blogg did, when, seeing the reeky Eepast placed before him, scarce able to speak, he y In ecstacy muttered ' By Jove, Cocky-leeky 1' In an instant, as soon As they gave him a spoon, Every feeling and faculty bent on the gruel, he No more blamed Fortune for treating him cruelly. But fell tooth and nail on the soup and the houilli. Meanwhile that old man standing by Subducted his long coat-tails on high, AVith his back to the fire, as if to dry A part of his dress which the watery sky Had visited rather inclemently. — Blandly he smiled, but still he looked sly. And a something sinister lurk'd in his eye. Indeed, had you seen him his maritime dress in, You'd have own'd his appearance was not prepossessing; He'd a ' dreadnought' coat, and heavy sabots With thick wooden soles turned up at the toes. His nether man cased in a striped quelque chose. And a hump on his back, and a great hook'd nose, So that nine out of ten would be led to suppose That the person before them was Punch in plain clothcK Yet still, as I told you, he smiled on all present. And did all that lay in his power to look pleasant. THE bagman's dog. 195 The old woman, too, Made a mighty atlo, Helping her guest to a deal of the stew ; She fish'd up the meat, and she help'd him to that, She help'd him to lean, and she help'd him to fat. And it look'd like Hare — but it might have been Cat. The little gargons too strove to express Their sympathy towards the ' Child of distress ' With a great deal of juvenile French iMlitesse : But the Bagman bluff Continued to ' stuff ' Of the fat, and the lean, and the tender and tough, Till they thought he would never cry ' Hold, enough !' And the old woman's tones became far less agreeable, Sounding like peste ! and sacre ! and diahle I I've seen an old saw, which is well worth repeating. That says, ' ©ooti Catgnp IBcscrijctfj poU Drgnkgngc' You'll find it so printed by (lEaitott or SHgnftgn, And a very good proverb it is to my thinking. Blogg thought so too ; — As he finished his stew, His ear caught the sound of the word ' Morhleu !' Pronounced by the old woman under her breath. Now, not knowing what she could mean by ' Blue Death ?' He conceived she referr'd to a delicate brewing WhioJi is almost synonymous, — namely, ' Blue Euin.' So he pursed up his lip to a smile, and with glee. In his cockney fy'd accent, responded, ' Oh, Vee V Which made her understand he Was asking for brandy ; So she turn'd to the cupboard, and, having some handy. Produced, rightly deeming he would not object to it, An orbicular bulb with a very long neck to it ; In fact you perceive her mistake was the same as his, Each of them 'reasoning right from wrong premises;' — And here by the way. Allow me to say. Kind Reader, you sometimes permit me to stray — 'Tis strange the French prove, wlicn they take to aspersing, So inferior to us in the science of cursing ; Kick a Frenchman down stairs. How absurdly he swears And how odd 'tis to hear him, when beat to a jelly, Pioar out, in a passion, ' Blue Death !' and ' Blue Belly !' • To return to our sheep ' from this little digression : — Blogg's features assumed a complacent expression As he emptied his glass, and she gave him a fresh one • Too little he heeded. How fast they succeeded. ' Perhaps you or I might have done, though, as he did 196 MR. PETERS'S S'l^ORY. For when once Madam Fortune deals out her hard raps, It's amazing to think, How one ' cottons ' to Drink ! At such times, of all things in nature, perhaps. There's not one that is half so seducing as Schnaps. Mr. Blogg, besides being imcommonly dry, Was, like most other Bagmen, remarkably shy, — ' Did not like to deny ' — ' Felt obliged to comply ' Every time that she asked him to ' wet t'other eye ;' For 'twas worthy remark that she spared not the stoup. Though before she had seem'd so to grudge him the soup. At length the fumes rose To his brain ; and his nose Gave hints of a strong disposition to doze. And a yearning to seek ' horizontal repose.' — His queer-looking host. Who, fii-m at his post, During all the long meal had continued to toast That garment 'twere rude to Do more than allude ta Perceived, from his breathing and nodding, the views Of his guest were directed .to ' taking a snooze :' So he caught up a lamp in his huge dirty paw, With (as Blogg used to tell it) ^ Monnseer, swivvy maw? And ' marshall'd ' him so ' The way he should go,' Upstairs to an attic, large, gloomy, and low, Without table or chair. Or a moveable there. Save an old-fashion'd bedstead, much out of repair. That stood at the end most remov'd from the stair. — With a grin and a shrug The host points to the rug, Just as much as to say, ' There ! — I think you'll be snug P Puts the light on the floor. Walks to the door, Makes a formal Salaam, and is then seen no more : When just as the car lost the sound of his tread, To the Bagman's surprise, and, at first, to his dread, The great curly-tail'd Dog crept from under the bed ! — — It's a veiy nice thing when a man's in a fright. And thinks matters all wrong, to find matters all right ; As, for instance, when going home late-ish at night Through a Churchyard, and seeing a thing all in white, Which, of course, one is led to consider a Sprite, To find that the Ghost Is merely a post. Or a miller, or chalky-faced donkey at most ; Or, when taking a walk as the evenings begin To close, or, as some people call it, ' draw in,' And some undefined form, ' looming large ' through the haze, Presents itself, right in your path, to your gaze. Inducing a dread Of a knock on the head. Or a sever'd carotid, to find that, instead THE bagman's doc;. 197 Of one of those ruffians who murder and fleece men, It's your uncle, or one of the ' Eural Policemen ;' — Then the blood flows again Through arteiy and vein j You're delighted with what just before gave you pain : You laugh at your fears — and your friend in the fog Meets a welcome as cordial as Anthony Blogg Now bestow'd on Ms friend — the great curly-tail'd Dog. For the Dog leap'd up, and his paws found a place On each side his neck in a canine embrace, And he lick'd Blogg's hands, and he lick'd his face, And he waggled his tail as much as to say, * Mr. Blogg, we've foregather'd before to-day 1' And the Bagman saw, as he now sprang up, What, beyond all doubt, He might have found out Before, had he not been so eager to sup, 'Twas Sancho ! — the Dog he had rear'd from a pup ! — The Dog who when sinking had seized his hair, — The Dog who had saved, and conducted him there, — '■ The Dog he had lost out of Billiter Square ! ! It's passing sweet, An absolute treat, When friends, long sever'd by distance, meet, — With what warmth and aifection each other they greet ! Especially too, as we very well know. If there seems any chance of a little cadeaii, A ' Present from Brighton,' or ' Token ' to show, In the shape of a work-bos, ring, bracelet, or so. That our friends don't forget us, although they may go To Eamsgate, or Eome, or Fernando Po. If some little advantage seems likely to start. From a fifty-pound note to a two-penny tart. It's surprising to see how it softens the heart, And you'll find those whose hopes from the other are strongest, Use, in common, endearments the thickest and longest. But, it was not so here ; For although it is clear. When abroad, and we have not a single friend near. E'en a cur that will love us becomes very dear. And the balance of interest 'twixt him and the Dog Of course was inclining to Anthony Blogg, Yet he, first of all, ceased To encourage the beast, Perhaps thinking 'Enough is as good as a feast;' And besides, as we've said, being sleepy and mellow. He grew tired of patting, and crying ' Poor fellow !' So his smile by degrees harden'd into a frown, And his ' That's a good dog !' into ' Down, Sancho ! down 1' 198 MR. PETERS'S STORY. But nothing could stop his mute fav'rite's caressing, AVho, in fact, seemed resolved to prevent his undressing. Using paws, tail, and head, As if he had said, ' Most beloved of masters, pray, don't go to bed ; You had much better sit up, and pat me instead !' Nay, at last, when determined to take some repose, Blogg threw himself down on the outside the clothes, Spite of all he could do. The dog jump'd up too, And kept him awake with his very cold nose ; Scratching and whining. And moaning and pining, Till Blogg really believed he must have some design in Thus breaking his rest ; above all, when at length The dog scratch'd him off from the bed by sheer strength. Extremely annoyed by the ' tarnation whop,' as it 's caird in Kentuck, on his head and its opposite, Blogg showed fight ; When he saw, by the light Of the flickering candle, that had not yet quite Burnt down in the socket, though not over bright, Certain dark-colour'd stains, as of blood newly spilt, Reveal'd by the dog's having scratch'd off the quilt, — Which hinted a story of horror and guilt ! — 'Twas ' no mistake,' — He was ' vdde awake ' fn an instant ; for, when only decently drunk, Kothing sobers a man so completely as ' funk.' And hark ! — what 's that ? — They have got into chat In the kitchen below — what the deuce are they at ? — There's the ugly old fisherman scolding his wife — And she — by the Pope ! she's whetting a knife ! — At each twist Of her wrist. And her great mutton fist, The edge of the weapon sounds shriller and louder ! — The fierce kitchen fire Had not made Blogg perspire Half so much, or a dose of the best James's powder. — It ceases — all's silent ! — and now, I declare There 's somebody crawls up that rickety stair. The horrid old ruffian comes, cat-like, creeping ; — He opens the door just sufficient to peep in. And sees, as he fancies, the Bagman sleeping ! For Blogg, when he'd once ascertain'd that there was some * Precious mischief ' on foot, had resolv'd to play ' 'Possum ;' — Down he went, legs and head, Flat on the bed, Apparently sleeping as sound as the dead ; While, though none who look'd at him would think such a thing;, Every nerve in his frame was braced up for a spring. THE bagman's Doa. 199 Then, just as the villain Crept, stealthily still, in And you 'd not have insur'd his guest's life for a shilling. As the knife gleam'd on high, bright and sharp as a razor, Blogg, starting upright, ' tipped ' the fellow ' a facer ;' — — Down went man and weapon. — Of all sorts of blows, From what Mr. Jackson reports, I suppose There are few that surpass a flush hit on the nose. Now had I the pen of old Ossian or Homer, (Though each of these names some pronounce a misnomer, Ajid 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,) Or had I the quill of Pierce Egan, a writer Acknowledged the best theoretical fighter For the last twenty years, By the lively young Peers, Who, doffing their coronets, collars, and ermine, treat Boxers to ' Max,' at the One Tun in Jermyn Street; — — I say, could I borrow these Gentlemen's INIuses, More skilled than my meek one in' fibbings ' and bruises, I'd describe now to you As ' prime a Set-to,' And ' regular turn-up,' as ever you knew ; Not inferior in ' bottom ' to aught you have read of Since Cribb, years ago, half knock'd Molyneux's head off. But my dainty Urania says, ' 3uch things are shocking 1' Lace mittens she loves, Detesting"' The Gloves ;' And turning, with air most disdainfully mocking, From Melpomene's buskin, adopts the silk stocking. So, as far as I can see, I must leave you to ' fancy ' The thumps and the bumps, and the ups and the downs, And the taps, and the slaps, and the raps on the crowns. That pass'd 'twixt the Husband, Wife, Bagman, and Dog, As Blogg rolled 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 whackM, The Dog his old master most gallantly back'd; Making both the gar^ons, who came running in, sheer off, With ' Hippolyte's ' thumb, and ' Alphonse's' left ear off; Next, making a stoop on The buffeting group on The floor, rent in tatters the old woman's jiqjon ; Then the old man tum'd up, and a fresh bite of Sancho's Tore out the whole seat of his striped Calimancoes. — Eeally, which way This desperate fray Might have ended at last, I'm not able to say, The dog keeping thus the assassins at bay : But a few fresh arrivals decided the day ; 200 MR. TETEES'S STORY. 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 ! It 's a great many years ago — mine then were few — Since 1 spent a short time in old Courageux ; — I think that they say She had been, ui her day,^ A First-rate, — but was then what they termed a Sasee, — And they took me on board in the Downs, where she lay, (Captain Wilkinson held the command, by the way.) In her I pick'd up, on that single occasion. The little I know that concerns Navigation, And obtained, inter alia, some vague information Of a practice which often, in cases of robbing. Is adopted on 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 't is 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 plac'd — I mean the old scoundrel whose actions we 've traced — In such a position, that, on this unmasking. His consent was the last thing the men thought of asking. The old woman, too. Was obliged to go through, With her boys, the roTigh discipline used by the crew, Who, before they let one of the set see the back of them, ' Cobb'd ' the whole party,— ay, ' every man Jack of them.' MORAL. And now. Gentle Eeader, 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 ! And don't fall asleep, if you should, like a hog ! — Above all — carry with you a curly-tail'd Dog ! 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, Ingkatiim si dixeris, omnta dixti ! I 1 THE bagman's dog. 201 UEnvoye. I felt so disgusted with Blogg, from slieer shame of him I nevei once thought to inquire what became of him ; If you^ want to know, Eeader, the way, I opine. To achieve your design,— —Mind, it 's no wish of mine,— Is,— (a penny will do 't)— by addressing a line To Turner, Dry, Weipersyde, Eogers, and Pyne. APPENDIX.* Since penning this stanza, a learn'd Antiquary Has put my poor Muse in no trifling quandary. By writing an essay to prove that he knows a Spot which, in truth is. The real ' Bermoothes,' In the Mediterranean,— now called Lampedosa ; —For proofs, having made, as he farther alleges, stir, An entry was found in the old Parish Register, The which at his instance the excellent Vicar ex- tracted : viz. ' Caliban, base son of Sycorax.' —He had rather, by half. Have found Prospero'a ' Staff;' But 't was useless to dig, for the want of a pick or axe.— Colonel Pasley, however, 't is everywhere said. Now he's blown up the eld Royal' George at Spithead, And the great cliff at Dover, of wliich we 've all read, Takes his whole apparatus, and goes out to look And see if he can't try and blow up ' the Book.' —Gentle Eeader, farewell !— If I add one more line. 'He'll be, in all likelihood blowing up mineV * See page 191. 202 SECOND SERIES. TO EICHAED BENTLEY, ESQ. My deab Sib, You tell me tliat 'a generous and enliglitened Public' has given a favourable reception to those extracts from our family papers, which, at your suggestion, were laid before it some two yeai's since ; — and you hint, with all possible delicacy, that a second volume might not be altogether unacceptable at a period of the year when ' auld-warld stories ' are more especially in request. With all my heart, — the old oak chest is not yet empty ; in addition to which I have recently laid my hand upon a long MS. correspond- ence of my great-uncle. Sir Peregrine Ingoldsby, a cadet of the family, who somehow contrived to attract the notice of George the Second, and received from his ' honour-giving-hand ' the accolade of knighthood. To this last-named source I am indebted for several of the accompanying histories, while my inestimable friend Simpkin- son has bent all the powers of his mighty mind to the task. Prom Pather John's stories I have drawn largely. Our 'Honourable' friend Sucklethumbkin — by the way, he has been beating our covers lately, when he shot a woodcock, and one of the Governor's pointers — gives a graphic account of the Operatic ' row ' in which he was heretofore so conspicuous ; while even Mrs. Barney Maguire (nee Mademoiselle Paidine), whose horror of Mrs. Botherby's cap has no jot diminished, furnishes me with the opening Legend of the series from the historiettes of her own belle France. Why will you not run down to Tappington this Christmas? — We have been rather busy of late in carrying into execution the enclosure of Swingfield Minnis under the auspices of my Lord Piadnor, and Her Majesty's visit to the neighbourhood has kept us quite alive : the Prince in one of his rides pulled up at the end of THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIRE. 203 the avenue, and, as A * * told Sucklethumbkin, was much taken with th e picturesque appearance of our old gable ends. Unluckily we were all at Canterbury that morning, or proud indeed should wo have been to offer his Royal Highness the humble hospitaUties of the Hall, — and then — fancy Mrs. Botherby's 'My Gracious!' By the way, the old lady tells me you left your nightcap here on your last visit ; it is laid up in lavender for you ; — come and reclaim it. The Yule log will burn bright as ever in the cedar room. Bin No. 6 is still one liquid ruby — the old October yet smiles like mantling amber, in utter disdain of that vile concoction of camomile which you so psoudouymously dignify with the title of ' Bitter Ale.' — Make a start, then;— pitch printer 's-ink to old Harry, — and come and spend a fortnight with Yotirs, till the crack of doom. THOMAS INGOLDSBY. Tappikgton Eveeaed, Dec. im, 1842. THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIEE. A LEGEND OF FKANCE. FRANCOIS Xavier Auguste was a gay Mousquetaire, The Pride of the Camp, the delight of the Fair : He'd a mien so distingue and so debomiaire, And shmgg'd with a grace so recherche and rare, And he twirl'd his moustache with so charming an air, — His moustaches I should say, because he'd a pair, — And, in short, show'd so much of the true sgavoir faire, All the ladies in Paris were wont to declare. That could any one draw Them from Dian's strict law, Into what Mrs. Piumsbottom calls a ' Fox Paw,' It would be Franfois Xavier Auguste de St. I'oix. JSTow, I'm sorry to say. At that time of day. The Court of Versailles was a little too gay ; The Courtiers were all mucli addicted to Play, To Bourdeaux, Chambertin, Frontignac, St. Pcray, Lafitte, Chateau Margaux, And Silleiy (a cargo On which John Bull sensibly (?) lays an embargo). While Louis Quatorze Kept about him, in scores, "WTiat the Noblesse, in courtesy, term'd his ' Jane Shores,' — They were call'd by a much coarser name out of doors. 204 TRK BLACK MOUSQUETAlIiE. This, we all must aduiit, in A King's not befitting ! For such courses, when followed by persons of quality, Ai'e apt to detract on the score of morality. Franfois Xavier Auguste acted much like the rest of them. Dress'd, drank, and fought, and chassee'd with the best of them ; Took his oeil de perdrlx Till he searcely could see, He would then sally out in the streets for a ' spree ;' His rapier he'd draw, Pink a Bourgeois, (A word which the English translate ' Johnny Kaw,') For your thorough French Courtier, whenever the fit he's in Thinks it prime fun to astonish a citizen ; And perhaps it's no wonder that this kind of scrapes, In a nation which Vol taire, in one of his japes Defines ' an amalgam of Tigers and Apes,' Should be merely considered as ' Little Escapes.' But I'm sorry to add. Things are almost as bad A great deal nearer home, and that similar pranks Amongst young men who move in the very first ranks. Are by no means confined to the land of the Franks. Be this as it will, In the general, still. Though blame him we must. It is really but just To our lively young friend, Francois Xavier Auguste, To say, that howe'er "Well known his faults were. At his Bacchanal parties he always drank fair, And, when gambling his worst, always play'd on the square ; So that, being much more of pigeon than rook, he Lost large sums at faro (a game like ' Blind Hookey '), And continued to lose, And to give I U's, Till he lost e'en the credit he had with the Jews ; And, a parallel if I may venture to draw Between Franfois Xavier Auguste de St. Foix, And his namesake, a still more distinguished Franfois, Who wrote to his ' saw '* From Pavia, ' Man Coeur, I have lost all I had in the world /o>-s Vhonneur.^ So St. Foix might have wrote No dissimilar note, ^Vive la bagatelle I toujour s gai — idem semper — I've lost all I had in the world but — my temper !' * Jlrs. Ingoldsby, who is deeply read in Robertson, informs me that thin is a mistake ; that the lady to whom this memorable billet was delivered by the hands of Pennalosa, was the unfortunate monarch's mamma, and not his sister. I would gladly rectify the error, but, then, — what am I to do for a rhyme ? — On the whole, I fear I must content myself, like Talleyrand, with adiiitting that ' it is worse thau a fault — it's a blunder 1' for which enormity, — as honest old Pepys says when he records having kissed his cookmaid, — ' I humbly beg pardon of Heaven, and Mrs, Ingoldsby !' A LEGEND OF FKiiNCE. 205 From the very beginning, Indeed of his sinning, His air was so cheerful, his manners so winning. That once he prevailed— or his friends coin the tale for him — On the bailiff who ' nabbed ' him, himself to ' go bail ' for him. Well — we know in these cases Your ' Crabs ' and ' Deuce Aces ' Are wont to promote frequent changes of places ; Town doctors, indeed, are most apt to declare That there's nothing so good as the pure ' country air,' Whenever exhaustion of person, or purse, in An invalid cramps him, and sets him a-cursing; A habit, I'm very much grieved at divulging Francois 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 !' 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 I 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 ho 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 ' the 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 articleSj Shewing his Greek up so, is not known very well ; ^fany thought Barnes, others Mitchell— some Merivale ; But it's scarce worth debate. Because from the date Of my tale one conclusion we safely may draw, Viz. : 'twas not Franfois Xavier Auguste de St. Foix ! Loo ? — Xo ; — that he had tried ; 'Twas, m fact, his weak side, But required more than any a purse well supplied. ' Love ? — Liquor ? — Law ? — Loo ? Xo ! 'tis all the same story Stay ! I have iir—Mafoi! (that's ' Odd's Bob.'- !') there is Glory ! 206 THK BLACK MOUSQUETAIRE. Away with dull care ! Vive le Eoi I Vive la Guerre I Peste ! I'd almost forgot I'm a Black Mousquetairc ! 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'll see manners and laiow countries ;* Cut Paris, — and gaming, — and throats in the Low Countries.* So said, and so done — he arranged his affairs, And was off like a shot to his Black Mousquetaires. Now it happen'd just then That Field-Marshal Tureune Was a good deal in want of ' some active young men,' To fill up the gaps Which through sundry mishaps, Had been made in his ranks by a certain ' Great Conde,' 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 Sjianiards, — or Dutch, — A fact which has stamped him a rather ' Cool hand. Being nearly related to Louis le Orand. 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 was 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 AVas to tickle some other Chief's tail in his turn. \\'Tiat 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,^ AVhile 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 LUtzcn, (Which Gustavus the Great ended all his disputes in,) Or that which Suwarrow engaged without boots in, Or Dettingen, Fontenoy, Blenheim, or Minden, * Qui mores hominum multonim vidit et urbes. Who viewed men's manners, Londons, Yorks, and Derbys, A LEGEND OF FRANCE. 207 Or the one Mr. Campljell describes, Holienlindeii, Where ' the sun was low,' The ground all over snow, And dark as mid-winter the swift Iser's flow, — Till its colour was altered by General Moreau : While the 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, Francois Xavier Augusie, 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 Necis artifices,'' — so they call'd fiery Soldados at Rome, — 'arte sua 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 ' osfemoris ;' 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 fighting, These same Ups-and-Downs are so very exciting. But a sombre sight is a Battle-field To the sad survivor's sorrowing eye, AVhere 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 roU'd away. And the victor comes for a last survey Of the well-fought field of yesterday I No triumphs flush that haughty brow, — No proud exulting look is there, — His eagle glance is humbled now, Afi, earthward bent, in anxious care 208 THE BLACK MOUSQUETAlliK. It seeks the form wliose stalwart pride But yester-morn was by his side ! Aud there it lies ! — on yonder hank Of corses, which themselves had hreatb 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 desimir For sounds they ne'er may hear again ! 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 growmg sentimental ; Besides, such things ive never saw ; In fact they're merely Continental. And then your Ladyship forgets Some widows came for epaulettes. So go back to your canter ; for one, I declare, Is now fumbling about our capsized Mousquetaire, A beetle-browed hag. With a knife and a bag, Aud an old tatter'd bonnet which, thrown back, discloses The ginger complexion, and one of those noses PecuUar to females named Levy and Moses, Such as nervous folks still when they come in their way^sbi.ii, Old vixen-faced tramps of the Hebrew persuasion. You remember, I trust, Fran9ois Xavier Auguste, Had uncommon fine limbs, and a very fiuc bust. Now there's something — I cannot tell what it may be— About good-looking gentlemen turn'd twenty-three, Above all when laid up with a wound in the knes, 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— And 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 A LEGENB OF FRAKCfi. 209 The norribie calling e'en now slie is plying, Despoiling the dead, and despatching the dying ! For these * nimble Conveyancers,' after such battles, Eegarding as treasure trove all goods and chattels, Tliink nought, in ' perusing and settling ' the titles, So safe as six inches of steel in the vitals. Now don't make a joke of, That feeling I spoke of ; For, as sure as you're born, that same feeling, — what e'er 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, no doubt, Being turned inside cat, That his mouchoir and gloves may be put ' up the spout,' (For of coin, you may well conceive, all she can do Fails to ferret out even a single ecu ;) As a muscular Giant would handle an elt. The virago at last lifts the soldier himself, And, like a She-Samson, at length lays hhn down In a hospital form'd in the neighbouring town ! I am not very sure. But I think 'tv,-as Xamur ; And there she now leaves him, expecting a cure. CANTO II. I ABOMINATE physic — I care not who knows That there's nothing on earth I detest like ' a dose,' — That yellowish-green-lookiug fluid, whose hue I consider extremely unpleasant to view, AVith its sickly appearance, that trenches so near On what Homer defines the complexion of Fear ; XKopov fieoy, I mean, A nasty pale green. Though 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-decayed leek's ; And you'll see in an instant the thing that I mean in it, A Greek face in a funk had a good deal of green in it. I repeat, I abominate physic ; but then. If folks ivill go campaigning about with such men As the Great Prince de Conde's and Marshal Turerme, 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 pctions and boluses ; 210 THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIRE. So, of course, I don't blame St. Foix, -wounded and Lame, If 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 ptisanne, And gently to chafe the patella (Imee-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 j 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 Patients came in, certain soft-handed Phyllises Were at once set to work on their legs, arms, and backs. And rubbed out their complaints in a couple of cracks. — Now, they say. To this day, AVhen sick people can't pay On the Continent, many of this kind of nurses Attend, without any demand on their purses ; And these females, some old, others still in their tceus, 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 pearl, and her lips were of coral ; Her eye-lashcs silken ; her eyes, fine large blue ones. Were sapphires (I don't call these similes new ones ; A LEGEJTD OF FRAXCE, 211 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 an anchorite warm In the fusty stuif gown of a Soeur de la Char He; And no poet could fancy, no painter could draw One more perfect in all points, more free from a flaw, Than hers who now sits by the couch of St. Foix, Chafing there, With such care, And so dove-like an air. 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 by a transmarine Bard. — Now you'll 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 liaisons,' and graver men 'follies,' (For my own part, I think planting thorns on their pillowa, And leaving poor maidens to weep and wear willows. Is not to be classed among mere 2)eccadillos), His 'faults,' I should say — I don't think Francois Xavier Entertain'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 shampooing. — 'Tis a subject I don't like to dwell on ; but such Things will happen— 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. 212 THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIEE. He goes ou to remark that ' to punish her lover, Wring his bosom, and draw the tear into his eye, There is but one method ' which he can discover That's likely to answer — that one ia ' 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 ear ; Th' imploring glances heaven-ward thrown As heedless, helpless, hopeless hero ; These wring the false one's heart enough, If ' made of penetrable stuff.' And poor Ther^se Thus pines and decays. Till, 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 driving as fast as if Old Nick had kick'd him. She, poor sinner, Grows thinner and thinner, Leaves off eating breakfast, and luncheon, and diimer, Till you'd really suppose she could have nothing in her. — One evening — 'twas just as the clock struck eleven — They saw she'd been sinking fast ever since seven, — She brcath'd one deep sigh, threw one look up to Heaven, And all was o'er ! — Poor Ther^se was no more — She was gone ! — the last breath that she managed to draw Escaped in one half-utter'd word — 'twas ' St. Foix !' Who can fly from himself? Bitter cares, when yoii feel "em, Are not cured by travel — as Horace says, ' Calura Non animum mutant qui currunt trans mareV It 's climate, not mind, that by roaming men vary — Eemorse 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 few, ' — Fran9oi3 Xavier Auguste was an instance — can do. Indeed, from the time He committed the crime Which cut off poor sister Therese in her prime, ■ A LEXIEND OF FRANCE. 213 He was not tlie same man that he had been — his plan Was quite chaaged — 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, fricassee, fncandeau,potage, or game, Dindon aux tntffes, or turbot a la creme, No ! — he still shook his head,— it was always the same, Still he never complained that the cook was to blame ! 'Twas his ajipetite fail'd him — no matter how rare And recherche the dish, how delicious the fare, — "WTiat 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. Xot that then, as of yore, he'd go out for ' a lark With his friends ; but when they, After taking cafe. Would have broiled bones and kidneys brought in on a tray, — Which I own I consider a very good way, K 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 ! 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 si^h, 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 ! 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 /ms^ at eleven I' Francois Xavicr Auguste, as I've told you before, I believe was a popular man in his cor^^s, 214 THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIRE. And his comrades, not one Of whom knew of the Nm) Now began to consult what was best to be done. Count Cordon Bleu And the Sieur de la Roue Confess'd thay did not know at all what to do : But the Chevalier Hippolyte Hector Achillc Alphonse Stanislaus Emile de Grandville Made a fervent appeal To the zeal they must feel For their friend, so distinguished 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 Ther^se, Now entomb'd, poor dear soul ! in some Dutch Pere la Chaise — * But the worst thing of all,' Francois Xavier declares, ' Is, whenever I've taken my candle uj) stairs. There's Ther^se 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 !' 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 ISans Foi, A man whom they had, you see, IMark'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 shrugg'd up his shoulders, he turned up his eyes. And he thought with himself that he could not do less Than lay the whole matter before the whole Mess. Eepetition 's detestable ; — So, as you 're best able Paint to yourself the effect 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 Eoue Said to Count Cordon Bleu, * Ma foi — c'est lien 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 A LEGEND OF FRANCE, 215 How far the Ghost part of the story was true ; — How, at last, when asked ' What was the best thing to do ?' Everybody was silent, — for nobody knew ! — And how, in the end, they said, ' No one could deal "With the matter so well, from his prudence and zeal, As the Gentleman who was the first to reveal This strange story — viz. Hippolyte Hector Achilla Alphonse 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, Has strangely agreed to denominate * Blue,' Inasmuch as his schemes were of no more avail Thau 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 His 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 * Superbe ! — Magnifique /' (With his tongue in his cheek) — Then he open'd the case, just to take a peep in it, and Seized the occasion to pop back the minute hand. With a demi-conge, and a shrug, and a grin, he Eeturns 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, 'T^i-as the Grand Monarque's birthday— that is, 'twas St. Louis's, Which in Catholic countries, of course, they would view as his— So when Hippolyte saw Him about to withdraw, • ' Tompion's. I presume ?' — Farquhar. 216 THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIRE. Ho cried, ' Come— that won't do, my fine fellow, St. Foix, — Give us five minutes longer, and drink Vive le BoiP Francois Xavier Auguste, Without any mistrust. Of the trick that was play'd, drew his watch from his fob. 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 Therbse ! now — do let me alone !' It's amazing by sheer perseverance what men do, — As water wears stone by the ' Scej^e cadendo^ If they stick to Lord Somebody's motto, 'Agendo!' Was it not Eobert Bruce? — I declare I've forgot, But I think it was Eobert — you'll 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.' Then another great Rob, Called ' White-headed Bob,* Whom I once saw receive such a thump on the ' nob ' 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 accustomed 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 hoard somebody call hun ' Squire Hayuc,') To whisper ten words one should always retain, — ' Take a suck at the lemon and at him again ! ! V—< A hint ne'er surpass'd, though thus spoken at random, Since Teucer's apostrophe — Nil desperandum ! Granville 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 Grandprd, Near which, a few miles from the banks of the Maese, Dwelt a pretty twin-sister of poor dear Therfese, Of the same age, of course, the same father, same mother. And as like to Therese as one pea to another ; She liv'd with her Mamma, Having lost her Papa, A LEGEND OF FRANCE. 217 Late of coutraLand schnaps an unlicensed distiller, And her name was Des Moulins (in English, Miss Miller). Now, though Hippolyte Hector Could hardly expect hci To feel much regard for her sister's ' protector,' When she'd seen him so shamefully leave and neglect her; Still, he very well knew In this world there are few But are ready much Christian forgiveness to show, I or other folk's wrongs — if well paid so to do — And he'd seen to what acts ^ Res angustce' compel heaux And ielles, whose affairs have once got out at elbows. With the magic effect of a handful of crowns Upon people whose pockets hoast 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 fancied he saw, of that poor injured maid, Come each night, Avith 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, 'Twould 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 I've known soldiers adopt a worse stratagem, And that, too, among the decided approvers Of General Sir David Dtmdas'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 mix'd up the suet and plums for his meal. The night had set in ; — 'twas a dark and a gloomy one : — Off went St. Foix to his chamber ; a roomy one, FivG stories high, Tlie first floor from the sky, And lefty enough to afford great facility For playing a game, with the youthful nobility, Of ' crack corps,' a deal in Request, when they're feeling. In dull coimtry 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 ; 218 THE BLACK MOUSQDKIAIRE. Intellectual amusement, whicli 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. FranQois 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 Eoue, Had been up there before him, and drawn ev'ry screw ! And now comes the rrioment — the watches and clocks All point to eleven ! — the bolts and the locks Give way — and the party turn out their bag-fox ! — W.ith 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 ! Then seating herself on the ' rush-bottom'd chair,' Throws a cold stony glance on the Black Mousquetaire. If you're one of the ' play-going public,' kind reader, And not a Moravian or rigid Seceder, 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'Clise, — When he wants, after having stood up to saj grace,* To sit down to his haggis, and can't find a place ; You remember his stare At the high-back'd arm-chair, "Wliere 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 enough ; * ]May good digestion wait on appetite. And health on botli. — Macbeth, THE BLACK. MOUSQUETAIRE. A LEGEND OF FRANCE. 219 So perhaps 'twill assist you iu forming some notion Of what must have been Franpois Xavier's emotion If you fancy what troubled Macbeth to be dotcbled. And, instead of one Banquo to stare in his face Without 'speculation,' suppose he'd a brace t I wish I'd poor Fuseli's pencil, who ne'er I bel- ieve was exceeded in painting the terrible, Or that of Sir Joshua Eeynolds, 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 suite. Standing just at his feet, And. his hands, as Dame Quickly says, fumbling the sheet ; While, close at his ear, with the air of a scorner, ' Busy, meddling,' Old Nick's grinning uj) in the corner. But i)ainting'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 fill'd you with dread 1 FranQois 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 Moultns first catching his view, Now right, and now left, rapid glances he threw. Then shriek'd with a wild and unearthly halloo, ^ Moil Dieul via deux! By the Pope there are two! ! !' He fell back — one long aspiration he drew. In flew De la Eoue, And Count Cordon Bleu, Pommade, Pomme-de-terre, and the rest of their crew, He stirr'd not, — he spoke not, — ho none of them knew ! And Achille cried * Odzooks ! I fear by his looks. Our friend, Fran§ois Xavier, has popp'd off the hooks V '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 Small-beer ! 1 L'Envoye. 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, possiblj% it may, — From Knightsbridge Barracks, and the shades serene Of Clapham Rise, as far as Kensal Green ; 220 SIR EUPKRT THE FEARLESS. O'er some pale marble when they join their heads To kiss the falling tears each other sheds ; Oh ! may they pause ! — and think, in silent awe, He, that reads the words, ' Ci git St. Foix V She, that the tombstone which her eye surveys Bears this sad line, — '■Hicjacet Sceur TliereseV — Then shall they sigh, and weep, and murmuring sa}-, ' 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 ! 1' The next in order of these ' lays of many lands ' refers to 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 sufficient 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 Bitter 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 LEGEND OF GERMANY. SIR Rupert 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 up the tottle,' Qnstain'd by dishonour, unsullied by fear, All his neighbours pronounced him a-preux 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 confessed that Sir Rupert had one ; Being rather unthinking, He'd scarce sleep a wink iu A night, but addict himself sadly to drinking, A LEGEND OF GERMANY. 221 And what moralists say, Is as naughty — ^to play, To Rouge et Noir, Hazard, Short Whist, Ecarte; 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 losing,' 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 Eupert the Brave thus address'd 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 Rhine, Where pitying trav'Uers may sigh, as they cross over, " Though he lived a roue, 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 ; 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 found 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 ; — Jumping 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, 222 sill RUPERT THE FEARLESS. 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 ! — A grand stalactite hall. Like the cave of Fingal, Tlose 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 — They'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 Kupert these queer-looking brutes, Or the efts and the newts That crawled uj) 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 fiU'd, Lay stretch'd out before him, — and every nerve thrill'd As scores of young women Were diving and swimming. Till the vision a jjerfect quandary put him in ; — All slightly accoutred in gauzes and lawns. They came floating about him like so many prawns. Sir Rupert, who (barring the few peccadilloes Alluded to) ere he lept into the billows Possessed irreproachable morals, began To feel rather queer, as a modest young man ; When forth stepp'd a dame, whom he recognized soon As the one he had seen by the light of the moon. 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'm delighted to see you, sir, down in the Rhine here. And hope you can make it convenient to dine here.' The Knight blush'd andbow'd, As he ogled the crowd Of subaqueous beauties, then answer'd aloud : A LEGEND OF GKiiMANY. 223 ' Ma'am, you do me much honour, — I camiot express The delight I shall feel — if you'll pardon my dress. — May I venture to say, when a gentlemen jumps In the river at midnight for want gf " 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 deshabille, But have j)ut 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 fairish ; but here in the Khiue 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 J' Eupert 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 much for their plain water-souchy. Want of Harvey's, and Crosse's, And Burgess's sauces ? Or how Eupert, on his side, protested, by Jove, he Preferr'd his fish plain, without soy or anchovy. 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 1' 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 ?'— Eupert gave her a glance most bewitchiugly tender, LoU'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 mouey all spent. How he borrow'd large sums at two hundred per cent, j 224: SIR RUrERT THE FEAELliSS. How they follow'd — and then, The once civillest of men, Messrs. Howard and Gibbs, made him bitterly rue it ho M ever raised money by way of annuity ; And, his mortgages being about to foreclose, How he jump'd in the river to finish his woes ! Lurline was affected, and, own'd, with a tear. That a story so mournful had ne'er met her ear ; Eupert, 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 kettlta, 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 Eupert 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 Crrea^,' be call'd ' Eupert the Small ;' — To gain but your smiles, were I Sardanapalus, I'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 !' Up started the Knight, Half mad ^vith delight, Bound her finely-fonn'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 skifi", I '11 be home in a twinkling and back in a jifly. Nor one moment procrastinate longer my journey Than to put up the banns and kick out the attorney.' One kiss to her lip, and cue squeeze to her hand. And Sir Eupert already was half-way to land. For a sour-visaged Triton, AVith features would frighten Old Nick, caught him up in one hand, though no light one, • 'Sai-danapalus' anJ 'Boote.' the Ziuith aud Nadir of human society. A LEGEIfD OF GERMANY. '^2b Sprang up thvougli the waves, popp'd him into his funny, "Which some others already had half-fiU'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 1 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'll tickle their tobies 1' The unearthly voices scarce had ceased their yelling. When Rupert reach'd his old baronial dwelling. What rejoicing was there 1 How the vassals did stare ! The old housekeeper put a clean shirt down to air, For she saw by her lamp That her master's was damp, And she fear'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 1 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,' — Rupert clear'd off all scores, and took proper receipts. ISTow no more he sends out For pots of brown stout, Or schiaps, 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 ! Kay, 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 sense Of honour, should put Lurline's name in the licence. And that, for a man of his breeding and quality. To break faith and troth, Confirm'd by an oath, Is not quite consistent with rigid morality; 226 SIE RUPERT THE FEARLESS. But whether the nymph was forgot, or he thought her From her essence scarce wife, but at best wife-and-water, And declined as unsuited, A bride so diluted — Be this as it may, He, I'm sorry to say, (For, all things consider'd, 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 mnch 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 Cu2:)id'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 bridesmaids fair with their long lace veils, As they all walk'd up 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 opened his awful book, And had read so far as to ask if to wed he meant ? And if ' he knew any just cause of 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 ; 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 were 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 casou. A LEGEND OF GERMANY. 227 Though all the rest tremhled, as might he expected, Sir Eupert was perfectly cool and collected, And endeavour'd to cheer His bride, in her ear Whisp'ring tenderly, ' Pray don't he frighten'd, my dear ; Should it even set fire to the castle, and hurn it, you're Amply insured hoth for buildings and furniture.' But now, from without, A trustworthy scout Eush'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 heard as they reach'd the church-door, While, high on the fii'st wave that roll'd in, was seen, Eiding proudly, the form of the angry Lurline ; And all might observe, by her glance fierce and stormy, She was stung by the sj>retce injuria formce. What she said to the Knight, what 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 — One only survived who could hand down the news, A little old woman that open'd the pews ; She was borne oif, 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 fisheimen 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, tackles But they only fish'd up the clerk's tortoiseshell spectacles. MOEAL. 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 — And don't take to smoking those nasty cigars ! — Let no run of bad luck, or despair for some Jewess-eyed Damsel, induce you to contemplate suicide ! 228 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 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 the unforgotten brave,' — the land of blue skies and black-eyed Signoras. — I cannot dis- cover from any recorded memoranda that ' Uncle Perry' was ever in Venice, even in Carnival time, — that he ever saw Garrick in Shy- lock 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 con- clude that, in the course of his Continental wanderings. Sir Pere- grine had either read, or heard of the following history, especially as he furnishes us with some particulars of the eventual desti- nation of his dramatis personam 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 OF VEOTCE. A LEGEND OF ITALY. * * * Of the Merchant of Venice there are two 4to editions in 1 600, one by Heyes and the other by Roberts. The Duke of Devonshire and Lord Francis Egerton have copies of the edition by Heyes, and they vary impmiantly. * * * It must be aclad 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 uosc ; Yet here, a worse fate. Stands Antonio, of late A Merchant, might vie e'en with Princes in state. With his waistcoat unbutton'd, prepared for the knife, AVhich, in taking a pound of flesh, must take his life ; — 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 his great snich&r-snee in his hands : — Between them, equipt in a wig, gown and bands, With a very smooth face, a young dandified Lawyer, AVhose air, ne'ertheless, speaks him quite a top-sawyer. Though his hopes are but feeble. Does his jpossible 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, W ith a business-like air was beginning to feel Whereabouts he should cut, as a butcher would veal. When the dandified Judge put 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'll hang you, like Haman ! — by Jingo I will ! When apprised of this flaw, Yoii never yet saw Such an awfully mark'd elongation of jaw As in Shylock, who cried, ' Plesh ma heart ! isli dat law ?'— Off 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 j Ado quinto, cap ■ teHio, Dogi Faliori — 236 THK MERCHANT OF VENICE. 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 wersy.^ 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 lato. 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 Mrs. Bassanio had given to her spouse. With injunctions to keep it on leaving the house? — How when he, and the spark Who appeared as his clerk, Had thrown off their wigs, and their gowns, and their jetty coats, There stood Nerissa and Portia in petticoats ? — How they pouted, and flouted, and acted the cruel. Because Lord Bassanio had not kept his jewel ? — How they scolded and broke out, Till, having their joke out, They kissed, and were friends, and, all blessing and blessed. Drove home by the light Of a moonshiny niglit, LUce the one in which Troilus, the brave Trojan Icnight, Sat astride 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, PU merely relate what, in spite of the pains I have taken to rummage among his remains. No edition of Shakspeare, Pve met with, contains ; But, if the account which Pve heard be the true one, We shall have it, no doubt, before long, ia a new one. In an MS., then, sold For its full weight in gold. And knock'd down to my friend. Lord Tomnoddy, 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, Ean away with a Scotchman, and, crossing the main, Became known by the name of the ' Flower of Dumblaue. THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. A LEGEND OF SPAIN. 237 That Antonio, whose piety caused, as we've seen, Him to spit upon every old Jew's gaberdine, And whose goodness to paint All colours were faint, Acquired the well-merited prefix of ' Saint,' And the Doge, his admirer, of honour tho 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 Bishoi?, I cannot believe — but 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, 'hove all other stories, this one drums, ' Pitch Greek to old Harry, and stick to Conukdrums ! !' To new-married Ladies this lesson it teaches, ' You're " no that far wi'ong" 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-clothesmen ! So bid John and Mary To mind and be wary, And never let one of them come down the are' ! From St. Mark to St. Lawrence — from the Eialto 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 Peregrine Ingoldsby, then a young man, was at Madrid soon after the peace of Eyswick, there is extant a long correspondence of his to prove. Yarious 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 238 THE AUTO-DA-F^. 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 following 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 conglomeration of Christian names usual in the families of the haute noblesse of Spain adds to the difBculty ; 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 zU Pfefi"erkorn, whose appellations puzzled the recording clerk of one of our Courts lately, — and that not a little. That a splendid specimen of the genus Homo, species Monk, flourished in the earlier mciety of the 15th century, under the appellation of Torquemada, is notorious, — and this fact might seem to establish the era of the story ; but then his name was John — not Dominic — though he was a Dominican, and hence the mistake, it 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 afi'air altogether. From his own silence on the subject it may well be doubtea whether the worthy transcriber knew himself the date of the trans- actions he has recorded; the authenticity of the details, however, cannot be well called in question. — Be this as it may, I shall make no further question, but at once introduce my * pensive public' to THE AUTO-DA-FE. A LEGEND OF SPAIN. WITH a moody air, from mom till noon, King Ferdinand paces the royal saloon; From mom till eve He does nothing but grieve ; Sighings and sobbings his midriff heave, And he wipes his eyes with his ermined 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, A LEGEND OF SPAIN. 239 Are wmspering a"bout in twos and in threes, And there is not a man of them seems at his ease, But they gaze on the monarcli, as watching what he does, With their very long whiskers, and longer Toledo?. Don Gaspar, Don Gusman, Don Juan, l3on Diego, Don Gomez, Don Pedro, Don Bias, Don Eodrigo, Don Jerome, Don Giacomo join Don Alphonso In making inquiries Of grave Don Eamirez, The Chamherlain, 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 Eamirez In guessing no nigher iri Than the other grave Dons who propound these inquiries ; When, pausing at length, as beginning to tire, his Majesty beckons, with stately civility, To Sefior Don Lewis Conde d'Aranjuez, Who in birth, wealth, and consequence second to few is, And Seilor 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 ' goes. ' 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 yeara age, 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 gims 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 ! — sis 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? — 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 linow ? Now Eeader, dear, If you've ever been near 240 THE AUTO DA-FK. Enough to a Court to encounter a Peer When his principal tenant's gone off in arrear, And his brewer has sent in a long hill for beer, And his butcher and baker, with faces austere, Ask him to clear OIF, for furnish'd good cheer, Bills, they say, 'have been standing for more than a year, 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 effects here !' — Or if ever you've seen An Alderman keen After turtle, peep into a silver tureen. In search of the fat call'd jiar excellence ' green.' When there's none of the meat left — not even the lean 1 — • — Or if ever you've witness'd the face of a sailor Retum'd from a voyage, and escaped from a gale, or Foeiice ' Boreas,' that ' blustering railer,' To find that his \vife, 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'll, without my aid. To yourself have portray'd The beautiful mystification display'd. And the puzzled expression of manner and air Exhibited now by the dignified pair. When thus unexpectedly ask'd to declare Their opinions as Councillors, several and joint, On so delicate, grave, and important a point. Senor Don Lewis Condd 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 ! — uuaccustom'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,- Aud 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 on that of your Majesty's Bride — that is. Wife — It 's the — as I may say — proudest day of my life 1 A LEGEND OF SPAIN. 241 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 vi^w The best mode of proceeding, — or know what to do j My decided opLuion, however, is this, And I fearlessly say that 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 !' Here the noble Grandee Made that sort of conge'e, Which, as Hill used to say ' I once happened to see ' The great Indian conjuror, Eamo Samee, Make, while swallowing what all thought a regular choker. Viz. a small sword as long and as stifi" 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, — siuce 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 Else 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, AVhile the hilts of their swords, by their left hands deprest, lilake the ends of their scabbards to cock up behind. Till they're quite horizontal uistead 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 !' — Pauca Verba I — enough. Each turns off in a huff, This twirling his mustache, that fingering his ruff". 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 ' 242 THE AUTO-DA-FE. And all the Court NoHes, -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 caters Oi omelettes and garlick, and can't be call'd Beefeaters. In fact, of the few luLlividuals 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-by, '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 Castillo, for instance, it's given through the teeth, And what we call 'Madrid they sound more like Madree///,) Of course you will see in a moment they've no men That at all corresponds with our Beefeating Yeomen ; So call them ' Walloons,' or whatever you please, By their rattles and slaps they're not ' standing at ease,' But, beyond all disputing. Engaged in saluting, 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 Eeverend 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 wdth divine ; As a statesman, inferior to none in that line ; As an orator, too. He was equall'd 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 Travellers' Club-House !— Charles Phillips— and Philb" more. Not only at home But even at Eome There was not a Prelate among them could cope With the Primate of Spain in the eyes of the Popo. A LEGEND OF SPAIN. 243 (The Conclave was full, and they'd not a spare hat, or he 'd long since been Cardinal, Legate a 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, Wbo, you'll readily guess, Could not do less Than start off at once, without stopping to dress, In his haste to get Majesty out of a mess. His Grace the Archbishoj) comes up the back way — Set apart for such Nobles as have the entne. 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 Cro-rni, if a Grandee uncovers, it's quite As a matter of option, and not one of right ; A thing not conceded by our Koyal 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 early Kings, kill'd a big Frenchman ; A feat which his Majesty deigning to smile on, AUow'd him thenceforward to stand with his ' tile ' on ; And all his successors have kept the same privilege Down from those barbarous times to our civil age. •o^ Eeturning 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 tougli job, Which it seems, of a sort is. To piizzle our Cords, And since it has quite flabbergasted that Diet, I Look to your Grace with no little anxiety Concerning a point AVhich 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 and all, they don't stick to declare That of all our advisers there is not in Spain one Can tell, like your Grace, the best way to obtain one ; So put your considering cap on — we're curious To learn your receipt for a Prince of Asturias.' One without the nice tact Of his Grace Avould have backt /''244 THE AUTO-DA-F!^. Out at once, as the Noblemen did, — and, in fact lie was, at the first, ratlier pozed how to act — One moment — no more ! — Bowing then as before, lie said, '8ire, 'twere superfluous for me to acciunint 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 1 f I may be, therefore, allowed 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 ap^jroved Geographical books You will find Compostella laid do^^^l in the maps Some two himdred 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 perhaps a thought tighter, ' Pooh ! pooh 1' says the King, ' I shall do no such, thing 1 It's nonsense, — Old fellow — you see — no use talking — The peas set apart, I abominate walking — Such a deirced way off too — hey ? — walk there — what me ? Pooh ! — it's no Go, Old fellow ! — you know — don'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 lieu of the peas, A small portion of horse-hair, cut fine, we'll insert, As a substitute under your ]\Iajesty's shirt ; Then a rope round your collar instead of a laced band, — A few nettles tuck'd into your Majesty's waistband, — Assafcetida mix'd with your bouquet and civet, I'll warrant you'll 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, When 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. A LEGEND OF SPAIN, 245 'Sire, your Majesty can't go — 'twould take a long -while, And you won't post it under two shillings a mile ! ! Twenty-seven pounds ten To get there — and then Twenty-seven pounds ten more to get hack agen ! ! Sire, the tattle'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 glanc'd on Humez as if he'd say ' Stuff!' But seeing the King seem'd himself in a huff. He chang'd his demeanour, and grew smooth enough ; Then talcing 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 1' ' There's one plan,' he resumed, ' which with all due respect to 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 ! 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 Inquisitor, Luckily now at your Court is a visitor ; Of his Rev'rence's functions there is not one weightier Than Heretic-burning — in fact, 'tis his metier. Beside Alguazils Who still follows 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'll do! Pooh ! pooh ! — burn a Jew ? Burn half a score Jews — burn a dozen — burn 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 Aido-da-fe Is much better fun than a ball or a play !' So the warrant was made out without more delay, Drawn, seal'd, and delivered, and (Siirncd) YO EL RE\ 24G THE AUTO-DA-FE. CA^'TO ir. There is not a nation in Europe but labours To toady itself and to humbug its neighbours — ' Earth has no such foll\;s — no folks such a city, So gi-eat or so grand, or so tine, or so pretty,' Said Louis Quatorze, ' As this Paris of ours !' — Mr. Daniel O'Connell exclaims, ' By the Pow'rs, Ould Ireland's on all hands admitted to be The first flow'r of the earth, and first Oim of the sea !' — — IMr. 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 chang'd his aquatics for dry land, His homo 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 ciy to his crony, ' See Naples, then die !* and the sooner the better !' The Portuguese say, as a well understood thing, ' Who has not seen Lisbonf has not seen a good thing 1' — While an old Spanish proverb runs glibly as under, ' QUIEN NO HA VISTO SeVILLA No HA VTSTO MABAVILLA ! ' He who ne'er has viewed Seville has ne'er view'd a Wonder 1' And from all I can learn this is no such great blunder. In fact, from the river. The famed Guadalquiver, Where many a knight's had cold steel through his liver,!t The prospect is grand. The Iglesia Maycyi' Has a splendid effect on the opposite shore, With its lofty Oiralda, while two or three score 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, * ' Vedi Napoli e poi mori 1 ' t ' Qucm nao tern visto Lisboa Nao tem visto cousa boa.' X ' Rio verde, Rio verde, &c.' ' Glassy water, glassy water, Down whose current clear and strong, Chiefs, confused in mutual slaughter, Moor and Christian, roll along.' — Old Spanish Romanee. A LEGEND OF SPAIN. 247 With its liorse-sLoe shaped arches of Arahesque 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 ;' * In brief, then, the view Is so fine and so new, It would make you exclaim, 'twould so forcibly strike yc, If a Frenchman, ' SiqKrhe /' — if an Englishman, ' Crikey !' Yes ! thou art ' Wonderful !' — but oh, 'Tis sad to think, 'mid scenes so bright As thine, fair Seville, sounds of ^YOe. And shrieks of pain and wild aflright, 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-born 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 you 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 AVrung 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 knee cocked carelessly over the other ; * Cum multis aliis quae nunc perscribere longum est. Fropria qua inaribiis. 248 THE AUXO-DA-FlS. His pouncet-'box goes To and fro at liis 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 Inesillas, In splendid lace veils, and becoming mantillas ; Elviras, Antonias, and Claras and Floras, And dark-eyed Jacinthas and soft Isidoras, Are crowding the 'boxes,' and looking on coolly as Though 'twas but one of their common tertulias, Partaking, as usual, of wafer and ices, Snow-water, and melons cut out into slices. And chocolate, — furnished at coffee-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 his tutor From travel in England, is tempting his 'future ' With a luxury neat as imported, ' The Pewter,' And charming the dear Violantes and Ifieses With a three-corner'd Sandwich, and soupgon of * Guinneas's ;' While another, from Paris but newly come back, Hints ' the least taste in life ' 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 dying, 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, I doubt if a Protestant smart Beau, or merry Belle, Might not shrink from it as somewhat too terrible. It's a question with me if you ever survey'd a More stern-looking mortal than old Torquemada, Eenown'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'll say — be in his skin, 'Twas 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, P 6 A LEGEND OF SPAIN. 249 George Whitfield, John Bunyan, or Thomas Gat-acre, They'd no better chance than a Bonze or a Fakir ; If a woman, it skill'd not — if she did not deem as he Bade her to deem touching Baikal supremacy, By the Bope, 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 extu-pation of heresy ; And if, in the times of which now I am treating. There had been such a thing as a ' Manchester Meeting,' ' Bretty pork' he'd have made ' Moderator' and ' Minister,' Had he but caught them on his side Cape Finisterre ; — Bye 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 Gloey,' confronting the King, With his cast-iron countenance frowning austerely That matched with his en hon iioint body but queerly, 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 gi'oup, each one dress'd in a gannent Not ' dandified ' clearly, as certainly ' varment,' Being all over vipers and snali.es, 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, Excepl. that the latter's of course somewhat higher ; A long yellow pin-a-fore. Hangs do^\^l each chin afore, On Avhich, 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. yellow, in juxta-position with blue, (A tinge of which latter tint could but accrue On the faces of -nTctches, 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 IJeview; 250 THE auto-da-f£. Especially too Aa it's certain that few Things would make Father Dominic blither or happier Than to catch hold of it, 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 Pulito And thrice happy they,* Dress'd out in this way To appear with eclat at the Auto-da-fe, — Thrice happy indeed whom the good luck might fall to Of devile tail upward, and '■ Fueyo revolto^ For, only see there. In the midst of the Square, Where, perch 'd up on poles sis feet high in the air Sit, chained to the stake, some two, three, or four pair Of wretches, whose eyes, nose, complexion, and hair Tlieir 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-loafd bonnet, AVith this further distinction — of mischief a proof — That every fiend Jack stands upright on his hoof! While the pictured flames, spread Over body aud head, Are three times as crooked, and three times as red ! All, too, pointing upwards, as much as to saj', ' Here's the real bonne houche of the Auto-dct-fe.^ Torquemada, meanwhile, With his cold, cruel smile, Sits looking on calml}', and watching the pile, As his hooded ' Familiars ' (tlieir 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 curling, 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 oVr ! * fortuuati nimium sua si bona nOriut J A LEGEND OF SPAIN, 251 The tragedy's doue ! and we now draw a veil O'er a scene which makes outraged humanity quail ; The last fire's exhausted, and spent like a rocket, The last wretched Hebrew's burnt down in his socket 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 ia, And, Cocker in hand, in his leather-backed 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, In describing the scene Through which we've 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 Magestad had hit on a plan of her own. And suspecting, perhaps, that an Auto alone Might fail in securing this ' Heir to the throne,' Had made up her mind. Although well inclined Towards galas and shows of no matter what kind, For once to retire, And bribe the Saints highe 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 purl ") Nor put on her jewels, nor e'en let the girl, Who helped 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 vowing to visit, without shoes or sandals, Their shrines, with unlimited orders for candles. Holy water, and Masses of Mozart's and Handel's.* That is, She tcould have ordered them — but none aie known, I ft:u as his, For Handel never wrote a Mass, and so She'd Dnvid Perez's — Bow! wow! wow! Fol, lol, iS:c., &c.' (^Posthumous Note by the Ghost of James Smithy L'sq.j 252 THK AUXO-DA-Fi;, And many a Pater, and Ave, and Oredo Did Slie, and lier Father Confessor, Quevedo, (The clever Arclibisliop, you know, of Toledo,) Who came, as before, at a very short warning. Get through, without doubt, in the course of that morning ; Shut up, as they 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 quite clear to me, but their very ability Might, Spain throughout. Have been brought into doubt, Had the Eoyal 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 Eose, burn the bellows !' Set matters to rights like a King of good fcUoivs : 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 Castilles, Triple-bob-major peals, Piope-dancing, and tumbling, and somerset-flinging, Seguidilias, Fandangos, ^Vhile 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 whisky ;) All the day long 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 ! hurray !' The Escurial, however, is not quite so gay, For, whether the Saint had not perfectly heard The petition the Queen and Archbishop preferred, — • Or whether his head, from his not being used To an Auto-da-fe, was a little 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 Pioyal 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! A LEGEND OF SPAIN. 253 First—' When you are at Borne, do as Rome does !' and note all her Ways — drink what She drinks ! and don't turn Tee-totaller ! 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 — 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 ! 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 Eobert, ' I'm duly called in !' 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 fi-om a very early period, various ' storied panes ' of stained glass, which, as Blue Dick's* exploits did not extend beyond the neighbouring 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 hetvKcn three eagles' cidsses, sahle, is blazoned quar- terly with the engrailed saltire of the Ingoldsbys. ]\Ir. Simpkinson from Bath, — whose merits as an antiquary are so well Imown and appreciated as to make eulogy superfluous, not to say impertinent, — has been for some time bringing his heraldic lore to bear on those monumenta vetusta. He pronounces the coat in question to bo that of a certain Sir Ingoldsby Bray who flourished iemjj. Ric. I. and founded the Abbey of Ingoldsby, in the county of Kent and * Richard Culmer, parson of Chartham, commonly so called, distinguished himself, while Laud was in the Tower, by breaking the beautiful windows in Canterbury 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 so high, This feat of Vandalism the canilean worthy called ' rattling down proud Bccket's glassie bones.' 254 THE INGOLDSBY PENANCE. diocese of Kocliester, early in tlie reign of that monarcli'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 slumbering for centuries and is here given. The link of con- nexion between the two families is shown by the accompanying extract from our genealogical tree. Peter de Ingoldsby, Lord of Tappington temp : Stephen, killed at the battle of Lin- coln ex parte regis. Vitalis de — Alice de GeoftVey=Joan Engaine. Lizure^, 2nd wife. de Br only dau. Richard Ingoldsby, of Tap- pington aforesaid. A quo HoDiERNus Ingoldsby. Alicia ~ dau. & heir, sus; per coll : Ingoldsby de Bray, Chiv'ler, afterwaixLs assumed his mo- ther's name, founder of In- goldsby Abbey. A. D. 12()2, ob. s. p. circitcr 1214 Reginald de Bray, 2nd son, heir to his brother, from whom descended Edmund Lord Bray, summoned to Parliament 21 to 28 Hen. 8. A In this document it will be perceived that the death of Lady Alice Ingoldsby is attributed to strangulation superinduced by sus- pension, whereas in the veritable legend annexed no allusion is made to the intervention of a halter. Unluckily Sir Ingoldsby left no issue, or we might now be ' calling Cousins' with (ci-devant) Jlrs. 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 Shnpkinson, 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 claimants 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 publication, confounded King Henry the Fifth with the Dul-e of ]\Ionmouth, and positively deny that he has ever represented Walter Lord Clilibrd, (father to Fair Rosamond,) as the leader of the 0. P. row. A LKGEND OF PALESTINE. 255 THE INGOLDSBY PENANCE ! A LEGEND OF PALESTINE AND — WEST KENT. I'll devise thee brave punishments for him ! — Shakspeare. 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'll tickle the best Of all the Soldan's Chivalrie !' Oh ! they came west, and they came east, Twenty-four Emirs and Sheiks at the least, Aiid they hammer'd away At Sir Ingoldsby Bray, Fall back, foil edge, cut, thrust, and point, — But he tojip'd off head, and he lopp'd off joint ; Twenty and three, Of high degree. Lay stark and stiff on the crimson 'd lea. All — all save one — and he ran up a tree ! ' Now count them, my Sqitire, now count them and see ! ' Twenty and three ! Twenty and three ! — All of them Nobles of high degree ; There they be lying on Ascalon lea 1' Out and spake Sir Ingoldsby Bray, 'What news? what news? come, tell to me! What news ? what, news, thoti little 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 small I' ' 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 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 V' — Sir Ingoldsby Bray, he said in his rage, ' What news ? what news ? thou naughty Foot-page !'— That little Foot-page full low crouch'd lie, And he doff'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 : 256 THE INGOLDSBY PENANCE. She sits alone, And she makes her moan ; Dance and song She considers quite wrong ; Feast and revel Mere snares of the devil ; She mendeth her hose, and she crieth " Alack ! When will Sir Ingoldsby Bray come back ?" ' * Thou liest ! thou liest, thou naughty Foot-page, Full loud dost thou lie, false Page, to me ! There, in thy breast, 'Neath thy silken vost^ What scroll is that, false Page, I see ?' Sir Ingoldsby Bray in his rage drew near. That little Foot-page he blench'd with fear ; ' Now where may the Prior of Abingdon lie ? King Pilchard'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, 1 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 1' 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 AVhich they used in those days, 'stead of little Queen's-hcads, When the contents of the scroll met hi3 view, Sir Ingoldsby Bray in a passion grew, Backward he drew His nailed shoe, And he kicked that 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, Stilf and stark on that crimson'd lea ! — Twenty and three ? — — Stay — let mo see ! Stretched in his gore There lieth one more ! Bv the Pope's triple cro\\Ti there are twenty and four 1 A LEGEND OF PALESTINE. 257 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 T — ' One is the corse of a bare-footed Friar ! !' Out and spake Sir Ingoldsby Bray, A boon, a boon. King Richard,' quoth 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 ! Oh ! when will Sir Ingoldsby Bray come back ?" A boon, a boon, my Liege,' quoth he, ' Fair Ingoldsby Hall I 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 !' PYTTE 11. Pope Gregory sits in St. Peter's chair, Pontiff proud, I ween, is he. And a belted Knight, In armour 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, 1 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 periloiL3 stairs !' 258 THE INGOLDSBY PENANCE. • Rise up, rise up, Sir Ingoldsby Bray, Kise up, rise up, I say to thee ; A soldier, I trow, Of the Cross art thou j Rise up, rise up from thy bended knee ; 111 it beseems that a soldier true Of holy Church should vainly sue : — — Foot-pages, they are by no means rare, 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 every 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 !' ♦Now pardon, Holy Father, I crave, Holy Father, pardon and grace ! Dame Alice, my vnie, The banc of my Win, 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 and 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! — All the King s Doctors and all the King's Men Can't put fair Alice's head on agen 1' ' 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 chant 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 1' * Now pardon^ Holy Father, I crave, Holy Father, pardon and grace ! No power could save That paramour knave; 1 left him, I wot, in evil case! A LEGEND OF PALESTIXK. 259 There, 'midst the slain Upon Ascalou plain, Unburied, 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 T * Now out and alas ! Sir Ingoldsby Bray, Foul sin it were, thou doughty Knight, To hack and to hew A champion true Of Holy Church in such pitiful plight ! Foul sin her warriors so to slay. When they're scarcer and scarcer every day ! — — A chantry fair, And of Monks a pair, To pray for his soul for ever and aye. Thou must duly endow. Sir Ingoldsby Bray, And fourteen marks by the year must thou pay For plenty of lights To burn there o' night*, — None of your rascally ' dips ' — but sound. Round, ten-penny moulds of four to the pound ; — And 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 !' ' Now nay, Holy Father, now nay, now nay ! Less penance may serve 1' quoth Sir Ingoldsby Bray, ' No champion free of the Cross was he ; No belted Baron of high degree ; No Knight nor Squire Did there expire ; He was, I trow, but a bare-footed Friar ! And the Abbot of Abingdon long may wait "With his monks around him and early and late May look from loop-hole, and turret, and gate, He hath lost his Prior — his Prior his patel' 'Now Thunder and turf!' Pope Gregory said, And his hair rais'd his triple crown right off his head — * Now Thunder and turf ! and out and alas ! A horrible thing has come to ^xiss ! What ! — cut off the head of a reverend Prior, And say he was " only (! ! !) a bare-footed Friar !" — " What Baron or Squire, Or Knight of the shire Is half so good as a holy Friar ?" 0, turpissimel Vir nequissimel Sceleratissime I — quissi7ne! — issime ! Never, I trow, have the Servi servorum Had before 'em Such a breach of deconvm, Sucn a gross violation of TnorwjAi honorum, And won't have again soscula sceculoruvx I — >60 THE INGOLDSBY PENANCE. Come liitlier to me, My Cardinals three, My Bishops in partibus. Masters in Artibus, Hither to me, A.B. and D.D. Doctors and IProctors of every degree. Go fetch mo a hook ! — go fetch me a bell As big as a dustman's ! — and a candle as well — I'll send him — where good manners won't let me tell !" — ' Pardon and grace ! — now pardon and grace !' — Sir Ingoldsby Bray fell flat on his face — 'Med culpa ! — in sooth Tm in pitiful case. Peccavi! joeccavi! — I've done very wrong! But my heart it is stout, and my arm it is strong. And I'll fight for holy Church all the day long ; And the Ingoldsby lauds are broad and fair, And they're here, and they're there, and I can't tell you where, And Holy Church shall come in for her share !' Pope Gregory paused, and he sat himself down. And he somewhat relaxed his terrible frown. And his Cardinals three they pick'd up his crown. 'Now, if it be so that you own you've been wrong. And your heart is so stout, and your arm is so strong, And you really will fight like a trump all day long ; If the Ingoldsby lands do lie here and there. And Holy Church shall come in for her share, — AVhy, my Cardinals three, You'll agree "With me That it gives a new turn to the whole affair. And I think that the Penitent need not despair ! — If it be so, as you seem to say. Rise up, rise up, Sir Ingoldsby Bray ! An Abbey so fair Sir Bray shall found, Whose innermost wall's encircling bound Shall take in a couple of acres of ground ; And there in that Abbey all the year round, A full choir of monks, and a full choir of nuns, Shall live upon cabbage and hot-cross buns. And Sir Ingoldsby Bray, Without delay, Shall hie him again To Ascalon plain, A.nd gather the bones of the foully slain : And shall place said bones, with all possible care, In an elegant shrine in his Abbey so fair ; And plenty of lights Shall be there o' nights ; None of your rascally " dips," but soimd. Best superfine wax-wicks, four to the pound ; ; A LEGEND OF PALESTINE. 2G1 And Monk and Nun Shall pray, each one, For the soul of the Prior of Abingdon ! And Sir Ingoldsby Bray, so hold and so hravc, Never shall wash himself, comh, or shave, Nor adorn his body, Nor drink gin-toddy, Nor indulge iu a pipe, — But shall dine upon trii)e, And blackberries gathered before they are ripe, And for ever abhor, renounce, and abjure Paim, hollands, and brandy, wine, punch, and liqueur : (Sir Ingoldsby Bray Here gave way To a feeling which prompted a word profane. But he swallow'd it down, by an effort, again, And his Holiness luckily fancied his gulp a Mere repetition of 0, med culpa. .') ' Thrice three times upon Candlemas-day Between Vespers and Compline, Sir Ingoldsby Bray Shall run round the Abbey, as best he may. Subjecting his back To thump and to thwack, Well and truly laid on by a bare-footed Friar, With a stout cat-o'-ninetails of whipcord and wire ; And nor he, nor his heir * Shall take, use, or beui Any more, from this day, The surname of Bray, As being dishonour'd ; but all issue male he has Shall, with himself, go henceforth by an alias! So his qualms of conscience at length may cease. And Page, Dame, and Prior shall rest in peace !' Sir Ingoldsby (now no longer Bray) Is off like a shot away and away, Over the brine To far Palestine, To rummage and hunt over Ascalon plain For the unburied bones of his victim slain. ' Look out, my Squire, Look higher and nigher, Look out for the corpse of a bare-footed Friar ! And pick up the arms, and the legs, of the dead, And pick up his body, and pick up his head !' FTTTE III. Ingoldsby Abbey is fair to see. It hath manors a dozen, and royalties three, With right of free warren (whatever that be); Eich pastures in front, and green woods in the rear, AH in full leaf at the right time of year ; • His brother Reginald, it would seem by the pedigree, disregardeil this prohi- bition. 262 THE IITGOLDSBY PENANCE. About Cliristmas, or so, they fall into the sear, And the prospect, of course, becomes rather more drear ; But it's really delightful in spring-time, — and near The great gate Father Thames rolls sun-bright and clear ; Cobham woods to the right, — on the opposite shore Laindon Hills in the distance, ten miles off or more ; Then you've Milton and Gravesend behind, — and before You can see almost all the way down to the Nore.* '^o charming a spot It's rarely one's lot To see, and when seen it's as rarely forgot. Ygs, Ingoldsby Abbey is fair to see. And its Monks and its Nuns are fifty and three, And there they all stand ee'd already a wife at Cambray; — One at Paris, — a nympli of tlie corjys de hallet ; — And a third down in Kent, at a place call'd Foot's Cray. — He was ''viler than dirt !' — Fanny vowed to exert All her powers to forget him, — and finish my Shirt, 280 AUNT FAXNY. But, oil ! lack-a-day ! How time slips away ! — • Who'd have thought that while Cupid was playing these tricks. Tcu years had elapsed, and — I'd turn'd twenty-six ?' ' I care not a whit, — lie's grown not a bit,' Says my Aunt, ' it will still be a veiy good fit,' So Janet and She, Kow about thirty-three, (The maid had been jilted by Mr. Magee,) Each taking one end of ' the Shirt' on her knee, Again began working with hearty good-will, ' Felling the Seams,' and ' whipping the Frill,' — For, twenty years since, though the Euffle had vanish'd, A Frill like a Fan had by no means been banish'd ; People wore them at playhouses, parties, and churches, Like overgrown fins of overgrown perches. — Xow, then, by these two thus laying their caps Together, my ' Shirt' had been finish'd, perhaps, But for one of those queer little three-corner'd straps, AVhich the ladies call ' Side-bits,' that sever the ' Flaps ;' — Here unlucky Janet Took her needle, and ran it , Right into her thumb, and cried loudly, ' Ads cuss it ! I've s^Doiled myself now by that 'ere nasty Gusset !' For a month to come Poor dear Janet's thumb 'Vas in that sort of state vulgar people call ' Rum.' At the end of that time, A youth, still in his prime, The Doctor's fat Errand-boy, — ^just such a dolt as is Kept to mix draughts, and spread plasters and poultices. Who a bread-cataplasm each morning had carried her, Sigh'd, — ogled, — proposed, — was accepted, — and married her Much did Aunt Fan Disapprove of the plan ; She turn'd ujd her dear little snub at ' the Man.' She ' could not believe it,' — ' Could scarcely conceive it Was possible — What ! such a place ! — and then leave it ! — And all for a " Shrimp" not as high as my hat — A little contemptible " Shaver" like that ! ! With a broad pancake face, and eyes buried in fat !' For her j^art, ' She was sure She could never endure A lad with a lisp, and a leg like a skewer ! — Such a name too ; — ('twas Potts !) — and so nasty a trade No, no, — she would much rather die an old maid ! — He a husband, indeed ! — Well, mine, come what may come, Shan't look like a blister, or smell of Guaiacum !' But there ! She'd ' declare. It was Janet's affair — —Chacun a son gout As she baked she might brew — ■ A LEGEND OF A SHIRT. 281 She could not prevent her — 'twas no use in trying it — Oh, no — she had made her own bed, and might lie in it. They " repent at leisure who marry at random." No matter — De gustibus non disjmtandum .'' Consoling herself with this choice bit of Latin, Aunt Fanny resignedly bought some white satiu, And, as the Soubrette Was a very great pet After all, — she resolved to forgive and forget, And sat down to make her a bridal rosette, With magnificent bits of some white-looking metal Stuck in, here and there, each forming a petal. — — On such an occasion one couldn't feel hurt. Of course, that she ceased to remember — my Shirt ! Ten years, — or nigh, — Had again gone by, W^hen Fan accidentally casting her eye On a dirty old work-basket, hung up on high In the store-closet where herbs were put by to dry, Took it down to explore it — she didn't know why. — Within, a pea-soup colour'd fragment she spied, Of the hue of a November fog in Cheapside, Or a bad piece of ginger-bread spoilt in the baking. — I still hear her cry, — ' I wish I may die If here isn't Tom's Shirt, that's been so long a-making ! My gracious me ! Well, — only to see ! I declare it's as yellow as yellow can be ! Why it looks as though't had been soak'd in green tea ! Dear me did you ever f — But come — 'twill be clever To bring matters round ; so I'll do my endeavour " Better Late," says an excellent proverb, " than Never !" — It is stain'd, to be sure ; but "grass-bleaching" will bring it To rights " in a jiffy." — We'll wash it, and wring it ; Or, stay, — " Hudson's Liquor " Will do it still quicker. And ' Here the new maid chimed in, ' Ma'am, Salt of LcuKm Will make it, in no time, quite fit for the Gemman !' So they 'set in the gathers,' — the large round the collar, AVhile those at the wristbands of course were much smallL-r, — The button-holes now were at length ' overcast ;' Then a button itself was sewn on — 'twas the last ! All's done ! All's won ! Never under the sun Was Shirt so late finish'd — so early begun ! — — The work would defy The most critical eye. It was ' bleach 'd,' — it was wash'd, — it was hung out to diy, — It was mark'd on the tail with a T, and an 1 1 282 AUNT FANNY. On the back of a chair it "Was placed, — just to air it, In front of the fire. — ' Tom to-morrow shall wear it !' — cceca mens hominum! — Fanny, good soul, Left her charge for one moment — but one — a vile coal Bounced out from the grate, and set fire to the whole ! Had it been Doctor Arnott's new stove — not a grate : — Had the coal been a ' Lord Mayor's coal,' — viz. : a slate ; — What a different tale had I had to relate ! And Aunt Fan — and my Shirt — ^beeu superior to Fate ; — One moment — no more ! — — Fan open'd the door ! The draught made the blaze ten times worse than before ; And Aunt Fanny sank down — in despair — on the floor ! You may fancy perhaps Agrippina's amazement, "When, looking one fine moonlight night from her casement, She saw, while thus gazing, All Eome a-blazing, And, losing at once all restraint on her temper, or Feelings, exclaimed, ' Hang that Scamp of an Emperor, Although he's my son ! — — He thinks it prime fun. No doubt ! — While the flames are demolishing Eome, There's my Nero a-fiddling and singing " Sweet Home !" ' — Stay — I'm really not sure 'twas that lady who said The words I've put down, as she stepp'd into bed, — On reflection, I rather believe she was dead ; But e'en when at College, I Fairly acknowledge, I Never was very precise in Chronology ; So, if there's an error, pray set down as mine a Mistake of no very great moment — in fine, a Mere slip — 'twas some Pleb's wife, if not Agrippina. You may fancy that warrior, so stem and so stony, Whom thirty years since we all used to call Boney, "When, engaged in what he styled ' fulfilling his destinies,' He led his rapscallions across the Boiysthenes, And made up his mind Snug quarters to find In Moscow, against the catarrhs and the coughs Which are apt to prevail 'mongst the ' Owskis ' and ' OS's.' At a time of the year When your nose and your ear Are by no means so safe there as people's are here. Inasmuch as ' Jack Frost,' that most fearful of Bogles, Makes folks leave their cartilage oft in their ' fogies.' You may fancy, I say. That same Boney s dismay. When Count Eostopchin At once made him drop chin, And turn up his eyes, as his rappee he took, With a sort of mort-de-ma-vie kind of look. On perceiving that ' Swing,' And ' all that sort of thing, A LEGEND OF A 6UIRT. 283 Was at work — that lie'd just lost the game without knowing it : That the Kremlin was blazing — the Eussians ' a-going it,' — Every plug in the place frozen hard as the ground, And the deuce of a Turn-cock at all to be found ! You may fancy King Charles at some Court Fancy-Bail, (The date we may fix In Sixteen sixty-six,) In the room built by luigo Jones at Whitehall, Whence his father, the Martyi", — ( as such mourn'd by all Who, in his, wept the Law's and the Monarchy's fall,) Stept out to exchange regal robes for a pall — You may flmcy King Charles, I say, stopping the brawl,* As burst en his sight the old church of St. Paul, By the light of its flames, now beginning to crawl From basement to buttress, and topping its wall — — You may fancy old Clarendon making a call, And stating in cold, slow, monotonous drawl, ' Sire, from Pudding Lane's End, close by Fishmongers' Hall, To P'ye Corner, in Smithfield, there is not a stall There, in market, or street, — not a house, great or small, In which Knight wields his falchion, or Cobbler his awl, But's on fire ! !' — You may fancy the general squall. And bawl as they all call for wimple and shawl ! — — You may fancy all this — but I boldly assert You can't fancy Avmt Fan — as she looked on MY SHIPiT ! ! Was't Apelles ? or Zeuxis ? — I think 'twas Apelles, That artist of old — I declare I can't tell his Exact patronymic — I write and j^ronounce ill These Classical names — whom some Grecian Towu-Council Employ'd, — I believe, by command of the Oracle, — To produce them a splendid piece, purely historical, For adorning the wall Of some fane, or Gruildhall, And who for his subject determined to try a Large painting ia oils of Miss Iphigenia At the moment her Sire, By especial desire Of ' that Spalpeen, O'Dysseus' (see Barney Maguire), Has resolved to devote Her beautiful throat To old Chalcas's knife, and her limbs to the fire ; — An act which we moderns by no means admire, — An ofPring, 'tis true, to Jove, Mars, or Apollo cost No trifling sum in those days, if a holocaust, — * Not a • row,' but a dance, ' The brave Lord Keeper led the brawls, The seals and maces danced before him.' — Grat. -And truly Sir Christopher danced to some tune. 284 AUNT FANNY. Still, although for economy we should condemn none, In an ava^ ai>8p(ov, like the great Agamemnon, To give up to slaughter An elegant daughter. After all the French, Music, and Dancing they'd taught her And Singing, — at Heaven knows how much a quarter, — In lieu of a Calf! — It was too bad by half! At a ' nigger '* so pitiful who would not laugh, And turn up their noses at one who could find No decenter method of ' Eaising the Wind ?' No doubt but he might, Without any great Fli(jlit, Have obtain'd it by what we call ' flying a kite.' Or on mortgage — or sure, if he couldn't so do it, lie Must have succeeded * by way of annuity.' But there — it appears. His crocodile tears, His ' Oh ! s ' and his ' Ah ! s,' his * Oh Law ! s ' and ' Oh dear ! s. Were all thought sincere, — so in painting his Victim The Artist was splendid — but could not depict Him, His features and phiz awry Shew'd so much misery. And so like a dragon he, Look'd in his agony, That the foil'd Painter buried — despairing to gain a Good likeness — his face in a printed Bandana. — Such a veil is best thrown o'er one's face when one's hurt By some grief which no power can repair or avert ! — — Such a veil I shall throw o'er Aunt Fan — and My Shirt ! MORAL. And now for some practical hints from the story Of Aunt Fan's mishap, which I've thus laid before ye ; For, if rather too gay, I can venture to say, A fine vein of morality is, in each lay Of my primitive Muse, the distinguishing trait I — First of all — Don't put off till to-morrow what may, Without inconvenience, be managed to-day ! That golden occasion we call * Opportunity ' Earely's neglected by man with impunity ! And the ' Future,' how brightly soe'er by Hood's dupe colour'd. Ne'er may aiibrd You a lost chance restored, Till both you, and YOUR SHIRT, are grown old and pca-soup- colour'd I I would also desire You to guard your attire. Young Ladies, — and never go too near the fire ! — — Depend on't there's many a dear little Soul Has found that a Spark is as bad as a coal, — And ' in her best petticoat burnt a great hole !' • Hibernic^ ' nigger,' quasi ' niggard.' Vide B. Magmre passim. MISADVENTURES AT MARGATE. 285 Last of all, gentle Eeader, don't he too secure ! — Let seeming success never make you ' cock-sure 1' But beware ! — and take care, When all things look fair, How you hang your Shirt over the back of your chair ! — —There's many a slip 'Twixt the cup and the lip !' Be this excellent proverb, then,' well understood. And Don't halloo befoke tou'ke quite out of the wood ! ! It is to my excellent and erudite friend, Simpkinson, that I am Indebted for his graphic description of the well-known chalk-pit, between Acol and Minster in the Isle of Thanet, known by the name of the ' Smuggler's Leap.' The substance of the true historj attached to it he picked up while visiting that admirable institution, the ' Sea-bathing Infirmary,' of which he is a ' Life Governor,' and enjoying his otiumciimdignitate last summer at the least aristocratic of all possible watering-places. Before I proceed to detail it, however, I cannot, in conscience, fail to bespeak for him the reader's sympathy in one of his own MISADVENTURES AT MAEGATE. A LEGEND OF JAKVIs's JETTT. MR. SIMPKINSON (Joquitur). 'rpWAS in Margate last July, I walk'd upon the pier, X I saw a little vulgar Boy — I said, ' What make you here ? The gloom upon your youthful cheek speaks anything but joy ;' Again I said, ' What make you here, you little vulgar Boy V He fro-n-n'd, that little vulgar Boy, — he deem'd I meant to scofi" — And when the little heart is big, "a little ' sets it otF ;' 'tie put his finger in his mouth, his little bosom rose, — He had no little handkerchief to wipe his little nose ) — ' Hark ! don't you hear, my little man ?— it's striking Nine,' I said, ' An hour when all good little boys and girls should be in bed. Bun home and get your supper, else your Ma' will scold — Oh ! fie I It's very wi-ong indeed for little boys to stand and cry ! The tear-drop in his little eye again began to spring. His bosom throbb'd with agony, — he cried like anything ! I stoop'd, and thus amidst his sobs I heard him murmur — ' Ah ! I haven't got no supper ! and I haven't got no Ma' ! ! — ' My father, he is on the seas, — my mother's dead and gone ! And I am here, on this here pier, to roam the world a.one ; I have not had, this live-long day, one drop to cheer my heart, Nor " brcnvn " to buy a bit of bread with,— let alone a tart, X 286 MISADVKNTURES AT MARGATE. If there's a soul will give me food, or find me in employ, By day or night, then blow me tight 1' (he was a vulgar Boy ;) ' And now I'm here, from this here pier it is my fixed intent To jump, as Mister Levi did from off the Monu-ment !' ' Cheer up ! cheer up ! my little man — cheer up !' I Idndly said, ' You are a naughty hoy to take such things into your head : If you should jump from off the pier, you'd surely break your legs, Perhaps your neck — then Bogey'd have you, sure as eggs are eggs I Come home wi'th me, my little man, come home with me and sup ; My landlady is Mrs. Jones — we must not keep her up — There's roast potatoes at the fire, — enough for me and you — Come home, you little vulgar Boy — I lodge at Number 2.' I took him home to Number 2, the house beside ' The Foy,' I bade him wipe his dirty shoes, — that little vulgar Boy, — And then I said to Mistress Jones, the kindest of her sex, ' Pray be so good as go and fetch a pint of double X 1' But Mrs. Jones was rather cross, she made a little noise, She said she 'did not like to wait on little vulgar Boys.' She with her apron wiped the plates, and as she rubbed the delf, Said I might ' go to Jericho, and fetch my beer myself 1' I did not go to Jericho — I went to Mr. Cobb — * I changed a shilling — (which in town the people call ' a Bob ') — It was not so much for myself as for that vulgar child — And I said, ' A pint of double X, and please to draw it mild !' — When I came back I gazed about — I gazed- on stool and chair — I could not see my little friend — because he was not there ! I peep'd beneath the table-cloth — beneath the sofa too — I said, ' You little vulgar Boy ! why what's become of you ?' I could not see my table-spoons — I look'd, but could not sec The little fiddle-pattern'd ones I use when I'm at tea ; • — I could not see my sugar-tongs — my silver watch — oh, dear ! 1 know 'twas on the mantelpiece when I went out for beer. I could not see my Macintosh — it was not to be seen ! — Nor yet my best white beaver hat, broad-brimm'd and lined with green ; My carpet-bag — my cruet-stand, that holds my sauce and soy, — My roast potatoes ! — all are gone ! — and so's that vulgar Boy 1 * Qui facit per altum, facit per se — Deem not, gentle stranger, that Jlr. Cobb is a petty dealer and chapman, as Mr. Simpkinsou would here seem to imply. He is a maker, not a retailer of stingo, — and mighty pretty tpple he makes. A LEGEND OF JARVIS'S JETTY. 287 I rang the bell for Mrs. Jones, for she was down below, ' Oh, Mrs. Jones ! what do you think ? — ain't this a pretty go ? — ' — That horrid little vulgar Boy whom I brought here to-night, — He's stolen my things and run away ! !' — Says she, ' And sarve you right!!' Next moiTiing I was tip betimes — I sent the Crier round, All with his bell and gold-laced hat, to say I'd give a pound To find that little vulgar Boy, who'd gone and used me so ; But when the Crier cried, ' Yes ! ' the people cried, ' No ! ' I went to ' Jarvis' Landing-place,' the glory of the town, There was a common sailor-man a-walking up and down, I told my tale — he seem'd to think I'd not been treated well, And call'd me ' Poor old Bufler ! ' — what that means I cannot tell. That Sailor-man he said he'd seen that morning on the shore, A son of — something — 'twas a name I'd never heard before, A little 'gallows-looking chap' — dear mc; what could he mean? "With a ' carpet-swab ' and ' muckingtogs,' and a hat turned up with green. He spoke about his ' precious eyes,' and said he'd seen him ' sheer,' — It's very odd that Sailor-men should talk so very queer — And then he hitch'd his trousers up, as is, I'm told, their use, — It's very odd that Sailor-men should wear those things so loose. I did not understand him well, but think he meant to say He'd seen that little vulgar Boy, that morning, swim away In Captain Large's Royal George, about an hour before. And they were now, as he supposed, ' somew/ieres ' about the Nore. A landsman said, ' I twig the chap — he's been upon the Mill — And 'cause he gammons so the flats, ve calls him Yeeping Bill ! ' He said, * he'd done me wery brown,' and nicely ' stoiv'd the swag, — That's French, I fancy, for a hat — or else a carpet-bag. I went and told the constable my property to track ; He ask'd me if 'I did not wish that I might get it back ?' I answered, ' To be sure I do 1 — it's what I'm come about.' He smiled and said, ' Sir, does your mother know that you arc out ?' Not knowing what to do, I thought I'd hasten back to town. And beg our own Lord Mayor to catch the Boy who'd ' done me brown.' His Lordship very kindly said he'd try and find him out. But he rather thought that there were several vi\lgar boys about.' He sent for Mr. Withair then, and I describ'd ' the swag,' My Macintosh, my sugar-tongs, my spoons and carpet-bag ; He promised that the New Police should all their powers employ 1 But never to this hour have I beheld that vulgar Boy ! 288 THE smuggler's leap. MORAL. Remember, then, what when a boy I've heard my Grandma tell, ' Be warn'd in time by others' harm, and you shall do full WELL ! ' Don't link yourself with vulgar folks, who've got no fixed abode. Tell lies, use naughty words, and say ' they wish they may be blow'd ! Don't take too much of double X ! — and don't at night go out To fetch your beer yourself, but make the pot-boy bring your stout ! And when you go to Margate next, just stop, and ring the bell, Give my respects to Mrs. Jones, and say I'm pretty well ! And now for his Legend, which, if the facts took place rather beyond ' the memory of the oldest inhabitant,' are yet well-known to have occurred in the neighbourhood ' once on a time ;' and the scene of them will be readily pointed out by any one of the fifty intelligent fly-drivers who ply upon the pier, and who will convey you safely to the spot for a guerdon which they term * three bob.' THE SMUGGLER'S LEAP.. a legend of thanet. ' Near this hamlet (Acol) is a long-disused chalk -pit of formidable depth, known by the name of " The Smugglei-'s Leap." The tradition of the parish runs, that a riding-officer from Sandwich, called Anthony Gill, lost his life here in the early part of the present (last) century, while in pursuit of a smuggler. A fog coming on, both parties went over the precipice. The smuggler's horse onli/, it is said, was found crushed beneath its rider. The »pot has, of course, been haunted ever since.' — See ' Supplement to Lewis's History of Thanet, by the Rev. Samuel Pegg, A.M., Vicar of Gomersham.' W. Bristow, Canterbury, 1796, p. 127, THE fire-flash shines from Reculver cliff. And the answering light burns blue in the skiff, And there they stand. That smuggling band. Some in the water and some on the sand, Ready those contraband goods to land : The night is dark, they are silent and still, — At the head of the party is Smuggler Bill I ' Now lower away ! come, lower away ! We must be far ere the dawn of the day. If Exciseman Gill should get scent of the prey. And should come, and should catch us here, what would he say ? Come, lower away, lads — onee on the hill. We'll laugh, ho ! ho ! at Exciseman Gill 1' A LEGEND OF THANET 280 The cargo's lower'd from the dark skiffs 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 ride I ' 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 ! Llerrily 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 Ilerne, 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 called Custom-house officers then • There were no such things as ' Preventive men.' Sauve qui peut ! That lawless crew, Away, and away, and away they flew ! Some 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 hurry Make for Sturry, With Custom-house officers close in their rear, Down Rushbourne Lane, and so by Westbere, None of them stopping, But shooting and popping, And many a Custom-house bullet goes slajD Through many a three-gallon tub like a tap. 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 away. Sauve qui peut ! That lawless crew, Away, and away, and away they flew ! Some seek Whitstable — some Grove Ferry, Spurring and whipping like madmen — very — For the life ! for the life ! they ride ! they ride I And the Custom-house officers all divide. And they gallop on after them for and wide ! All, all, save one — Exciseman Gill, — He sticks to the skirts of Smuggler Bill ! 290 THE smuggler's leap. Smuggler Bill is six feet high, He has curling locks, and a roving eye, He has a tongue and he has a smile Trained the female heart to beguile, And there is not a farmer's wife in the Isle, From St. Nicholas quite To the Foreland Idght, But that eye, and that tongue, and that smile will wheedle bei To have done with the Grocer and make him her Tea-dealer; There is not &■ farmer there hut 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 who will, ride after who may, 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 1 Ho ! ho ! — ho ! ho ! ' says Smuggler Bill — He draws out a flask and he sips his fill, And he laughs 'Ho I ho 1 ' at Exciseman Gill. Down Chislett Lane, so free and so fleet Kides 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 thiu, 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. ' 1 would give my sotd,^ 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 ofiicer close by his side, On a high-trotting horse with a dun-coloured 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, A. sad old scoundrel as ever you knew, A LEGEND OF THA^'ET. 291 And he rode in his stirrups sixteen stone two. — He'd just utter'd the words which I've mention'd to you, When his horse coming slap on his knees with him, threw Him head over heels, and away he flew, And Exciseman Gill was bruised black and blue. When he arose His hands and his clothes Were as filthy as could be, — he'd pitch'd on his nose, And roU'd over and over again in the mud. And his nose and his chin were all cover'd with blood ; Yet he screamed with passion, ' I'd rather grill Than not come up with that Smuggler Bill ! ' — 'Mount! Mount!' quoth the Custom-house officer, 'get On the back of my Dun, you'll bother him yet. Your words are plain, though they're somewhat rough, " Done and Done " between gentlemen's always enough ! — I'll lend you a lift — there — you're up on him — so. He's a rum one to look at — a devil to go /' Exciseman Grill Dash'd up the hill, And mark'd not, so eager was he in pursuit. The queer Custom-house officer's queer-looking boot. Smuggler Bill rides on amain He slacks not girth and he draws not rein. Yet the dapple-grey mare bounds on in vain. For nearer now — and he hears it plain — Sounds the tramp of a horse — ' Tis the Ganger again !' Smuggler Bill Dashes round by the mill That stands near the road upon Monkton Hill, — ' Now speed, — now speed. My dapple-grey steed, Thou ever, my dapple, wert good at need ! O'er Monkton Mead, and through Minster Level, We'll baffle him yet, be he gauger or devil ! For Manston Cave, away ! away I Now speed thee, now speed thee, my good dapple-grey, It shall never be said that Smuggler Bill Was run down like a hare by Exciseman Gill !' Manston Cave was Bill's abode ; A mile to the north of the Eamsgate road. (Of late they say It's been taken away. That is, levell'd a-nd filled up with chalk and clay. By a gentleman there of the name of Day,) Thither he urges his good dapple-grey ; And the dapple-grey steed, Still good at need. Though her chest it pants, and her flanks they bleed, Dashes along at the top of her speed ; But nearer and nearer Exciseman Gill 'Cries ' Yield thee! now yield thee, thou Smuggler Bill!' 292 THE smuggler's LEAI'. Smuggler Bill, he looks Leliind, And he sees a Dun horse come swift as the wind, And his nostrils smoke and his eyes they blaze Like a couple of lamps on a yellow post-chaise ! Every shoe he has got Appears red-hot ! And sparks round his ears snap, crackle, and play, And his tail cocks up in a very odd way ; Every hair in his mane seems a porcupine's quill. And there on his hack sits Exciseman Gill, Crying ' Yield thee ! now yield thee, thou Smuggler Bill !' Smuggler Bill from his holster drew A large horse-pistol, of which he had two ! Made by Nock ; He puU'd back the cock As far as he could to the back of the lock ; The trigger he touch'd, and the welkin rang To the sound of the weapon, it made such a bang ; Smuggler Bill ne'er missed his aim, The shot told true on the Dun — but there came From the hole where it enter'd — not blood, — but flan:ie , — He changed his lAan, And fired at the man ; But his second horse-pistol flashed in the pan ! And Exciseman Gill, with a hearty good will, Made a grab at the collar of Smuggler Bill. The dapple-grey mare made a desperate bound When that queer Dun horse on her flank she found. Alack ! and alas ! on what dangerous ground ! It's enough to make one's flesh to creep To stand on that fearful verge, and peep Down the rugged sides so dreadfully steep. Where the chalk-hole j^awns full sixty feet deep, O'er which that steed took that desperate leap ! It was so dark then under the trees. No horse in flie world could tell chalk from cheese — Down they went — o'er that terrible fall, — Horses, Exciseman, Smuggler, and all ! ! Below were found Next day on the ground By an elderly gentleman \valking his round, (I wouldn't have seen such a sight for a pound,) All smash'd and dash'd, three mangled corses, Two of them human, — the third was a horse's — That good dapple-grey, and Exciseman Gill Yet grasping the collar of Smuggler Bill ! But where was the Dun ? that terrible Dun ? From that terrible night he was seen by none ! — THE SMUGGLER'S LEAP. A LEGKND OF TUA^^KT. 293 There are, some people think, though I am not one, That part of the story all nonsense and fun, But the country-folks there. One and all declare, When the ' Crowner's 'Quest ' came to sit on the pair, They heard a loud Horse-laugh up in the air ! — — If in one of the trips Of the steam-boat Eclipse You should go down to Margate to look at the ships, Or to take what the bathing-room people call ' Dips,' You may hear old folks talk Of that quarry of chalk ) Or go over — it's rather too far for a walk. But a three-shilling drive will give you a peep At that fearful chalk-pit — so awfully deep, Which is call'd to this moment ' The Smuggler's Leap !' Nay more, I am told, on a mooushiny night. If you're ' plucky,' and not over subject to fright. And go and look over that chalk-pit white. You may see, if you will, The Ghost of Old Gill Grappling the Ghost of Smuggler Bill, And the Ghost of the dapple-grey lying between 'em. — I'm told so — I can't say I know one who's seen 'em ! IdOBAI,. And now, gentle Reader, one word ere we part, Just take a friend's counsel, aud lay it to heart. Imprimis, don't smuggle ! — if bent to please Beauty, You must buy French lace, — purchase what has paid duty ! Don't use naughty words, in the next place, — and ne'er in Your language adopt a bad habit of swearing ! Never say ' Devil take me ! ' Or shake me ! ' — or ' bake me ! ' Or such-like expressions — Eemember Old Nick To take folks at their word is remarkably quick. Another sound maxim I'd wish you to kee^J, Is, ' Mind what you're after, and — Look ere you Leap !" Above all, to my last gravest caution attend — Never bokeow a horse you don't kkow of a friend ! ! For the story which succeeds I am indebted to Mrs. Botherby. She is a Shropshire lady by birth, and I overheard her, a few weeks since, in the nursery chanting the following, one of the Legends peculiar to her native county, for the amusement and information of Seaforth's little boy, who was indeed ' all ears.' As Ealph do Diceto, who alludes to the main facts, was Dean of St. Paul's in 294 BLOUDIE JACKS OF SHREWSBERIUE. 1183, about the time that the Temple Church was consecrated, the history is evidently as ancient as it is authentic, though the author of the present paraphrase has introduced many unauthorised, as well as * anachronismatical interpolations.'^For the interesting note ou the ancient family of Ketch, I need scarcely say, I am obliged to the Simpkinson. THE SHEOPSHIRE BLUEBEAED. A LEGEND OF 'THE PKOUD SALOPIANS.' Ilisce ferfe temporibus, in agro Salopiensi, Quidam, cui nomeu Johannes, He Sanglaunt deinde nuncupatus, iixores quamplurimas ducit, enecat et (ita referunt) manducat; ossa soltim cani mirse magnitudinis relinquens. Turn demura in flagrante delicto, vel ' manu rubra,' ut dicunt Jurisconsulti, de- prensus, caruirice vis opprimitur. — Kadulphus de Diceto. OH ! why doth thine eye gleam so bright, ISIouHic Sacftj 7 Oh ? why doth thine eye gleam so bright ? — The Mother's at home, The Maid may not roam, She never will meet thee to-night ! By the light Of the moon — it's impossible — quite ! Yet thine eye is still brilliant and bright, BlouUic 3ncf?e ! It gleams with a fiendish delight — * 'Tis done — She is won ! Nothing under the sun Can loose the charm'd ring, though it's slight ! Ho! ho! It fits so remarkably tight!' — The wire is as thin as a thread, 33loutitf Jacftc ! The wire is as thin as a thread I — ' Though slight be the chain. Again might and main, Cannot rend it in twain — She is wed ! She is wed ! She is mine, be she living or dead ! Haw ! haw ! !' Nay, laugh not, I pray thee, so loud, 33Ioutiie jfacftt I A LEGEND OF SHROPSHIRE. 295 Oh ! laugh, not so loud and so clear ! Though sweet is thy smile The heart to beguile, Yet thy laugh is quite shocking to hear, dear ! It makes the blood curdle with fear I The Maiden is gone by the glen, JSloutiie Sacfee I She is gone by the glen and the wood — It's a very odd thing She should wear such a ring, While her tresses are bound with a snood. By the rood ! It's a thing that's not well understood ! The Maiden is stately and tall, Blouiic Satkt I And stately she walks in her pride ; But the young Mary-Anne Euns as fast as she can, To o'ertake her, and walk by her side ! Though she chide — She deems not her sister a bride ! But the Maiden is gone by the glen, Bloubic Sackc ! Mary- Anne she is gone by the lea ; She o'ertakes not her sister It's clear she has mias'd her And cannot think where she can be ! Dear me ! ' Uo ! ho ! — We shall see ! we shall see !' Mary- Ann is gone over the lea, 33Iauttc KacJtc ! Mary-Anne she is come to the Tower ! But it makes her heart quail For it looks like a jail, A deal more than a fair Lady's bower, So sour Its ugly grey walls seem to lour. For the barbican's massy and high, Bloutiic Sackc ! And the oak-door ia heavy and bi-own ; And with iron it's plated And machicollated. To pour boiling oil and lead down ; How you'd frown Should a ladle-full fall on your crown ! The rock that it stands on is steep, JSIouHie 3ackj I 296 BLOUDIE JACKE OF SHREWSBERRIE. To gain it one's forced for to creep ; The Portcullis is strong, And the Drawbridge is long, And the water runs all round the Keep-, At a peep You can see that the Moat's very deep ! The Drawbridge is long, but it's down, 33Ioutite Sarftc ! And the Portcullis hangs in the air ; And no Warder is near, With his horn and his spear, To give notice when people come there. — I declare Mary- Anne has run into the Square ! The oak-door is heavy and brown, iSlouBic Sacftc ! But the oak-door is standing ajar, And no one is there To say, * Pray take a chair, You seem tired. Miss, with running so far — So you are— With grown people you're scarce on a par ! ' But the young Mary- Anne is not tired, 33loutitc Sadte I She roams o'er your Tower by herself ; She runs through, very soon, Each boudoir and saloon, And examines each closet and shelf. Your pelf, All your plate, and your china — and delf. She looks at your AiTas so fine, 23Ioutik Sachc I So rich, all description it mocks ; And she now and then pauses To gaze at your vases, Your pictures, and or-molu clocks ; Every box, Every cupboard, and drawer she unlocks. She looks at the paintings so rare, 33IoulrtE Sacfte I That adorn every wall in your house ; Your impayahle pieces, Your Paul Veroneses, Your Eembrandts, your Guides, and Dows, Morland's Cows, Claude's Landscapes, — and Landseer's Bow-wows. Bhe looks at your Statues so fine, 33loutii'c Sadb I A LEGEND OF SHROPSHIRE. 297 And mighty great notice she takes Of your Niobe crying, Your Mirmillo dying, Your Hercules strangling the snakes, — How he shakes The nasty great things as he wakes ! Your liaocoon, his serpents and boys, 3SIouUtc 5arfte ! She views with some little dismay ; A copy of that I can See in the Vatican, Unless the Pope's sent it away. As they say. In the Globe, he intended last May.* There's your Belvidere Phoebus, with which, 33Ioulite Sacke ! Mr. Milman says none other vies. (His lines on A|X)llo Beat all the rest hollow, And gain'd him the Newdigate prize.) How the eyes Seem watching the shaft as it flies ! There's a room full of satins and silks, 33Ioutit£ iarlti There's a room full of velvet and lace, There are drawers full of rings And a thousand fine things. And a splendid gold watch with a case O'er its face, Is in every room in the place. There are forty fine rooms on a floor, aSIouUic 3zd{t ! And every room fit for a Ball, It's so gorgeous and rich, "With so lofty a pitch. And so long, and so broad, and so tall ; Yes, all, Save the last one — and that's very small ! It boasts not stool, table, or chair, 33loutiic 3ackc ! But one Cabinet, costly and grand. Which has little gold figures Of little gold Niggers, With fishing-rods stuck in each hand. — It's japann'd. And it's placed on a splendid buhl stand. * 'The Pope is said — this fact is hardly credible — to have sold the Laocoon and the Apollo Belvidere to the Emperor of Russia for nine millions of fi'ancs.' Globe and Traveller, 298 BLOUDIE JACKK OF SHREWSBEREIE. Its hinges and clasps are of gold, Blouiiis Sacfic ! And of gold are its key-hole and key, And the drawers within Have each a gold pin, And they're nuniber'd with 1, 2, and 3, You may see All the figures in gold filigree! Numher I's full of emeralds green, 33Ioutiie Sarftj ! Xumber 2's full of diamonds and pearl ; But what does she see In drawer Number 3 That makes all her senses to whirl, Poor Girl ! And each lock of her hair to uncurl ? — Wedding fingers are sweet pretty things, iSIoutiic Sacke ! To salute them one eagerly strives, When one kneels to ' propose' — It's another quelque chose When cut off at the knuckles with knives, From our wives, They are tied up in bimches of fives. Yet there they lie, one, two, three, four ! 33IoutitE 3aA£ ! There lie they, five six, seven, eight ! And by them, in rows. Lie eight little Great-Toes To match in size, colour, and weight ! From their state. It would seem they'd been sever'd of late. Beside them are eight Wedding-rings, BIcutiE ifacftc ! And the gold is as thin as a thread — ' Ho ! ho ! — She is mine — This will make up the Nine ! Dear me ! who those shocking words said ? — —She fled To hide herself under the bed. But, alas ! there's no bed in the room, Bloutite Sacftc ! And she peeps from the window on high ; Only fancy her fright And the terrible sight Down below, which at once meets her eye ! 'Oh My!!' She half utter'd,— but stifled her cry. A LEGEND OF SHROPSHIRE. 299 For she saw it was You and your Man, ,23IautitE iJacfte ! And she heard your unpleasant ' Haw ! haw ! ! ' "WTiile her sister, stone dead, By the hair of her head, O'er the bridge you were trying to draw, As she saw — A thing quite contra-ry to la\v ! Your man has got hold of her heels, 33Ioutit£ Sachc ! iJlOUllU Kacftc I you've got hold of her hair ! — But nor Sat'kt nor his Man Can see young Mary-Anne She has hid herself under the stair, ' And there Is a horrid great Dog, I declare ! His eye-balls are bloodshot and blear, . . ^^ , , iolantitc 3at:h ! He s a sad ugly cur for a pet ; He seems of the breed Of that ' Billy,' indeed, Who used to kill rats for a bet ; —I forget Mow many one mornmg he ate. He has skull, ribs, and vertebras there, . , , . , JSlonttj 3atkc ! And thigh-bones ;— and, though it's so dim, Yet it's plain to be seen He has pick'd them quite clean, — She expects to be torn limb from limb, So grim He looks at her — and she looks at him. She has given him a bun and a roll, „, , 33Ioulite 3a:lt ! She has given him a roll and a bun, And a Shrewsbury cake. Of Ratlin's * own make, Which she happened to take ere her run She begun — She'd been used to a luncheon at One. It's ' a pretty particular Fix,' Bloutic 3ach ! —Above,— there's the Maiden that's dead ; Below— growling at her— There's that Cannibal Cur \v ho at present is munching her bread, Instead Of her leg, — or lier arm, — or her head. • Oh, Pailin! Prince of cake-conipounders ' the mouth liquefies at tliv very name — but there ! ' i . j V 300 BLOUDIB JACKE OF SHREW SBERRIE. It's ' a pretty particular Fix,' Bloutic 3utkt 1 Slie is caiigtt like a mouse in a trap ; — Stay ! — there's something, I think, That has slipp'd through a chink, And fall'n, hy a singular hap, Slap, Into poor little Mary- Anne's lap ! It's a very fine little gold ring, BlouttE Saclte ! Yet, though slight, its remarkably stout. But It's made a sad stain, AVhich will aiways remain On her frock — for Blood will not wash out ; I doubt Salts of Lemon won't bring it about ! She has grasp'd that gold ring in her hand, 33l0uliie SacltE I In an instant she stands on the floor. She makes but one bound O'er the back of the hound, And a hop, skip, and jump to the door. And she's o'er The drawbridge she'd traversed before 1 Her hair's floating loose in the breeze, ISIoutte Sarfse ! For gone is her ' bonnet of blue.' — Now the Barbicau's past ! — Her legs ' go it ' as faist As two drumsticks a-beating tattoo, As they do At E^veille, Parade, or Eeview ! She has run into Shrewsbury town, BIoutitE Sarftc ! She has called out the Beadle and May'r, And the Justice of Peace, And the Rural Police, Till ' Battle Field ' swarms like a Fair, — And see there ! — E'en the Parson's beginning to swear ! ! There's a pretty to-do in vour Tower, 33lout!ie 3aclz I In your Tower there's a pretty to-do ! All the people of Shrewsbury Playing old gooseberry With your choice bits of taste and vertii; Each bijou Is upset in their search after you ! A LEGE^'D OF SHROPSHIRE. 301 They are playing the deuce with your things, Bloutiie IJaAr ! There's your Cupid is brolien in two, And so too, between us, is Each of your Venuscs, The ' Antique ' ones you bought of the Jew, And the new One, George Robins swears came from St. Cloud. The Callipyge's injured behind, BlouDic 3atJtc ! The De Medici's injured before ! And the Anadyojiexe 's injured in so many Places, I think there's a score, If not more, Of her fingers and toes on the floor. They are hunting you up stairs and down, Bloutiic 3atkt ! Every person to pass is forbid. While they turn out the closets And all their .'cposita - 'There's the dust-hole— come lift up the lid!'- So they did— But they could not find where you were hid Ah ! Ah ! — they will have you at last, 33IouIiic iacfir ! The chimneys to search they begin ;— . They have found you at last ! — • There you are, sticking fast. With your knees doubled up to your chin. Though you're thin ! ■ — Dear me ! what a mess you arc in ! — What a terrible pickle you're in, iSIoittiic 3acftc ! Why, your face is as black as your hat! Your fine Holland shirt Is all over dirt ! And so is your point-lace cravat ! Whnt a Flat To seek such an asylum as that ! They can scarcely help laughing, I vow, Blouiitc 3aclte In the midst of their tunnoil and strife; You're not fit to be seen ! —You look like Mr. Kean In the play where he murders his wife ! — On my life You ought to be scraped with a knife 1 802 BLOUDIE JACKE OF SHREWSBERRIE. They have pull'd you down flat on your back, Blouiic Sacfo ! They have puU'd you down flat on your hack ! And they smack, and they thwack. Till your ' funny bones ' crack, As if you were stretched on the lack, At each thwack ! — Good lack ! what a savage attack ! U'hey call for the Parliament Man, Bloutiic Satkt ! And the Hangman, the matter to clinch, And thev call for the Judge, But others cry ' Fudge !— Don't budge Mr. Calcraft,* an inch ! Mr. Lynch !+ Will do very well at a pinch !' It is useless to scuffle and cuff, 33Icut({c 3ad^t ! It is useless to struggle and bite ! And to kick and to scratch You have met with your match, And the Shrewsbury Boys hold you tight, Despite i'^our detennined attempts ' to show fight.' They are pulling you all sorts of ways, Bloutiic 3adu I * Jelian de Ketche acted as Provost Jlarshal to the army of William the Conqueror, aiid 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 ©lU 33atItE, co. Midds., to be held by him, and the lieirs general of his body, in Grand Serjoantry, by the yearly presentation if ' ane hempen cravatte.' After rcmainmg for several generations in the same name, the office passed, by marriage of the heiress, into the ancient family of the Kirbys, and thence again to that of Callcraft (1st Eliz. 1538). — Abhor- son Callcraft, Esq., of SaflVon Hill, co. Midd.x. the present representative of the Ketches, exercised his ' function ' on a very recent occasion, and claimed and was allowed the fee of 13\d. under the ancient grant as pjancjiuau's ffiSEagcs. Arms. — 1st and 4th, Quarterly, Ai-gent and Sable ; in the first quarter a Gibbet of the second, noosed proper, Callcraft. 2nd, Sable, three Niglit-caps. Argent, tufted Gules, 2 and 1, Ketche. 3rd, Or a Nosegay, flearant, Kirhy. Supporters. — Dexter: A Sheriff in his pride, robed Gules, chained and collared Or. — Sinister: An Ordinary display proper, wigged and banded Argent, nosed Gules. Motto. — Sic itdr ad astra ! t The American Justinian, compiler of the ' Yankee Pandects,* A LEGEND OF SHROPSHIRE. 303 TLey are twisting your right leg Nor-West, And your left leg duo Soutli, And your knee's in your mouth, And your head is poked down on your breast, And it's prest, 1 protest, almost into your chest ! They have pulled off your arms and your legs, JSloutiic Satlc I As the naughty hoys serve the blue flics; And they'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 dismcmber'd and torn 13Ioutitc 3ack ! They hew, and they hack, and they chop; And, to finish the whole. They stick up a pole In the place that's still called the JSluItic CToppf, And they pop Your grim gory head on the top ! They have buried the fingers and toes, 33Iautitc Kadic ! Of the victims so lately your prey. From those fingers and eight toes Sprang early potatoes, ' ILatigcs' J^ngcrs ' they're called to this day ; — So they say, — And you usually dig them in May. What became of the dear little girl ? 33louliic 3acl?c ! What became of the young Mary-Anne? Why, I'm sadly afraid That she died an Old Lbiid, For she fancied that every Young Man Had a plan To trepan her like * poor Sister Fan I' So they say she is now leading apes JjIauUic 3ache ! And mends Bachelors' small-clothes below ; The story is old, And has often been told. But I cannot believe it is so — No! No! Depend on't the tale is ' No Go !' * A similar appropriation is said to have been made, by an eminent prsc- tjtioncr. of those of the late Monsieur Conrvoisier S04 THE BABES IN THK WOOD. MOKAL. And uow for the moral I'd fain, 33loutij Sacfu ! 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, DowTi a glen ! — You really can't trust one in ten !' Let them think of your terrible Tower, Blouitc 3adc ! And don't let them liberties take, Whether Maidens or Spouses, In Bachelors' houses ; Or, some time or another, they'll make A Mistake ! And lose — more than a Sf)rcSxrsbc:rvtc (!raf\C ! ! Her niece, of whom I have before made honourable mention, is not a whit behind Mrs. Botherby in furnishing 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 Sapjjho of her own. It is to the air of ' Drops of Brandy ' that Patty nas 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 time ago I'm afraid, Miss — We were told of the Babes in the Wood By their false, cruel Uncle 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.* Hum ii, &c. * See Bloomfield's History of the County of Norfolk, in which all the particulars of this lamentable history are (or ought to be) fully detailed, together with the names of the parties, and an elaborate pedigree of the &mily. A LEGEND OF XORFOLK. 1^06 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-seasons Theii medical man shook his head As he could not get weil to the root of it ; And the Babes stood on each side the bed, While their Uncle, he stood at the foot of it. ' Oh, Brother 1' 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 turned 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 vvith AVhitehead's best essence of mustard. ' You know they'll be pretty well off in Eespect 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'll 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, he Put his handkerchief up to his eye. And devoted himself to Old Bogey If he did not make matters all right, And said, should he covet their riches. He ' wished the old Gentleman might Fly away with him, body and breeches I 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, 306 THE BABES IX THK WOOD. Giving out he should take lliem to town And select the best school in the nation, That John might not grow up a clown, But receive a genteel education. * Greek and Latin old twaddle I call !' Says he, ' While his mind's ductile and plastic, I'll place him at Dotheboys Hail Where he'll learn all that's new and gymnastic. While Jane, as, when girls have the dumps, Fortunc-himters, by scores, to entrap 'em rise, Shall go to those worthy old frumps, The two Misses Tickler of Clapham Rise 1 ' Having thought on the How and the When To get rill 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 Ivnife out and cut its carotid ! ' ' Done ' and ' done ' is pronounced on each side, While the poor little dears are delighted To thir'k they a-cock-horse shall ride, And are not in the least degree frighted ; They 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, Tliat he fairly exclaim'd, * I say, Jack, I'm blow'd 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 cut with your whinger at once. And scrag Jane, while 1 spitlicate Johnny !' He refused, and harsh language ensued, AVhich 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 rulfian his dead comrade. Jack, buries; Then he cries, ' Loves, amuse yourselves here With the hips, and the haws, and the blackberries! A LEGEND OF NORFOLK- 307 ' I'll be back in a couple of shakes ; So dou't, dears, be quiveriug 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 ! 1' From that moment the Babes ne'er caught sight Of the wretch who thus sought their undoing, But pass'd all that day and that night In wandering about and ' boo-hoo'-ing. The night proved cold, dreary, and dark. So that, worn out with sighings and sobbings. Next morn they were found stiff and stark. And stone-dead, by two little Cock-Kobins. These two little birds it sore grieves To see what so cruel a dodge I call, — They cover the bodies with leaves. An interment quite ornithological ; It might more expensive have been. But I doubt, though I've not been to see 'cm. If among those in all Kensal 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 That sniffs out all conccal'd peccadilloes. The wicked old Uncle they say, In spite of his riot and revel. Was hippish and qualmish all day, And dream't all night long of the d — 1. He grew gouty, dyspeptic, and sour, And his brow, once so smooth and so placid, Fresh wrinkles acquired eveiy hour. And whatever he swallow'd turn'd acid. The neighbours thought all was not right, ScM-cely one with him ventured to parley. And Captain Swing came in the night. And burnt all his beans and his barley. There was hardly a day but some fox I\an away with his geese and liis ganders: His wheat had the mildew, his flocks Took the rot, and his horses the glanders; 308 THE BABliS IN THE AYOOD. His daughters drank rum in their 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 he hanged 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 penoive; 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 diod in the workhouse at Norwich. MORAL. Ponder well now, dear Parents, each 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 ! Of stone-fruits 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. — ■ — When you set about making your ^vill, Which is commonly done when a body's ill. Mind, and word it with caution and skill, And avoid, if you can, any codicil I 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 liave children to mind, don't ill treat them. Nor think that, because they are small And weak, you may beat them, and cheat them ; THK DEAD DRUMMER. 309 Eemember that ' ill-gotten goods Never thrive ;' their possession's but cursory, So never turn out in the woods liittlo t'olsa yon should keep in the nursery. Be sure he who does such base things "Will ne'er stifle Conscience's clamoui"; His ' riches vnll 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 sobbings, When he iinds himself smother'd with leaves (Of fat catalogues) heap'd up by Eobins ! The incidents recorded in the succeeaiug Legend were commu- nicated 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, I believe, recorded in some of our law reports, though I have never been able to lay my hand upon them. THE DEAD DRUMMEl!. A LEGEND OF SAUSBTJBY PLAIN. OH, 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, With scarce an exception, by sea-faring men, The jacket, — the loose trousers ' bows'd up together ' — ^all Guiltless of braces, as those of Charles AVetherall, — 310 THE DEAD DRUMMKR. The pigeon-tood step, and tlie rollicking motion, Bespoke them two genuine sons of the Ocean, And show'd in a moment their real characters, (The accent so placed on this word by our Jack Tars). The one in advance was stui'dy and strong, With arms uncommonly hony and long. And his Guernsey shirt Was all pitch and dirt, Which sailors don't think inconvenient or ^vl•ong. He was very broad-breasted. And very deepchcsted ; His sinewy frame correspond with the rest did, I-lxcept as to height, for he could not be more At the most, you would say, than some five feet four. And, if measured, perhaps had been found a thought lower. Dame Xature, in fact, — whom some person or other, — A Poet, — has call'd a ' capricious ste^vmother,' — You saw when beside him. Had somehow denied him In longitude what she had granted in latitude. A trifling defect You'd the sooner detect From his having contracted a stoop in his attitude. Square-built and broad-shoulder'd, good-humour'd and gay, With his collar and countenance open as day. The latter — 'twas mark'd with small-pox, by the way, — Had a sort of expression good-will to bespeak ; He'd a smile in his eye, and a quid in his cheek ! And, in short, notwithstanding his failure in height. He was just such a man as you'd say, at first sight, You would much rather dine, or shake hands, with than figh The other, his friend and companion, was taller, By five or six inches, at least, than the smaller ; — ^- From his air and his mien It was plain to be seen, That ho was, or had been, A something between The retd ' Jack Tar ' and the ' Jolly :'selling females afloat — women KnowTi in our navy as oddly-named boat-women. The fact is, I can't say, I'm versed in the school So ably conducted by Marryat and Poole ; (See the last-mention'd gentleman's ' Admiral's Daughter ') ^The gi"and vade mecum For all who to sea come. And get, the first time in their lives, in blue water ; Of course in the use of sea terms you'll not wonder If I now and then should fall into some blunder. For which Captain Chamier, or IMr. T. P. Cooke Would call me a ' Lubber,' and ' Son of a Sea-cook. To return to our muttons — This mode of progression At length upon Spanking Bill made some impression, — ' Hillo, messmate, what cheer ? How queer you do steer I Cried Bill, whose short legs kept him still in the rear. ' Why, what's in the wind. Bo ? — what is it you fear ?' For he saw in a moment that something was frightening His shipmate much more than the thunder and lightning. ' Fear ? ' stammer'd out Waters, ' why. Him ! — don't you see What faces that Drummer-boy's making at mef ■ 312 THE DEAD DRUMMER. — How he dodges me so Wherever I go ? — What is it he wants with me, Bill, — do you know ? ' ' What Drummer-boy, Harry ?' cries Bill in surprise, (With a brief explanation, that ended in ' eyes,') ' What Drummer-boy, Waters ? — the coast is all clear, We haven't got never no Drummer-boy here ! ' — ' Why, there ! — don't you see How he's following me ? Now this way, now that way, and won't let me be ! Keep him ofif, Bill — look here — Don't let him come near ! Only see how the blood-drops his features besmear ! What, the dead come to life again ! — Bless me ! — Oh dear !' Bill remark'd in reply, ' This is all very queer — What, a Drummer-boy — bloody, too — eh ! — well, I never — I can't see no Drummer-boy here whatsumdever ! ' ' Not see him ! — why there ; — look ! — he's close by the post — Hark ! — hark ! — how he drums at me now ! — he's a Ghost !' ' A what ? ' returned Bill, — at that moment a flash More than commonly awfal preceded a crash Like what's called in Kentucky ' an Almighty Smash.' — And down Harry Waters went plump on his knees, While the sound, though prolong'd, died away by degrees ; In its last sinking echoes, however, were some Which, Bill could not help thinking, resembled a drum ! ' Hollo ! Waters ! — I says,' Quoth he in amaze, * Why, I never see'd nvffiyi in all my born days Half so queer As this here, And I'm not very clear But that one of us two has good reason for fear — You to jaw about drummers with nobody near us ! — I must say as how that I thinks it's mysterus.' ' Oh, mercy ! ' roar'd Waters, ' do keep him off, Bill, And, Andrew, forgive ! — I'll confess all ! — I will ! I'll make a clean breast, And as for the rest, Tou may do with me just what the lawyers think best , But haunt me not thus ! — let these visitings cease. And your vengeance accomplish'd. Boy, leave me in peace ! — Harry paused for a moment, — then turning to Bill, Who stood with his mouth open, steady and still. Began ' spinning ' what nauticals term a ' tough yarn,' Viz. : his tale of what Bill call'd ' this precious consarn' THE DEAD DRUMMER. A LEGEND OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 313 *It was ill r-iTcli j the said machine's aid, Up, what's now called, the ' tottle ' of those he survey 'd, There were just — how he proved it I cannot divine, — Nine thousand, nine hundred, and ninety, and nine. Exclusive of Him, Who, giant in limb, And black as the crow they denominate Jim, With a tail like a bull, and a head like a bear, Stands forth at the window, — and what holds he there, ^Vhich he hugs with such care. And pokes out in the air, And grasps as its limbs from each other he'd tear? Oh ! grief and despair ! I vow and declare It's Le Scroope's poor, dear, sweet, little, curly-wigg'd Heir! Whom the nurse had forgot, and left there in his chair, Alternately sucking his thumb and his pear ! What words can express Tlie dismay and distress A LEGEND OF THE NORTH COUNTUKE. 327 Of Sir Guy, when lie found what a terrible mess His cursing and banning had now got him into ? That words, which to use are a shame and a sin too, Had thus on their speaker recoil'd, and his malison Placed in the hands of the Devil's own ' pal ' his son ! — He sobb'd and he sigh'd, And he scream'd, and he cried. And behaved like a man that is mad, or in liquor, — he Tore his peak'd beard, and he dash'd off his ' A^icary,'* Stamped on the jasey As though he were crazy, And staggering about just as if he were * hazy,' Exclaimed, ' Fifty pounds !' (a large sum in those times) ' To the person, whoever he may be, that climbs To that AvindoAV above there, en ogive, and painted. And bring down my curly-wi' ' here Sir Guy fainted ! With many a moan. And many a groan, What with tweaks of the nose, and some eau de Cdlcgne, He revived, — Eeason once more remounted her throne. Or rather the instinct of Xature, — 'twere treason To Her, in the Scroope's case, perhaps, to say ReaGon, — But what saw he then? — Oh ! my goodness ! a sight Enough to have banished his reason outright ! — In that broad banquet hall The fiends one and all, Regardless of shriek, and of squeak, and of squall, From one to another were tossing that small Pretty, curly-wigg'd boy, as if playing at ball : Yet none of his friends or his vassals might dare To fly to the rescue, or rush up the stair, And bring down in safety his curly-wigg'd Heir ! Well a day ! Well a day ! All he can say * A peruke so named from its inventor. Robert de Eos and Eudo Fitz- S'icari were celebrated pcrruquiers, who flourished in the eleventh century. The latter is noticed in the Battle-Abbey roll, and is said to have curled Wil- liam the Conqueror's hair when dressing for the battle of Hastings. Dugdale makes no mention of him, but Camden says, that Humfrey, one of his descend- ants, was summoned to Parliament, 26 Jan. 25 Edw. I. (1297). It is doubtful, however, whether that wi-it can be deemed a regular writ of summons to Par- liament, for reasons amply detailed in the 'Synopsis of the British Peerage.' — (Art. Fitz-John.) A writ was subsequently addressed to him as * Ilumfry Fitz-Vicari, Chivr.' 8 Jan. 6 Edw. II. (1313), and his descendants appear to Jiave been regularly summoned as late as 5 and 6 of I'hilip and Slary, 1557-8. Soon after which Peter Fitz-Vicari dying, s. P. M. this barony went into abeyance between his two daughters, Joan, married to Henry de Truefit of Fullbottom, and Alice, wife of Roger Wigram, of Caxon Hall, in Wigton, CO. Cumb. Esq., among whose repiespntatives it is presumed to be still iii abeyance. 32a THE LAY OF ST. CUTHBERT. Is but jast so much trouble and time thrown away; Not a man can be tempted to join the me/ee, E'en those words cabalistic, ' I j^romise to pay Fifty pounds on demand, have, for once, lost their sway,' And there the Knight stands. Wringing his hands In his agony — when on a sudden, one ray Of hope darts througli his midriff ! — His Saint ! — Oh, it's funny, And almost absurd, That it never occurr'd ! — • ' Ay ! the Scroope's Patron Saint ! — he's the man for my money 1 Saint — who is it ? — really I'm sadly to blame, — On my word I'm afraid, — I confess it with shame, — That I've almost forgot the good Gentleman's name, — Cut — let me see — Cutbeard ? — no ! — Cuthbeet ! — egad St. Cuthbert of Bolton !— I'm right— he's the lad ! Oh, holy St. Cuthbert, if forbears of mine — Of myself I say little, — have knelt at your shrine. And have lashed their bare backs, and — no matter — with twine Oh ! list to the vow Which I make to you now. Only snatch my poor little boy out of the row AVhich that Imp's kicking up with his fiendish bow-wow. And his head like a bear, and his tail like a cow ! Bring him back here in safety ! — perform but this task, And I'll give ! — Oh ! — I'll give you whatever you ask ! — There is not a shrine In the County shall shine With a brilliancy half so resplendent as thine, Or have so many candles, or look half so fine ! — Haste, holy St. Cuthbert, then, — hasten in pity !' — — Conceive his surprise When a strange voice replies, ' It's a bargain ! — but, mind, sir. The best Spermaceti !' — Say, whose that voice ? — whose that form by his side, That old, old, grey man, with his beard long and wide, In his coarse Palmer's weeds. And his cockle and beads?— And, how did he come ? — did he walk ? — did he ride ? Oh ! none could determine, — oh ! none could decide, — The fact is, I don't believe any one tried. For while ev'ry one stared, with a dignified stride, And without a word more. He march'd on before. Up a flight of stone steps, and so through the front door, To the banqueting-hall, that was on the first floor, While the fiendish assembly were making a rare Little shuttlecock there of the curly-wigg'd Heir. — — I wish, gentle Reader, that you could have seen The pause that ensued when he stepp'd in between, With his resolute air, and his dignified mien. And said, in a tone most decided, though mild, * Come ! — I'll trouble you just to hand over that child A LEGEKD OF THE KOIITH COUNTKKE. 329 The Demoniac crowd In an instant secm'd cowed ; Not one of the crew volunteer'd a, reply, All shrunk from the glance of that keen-flashing eye, Save one horrid Humgrnffin, who seem'd by his talk, And the airs he assumed, to be Cock of the walk. He quailed not before it, but saucily met it. And as saucily said, ' Don't you wish you may get it ?' My goodness ! — the look that the old Palmer gave ! And his frown ! — 'twas quite dreadful towitncss—' Why, slave You rascal !' quoth he, ' This language to me ! ! — At once, Mr. Nicholas ! down on your knee. And hand me that curly-wigg'd boy !— I command it- Come ! — none of your nonsense ! — you know 1 won't stand it.' Old Nicholas trembled, — he shook in his shoes. And seem'd half inclined, but afraid, to refuse. ' Well, Cuthbert,' said he, ' If so it must be, — For you've had your own way from the first time I knew ye ;— Take your curly-wigg'd brat, and much good may he do ye ! But I'll have in exchange ' — here his eye flashed with rage — ' That chap with the buttons — he gave me the Page !' ' Come, come,' the Saint answer'd, * you very well know The young man's no more his than your own to besto\v — Touch one button of his if you dare, Nick — no ! no ! Cut your stick, sir — come, mizzle 1 be off with you ! — go !' — R, The Devil grew hot— ' If I do I'll be shot ! An you come to that, Cuthbert, I'll tell you what's what ; He has asked us to dine here, and go we will not ! Why you Skinflint,— at least You may leave us the feast Here we've come all that way from our brimstone abode. Ten million good leagues. Sir, as ever you strode, And the deuce of a luncheon we've had on the road — _" Go !"— " Mizzle !"' indeed— Mr. Saint, who are you, 1 should like to know ?— « Go !"— I'll be hanged if I do ! He invited us all— we've a right here— it's known That a Baron may do what ho likes with his own — Here, Asmodeus— a slice of tliat beef; — now the mustard ! — What have you got ? — oh, apple-pie — try it with custard 1' The Saint made a pause As imcertain, because He knew Nick is pretty well 'up ' in the laws. And they viight be on his side — and then, he'd such claws ! On the whole, it was better, he thought, to retire AVith the curly-wigg'd boy he'd pick'd out of the fire, And give up the victuals — to retrace his path, And to compromise — (spite of the Member for Bath\ 380 THE LAY OF ST. CUTHBERT. So to old Nick's appeal, As he turn'd on his heel, lie replied, ' Well, I'll leave yau the mutton and veal, And the soup a la Heine, and the sauce Bechamel As The Scroope did invite you to dinner, I feel I can't well turn you out — 'twould be hardly genteel — But be moderate, pray, — and remember thus much. Since you're treated as Gentlemen, show yourselves such, And don't make it late. But mind and go straight Home to bed when you've finish'd — and don't steal the plate 1 Kor wrench off the knocker, or bell from the gate. Walk away, like respectable Devils, in peace. And don't " lark " with the watch, or annoy the police !' Having thus said his say, That Palmer grey Took up little Le Scroope, and walk'd coolly away. While the Demons all set up a ' Hip ! hip ! hurray 1' Then fell, tooth and claw, on the victuals, as they Had been guests at Guildhall upon Lord Mayor's day, All scrambling and scuffling for what was before 'em, Xo care for precedence or common decorum. Few ate more hearty Than IMadame Astarte, And Hecate, — considered the Belles of the party. Between them was seated Leviathan, eager To ' do the polite,' and take wine wnth Belijhegor ; Here was Morhleu (a French devil), supping soup-meagre, And there, munching leeks, Davy Jones of Tredegar (A Welsh one), who'd left the domains of Ap Morgan To ' follow the sea,' — and next him Demogorgon, — Then Pan with his pipes, and Fauns grinding the organ To Mammon and Belial, and half a score dancers, Who'd joined with Medusa to get up ' the Lancers ;' — Here's Lucifer lying blind drunk with Scotch ale, While Beelzebub's tying huge knots in his tail. There's Setebos, storming because Mephistophelcs Gave him the lie. Said he'd ' blacken his eye. And dash'd in his face a whole cup of hot coffee-lees ;— Piamping and roaring, Hiccoughing, snoring. Never was seen such a riot before in A gentleman's house, or such profligate revelling At any soiree — where they don't let the Devil in. Hark ! — as sure as fate The clock's striking Eight 1 (An hour which our ancestors called ' getting late,') When Nick, who by this time was rather elate, Eose up and addressed them. ' 'Tis full time,' he said, For all elderly Devils to be in their bed ; A LEGEND OF THE NORTH COUNTREE. 331 For my own part I mean to be jogging, because I don't find myself now quite so young as I was ; But, Gentlemen, ere I depart from my post, I must call on you all for one bumper — the toast Which I have to propose is, — Our Excellent liobT ! — ^Many thanks for his kind hospitality — may Tie also be able, To see at our table Himself, and enjoy, in a family way, His good company doivn stairs at no distant day ! You'd, Tm sure, think me rude If I did not include In the toast my young friend there, the curly-wigg'd Heir ! He's in very good hands, for you're all well aware That St. Cuthbert has taken him under his care ; Though I must not say " bless," — — Why you'll easily guess, — Jlay our curly-wigg'd Friend's shadow never be less !' Kick took off his heel-taps — bow'd — smiled — with an air Most graciously grim, — and vacated the chair. — Of com'se the elite Eose at once on their feet, And followed their leader, and beat a retreat ; When a sky-larking Imp took the President's seat. And, requesting that each would replenish his cup. Said, ' Where we have dined, my boys, there let us sup I' — — It was three in the morning before they broke up ! ! ! I scarcely need say Sir Guy didn't delay To fulfil his vow made to St. Cuthbert, or pay For the candles he'd promised, or make light as day The shrine he assured him he'd render so gay. In fact, when the votaries came there to pray, All said there was nought to compare with it— nay, For fear that the Abbey Might think he was shabby. Four Brethren thenceforward, two cleric, two lay, He ordained should take charge of a new-lbundcd chantry, With six marcs apiece, and some claims on the pantry ; In short, the whole County Declared, through his bounty The Abbey of Bolton exhibited fresh scenes From any displayed since Sir William de Mcschincs,* And Cecily Eoumeli came to this nation With William the Norman, and laid its foundation. For the rest, it is said, And I know I have read In some Chronicle — whose, has gone out of my head — • Vide Dugdale's Slonasticon, Ait, Prioratus de Bolton, in agro Ebon Gensi, 332 THE LAY OF ST. CUTHBERT. That, wliat with those candles, and other cxpcnsrs. Which no man would go to if quite in his senses, He reduced, and brought low His property so, That, at last, he'd not much of it left to bestow ; And that, many years after that terrible feast, Sir Guy, in the Abbey, was living a Priest ; And there, in one thousand and — something, — deccafod. (It's supposed by this trick He bamboozled Old Nick, And slipped through his fingers remarkably ' slick.') While, as to young Curly-wig, — dear little Soul, Would you know more of him, you must look at ' The Fioll, Which records the dispute, And the subsequent suit, Commenced in ' Thirteen sev'nty-five,' — which took root In Le Grosvenor's assuming the arms Le Scroopc swore That none but his ancestors, ever before. In foray, joust, battle, or tournament wore. To wit, ' On a Prussian-Uue Field, a Bend Or ;' While the Grosvenor averred that his ancestor bore The same, and Scroope lied like a — somebody tore Off the simile, — so I can tell you no more. Till some A double S shall the fragment restore.* MORAL. This Legend soimd maxims exemplifies — e. g. \mo. Should anything tease you. Annoy, or displease you, Eemember what Lilly says, ^ Animum regeP\ And as for that shocking bad habit of swearing, — In all good society voted past bearing, — Eschew it ! and leave it to dustmen and mobs, Nor commit yourself much beyond ' Zooks !' or * Odsbobs !' 2do. When asked out to dine by a Person of Quality, Mind, and observe the most strict punctuality ! For should you come late. And make dinner wait. And the victuals get cold, you'll incur, sure as fate, The Master's displeasure, the Mistress's hate. And — though both may, perhaps, be too well-bred to swear, — They'll heartily xvish you — I need not say WJiere. * It is with the greatest satisfaction that I learn from Mr. Simpkinson thij consummation, so devoutly to be wished, is about vo be realised, and that the remainder of this most interesting document, containing the whole of the defendant's evidence, will appear in the course of the ensuing summer, under the same auspices as the former portion. We shall look witli eagerness for the identification of ' Curly-wig.' t Animum rege ! qui nisi paret, imperat. — Lilly's Grammar. A LEGEND OF THE NORTU COU^JTEEE. 333 3tio. Look well to your Maid-servants ! — say you expect them To see to the children, and not to neglect them ! And if you're a widower, just throw a cursory Glance in, at times, when you go near the Nursery. — Perhaps it's as well to keep children from plums, And from pears in the season, — and sucking their thumbs : ilo. To sum up the whole with a ' Saw ' of much use. Be just and be generous, — don't 'be prof use I — Pay the debts that you owe, — keep your word to your friends, But — don't set toue cakdles alight at both ends ! ! — For of this be assured, if j-ou ' go it ' too fast, You'll be ' dish'd ' like Sir Guy, And like him, perhaps, die A poor, old, half-starved, Country Parson at last ! From a se.-\l attached to an ancient deed penes Tlionias Ingoldsby, Esq, preserved i;i Ihe ai- cliive.1 at Tappington EverarJ. For the Legend that follows Father John has, it will be seen, the grave authority of a Piomish Prelate. The good Father, who, as I have before had occasion to remark, received his education at Uouai, spent several years, in the earlier part of his life, upon the Continent. I have no doubt but that during this period he visited Blois, and there, in all probability, picked up, in the very scene of its locality the history which he has thus recorded. 334 THE LAY OF ST. AI.OYa. THE LAY OF ST. ALOYS. A LEGEND OF BLOIS. S. Heloius in hac urbe fuit episcopus, qui, defunctus, sepulturus est a fidelibus. Node autem sequent!, veniens quidam paganus lapidem, qui Baicophagum tegebat, revolvit, eiectumque contra se corpus Sancti spolwre, conatur. At ille, lacertis constrictum, ad se hominem fortitnr araplexatur et usque mane, populis spectantibus, tanquam constipatum loris, ita miserum brachiis detinebat. * * * * Judex loci sepulchri violatorem jubet abstrahi, et logali poeuoe senteutia condemnari ; sod non laxabatur a Sancto. Tunc intel- ligens voluntatem defuncti, Judex, facta de vita promissione, absolvit, deinde laxatur, et sic incolumis redditur: non vero fur demiisus quin se vitam mcnastericam amplexurum spopondisset. Greg. : Turnoens : de Gloria Confessorum. S^ lAINT ALOYS Was the Bishop of Blois, And a pitiful man was he, He grieved and he pined For the woes of mankind, And of brutes in their degree, — He would rescue the rat From the claws of the cat, And set the poor captive free ; Though his cassock was swarming With all sorts of vermin. He'd not take the life of a flea ! — Kind, tender, forgiving, To all things living, From injury still he'd endeavour to screen 'em, Fish, flesh, or fowl, — no differance between 'em — Nihil putavit a se aliemum. The Bishop of Blois was a holy man, — ■ A holy man was he ! For Holy Church He'd seek and he'd search As a Bishop in his degree. From foe and from friend He'd ' rap and he'd rend,' To augment her treasurie. Nought would he give, and little he'd lend, That Holy Church might have more to spend — A LEGEND OF BLOIS. 335 'Count Stephen'* (of Blois) 'was a worthy Peer, His breeches cost him but a crown, He held them sixpence all too dear, And so he call'd the Tailor lown !' — Had it been the Bishop instead of the Count, And he'd overcharged him to half the amount. He had knock'd that Tailor down ! — Not for himself! — He despised the pelf; He dress'd ta sackcloth, he dined off delf ; And, when it was cold, in lieu of a surtout. The good man would wrap himself up in his virtue.f Alack ! that a man so holy as he. So frank and free in his degree, And so good and so kind, should mortal be ! Yet so it is — for loud and clear From St. Nicholas' tower, on the listening ear, With solemn swell The deep-toned bell Flings to the gale a funeral knell ; And hark ! — at its sound. As a cunning old hcrind, "When he opens, at once causes all the young whelps Of the cry to put in their less dignified yelps. So — the little bells all. No matter how small. From the steeples both inside and outside the wall. With bell-metal throat Eespond to the note. And join the lament that a prelate so pious is Forced thus to leave his disconsolate diocese. Or, as Blois' Lord May'r Is heard to decJare, ' Shcaild leave this here world for to go to that there.' And see, the portals opening wide. From the Abbey flows the living tide ; Forth from the doors The torrent pours, Acolytes, ]\Ionks, and Friars in scores. This with his chasuble, that with his rosary, This from his incense-pot turning his nose awry, Holy Father, and Holy IMother, Holy Sister, and Holy Brother, Holy Son, and Holy Daughter, Holy Wafer, and Holy Water ; • Teste Meseire lago, a distinguished subaltern in the Venetian service, circiter a.D. 1580. His Biographer, Mr. AVilliam Shakspeare, a contemporary writer of some note, makes liim say ' Kinj Stephen,' inasmuch as the ' worthy peer' subsequently usurped the crown of England. The anachronism is a pardonable one. — Mr. Sin'^pkinson of Bath. t Mea Virtute rae involve. — HOR. 336 THE LAY OF ST. ALOYS. Every one drest Like a guest in his "best, In the smartest of clothes they're permitted, to wear> Serge, sackcloth, and shirts of the same sort of hair As now we make use of to stuff an arm-chair, Or weave into gloves at three shillings a pair, And employ for shampooing in cases rheumatic, — a Special specific, I'm told, for Sciatica. Through groined arch, and hy cloister'd stone. With mosses and ivy long o'ergrown, Slowly the throng Come passing along, With many a chaunt and solemn song. Adapted for holidays, high-days, and Sundays, — Dies irce, and De profundis. Miserere, and Domine dirige nos, — Such as, I hear, to a very slow tune are all Commonly chaunted hy Monks at a funeral. To secure the defunct's repose. And to give a broad hint to Old Nick, should the news Of a prelate's decease bring him there on a cruise, That he'd better be minding his P's and his Q"s, And not come too near, — since they can, if they choose, Make him shake in his hoofs — as he does not wear shoes. Still on they go, A goodly show, With footsteps sure, though certainly slow, Two by two in a very long row ; With feathers, and Mutes In mourning suits, Undertaker's men walking in hat-bands and hoots, — • Then comes the Crosier, all jewels and gold, Borne by a lad about eighteen years old ; Next, on a black velvet cushion, the Mitre, Borne by a younger boy, 'cause it is lighter. Eight Franciscans, sturdy and strong. Bear, in the midst, the good Bishop along ; Eight Franciscans, stout and tall. Walk at the corners, and hold up the pall ; Eight more hold a canopy high over all, With eight Trumpeters tooting the Dead March in Saul.- Behind, as Chief Mourner, the Lord Abbot goes, his Monks coming after him, all with posies. And white pocket-handkerchiefs up at their nose.s, Which they blow whenever his Lordship blows his — And oh ! 'tis a comely sight to see How Lords and Ladies, of high degree, Vail, as they pass, upon bended knee, A LEGEND OF BL013. 337 While quite as polite are the Squires and the Kni^ihts, In their helmets, and hauberks, and cast-iron tights. Ay, 'tis a comely sight to hehold, As the company march Through the rounded arch Of that Cathedral old !— Singers behind 'em, and singers before 'cm, All of them ranging in due decorum, Around the inside of the Sanctum Sanctorum, While brilliant and bright An unwonted liiyht (I forgot to premise this was all done at night) The links, and the torches, and flambeaux shed On the sculptured forms of the Mighty Dead, That rest below, mostly buried in lead, And above, recumbent in grim repose, With their mailed hose. And their dogs at their toes. And little boys kneeling beneath them m rows. Their hands joiu'd in pray'r, all in very long clothes, sVith inscriptions on brass, begging each who survives. As they some of them seem to have led so-so lives, "i'o 53raie for tfjc Soioks of themselves and their wives, — — The effect of the music, too, really was fine. When they let the good prelate down into his shrine, And by old and young The ' liequiem ' was sung ; Not vernacular French, but a classical tongue, That is — Latin — I don't think they meddled with Greek— In short, the whole thing produced — so to speak — What in Blois they would call a Coujo cVoeil magnifique! Yet, surely, ^s'hen the level ray Of some mild eve's descending sun Lights on the village pastor, grey In years ere ours had well begun — As there — in simjilest vestment clad. He speaks, beneath the churchyard tree, In solemn tones, — but yet not sad, — Of what Man is — what Man shall be ! And clustering round the grave, half hid By that same quiet churchyard yow, The rustic mourners bend, to bid The dust they loved a last adicu^. — That ray, methinks, that rests so sheeo Upon each briar-bound hillock green, 338 THE LAY OF ST. AL0T8. So calm, so tranquil, so serene, Gives to the eye a fairer scene, — Speaks to the heart with holier breath Than all this pageantry of Death. — But chacun a son gout — this is talking at random — We all know ' De gustibus nan 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, 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 ^\'lth the bats and the owls, — So do Witches and Warlocks, Ghosts, Goblins, and Ghouls To say nothing at all of those troublesome ' Swells ' AVho 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 are 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 managed to slide himself — While all were intent on the anthem, and hide himself. From his lurking i)lace. With stealthy pace, Through the ' long-drawn aisle ' he begins to crawl, As you see a cat walk on the top of the 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 Of late years — the substitute best to rely on 's what Jones of the Strand calls his Pyrogeneion,) * ' Nix my dolly, pals, Fake away '.' — words of deep and mysterious import in the ancient language 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 the propriety of making the best use of their time — and fingers. A LEGEND OF BLOIS. 339 He strikes with desimtch ! — his Tiuder 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 only a touch of the liver — All is silent — all is still — It 's ' gammon ' — it 's ' stuff!' — he may do what he vnll ! 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 ' tkig ' 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 grasped 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 ! I Oh, dear ! Oh, dear ! The fright and the fear ! — No one to hear ! — nobody near ! — ■ In the dead of the night! — at a bad time of year! — A defunct Bishop squatting upright on his bier, And shouting so loud, that the drum of his ear He thought would have split as these awful words met it — 'An! ha! my good friend! don't tou wish you may GET IT ?' — Oh, dear ! Oh, dear ! ^Twas 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 through the east window, a few streaks of grey Announce the approach of the dawn of the day ! 340 THE LAY OF Sf. ALOYS. Oil, 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 ! welcome that bell's Matin chime, whicli telb 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 original size, — llow some begin bless, — some anathematize, — And all look on the thief as old Nick in disguise. 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 feet, — (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 puUiug and hauling, And bawling and squalling And terribly mauling The thief whose endeavour to follow his calling Had 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 !' Nay, more ; — v/hen his Worship at length came to say He was perfectly ready to take him away, And fat him to grace tJie next Auto-da-fe, Still closer he prest The poor wretch to his breast, AVhile a voice — though his jaws still together were jamm'd — Was heard from his chest, ' If you do, I'll ' here slamm'd The great door of the church, — with so awful a sound I'hat the close of the good Bishop's sentence was drowu'd ! Out spake Frere Jehan, A i)itiful man, Oh ! a pitiful man was he ! And he wept and he pined For the sins of mankind, As a Friar in his degree. Remember, good gentlefolks,' so he began, ' Dear Aloys was always a pitiful man ! — That voice from his chest Has clearly ex }i rest A LEGEND OF BLOIS. 341 He lias pardoned the culprit — and as for the I'cst, 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 leaned (having once been himself a gay spark,) To the merciful side, — like the late Allan 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 should forthwith go To Piome, and salute there his Holiness' toe ; — And never again Read Voltaire or Tom Paine, Or Percy Byssbe 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-clap shook ! The Bishop sank down with a satisfied look. And the Thief, releas'd By the Saint dcccas'd Fell into the arms of a neighbouring Priest ! It skills not now To tell you how The transmogrified Pagan perform'd his vow; How he quitted his home, Travell'd to Pome, 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 relic — 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 hon Catholique in la helle France to Blois, Among others, the Monarch himself, Franfois, The Archbisliop of Kheims, and his ' Pious Jackdaw,'* * Vide page 129. 342 THE LAY OF ST. ALOYS. Aud there was not a man in Church, Chapel, or Meeting- house, Still less in Cabaret, Hotel, or Eating-house, But made an oration. And said, ' In tlac 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. What became of the Pagan I really can't say ; But I think I've been told, Whan he'd entcr'd their folil. 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. MORAIi. I fliiuk we may coax out a moral or two From the facts which have lately come under our view. First — Don't meddle with Saints!— for you'll find if you do They're what Scotch people call, 'kittle cattle to shoe!' 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 Eegent Street every night, ' on the scout,' — Recollect the Police keep a sharpish look-out. And 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 Suffer'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 !' We must all be aware Nature's prone to rebel, as Old Juvenal tells us, Naturam expellas Tamen usque recurret I There's no use making Her rat ! So that all that I have on this head to advance Ts, — whatever they think of these matters in France, There's a proverb, the truth of which each one allows here, • You NEVER CAN MAKE A SILK PURSE OF A SOW's EAB !' THE OLD WOMAN CLOTHED IX 3REY. 343 In tLe succeeding Legend we come nearer home. — Father In- goldsby is particular in describing its locality, situate some eight miles from the Hall — less, if j'ou take the hridle-road by the Church- yard, and so along the valley by Mr. Fector's Abbey. — In the enu- meration 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 ]\Irs. Botherby insinuates, is rc'}X)rted to have started for Dover, one fine morning, duly furnished with all the means and appliances of Exorcism. I cannot learn, however, that the family was ever enriched by his expedition. THE LAY OF THE OLD WOMAN CLOTHED IN GKEY. 0' A LEGEND OF DOVER. jjNCE there lived, as I've heard people say, An ' Old Woman clothed in grey,' So furrow'd with care. So haggard her air, lu 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, ( )f green-looking fluid, like lava diluted, To which I've professed an abhorrence most rooted.* One of those draughts they so commonly send us, Labeird ' Maitstits catharticus, mane sumendus ;' — She made a wry face. And, without saying G race, Toss'd it cff 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 'ISIedical Man,' altliough loth to distress her. Conceived it high time that her Father Confessor Should be sent for to shrive, and assoilzie, and bless her That she might not slip out of these troublesome scenes ' Unaneal'd and Unhouselcd,' — whatever that means.f * Vide page 209. t Alack for poor William Linloy to settle the point! Ilis elucidation of JIacbeth's * Hurlvburly ' casts a halo around his memory. In him the world lost one of its kindliest Spirits, and the Garrick Club its acutest commentator. 344 THE OLD WOMAN CLOTHED IN GREY. Growing afraid, He calls to his aid A bandy-legg'd neighbour, a ' Tailor by tradr,'* Tells him his I'ears, Bids him lay by his shears, Ilia thimble, his goose, and his needle, and hie With all possible speed to the Convent hard by, Kequests him to say That he begs they'll all pray, Viz. : The whole pious brotherhood, Cleric and Lay, l''or 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, A\''ould 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 snre, 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 !' Now I'd have you to know That this story of woe, Which I'm telling you, hajipeu'd a long time ago ; I can't 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 tlie Eoses.t Inasmuch as the times Described in these rhymes, Were as fruitful in virtues as ours arc in crimes ; And if 'mongst the Laity Unseemly gaiety Sometimes betray'd an occasional taint or two, At once all the Clerics Went into hj'sterics, While 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. — Ilence the late Mr. Froude, and the live Dr. Pusey We moderns consider as each worth a Jew's eye ; * All who are familiar with tlio Police Reports, nnd other Records of our Courts of justice, will recollect that every gentleman of this particular j)ro- I'cssion invariably thus describes himself, in contradistinction to the bricklayer, wliom he probably presumes to be indigencus, and to the Shoemaker, bom a Snob. t 'An antient and most pugnacious family,' says our Bath Friend. 'One of their descendants, George Kose, Esq., late JI.P. tor Christchurch (an elderlj gentleman now defunct), was equally celebrated for his vocal abilities and his wanton destruction of furniture when in a state of excitement, — ' Sing old Rose, and burn the bellows !' has grown into a proverb. A LEGEND OB lX)VER. 345 Though Wiseman and DuUman* combine against Newman, With Doctors and Proctors, and say he's no true man. — But this by tlic 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, And well might have borne Those words which are worn By our ' Nulli Sccundus ' Club — poor dear lost muttons, — Of Guardsmen — on Club days, inscribed on their buttons.— They Avould read, write, and speak Latin, Hebrew, and G reek, A radish-bunch munch for a lunch, — or a leek ; Though scoffers and boobies Ascribe certain rubies That garnished 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, Basiliua, 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 caudles ; Still less had he leisure to change the hair-shirt he Had worn the last twenty years — j^robabiy thirty, — Which not being wash'd all that time, had grown 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 drowsy, and blowsy, And — a rhyme modern etiquette never allows ye. — As for the rest. E'en if time had not prcst. It didn't much matter how Basil was drest. Nor could there be any great need for adorning. The Night being almost at odds with the morning. Oh ! sweet and beautiful is Night, when the silver moon is high. And countless Stars, like clustering gems, hang sparkling in the sky, While the balmy breath of the summer breeze comes whispering down the glen. And one fond voice alone is heard — oh ! Night is lovely then ! * The wortliy Jesuit's polemical publisher. — I am not quite sure as to the orthography ; it's idem sonans, at all events. 2b 846 THJE OLD WOMAN CLOTHED XN GELT. But when that voice, in feeble moans of sickness and of pain, But mocks the anxious ear that strives to catch its soimds in vain,- When silently we watch the bed, by the taper's flickering light, Where all we love is fading fast^how terrible is Night ! ! More terrible yet. If you happen to get By an old woman's bedside, who, all her life long, Has been, what the vulgar call 'coming it strong' In all sorts of ways that are naughty and wrong. — As Confessions are sacred, it's not very facile To ascertain what the old hag said to Basil ; But whatever she said, It filled him with dread, And made all his hair stand on end on his head, — No great feat to perform, inasmuch as said hair Being clipped by the tonsure, his crown was left bare. So of course Father Basil had little to spare ; But the little he had Seem'd as though 't had gone mad, Each lock, as by action galvanic, uprears In the two little tufts on the tops of his ears. — WJiat the old woman said That so ' fiU'd him with droad,' We should never have kno\\Ti any more than the dead, If the bandy-legg'd Tailor, his errand thus sped, Had gone quietly back to his needle and thread, As he ought ; but instead. Curiosity led, — A feeling we all deem extremely ill-bred, — He contrived to secrete himself under the bed ! — Not that he heard One half, or a third Of what passed as the Monk and the Patient conferred, But he here and there managed to pick up a word, Such as ' Knife,' And ' Life,' And he thought she said ' Wife,' And ' Money,' that ' source of all evil and strife ;'* Then he plainly distinguished the words ' Gore,' and * Gash,' Whence he deem'd — and I don't think his inference rash — She had cut some one's throat for the sake of his cash ! Intermix'd with her moans. And her sighs and her groans, Enough to have melted the hearts of the stones. Came at intervals Basil's sweet, soft, silver tones. For somehow it happened — I can't tell you why — The good Friar's indignation, — at first rather high, — To judge from the language he used in reply. Ere the old woman ceas'd, had a good deal gone by ; * Effodiuutur Opej Irritamenta Malorum. Lilly's QramwMr. A LEGEND OF DOVER, 34,7 And he gently addrcss'd her in accents of lioney, •Daughter, don't you despair !— WHAT'S BECOME OF THE MONEY?' In one just at Death's door, it was really absurd To see how her eye lighted up at that word — Indeed there's not one in the language that I know, (Save its synonyms ' Spanish,' ' Blunt,' ' Stumpy,' and ' Ehino,') AVhich acts so direct, And with so much effect On the human sensor inm, or makes one erect One's ears so, as soon as the sound we detect — It's a question with me Which of the three. Father Basil himself, though a grave S.T.P. (Such as he have, you see, the degree of D.D.) Or the eaves-dropping, bandy-legged Tailor, — or She Caught it quickest — however traditions agree That the Old Woman perk'd up as brisk as a bee. — 'Twas the last quivering flare of the taper, — the fire It so often emits when about to expire ! Her excitement began the same instant to flag, She sank back, and whisper'd, ' Safe ! — Safe ! in the Bag ! I' Now I would not by any means have you suppose That the good Father Basil was just one of those Who entertain views We're so apt to abuse,, As neither befitting Turks, Christians, nor Jews, Who haunt death-bed scenes. By underhand means To toady or teaze people into a legacy, — For few folk indeed, had such good right to beg as he, Since Rome, in her pure Apostolical beauty, Not only pennits, but enjoins, as a duty, Her sons to take care That, let who will be heir, The Pontiff shall not be choused out of his share. Nor stand any such manglmg of chattels and goods, As, they say, was the case, with the late Jemmy W^ood's ; Her Conclaves, and Councils, and Synods in short main -tain principles adverse to statutes of Mortmain ; Besides you'll discern It, at once, when you learu That Basil had something to give in return, Since it rested with him to say how she should burn, Nay, as to her ill-gotten wealth, should she turn it all To uses he named, he could say, • You shan't burn at all, Or nothing to signify, Not what you'd dignify So much as even to call it a roast, But a mere little singeing, or scorching at most, — "What many would think not unpleasantly warm,— Just to keep up appearance— mere matter of form.' 348 THE OLD WOMAN CLOTHED IN GREY. All this in her ear, He declared, but I fear That her senses were wand'ring — she seem'd not to hear, Or, at least, understand, — for mere unmeaning talk her Parch'd lips babbled now, — such as ' Hookey ! ' — and ' Walker 1 —She expired, with her last breath expressing a doubt If ' his Mother were fully aware he was out ? ' Now it seems there's a place they call Purgat'ry — so I must write it, my verse not admitting the — But as for the venue, I vow I'm perplext To say if it 's in this world, or if in the next — Or whether in both — for 'tis very well known That St. Patrick, at least, has got one of his own, In a ' tight little Island ' that stands in a Lake Call'd ' Lough-dearg ' — that's ' The Red Lake,' unless I mistake — In Fermanagh — 'or Antrim — or Donegal — which I declare I can't tell, But I know very well It's in latitude 54, nearly their pitch (At Tappington, now, I could look in the Gazetteer, But I'm out on a visit, and nobody has it here). There are some, I'm aware. Who don't stick to declare There's * no differ ' at all 'twixt * this here ' and ' tliat there,' That it's all the same place, but the Saint reserves his entry For the separate use of the ' finest of piseutry,' And that his is no more Than a mere private door From the rez-de-chaussee, — as some call the ground floor, — To the one which the Pope had found out long before. But no matter — lay The locale where you may ; — And where it is no one exactly can say — There's one thing, at least, which is known very well. That it acts as a Tap-room to Satan's Hotel. ' Entertainment ' there's worse Both for ' Man and for Horse ;' For broiling the souls They use Lord Mayor's coals ; — Then the sulphur's inferior, and boils up much slower Than the fine fruity brimstone they give you down lower. It's by no means so strong — Mere sloe-leaves to Souchong, The ' prokers ' are not half so hot, or so long. By an inch or two, either in handle or prong ; The Vipers and Snakes are less sharp in the tooth, And the Nondescript Monsters not near so uncouth ; — In short, it's a place the good Pope, its creator, Made for what's called by Cockneys a ' Minor The-atre.' Better suited, of course for a ' minor performer,' Than the ' House,' that's so much better lighted and warmer. A LEGEND OF DOVEll 349 Below, ill that queer place which nobody meutious, — — You understand where I don't question — down there Where in lieu of wood blocks, and such modern inventions, The Paving Commissioners use ' Good Intentions,' Materials which here would be thought on by few men. With so many founts of Asphaltic bitumen At hand, at the same time to pave and illumine. To go on with my story, This same Purga-tory, (There ! I've got in the 0, to my Muse's great glory,) Js close lock'd, and the Pope keeps the keys of it — that I can Boldly affirm — in his desk in the Vatican ; — Not those of St. Peter — These of which I now treat, arc A bunch by themselves, and much smaller and neater — And so cleverly made, Mr. Chubb could not frame a Key better contrived for its purpose — nor Bramah. Now it seems that by these Most miraculous keys Not only the Pope, but his ' clargy,' with ease Can let people in and out just as they please ; And — provided you ' make it all right ' about fees, There is not a friar. Dr. Wiseman will own, of them. But can always contrive to obtain a short loan of them ; And Basil, no doubt. Had brought matters about, If the little old woman would but have ' spoke out,' So far as to get for her one of those tickets. Or passes, which clear both the great gates and wickets ; So that after a grill. Or short turn on the Mill, And with no worse a singeing, to purge her iniquity, Than a Freemason gets in the ' Lodge of Antiquity,' She'd have rubb'd off old scores, Popp'd out of doora, And sheer'd off at once for a happier port. Like a white-wash'd Insolvent that's ' gone through the Court.' But Basil was one Who was not to be done By any one, either in earnest or fun ; — The cunning old beads-telling son of a gun, In all bargains, unless he'd his quid for his quo, Would shake his bald pate, and pronounce it * No Go.' So unless you're a dunce. You'll see clearly, at once, When you come to consider the facts of the case, he, Of course never gave her his Vade in pace ; And the consequence was, when the last mortal throe Released her pale Ghost from these regions of woe, The little old woman had nowhere to go 1 o^ For, what could she do ? She very well knew If fihe went to the gates I have mention'd to you. 360 THE OLD WOMAN CLOTHED IN GREY. Without Basil's, or some other passport to show, The Cheque-takers never would let her go through ; While, as to the other place, e'en had she tried it, And really had wished it, as much as she shied it, (For no one who knows what it is can abide it,) Had she knock'd at the portal with ne'er so much din, Though she died in, what folks at Rome call, ' Mortal sin,' Yet Old Nick, for the life of him, daren't take her in, As she'd not been tum'd formally out of ' the pale : — ' So nnich the bare name of the Pope made him quail, In the times that I speak of, his courage would lail Of Eome's vassals the lowest and worst to assail, Or e'en touch with so much as the end of his tail ; Though, now he's grown older. They say he's much bolder, And his Holiness not only gets the ' cold shoulder,' But Nick rumps him completely, and don't seem to care a Dump — that's the word — for his triple tiara. Well — what shall she do ? — What's the course to pursue ?— ' Try St. Peter? — the step is a bold one to take ; For the Saint is, there can't be a doubt, " wide awake ; " But then there's a quaint Old Proverb says " Faint Heart ne'er won fair 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 bi;t 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 foUis — 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 way 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 pursed up his mouth 'twixt a sneer and a jeer, AVith ' 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 derri^re, And dismissed 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 fiy, broil, boil, and roast^ — Or one bandied about thus from pillar to post, — A LEGEND OF DCrfER, 351 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 Nowhere.' — However that be, The affaire wns/inie, And the poor wretch rejected by all, as you see ! Mr. Oliver Goldsmith observes — not the Jew — That the ' Hare whom the hounds and the huntsmen pursue,' Having no other sort of asylum in view, 'Eeturns back again to the place whence she flow,' A fact which experience has i^roved to be true. — Mr. 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 her 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 her ' supplies,' — In 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 Fenimorc Cooper, would render ' Tarnation ! ! ' At the noise which she made Down went the spade ! — And 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, The moment her shadowy form met his view He gave vent to a sort of a lengthened ' Bo-o — ho-o ! ' — With a countenance Keeley alone could put on, Made one grasshopper spring to the door — and was gone! Erupil I 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 ; * ' E'en iu our ashes live their wonted fires !' — Gray. ' A position at wliich Exporionce revolts, l.>eclulity hesitates, and even Fancy stares!' — JoHNSOH. 352 THE 0:.D WOMAX CLOT II KD IX OBEY, He reacli'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 Cobhett 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 trast 'em, her ytars had not brought her another guess customer — 'Twas Basil himself! — Come to look for her i)clf : 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, ^lade 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 bell and his book — Not a nerve ever trembled, — his hand never shook As he boldly marched up where she sat in her nook, Glow'ring round with that wild indescribable look, Which Some may have read of, perchance, in ' Nell Cook, ' * All, in ' Martha the Gipsy,' by Theodore Hook. And now, for the reason I gave you before. Of what pass'd 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, AVith respect to the guld. For which she her 'jewel eternal' had sold. That the old Harridan, AVho, no doubt, knew her maU: ]\Iade 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 pur^TOse 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 ho 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. — * See page 271, A LEGEND OF DOVER. 353 Moreover — The whole Oi the said cash, or " cole," Shall be spent for the good of said Old Woman's soul ! ' It is further agreed — while said cash is so spending, Said Ghost shall be fully absolv'd from attending. And shall quiet remain In the grave, her domain, 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 Throac* Or by what name soever the same may be known, Hov7Soe'er called 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 cash, — 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 homo ivg-y, 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 Pere Jacques was inclined to spare diet, he Gave this advice to all grades of society. Think less of puddmg — and think more of piety.' As to his clothes, Oh ! nobody luiows What lots the Count had of cloaks, doublets, and hose, Pantoiifles, with bows Each as big as a rose. And such shirts with lace ruffles, such waistcoats and those Indescribable garments it is not thought right To do more than whisper to oreilles polite. Still in spite of his power, and in 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 walked the Parades, The Crescents, the Squares, and the tine Colonnades, And the other gay places, which young ladies use As iheSx promenade through the good town of Thoulousc, 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, Tliough the best of all Phone ^vincs can never repay. Till weary of war, women, roast-goose, 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 ! ' 368 THE LORD OF THOU LOUSE. Meanwhile his sweet Countess, so pious and good, Sucli pomps and such vanities stoutly eschew'd, With all fermented liquors and high-seasoned food. Devilled kidneys, and sweet-breads, and ducks and green peas ; Baked sucking-pig, goose, and all viands like these, Hash'd calfs-head included, no longer could please ; ^A curry was sure to elicit a breeze. So was ale, or a glass of port-wine after cheese : Indeed, anything 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, Eau sucre'e, and drinkables, mild and home mode ! So she claims her friends' efforts, and vows to devote all hers Solely to found ' The Thoulousian Teetotallers.' Large sums she employs In dressing small boys In long duffle jackets, and short corderoys, And she boxes their cars when they make too much ncise ; In short, she turns out a complete Lady Bountiful, Filling with 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 plac?. To entail on her ladyship further expenses. In greeting with honour befitting his station The Prior of Aries, with a Temperance Legation, Dispatched 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 Ityou iced as at Verey'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 mo And harping away, On the same dismal ' A LEGEND OF LANGUELOC. 3G9 * 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, And I will too, that's a flat — ay, as sure as a gun. So find me out ' something new under the sun,' Or I'll knock your three jobbernowls all into one ! You three Agree ! Come, what shall it be ? Resolve me — propound in three skips of a flea !' Rigmarole gave a ' Ila !' Rigmaree gave a ' Hem ;' They look'd at Count Raymond — Count Raymond at them, As much as to say ' Have you nihil ad rem T 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 I — 'tis really no 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, AVith 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'm as much as your highness can be, in the dark ; I can hit on no novelty — none, on my life, Unless, peradventuro, you'd " tea " with your wife 1' 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, I can't see the wit of it ; Mart de ma vie I My dear Rigmaree, 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'll create you at once a Mar-qiiis ! 370 THE LORD OF THOU LOUSE. Put your coiijuriug caj) on — consider and see, If you can't beat that stupid old " Suniph " with his " tea 1" * 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 !" 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 ! — iwoh ! all sis He'd soon put in a pretty particular fix ; Why he'd beat at digesting a sword, or " Gun tricks " The great Northern XVizard himself all to sticks ! I should like to see you Try to sauter le coup With this chap at short whist, or unlimited loo, P)y the Pope, you'd soon find it a regular " Do." Why he does as he likes with the cards, — when he's got 'eiR, There's always an Ace or a King at the bottom ; Then for casting Nativities ! — only you look At the volume he's published, — 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 hew, early last summer, he Warn'd the late King 'gainst the Tournament mummery ? Didn't his Majesty call it all flummery, Scorning The warning, And get the next morning His poke in the eye from that clumsy Montgomery ? Why 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 — quick i — Fortune's sent him on purpose here, just in the nick; We'll see if old Hocus will smell out the trick ; Let's start off at once — Eigmaree, you're a Brick !' The moon in gentle radiance shone O'er Icwly roof and lordly bo\ver, O'er holy pile and armed tower, And danced upon the blue Garonne : Through all that silver'd city fair, No sound disturb'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 LEGEND OF LANGUEDOC, 371 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' hoofs advancing near ! They gain the bridge — they pass — they're here ! Side by side Two strangers ride. For the streets in Thoulouse are sufficiently wide, I'hat 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 Chains, and bolts, and bars obey. And the thick-ribb'd oaken door, old and grey, In the pale moonlight gives, slowly, way. They leave their steeds to n page's care, AVho 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 shina . Who ventures this road need be firm on his pins ! 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-torj'.' A word ! a blow ! And in they go ! No time to prepare, or to get up a show. Yet everything there they find quite comme ilfaut — Such as queer-looking bottles and jars in a row, Retorts, crucibles, such as all conjurors stow In the rooms 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. Waterton 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. 372 THE LORD OF THOULOUSE. Looking solemn and wise, Without turning liia eyes, Or betraying the slightest degree of surprise 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 thinkirg 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, '\^^len all sober folks are at home and abed ?' ' Trav'lers we. In our degree. All strange sights we fain would see, And hither we come in comj^any ; 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 aini, 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 !' ' Xow 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 must call you so now since you're made a Mar-gitis; 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 ere day T myself must be hundreds of miles on my way ; So tell 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 can't say That we're curious that way ; But, in brief, if you'll pardon the trouble we're giving, We'd much rather take a sly peep at the Uving ? A LEGEND OF LANGUEDOC. 373 Eigmaree, what say yon, 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 !' — ' Agi-eed! — pray proceed 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 square sort of cap, black, and turn'd up with red. And desires not a syllable more may be said ; He goes on to mutter. And stutter, and sputter Hard words, such as no men but wizards dare utter. ' Dies mies ! — Hocus pocus — Adsis Demon ! non est jukus 1 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 clear. 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 words 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 'cm The room Lady Isabel called her 'Sanctorum.'' They start, well they might, AVith 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 1 lady, as close as close well may be. She might almost as well have been perch'd on his knee. Dear me ! dear me ! AVhy one's Isabel — she On the opposite side's La Marquise liigmaree ! To judge from the spread On the board, you'd have saio That ihapartie quarre'e had like aldermen fed ; And now from long flasks, with necks cover'd with lead, They were helping themselves to champagne, white and red. 374 THE LORD OF THOULOUSE. Hobbing and nobbiug, And nodding and bobbing, With many a sip Both from cup and from lip, And with many a toast followed 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 Mar-quis Eigmaree Are so vex'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 the 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 leads the way on his courser so fleet, My Lord 'Rigmaree close jrarsuing 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'er the causeway they keejD, 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 ct Tlwulouse !' Ev'ry soldier ( — they then wore cock'd hats and long queues. 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 soiree. He rush'd to that door. Where over 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 througli't, He dash'd open the lock ; It gave way at the shock ! * ' The stones did rattle underneath, As if Cheapside were mad.* Gilpin's Tour in Middlesex and Mcris. A LEGEND OF LANGUEDOC. 376 ( — 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 Eaymond had ever seen there (They'd maroon-leather bottoms well stuff'd with horse-hair), 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 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 ! Notwthst^nding he cross- and re-questioned 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 rang 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 sacelhnn, They thought he was purging His sins with a scourging, And making good use of his knotted flagellum.' For Madame Eigmaree, They all testified, she Had gone up to her bed-chamber soon after t«a. 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. Alack for Count Raymond ! he could not conceive How the case really stood, or know what to believe ; Nor could Eigmaree settle to laugh or to grieve. There was clearly a hoax, But which of the folks 37G THE LORD OF THOULOUSE. Had managed to make them the hutt of their jokes, "Wife or wizard, they both knew no more than Jack Nokes ; That glass of the wizard's Stuck much in their gizzards His cap, and his queer cloak all 'Xs and Izzards ; Then they found, when they came to examine again, Some slight falling off 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 matters alone. The Count in the garden Begg'd Isabels 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 Eaymond's desire, The Pope raised his rev'rence a step or two higher, And made him a bishop in jparttbus — where 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 1 say 'twas a good many miles from Thoulouse^ Where the prelate, in order to set a good precedent, Was enjoin'd, as a sine qua non, to be resident. You will fancy with me, That Count Raymond was free, For the rest of his life, from his former ennui; Still it somehow occurr'd that as often as he Chanced to look in the face of my Lord Eigmarec, There Avas something or other — a trilling degree Of constraint — or embarrassment — easy to see. And which seem'd to be shared by the noble Mar-guis, 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 1 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 cliance 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 s^x^use Nor be noisy, nor kick up a dust in the house ! THE WEDDING-DAY. 377 Be careful yourself, aud admonish your sous, 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 ! 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 recol- lection of having seen, when a boy, a picture answering the descrip- tion 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 meny, merry round ; Aud the Spring is in its prime, And the song-bird, on the spray, Trills from 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, gicas i-sancti&cd look. And there stand the village maids, all with their jxysiea, 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 Icnow Ne'er doth ' Our Ladye's garden grow ' So fair for a ' Grand Horticultural Show ' As when border'd with 'pretty maids ail on a row.' And the urchins are there, escaped from the rule Of that ' Limbo of Infants,' the National School, Whooping, and bawling, And squalling, and calling, And crawling, and creeping, And jumping and leaping, Bopeeping 'midst ' many a mouldering lieap ' in Whose bosoms their own ' rude forefathers ' are sleeping — Young rascals ! — instead of lamenting and weepinj;. 378 THK WEDDIXG-DAY. Laugliing and gay, A gorge deployee — 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 clappers and ropes Are mere practical tropes Of ' trumpets ' and ' tongues,' and of ' preachers,' and popes, Unless Clement the Fourth's worthy Chaplain, Durand, err, Sec the ' Batioiiale^ of that goosey-gander. Gently ! gently, Miss Muse ! Mind your P's and your Q's '. Don't be malapert — laugh. Miss, but never abuse ! Calling names, whether done to attack or to back a schism, Is, Miss, believe me, 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 role. No, no. Miss, pull up, and go back to your boys In the churchyard, who're making this hubbub and noise — But hush ! there's an end to their romping and mumming 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, ana side by side. Uncles, and aunts, friends tried and proved, And oousins, 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, iDonnie ]\Iaud Ingoldsby, The flow'r of that goodly company ; While whispering low, with bated voice. Close by her side, her heart's dear choice, Walks Fredvill's hope, young Valentine Boys. — But where, oh where, — Is Ingoldsby 's heir? Little Jack Ingoldsby ? — where, oh where ? Why he's here, — and he's there. And he's everywhere— 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 aud fun^ and good-humour and joy, A FAMILY LEGEND. 379 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 — there he goes ! Now pinching the bridesman, — now teasing his sister, And telling the bridesmaids how ' Valentine kiss'd her ; The torment, the plague, the delight of them all. See, he's into the churchyard ! — he's over the wall — Gambolling, frolicking, capering away. He's the first in the church, be the second who may ! 'Tis o'er ; the holy rite is done, The rite that ' incorporates two in one,' — And now for the feasting, and frolic, and fun '. Spare we to tell of the smiling and sighing. The 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, Accustom'd, for years, to pull bell ropes for wagers — Eang, faster than ever, their ' triple-bob-MAJOES ;' (So loud as to charm ye. At once and alarm ye ; — ' Symbolic,^ 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 wo 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 caught her,— Of little boys bobbing for pippins in water; The smacks and the whacks, And tlie jumpers in sacks, These down on their noses and those on their backs ; — Nor skills it to speak of those darlmg old ditties, Sung rarely in ham.lets now — never in cities. The ' King and the MiUer,' the ' Bold Robin Eood^ ' Chevy Chase,^^ Qildermj, and the ^ Babes in tho Woodl' — You'll say that my taste Is sadly misplaced, 380 THE WEDDING-DAY. But I cant help confessing these simple old tunes. The 'Auld Bohin Grays' and the 'Aileen Aroons,' The ' Oramachree Mollys,^ and ' Sweet Bonny Boons ' Are dearer to me, In a tenfold degree, Than a fixie fantasia from over the sea; And, for sweetness, compared with a Beethoven fugue, are As ' hest-refined loaf,' to the coarsest ' hrown sugar ;'* — Alack, for the Bard's want of science ! to which he owea All this misliking of foreign capricios f — Not that he'd say One word, by the way, To disparage our new Idol, ]\Ionsieur 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 iu ini. But enough of the rustics — let's leave them inirsuiug 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 ; — — Bright, bright are his buttons, — and bright is the hue Of his squarely-cut coat of fine Saxony blue 5 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 bro^vn, slightly sprinkled with grey ; But they're white as the peaks of Plinlimmon to-day, Or Ben Nevis, his pate is si Hen poudre I Bright, 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, — sevcr'd now from his side ; — But brighter than all, Arresting its fall, Is the smile, that rebukes it for spangling at all, * Ad Amimm, Servicntem ad legem — This rhyme, if, when scann'd by your critical ear, U Is not quite legitimate, comes pretty near it. — T. I. A FAMILY LEGEND, 381 — A clear case, in short, of what old poets tell, as Blind Homer for instance, ev BaKpva-i yeXar. Then, there arc the Bride and the Bridegroom, withdrawn To the deep Gothic window that looks on the lawn, Ensconc'd on a squab of maroon-colour'd leather. And talking — and thinking, no doubt — of the weather But here comes the party — Eoom ! room for the guest?, 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 called long ago — For that lady, 'twas said, had been playing the d — 1, Last season, in town, with her old beau. Squire Greville, 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, in Order to prove his abhorrence of duelling, Nor try for, deterr'd by the serious expense, a Complete separation, a thoro ef raensd. So ho ' kept a calm sough,' and when asked to a party, A dance, or a dinner, or tea and ecarte. 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 hijouterie 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 ! Next Sir Eoger de Coverley, — Mr. Will Eamble, AVith Dame Lismahago (nee Tabitha Bramble), — ]\Ir. Eandom and Spouse, — Mrs. Pamela Booby, (Whose nose was acquiring a tinge of the ruby, And ' people did say ' — 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 i&Iufl" Green, — !Mr. Jonathan W. Doubikins, — men 'Influential some^ — and their 'smart' Uncle Ben; — Eev. Abraham Adams (prefcrr'd to a stall), — — Mr. Jones and his lady, from AUworthy Hall ; — Our friend Tom, by the way, Had tum'd out rather gay 382 THE WEDDIXG-DAY. For a married man — certainly ' people did say ' 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, AVould 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, KnatchbuU, and Norton, Matthew Robinson,* too, with his beard from Monk's Horton. The Faggs, and Finch-Hattons, Tokes, Derings, and Deedscs, And Fairfax, (who then call'd 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 pompoo7is, the toupees, and the diamonds and feathers. The flowered-silk sacques "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 On your part, Madame Muse, though you're commonly accurate, 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 do 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 further apology, — Only don't make Such another mistake, Or you'll 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 ! * A worthy and eccentric country gentleman, afterwards tlie second Lord Rokeby, being cousin ('a great many times removed') and successor in the barony to Richard, Archbishop of Armagh, who first bore that title. — His beard was truly patriarchal. — Mi-. JIuntz's — pooh ! A FAillLY LEGEND. 38J 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 tongue, Hot tea, and hot coflee, hot rolls, and hot toast, Cold pigeon-pie (rook?), and cold boil'd and cold roast._ Scotch marmalade, jellies, cold creams, colder ices — Blancmarige, which young ladies saj', so very nice is, — Eock-melons in thick, pines in much thinner slices, — Char, potted with clarified butter and spices, Eenewing an appetite long past its crisis — Eefined barley-sugar, in various devices. Such as bridges, and baskets, and temples, and grottoes — And nasty French Inciter snappers with mottoes. — In short, all those gimcracki^ together were met Which people of fashion tell Gunter to get When they give a grand dejetlner a la fourclidtc — (A phrase which, though French, in our language still liugcro, Intending a breakfast with forks and not fingers.) And see ! what a mountainous bridecake ! — 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, — Kubbing his hands, lie 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 you 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'll 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 Ingoidsby, bethink j-ou what you do I' —Exclaims old Mrs. Eotherby,* — she is in such a stew ! — ' Oh dear ! oh dear ! what do I hear ? — full oft you've heard mc tell Of the curse "Wild Koger" left upon whoe'er should break hia cell! • Great-grandmamma, by the fatlier's side, to the excellent lady of the same name who yet ' keeps the key* ' at Tappington. 38-i THE WEDDING-DAY. ' Full five-and-tweuty 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 Eoger," 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'iy 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 ! — One 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 Eoger " came again, He spoke 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 ' Eich booties he had brought, he said, across the western wave. And came, in jDcnitence 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 brother's part, He press'd his brother to his breast — ho had a kindly heart, Fain would he have him tarry here, their common hearth to share. But Eoger was the same man still, — ho scorn'd his brother's pray'r ! He call'd his crew, — away he flew, and on those foreign shores Got 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 cask of Gascon wine he safely " stow'd aAvay ;" 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 Eoger'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 !" ♦ Azores ? Mrs. Botherby's orthography, like that of Iier distinguished con- temporary, Baron Duberly, was ' a little loose.' A I'AMILY LKQEND. 385 And more he said, wliicli fiU'd with dread all those who listen'd there ; lu sooth my very blood ran cold, it lifted up my hair With very fear, to stand and hear " Wild Eoger " curse and swear ! ! He saw my fright, as well he might, hut 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 for shame ! — Then, gentle Master, pause a-\vhile, give heed to what I tell, Nor break, on such a day as this, " Wild Eoger's " secret cell !' * Pooh, pooh !' quoth the Squire, As he mov'd from the fire, And bade the old Housekeeper quickly retire ; ' Pooh ! — never tell me ! Nonsense ! fiddle-de-dee ! AVhat ? — wait Uncle Eoger's return back from sea ? 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 Bering or Darrell^ — ^I hardly know which, but I think it was Dering,— Sent him back in a huff to his old privateering, Or what his unfriends choose to call Buccaneering. It's twenty years since, as we very well Imow, 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 Eoger 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'll all say I was right — when my own darling Maud should get mariicd ! 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 AVhate'er comes to hand — Claret, Burgundy, Sack. Head the party, and mind that yoir're back in a crack 1' Away go the clan. With cup and with can, Little Jack Ingoldsby leading the van : Little reck they of the Buccaneer's ban : Hope whispers, ' Perchance we'll fall in with strong beer too hero 1' Blest thought ! which sets them all grinning from ear to ear I 886 THE WEDDING-DAY. Through cellar one, through cellars two, Through cellars three they pass'd ! Ajid their way they took To the farthest nook Of cellar four — the last ! Blithe aud gay, they batter away, On this wedding-day of Maud'^, With all their might, to bring to light, ' "Wild Eoger's' ' Custom-house frauds !' And though stone and brick Bo 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 ! Down comes brick, and down comes stone. One by one — The job's half done ! — ' AVhere 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 sec ! It ca7i't 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 I Yet were there those, in after days. Who said that pale light's flickering blaze, For a moment, gleam'd on a dark Form there, Seem 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 \Vith a degage, devil-may-care, kind of taste, O'er a halafre 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 aud stout, There they lay kicking and sprawling about, THE WEDDING-DAY, A F^MiLY LEGEND. 387 Like Billingsgate fresli fish, unconscious of ice, Or those which, the newspajDers give us advice, Mr. Tajflor, of Lombard-street, sells at half-price ; — Nearer the door, some half-dozen or more ! Scramble away To the rez de chaussee, (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 tho fresh air let in, They drag one and all Up into the hall. Where a medical Quaker, the great Dr. Lettsom, Who's one of the party, ' bleecls, physicks, 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 ! my Boy !' Enough ! — I may not, — dare not, — show The wretched Father's frantic woe, The Mother's tearless, speechless — Xo ! 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 I It has a mournful sound. That single, solemn Beil ! 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 Im- moral. Come, come, Mrs. Muse, we can't part in this way Or you'll 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 ! 38S TiiK blasphemer's warning. 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 sago 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, Euns 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 anatlicma, 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 ! !' Mox Regina filium pepevit a multis optatem et a Deo sanctificatum. Cumque Infans natus fuisset, statim clara voce, omnibus andientibus, clamavit ' Chris- tianus sum! Christianus sum! Christianus sum!' Ad hanc vocem Presbyteii duo, Widerinus ct Edwoldus, dicentes Deo Gratias, ct oranes qui adorant mirantes, cceperunt cantare Te Deum laudamus. Quo focto rogabat hifaus cathecumenum a Widerino sacerdote fieri, et ab EdwolJo teneri ad prajsignacu- lum fidei et Romwoldum vocari. — Nov. Legexu. A.ngl. in Vita Scti HOMUAI.DI. THE BLASPHEMER'S WARNING. A LAY OF 6T. KOMWOIiD. "N Kent we are told. There was seated of old, A handsome young gentleman, courteous and bold, He'd an oaken strong-bos, well replenish'd with gold. r A LAY OF ST. ROMWOLD. 389 With broad lands, pasture, arable, woodland, and wold, Kot 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 Express'd tbemselves 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 : There are three social duties, the whole of the swarm In this great human hive of ours ought 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, I So far, at least, have accomplish'd my destiny.) From the foremost, i. e. The * planting the Tree,' The Knight may, perchance, have conceiv'd 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 providing 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 chimneys, from his, you might almost descry, Dwelt a Lady at whom he'd long ciist a sheep's eye, One whose character scandal itself could defy, While her charms and accomplishments rank'd very high, And who would not deny A propitious reply, 300 THE blasphemer's WARNINa. But reflect back liis blushes, and give sigh foi* sigh. (A line that's not mine, bat 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 oar, That fair Edith Ingoldsby, she whom they all The ' Rosebud of Tappington ' ceas'd 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 Eegister'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. Eomwold's, a Priory near. Which a long while before, I can't say in what yea.r, Their forebears had join'd with the neighbours to rear. And endow'd, some with bucks, some ■with beef, some with beer To 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'd in ; (Papistic in substance and form, and on this count With Judge Herbert Jenner Fust justly at discount. See Ccnnhridge Societas Camdeniensis V. Faulkner, tert. prim. Januarii Mensis, With ' Judgment reversed, cost of suit, and expenses ;') All raised to St. Eomwold, 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, * Honest John Capgrave, the veracious biographer of ' Englisli Saints, author, or rather compiler of the 'Nova Legenda Angliic,' was chaplain to Humphrey, ' the Good Duke ' of Gloucester. A beautiful edition of his work was printed by Wynkyn de Worde. A LAY OF ST. ROMWOLD. 39) The good friars were mucli iu request, and not one Was more ' sought unto ' than the Sub-prior, liless John ; To him, there and then, Sir Alured Denne Wrote a three-coruer'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 nam'd 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 — 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 ease, 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 rate. 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 peiir. 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 a-s courteous as daring, Had pick'd up this shocking bad habit of swearing. And if anything vcx'd him, or matters went wrong, Was given to what low folks call * Coming it strong.' Good, bad, or indifferent 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. 2 K 892 THE blasphemer's warning. — Now if there are those, and I've sorao iu my eye, "Who'd esteem this a crime of no very deep dye, Let them read on — they'll find their mistake by-and-by. Near or far Few people there are. But have heard, read, or sung about Young Lochinvar, How in Netherby Chapel, ' at morning tide,' The Priest and the Bridegroom stood waiting the Bride : How they waited, ' but ne'er A Bride was there.' Still I 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 deai'est 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 anathemising. When the head and the front of the Clergyman's crime "Was 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 phenomenon 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, AVhat will scarce be believed. Was plainly perceived To shrug up his shoulders, as very much grieved. And look down wth a frown So remarkably brown, That all saw he'd now quite a different 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 Buffon. 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, scem'd * taken aback.' In so much that when now The ' prime cause of tho row, Father 'lohn. in the chapel at last made his bow, A LAY OF ST. ROMWOLD. 393 The Bridegroom elect was so mild and subdued None could ever suppose he'd been noisy and i-ude, Ormade use of the language to which I allude. Fair Edith herself, while the knot was a tying, Her bridesmaids around her, some sobbing, some sisjliing, Some smiling, some blusliing, half-laughiiig, half-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 homo with no little parade. 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 protect 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 hulter-skelter Tn search of some building or other for shelter. Now it seems that the sky Which had been of a dvo 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 tilfall the horizon Grew blacker than aught they had ever set oycs on, 394 THE BLASPHEMERS WARNINa. And soon, from tho 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, A 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. Eomwold'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 frightened palfrey by seizing the rein. When a flash and a crash Which produced such a splash That a Yankee had called it 'an Almighty Smash,' Came down so complete At his own courser's feet That the rider, though famous for keeping his seat. From 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 — Just so^in such roads and in similar weather, Tydides and Nestor were riding together, When, so says old Homer, the King of the Sky, The great ' Cloud-compeller,' 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, Eeins, 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. Widdrcombe's mode of performing 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 AViddicombe, then A LAY OE ST. UOMWOLD. SG6 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 j 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, Which 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 way.' * More ileet than the roe-buck ' and free as the wind, She had left the good company rather behind ; They whipp'd and they sjDurr'd and they after her prcsa'd ; Still Sir Alured's steed was 'bj' 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 fashions, which can't be denied, — And you came to a place where three cross-roads divide, Without any way-j^ost, 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 blame To his scholarship if in selecting his way His respect for the Classics now led him astray ; But the rule, in a work I won't stop to describe, is In medio semper tutissimiis ibis, So the Knight being forced of 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 ; 396 THE BLASPHEMEll's WARNING. For Ms steed, though a freer one ne'er had a shoe on. Stood fix'd as the Governors nag in ' Don Juan,' Or much like the statue that stands, cast in copper, a Few yards south-east of the door of tne Opera, Save that Ahired'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, trunlvs with broad branches between Encircle it wholly, all radiant and sheen. For the weather at once appear'd clear and 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 mado by the glade. The astonish'd Sir Alured sat and survcy'd A little low building of Bethersden stone, With ivy and parasite creepers o'ergrowu, 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 AVas cleverly chisell'd, and well represented. Surmounted a door. Some five feet by four. It might have been less or it might have been more, In the iDrimitive ages they made these things lower Than we do in bivildings that had but one floor ; And these Chronicles say When an anchorite grey, Wish'd to shut himself up and keep out of the way, lie was commonly wont in such low cells to stay, And pray night and day on the rez de chaussee. There, under the arch I've endeavoured to paint. With no little surprise, And scarce trusting his eyes. The Knight now saw standing that little Boy Saint !^ 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 breath'd an odour quite Eau de Cologne-y ; A LAY OF ST. nOMWOLD. 397 In fact, from his christening, according to rumour, he Beat ]\Ir. Brummell to sticks, in perfumery.* ' Sir Ahired Denne !' Said the Saint, ' be atten- — tive ! Your ancestors, all most respectable men, Have for some generations being vot'ries of mine ; They have brought me mould candles, and bow'd at my shrine, 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 sync.' And I now come to tell you, your cursing and swearing Have reach'd to a pitch that is really past bearing. 'Twere a positive scandal In even a Yaudal, 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 uninibrm'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'll find there all as right a as trivet, But mind, and remember, 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 li]i, I'll soon make you rue it ! — I've said it — I'll 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 liiiow it's absurd, To suppose that a Saint ever forfeits his word For a pitiful Knight, or to please any such man — I've said it 1 I'lrdo't— if I don't, I'm a Dutchman !'— He ceased — he was gone as he closed his haransiue. And some one inside shut the door with a bang ! Sparkling with dew, Each green herb anew It's profusion of sweets round Sir Alured threw. As pensive and thoughtful he slowly withdrew, (For the hoofs of his horse had got rid of their glue,) * In eodem autem prato in quo baptizalus Sanctus liomualdLis mmquam gratissimus odor deficit ; neque ibi herba; pallescunt, sed semper in viriditata permanentes magna nectaris suavitate redolent. — Nov, Legend. Angl, 398 THE BLASPHEMEIl's WARNING. And tlie cud of reflection continued to chew 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 "IVixt the odour of garlic and bouquet du Sot, 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 Bennington's safe and sound In the Hall where her new Lord dwells ! 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 her speed, And feeling, no doubt, as a gentleman feels When he's once shown a bailiff a fair pair of heels, Stopp'd of herself, as it's very well known Horses will do, when they're thoroughly blown, And thus the old group had foregather'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, All play at * High Jinks ' and keep up the ball. Days, weeks, and months, 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 Dennc 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 tn\nk hose, A LAY OF ST. EOilWOLD. 399 While stretcliing his hand out to take it and quafi" 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 chcck'd his complaint, He remember'dthe Saint, In the nick — Lady Denne was beginning to faint — That sight on his mouth acted quite as a bung, Like lilahomet's cofSn, the shocking word hunc Half-way 'twixt the root and the tip of his tongue. Many a year Of mirth and good cheer Plew 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'Arhie and Joaiuie, "Who in Bennington chancel lie sculptured in stone. Well — it happen'd at last, After certain years past, That an embassy came to our court from afar — From the Grand-duke of Lluscovy — now call'd the Czar, And the Spindleshank'd Monarch, determined to do Ail 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 knew. 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 iine 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 r the castle there, waiting a tide to go over. He had summon'd, I can't tell you how many men. Knights, nobles, and squires to the wars of Guicnnc, 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 Saracenettes* and their bright chain-mail tights, * This silk, of gieat repute among our ancestors, had been brought home, a few jears before, by Edward, from the Holy Land. 400 THE BLASPHEMKHS WAIINIKG. All accustom'd to galas, grand doings, and sights, A matter like this was at once put to rights ; 'Twould have been a strange thing, If so polish'd a king, With his Board of Green Cloth, and Lord Steward'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, \nd the King, though he thought it ' a bit of a bore,' Ask'd all the elite 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 Sheenc, Or wherever the Court ere it started had been. And it's really no jest, When a troublesome guest. Locks 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 this very extempore sort of set out. But they wisely fell back upon Poor Eichard's plan, * When you can't what you would, you must do what you can ! 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 Dcnne's, A fine tabby-gray, Disappear'd on 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 Da-pijer, 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 ! A LAY OF ST. ROM WOLD. 401 It's a liuudied 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 sompthing to tickle their palates 1' With this happy conceit for improving the mess. Pooh-poohing expense, he despatch'd an express In a waggon and four on the instant to Deal, Who dash'd down tue hill without locking the wheel, And, by means which I guess but decline to reveal, Seduced from the Downs, where at anchor their vessel rotic, Lumpoff Icywitz, serf to a former Count Ncsselrode, 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 restor'd. And iu due time a banquet was placed on the board 'In the very best style,' which implies, iu a word, * All the dainties the season ' (and king) ' could afford.' There were snij^es, there were rails. There were woodcocks and quails. There were peacocks served up iu their pride (that is tails), Fricandeau, fricassees. Ducks and green peas, Cotelettes a Vlndienne, and chops a la Souhise (Which last you may call ' onion sauce ' if you please). There were barbecu'd 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 ! 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, Bordeaux, Marasquin, Curagoa, Kirschen Wasser, Xoycau, ■ And gin which the company voted ' No Go ;' The guests all hob-nobbing, And bowing and bobbing ; Somo 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 en joy 'd himself more. Then came ' sweets ' — served in silver were tartlets and pies— iu glass. Jellies composed of punch, calves' feet, and isinglass, Creams, and whipt-syllabubs, somo hot, some cool, Blancmange, and quince-custards, and gooseberry fool. 402 THE blasphemer's avarning. And now from the good taste which reigns it's coufest, In a gentleman's, that is an Englishman's, hreast, And makes him polite to a stranger and guest, They soon play'd the deuce With a large Charlotte limse Llore than one of the party despatch'd his plate twice "With * I'm really asham'd, 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 Lumpoff Icywitz' Nesselrode pudding 1' Sir Alured Denne, who'd all day, to say sooth. Like Tago, been, 'plagued with a sad raging tooth,' Which had nevertheless interfered very little With his — what for my rhyme I'm obliged to spell — vittlc, 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 or spill'd it — ■ The gallant Knight open'd his mouth — and then fill'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 they swell ! mark the roll of his ey^s Now east and now west, now north and now south. Till at once he 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 ! — 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, The terrible crash of the terrible thunder. That broke as if bursting the building asunder ; But very few heard, although every one might, A LAY OF ST. EOMWOLD. 403 The siiort, 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 downward to some one below, As Merryman says ' for to come for to go !' While every one smelt a delicious perfume Thit scem'd to pervade every part of the room 1 Fair Edith Denne, The lonne et helle then, Never again was beheld among men ! But there was i\\Qfanteuil on which she was placed. And there was the girdle that gi-aced her small waist. And there was her stomacher, brilliant with gems, And the mantle she wore, edged with lace at the hems, Her rich brocade gown sat upright in its place. And her wimple was there — but where — where was her 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 offer'd a handsome reward. » * ■)■ « 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, Archteologists say. May be seen, and I'd go there and look if I could. There long dwelt a hermit remarkably good. Who lived all alone, And never was known To use bed or bolster, except the cold stone ; But would groan and would moan in so piteous a tone, A wild Irishman's heart had responded ' Och hone !' As the fashion with hermits of old was to keep skins To wear with the wool on — most commonly shecp-skina— He, too, like the rest, was accustom'd to do so ; Hifl beard, as no barber came near him, too, grew so, 404 THE BLASPHEMER'S WARNING. He bore some resemblance to Robinson Crusoe, In Houndsditcli, I'm told, you'll sometimes see a Jew so. lie lived on the roots, And the cob-nuts and fruits, Which the kind-hearted rustics, who rarely are churls In such matters, would send by their boys and their girls ; They'd not get him to speak. If they'd tried for a week, But the colour would always mount up in his cheek, And he'd look like a dragon if ever he heard His young friends use a naughty expression or word. How long he lived or at what time he died, 'Twere hard, after so many years, to decide, But there's one point, on which all traditions agree, That he did die at last, leaving no legatee, And his linen was mark'd with an A and a D. Alas, for the glories of Bennington Hall ! Alas, for its splendour ! alas, for its fall ! Long years have gone by Since the trav'ller might spy Any dccentish house in the parish at all. "For very soon after the awful event I've related, 'twas said through all that part of Kent That the maids of a morning, when putting tht3 cliairs And the tables to rights, would oft pop unawares In one of the parlours, or galleries, or stairs, On a tall, female figure, or find her, far horrider, Slowly o' nights promenading the corridor ; But whatever the hour, or wherever the place. No one could ever yet sight of her face I Kor could they perceive. Any arm in her sleeve. While her legs and her feet, too, seem'd mere ' make-believe, For she glided along with that shadow-like motion Which gives one the notion Of cloiids on a zephyr, or ships on the ocean ; And though of her gown they could hear the silk rustle. They saw but that side on't oraee with the bustle. The servants, of course, though the house they were born in, Soon ' wanted to better themselves,' and gave warning While even the new Knight grew tired of a guest Who would not let himself or his family rest ; So he pack'd up his all. And made a bare wall Of each well-furnish 'd room in his ancestor's Hall, Then left the old Mansion to stand or to fall, Having previously barr'd up the windows and gates To avoid paying cesses and taxes and rates. And settled on one of his other estates, A LAY OF ST. ROMWOLD. ^05 Where he built a new mansion, and called it Denne Hill, 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 doA\Ti at last I can't say, Or whether the jackdaws produced, by degrees, a 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, '■Pcrierunt^ as some one says, 'etiam ruincc.' 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 wine ! In your eating remember one principal point, AYliatevcr you do, have your eye on the joint ! Keep clear of side dishes, don't meddle with those AVhich 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 cookeiy ! 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'll 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 yo'ir 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 -n-ives ! Don't swear then before them, lest haply they faint. Or what sometimes occurs — run away with a Saint ! 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. Augustine. The matter was set right, and a friendly 406 THE BROTHERS OF BIRCHINGTOH'. hint at the same time conveyed to the ill-used individual, that it would be advisable for him to apply to the above-mentioned Father, and be baptized with as little delay as possible. The story is quoted in 'The Doctor,' together with another of the same kind, which ia given on no less authority than 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 broom, which he wore as a badge in it, Named from this circumstance, Henry Plantagenet. Pray don't suppose That Fm 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'll have nothing to do ; But shall merely select, as a theme for my rhymes, A fact which occurr'd to some folks in his times. 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,' As the fishing-bank, just in its front, is for Soles. Well, — there stood a fane In this Harry Broom's reign, On the edge of the cliff, overhanging the main, Renown'd for its sanctity all through the nation And orthodox friars of the Austin persuasion. Among them there was one. Whom if once I begun To describe 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 complexion was what you'd denominate light, And the tonsure had left, 'mid his ringlets of bro^vu, A little bald patch on the top of his crown. A LAY OF ST. THOMAS A BECKET. 407 His bright sparkling eye Was of hazel, and nigh Rose a finely-arch'd eyebrow of similar dye ; He'd a small, well-form'd mouth with the Capidon lip And an aquiline nose, somewhat red at the tip. In doors and out He was very devout, With his Aves and Faters — and oh, such a knout ! ! For his self flagellations ! the Monks used to say He would wear out two penn'orth of whipcord a day 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 rocks. In brief, I don't stick To declare Father Dick — So they call'd him, ' for short,' — was a ' Eegular 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 Eichard 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-arched sourcil of similar dye ; He'd a small, well-shaped mouth, with a Cupidon lip With a good Eoman nose, rather red at the tip. But here, it's pretended. The parallel ended ; In fact, there's no doubt his life might have been mended. And people who spoke of the Prior with delight, Shook their heads if you mention'd his brother, the Knight, If you'd credit report. There was nothing but s^xjrt. And High Jinks going on night and day at ' the court,' Where Sir Eobert, 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, Get's tipsy whenever he dines or he sups. And is wont to come quairelsome home in hia cups. 2f 408 THE BROTHERS OF BIRCHINGTOJ?. Ko Paters, no Aves ; An al)Solute slave he's To tarts, i^ickled salmon, and sauces, and gravies ; \Vliile 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 ' Eohert and Eichard were two pretty men,' Yet there the praise ceased, or, at least the good Priest Was considered the ' Beauty,' Sir Eobert 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 Eoberts ' 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,' (An obsolete term, which, at this time of day. We should probably render by mauvais suj'et). 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 aufait. Of course, when he heard What his people averr'd Of Sir Eobert's proceedings in deed and in word. He asked 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 Eobert's account. He was 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 Levy bub here !' and he filled up a writ Of ' Ca sa,' duly prefaced with 'Limbo to wit.' * Here Levy bub, quick !' To his bailiff, said Nick, * I'm " lyled," and " my dander's up," " Go a-head slick" Up to Kent — not Kentuck — and at once fetch away A snob there — I guess that's a Mauvais Sujet. ' One De Birchington, knight — 'Tis not clear quite What his t'other name is — they've not enter'd it right, Ealph, Robert, or Richard ? they've not gone so far, Our critturs have put it down merely as " E." A LAY OF ST. THOMAS A BECKET. 409 ' But he's tall and upright, Ahout 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, Are marks your attention can't easily slip ; Take Slomanoch with you, he's got a good knack i)f 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 traj 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 ! "Why where can he be ? He's fallen over the clifi'? — tumbled into the sea?' ' Stay — he talk'd,' exelaim'd one, ' if I recollect right, Of making a call on his brother, the Kniglit !' He turns as he 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. 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 seemed to threaten a serious emeute, When, just in the midst of the uproar and racket, Who should walk in but St. Thomas h. Beckct. 4iO THE BROTHERS OF BIRCHIXQTON. Quoth his saintshii^, ' 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 what'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 !' * How ! — what ?' says the saint, ' Yes he is — no he ain't !< He can't be deceased — puoh ! 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 ; 3ome blunder no doubt, It shall go hard but what I'll know what it's about — I shan't bo surprised if that scurvy Old Nick's Had a hand in't ; it savours of one of his tricks.' When a crafty old hoimd 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 ^ Becket. Once on the scent To business he went, 'You Scoundrel, come here, sir' ('twas Nick that he meant), * Bring your books hero 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. ' So Sur-r-r ! you are here,' Said the Saint with a sneer, ' My summons, I trust, did not much interfere With your morning engagements — I merely desire. At your leisure, to know what you've done with my Prior ? ' Now, none of your lies, Mr. Nick I I'd advise You to tell me the truth without any disguise, Or-r-r 1 !' The Saint, while his rosy gills secm'd to grow rosiel Here gave another great thump with his crosier. * Cantise for ' is not ;' St. Thomas, it seems, had lived loug euough iu the »untiy to pick up a few of its provinci;ilisms. A LAY OF ST. THOMAS A BECKET. 411 Like a small boy at Etou, Who's not quite a Cricliton, 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 Imow, 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!' roared 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 imder so much excitement. ' Wrong man ! don't tell me — Pooh ! — fiddle-de-dee ! What's your right. Scamp, to any man ! — come, let me see ; I'll teach you, you thorough-paced rascal, to meddle With church matters, come. Sirrah, out with your schedule 1' In support of his claim The fiend turns to the name Of ' De Birchington ' written in letters of flame. Below which long items stand, column on column, Enoiigh 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 I — you call tliisr he exclaim'd in a searching tone, ' This ! ! ! the account of my friend Dick de Birchington !' * Why,' said Nick, with an air Of gi-eat 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 brown. And the little bald patch on the top of the crown. * And then the surname, So exactly the same — 1 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 R)b. ' 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'll make ■with much pleasure^ and put in the " News." ' 412 THE BROTHERS OF BIRCHINGTON, ' An apology ! — pooh ! Mucli good that will do ! An " apology " quotha ! — and that too from you ! — j 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 — Sur son seant — and, what was as wondi'ous 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 Hie jacet— That sentence which man his mortality teaches — Sir Robert had disappear'd, body and breeches ! * Heyday ! Sir, heyday ! What's the matter now — eh ? Quoth \ 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 the 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 ? Of the thousands you've cheated And scurvily treated Name one you've dared charge with a bill once receipted In 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 1' The Saint raised his arm, But Old Nick, in alarm, Dash'd np through the skylight, not doing much harm. While, quitte pour la p)&ur, the Knight, sound on the whole, Down the chimney came tumbling as black as a coal 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. ' A LAY OF ST, THOMAS A BECKET. 413 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 quorum, In 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 fire, Nor ever was heard to express a desire In cold weather to see the thermometer higher. Nor shall I relate The subsequent fate Of ^t. 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 Tte ' Twin Birchiugton 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 ^\;ople pronounce the same way. Ee-cwZ-ver some style it, AVhile others revile it As bad, and say iie-culver — '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 Regulhium. Call 't as you will The traveller still. In the voyage that we talk'd about, marks on the hill Overhanging the sea, the ' twin towers' raised then By 'Eobert and Richard, those two pretty men.' Both tall and upright, and just equal in height ; The Trinity House talked of painting them white. And the thing was much spoken of some time ago, When the Duke, I beKeve — but I really don't know. * Nee satis fuit cis sanguine sacerdotis et nece ecclesiana prophauare, nisi, corona capitis amputate, fimestis gladiis jam defuncti ejicerent ceiebnini. — • Matt, Pans. 414 THE BROTHEES OK BIRCHINGTON. Well — there the * Twins ' stand On the verge of the land, To warn mariners off from the Columbine sand, And many a poor man have Eohert and Dick By their vow caused to 'scape, like themselves, from 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 passed by the Nore, And you hear the winds roar In a manner you scarce could have fancied before, AVhen the cordage and tackling Are flapping and crackling, And the boy with the bell Thinks it useless to tell Y ju 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 arecomplainiug The dead-lights are letting the spray and the rain in, When the helm's-mau looks blue. And Captain Large too, And you really don't know what on earth you shall do. In this hubbub and row Think where you'd be new, Except for the Birchington boys and their vow ! And while o'er the wide wave you feel the craft pitch hard, Praic for gc sobjlrs of i^obrrttc mti i^gcJjarii ! MORAL. It's a subject of serious complaint in some houses, With young married men who have elderly spouses, That persons are seen in their figures and faces. With veiy 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 asked 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, Be particular, still, that your bill is cross'd out : But, witli any inducement to think him a scamp, iXftve a formal receipt on a regular stamp 1 THE BROTHERS OF DIRCHINGTON. TH0 KNIGHT AND THE LADY 415 Let every gay gallant my story who notes Take warning, and not go on ' sowing wild oats !' Nor depend that seme friend Will always attend, And by * making all right ' bring him off in the end, He may be mistaken, so let him beware St. Thomas a Beckets are now rather rare. Last of all, may'rs and magistrates, never be rude To juries ! they are people who wonH 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 ' luisey wersey^ ' Acquii you,' and not ' recommend you to mercy.'* THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY. A DOMESTIC LEGEND OF THE EEIGK OF QCEEK ANNE. ' Hail, wedded love ! mysterious tie I' Thomson — or Somebody. THE LADY JANE was tall and slim, The Lady Jane was fair. And Sir Thomas, her Lord, was stout of limb. But his cough was short, and his eyes were dim. And he wore green ' specs,' with a tortoiseshell 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, Were ev'ry where hail'd with the loudest acclaim ; And wherever they went, or wherever they came, Far and wide, The people cried, Huzzah ! for the Lord of this noble domain, — Huzzah ! Huzzah ! Huzzah ! — once again ! — Encore ! — Encore ! — One cheer more ! — All sorts of jjleasure, and no sort of pain To Sir Thomas the Good, and the Fair Lady Jane ! !' * At a Quarter Sessions held at Sandwich (some six miles from Birchington;, oil Tuesday, the 8th of April last, before W. F. Boteler, Esq., the Iiecoixler, Thomas Jones, mariner, aged seventeen, was tried for stealing a jacket, value ten shillings. The jury, after a patient hearing, found him ' not guilty,' and ' recomm.ended him to mercv.' — See the whole case reported in tlie ' Kentiflh Observer,' April 10, IS 15. " ilG THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY. Now Sir Thomas the Good, Be it well understood. Was a man of a 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 entier, 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, AH agree, Look'd less like her Mart, As he walk'd by her side, than her Pere* There are some might 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, Eeally 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 A.t grubs, — when he ought to be winking at them. — But no ! — oh no ! 'Tv.as by no means so With the Lady Jane Ingoldsby — she, far discreeter. 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. * My friend, Mr. Hood, In his comical mood. Would have probably styled the good Knight and his Lady — Him • Stem-old and Hopkins,' and her ' Tete and Braidy,' A LEGEND OF THE REIGN OV QUEEN ANNE. 417 Tout au contraire, No lady so fair Was e'er known to wear more contented an air ; And, let who would call, — eveiy 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'll find She by no means neglected improving her mind ; For there, all the while, with 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'll see If you look at the Ingoldsby family tree, In ' Burke's Commoners,' vol. xx. j^age 53. All the papers I've read agree. Too, with the pedigree, AVhere, among the collateral branches, appears ' Captain Dugald MacBride, Eoyal 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-knitting, Or hemming, or stitching, or darning and fitting, Or putting a 'gore,' or a 'gusset,' or 'bit' in, Eeading aloud, with a very grave look, Some very ' wise saw ' from some very good book, — Some such pious divine as St. Tliomas Aquinas : Or, equally charming, The works of Bellarminc ; Or else he unravels The ' voyages and travels ' Of Hackluytz — (how sadly these Untch names do sully verde 1) - Purchas's, Hawksworth's, or Lemuel Galliver's, — Not to name others, 'mongst whom there arc 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 Damo. 413 THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY, Till, from having gone through, half the hooks 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 ; hut I tMnh 'twas in May, — 'Twas, I know, in the Spring-time, — when ' Nature looks gay, ' As the Poet ohserves, — and on tree-top and spray The dear little diokey-hirds 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 thro^vn into affright. For no soul could conceive what was gone with the Ivnight ! 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, And then — let me see ! — He had two — perhaps three Cups (with sugar and cream) of strong gunpowder tea, With a spoonful in each of some choice ea.u 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 I've said was so broad and so flat. And his ' specs ' with the tortoiseshell rim, and his cane With the crutch-handled top, which he used to siistain His steps in his wallis, and to poke in the shrubs And the grass, when unearthing his worms and his grubs — 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 euphonious clang At five — folks kept early hours then — and the ' Last ' Diug-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 bo cold !' — Quoth Sally, ' Good gi-acious ! how " Missis," ivill scold !" Thompson, the Valet, Look'd gravely at Sally, As who should say ' Tnith must not always be told !' Then, expressing a fear least the Ejiight might take cold. Thus exposed to the dews, Lamb's-wool stockings and shoos, Of each a fresh pair. He put down to air. And hung a clean shirt to the firo on a chair ,~^ A LES'ENI) OF THE REIGN OF QUEEN ANNE. 419 Still the Master was absent — the Cook came and said, ' lie 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 I — Let the meal be served straight, And let two or three slices be put an 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 do^vn 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 ! — As much as can well be expected perhaps. From ' very young fellows ' for very ' old chaps ,' And il" he had said What he'd got in his head, 'Twould have been ' Poor old Buiier 1 he's certainly dead ! The morning dawn'd, — and the next, — and the next And all in the mansion were still perplex'd ; No watch-dog ' bay'd a welcome home,' as A watch-dog should to the ' Good Sir Thomas ; Xo 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 caroU'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 cars, — The joyous Lamb, as now, shall play, But other eyes its sports survey, — i'20 THE KNIGHT A'i\D THE LADY, The stream we love 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 rpe as The very ideas "Which pass'd through the mind of the fair Lady Jano, 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. — 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 Folkestone and Dover, Can't get any tidings at all of the rover ! — -Here's a fortnight and more has gone by, and we've 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 round the Crier, and had him well cried — " Missing ! ! Stolen, or strayed. Lost or mislaid, A Gentleman; — middle-aged, sober, and staid ; — Stoops slightly ; — and when lie left home was array'd In a sad-colour'd suit, somewhat dingy and fray'd ; — Had spectacles on with a tortoiseshell rim, And a hat rather low-crown'd, and broad in the brim. Whoe'er Shall bear. Or shall send him with care, (Eight side uppermost) home ; or shall give notice where The said middle-aged Gentleman is ; or shall state Any fact, that may tend to throw light on his fate, To the man at the turnpike, called Tappington Gate, Shall receive a Eewaed of Five Pounds for his trouble, — (i^N.B.— If defunct the Eewaed will be double ! !.^)" * The familiar abbreviation for Tappington Everard still in use among the tenantry. — Vide Prefatory/ Introduction to the Ingoldsbn Legends. A LEGEND OF THE REIGN OF QUEEN ANNE. 421 * Had he been above ground He inust have been found. No ; doubtless he's shot, — or he's hanged, — or he's drown'd ! 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 1' When a man has decided As Captain MacBride did, A.nd once fully made up his mind on the matter, he Can't be too prompt in unmasking his batteiy. He began on the instvitli tlie pips and petals of ' ueigliLour Jarvis's tulips.' There -were one or two among them of such brilliant, such surpassing beauty, — the ' cups ' so well formed, — the colours so defined. To be sure, Mr. Jenkinson 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 hesiotv, — his neighbour dared not offer to purchase from so wealthy a man ; and, worse than all, Joe, the gardener, was incormptible — ay, but the wig ? Joseph "Washford was working aAvay again in the blaze of the mid-day sun ; his head looked like a copper saucepan fresh from the brazier's. ' Why, where's your wig, Joseph ?' said the voice of his master from the well-known wmdow ; ' what have you done with your wig ?' The question was embarrassing, — its tail had tickled his car till it had made it sore ; Joseph had put the wig in his pocket. Mr. Jeremiah Jarvis was indignant ; he liked not that his bcnefitis should be ill appreciated by the recipient. ' Hark ye, Joseph Wash- ford,' said he, ' cither wear my wig, or let me have it again !' There was no mistaking 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 implied in his master's appeal. * It's here, your Honour,' said he ; * I had only taken it off because we have had a smartish shower ; but the sky is brightening now.' The wig was replaced, and the little tortuous [)igtail Avriggled itself into its accustomed position. At this moment neighbour Jenkinson peeped over the hedge. 'Joe Washford 1' 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 1 Then perhaps he would have no objection to part with a few?' 'Why, no! — I don't think master would like to give them — or anything else, — away, sir ;' and Washford scratched his ear. 444 JERRY JARVIS'S WIG. * Joe I !' said Mr, Jenkinson — ' Joe 1' The Sublime, observes Longinus, is often embodied in a mouo syllable — ' 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 ! 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 Pot- boys.' From that hour he was the Fiend's ! ! ' Facilis descensus AverniP says Virgil. 'It is only the first step that is attended with any difiiculty,' says — somebody else — when speaking of the decollated martyr, 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 progression, he had got into a firmer tread — an amble — a positive trot ! He took the family linen ' to the wash :' — one of Madame Witherspoon's best Holland chemises was never seen after. Lost? — impossible! How coidd it be lost? — where could it be gone to ? — who could have got it ? It was her best — her very best ! — she should know it among a hundred — among a thousanc . — it was marked with a great W in the corner ! — Lost ? — impossible — She would see /' — Alas ! she never did see — the chemise — abiif, enqyit, evasit ! — it was ' Like the lost Pleiad, seen on earth no more. ■ — but Joseph Washford's Sunday shirt luas seen, finer and fairer than ever — the pride and dulce dccus of the Meeting. 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 Eev. Mr. Slyandry exhorted or made way for the Piev. Mr. Tearbrain. Let who would officiate, there was Joe. As I have said before, he never missed ; — but other people missed — one missed an umbrella, — one a pair cf clogs. Farmer Johnson missed his tobacco-box, — Farmer Jackson A LEGEND OF THE WEALD OF KENT. 445 his great-coat, — Miss Jackson missed licr hymn-book, — a diamond edition, bound in maroon-coloured velvet, witb 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 bis wig, which nothing could keep quiet, or prevent from tickling and interfering with IMiss 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 Kangers. The summer passed away, — autumn came and went, — and Christ- mas, 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 Orlestone-hill, when a medical gentleman, returning to the quiet little village of Ham Street, that lies at its foot, from a Hirrn-house at Kingsuorth rode briskly down the declivity. After several hours of patient attention, Mr. Moncypenny 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 uf 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 of tangled copsewood, the passage, even by day, was sufliciently obscure, the 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. Moueypenuy'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 ' Suflblk Punch,' brought herself up in mid career upon her haunches, and that with a suddenness which had almost induced her rider to describe that beautiful mathematical figure, the parabola, between her ears. Peggy — her name was Pegiry — stood stock-still, snorting like a stranded grampus, and alike insensible to the gentle hints afi"orded her by hand and heel. ' Teh !— tch !— get along, Peggy!' half-exclaimed, half-whistled the equestrian. K ever steed said in its heart, • I'll be shot if I do T 446 JKllRY JAiaib's WIG. it w.as Peggy at that moment. She planted her forelegs deep in tho sandy soil, raised her stum^) of a tail to an elevation aj^proaching tho horizontal, protruded her nose like a pointer at a covey, and with expanded nostril continued to snuffle most egregiously. Mr. Geoflrey Gamhado, the illustrious ' Master of the Horse to the Doge of Venice,' tells us, in his far-famed treatise on the Art Equestrian, that the most embarrassing position in ■which a rider can he placsd is, when he wishes to go one A\ay, and his horse is determined to go another. There is, to be sure, a tertium quid, which, though it 'splits the difference,' scarcely obviates the inconvenience ; this is when the jartics comijromise the matter by not going any way at all — to this compromise Peggy and her (^soi-disant) master were now reduced ; they had fairly joined issue. ' Budge !' quoth the doctor. — * Budge not !' quoth the fiend, — for nothing short of a fiend could, of a surety, inspire Peggy at such a time with such unwonted obstinacy — Moneypenny 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 uncertain ; but your profound thinker sees at a glance that, however the scales may appear to vibrate, when the question 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 off, 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 tliat flanked the road, in order to discover, if possible, what it was that so exclusively attracted the instinctive attention of his Bucephalus. His curiosity was not long at flxult; the sunbeam glanced jxartially upon some object ruddier even than itself — it was a scarlet waist- coat, the wearer of which, overcome perchance by Christmas compo- tation, seemed to have selected for his ' thrice-driven bed of down,' the thickest clump of the tallest and most imposing nettles, thereon to doze away the narcotic effects of superabundant juniper. This, at least, was Mr. Moneypenny's belief, or he would scarcely A LEGEND OF THE WEAIJJ Ol' KKlll. 447 have uttered, at tlie highest pitch of his contrallo, ' What are yiw doing there, you dniukeu 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 saj', — get up, and go home, you scoundrel !' — But the ' scoundrel ' and ' drunken rascal ' answered not ; he moved not, nor could the prolonged shout-: ing of the apiDellant, aided by significant explosions from a doublc- thonged whip, succeed in eliciting a reply. Ko motion indicated that the recumbent figure, whose outline alone was visible, 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 dispro- portionate 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 rim away.' Peggy threw up her head, and snorted disdain of the insinuation, — she had not the slightest intention of doing any such thing. Mr. Moneypeimy meanwhile, disencumbered of his restive nag, proceeded by manual application, to arouse the sleeper. Alas ! the Seven of EjAesus 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 Moneypenny practise his own constant precept, 'To be Avell shaken !' — there lay before him the lifeless body of a Muhdered Man ! The corpse lay stretched upon its back, partially concealed, as we have before said, by the nettles which had si:)rung up among the stumps of the half-grubbed underwood; the throat vras 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 tlie road exhibited an impression as of a body that had fallen on its plastic surface, and had been dragged to its i^resent position, while frcsli horse-shoe prints seemed to intimate that either the assassiu 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. 448 JERRY JARVIS'S WIG. 'But wliat have \ve here?' quoth Doctor Moueypenny; 'wliat 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 — It was a^ old wig ! Those who are fortunate enough to have seen a Cinque Port court- house may possibly divine what that useful and most necessary edifice was some eighty years ago. Many of them seem to have undergone little alteration, and are in general of a composite order of architecture, a fanciful arrangement of bricls and timber, with what Johnson would have styled ' interstices, reticulated, and decussated between intersections' of lath and plaster. Its less eui^honious 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, oupporting 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 convivial excess, in a most Viudignified position, an inconvenience much increased at times by some mischievous urchin, who, after abstracting the shoes of tlie lielpless 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 tlie year 1761 a hale, robust man, somewhat 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 most heinous in the sight of God and man, the deliberate and cold-blooded butchery of an unoffending, unprepared fellow-creature, — homiculium quod nidlo vidente, nidlo auscuUante, clean perpetratur. The victim was one Humphry Bourne, a reputable grazier of Ivy- church, worthy and vv'ell-to-do, though, perchance, a thought too apt to indulge on a market-day, when ' a score of ewes ' had brought in a reasonable profit. Some such cause had detained him longer than usual at an Ashford cattle-show; he had left the town late, and ftlone; early in the following morning his horse was found standing A LEGEND OF THE WEALD OF KENT. 449 at liis 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 ofl", by our friend the pharma- copolist. 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 name 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 Wig, — his own perky little pigtail, tied up with a i^iece of shabby shalloon, now wriggling and quivering, as in salutation of its ancient master. The silver buckles of the murdered man were found in Joe Washford's shoes, — broad jDieces were found in Joe Washford's pockets, — Joe AVashford had himself been found, when the hue-and-cry was up, hid in a corn-rig at no great distance from the scene of slaughter, his pruning-knife red with the evidence of his crime — ' the grey hairs yet stuck to the heft 1' For their humane administration of the laws, the lieges of this portion of the realm have long been celebrated. Here it was that merciful verdict was recorded in the case of the old lady accused of larceny, ' We find her Kot Guilty, and hope she will never do .so any more !' Here it was that the more experienced culprit, when called upon to plead with the customary, though somewhat super- fluous, inquiry, as to ' how he would be tried :•' substituted for the usual reply ' By God and my country,' that of ' By your worship and a Dymchurch Jury.' Here it was — but enough ! — not even a Dj'mchurch jury could resist such evidence, even though the gallows (/.e. the expense of erecting one) stared them, as well as the criminal, in the face. The very pig-tail alone I — ever at his ear ! — a clearer case of suadente Diaholo never was made out. Had there been a doubt, its very conduct in the Court-house would have settled the question. The Eev. Joel Ingoldsby, umquhile chaplain to the Eomney Bench, has left upon record that when exhibited iu evidence, together with the blood-stained knife, its twistings, its caperings, its gleeful evolutions quite 'flabbergasted' the jury, and 450 UNSOPHISTICATED WISHES. tiircw all beholders into a consternation. It was remarked, too, by many in the Court, that the Forensic Wig of the Eecorder himself was, on that trying occasion, palpably agitated, and that its three depending, learned-looking tails lost curl at once, and slunk beneath the obscurity of the powdered collar, just as the boldest dog recoils from a rabid animal of its own species, however small and in- rignificant. AYhy prolong the painful scene ? — Joe "Washford was tried — Joo Washford was convicted — Joo 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 civilisation; but there it might be seen late in the last century, an awful warning to all bald- pated gentlemen how they wear, or accept, the old wig of a Special Attorney, Tlmeo Danaos et dona ferentes I Such gifts, as we have seen, may lead to a 'Morbid Delusion, the climax of which is ilurder !' The fate of the Wig itself is somewhat doubtful ; nobody seems to have recollected, with any degree of pi'ecision, what became of it. Mr. Ingoldsby ' had heard ' that:, when thrown uito the fire by the Court-keeper, after whizzing, and fizzling, and performing all sorts of supernatural 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 unquestionably a tail — was seen careering in the blaze, — and seeming to ' ride on the whirlwind and direct the storm.' UNSOPHISTICATED AVISHES. BY MISS JZimiA INGOLDSBY, AGED 15. (^Communicaied 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 little Postilion astride On ihf back of the leader, a prancing bay. UNSOPHISTICATED WISUfcS. 461 Ajid then behind it, oli ! I should glory To see the tall serving men standing upright, Like the two who attend Mr. Monteliorc, (Sir ]\Ioses I should say) for now he's a Knight. And then the liveries, I know it is rude to Find fault — bi\t I'll hint as he can't see me blush, Tha*. 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 — 1 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 like 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 Poles. 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. Oh ! 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 wliite teeth and his cheek like a rose, And his black cravat and his diamond pin. And the nice little moustache under his nose, And the dear little tuft on the tip of his chin. And how I should like 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 Brown. The foregoing pages complete the Series of Poems, &c., published under the name of Thomas Lagoldsby ; of these, ' The Legend of Languedoc,' ' The Buccaneer's Curse,' ' Tlie House-warming,' ' The Lay of St. Romwdld,' and ^The Brothers of Birchington^ appeared 452 her:\iann; cr, the broken spear. in the New Monthly Magazine, the remamder in Bentley's Mis- cellany. The following articles, which are added for reasons stated else- where, though prior in point of date, are by the same author, and, A'ith 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 Jin/us,' we believe, at Drury Lane; and 'Marie Mignot' 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 of watchfulness occasioned by his disease. isallaiwous ^acms. 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 clerayman's cassocks. The new-maiTied 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 tlie Bride, he attempts to salute her. 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 \ HKKMANN; OR THE BKOKKN Si'KAK. 453 Just conceive what a caper He cut, when her taper Long fingers scrawl'd this upon whitey-hrown 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 Nicholl Still keeps rods in picklo, Offences of this kind severely to tickle. At so near an escape from his court and its sentence His eyes fill with tears and his breast with repentance : So, picking and stealing, And unrighteous dealing, Of all sorts he cuts, from this laudable feeling : Of wickedness weary, With many a tear, he Now takes a French leave of the vile Voitdottkri : 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 jjot 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, Till I've done — from my past scenes of folly a far actor — Some feat shall redeem both my wardrobe and character. • At signs of remorse so decided and visible Nought can etjual 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 and 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 mixed up in a fray, Hermann joins in the melev. Pounds this to a jelly. Puns that through tiie back, and a third through the beilyj 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 s^wke 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 ; 2i 454 HINTS FOR AN HISTORICAL PLAY. A recreant, cowardly, white-liver'd kuight, . Who had skulk'd iii a furze-bush the whole of the fight. But the Dumb Lady soou Put some gin in a S].xx)n, And half strangles poor Hermann, who wakes from his swoon. And exhibits his wound, when the head of the spear Fits its handle, and makes his identity clear. The murder thus out, Hermann's feted and thanked. While his rascally rival gets toss'd in a blanket ; And to finish the play — 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 ! H you chance to get thrash 'd, take some gin in a spoon; And remember, since wedlock's not «Z? sugar-candy If you wish to 'scape ' wigging,' a dumb wife's the dandy w HINTS FOR AN HISTORICAL PLAY TO BE CALLED WILLIAM RUFUS; OR, THE RED ROVER. Act 1. ALTER TYRREL, the son of a Norman Papa, Has, somehow or other, a Saxon Mamma : Though humble, j'et far above mere vulgar loons, He's a sort of a sub in the Rufus Dragoons ; Has travel I'd, but comes home abruptly, the rather That somo 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: 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, Aud 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; HINTS FOR AN HISTORICAL i-i^AY. 455 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, With 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 Eufus 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. And gives him a rather unholy commission. Viz., to mix up some arsenic and ale m a cup. Which the chances are Tyrrel may fina 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 Miss Faucit in tears comes in running like winking. He patises of course, and as she's thirsty too, Says very politely, ' Miss, I after you !' The young lady curtsies, and being so dry, Eaises somehow her fair little 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 671 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, aud the force of his blows, The Red-bearded Piover 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 1 — When you go out a sporting, t^ike care of your gim, And — never shoot elderly people in fun 1' 466 MARIE MIGNOT. MARIE MIGNOT. M l^ ISS 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 Modeau, Ugly and old. With plenty of gold, Made his approach In an elegant coach, Hei fancy was charmed with the splendour and show, And he bore off the false-hearted Molly Mignot Monsieur Modeau was crazy and old. And Monsieur Modeau caught a terrible cold ; His nose was stufifd and his throat was sore. He had physic by the quart and Doctors by the score , They sent squills. And pills, And very long bills, And all they could do did not make him get well, He sounded his M's and his N's like an L. A shocking bad cough At last took him off. And Mister Lagardie, her former young beau. Came a-courting again to the Widow Modeau. Mister Lagardie, to gain him edat, Had cut the Cook's shop and foUow'd the law ; And when Monsieur Modeau 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 Mars-hal of France Had just ask'd her to dance j 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 now placed on full pay, A Swedish Field-Marshal with a guinea a day; When an old Ex-King Just show'd her the ring : 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, THE THUANTS. 457 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 Migiiot, 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 he barren Without Mr. Farren ; No matter, go there, and they'll teach you the guilt Of coquetting and ogling, and playing the jilt. Such folks gallop awhile, but at last they get spilt ; Had Molly Mignot Behaved comme ilfaut. Nor married the Lawj'er nor Marquis Dinot, She had ne'er been a nun, whose fare very hard is, But the mother of half-a-score little Lagardiea. THE TRUANTS. THREE little Demons have broken loose From the National School below I They are resolved to play truant to-day. Their primer and slate they have cast away, And away, away, they go ! ' Hey boys ! hey boys ! up go we I Who so merry as we three ?' The reek of that most infernal pit, Where sinful souls are stewing, Rises so black, that in viewing it, A thousand to one but you'd ask with surprise As its murky columns met your eyes, ' Pray is Old Nick a-brewing ?' Thither these three little Devils repair. And mount by steam to the uppermost air. They have got hold of a wandering star, That happen'd to come within hail. swiftly they glide 1 As they merrily ride All a cock-stride Of that Cornet'^ laii. 458 THR TRUANTS. Oh the pranks! Oh the pranks! The merry pranks, the mad prankS; These wicked urchins play '. They kiss'd the Virgin and fill'd her with dread, They popp'd the Scorjnon into her bed ; They broke the pitcher of poor Aqtiarius, They stole the arrows of Sagittarius, And they skimm'd the Milky Way. They fiU'd the Scales with sulphur full, They hallooed the Dog-Star on at the Bidl, And pleased themselves with the noise. They set the Lion On poor Orion ; They shaved all the hair Off the Lesser Bear I They kick'd the shins Of the Gemini Twins — Those heavenly Siamese Boys ! — Never was such confusion and wrack, As they produced in the Zodiac ! — ' Huzza ! Huzza ! Away 1 Away ! Let us go down to the earth and play I Now we go up, up, up. Now we go down, down, down. Now we go backwards and forwards. Now we go round, round, round !' Thus they gambol, and scramble, and tear, Till at last they arrive at the nethermost air. And pray now what were these Devilets call'd ? These three little Fiends so gay 1 One was Cob I Another was Mob I The last and the least was young Chittalob ! Queer little devils were they ! Cob was the strongest, Mob was the wrongest, ChittaboVs tail was the finest and longest ! Three more frolicsome Im}:»s, I ween, Beelzebub's self hath seldom seen. Over Mountain, over Fell, Glassy Fountain, mossy Dell, Eocky Island, barren Strand, Over Ocean, over Land; With frisk and bound, and squeaks and squalls. Heels over head, and head over heels ; With curlings and twistings, and twirls and whceleries, Down they drop at the gate of the Tuileries. Courtiers were bowing and making legs, While Charley le Boi wa^ bolting eggs: 'il/o6,' says Cob, ' Chittahob,' says Mob, Come here, you young Devil, we're in for a job" Up jumps Cob to the Monarch's ear, ' Charley mv iollv boy, never fear ; THE TRUANTS. 459 If yon mind all their jaw About Charter and Law, You might just as well still be the Count d'Artoisl No such thing, Show 'era you're King, Tip 'em an Ordinance, that's the thing !' Charley dined, Took his pen and sign'd , Then Mob kick'd over his throne from behind! ' Huzza ! Huzza ! we may scamper now ! iFor here we've kick'd up a jolly good row !* ' Over the water and over the Sea, And over the water with Charlie ;' Now they came skipping and grinning with glee. Not pausing to chaff or to parley. Over, over, On to Dover ; On fun intent, All through Kent These mischievous devils so merrily went. Over hill and over dale. Sunken hollow, lofty ridge. Frowning cliff, and smiling vale, Down to the foot of Westminster-bridge. ' Hollo,' says Cob, ' There's the Duke and Sir Bob! After 'em, Chittabob, after 'em, Mob.' Mob flung gravel, and Chittabob pebbles. His Grace c 'd them both for a couple of rebels : His feelings were hurt By the stones and the dirt — In went he, In an ecstacy, And blew up the nobles of high degree. ' Mr. Brougham, llr. Hume, May fret and may fume — And so may all you whom I see in this room ; Come weal, come woe, come calm, come storm — I'll see you all — bfessed — ere I give you reform ;' ' Bravo !' says Chittabob, ' That's your sort. Come along, schoolfellows, here's more sport. Look there ! look there ! There's the great Lord May'r With the gravest of Dejaities close to his chair; WithHobler, his Clerk ! Just the thing for a lui-k • Huzzah ! huzzah ! boys, follow me now ; Here we may kick up another good row.' Here they are. Swift as a star. They shoot in mid air, over Temple Bar I Tom Macaulay beheld the flight Of these three little dusky sons of night. And his heart swell'd with joy and elation — ' Oh, see !' quoth he, ' Those Niggerlings three, Who have just got cmancipatum 1' 4i)0 THE I'OPLAK. Lord Key took fright: At the very first dight, The whole Court of Aldermen wheel'd to the right ; Some ran from Cldttahoh — more from Moh, The great locum tenens jump'd up upon Cob, Who roar'd and ran With the Alderman To the Home Office, pick-a-back — catch 'em who can ! ' Stay at home — here's a plot, And I can't tell you what, If you don't I'll be shot, But you'll all go to pot.' Ah, little he ween'd, while the ground he thus ran over, 'Twas a Cob he bestrode — not his white horse from Hanover. Back they came galloping through the Strand, When Joseph Lanciister, stick in hand, Popp'd up his head before 'em. Well we know. That honest old Joe, Is a sort of High Master down below. And teaches the Imps decorum. Satan had started him ofl' in a crack, To flog these three little runaways back. Fear each assails; Every one quails; ' Oh dear ! hovV he'll tickle our little black tails ! Have done, have done, Here's that son of a gun. Old Joe, come after us, — run, boys, run.' Off ran Cob, Off ran Mob, And off in a fright ran young Chittabob ; Joe caught Chittabob ]w&t by the tail. And Cob by his crumpled horn ; Bitterly then did these Imps bewail. That ever they were born ! Mob got away. But none to this day Know exactly whither he went ; Some say he's been seen about Blackfriars- bridge. And some s;iy he's down in Kent. But where'er he may roam. He has not ventured home Since the day the three took win^ And many suppose He has changed his clothes, And now goes by the name of ' Swing. THE POrLAR. AY, here stands the Poplar, so tall and so stately, On whose tender rind — 'twas a little one then — We carved her initials ; though not very lately — We think in the year eighteen hundred and ten. M7 LKTTEHS. 461 yes, here is tlie G which proclaimed Georgiaua ; Our heart's empress theu ; see, 'tis grown all askew ; And it's not without grief we perforce entertain a Conviction, it now loolvs much more like a Q. 'Ihis should be the great D too, that once stood for Dobbin, Her lov'd patronymic — ah ! can it be so? It's once fair proportions, time, too, has been robbing ; A D ?— we'll be Detd if it isn't an ! Alas! how the soul sentimental it vexes, That thus on our labours stern Chronos should frown, Should change our soft liquids to izzards and Xes, And turn true-love's alphabet all upside down MY LETTERS. 'Litem scripta tnanet.' — Old Saw. ANOTHER mizzling, drizz.iug day ! Of clearing up there's no appearance ; So I'll sit down without delay, And here, at least, I'll make a clearance ! Oh, ne'er ' on such a day as this,' Would Dido with her woes oppressed Have woo'd ^neas back to bliss, Or Troilus gone to hunt for Cressid ! No, they'd have stay'd at home, like me, And popp'd their toes upon the fender, And drank a quiet cup of tea : — On days like this one can't be tender. So, Molly, draw that basket nigher. And put my desk upon the table — Brmg that Portfolio — stir the fire — Now off as fast as you are able ! First, here's a card from Mrs. Grimes, 'A ball !' — she knows that I'm no dancer — That woman 's asked me fifty times, And yet I never send an answer. Dear Jack, — Just lend me twenty pounds Till Monday next, when I'll return it Yours truly, Henry Gibbs.' Wliy, Z^ls ! I've seen the man but twice — here, burn it. 462 M5r LKTTEBS. One from my Cousin Sopliy Daw — Full of Aunt Margery's distresses ; 'The Cat has kitten'd in " the draw. And ruin'd two bran-new silk dresses.' From Sam, 'The Chancellor's motto,' — nay. Confound his puns, he knows I hate em . * Pro Eege, Lege, Grege,' — Ay, ' For King read Mols 1' Brougham's old erratum From Seraphina Price — ' At two ' — ' Till then I can't, my dearest John, stir : Two more because I did not go, Beginning * Wretch' and 'Faithless Monster!' ' Dear Sir, — ' This morning Mrs. P , Who's doirtg quite as well as may be, Presented me at half-past three. Precisely, with another baby. ' We'll name it John, and know with pleasure You'll stand ' — Five guineas more, confound it I- I wish they'd call it Nebuchadnezzar, Or thrown it in the Thames and drown'd it. What have we next ? A civil Dun : ' John Brown would take it as a favour ' — Another, and a surlier one, ' I can't put up with sick behaviour.' ' Bill so long standing,' — ' quite tired out,' — ' Must sit down to insist on jxiyment,' Call'd ten times,' — Here's a fuss about A few coats, waistcoats, and small raiment ' For once I'll send an answer, and in- form Mr. Snip he needn't ' call ' so ; But when his bill's as ' tired of standins ' As he is, beg 'twill ' sit down also.' ■o This from my rich old Uncle Ned, Thanking me for my annual present; And saying he last Tuesday wed His cook-maid, Molly — vastly pleasant 1 An ill-spelt note from Tom at school, Begging I'll let him learn the fiddle ; Another from that precious fool. Miss Pyefinch, with a stupid riddle. MY LETTERS. 463 'D'ye give it up ?' ludeed 1 do ! Confound these antiquated minxes; I won't play ' Bi/ly Black ' to a ' Blue,' Or Q^dipus to sucli old sphinxes. A note sent up from Kent to show me, Lefi with my bailiff, Peter King ; 'I'll burn them precious stacks down, blow mo » ' Yours most sincerely, ' Captain Swing.' Four begging letters with petitions. One from my sister Jane, to pray I'll ' execute a few commissions " In Bond Street, ' when I ^j that way.' •And buy at Pearsal's in the City Twelve skeins of silk for netting purses; Colour no mattei-, so it's pretty ; — Two hundred pens ' — two hundred curses I From Mistress Jones : ' My little Billy Goes up his schooling to begin. Will you just step to Piccadilly, And meet him when the coach comes in ? ' And then, perhaps, you will as well see The poor dear fellow safe to school At Dr. Smith's in Little Chelsea !' Heaven send he flog the little fool ! From Lady Snooks : ' Dear Sir, you know You promised me last week a Pebus ; A something smart and apropos. For my new Album V — Aid me, PhcEbus ! My first is foUow'd by my second; Yet should my first my second see, A dire mishap it would be reckon "d, And sadly shock 'd my first would be. * Were I but what my whole implies, And pass'd by chance across your fortal, You'd cry, " Can 1 believe my eyes ? I never saw so queer a mortal 1'' * For then my head would not be on. My arms their shoulders must abandon ' My verj' body would be gone, I should not have a leg to stand on." 464 THE CO.NFKSSION Come, that's despatch'd — what follows ?— Stay, ' Keform demanded by the nation ' — Vote for Tagrag and Bobtail !' A;', By Jove, a blessed Reformation I Jack, clap the saddle upon Kose — Or, no 1 — the filly — she's the fleeter; The devil take the rain — here goes, I'm off — a plumper for Sir Peter ! NEW-MADE HONOUR. (IMITATED FROM MARTIAL.) A FRIEND I met some half hour since — ' Good-mairutv, Jack i' quoth I ; The new-made Knight, like any Prince, Frowu'd, nodded, and pass'd by ; When up came Jem — ' bir John, your Slave! ' Ah, James ; we dine at eight- — Fail not — (low bows the supple knave) Don't make my lady wait.' The King can do no wrong '? As I'm a sinner, lie's spoilt an honest tradesman and my dinner. THE CONFESSION. THERE'S somewhat on my breast, father, There's somewhat on my breast 1 The livelong day I sigh, father, And at night I cannot rest. I cannot take my rest, father. Though I would fain do so ; A weary weight ojipresseth mo — This weary weight of woe ! ' Tis not the lack of gold, father, Nor want of worldly gear ; My lands are broad, and fair to sec, My friends are kind and dear. My kin are leal and true, father, They mourn to see my grief ; But oh 1 'tis not a kinsman's band Can give my heart relief 1 'Tis not that Janet's false, father, 'Tis not that she's unkind ; Tho' busy flatterers swarm around, 1 know her constant mind. SONG. loo Tis not Jier coldness, father, That chills my labouring breast; It's that confounded cucumber I've eat and can't digest. SONG. THEEE sits a bird on yonder tree. More fond than Cusliat Dove ; There sits a bird on yonder tree, And sings to me of love. Oh ! stoop thee from thine eyrie down And nestle thee near my heart. For the moments fly, And the hour is nigh. When thou and I must part. My love ! When thou and I must part. n. In yonder covert lurks a Fawn, The pride of the sylvan scene ; In yonder covert lurks a Fawn, And I am his only queen ; Oh ! bound from thy secret lair, For the sun is below the west; No mortal eye lilay our meeting spy. For all are closed in rest. My love ! Each eye is closed in rest, m. Oh ! sweet is the breath of mom. When the sun's first beams appear ; Oh ! sweet is the shepherd's strain. When it dies on the list'ning ear : And sweet the soft voice which speaks The Wanderer's welcome home ; But sweeter far By yon pale mild star With our true Love thus to roam. My dear ! With our own true Love to roam ! 466 EPIGRAilS SONG. EPIGRAM. BRAVE L — , so says a knight of the pen, ' Has exposed himself much at the head of his men : ^ his men ran away without waiting to fight, To expose himself there's to be first in the flight. Had it not been as well, when he saw his men quail, To have stay'd and exposed himself more at their tail ? Or say, is it fair, in this noblest of quarrels. To suffer the chief to engross all the laurels ? No! his men, so the muse to all Europe shall sing, Have exposed themselves fully as much as their king. EPIGRAM. EHEU FUGACES. WHAT Horace says is, Eheufugaces Anni labuntur, Fostume, Postume! Years glide away, and are lost to me, lost to me ! Now, when the folks in the dance sport their merry toes, Taglionis and EUslers, Duvernays and Ceritos, Sighing 1 murmur, * mihi prceteritos P SONG. JnpiS sweet to think the pure ethereal being, J. "Whose mortal form reposes with the dead. Still hovers round unseen, yet not unseeing, Benignly smiling o'er the mourner's bed ! She comes in dreams, a thing of light and lightness I hear her voice, in still, small accents tell Of realms of bliss, and never-fading brightness. Where those who lov'd on earth together dwell. Ah ! yet a while, blest shade, thy flight delaying. The kindred soul with mystic converse cheer; To her rapt gaze, in visions bland displaying. The unearthly glories of thy happier sphere ! Yet, yet remain ! till freed like thee, delighted. She spurns the thraldom of encumbering clay; Then as on earth, in tend'rest love united. Together seek the realms of endless day ! 467 AS I LAYE A-THYNKYNGE. THE LAST LINES OF THOMAS INGOLDSBT. AS I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, Merrie sang the Birde as she sat upon the spraye j There came a noble Knyghte, With his hauberke shynynge brighte, And his gallant heart was lyghte, Free and gaye ; As I laye a-thynkyuge, he rode upon his waye. As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, Sadly sang the Birde as she sat upon the tree 1 There seem'd a crimson plain, Where a gallant Knyghte lay slayne, And a steed with broken rein Ran free, As I laye a-thynkynge, most pitiful to see ! As 1 laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, Merrie sang the Birde as she sat upon the boughe ; A lovely Mayde came bye. And a gentil youth was nyghe, And he breathed many a syghe And a vowe ; As I laye a-thynkynge, her hearte was gladsome now. As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thyukynge. Sadly sang the Birde as she sat upon the thorne ; No more a youth was there. But a Maiden rent her haire. And cried in sad despaire, ' That I was borne !' As I laye a-thynkynge, she perished forlorne. As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, Sweetly sang the Birde as she sat upon the briar ; There came a lovely Childe, And his face was meek and mild, Yet joyously he smiled On his sire ; As I laye a-thynkynge, a Cherub mote admire. But I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, ^d sadly sang the Birde as it perch'd upon a bier ; 468 AS 1 LAYK. A TUYNlCVNaE. That joyous smile was gone, And the face was white and wan. As the downe upon the iSwan Doth appear, As 1 laye a-thynkynge — oh ! bitter flow'd the tear! As I hiye a-thynkynge, the golden sun was sinking, merrie sang that Birde as it glilter'd on her breast With a thousand gorgeous dyes. While soaring to the skies, 'Mid the stars she seem'd to r-=e. As to her nest ; As I laye a-thynkynge, her meaning was exprest : — ' Follow, follow me away. It boots not to delay,' — 'Twas so she seem'd to saye, ' Here is rest 1' T.L (£nti of tfjt Cttgoltisbg l.rgfr.Ti?. IOXDON: printed BT WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, STAJtrORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS. p ^. s„„ v^^^m. ; souT-